The Wedding Night They Never Had by Jackie Ashenden, Millie Adams

CHAPTER THREE

SOMETHINGWASTELLINGInara that she should do exactly what he’d said and leave, yet another part of her kept whispering that she should stay. That it had been a long time since she’d seen him like this, all stretched out, long and lean and as muscular as a panther half-asleep in the sun.

When she’d been younger, in the first couple of years after they’d married, he’d set her up in a house in Katara, with Henri and Joan to run the place and keep an eye on her. She’d been ignored by the King and Queen, Cassius’s parents, because they had strongly disapproved of Cassius marrying her, but that hadn’t mattered to Inara. She was used to parental disapproval, and besides, being safe from her own parents’ plans had been more important than anything else.

Cassius had been a regular visitor back then. They’d have dinner together before he’d go out to a club or a party or some royal function. He’d been funny and charming and interested in what she’d had to say. His eyes hadn’t glazed over when she’d talked about her mathematical studies and he hadn’t scoffed at her enthusiasm or forbidden her to talk about it, the way her parents had done. He hadn’t picked at how she looked, or criticised everything she did, or talked about her while she was in the room as if she weren’t there.

She’d always found talking to people in social situations difficult, but nothing was difficult about being with him, and she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was simply that he was the first person who’d actually seemed to listen to her. Whatever, his visits had made her happy.

But that had been before Prince Caspian and the King and Queen had died, and Cassius had ascended to the throne.

After that, he’d changed.

He’d become distant, colder, more rigid. He didn’t smile or laugh, and soon enough he didn’t visit much either. It had been like watching a flesh-and-blood man turn slowly into stone and she’d been powerless to stop it.

She wasn’t sure if this happened to every man when they became a king, or whether it was just him, but the one thing she was sure of was that she hated it.

Except he didn’t look like stone now. He was sitting sprawled out in her favourite arm chair, the one large enough for her to curl up in and roomy enough to accommodate his broad shoulders and powerful chest with ease. The cold distance she’d always felt in him had receded and the line of his stern mouth was relaxed, as if he might at any moment give her the warm, effortlessly charming smile she’d fallen in love with.

In fact, every line of him seemed relaxed, as if he were a soldier who’d taken off his suit of armour after a hard day’s battle.

She didn’t want to move or even breathe in case something changed and he turned back into stone again.

He tilted his head, studying her from underneath thick, black lashes, a strange, glimmering heat in the smoky amber of his gaze.

It reminded her of him in the limo all those years ago, sprawled just like this, all coiled, muscled strength and devastating masculine charm, with his pick of the women standing at the kerb, waiting to be his chosen partner for the evening. She hadn’t taken much notice of them that night—she’d been too busy being scared, yet determined to go through with her own plan—but she did remember wondering why they’d all looked so flushed and excited.

She knew the reason now, and she knew why they had been desperate, and she wished suddenly that she’d been one of them. That she’d had the chance to be his chosen lover for the evening.

Well, why can’t you be?

The thought came like a light switching on in a dark room, illuminating everything, and she had to blink a couple of times to get used to the glare.

‘That’s probably a mistake.’ His voice had deepened, the timbre of it warm, soft and velvety. ‘I’m not feeling kind tonight.’

Inara barely took in what he’d said, too busy examining the new and quite frankly exciting idea that had sprung to glaring prominence in her head.

Why couldn’t she be his lover for the night? True, he’d never shown an interest in her but, as he kept saying, that was because he still saw her as the sixteen-year-old girl who’d slipped into his limo.

She’d told him she wasn’t sixteen any more, but he hadn’t seemed to listen. Like everyone in her life while she’d been growing up...

Annoyance twisted inside her, along with a new determination. Perhaps she needed to be more obvious. Perhaps he needed to see that she wasn’t a teenager any more. Perhaps she needed to prove it to him. And perhaps, if she did that, he might actually see her differently. He might...want her.

Her heart was beating very fast and her mouth had gone dry. She knew how to work out complicated algebraic equations, but she didn’t have the first clue how to go about making him see her as a woman.

