Blackmailing His Bride (Court of Paravel)

I wait until the voices recede, and then I slip out from beneath the table, grab my clutch, and walk quickly to the ladies’ room. I keep my head down and look straight ahead, hoping that no one stops me. I go into a stall and shut the door behind me.

We’ll finish this later.

My back against the door, I plunge my hand into my underwear and rub swiftly on my clit. Over and over, I feel the impact of Rasmussen’s body against mine the second the explosion went off. I imagine that his body is against mine for another reason. That he’s moving powerfully against me, driving his cock deep into my core, over and over again, and this time, there’s no one to interrupt me from bursting hard against him.

I press my back against the door as I come, head thrown back, eyes tightly shut, only seeing him, feeling him, wanting him.

Slowly, I come back down to earth, drawing deep breaths. The past hour begins to wash over me. Where I am, and what transpired between Rasmussen and me. We were suspect and investigator, but now we’ve crossed over into unchartered waters. Our conversation from earlier comes back to me.

You pretend this is all for security and for my sake, but I know what you really want.

I won’t have to blackmail you for that.

I yank the door of the stall open so fast it bangs against the wall. I’ve got to get out of here.

As I come out of the restroom, I finally notice the color of the dissipating smoke. Red smoke, hanging in a haze over everything.

The hotel is deserted as I head out through the garden side entrance and around onto the street. There’s no sign of Rasmussen. He must have his hands full trying to figure out what happened here tonight.

I approach the blockade hesitantly. One of the City Guards spots me and waves me toward him. “Lady Sachelle. I have orders to escort you home.”

The guard lets me through the barrier and takes me over to a nearby unmarked car and waits while I get into the back seat. As he drives me home, I feel strangely outside myself, and have to thrust my hands between my knees to stop them from shaking.

Mum and Dad are waiting for me on the gravel drive and anxiously peer inside the car as it pulls up.

“Mr. Rasmussen called and said there’d been an incident at the hotel,” Mum says in a shrill voice, helping me out of the car.

They mistake my disheveled appearance for shock over the smoke bomb. Maybe I am in shock. That would explain those minutes under the table with Rasmussen.

“Quickly, get her inside. She needs something to drink.”

They lead me up the steps and put me on a sofa in the living room. “I’m fine. No one was hurt. I just wasn’t expecting…”

Dad stands by the fireplace, rigid with displeasure and worry. “It’s the work of those insurgents. What a blight on the country they are.”

I open my mouth to argue that just because they’re protesting the King doesn’t mean they’re on Varga’s side, but Mum puts a cup of tea into my hands and tells me to drink it.

“Thank you. I’ll take this upstairs and get changed, if that’s all right.”

I stand up, feeling a little unsteady on my high heels, but I make it upstairs to my room. The tea is sweet and hot and I sit on the edge of my bed and drink it. Then I strip off my clothes and get into the shower, still too aware of Rasmussen’s body against mine. His mouth against my sex.

Wrapped in towels, I head back into the bedroom and dig my phone out of my clutch. I have two messages.

Did you fly home safe?

I delete the message.

The other one reads, Is that what you had in mind, baby? followed by a winky face. Tieman’s flirting doesn’t seem so amusing now. I delete that message, too. Rasmussen calling the group destructive is still ringing through my mind. I wish I could talk to Briar about everything that’s happening.

I wish I could delete the whole evening.

8

Jakob

The street Hotel Ivera stands on has been evacuated, and people crowd against the blockade at either end. Whoever lobbed that bomb into Hotel Ivera, they’re long gone.

The barriers will have to stay up until the investigation is complete. I stalk to my car, drive through the blockade and edge my way through the rubbernecking crowd. There are twice as many King’s Guard on duty when I reach the palace. Levanter must be worried about an attack on the King.

As I head through the corridors to the King’s rooms, I check my messages and see that Sachelle got home safely. I imagine what might have happened if the bomb had been an incendiary, the sort to send pieces of shrapnel slicing through bodies like broken glass through jelly.