Violent Delights (White Monarch 1)

Oh. With the realization, I involuntarily rose onto my toes with excitement. We were promising our lives to each other. I didn’t need a proposal—but now that I was getting one, I couldn’t keep my grin at bay. “Yes?”

“Natalia.” He smiled down on me, gently squeezing my hands. “Make an unworthy man happy. Meet me at the church this Sunday.”

18

Natalia

It was a question that had only one answer.

There wasn’t a sliver of doubt in my mind that I’d marry Diego. He’d been my best friend and my love for a long time, but now, he’d finally be my husband. “Yes,” I whispered. “I will meet you at the church on Sunday.”

He lifted my hand to kiss my ring finger. His lips lingered there until he pressed his forehead against the back of my hand. “Por favor,” he whispered. “Holy Virgin Mary.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked at the overwhelming sadness in his appeal. “Why don’t you look happy?”

“I am, but I fear what lies ahead.”

The gauzy curtains of my balcony fluttered, causing the candles on my dresser to flicker. I pulled him by his hand toward the bed. “Then lie with me and forget.”

“Tali . . .”

“It’s not a request.” Diego and I had waited long enough. I had no more doubts about making this union. My heart hammered as I slipped my robe over my shoulders. “I almost lost you today,” I said, tugging on the sash to open the bow. My robe fell to my feet, revealing my negligee. “And I’ll be damned if either of us leaves this world without having spent a night together.”

“You may be damned, Tali.”

“I won’t, because I know what’s true in my heart.” Sunday, we’d commit ourselves to each other before God, but tonight, we’d make love as husband and wife in our souls.

“And what’s true?” he asked.

I put my hand to his cheek. “That I love you.”

“And I you.” His eyes roamed over my short, strappy nightgown. “You are so lovely in indigo silk that matches your eyes.”

“Mi madre said a lady never wore anything less than the best to bed.”

He smiled crookedly at his basic black tee and chinos. “I’m underdressed.”

“You’re overdressed. If you want to see more, you have to show more.”

He arched an eyebrow. “A motto I can stand by.” Bathed in candlelight, he grimaced as he slowly pulled his shirt over his head.

“Are you hurt?” I asked.

“A couple bruised ribs, nothing more.”

I gently pressed my lips to a purple mark blooming on his chest and then a small gash on his right bicep. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. I’m still standing. And here with you, no less.”

I touched the button of his pants, pausing to ask for permission. It came in the form of his low-lidded stare as he wet his lips. I undid his pants and pushed them down.

He cast them aside, took my chin, and tilted my eyes up to meet his. After a tender kiss to my forehead, then the bridge of my nose, he gathered up the hem of my negligee. I raised my arms so he could slip it over my head.

He stepped back, gripping the purple silk as his eyes drifted down my bare breasts and stomach to my lacy underwear. I kept my shoulders back even as nerves tickled my tummy. He’d never seen me this way. I knew he’d been with other girls—and that I actually meant something to him. But as he stared, doubt took over. Had he been expecting more? Was he worried about my inexperience? Or was it simply too strange to see his best friend naked?

He wore only boxer briefs, but it wasn’t much different than seeing him in a bathing suit.

“Well?” I asked finally.

“My life is on the line,” he said, swallowing, “and yet, I don’t believe I’ve ever experienced such happiness.”

My heart fluttered, pumping relief throughout me. “I’ve heard it only gets better from here.”

He grinned, then swooped down to hug my waist and litter kisses on my neck until I laughed.

“You were never this ticklish when we were younger,” he said, lifting me so my legs wrapped around him.

“Well, you never tickled my neck, did you?” I arched into him as he lowered me to the mattress and climbed over me. I bent and opened my knees to make a home for his hips.

“Would you like to hear my poem now?” he asked when we were mouth to mouth.

I nodded breathlessly.

He cupped my cheek, thumbing the apple of it. “She is a heavenly creature cut from the finest cloth with which God had to work. A fabric so fine, that to be dressed in it is to be a king, and to forget anything that came before it.” He paused as candlelight flickered over his face. I ran a fingertip along a cut near his hairline. “Her love is all-consuming and more addictive than any high. It can twist fantasy to truth and make honest men lie—without blame. Those hopeless to receive it turn mad.”