Some Like it Secret (Going Royal Book 4) (7 page)

Kate greeting him didn’t bother Meredith nearly as much as the very obvious security presence around Terry. Two of Sebastian’s guards bracketed him. He was in trouble because he’d interfered and tried to protect her.

Abandoning her position, she strode toward the cars. The men noticed her approach right away, but she ignored them all except for Terry. “Are you all right?”

“Nothing wounded beyond my pride.” He gave her an easy smile. “How about you?”

She waved off his concern. “You’re not in trouble are you?”

“You assault the boss, you get in trouble.” His chagrined expression mired her in guilt.

“You were doing your job.” She frowned and glanced over to where Sebastian and Eduard spoke. Sebastian’s gaze was locked on her and the frown on his brow deepened. “I’ll talk to him…”

Terry caught her hand and tugged her back before she could take a step. “You don’t have to.” He dropped his voice. “In fact, I think it would be better if you didn’t.”

Very aware of the eyes on them, Meredith lowered her voice. “You shouldn’t be in trouble for protecting me.”

“Don’t worry about me. I mean it. Can you handle this?” He dropped his voice as well.

“I have no idea.” It was the truth. She really didn’t know how she was feeling at the moment. “I’m sorry I got you into this mess. You told me I should reconsider the job offer when it came in.”

In fact, Terry was the only one who counseled her to think the entire thing through. She longed for a distraction and her department head had been over the moon at the idea of the donation and projected grant money the work could generate—not to mention reputation. If she published again, it would have been five major accomplishments in five years. She was at the top of her field and the project would have sealed it.

She’d understood Terry’s caution, but at the time, she’d wanted to leave more than worry about impossible scenarios. What she wouldn’t give to be back in Boston, freezing in class and teaching algorithms.

“Meredith?” Sebastian’s voice washed over her and guilt gnawed at her. Her earlier wishing that she hadn’t met Sebastian was less than charitable and completely untrue. Squeezing Terry’s hand in a show of solidarity, she released him to look at the love of her life. Her heart did another little flip-flop in her chest.

Yes, she was angry and she was frustrated, but, no, she didn’t want to be in Boston. She didn’t even want to be standing outside the house. She wanted to throw herself at Bastian and lose herself in his arms.

“All done?” Her attempt to go for a brighter tone sounded odd to her ears and, based on Sebastian’s narrowed gaze, his as well.

“Quite.” But for the first time since she arrived, she heard a note of question in his voice. He held out his hand to her and even though she knew the rational choice, the smart choice, would be to close him out before he battered down her fracturing defenses, she slid her palm across his.

The touch sizzled and when he drew her close this time, she went. He said nothing to Terry or the others, but led her up the stairs. Threading their fingers together, she sighed. “Going to give me the ten cent tour?”

At the top of the steps, he paused. “Do you want one?”

Despite her exhaustion, and her teeter-tottering emotions, she did. It might give them something to talk about and ease the jagged chasm between them. “Would you mind? I—” She canted her head back and looked up at the huge house. “I’ve never been here before.” It sounded so flimsy, but if Sebastian disagreed with her, he didn’t let it show.

“I would love to show you the house.” He slid her arm through his. The guarded look she’d glimpsed earlier seemed to retreat behind his playful countenance, but it didn’t disappear entirely. “St. Christos has a history, but the house has only been here for about fifty years or so. My grandfather built it for my grandmother…”

He led her inside and his accent washed over her as he shared the story. The interior of the house was nearly as spectacular as the exterior and yet, as fine as it all was, it also possessed the curious effect of looking like a real home. Every room seemed designed for comfort and family photos scattered across the various tables.

She recognized what had to be his forefathers—or maybe even his father—in one of the paintings, since he looked exactly like Sebastian. Of course she knew what his brothers looked like and, while Sebastian and Armand favored each other, George looked more like their mother.

The closer she came to the painting, the more of Sebastian’s likeness she saw in the older, distinguished gentleman. Grave eyes gazed out from the handsome face and a touch of silver highlighted the man’s temples. While it was only an oil painting, somehow the artist seemed to have captured something of the man’s personality—
or maybe I’m just reading something into it, but this could be Bastian in a few years.
Something deep inside her loosened, and her throat went scratchy.

