His Undercover Princess (Tempt Me) (4 page)

“You’re wrong. I do need this. I’ve been waiting for ten years to make it happen.” The words came out before he could stop them, even if he’d wanted to. “You’re right on the accent. I had the best language and dialect tutors, but they weren’t good enough for someone with your ears. I grew up in Elskov as a registered foreigner. My family was wealthy but still waiting to become official citizens. Despite that, my parents were loyal royalists. They were not quiet about their support of your father and pledged to do whatever it took to help him. The wrong people heard about this and decided to make an example of them.” He fisted his hands, pushing past the agony the words brought to the forefront. “The night your father was shot and you fled for America, they were murdered. Their mutilated bodies were displayed in the square near Elskov Castle to serve as a warning to other loyalists. It worked.”

He didn’t know when she’d walked over to him, but suddenly she was there standing in front of him and taking his large hands into her own small ones. “I’m so sorry.”

Stopping the story there was the smart thing. It allowed him to hold a little bit of the pain back, but he needed to tell her. He had to let her know that although she might have been alone, she hadn’t been abandoned.

“Their names were Sabine and Rasmus Vinter,” he said, his parents’ names so long unspoken that they seemed foreign on his tongue.

She gasped and released him as if he’d burned her.

“Yes, the same Sabine and Rasmus who were supposed to meet you in Harbor City and keep you safe after you’d escaped,” he said. “It took me a year and you don’t want to know how many bribes to track you down. You’d hidden yourself well.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“But you do now.” He took her hands in his. They disappeared in his grasp, reminding him that behind the larger-than-life image of her he’d created, she was in many ways the lonely stylist working a nine to five, surrounded by luxurious trappings that probably only reminded her of how her former life had ended in tragedy. “You said yourself that you always have a choice. I’m asking you to make the right one.”

…

Elle looked down at their hands. She was trapped. Not by him, but by his expectations and his agenda. If she said yes, that would be her life until she ended up alone, like her father, her blood soaking the ground of the country he’d loved that had betrayed him, because that’s how it would end. The Fjende wouldn’t give up power without a fight, and she was no one’s idea of a warrior queen
. She was just Elle. She’d fail, and what would that do to her father’s legacy?

Hating that it was so hard to do, she pulled her hands from his. “No.”

Dom snapped to attention, an icy contempt freezing out the emotion she’d seen in the blue depths of his eyes only moments before. “What do you mean, no?”

“I’m Elle Olsen.” She wiped her palms against her pencil skirt, trying to numb the electric tingling touching him created. “I’m a stylist. I live in a tiny one-bedroom, rent-controlled apartment in Harbor City. Find another way. I can’t be your queen.”

“That’s bullshit.” Anger roughened the low timbre of his voice until it was like sandpaper against her last thin string of control. “It’s time to stop hiding who you really are.”

“Fine advice coming from you.” And there it went. The string tethering her to a place of calmness snapped in half, and her temper erupted, heating up her insides and melting the bone-chilling, furious fear holding her in place. “You haven’t been hiding at all, have you, with your fake last name and all-too-convenient information blackout on all things related to your Elskov history?”

“This isn’t about me,” he said through gritted teeth. “This is about you taking your rightful place as queen. It’s time you accepted your duty. You’re being selfish.”

“Selfish?” The smug bastard. As if she wouldn’t be giving up her life—her freedom—as soon as she put on that crown, but she should just accept it like a good little girl. She hadn’t been a good little girl since the night her father died. She couldn’t bring him back, but she damn sure wouldn’t help the country that destroyed him. “Elskov took everyone I loved and abandoned me in a foreign land.”

“You were never alone,” he said.

The statement was so demonstrably false that she laughed,
laughed
, right at that big, broad chest of his, but there was nothing joyous in her voice. Instead there was the hurt and fear and despair of a seventeen-year-old girl who, within a twenty-four-hour time span, had seen her father murdered, left the only home she’d ever known, and found herself alone on a bench outside the Harbor City International Airport, totally ill prepared to function in the real world outside the castle walls.

