Guarding His Royal Bride
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C.J. Miller
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Chapter 1
The king of Valencia was dying and leaving behind a hell of a mess.
Emmanuel Floros had two ex-wives, five spoiled children who had grown into self-centered adults and a wife who was as controlling as she was stupid. The eight of them were squabbling for land and money, but the fighting was pointless. After the king died and his will was read, all would be revealed. Some might be cut out; others may have inherited a treasure trove.
Fortunately for him, President Demetrius DeSante of Icarus had a knack for turning disasters into opportunities. In this case, the opportunity had a name: Iliana Kracos. It wasn’t like him to care about a woman this much, even a woman as beautiful as Iliana, but she was special.
He wouldn’t allow a little obstacle like her fury at him to stand in his way.
Demetrius had to take his pursuit of Iliana to another level. No more casual phone calls, flower arrangements, gifts or dropping by the castle to see her. She was giving him the old-fashioned silent treatment, and maybe he deserved it. She had been angry with him when he had refused to back down from a fight brewing in the Mediterranean, but since war had been averted, she should have moved past it and forgiven him. Yet she’d rebuffed his calls and communicated only through intermediaries. During his infrequent visits to Acacia, she’d been away from the castle on business.
He was outside Iliana’s home, fist hovering in front of the wood door, prepared to knock.
Why was he nervous? He had nerves of steel, which had been tested many times over on the battlefield, and courage in spades that he displayed every time he faced difficulties head-on. But one fiery, green-eyed goddess had the power to reduce him to an anxious mess. Much more was on the line than Iliana’s significance in Valencia. She was the most fascinating woman he had ever known—feisty, smart and sexy, all wrapped up in a spicy package.
His servicemen were behind him, and he wouldn’t show fear in front of them. Though their loyalty was unconditional and challenged on a regular basis, he wouldn’t give anyone one shred of a reason to doubt him. He maintained control by showing power and strength. His careful decisions had pulled Icarus back from ruin and had changed it into a productive country for the first time in a century.
He heard a crash inside the house.
His protective instincts roared, and he pounded on the door. “Iliana! Open the door!”
Iliana’s terror-filled scream rang out. Demetrius kicked at the door handle. Once, twice and the door splintered under his weight. He rushed into the house, his servicemen on his heels.
He followed Iliana’s screams and the sound of breaking dishes.
She was at the back of the house, in her kitchen. Her hands were gripping the counter behind her, and a man was pointing a gun at her. Demetrius’s own gun was in his hands in milliseconds. His guards would be brandishing theirs, as well.
Demetrius didn’t recognize the man, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d be forced to kill a stranger. “You are outgunned and outmanned. Drop your weapon, or I’ll kill you.”
The intruder looked from Iliana to Demetrius. The coldness in his eyes and the firepower in his hands indicated this wasn’t an armed robbery. This wasn’t personal. This was a would-be assassination. The man was likely a hired gun who knew his trade well. The hit man didn’t know Iliana, and that worked in their favor. He wouldn’t make reckless decisions based on emotion.
Demetrius would have killed him on the spot for threatening Iliana, but she didn’t like violence. And if the assassin was dead, they couldn’t find out who had sent him. “Last warning.”
Three more seconds and Iliana’s aversion to violence would come second to keeping her safe.
The assassin set his weapon on the kitchen table and raised his hands. The man didn’t have a death wish after all. Lucky for him. Demetrius took the gun and gestured to his servicemen to deal with the assailant.
After holstering his gun and handing the hit man’s gun to his guard, he strode to Iliana, who was still clutching the countertop, her face white, her body shaking. His rage for the assassin was renewed. He should have killed the man for upsetting her and found out who’d hired him another way.
His woman shouldn’t tremble from fear, and whether or not she chose to recognize it, Iliana was his woman.
White-hot anger sliced through him, and he reached for his gun. Any man who harmed Iliana would pay, and he’d set the precedent now.
Iliana set her hand on his, her soft fingers sending a jolt of lust and desire through him. “No, Demetrius. Don’t kill him. Please.”