‘I don’t need you to be kind,’ she said distractedly, her brain too occupied with sorting through plans and discarding them. What was the best way to go about this? Where did she start? What did other women do in this situation?

More than once she’d spent whole evenings on her computer, searching for anything she could find on him—scrolling through endless articles and gossip columns, studying the photos of him and the women he had on his arm. Sometimes they’d been drop-dead gorgeous, and sometimes they hadn’t been conventionally beautiful, but they’d all seemed to have...something that had drawn him to them. She’d wondered what that something was and had concluded it wasn’t something she’d ever have.

But was that actually the case? She was a mathematician, and all good equations needed to be proved. This was exactly the same. If she had conclusive proof that he didn’t want her, then it would hurt, but she could accept that. She could accept the divorce too. But if he did want her...

Maybe you could make him change his mind about the divorce.

Inara swallowed. A strange tension filled the room that hadn’t been there before. It prickled over her skin, made her breathing get faster.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Cassius asked. ‘It’s obviously very important.

Inara forced herself to look up from the mess she’d made of her dress. He was watching her in a very focussed, intent way, his long fingers cradling his brandy glass, swirling the liquid in it idly.

She was often guilty of over-thinking things—that came with the territory of having an anxious, over-excited brain—but maybe it was best if she didn’t over-think this particular thing. Maybe she just needed to...act. Do what her instinct told her for a change.

She hadn’t had any experience with that, as her instincts had always been wrong in the past—at least, that was what her parents had said—but right now she had nothing to lose. Tomorrow he’d be leaving for Katara and the palace, and her one chance to get him to see her differently, to change his mind, would be gone.

It was now or never.

So she didn’t think, just pushed herself up and out of her chair, moving over to where he sat.

He arched one dark brow. ‘What do you want, little one?’

‘I’m not that little.’ She stopped in front of his chair, considering her next move.

‘No,’ he murmured. ‘Perhaps you’re not.’ His gaze travelled over her in a leisurely fashion and it felt almost as if he was looking right through the material of her dress...

Inara’s skin prickled with sudden heat, her breath catching.

He was doing that, wasn’t he? Because, come to think of it, her dress was a little see-through—not that she’d ever paid much attention, as for the past five years she hadn’t had to worry about her appearance.

But now that heat was in his eyes, glowing like banked embers, and she could feel the pressure of his stare like a hand stroking slowly over her skin, she suddenly wanted more than anything in the entire world to be beautiful for him. To be sexy and desirable, to be his choice for the night. Not the scared sixteen-year-old her own parents had been willing to give to a monster.

She took a slow breath, then another, trying to control the frantic beat of her heart. Then she took a couple of steps closer until she was standing almost next to the chair. His legs were outstretched in front of him, crossed at the ankle, and she was painfully aware of how long and powerful he was. So much bigger than she was and so much stronger.

She wasn’t sure why that made her so breathless, but then that was the problem with Cassius. Everything about him made her breathless.

His head rested against the back of the chair, his eyes gleaming as he looked up at her, the tension between them pulling tighter.

Say something, idiot.

‘Um, I’ve never had brandy before,’ she said, her voice scratchy. ‘Can I have a taste?’

He shifted slightly and she found her attention flickering to his body once again. She noted the stretch of his trousers over his powerful thighs and the pull of the cotton over his shoulders. He’d got rid of his jacket and tie, and his shirt was unbuttoned at the throat. She could see his pulse beating beneath smooth olive skin, strong and steady...

‘Never?’ he asked.

There was a look in his eyes and a certain hot note in his voice that made her think he wasn’t just talking about brandy. But she wasn’t sure what else he could be talking about. Whatever it was, she was suddenly hotter and even more breathless than before.

‘No.’ She didn’t know what to do with her hands except clasp them in front of her. ‘Is it nice?’

Inwardly, part of her cringed. She sounded so silly. Like a little girl. But what else could she say? Social graces and small talk had never come easily to her, much to her mother’s annoyance, and as for getting the attention of a man, well...

‘For God’s sake, Inara,’ her mother had said at the first aristocratic gathering to which they’d managed to swing an invite. ‘If you can’t open your mouth without boring everyone to tears, then just shut it and smile. Some men like a quiet woman.’

