Modern Romance November 2015 Books 1-4. Trish Morey
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curved the corner of his mouth upward. “Do you think?”
“You have quite a bit of power, Andres, and certainly you have some over me. But I don’t think I’m wrong in imagining that I might have some over you too.”
“Do you not like dessert, Zara?”
“I am fond of cake. Why?”
“You seem intent on ensuring that you never get to have it.”
“I do?”
Just then the waiter came back by and Andres stood. “Send my bill to the palace. And we will take a cake.”
“Are we leaving?”
“We are. And quickly.”
He wrapped his hand around her arm and pulled her up to her feet.
“Why are you in such a hurry?”
“Because,” he said, leaning in, “you have tempted me. And now I must have you.”
A shiver went down Zara’s spine. “You must have me?”
“I need you.”
How long had it been since anyone needed her? Had anyone ever needed her? She wasn’t certain that they had. It felt... It felt good. The ache inside her was changing, shifting. It wasn’t a yawning howl of isolation, not that brittle emptiness. This was something else. It was warm, and it burned like fire, creating a desperate feeling at her center that she couldn’t quite understand. Desperate to do something. To touch him. To be close to him, skin to skin so that there was no distance between them. To make sure he felt the same thing she did.
He said that he needed her. And she desperately needed that to be true.
Desperately needed to feel connected.
Such a strange thing that, on the heels of feeling that she was in the place she belonged, she realized how much more there was. How much more she wanted.
To not just fit in with this place, but with this man.
The waiter appeared a moment later with a large bag, containing a white pastry box. Andres accepted it and whispered to her, “This is, I think, having your cake and eating it too.”
“I don’t understand what that means.”
“You’re about to.”
ONCE THEY WERE in the limo, they did not head back toward the palace. Rather, they headed deep into the city center. “Where are we going?” Zara asked.
“I have a penthouse near here.”
“You left that off your list of residences when we talked about it earlier.”
“I like to keep a little mystery.”
“Really?”
“No, not really. In fact, there is very little mystery to me. If you take the time to look me up online, you can find out anything you’d ever want to know.”
She decided then and there that she didn’t need to look him up on the computer. She didn’t have any experience using computers anyway, so it wasn’t as though she was going to tackle the task in her spare time. But she didn’t especially want the outside world’s opinion on Andres. She didn’t need it. She had her own opinion.
They wove through the evening traffic, down to the city center. The limo driver pulled to the edge of the curb and Andres got out, rounding the back of the car to her side. He opened the door for her and she slid out, accepting his hand as he helped her stand from the vehicle.
“Come on, Princess.” For some reason, when he called her that this time it seemed different. Softer, more personal. She held it close to her chest, against the burning embers of warmth that he had stoked earlier.
He led her through the front doors of the building, into the glittering lobby. Shining marble tiles on the floors, rich textured paper on the walls, and grand pillars stationed throughout the space. “This is beautiful.”
He tugged on her hand, leading her through quickly, toward the back of the room and the golden elevator doors. “I’ll show you around later. Right now I simply intend to show you to my bed.”
He whisked her inside the elevator, the doors closing behind them. She leaned back against the wall, her hand on her chest, trying to catch her breath. She could hardly wrap her head around today, around this moment. He wanted her.
He looked at her, frowning slightly. “What?”
She lifted her shoulder. “I just... I did not imagine that I would want this.” But she did. She wanted this to be her life. Wanted him to be her life.
“I suppose it has been a bit different than either of us imagined.”
“For you too?”
“Well, I never imagined my brother selecting my wife for me. Particularly not one who had been given to the royal family.”
“Yes, that was a surprise for both of us.”
Her stomach felt as if it dropped about an inch or so as she replayed the words that had just passed between them. What she had said to him. And how he had not returned the sentiment. He had sidestepped. But he had not said that he wanted this too. She was confident that he wanted her, that he wanted her physically, but the rest of it...? She wasn’t so certain.
And it mattered. It mattered so very much.
She had learned too much in her time here in Petras. So much that she could scarcely sort it all out. She had learned more about herself than she had imagined there was to learn. She felt too full with it. With this new understanding of emotion. How she could want this man unconditionally, and yet wish strongly that he would fulfill a thousand little conditions she could never begin to list until she felt the lack of them.
One thing was certain, a life of semi-isolation was simpler.
The elevator doors slid open and Andres walked out ahead of her. She followed, emotion still swirling in her chest, in her head. She wondered how things had changed so quickly. How she had gone from simply feeling, simply wanting, to being made of feeling and wanting. The two were different things, she was coming to see.
She followed him out into the hall, her heart thundering heavily. She waited while he unlocked the door, extending his arm, clearly indicating he wanted her to go in first.
She walked past him, into the penthouse. She stopped, turning a full circle in the center of the open-plan living area, trying to orient to her surroundings. She had made a lot of assumptions about Andres based on the way the bedroom in the palace was decorated. The way that it was laid out. It was clear to her now that the palace really wasn’t him.
He had said as much. Had said that he preferred to live in these other places. But she hadn’t realized just how little of him was reflected in that bedchamber.
The far wall of the penthouse was made up entirely of windows, a glittering view of the city lights spread out before them. The furniture was low profile, black and brushed steel. The floors were very shiny black tile, so clean she could see her reflection in them. In fact, if Andres was paying attention, he would probably be able to use them to look up her skirt. She had to wonder then if that was actually their purpose.
She was not the first woman he had brought here, that was for certain.
Perhaps the floor tiles were all a part of the den of iniquity this place clearly was.
“You do not look entirely impressed,” he said, closing the door behind him and walking deeper into the room.
“It is different. That’s all.”
“It’s more than that. Your lip is nearly curling.” He arched an eyebrow. “You disapprove.”
“I