A Tale of Two Cousins Read online

  “That was smart thinking,” I said on a near moan. “Mine aren’t so nice.”

  “On the contrary, they’ve taken to haunting my thoughts with their perfect roundness, but I think I’m going to want to admire them more closely from the comfort of the bed.” He slid an arm behind my legs, hoisting me up and carrying me over to his bed before setting me down and pausing for a few seconds, just standing there staring down at me.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, trying to adopt a pose that didn’t leave me spread out like a smorgasbord. I tried first on my back with one leg bent, then rolled to the side and crossed my legs, and finally rolled onto my belly and with my heels kicked over my back.

  “I was just wondering if you are well enough to do all the things that I want to do. The doctor didn’t say you couldn’t—what the hell are you doing, Princess?”

  I’d flipped over onto my back again, this time sitting up, legs together and to the side in classic mermaid pose. “Trying to find some position where I don’t look like a side of beef with breasts.”

  “I assure you that a side of beef is the very last thing I think of when I see you,” he answered, crawling onto the bed with a look in his eye that had my girl parts celebrating. “I want to touch and taste and feel all of you, all of those glorious breasts, and your legs, and, dear God, woman, your belly.”

  I looked down at my belly, sucking it in for a minute. “I don’t swim every day, which I think is apparent, not that I’m beating myself up for the way I look. Would you mind lying on your back so I can frolic upon your body?”

  “Yes, actually, I would. Perhaps later, once I’ve had my fill of all the delicious bits you have to offer me, I will be able to lie back and let you have your turn, but not now. So long as you feel up to this, I plan on having my way.”

  A faint, foggy memory rumbled through my brain just as his mouth closed on one of my nipples, his tongue just as bossy there as it was in my mouth. I moaned, arching my back when he tormented it oh-so sweetly, the sensation of heat rippling upward to my face. “Other side!” I said on a gasp, tugging on his curls.

  He stopped teasing my now-needy nipple and grinned. “Like that, did you?”

  “Very much so.” I frowned when he bent over the other breast, the pleasure of his mouth on it somewhat dimmed while I tried to catch the faint memory.

  “Your breasts are ...” He bent down and nibbled on the underside.

  “Large? I know. They make jogging impossible, not that I want to go jogging, but still, trying to contain them in a sports bra is never fun. Good lord, man, you’re not heading where I think you’re heading?”

  He murmured something into my breastbone, his hands smoothing down my hips, his mouth following, trailing what felt like fire. I writhed on the bed, both highly aroused at the sensations of his mouth and hands and troubled by something I couldn’t bring to focus. He gently bit my hip. “I know some women don’t enjoy this sort of thing. I hope you are not one of them.”

  “Don’t enjoy what—hooo baby!”

  His fingers slid between my thighs, gently parting them before heading straight to ground zero, whereupon he immediately made my body feel like it had been turned into something fluid and very, very hot, like molten gold. “Ah, I see you are not one of those women. Do you like this?”

  I grabbed his head when he bent to add his tongue into the party-zone fun, my stomach contracting at the same time my thighs wanted badly to tighten around him, but since I didn’t want to have to explain to his cousin how I’d smothered him while he was trying to bring me pleasure, I forced myself to keep from wrapping my legs around his head.

  The thought that slithered through my mind finally came forward, bringing with it a sense of horror, shame, and fear that leeched every bit of enjoyment from the moment.

  “Oh, my God,” I said, scooting backward until he looked up with a confused expression.

  “What’s wrong? Was I too rough?”

  I stared at him in horror, shame filling me. Tears pricked in my eyes, making me blink rapidly as I tried to pull a sheet out from under me. “No, you were fine. I was enjoying it.”

  He frowned, watching me yank the sheet around until I had it up and over me. “Then why did you stop me? And why in God’s name are you covering yourself up?”

  “Because I can’t think when you’re touching me. You make everything go out of my mind except how much I like what you’re doing, and how I want to touch you and taste you when it’s my turn.”