She knew him too well. She had read the intention in his eyes. It wasn’t the first time she had stopped him from killing a man. If it were any other woman, he would have ignored her plea.
“He hurt you.” Translation: he deserved to die.
She shook her head. “He scared me. He didn’t hurt me. I threw dishes at him.”
Scaring her and hurting her made little difference to him. “It’s the same.” But he had to admit, her fight and her resourcefulness impressed him.
“My gun is in that drawer,” she said, pointing to a cabinet a few feet from her. “I was trying to get to it.”
Surprise and admiration washed over him. “Since when do you have a gun?”
She stabbed her slender fingers through her red hair. “Since a few months after my cousin and uncle were gunned down at his birthday party.”
Demetrius had attended the late king of Acacia’s birthday party. Tragic scene, catastrophic consequences. “You didn’t mention your interest in owning a gun. I could have taught you to use it.”
“I took lessons.” She shook her head, still seeming dazed. “What are you doing here?” Her voice sounded faint. He wasn’t used to that. Usually everything Iliana said was accompanied by an energetic, playful tone, occasionally marked with a little sass.
Except during the last conversation they had, the conversation he didn’t like to think about. She had been hurt and angry with him.
“I came to speak with you.” She had pulled her hand away, and he was desperate to reach for her. He didn’t. The number of times he had touched Iliana could be counted on one hand. Their relationship, though far more intimate than any other he’d had with a woman in years, was lacking in the physical aspect. Not because he wasn’t interested. He was very interested. What held him back was the fear he would mess this up. He needed it to work in order to follow through with his plan.
“Did you arrange this attack in an attempt to win my forgiveness by saving me?” she asked.
The idea was repulsive, and it burned that she thought so low of him. “I have told you before. It is not my intention to hurt you, ever. I would never send a man here to kill you or threaten you so I could step in and save you. The timing was fortuitous, and you can confirm with your queen’s husband that I am in Acacia at his invitation. We met earlier today.” King Casimir, one of the few men Demetrius trusted, had invited him to Acacia to discuss some outstanding political issues, among them, trade arrangements in the Mediterranean.
Iliana nodded once swiftly. She believed him and she should, because he spoke the truth. Demetrius made it his policy not to lie to her outright. But secret keeping was necessary, and as a member of the royal family, she should understand that.
“You’re here. Say what you need to say,” Iliana said. She set her hand on her hip, and he liked that her sass was back.
He had practiced the speech many times, but now he felt words were inadequate to express his thoughts. “I’m sorry that politics interfered in our relationship.”
Iliana quirked a brow. Demetrius kept his eyes locked on her face, but it was tempting to peek at her generous curves. For a petite woman, she was shapely in the right places.
When he had first learned of Iliana’s existence during a poker game with Emmanuel the First, the king of Valencia, Demetrius had been intrigued. Locating her had been a simple matter, as had been confirming her identity—one even she wasn’t aware of—by taking a strand of hair from her hairbrush. What had not been simple was his attraction to her. She was take-his-breath-away gorgeous. Although he was regularly hit on by sexy women, those drawn to his power and money, Iliana intrigued him like no one else did.
She fascinated him in all the right ways. He found it refreshing that she didn’t seem to care about his position or his wealth. It had been far too long since a woman liked him for him.
“It wasn’t politics that came between us. You didn’t listen to me. You did what you wanted without any consideration for my thoughts and feelings.”
Demetrius checked his temper. Iliana could push his buttons like no one else. Fighting with her made his blood run hot. Because she mattered to him. She had then, and she did now. “I had to do what was right for Icarus. I believed that war could be avoided, but I could not appear weak by backing away from provocation from Rizari.”
Iliana’s eyes softened. Was he winning her over? “I couldn’t explain everything to you with the queen close at hand, and, after that, you refused to speak to me,” he said.
She dropped her arms to her sides, hands unclenched. She was considering the matter.
He went for broke. “You’ve been through an ordeal today. Please stay with me until things settle down and we know more about this incident.” Such as who the assassin was and why he had targeted Iliana. Demetrius could venture a few guesses, but vocalizing them would only scare her or anger her further.
