The Ultimate Seduction

Even they seemed to know she had no place here.

As she followed Ryzard back into the palace, she couldn’t tell if Luiza’s portrait met her with a smug smile, or a pitying eye. Thankfully, they both had work to catch up on. She needed space, even one situated with a prime view of Luiza’s last haircut.

Oh, don’t be bitter, Tiffany.

Ha, she laughed at herself. Bitterness had been her stock in trade after the pain of her recovery had receded from blinding to merely unrelenting. She really had believed her life was over, but Ryzard had shown her she could have a measure of happiness.

She considered the boundaries of her happiness later, as she soaked in a tub of bubbles. Ryzard had had to take a call, leaving her to dine alone, and she felt very much as her mother must have for much of her marriage. Not so much slighted as resigned. This was the reality of living with someone in his position. If he had loved her, the sacrifice might be worth it, but he didn’t.

His heart belonged to Luiza. Indelibly.

A tiny draft flickered the candles in the corner of the tub and sudden awareness made her glance toward the door, then sit up in a startled rush of water and crackling bubbles.

Ryzard slouched his shoulder against the frame, arms folded, hip cocked. The most decadently wicked glint of admiration gave his shadowed expression a sexy cast.

She’d set a stage for him if he chose to come looking for her. A delicate lily-of-the-valley scent hovered in the humid air and a low-volume saxophone hummed sensuously from the music player. That hadn’t prepared her for the impact of his tousled hair, wrinkled collar under a pullover sweater, or the way her heart leaped when he reached to tug his sweater over his head.

“I came to sneak you down to my room, but you’ve made me an offer I can’t refuse. Before I forget, though...” He leaned over her, one broad hand cradling her chin while he crushed her mouth in a hard, thorough kiss that made her murmur in surprised delight.

“You were in danger of forgetting to do that, were you?” she asked breathlessly as he straightened to take off his shirt and kick away his pants.

“An undersecretary from your State Department called. It’s not a promise to vote in favor, but it’s a promising sign they’re leaning that way.”

“Oh!” The impulsive clap of her hands sent bubbles exploding like flakes off a snowball. “That’s wonderful.”

“That’s thanks to you.” He eased into place behind her, his muscular body buoying hers as he pressed her to relax back into him.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“I’m sure it was your father’s influence at play.”

“Mmm.” She let her head loll against his shoulder, absently playing with his fingers where he roped his forearm across her collarbone. Her brow pleated. She wanted him to be happy, wanted peace for his country—who wouldn’t wish peace for everyone in the world? But a pang sat in her chest. She wished something more personal had brought him to her this evening.

“It’s a very big step,” he said, drifting his hand down the slippery slope of her breast. “Do you know how many countries hesitate to make a move because they fear instigating something with yours? If America supports us, the other two-thirds of the votes I need would fall into place fairly quickly. I know I said I wouldn’t force any dress-up on you, but there may be a few state dinners in our future.”

She bit back a huffing laugh. So not surprised.

Just say no, Tiffany.

But refusing to play her part meant refusing this relationship. Despite it’s misty future, she wasn’t ready for it to end.

Especially when Ryzard lightly toyed with her nipple, making her murmur approval and slide against him. Was he manipulating her with her own responses, she wondered distantly? He was hardening against her, so he did want her.

Still, she hated herself a little for being so weak and easily managed. If she couldn’t have the same effect on him, she at least wanted to break through his control. Rolling over, she grasped him in a firm hold, the way she’d learned he liked, and nipped his bottom lip.

He jerked his head back. The gold flecks in his green eyes glinted like sparks off a sword. “It’s like that, is it?” he growled.

She grinned and sent a small tsunami across the ledge as she dragged herself onto her knees and straddled his thighs. As she kissed him with all the passion releasing inside her, she used her whole body to caress him, wiggling her hips to encourage the palms that shaped her backside.

Licking into his mouth, she reached to caress his thick erection again and started to take him into her.

“Draga, wait,” he rasped against her open mouth. “Protection.” He leaned away to reach for his pants.

Inhaling anguish along with a small dose of shame, she wondered what she had been thinking, offering unprotected sex. Was she that desperate for something permanent with him?

“Actually, let’s go to the bed,” he said, pulling away to leave the tub and let water sluice off him onto the floor. “It’ll be more comfortable.” He reached to draw her onto her feet, then lifted her out, carrying her wet and dripping into her bedroom, where he followed her onto the bed.

She bit him again as he tried to kiss her.

“What has got into you?” he asked, pulling her scratching nails off him and pinning them above her head in one hand.

“Not you,” she taunted, inciting him with the arch of her body into his. “What’s taking so long?”

With a bite of the packet and a stroke of a finger and thumb, he was covered and pushing into her, not rough, but not gentle. Inexorable. She was ready, but not entirely. The friction caused her to draw in a breath of both surprise and anticipation.

“Better?” he asked, holding himself so deep inside her, she released a little sob. He eased back. “Tiffany, what’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “Just make love to me.”

* * *

Ryzard did, because he couldn’t be with her like this and not thrust and withdraw and savor and bask. But he held out, making it last a long time for both of them, sensing a wall that needed prolonged lovemaking to erode. He blamed himself for the distance. He was struggling with having her here. It had been an impulse to ask her and he didn’t regret it, but he was still having a hard time adjusting.

For the moment, however, he closed his mind to his inner conflicts and opened himself to Tiffany.

She writhed beneath him, so beautiful in her struggle to resist the little death of orgasm, clinging to him as she hung on to their connection. It couldn’t last forever, though. Nothing could. His heart stopped. The whole world did. Ecstasy overtook them and nothing existed for him except her.

He stayed in that trance for hours, trying to sate their appetite for each other with repeated joinings. The wall between them receded and he didn’t worry about it again until the next morning, when she woke in his bed.

She glanced around with the perplexed befuddlement of the bubbleheaded blonde he sometimes teasingly called her. “Where am I?”

“The Presidential Bedroom,” he answered, shrugging into his suit jacket while he enjoyed the show.

The sheet slipped as she sat up. Her blue eyes blinked and she smoothed a hand over her tangled hair. “Why?”

“Your bed was wet,” he reasoned, distantly aware that wasn’t the whole truth. He had wanted her in here before he’d ever gone looking for her, but he was distracted by the shadow that passed behind her clear-sky irises as she looked around.

“Problem?”

She only lifted the sheet and glanced at her naked body. “Please tell me you put clothes on me when you carried me here.”

“You were awfully heavy. I couldn’t manage another ounce.”

Her baleful gaze held a dire warning that made him grin. He picked up her robe from the chair and tossed it to the foot of the bed in answer.

She stood to pull it on, not returning his smile. The niggling sense of being held off returned full force.

“Are you all right, draga?” he asked, moving forward to cup her cheek and force her to look up at him.

She didn’t quite meet his eyes, only saying with an ironic twist to her mouth, “Let’s just say it’s a good thing I had a warm bath to loosen my muscles before we played for gold in that triathlon last night.”

“Shall I rub you down?” he offered, stroking a hand down her back in concern. He was ready to insist, wanting the physical connection to her even if it wasn’t a sexual one. The way she stayed resistant to his touch bothered him.

“I thought it was verboten for me to be in here? I’ll be fine. I’ll have a hot shower and do my stretches.” She kissed him, but it was a minimal brush of her lips against the corner of his mouth before she disappeared.

He frowned as he crossed to pick up his phone from the nightstand. Absently he straightened the snapshot of him and Luiza on horseback, wondering if he was imagining the wedge between him and Tiffany.