51.2
During the shoot, King Leopold makes jokes, the corny kind I thought were the type of thing that dads do, except he’s a king and not a regular dad, which somehow has the effect of making the lame jokes actually funny. The eighth one – something about an armadillo – has Alex, Kev, and I finally giggling, and earns a stern “Leopold,” from my mother.
“Do you remember the time we got in trouble for coming in here when we were kids and jumping on the sofa?” Alex asks Kev.
“Dad was going to blow a gasket,” Kev says, as a flashbulb goes off mid-sentence, bright white light practically blinding for a split second.
“Dad was?” Alex says, laughing. “Mom took away your dessert for a week.”
The mention of their mother changes the mood in the room almost immediately, and Leo smiles wistfully. “Yes, she did,” he says quietly, pausing as if he’s remembering her, and then speaks to the photographer : “I trust we have enough photographs at this juncture.”
The photographer immediately lowers his camera. “Yes, Your Royal Highness,” he says. “More than adequate.”
“Thank God,” Alex says, kicking off her shoes before she even gets a few feet away. “I’m out of here.”
My mother puts her hand on Leo’s arm. “Shall we?” she asks.
Kev and I trail behind everyone else, lingering, putting distance between us and them. When we leave, Kev walks behind me, his steps purposeful. I half-expect him to grab my wrist as we walk, to yank me back and pull my body flush into his, bringing his mouth down on mine. Maybe I half-hope that will happen.
"You really should stop playing games, luv," he says.
I look down the side of the hall, checking to see if any housekeeping staff have noticed us.
But no one's there. The hallway is quiet and deserted, as if fate itself is giving us permission to flirt, to engage, to continue walking this lust-fueled tightrope.
If I had any sense at all, I'd turn around and head for my suite. I’d call Summer and tell her that I'm going to buy a plane ticket, that I will meet her
and Phoenix in Amsterdam and pretend none of this ever happened.
I'll forget I'm a soon-to-be princess.
I'll forget that I'm Kev's soon-to-be-stepsister.
I'll forget that I'm his wife.
If I had any sense, that's what I'd do.
But I don't.
Kev grabs my wrist, right in the hallway, and pulls me into the nearest room. It's a game room filled with antique furniture like every other room in the palace. Except this room has old chess sets and a gilded billiard table. In the center of the room sits a circular gaming table topped with cream and gold marble, surrounded by gilded antique chairs.
Kev pulls me into the room, walking briskly around the area without a word before going to the door and securing the lock. He turns to me, his back against the door. "You and I need to stop this back-and-forth," he says. "We both know you’re dying to have me.”
I back up until my back is flush against the marble topped table, taking Kev in. He's wearing a dark suit, tailor-made for him, that sets off his blue eyes and dark hair perfectly, as if he stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine. But what I see in those eyes is nothing like what I'd see in a magazine. It's intense, feral. Filled with lust.
"I know you want me," I say. Heat courses through my body, the marble top of the table cool against the small of my back. "Based on the state you returned my panties in."
"But today, there are no panties," he says, crossing the room with long, purposeful strides until he reaches me. He stands in front of me, too close for comfort, and I suck in a deep breath of air as my heart races a million beats a second.
He looks down at me, using his knee to spread my legs. "Just say you want my fingers there, stroking your clit. You want me to put my mouth between your legs, suck your clit until you're breathless…"
“No,” I say.
I reach between my legs, pushing aside the breezy fabric of my skirt to slide my fingers down the front of my mound to touch my throbbing clit. I bite my lip at the shock of arousal that courses through me, watching the expression on Kev's face change from one of unabashed lust to surprise.
He didn't think I would touch myself in front of him.
Hell, I didn't think I would do something like this. Lust is making me insane. Temporary insanity, I think. I've never been left so unsatisfied before, and yet the only thing I can think about, the only think I care about right now, is pushing him to the brink. Making him be the one who begs for it.
"All you have to do is say please, Isabel," Kev says, his eyes on mine. He stands there unmoving, unwavering, his leg pressed against the bottom of my pussy. I know I'm wet, and the thought of my wetness soaking the fabric of his suit -- the thought of leaving my mark -- makes me insane.
"After you," I say, my voice breathy. "It's such a small word. Just a request, really."
"Ladies first."
But I'm not going to say please. I'm not going to beg him, the way every other girl in the world has begged him.
He watches me, unable to disguise his arousal, the bulge in his pants more than enough evidence that he's turned on.
The knock on the door startles me and I jump, pulling my skirt down and straightening up immediately, my heart racing. "Oh my God. Is the door locked?" I whisper.
Kev raises his eyebrows and winks at me. "Live a little, luv," he says, chuckling as I push him away.