She inhaled deeply, seeming to consider his proposition. “I will be fine. The police will be here soon, and it will be over.”
Demetrius didn’t want to frighten her, but he knew this would not be over until she was dead or the person who wanted her dead was stopped. “Could we speak in private?”
Iliana glanced over his shoulder at her attacker. “Outside?”
He hadn’t swept the outside to see if another killer was lying in wait. “Upstairs would be better.”
She swallowed hard. “Okay.”
Demetrius followed her up the stairs, taking in the details around him, paint color, the pictures on the wall, all canvas paintings, and the flooring: soft but worn. He hadn’t been inside her home before, and he noticed how much like her it was. Inviting, modern and comfortable.
When she reached the top of the stairs, she took one more step and turned. “There are only bedrooms and a bathroom up here. We can talk in the hallway.”
Was she worried about being alone with him in the bedroom because of what may happen when a bed was close by? The idea thrilled him because it meant she still felt their attraction. For him, it was a constant thrum in his veins.
Being attracted to her was an unexpected bonus of the larger, more important task at hand—to win her over. He would have had to seduce her no matter what he felt for her, but being that she was gorgeous and smart, it made the job that much more pleasant.
He needed to be honest with her and give her the right motivation to stay with him. He could keep her safe as no one else could. “The man in your kitchen meant to assassinate you. Whoever sent him won’t give up after one attempt.”
Iliana shot him a look of disbelief. He loved that about her. She wasn’t a simpering woman, quick to burst into tears. She rallied quickly in the face of hardships. “Perhaps there are a lot of people who have reasons to kill you. No one has reasons to kill me.”
She knew so little about her life. It was too soon to tell her all he knew. He had to disarm her, marry her and then show her how she fit into the chess game. “If you will not stay with me, please call your dear cousin and arrange to stay in the castle.”
Since a massive corruption conspiracy had been uncovered within the queen of Acacia’s ranks, she had cleaned house. New security measures had been put in place, and Queen Serena kept her thumb on everything and everyone in the Acacian government. It helped that her husband, King Constantine Casimir Warrington IV of Rizari, brought his skills as an experienced military man to the table.
Iliana wrinkled her nose. “I don’t want to stay in the castle. It’s big, but Serena and Casimir are still in the honeymoon phase and I’d be the third wheel there.”
Demetrius knew the feeling. Those long looks and the constant touching between Serena and Casimir nauseated him. “Then, my home it is.”
Iliana hesitated.
Shouting below them had Demetrius reaching again for his gun and pushing Iliana behind him. If more hit men had arrived, they’d have to shoot him dead to get to Iliana. He’d been shot four times in his life and had survived without any loss of major body functions. He’d cheated death and tempted fate before, and he would do it again.
The police had arrived. Demetrius surveyed the scene before bringing Iliana downstairs with him.
A detective strolled up to Iliana. “We found another man lurking outside. This address is on the queen’s watch list. Ms. Kracos, you’ll need to come with us.”
“I’ve invited Iliana to stay with me. I think we should let her decide where she’d feel safest,” Demetrius said, banking on Iliana choosing him. It was risky, but Iliana couldn’t be cornered.
* * *
As bad days went, this one was tops. Iliana hadn’t even had breakfast yet and her home had already been invaded by an assassin and Demetrius DeSante.
It was the second time that Demetrius had saved her life. She was capable of protecting herself, but being around him made her feel like batting her eyes and flirting and giggling. Not the tough image she wanted to convey.
A woman didn’t flirt with the president of Icarus. He would find that behavior appalling. He was so serious and stern and powerful. Darkly good-looking, a fact he seemed unaware of, which made him that much more attractive.
Instead, Iliana kept her wits about her and reviewed her options.
She could stay in her home, she could stay with Serena and Casimir at the castle or she could run off with Demetrius DeSante.