Bastian would look the same, with serious eyes and the hint of weathering to his otherwise beautiful face. The silver crown would be a testament to his age, but would he be lonely? Who would walk through those years with him? Or would he…

“You’re not listening to me anymore,” Sebastian murmured from a step behind her and Meredith blinked back the tears desperately pooling in her eyes.

“You look like him,” she said, and bit her lip at the choked sound she made with the words.

He turned her around and caught her face in his hands, swiping away her tears with his thumbs. “Darling, what? What’s eating you up inside? Something’s upset you deeply, and I can’t fix it if I don’t know what it is.”

The desperate desire to avoid this very conversation drove her from the beginning. Five years of wonderful adventures and magnificent moments, but all of them fleeting. She lived in Boston, while he roamed the world. “Us. We’re never going to work,” she whispered, and hated herself for saying it. “I don’t belong here and you? You have so many important things to do.”

“
What
are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you and me. You have events, and duties and responsibilities and—” She sniffed. God she hated losing it in front of him. She was a terrible crier. “I have students and projects. I shouldn’t even be here now. The university is going to be disappointed and, well, it was a project which could have garnered them future grant money…” And she rambled, wincing at her scattering focus. She fought for a weak smile. “I’m tired. I’m sorry, I know I’m not making any sense. It’s just, after this last year, what you and I have? It’s not working anymore. You were stabbed, which changed everything…”

Why couldn’t she explain it right?

“I’m sorry my injury inconvenienced you.” His stiff tone carried a note of warning.

Stumbling over her own guilt, she stared at him. “Oh, don’t say it like that. I was terrified for you, and it was weeks before I heard anything. Nothing in the press, no phone calls. Not even a cryptic note with a puzzle.”

“Security was impossible for a time. My brother monitored every incoming and outgoing communication.” The corners of his eyes tightened and his mouth compressed into a thin line. “I will make arrangements to ensure you are never left to wonder again. I told you when I called you—as soon as I was able—why I hadn’t been in touch. Security was very much an issue.”

“That part, I got. Terry practically moved in with me for those few weeks—” Apparently it was the wrong thing to say, because Bastian’s gaze slicked over like ice.

“He did what?”

A pulse-pounding headache began behind her eyes. “He told me there were issues, so for the time-being, he wanted to keep a closer tab on me. There was no sense in him staying in his car when I have three bedrooms.” She so did not want to talk about Terry at the moment. “And, yes, you did tell me there were security issues, but those
issues
certainly didn’t stop you from partying on the yacht during the same timeframe. I saw the special. During at least one of the weeks you were ‘locked’ down, you were entertaining any number of beautiful women.”

“Appearances needed to be kept, and I was barely there. I spent most of the visit below decks recuperating while they occupied themselves. I should not need to defend the choices security makes. It was a very crucial time.”

“Of course you don’t, and why should you explain it to me? You’ve told me you were too locked down to make a call, but obviously having a number of nubile bodies dancing around was a precaution… Yet another reason why we don’t work.” As much as the loss wounded her, it did manage to dry her tears. She tried to back away, but Sebastian’s arms came around her and dragged her against him.

Putting up her hands, she braced herself and only the sure knowledge of how recently a knife had been driven through his chest kept her from shoving him away. Was he truly healed? The very last time she’d seen him, the scar remained violent, and angry.

He’d waved off her concern then, assuring her his physicians told him everything was fine. Caged against him, she hated her reaction—which included the desperate desire to purr, rub her face to his shirt, and soak up his scent. “Sebastian, please…”

“No, this time you will listen. All of that…
nonsense
about the parties and the women? Those were appearances and have nothing to do with us. You and I are why we work. Yes, it has been a trial of a year, but we’re together and we’re here…”

Gaping, she stared up at him. “It isn’t nonsense, Sebastian. We don’t work.”

“You keep saying we don’t, but I don’t believe it and neither do you.” Then his mouth slammed down against hers, claiming and stealing every ounce of her breath. She fisted her hands and then she was lost to the lush, wet heat of his mouth as he slid his tongue along the seam of her lips. The request layered into the demand undid her. She threaded her arms around his neck and tumbled over the precipice.