So she’d been quiet after that, as she couldn’t trust herself to say anything interesting. And clearly she shouldn’t trust herself now, especially when he’d be used to all kinds of beautiful, experienced women. Women who were far more interesting than she was, and far more beautiful too. Not pale and weedy and weak-looking. Untidy and chaotic and awkward, hardly anyone’s prize.

Except he’s looking at you like you might be his.

And he was. Or at least she thought he was. The smoky amber of his gaze was now a hot golden-brown, like the warmed brandy in his glass, and there was something distinctly speculative in it. As if he was imagining things...

Her palms were sweaty and she couldn’t breathe, and part of her wanted to turn around and leave the room, flee back to the safety of her study or her bedroom, or basically anywhere he wasn’t.

‘Being good at maths is useless to us, Inara,’ her mother had said coldly after the last social failure. ‘We need an aristocratic alliance and if you can’t even manage that then what good are you?’

Good enough to turn over to an old man who had an unhealthy obsession with young girls, apparently.

But she wasn’t her parents’ chess piece now and she’d had five years of freedom from being criticised constantly. And, more than anything else, if she didn’t follow through with this she knew she’d never find out what it would be like to be wanted by him. To be touched by him. To have a night with him...

She’d never have a chance to change his mind about divorcing her, and she’d never have something of him to keep for herself if that didn’t work.

So she stayed where she was, breathless and aching, and afraid and excited all at the same time.

His mouth curved in a faint, lazy smile. ‘Yes. It’s very nice. Come here and you can have a taste.’ He uncrossed his feet and spread his thighs, indicating that she was to come and stand between them.

The aching, breathless feeling inside her intensified.

Slowly, she moved to stand in front of his chair, between those powerful thighs, while he gazed at her, golden-brown eyes gleaming under silky black lashes.

It was strange to have him look up at her when normally she was the one looking up. Even so, she felt his power. Even when she was sitting down the impact of his presence made her want to go on her knees before him.

Cassius sat forward. ‘Here,’ he said softly. ‘Take a sip.’ And he extended his hand, holding his glass out to her.

Her heartbeat was louder now and she could feel the heat coming off him, making the fierce longing inside her tighten.

Whenever she thought about getting close to him, her fantasies were always veiled and gauzy. Kisses, certainly, though she had no idea what a kiss felt like or tasted like. She definitely imagined his arms around her, holding her, and sometimes in the dead of night she imagined his hands on her.

But those were furtive imaginings, making her restless and hot, vaguely feverish and a little afraid, so she tried not to imagine that too much.

It wasn’t that she didn’t know about sex. It was more that thinking about it in terms of herself and Cassius was too much. The depth of her own feeling about it was too much.

But now she was closer to him than she’d ever been in her life and it wasn’t like her teenage imaginings. It was more immediate, more physical, more visceral than those gauzy fantasies had ever been.

Inara swallowed and put her hand out for the glass, only for him to pull it back slightly and out of her reach. How annoying. She took a tiny step closer, reaching out again, only for him to do the same thing.

He watched her, his mouth curving, his gaze full of what looked like challenge mixed with something hot and wicked. A tease.

He was doing this on purpose, wasn’t he?

Of course he is. He’s flirting with you.

What little breath she had left caught in her throat, a strange euphoria sweeping through her. Because, while she didn’t know much of anything about flirting, a very female part of her told her that was what he was doing. Which could only mean one thing: he saw her not just as a woman, but as a woman he was attracted to. A woman he wanted.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked huskily, wanting to be sure.

‘I think you know what I’m doing.’ That devastatingly sexy smile deepened, his eyes gleaming. ‘If you want a taste of my brandy, little one, you’re going to have to come much closer than that.’

Cassius knew he was being grossly inappropriate. But the brandy had gone to his head, he was tired and it had been a long time since he’d allowed himself to enjoy the company of a pretty woman. A long time since he’d flirted with anyone. A long time since he’d felt desire at all.