  He gave an odd sort of exasperated sigh, and sat up, one hand on my sheet-covered leg. “Do you want to tell me what it is you have to think about that’s so important that it stops what I had assumed was a mutually desired session of lovemaking?”

  I closed my eyes for the count of seven. I knew it was that number, because I was counting to myself. “I asked you to marry me, didn’t I?” I finally managed to get out.

  A variety of expressions passed over his face: confusion, disbelief, and amusement that slowly turned into something heated. “Yes, you did, three times as a matter of fact, but I assume that was the drug talking, since we both discussed how marriage was not something either one of us was interested in pursuing.”

  “Yes, well, the thing is ...” I bit my lip, avoiding looking at his beautiful green eyes. “I’ve changed my mind. I need to get married. Right away. Like, tonight. And although my opinion of marriage hasn’t changed—I still think it’s a formality for the convenience of governments, and it’s what’s between two people that really matters—that legal formality is what I need. Desperately. And much as I want to have wild, sweaty bunny sex with you, because right now that seems like the best thing in the whole world, it seems kind of wrong to do that with you and then go out and try to find some man who doesn’t mind getting married as soon as possible.”

  “What man?” he asked, frowning.

  “Huh?”

  “What man is waiting for you to leave my bed so he can marry you?” His frown turned into a scowl, and I was amazed for a moment that Dmitri, who seemed to have such a placid temperament, could suddenly go from mild to furious in the space of a few seconds.

  “I don’t know,” I said, eyeing him. I had a temper of my own, so couldn’t damn him for that, but if he was going to be the sort of man that got unreasonably angry, then it was best I find that out.

  Not, I reminded myself, tugging the sheet a bit higher, that it mattered now.

  Everything was ruined, and it was all because of Kardom.

  SEVEN

  Dmitri wanted to yell. He wanted to throttle the man who had dared to drug Thyra, he wanted to ask her roughly a million questions, and he very much needed her to explain why she had suddenly stopped him from bringing her what he assumed would be, if not exquisite pleasure, at least pleasurable enjoyment. But most of all, he wanted to change the look in her eyes from one of weepy unhappiness to the same shimmering golden passion that had filled them while he was taking great pleasure in exploring her nubile body.

  But she was looking wary now, giving him odd little worried looks while she pulled on her clothing, so he tried to push back all the things he wanted to say and do, and instead focused on what was vital at that moment: understanding why she’d suddenly changed her mind.

  “Did I do something that you didn’t like?” he asked, trying to think of what he might have done to make her want to leave his bed. “I would never do something if you didn’t care for it—”

  “No, it’s not you, don’t you see?” she said, tears still swimming in her lovely eyes.

  He shook his head. “I don’t see. Would you explain it to me?”

  “I want this,” she said, gesturing toward the bed. He sat on the edge of it, his hands on his knees, his erection singing a sad little dirge at the turn of events. He knew just how it felt. “I want you. But I can’t have you right now. That’s what I realized when the memory stopped bumping around in the dense fog of my mind, and I remembered it.”

  “That you asked
me to marry you?”

  “Yes. I have to get married. It’s the only thing that’s going to stop Kardom from doing this again. Where is it? ... I had it when the doctor was checking me over. ...” She dug around in her pockets until she pulled out a wadded-up piece of paper. “Look what he did.”

  He took the paper, frowning at it before he looked up. “It’s a marriage license.”

  “Yes. Your doctor said that bit in Greek is something called an apostille. Evidently her ex-husband is French, and he had to get it when they were married. It makes the license valid here.”

  “Why did you apply for a marriage license with this Kardom person if you didn’t want to marry him?” Once again, Dmitri felt out of his depth, the sense of being caught in a whirlpool of confusion almost palpable.

  “I didn’t. That’s not my signature. It’s a fake that Kardom must have had made up. That’s why I have to get married.”