Fire blasted through her, shattering every reservation, and she wanted more. God, she needed more. She’d missed him so damn much. As if he sensed her need, he gentled the kiss and his searing claim branded her. When he lifted his head and stared down at her, she swallowed, touching tentative fingers to the shadow of stubble on his jaw.

The mask he’d worn since she arrived slipped. Exhaustion and worry shone in his grave eyes. “Let me love you?” he asked and she melted.

Insanity, but then it had always been insanity with them from their first meeting—and the passion. Lord, the passion turned incendiary. She’d never experienced anything like it with anyone but Bastian. Madness to even consider his request, but she wasn’t considering it at all. The moment his mouth closed over hers, she’d already surrendered.

She needed the connection, needed him. Rising on her tiptoes, she kissed him. He dragged her closer and then lifted her. “Yes, Bastian,” she said against his mouth and felt, more than heard, his ragged sigh as he began striding down the hall. She forgot about the other people in the house, the island, the fight—everything.

There was only Bastian.

Sebastian didn’t slow his step as he carried the very sensual, willing Meredith up the stairs and to his suite. Blessing the discretion of the staff as they vacated the hallway even while he strode down it, he lowered her only long enough to open the door and then they were inside. Turning, he pressed her against the wall and engaged the lock.

She fisted his shirt, and he stilled. Was she planning to push him away? But then she tugged at the buttons with a hint of impatience and eased his discord. He broke from the kiss and drank in the sight of her. A wealth of emotion danced over her face in the short time since she arrived—aggravation, impatience, a hint of amusement, affection, and, worst of them all, fear.

Yet the deep, nut brown of her eyes only revealed passion burning away the gut-wrenching anguish he’d fought for days. His Meredith was here and she was in his arms. When his shirt was opened, she pushed it off and he released her long enough to strip the fabric away and let it drop. Tangling his fingers in her hair, he stole another kiss.

He wanted to be gentle, but it was hard and raw and filled with the hurt of their separation. Distance and time meant nothing, not when he knew he
would
see her again. The fact she’d nearly robbed them of any future together, roused a fury in him like he’d never experienced before. When her tongue tangled with his and she shuddered, he groaned and pressed up against her.

A bite of pain on his shoulders encouraged the wild need racing through his veins. Taking what precious little of his control remained, he broke the kiss and stripped her clothes with an almost ruthless focus.

“Bastian…” The breathy whisper snagged his attention and he zeroed his gaze in on her face. He refused to miss anything. Her eyes widened and she touched two gentle fingers to his cheek, but she said nothing. Instead, she closed the distance and brushed her lips to his. He lowered his head, meeting the tender yearning in her kiss. So sweet and soft, it threatened to break him.

One hand flat against the wall, he drank in the soothing touch and let it leash the fierceness consuming him inside. He’d nearly lost her and he didn’t understand the reasons why. God help him he would find out—he would fix it. He could not lose her.

His jaw clenched and, with regret, he freed himself from the butterfly kisses seducing his soul. The violent need to claim her until she understood who she belonged to warred with the equally insistent drive to protect her from what belonging to him meant. The stroke of her fingers to his shoulders, then along the corded muscles of his arms and back again, left ribbons of fire. They threaded through him until his cock seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat.

“I need you to be naked,” he said and took a step back. If he kept touching her, he’d strip her bare and take her right there against the wall. Meredith’s chest rose and fell, her creamy breasts straining against the sheer lace of her bra. Her blouse was wide open. “Take off the rest of your clothes, beautiful.”

Thank God his voice didn’t betray his shaken soul or the crushing desire threatening to overwhelm his judgment. When she bit her lower lip and sucked it between her teeth, he wanted to groan. The things he could do with her mouth—had done and would do again.

He’d been in hell without her. He descended there every time they said goodbye and only the sure knowledge they
would
be together sustained him. Impatience crawled through him as she remained against the wall and what looked like indecision flickered in her eyes.

Just when he thought the distance would tear him in two, she straightened and stripped off her blouse. A lazy smile curved her pink lips and her gaze fastened to his, pinning him in place. One article of clothing at a time drifted to land on the floor until she stood there, beautifully bare and resplendent—a goddess.

His goddess
.