Yet desire was coiling through him now, and even though she was the wrong woman to be feeling this about, the wrong woman to be using his old flirting skills on, he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

She was just so...pretty. And sweet. And so very innocent, in her white dress with her mismatched underwear plainly visible underneath. She was also very slender and fragile, her eyes silvery from behind the lenses of her glasses, her hair lying loose over her shoulders like moonlight.

His child bride.

Except she wasn’t a child any more. Her cheeks had gone pink and she was looking at him in a way that was intimately familiar to him. He’d seen it before in the faces of too many women to count.

She wanted him.

He hadn’t expected that, though in retrospect he should have, and it was a warning sign that he needed to stop. Because nothing could happen between them. Nothing should happen between them, not when they were going to separate. Their marriage needed to stay unconsummated, because she was so much younger than him, and because he wasn’t the man he’d once been—that reckless playboy with no purpose in life but to indulge his own selfish needs. He was trying to put distance between himself and that man, and seducing his lovely, innocent wife was definitely not putting distance between them.

Also, it wasn’t what his parents would have wanted. They’d been appalled at his marriage, never mind that he’d done it to save Inara, and they’d certainly be appalled at what he was contemplating now. Then again, his parents had been dead for three years, and he was so tired of being good. Tired of being rigid and distant and controlled. Tired of having to set an example. Tired of being the King.

Would it be so wrong to have one night where he could indulge himself? To sip a good brandy and flirt with a pretty woman? That was all—just flirt. He wouldn’t take it any further. But he could have that, couldn’t he?

A crease had appeared between Inara’s brows, as if she was contemplating doing what he’d said and getting closer to him, and he found himself breathless at the thought that she might.

It was not an unreasonable response. It had been years since he’d allowed a woman to get close, so it probably had more to do with her being female than it did with Inara herself.

Anyway, he wanted to know what she smelled like. Did she wear perfume? He didn’t think she would. There was no artifice to her; everything about her was haphazard and untidy. But also very, very honest.

She wasn’t trying to be anyone other than who she was.

Unlike you.

Ah, but he couldn’t be who he was. Being a king demanded that he be more than a mere man. Something greater and more noble, more just. The ultimate in selflessness and self-sacrifice.

Cassius’s father had been the model he’d tried to emulate—compassionate yet distant. Protective yet controlled. A great king, everyone had said.

What would they all think of you now? Letting the brandy go to your head while you flirt with the wife you swore you’d never touch...

The thought came and went, and Cassius let it go. Because Inara took another step. The white cotton of her dress brushed against his trousers as she leaned down, reaching for the brandy glass in his hand.

But she wasn’t looking at the glass.

She was looking at him.

He lifted the glass before she could take it and sipped some of the brandy, and then, before she had a chance to straighten, he slipped a hand around the back of her neck and brought her mouth down on his.

It was a reflex, an instinct he thought he’d long since left behind, and he knew even as he reached for her that it was wrong. But he didn’t stop. And when that perfect rosebud of a mouth touched his he didn’t want to stop.

Her lips were soft beneath his and he could feel the muscles in the back of her neck tense, her body going very still. Her shock was palpable, but she didn’t pull away. And when he opened his mouth, letting her take a sip of the brandy directly from him, she gave a little moan.

He was right, though; she wore no perfume. Her scent was a combination of laundry powder, something flowery that must be either shampoo or soap, and a sweet, warm, musky scent that had to be intrinsic to her.

It was so unexpectedly erotic that he increased the pressure on the back of her neck, trying to draw her in closer, before he’d even thought about it. She didn’t protest, the soft lips beneath his opening, her tongue shyly seeking his. Inexpert yet hungry, and clearly wanting more.

You fool. What are you doing?

He didn’t know but, whatever it was, it had to stop.

Cassius sat back, releasing his hold on her, trying to draw away as he put his brandy glass on the table beside his chair. But Inara wouldn’t let him. She slid her arms around his neck, leaning into him, her knees pressing against the seat of his chair. Her kiss was hungrier, her mouth hot, sweet and alcoholic, going straight to his head as surely as the brandy had.

It had been so long since he’d kissed a woman. He’d forgotten how good it felt to have a soft mouth on his and warm arms around him.

It made him hungry. So hungry.