Her heart had an obvious preference, given that it almost beat out of her chest at the idea of being alone with Demetrius. The safest place, in more ways than one, was the Acacian castle. Yet she would be loath to intrude on her cousin and her new husband. Her home felt unsafe and the police would likely insist, to the point of forcing her, that she leave. Demetrius’s home held appeal.
She had a history of being brash and wild with men, so she would exercise some caution this time. “If I go with you to Icarus and wish to return to Acacia, you’ll allow it?”
“This is not a kidnapping. You are coming with me of your own volition and may leave whenever you wish. I will arrange safe transportation for you to return to Acacia at your request.”
His voice was liquid honey, and her knees felt as if they might give out. “If I come with you, it doesn’t mean that I forgive you.”
His eyes darkened. “Of course not.”
But he knew that he’d won. The silence between them had been broken. Her anger had already been lessened by the fact that war between their countries had been averted months earlier. By the time the smoke had cleared, Iliana hadn’t been sure how to talk to Demetrius or where they stood.
When she shut him out completely, she could keep her distance. But if she let him in a little bit, he seemed to get in all the way. When he was close, her desire for him intensified and she wanted him in—inside her, in her life, in her heart.
Given Iliana’s position on the queen’s staff, it divided her loyalty.
Yet she yearned for Demetrius DeSante. No other man ignited her blood as much as he did. Queen Serena had said she was fine with Iliana seeing DeSante. Granted, that was before the dictator had decided war was the only way and had shown he was willing to go to the mat over any infraction against Icarus.
Iliana didn’t want to be in a relationship with someone who didn’t think her opinion mattered. Could she give him another chance? Was that what was already happening?
Maybe her emotions had shifted away from anger when their hands had touched. Iliana wanted to touch him, but he rarely reached for her. Demetrius could light her up with a look, and that was power. They hadn’t slept together, not even close, and yet she was hungry for him.
She felt a sudden burning need to explore the part of their relationship that was a mystery to her. “I’ll need to inform Serena we’re traveling to Icarus.”
Demetrius didn’t smile, but his eyes gave him away. “Come, then. No time to waste. As we drag, someone could be arranging to send another team of assassins. Perhaps the second squad will not be as incompetent as the first.”
* * *
Iliana hadn’t traveled to Icarus before, and its capital city of Daedalus, where the president’s home was located, wasn’t what she had expected. She had seen pictures of Icarus, but witnessing it in person told a different story.
The pictures in the media of Icarus were of filthy slums, dirty children running wild on the streets and a general sense of desolation and despair. Icarus, or at least Daedalus, was nothing like that.
The streets were hectic, but they were lined with businesses that seemed clean, bright and industrious. Sidewalk easels announced the sale of food, clothes, trinkets and even skateboards.
“You seem surprised,” Demetrius said. He was seated across from her in the back of the extended town car. He had his tablet on his lap, but his intense dark blue eyes were locked on her.
She wouldn’t lie. “This isn’t what I expected.”
“I’ve been inviting you to visit for months. It took someone trying to kill you for you to take me up on my offer.”
He was blunt, but he didn’t sound upset. “I have my reservations about being involved with a war-hungry leader.”
He smirked. “I am not war hungry. If I wanted a war, I wouldn’t have backed down from the fight with Rizari.”
“You backed down because the new king of Rizari is your best friend.”
“I have no friends when it comes to protecting the interests of my country. Casimir is a man I respect. We are close like brothers.”
She flinched. “If you don’t have friends, what am I to you?” A question she had pondered often.
“A woman I am interested in pursuing. A woman who I would like to marry.”
“Marry?” The word sent shock waves through her. A man hadn’t brought up marriage before, at least, not a marriage with her. She had once discovered a man she was dating was married and had ended the relationship, but that was her and marriage in a totally different context.
Iliana didn’t dwell on past mistakes. It was typical of the men she met to want to sleep with her and have fun with her. Maybe it was a vibe she was giving off.
To have a powerful and desirable man like Demetrius speak those words to her made her ego purr.
“I assume you wish to be married?” he asked, leaning close, his piercing navy eyes seeing into her soul.