  Dmitri shook his head again, trying to pick through the puzzle. “Even assuming he did forge a marriage license, and that looks real to me, why does it mean you need to be married to someone else?”

  “Because if he went to this length—drugging me, convincing Maggie to help him, and obviously paying off some witnesses and an officiant—then he’s certainly not going to give up just because I managed to escape his clutches.” She stuffed the paper back in her pocket and sat on the bed next to him. “I think he has this idea that if we get married, it will seal the deal with Beck making him their crown prince, which is why I have to get married as soon as possible—so I can nip that plan in the bud. Once I find someone, then you and I can ... then we can continue this. Assuming you aren’t so turned off by my nefarious cousins that you still want to do all those things you were doing. And which I want to do to you.”

  “I think,” he said slowly, wondering if she was baiting him into offering to marry her. The second he thought of that, he dismissed the idea—there was no sense of deceit in her. He’d been the recipient of such behavior by manipulative women before, and he knew what emotional blackmail looked like; she was genuinely distressed. “Perhaps you are jumping to an extreme action when a lesser one might suit as well. A restraining order, for instance.”

  She gave him a long, level look, the golden amber in her eyes dulled. “Do you think a man who clearly went to as much trouble as Kardom went to would honor a restraining order?”

  “Well ...” He had to admit that, upon thinking about it, it wasn’t likely. Clearly this cousin of hers saw no goal but his own. “No, I don’t. But marriage, even one where you don’t intend on honoring it to the full extent of its meaning, is a serious step.”

  “The way I see it is that someone out there”—she gestured toward the window—“is going to want the ability to work and live in Britain.”

  He frowned. “You were born in Beck. I saw your passport, and assumedly, it will be part of the European Union.”

  “Yes, but my mom was British, and Chris and I have dual citizenship. And that’s what I’m going to use to tempt someone—I was actually thinking about the hotel owner’s brother—into marrying me, so they can work in England if they want.”

  He didn’t want to say the words, but they were out before he realized just how insulting they were. “Why do I feel like you expect me to offer to marry you, instead?”

  “Because that’s the sort of thing that someone who didn’t give a damn about you would do. But I’m not that person. I take back my request for your hand in marriage. I’ve had time to think about it, and I see it’s not a good idea,” she answered. Far from being insulted, she patted his hand, just as if he needed to be comforted. “Dmitri, I want you to be my lover. My boyfriend. Hell, if things work out between us, my partner. But not my husband. That would just ruin everything.”

  “How so?” he asked, feeling slightly annoyed despite the fact that he had not wanted to be forced to marry her. He realized in a dim part of his mind that in the space of a few seconds he’d gone from being vehemently opposed to the idea of marrying to being unreasonably determined that if anyone was going to save her, it would be him; but that inconsistency of logic didn’t matter. Thyra most definitely did. “I don’t understand why you think it would ruin anything we have together.”

  “Because the marriage will be a business deal. It’ll be a cold, lifeless convenience to keep Kardom out of my hair.” Her hand slid to his bare thigh, her fingers trailing up it toward his belly. “What I want from you is much more personal. Intimate. Hot and sweaty and filled with me doing to you all the things you did earlier, and a whole lot more.”

  It made no sense, and yet, the second he realized that she would truly prefer to marry someone who just wanted to use her to get to England, he was determined that she should marry no one but him. “If it’s just a marriage that you want so that your cousin can’t force you into marrying him, then the answer is that I will marry you.”

  She’d been nibbling on his shoulder, her fingers spreading as she shifted her hand down, trailing fingertips that seemed to be dipped in fire along his (sad and forlorn at the state of affairs) length. She stopped touching and biting him to glare. “Did you not just hear me? I don’t want to marry you, Dmitri. I want to make love to you. Lots of times.”

  “The two things are not mutually exclusive,” he pointed out. “The contrary, traditionally speaking.”

