Wild Heir (Fated Royals 4)

It wasn’t working. Not even close.

I lit one clove cigarette off of another and paced further down the drive, past the semi-circle of light cast by the gas lights that flanked the front door.

As I pivoted on my toe to return to the house, I slipped in the wet snow, flailing until I collided with an oncoming massive man’s frame, sending my cigarette case flying in a high arc. The moonlight flickered off the sterling as it disappeared down a steep bank on the other side of the driveway.

“No!” I whisper hissed clenching my teeth in anger.

I couldn’t see the details of the man, it was too dark and I was too far from the light, but I knew instantly whoever he was, he was huge. Solid like stone. And he smelled delicious. Like some exotic spiced coffee and oiled leather.

“Holy shit,” he boomed as he grabbed me to keep me from falling. “Are you alright?”

“My cigarette case.” I huffed. “It was a gift.”

I moved through the deeper snow to the edge, looking over, and to my surprise, so did he.

“It’s lost.” I was almost in tears at the thought. “This isn’t fair,” I said, aware that I was whining like a child, but in that moment, I felt like a child.

“We’ll find it.” His voice was deep and reassuring. “But it’s too cold for you to be out here like this with no coat. I’ll have our men search this spot with torches, and if they can’t find it, I’ll search again at first light. You have my word; it will be returned to you.”

“I don’t… I can’t leave without it…”

“You have my word. Now, come inside.”

The deep timbre of his voice somehow got through to me, reassuring me that yes, he would do as he said, and that I could be sure that when this man promised something he would move heaven and earth to make it happen. I let him take me by the arm and move me into the light, where he clasped my hands in his own enormous ones to help warm them.

That was when I saw his face for the first time. And he was beautiful. A rugged jawline, a careless sexy beard of stubble, intense, strange eyes set under a hard brow which matched the cut angles of the rest of his face.

My thoughts immediately flashed to the fairy-tale princes from stories of my youth that I was too sensible to believe existed.

I knew at once it was Vasile—he had his father’s eyes: dark, burnished gold with flecks of red, framed by dark lashes and sharp cheekbones. But that was where the comparisons ended. This man was heart-stoppingly beautiful. And, apparently, my brother-in-law to be.

“Are you Vasile?”

“I am,” he said, gazing down at me, seemingly as mesmerized with me as I was with him. “You are to be my new sister-in-law?”

“Yes,” I said, barely a whisper.

“Jesus.” He released a disappointed sounding growl.

I swallowed hard and blinked up at him.

“Are you… are you leaving?” I asked, finally yanking my eyes away from his.

He was dressed simply in a heavy coat and boots, without furs or finery. As well, he was heading down the driveway away from the main house when I bumped into him. Which meant that he had been here all along, and had simply chosen not to join us for dinner. I would have said that was rude, except I got the feeling that he had been dealing with something far more important.

He didn’t look away.

He didn’t even step away.

Instead, he gripped my shoulders firmly and drew me closer to him. Close enough to feel the heat of his body spilling into mine.

Never in my life had I felt so small or delicate.

Never in my life had I felt this sort of wanting.

My desire for him was instant and overpowering, causing my stomach to flutter and my heart to speed.

When I raised my eyes to his again, they were in exactly the same place they’d been before.

Waiting for me. Studying me. Memorizing me.

Wanting me as much as I was wanting him, I told myself.

“I was leaving,” he said. “But I’m not anymore.”Chapter 3ValeriaWhile the men took their places at the gambling table, joined now by several of Petre’s acquaintances who arrived shortly after dinner, I circled along the edges of the drawing room.

I could hardly take my eyes off Vasile, as hard as I tried. And he too kept lifting his eyes to mine, stealing glances, saying things without words at all. Things about desire and passion, and though I could feel him taking in my curves, the shape of my breasts beneath the dress, the angle of my hips… it didn’t feel a bit like when his brother had done so.

There was a sense of respect from Vasile, an appreciation of beauty that transcended the sexual undertones of his gaze and made me feel special, wanted, desired for all that I was, not just the chance of a few moments of pleasure.