“Now who’s full of shit? Were you there when I spent a month holed up in a cheap hotel because I was petrified that if I left someone would kill me?” She jabbed a finger hard into his unrelenting chest, the frisson of attraction mixing with the emotions swirling around inside her like a tornado no one could control. “Were you there when I realized no one was coming for me and that I had to create a new life for myself? Were you there when I was turned down for every job I applied for because the only thing I knew how to do was wave, smile, and put together a killer outfit?” She fought to get the words out through her tightened throat. “Were you there when I pawned my mother’s gold locket, the last tie I had to her, so I could buy forged identification papers and actually create a new life for myself?” Biting the inside of her cheek to head off the tears threatening to spill, she straightened up to her full height. “No, you weren’t. No one was.”

Raw emotion squeezed her lungs as she stared at him. Large and imposing, he loomed over her, the cold fury of his anger and their potent sexual chemistry sucking up all the oxygen in the room. The air sizzled around them, sparking with too many wants denied. His icy-blue gaze dipped down to her mouth, and her stomach dropped down to her knees. He stepped closer, eliminating the space between them and sending her heart rate through the roof. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t have to for her to feel him. Something hot and angry sparked between them. He looked as if he couldn’t decide whether to fight her or fuck her. She knew the feeling.

“You owe it to your country,” he said, but his words burned with a different kind of heat than before, one that stoked an answering blaze within her.

“And it owes me my father back.” The agony of those words had her running for an escape, the kind where she ended up naked, sweaty, and too satisfied to do anything but breathe, because thinking…remembering…feeling was killing her right now. “Is he going to magically rise from the dead when I put that crown on my head? He died for them, for Elskov.”

“Do you really think he would have had it any other way?” Dom asked. “Do you really think he would have saved his own life if it meant sacrificing his country?”

No, he wouldn’t, and that was the broken shard of glass that cut against her heart every time she thought of him. Her father had loved her. She’d never doubt that, but Elskov, his duty, the crown—they all came first. And in the end, the truth of it was that she and his beloved country had both abandoned him as he lay dying. The guilt surrounding that moment never went away, but sometimes she could outrun it by shutting off her brain and letting her body take over. That’s exactly what she needed right now.

The tension between her and Dom had been winding her up since he’d walked out of the elevator and on to the Dylan’s showroom floor. She needed release. He could give it to her. Giving in, she reached up with both hands and grabbed fistfuls of his button-up shirt as she raised herself to her tiptoes, bringing her mouth in line with his.

“We can’t do this,” he said, his words brushing against her sensitized skin, but even though he easily could have, he didn’t break her hold on him. “You’re my queen.”

She stilled, millimeters from his full lips. “Not tonight.”

“And tomorrow?” he asked, but his hands had already settled on her hips, yanking her closer so there was no missing exactly how hard he was for her.

“Stop talking.” She nipped at his bottom lip as she tugged at his shirt, sending the buttons flying. “And fuck me.”

Chapter Six

Dom took her mouth, answering her desperate plea disguised as a demand. It wasn’t a dim lighting, romantic music, or flower petals kind of kiss. Neither of them wanted—needed—that right now. It was possession.

She was right. Tonight, she wasn’t his queen. She was Elle Olsen, the woman he’d wanted to taste, touch, and fuck since he laid eyes on her in that sexy secretary outfit that hugged her hips and accentuated her bountiful
tits. He’d flirted. She’d teased. He’d kidnapped her. She’d shot at him and tried to knee him in the balls. It wasn’t exactly relationship starter material, but that wasn’t a possibility for them anyway. No matter what it took, tomorrow he’d make sure she’d agree to be Elskov’s sovereign, and he’d be her loyal subject, but tonight he was going to hear Elle scream out his name as she came.