  “Well, screw tradition,” she said, releasing him, her eyes now glittering with golden lights as she stood up. “I’m not going to marry you and make everything that could be between us horrible.”

  “Why would everything be horrible? If marriage means so little to you, why would being married to me matter?” Dmitri asked, needing to get to the bottom of her sudden reticence. He had a feeling it was important.

  She looked both defiant and frustrated, her hands gesticulating as she sputtered out, “It just would. It matters because—you would—it means that you—and then when you left me, we’d have legal crap to deal with. I don’t want that, Dmitri! I just want you without all that potential for grief. I’ll marry someone else who doesn’t matter.”

  “Doesn’t matter?” he said slowly, searching her face.

  “Oh, that came out wrong. Of course the person I marry will matter. I’ll give him a free pass to England, and then he can live there and I’ll be here with you.”

  He was silent for half a minute, trying to pick through her words to the emotions that lay beneath. Discarding the obvious protestation that it was silly to worry about a breakup before they even started a relationship, he focused on an idea that was growing in strength. “Do you trust me?”

  “What?” Her gaze skittered away for a few seconds, then returned to his when she nodded. “Yes, of course I trust you.”

  “I don’t think you do,” he said slowly, pushing down the little jolt of pain that accompanied that realization. His feelings didn’t matter here—hers did. “For one thing, we’ve been acquainted a short time. I’d be surprised if you did trust me wholly.”

  “Do you trust me?” she asked, looking defiant again.

  “Yes.” He smiled. “But then, I’m different than you in that I don’t share your fear of abandonment.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she asked indignantly, whomping him on the arm. “That is so insulting!”

  “It’s not meant to be, and I apologize if it seems I’m criticizing you.” He took her hand when she was about to pinch him, kissing the tips of her fingers. “Everyone in your life who you trusted and loved has left you. If I had lived through such tragedy, as well, I would no doubt feel the same way you do.”

  “I haven’t been abandoned,” she scoffed, but her gaze skittered away again. “My parents died in an accident. They didn’t intentionally leave me.”

  “How old were you then?” he asked, stroking her fingers and hoping he’d make her understand just how much he admired her strength.

  “Fifteen,” she said, glancing back to him, her eyes wary.

 
“A formative time in anyone’s life. How old was your brother?”

  “Twenty-one, and if you’re going to ask, yes, he was legally my guardian, although I didn’t need him. I had a job. I rented a room from a friend’s mom while I went to school. I was fine on my own. Besides, Chris was in England going to college, and he would have lost the scholarship if he had to come back to Canada.”

  Insight into her character deepened, giving him an understanding of why a woman as desirable as she was didn’t have a string of relationships behind her. “So in other words, your parents left you, and your brother placed his education ahead of your well-being. No, you needn’t say it—I know your parents were killed in an accident, but surely in your darkest moments, you must have felt like they abandoned you. My mother died in childbirth when I was just a year older than you, and despite knowing it was a tragedy and nothing more, I was angry at her for a long time for risking her life rather than being happy with my father and me.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, only to open it again, her eyes a lovely old gold as she clasped his hand in hers. “I’m so sorry, Dmitri. That must have been awful for you to lose your mom in that way. And yes, if I’m being absolutely honest, I was angry for a while. But I don’t think losing my parents in that way means I have abandonment issues.”

  “No?” He raised an eyebrow. “Then you won’t have a problem if we get married.”

  “Dammit, Dmitri!” she shouted, standing up. “You aren’t listening to me!”

  “I am, you know,” he said calmly, his mind forming a list of things that would have to be done. One, he’d have to warn the concierge not to allow anyone up to his apartment except those on an approved visitors’ list. He’d have to get a marriage license for himself, a legal one, unlike the one Thyra had. He’d have to convince her that a legality wasn’t going to mean that he, like all the others she had trusted, would leave her alone.

  He didn’t know when he’d come to that decision, but he accepted it just as he accepted the fact that she had irrevocably changed his life.