For fuck’s sake.
He gave it to her. Gripping her nape, he descended, plundering her sweet mouth, nipping her overfull lips, tasting like a starving man. For her, he was starving. Ravenous to taste every inch of her. He crushed her against him, angling her just right so he could stroke his tongue deeper. A mistake.
She squirmed against him. Not to get away—to rub her body against his, making him painfully aware of his rigid erection pressing against her abdomen. Moaning with pleasure, her soft body responded too eagerly to his hard one.
With an agonizing groan, he gripped her shoulders and pulled away from her.
“What’s wrong?”
“Bloody hell. That was a mistake.”
Before she could protest, he swept her up in his arms and sped toward the small one-room cottage that would be her home for the time being. He had to get her settled into safety, then get away from her as quickly as possible. Where had all his famed self-control gone? One look from her and he became a besotted, stiff-cocked boy, ready to ravage her without a thought. He’d focus on getting her settled, then getting out the door.
He’d spoken to Friedrich before he and his men had left on their mission. The art studio Friedrich had built for his youngest daughter, Izzy, would serve as the most private abode for the princess’s temporary residence.
Setting her on her feet on the front step, he pushed open the door. A crackling fire had already been lit. A bed had been installed, stacked with pillows and heavy quilts. Other amenities had been furnished since he’d left—a wash basin, a bowl and ewer, a small vanity. He held the door open as she entered, glancing toward the main house, where one of the children broke into laughter.
Dmitri had told them of their arrival but had relayed the message that the princess needed a night’s rest before more introductions. Mikhail wanted to be sure she wasn’t overwhelmed.
“Come in,” he urged her more gruffly than he’d intended while he held open the door.
She stepped inside and perused the room, taking in her new home. She walked toward the bed and trailed her fingers on the green-and-white quilt.
“I know it isn’t what you’re accustomed to.”
“It’s lovely.” She faced him, one hand still on the bed, giving him all sorts of wayward thoughts. “Thank you.”
He scanned the room, hands on hips, and gave a tight nod. “I think it will serve for the time being. You’re only a short walk to Friedrich and Brennalyn’s back door.”
“I wasn’t referring to the room.”
Confused, he stared at her from the open doorway, forcing himself to keep his distance.
She clasped her hands in her lap, her back straight, looking ever like the genteel lady she was. Her lashes were lowered, the black wisps brushing her pale cheeks. “I am grateful for this hospitality, of course.” Her gaze lifted. “But I wanted to thank you for today…for what you said in the forest.”
Mikhail clenched his jaw, not sure how to respond, other than to say, “You’re welcome.”
“Captain, I’m not the sort of person who plays games or who ignores my emotions. As an empath, it is impossible.”
Her soft voice drifted across the small chamber, seeping into his chest like a hypnotic remedy for an ache he didn’t know he had. He’d never known anyone so forthright, so unabashedly honest in every respect of the word—in how she spoke, treated others, treated herself. When he spoke of her inner strength in the forest, she hadn’t denied the claim behind false modesty. That would be a lie.
The fact that he’d had to live behind a lie about his own family had twisted inside him for so long. A lie he was forced to live because the queen would kill everyone he cared about if she discovered the truth.
But this princess wasn’t who he thought she’d be. He’d thought to find a sweet woman who knew nothing about the world, or a jaded one who thought only of herself. Instead, she was this paragon of beauty—from the perfection of her face, skin, and body straight through to her flawless heart, unmarred by the bitterness of betrayal he’d lived with all his life. Even with her own personal loss, she never let it weigh down her pure spirit. She spoke the truth in every moment, in every way. And it hit him hard at moments like this. Where she sat demurely, sweetly, thanking him for something so little as words.
“It was nothing,” he finally said.
She tilted her chin, her glossy fine hair slipping over one shoulder. With a sad sort of smile, she whispered, “It was everything. To me.” She laced her fingers together in her lap, squeezing tightly. “I only wish…”
He should’ve said good night. He shouldn’t ask, but goddammit, he couldn’t. “What do you wish?”
Wetting her lips, she sat straighter, her eyes glittering by the firelight. “I wish there could be more…between us.”
Swallowing the jagged stone lodged in his throat, he spoke his own truth. “I am sorry. More than you know. Do you think it gives me pleasure to turn you away?” he asked, raising his brow as if he expected her to answer. She didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Shaking his head, he went on.
“Nay. It gives me physical pain.” His voice was ragged as he curled a fist to his chest over his heart. “Agony, if you must know.” He shook his head on a short laugh that was filled with bitterness not mirth. “You’re not what I expected.”
She remained silent, watching with those wide, sea-blue, honest eyes, compassion shining bright there. Or some other soft, heartrending emotion.
“I expected a princess. An uppity, perfect model of royalty. A distant, aloof sovereign who would gladly take my assistance at climbing even further toward her crown and farther away from me.” He took a step closer, hands at his sides, fisting them in agitation.
She swallowed hard, her voice broken. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“Disappoint me?” She didn’t understand. “What I didn’t expect was you.” He gestured with a hand. “This beautiful, sensual creature who begs me to kiss her and who looks at me like I’m the only man on Earth. The only man who matters. It’s like I’m being pulled straight to hell…and for you?” He shook his head, unable to shut his mouth. “I would gladly burn for all eternity.”
Her mouth parted on a sharp inhale. He’d said enough. He’d said too much. Perhaps her honest spirit was infectious, for he seemed unable to even hold his own damn tongue when it came to her. He’d have to try. He turned for the door.