Without thought, Cassius settled his hands on her hips and pulled her down into his lap, positioning her so she knelt on the seat astride him. She sighed, winding her arms around his neck and pressing herself delicately against him, kissing him harder, her inexperience clear, yet still so hungry for him.

It set him on fire.

The erotic scent of her skin was everywhere, the heavy silk of her hair falling like a curtain around him. He lifted his hands to it, buried his fingers in its softness and closed them into fists, holding on tight. Her arms tightened around his neck.

The heat of her mouth stole everything from him, his breath, his resistance, his common sense. It put down the King and coaxed out the man instead. The man he hadn’t been in years.

Desire rushed through him like a tide, relentless, unstoppable, and before he knew what he was doing he’d unwound his fingers from her hair and was tugging at the hem of her dress, pushing it up around her hips.

She made another of those delicious, sexy, throaty sounds and, when his hands slid up her bare thighs, her skin warm and silky, she quivered. So responsive. She was everything he’d been missing and more. All the blood in his body rushed south, concentrating itself behind his fly. He was so hard, he hurt.

Her skin beneath his fingers felt hot, and when he slipped his hand between her thighs, stroking her through the lacy fabric of her knickers, she felt even hotter. She shuddered as he touched her and he could feel wetness against his fingertips.

Dear God, he couldn’t think.

He curled his fingers into the material and pulled it roughly aside so he could touch her more directly. She was hot and wet, and when he found the delicate bud hidden in the slick folds of her sex she cried out against his mouth, her hips shuddering under his hand.

Beautiful, sexy little woman.

‘I want you,’ he said roughly. ‘I want you here. Now. So if you don’t want it too, you’d better tell me immediately.’

‘I do.’ Her voice was breathless and frayed. ‘I want you, Cassius. Oh, please... Please...’

The need inside him was too big, too demanding. He couldn’t deny it even if he’d wanted to. But he didn’t want to. The world had narrowed down to the slick feel of her sex, the sweet musk of her skin and the rich, heady taste of her mouth.

For three years he’d had nothing but cold, echoing palace rooms, the sense of being constantly surrounded by people, yet always feeling alone. The iron control he had to maintain over himself all the time, and the hard edges of difficult decisions. The sharp thorns of grief and guilt.

But here in his hands was softness and warmth and pleasure. The chance to lose himself, to feel something other than those terrible, difficult emotions. The chance to feel something good.

So he took it.

He reached for the button on his trousers, undid it, then pulled down the zip. He pushed aside the fabric and freed himself, positioning her over him. Then he pulled her down onto him as he thrust up.

She cried out, her back arching, her body shuddering.

She was so tight, he could barely get a breath.

He wound his fingers into her hair and pulled back, looking up into her delicate face. Her cheeks were flushed a deep pink, the lenses of her glasses foggy, and she was looking at him in shock.

‘Are you with me?’ he demanded. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t be slow and I can’t be gentle.’

She blinked a couple of times and then suddenly she was kissing him again and her body was softening around him, gripping him tight, the heat of her astonishing. Clearly, she was with him.

He couldn’t hold himself back. His hands settled on her hips once more and he began to move her on him, fast and deep, because it couldn’t be anything else for him, not right now. There was nothing in him but need. Nothing in the whole world he wanted right now but her.

He kissed her back, taking control, tasting her, feasting on her, his hips flexing, thrusting into the wet heat of her body. She denied him nothing, her own kisses hungry, pressing herself even closer, trying to match the movement of his hips with hers.

In some dim, forgotten part of his brain, a judgmental piece of himself was shouting at him to stop. That she was inexperienced, a virgin, the bride he’d married when she’d been sixteen and that he should not be doing this to her. That at the very least he should be gentle and careful and patient.

But there was no time to show her what to do and he had no patience left. He put a hand between her thighs once more, finding that sensitive little bundle of nerves, stroking her with firm, definite movements until she gave a soft, sobbing cry, her body convulsing around his.

Then he was moving deep and hard, single-mindedly chasing his own pleasure until it exploded like a glory around him and he was lost in the heart of it, forgetting for the first time in three years that he was a king.