Extending a hand to her, she rewarded him by twining her delicate fingers with his and the brutal ache in his chest eased. Drawing her to him, he cupped her face and bent to take her mouth. He intended to be as soft and tender as she’d been, but when she opened to him, the chain he’d fastened on himself shattered.

Wrapping his arms around her, he crushed her to him and surrendered his relentless addiction to Meredith Blake. They went down on the bed together, and he flipped her onto her back. Devouring the pleasure in her kiss, he poured everything he felt for her into the contact. Her nipples pebbled against his chest and the longing to touch them, caress, and tease them had him abandoning her mouth.

Meredith threw her head back and groaned when he locked his lips around one dusky nipple. Her nails caressing his scalp encouraged him, and her body writhed as he blazed a wet trail to her other nipple to lavish it with the same treatment. The woman possessed perfect breasts—full, lush, and perfect for squeezing, playing. He bit down lightly on the heavy curve of one.

She shuddered and he glanced up to see her eyes fluttering closed. Her mouth opened and an abandoned moan vibrated through her. He brushed his fingers across her abdomen, aware of every ripple in her muscles. She melted to his touch and he adored pushing her until she lost any semblance of the patient professor.

In his bed, they broke the molds life crafted for them. Tweaking her taut nipple, he grinned at her gasp and then indulged himself in a long, slow exploration of her body. He knew every curve, every angle, every freckle—of which she possessed five—as well as the most darling of birthmarks. Reminded, he continued down to her hip and nuzzled the strawberry shaped mark.

But this close to her sex, he forgot about playing and eased her thighs apart. The raw demand in his soul to take her might have receded under her embrace, but he wanted to taste her. She drove him mad with her soft sounds. The moment he glided his tongue along her clit, her gasp turned into a whimpering cry urging him on. Craving her release nearly as much as his own, he laved at the swollen bud until she arched off the bed forcing him to hold her in place. The buck of her hips drove him and he was merciless in his attention. She came with a sharp cry, and then collapsed.

Rising, he stripped off his slacks and stared down at her. Her eyelids were half-closed and pleasure transformed her expression. The heat of her gaze licked him and his hands shook by the time he retrieved a condom. For a moment, retreat flickered in her passion-drenched eyes and his chest tightened.

No, she wasn’t allowed to leave him—not here, not anywhere, never again. He would not let her go. He would show her why they needed to be together, why he wanted her. Something of what he was feeling had to reflect in his expression, because Meredith’s eyes widened. She pushed up on her elbows, the tousle of her strawberry blonde hair clinging to the dampness of her skin.

Unable to tolerate the separation, he slid back onto the bed and Meredith’s arms came around him—thank God—welcoming him. Her mouth opened to his kiss. He poured all of his craving, heat, and primal desire for her into his kiss and gripped her hair tight.

His cock settled against her then her hand wrapped around him. He lifted obediently, letting her guide him to her slick, wet heat. Then he surged inside of her and she gasped against his mouth. She was so tight and, at the last moment, he managed to regain some semblance of control. It had been a long time—months—and he needed to slow down, to not hurt her.

But his impatient woman didn’t allow him to extend their tumble into madness. She scissored her legs around his hips and rose up until he was buried to the hilt. Her mouth dropped open and her face went a deep pink. The flames were back in her eyes when he broke the kiss, but she nipped his jaw and then dug her nails into his back. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

He wanted to slam inside of her, thrust until they were both blind with pleasure, but he had to know, needed to be sure. “Are you okay?” The words were harsh and rode shallow pants of air as though his lungs couldn’t fully expand.

“Yes.” She dug her nails into his back and flexed her thighs against his hips. “Oh dear God, yes—Bastian…” The sensual need punctuating the words gave him permission. He thrust in short, swift motions while tangling his tongue with hers.

She went taut with tension and her inner muscles clamped down around him so hard. He fought the climax screaming through him, but her cries against his mouth pushed him over. He pistoned his hips, desperate to follow her. The plunge caught him off guard, sharp and violent. He came as she convulsed around him with only the ragged pant of their breathing and the slippery wet slide of their skin on skin to accompany them.

The orgasm left him drained and he collapsed against her, content to bask in her sweet embrace. Quivers raced over her. She clung to him and pressed kisses to his face and then to his jaw.