Step one was to show her who was in control. He threaded his fingers through her long, silky hair and fisted it, pulling it tight and tilting her head back so he could deepen the kiss. He delved into her mouth, letting his tongue tease and tempt her until she moaned. That sound nearly sent him over the edge. His cock, so warm and thick against his thigh, throbbed. What he’d meant to do was drive her to the brink, and instead here he was ready to dive over into the abyss.

In an effort to take things back down to a slow, controlled burn, he traced a path across her jawline and down her neck with his lips, tasting the forbidden sweetness of her skin. But Elle wasn’t having it. She popped open the few buttons left on his shirt and pushed a hand inside. His entire world shrank down to two points—her soft hand against his hard chest and her pulse beating like mad against his insatiable mouth. It would be so easy to get lost in her, and that couldn’t happen.

He dragged himself away from her neck, giving the creamy column one last lick and nibble before circling around her. Her confusion was palpable as she pivoted, following his progress. Perfect. He wanted her off balance. He had the feeling it didn’t happen often. Stopping at the side table, still within touching distance because he couldn’t seem to make himself go any farther, he noticed a small button had landed next to the decanter. His tailor on Savile Row was going to be in a snit over the state of Dom’s shirt. He picked up the button.

“Hold out your hand,” he said, not sure who was more surprised when she immediately did. He put the small, pale, circular disk in the center of her palm and folded her hand closed. “I should make you pick up every one of those buttons before I let you come.”

The corners of her mouth curved into a sensual smile, and she jutted out a hip. “Let me?”

“That’s right.” He traced a finger across the curve of her cashmere sweater, loving how she shivered under his touch, her stiff nipples tenting the soft material. “You want to fuck me—and we both know you do—then we do it my way.”

Watching him through the screen of her thick lashes, she tugged her bottom lip through her teeth. “You need to work on this whole control thing.”

Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Control wasn’t the most important thing; it was everything. “You’ll like my way. You’re already wet thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Her quick intake of breath was all he needed for confirmation. Resisting the urge to beat his chest like some sort of caveman, he poured himself a finger of honey-colored liquid and sat down in the leather club chair, folding his leg so his ankle rested on top of his knee. Each movement was precise, executed with deliberate slowness to draw out the moment, increase the tension between them until it was nearly unbearable. Elle rushed, and it was time she learned the pleasure of a leisurely pace. Taking a sip of akvavit, he wished he hadn’t stopped smoking. A good cigar right now would give him something to do with his free hand that didn’t involve touching her. It wasn’t easy. Good thing he never liked anything simple; the harder the better the victory at the end.

“And what does your way entail?” she asked, looking down at him with a mix of curiosity and hunger.

Her husky voice was as good as a hand wrapped around his dick. The woman was fucking lethal to his self-control. Downing his drink and walking away was the smart move, the right move. He should get up right now, but there was no fucking way that was going to happen. As long as he stayed smart about things, he wouldn’t lose control. He sat back in his chair as if he wasn’t about to spontaneously combust. “I want to see what you’ve learned.”

Her brown eyes widened in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“I know all about the time in Vegas. I forget, was the window that you were pressed naked against on the sixteenth floor?” His cock twitched beneath his pants. The brief mention in the surveillance report had him hard for days, no matter how many times he’d jacked off. “And then there was the time you came while sitting in that corner booth at the restaurant with your lover’s fingers buried in your sweet pussy. My favorite, though, was the supply closet in the dance club.” He sipped his drink, burning too hot to feel the liquid fire as it made its way down to his stomach. “You shut the door so I couldn’t watch, but I stood guard outside and listened. I didn’t know a person could make such a desperately blissful noise.”

The sweetest pink flush made her bad girl curves rosy. “You were there?”

“That time?” The sound she’d made had embedded itself into his fantasies, but when he had stroked his cock, she wasn’t moaning wordlessly—she was calling his name. “Yes.”

