King's Ransom (Man on a Mission 2)

He closed his eyes as a wave of desire shuddered through him and his body came roaring to life. He wanted her in every way a man could want a woman. Not just as his lover. Not just as his wife. But also as the mother of his children. He craved that closeness, that bond of the flesh, that pledge for all eternity. Would he ever have a son to inherit the throne? Or would the monarchy’s direct descent from father to son end with him? “God only knows,” he whispered to himself, fighting the despair that crept in unawares, “because I surely do not.”

Time was running out. The producer of King’s Ransom briefed him daily on the film’s progress, and they were on schedule. Another few weeks and the cast and crew would withdraw, returning to Hollywood to finish up whatever odds and ends remained that didn’t require filming on location. And Juliana would leave with them.

No, he told himself, steely determination sweeping through him. She will not leave. Not now. Not ever. She belongs here in Zakhar. With me. Whatever I must do to keep her, and keep her safe, I will do.

He would never know she was safe...always...unless he was at her side. Unless he could listen to her quiet breathing as she lay next to him in the deepness of the night. If he hadn’t promised Juliana her privacy would be inviolate, he could slip into her room this very minute to assure himself she was safe. Then do the same each night that followed. Every night of her life. An assurance even more critical now, after the recent attempts to kill her. But he had promised, so that avenue was closed to him...for now.

Which leaves what? he asked himself.

He could seduce Juliana into staying, into sharing his bed. He knew that much. She’d been fighting herself as much as she’d been fighting him the other night. He could make her want him. He could drug her with sensual pleasure so she would willingly give him her body—a body he yearned to have now even as he’d yearned when she was sixteen...seventeen...eighteen.

But it wouldn’t be enough. He would always live in fear that someday it wouldn’t be enough for her, either, and she would leave again. He couldn’t do that to his people, to his kingdom. No matter the cost to him personally, he couldn’t do that to Zakhar. She had to come to him of her own free will.

If she came to me I would know she loves me again, that she has come full circle. I would know that all the other men in her life were meaningless. If she came to me...

He couldn’t let her go, but keeping her by seduction or any other form of coercion would destroy the dream. And the dream was all he had left. “Come to me, Juliana,” he whispered to the night, to the moon. “Come to me.”

* * *

Come to me, Juliana. Andre’s voice in her head made Juliana shudder with treacherous longing. Come to me.

“Stop it!” she told herself desperately, covering her ears with her hands as if that could prevent her from imagining she was hearing Andre calling to her. She’d imagined it like this eleven years ago and through all the intervening years, but never so strongly. Never as if his hands were caressing her body as he said the words. Never as if his lips were pressed to her ear, whispering in Zakharan, melting her insides as he’d done that first night...and then into the wee hours of the morning. Each time. Every time.

Desperate to escape the memories of Andre and the sound of his voice in her ears, Juliana threw off the covers and stomped out of bed, tearing off her nightshirt as she went. She grabbed a pair of jeans from the dresser and angrily tugged them on, followed by a bra, then rummaged in the drawer for her cotton knit short-sleeved shirts. The first one she pulled out was in a shade of emerald green that matched Andre’s eyes. Don’t think about that now, she warned herself, thrusting the green shirt back and pulling out a white one with tiny blue forget-me-nots embroidered all over it. It wasn’t much better as far as reminders of Andre went, but at least it wasn’t the color of his eyes.

She stepped into a pair of espadrilles, bundled her hair up quickly and slipped quietly from her room.

The palace at night looked very different than it did in the daytime. Sconce lighting spaced periodically through the halls allowed Juliana to see her way clearly, although there were shadows enough to spook anyone who wasn’t familiar with the palace at nighttime.

Juliana was. She’d spent enough nights here with Mara—giggling together as teenage girls did during sleepovers—to become familiar with certain sections of the palace on the second floor. And Mara had occasionally spent the night with her in the ambassador’s residence not that far from the palace. Andre’s doing, she remembered suddenly. Andre had wanted his sister to have all the normal experiences young girls had growing up, and had actively encouraged Juliana’s friendship with Mara. He’d stood up to his father, too, especially on Mara’s behalf. Fighting Mara’s battles with their father because Mara had been too insecure.