She was there and in his arms. Yet, his contentment seemed edged in something he couldn’t quite define. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. Burying his face against her neck, he nuzzled the spot above her rapidly beating pulse. Shoving the concern to the back of his mind, he eased away from her.

Her breathing slowed, and he angled his head to check. Her eyes closed, her mouth curved in a hint of a satisfied smile—sound asleep. The dark smudges beneath her eyes told him she was exhausted from the moment he’d seen her.

With a gentle finger, he traced the shadows. It was his job to erase those, to make her safe and secure so she wouldn’t worry again. He had no idea how he would accomplish it, but by God he would do it. Rising, he stepped into the bathroom to deal with the condom. Afterward, he came back to the bed. She hadn’t stirred. Drawing the covers up, he slid in beside her and drew her boneless form to him.

To his delight, she relaxed against his touch and snuggled. It was the middle of the day, but he hadn’t slept well in the near week since her phone call. Still, even with her there, sleep proved elusive.

An uncomfortable emotion lodged in his chest and he settled for stroking her hair and watching her. When she woke, they would talk. It didn’t matter how long it took, but even his determination didn’t diminish his unease.

Her muscles were languid, yet the quiet ache of soreness invaded her sleep. She didn’t want to wake up and burrowed deeper into the warmth along her side. Exhaustion left her worn down and keeping her eyes closed meant keeping the rest of the world at bay. When her pillow shifted, she mumbled a protest and rubbed her cheek against a…very hot, masculine chest. Reality invaded like an icy splash of water.

Lifting her head, she found Sebastian’s black gaze studying her. The memory of losing herself in his arms flooded through her, shoving away the last traces of drowsiness. “It wasn’t a dream,” she murmured and even the thought made her smile. She’d enjoyed vivid dreams of him before, but nothing like what they’d shared.

“Hello.” He cupped the back of her head and she obeyed his silent request to meet the slow, soul-searing kiss he gave her.

“Hi,” she whispered against his mouth. Nuzzling her nose to his, she shivered and he tightened his arms before dragging the sheet up to wrap it around her. The action made her want to sigh all over again. He’d thought her cold. The gentleness in his actions and the warmth of his breath on her cheek threatened to pull her apart. “How long was I asleep?”

“Not long.” He combed his fingers through her hair, soothing the quiet alarm jangling along her nerves. “Feel better?”

Yes.
Better and worse, but she couldn’t quite sort through all the emotions bubbling inside. Still wrestling with her response, she feathered her fingers across his chest and down his side. The puckered ridge of skin beneath her fingertips catapulted her from her indecision.

Sitting up, she ignored the sheet dropping to pool around her waist or the familiar and welcome weight of his hand gliding over her hip. The scar transected his side, the skin paler than the ruddy tan he’d earned through hours spent in the sun. Thankfully, the skin was cool to the touch—not the angry, hot slash the one and only other time she’d been near enough to see the damage.

Sebastian caught her wrist as she traced her finger along the ridged skin. “You don’t need to worry…” he began in the sinful, European accent that turned her muscles to butter.

“Did it hurt badly?” Dammit, she should have been there. Who’d looked after him? Who’d made sure he took his medicine and rested? Sebastian loved to play, and he was so active. He’d taken her skiing, scuba diving, and once—God help her—he’d even taken her skydiving. The horror of those moments free falling left her nearly drunk by the time they’d touched down.

“Not terribly, no.” He let go of her wrist and stroked her arm. Meredith never wondered why women flocked to him. Handsome as sin, charming as hell, and he possessed an almost carefree personality that enchanted nearly everyone who met him. She was hardly an exception to the rule, but what sealed the deal for her was his eyes.

Lifting her head, she sought the deep black of his gaze now. Something in his eyes captivated her from their first harried meeting. “Really?” The scar was nearly two inches in length and nearly a half-inch thick. It transected his side and lay right between two ribs—the blade had cut clean into him. Trembling seized her and her throat went dry.

He sat up, pulled her into his lap and she buried her face against his throat. Crooning a low, soothing note, he rubbed her back. “Really.” Then, with a sigh, he continued. “Injuries, particularly shocking ones, don’t hurt nearly as much as you might think. The mind protects itself, or at least my doctors said it did. Why else would I have broken my leg twice in my life or fractured my ribs who knows how many times?”