Her hand on her hip and the downturn to her sensual lips all screamed displeasure, but the lusty gleam in her eyes was anything but censorious. “We’re going to talk about this after.”

“About how we watched you or about your lovers?”

She narrowed her eyes, and this time it wasn’t just desire smoldering in her gaze. “Are you trying to shame me?”

“Fuck, no, especially not when I’m about to hear that sexy moan of yours while you’re naked in front of me.”

“Is that what you want?” she asked. “Me naked?”

“It’s a start.” He had a list, a long one that started with naked and ended with too tired to ever come again.

“So where should I begin?” She stepped between his splayed legs as she toyed with the hem of her sweater. “With this or…” She brought one stiletto-shod foot up so it rested on the seat in front of his groin, the toe of her shoe brushing ever so lightly against his balls. She bent forward and ran her hands up her legs, pushing up her skirt and revealing the lacy tops of a pair of thigh highs held up by black satin garters. She glided her fingertips over the snap holding them in place. “Or here?”

His mouth went dry, and his lungs pinched closed. “Leave them on.”

“Careful.” She put her leg down and smoothed her skirt. “I was afraid you were going to pass out on me. You gotta remember to breathe.”

Cheeky girl. She’d learn, and soon. “Sweater.”

Elle didn’t ask what he meant, didn’t turn shy. She stripped the fuzzy white material off her, exposing a sheer nude bra that did nothing to disguise how hard her nipples were or how full and heavy her tits were. The sweater slipped to the floor, unneeded and unwanted.

“Skirt.”

Gliding the backs of her fingers over her curves, she slid her hands lower and around the indent of her waist to the back of her skirt. Blood rushed south, leaving him light-headed but unable to look away as the material gaped and then skimmed over her round hips, down her long legs, and landed in a pool of green around her ankles.

If he didn’t run five miles a day and spend at least an hour in the gym several times a week, he would have worried about keeling over as his brain short-circuited while viewing the goddess in front of him. She was Freya come to life—love, lust, beauty, sorcery, fertility, gold, war, and death were wrapped up into one breathtaking woman.

“Walk for me.” The words sounded torn from his throat, raw and desperate.

She arched an eyebrow but turned and strutted away from him. Since he’d spent the day staring at her butt and never saw a panty line, he’d expected a thong. Instead, she wore a pair of sheer panties that stopped halfway across her ass, accentuating the high, round curve of her flesh. A black satin garter belt lay flat against her creamy skin, long lines of slim ebony ribbon making lines down the backs of her thighs to the thigh highs.

“That’s far enough,” he said when she’d made it to the edge of the rug and spun around to face him. “Does my watching you make you wet?”

“I don’t know that I can get any wetter.” Her pink tongue darted out and flicked against her lips, leaving them slick and shiny.

Yep, that smart mouth of hers and sinful body were going to kill him before the night was out. “Does your pussy ache for me?”

She nodded, her brown eyes heavy lidded and full of promise.

Not good enough. He wouldn’t let her run tonight, not from herself, not from him, and definitely not from the attraction burning them both from the inside out. “Say it.”

She lifted her chin in a stubborn tilt and didn’t make a sound.

“If you say it, I can make that ache all better. If you don’t, I won’t.” A total lie. There was no way he wasn’t tasting all of her tonight.

No doubt she knew exactly how big of a liar he was, but she played along by batting her eyelashes. “How are you going to make it better?” she asked, her voice as soft as her curves.

“I’m going to kiss it and make it better.” He set down the tumbler. The akvavit had lost all flavor, because the only thing he wanted to taste was her. “Isn’t that what you want, my lips on you? My tongue? My fingers stretching you until you aren’t sure if you’re feeling pain or pleasure, you just don’t want it to stop?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“My pussy aches for you to fill me up so I can ride you until I climax so hard my walls milk you dry.”

