Unfaded Glory. Sara Arden
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again. “Call me Brian while we’re here. It’ll most likely be for only a few hours, but just in case, okay?”
“Yes, Brian.”
“And what’s your name?”
“I get to play, too?” Her pique seemed forgotten. “I want to be Holly Golightly, like Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”
“You know she was a prostitute, right?” He raised a brow.
“It’s not a bad profession. It’s not unlike being royalty.”
“How’s that?” He couldn’t wait to hear how she’d managed to work that out in her head. Byron opened the door to the suite.
“Pay to play, right? I have to trade myself to my husband for his resources. It’s basically the same thing. He gets to sleep with me, but he has to pay for it.”
“I think that’s just being married.”
“So she gets to be married to a lot of men, doesn’t have to stay with any one of them and still gets to utilize their resources. I like this idea. Maybe instead of freeing my country, I should just go home and have a harem?”
“I’m not calling you Holly Golightly.”
“I’m surprised you even know who I was talking about. My brother said it was a movie for women to make themselves feel better about being powerless.”
“We’ve established that your brother is an asshole.” He studied her for a moment and tried to imagine any scenario where he’d ever think of Damara as powerless. There wasn’t one.
“Did you order food?”
“Yes, Highness.”
“Don’t call me that.” She bristled.
“Why not?”
“I already told you why not. I’m a woman, the same as any other.”
“Who talks about having harems of men to do her bidding.” He could admit, the thought was like rubbing sandpaper on his face. Byron didn’t want anyone to touch her but him. It was good that he needled her. Maybe she’d get tired of him and stop engaging. Maybe she’d want to get away from him as much as he needed to get away from her.
He had a burner phone in the deposit box, and he hoped he could make contact with Renner and work out an end to this soon.
If he had to spend more than one more night with her, and she offered herself to him, he didn’t think he’d be able to turn her away.
TREPIDATION AND EXCITEMENT were tangled up like vines in Damara’s belly.
This wasn’t what she’d expected at all. It was definitely better than a lifeboat or being chased by men with guns.
When he left to access his security box, Damara took stock of the room. It was a master suite with every luxury, from a wet bar to a king-size bed. She sat on the bed, running her fingers over the purple duvet.
For a brief moment, she wondered if she was being selfish. Maybe she should look for another royal to marry, someone strong enough to defeat Abele— No. No. Her father had wanted to bring democracy to Castallegna and if she married another royal, he wouldn’t want to give up a crown for her father’s dream.
Even though it was the right thing, it still felt wrong and strange to go against what she’d been told was her duty her whole life.
Damara told herself that her duty was to protect her people, to do what was best for them. And this was it. A monarch was a law unto himself, and Abele took that to the extreme. She was the only one who could stop him.
She exhaled heavily. She couldn’t wait to get into the shower. Maybe it could wash away the dirt and that feeling of guilt.
Probably not, because she’d decided.
Even after everything, Byron Hawkins would be the one. She wanted to experience him, and what did it matter anyway? They’d never see each other again after this.
Sometime later, when he reentered the room, their eyes met and it was as if they’d both been caught in some high-voltage current they were helpless to stop. She moved toward him, unable to direct her steps anywhere else.
He welcomed her into his arms but did nothing more. The tension between them was thick and heavy, like a weight pressing them down.
Her breath caught in her throat. “Are you going to kiss me?”
“No.” Only his head dipped toward her anyway.
“Oh.” She was disappointed. “Then I guess I’ll have to kiss you.” Damara arched her back, twined her arm around his neck and mashed her lips against his.
He wrapped one arm around her, his palm splayed on her waist, and he became the aggressor. She held her lips stiff and rigid, but gradually, under his guidance, she opened for him.
He tore his mouth from hers and pushed her away. “This can’t happen,” Hawkins said raggedly.
“Why not? You already said that if I still wanted this when we got to Barcelona, then God help me. So maybe he is.” His parted lips were swollen and even more inviting. “After you hand me over to your Mr. Renner, we’ll never see each other again.”
“What is it you want from me?” He met her regard, but his eyes seemed so tired, a deep well of sadness.
She almost lost her nerve. “I thought that would be obvious, Mr. Hawkins. I want you to make love to me.”
For the briefest moment, Damara thought he was going to deny her. Especially when his expression became guarded and closed, his mouth a tight line. “Then take off your clothes.”
This wasn’t what she’d expected, either, but she wasn’t turning back now.
* * *
SHE TOOK OFF her utility belt and hung it on the bedpost.
“That’s where I put mine.” He smirked.
With shaking hands, she undid the clasp on his utility belt and hung it over her own. She wet her lips, and she couldn’t quite bring herself to look up at his face. Her heart pounded against her ribs like a thousand butterflies looking for an escape.
He took her hands in his own, and the weight of his stare drew her gaze upward like a magnet.
“You can still change your mind.”
“No, this is the path I’ve chosen and I’ll see it through to the end.” She searched his eyes. “It’s what I want.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The softness of his voice was at odds with the fury of his kiss. Heat incinerated her and she melted against him. His hands were everywhere—rough and calloused, but sparks burst in their wake.
“Can I touch you?” she asked against his mouth.
“Anywhere you want.”
For some reason, his words made her feel powerful. She pushed her hands under the soft cotton of his shirt, and she marveled at the way he felt. His skin was smooth, but it was like velvet wrapped around steel. She supposed that was a stupid comparison, but she had nothing else to liken it to.
Damara loved the way his muscles rippled under her caress, the way he held her tighter when she touched him in a way he liked. It was hard to concentrate on what she was doing, though, because he’d filled his hand with her breast.
It was a decadent sensation, his thumb stroking over the peak of her nipple. It was no wonder people did such things to have more of this.
“Boots,” he whispered in her ear. “They