He nearly came in his pants just from hearing the words rolling off her delicious, very un-princess-like tongue. “Get over here.”

For a second she didn’t move, not even a smart-ass twitch to her shiny pink lips. Blood pounded in his ears in its rush to his painfully hard cock. If she didn’t get her sexy ass over here soon, he was going to implode. He dug his fingers into the chair’s leather arms, an anchor in a blizzard of lust that had him blind to everything but her. Finally she moved just as he was on the precipice of breaking his own cardinal rule—relinquishing total control and giving in by being the first to move. Relief and anticipation whipped through him as he watched the show of a lifetime. Elle strutted toward him, her full hips swaying with every step, as she watched him with unblinking intensity, everything about her screaming a challenge at the same time as she gave in to his demands. His heart beat in time with each stomp of her skinny heels as she crossed the rug and stopped in front of him.

“Do you like these?” He slipped his finger beneath the edge of her panties, curling a finger around the middle and pulling it so the material bunched and nestled between her slick folds. Leaving it in place, he withdrew his finger without touching her any more, despite her mewling protest. He held up his finger, admiring how it glistened in the light. God, she was wet—he sucked the moisture from his finger—and sweet.

“I’d like them better off me.”

“Really?” He leaned forward and swiped his tongue over her swollen bare lips. “I think they look pretty right where they are.”

Her fingers dug into his scalp, tugging his face closer to heaven’s door.

Normally, he would have pulled back at that, refused to cede control, but with Elle nothing seemed to go as expected. She not only surprised him, she made him surprise himself. Without hesitation, he buried his face between her shaking thighs, cupping her ass to tilt her hips and give him a better angle. Licking and lapping against her folds and the silk between them, he explored her—claimed her—with his tongue. Their wetness mingled, soaking the slip of material covering her entrance and adding an extra layer of friction that would take her higher, faster, which was exactly what he wanted, a quick explosion followed by a torturous, blissfully slow burn that would melt them both. He sneaked a finger under her damp panties, then another, and slid them home inside her warmth. Stroking and stretching her entrance, he plunged inside again and again, being sure to rub against her swollen and sensitive G-spot. The sounds she made, moans of ecstasy punctuated by unintelligible words in their native tongue, spurred him on until she encompassed the entirety of his world.

Pushing her center to him, she undulated against his mouth, using him with the desperate need of those on the edge of coming apart. “Dom,” she screamed and rewarded him with the flood of her orgasm against his tongue.

Not giving her time to slide into satisfied oblivion, he swept her up and turned toward the hidden door to her room. She was so light in his arms, the perfect fit as she laid her head on his shoulder, her long, silky hair mussed and ticking his neck.

“Where are you taking me? I wasn’t done with you yet.” She sighed, and her eyelids drooped.

“Believe me, I’m far from through with you.” Not by a long shot. He had one night, and he wasn’t going to waste a moment. “We’re going to the bedroom so I can spread you out on that giant bed and really take my time.”

Her eyes snapped open. “No.”

“Why?” He paused, his hand halfway to the copy of
Huck Finn
that would send the bookcase swinging open.

“That’s my space.” She pushed out of his arms, landing on her feet, and then backed up a few paces. “It makes all of this personal.”

“It
is
personal.” How could it not be, with her taste still on his tongue?

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s not. Sex never is.”

Her words were like lightning hitting dry brush, setting off a wildfire of unexplainable anger through him. Happily ever afters weren’t in the cards for people like him, whose lives were devoted to a cause greater than themselves, and especially not with a princess who was soon to be his queen. One-night stands were part of his repertoire, but they’d never been impersonal or anonymous. His stomach tightened. “Then you have no fucking clue about great sex.”

“I never would have taken Mr. I Give the Orders as a romantic.” Rolling her eyes, she snorted. “Look, we get each other off, we scratch an itch. None of it matters. It’s just sex with better orgasms than if I was left to my own devices.”