She calmed her racing heart. Demetrius was intense and direct, and she couldn’t overreact. He’d see fits of hysteria or giggling as unattractive, and, inexplicably, it was important to her to be seen as desirable by him. “Yes. One day. To the right man.”
“Tell me—who exactly is the right man? What makes him worth waiting for?”
“Do you have to ask so many complex questions?” She was deflecting, but she didn’t want to talk about her future husband and the man she hoped he would be. Demetrius would see that he was wrong for her, and the relationship would be over before it began. She definitely had the sense something was starting now. A fling or a one-night stand maybe, and a hot, passionate and fun one at that.
“You are avoiding answering my question,” he said.
“Because the man I want to marry is not a checklist I’m looking to fulfill. It’s a feeling. I want to be swept away.”
She was grateful he had the decency not to laugh at her. Iliana had a fanciful side that had landed her in trouble with men before. She’d been inspired by her parents’ relationship. They had met on a blind date, had a whirlwind romance and had been inseparable until the day they’d died. Older and wiser now, Iliana knew not to project what she wanted onto a man. She had to have her eyes open to who he was and accept him, flaws and all. Who was the man in front of her? A violent dictator—ruthless, blunt and drop-dead sexy.
Demetrius’s home was another surprise. It was a large, rambling three-story house, not as ornate as she had expected. It looked well maintained but in need of softening. He had no flowers in the garden, no curtains in the windows, nothing to add contrast to the gray stone exterior.
The sedan circled to the back of the house. To her right was what might have been a beautiful, lush garden many years earlier. Some plants were overgrown; other patches of the garden were bare. A large stone wall surrounding the space was beginning to crumble. Didn’t that bother Demetrius? He was detail oriented and precise. Wasn’t he concerned about the state of his home? As president of Icarus, his residence should reflect his power and wealth.
They parked behind the house, and Demetrius opened the car door and climbed out. He took her hand and helped her out of the black sedan. Heat surged between them. Now that they were out of the public eye, could she step closer, rub against him, make it clear she was interested in moving their relationship forward, at least the physical aspects of it?
She lost her nerve. He placed her hand on his arm and led her into the house.
Much like the exterior, the inside was plain. Little furniture, white walls, clean, but it didn’t look occupied. “You live here?” she asked.
“Yes.”
This was his primary home? “It looks bare.” No knickknacks, no artwork and nothing on the table or sofa.
“I haven’t had time to decorate. I’d like my wife to do that.”
It wasn’t the first time he had commented about tasks he wanted a wife to perform. She was certain he didn’t mean to offend her, although it struck her as presumptive to assume a woman would have time or interest in remodeling a home. “What if your wife doesn’t want to decorate your house?”
He shrugged. “Then, she can hire someone to do it the way she likes. Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t view my wife as my servant or believe that her role is to please me. My intention in allowing her to decorate is for her to find our home comfortable and pleasing.”
It was all she could do to keep from swooning. Though she and Demetrius had trouble communicating, sometimes his words blew her away. Her parents had put her first in their lives, but since they had died, no one made her the top priority. No one went out of his or her way to please her.
“Show me your favorite room in the house,” Iliana said.
Demetrius’s lips twitched. She half expected him to deny her request. “Follow me.”
She followed Demetrius up two flights of stairs to the top floor. At the end of the hallway, he opened the double doors. This had to be his bedroom. His favorite room was his personal sanctuary, and she was inside it. A surge of happiness swept over her and she was genuinely pleased he had brought her here.
Unlike the plainness of the rest of the house, this room was beautiful. It was him. Dark wood furniture, blue bedding and geometric-patterned curtains worked together and made the room flow. It was charming and distinctly Demetrius.
She sat on the bed and gave it a few test bounces. “Harder than I like.”
“I’ll have it replaced,” he said.
He was nothing if not confident. “I don’t plan to sleep here,” she said.
“I don’t plan for you to sleep there, either, but I do intend to have you in my bed,” he said.
His words made her hot and excited. Her insides clutched with yearning. “Come here. Please.”
He strode to her and knelt on the floor in front of her. He took both her hands in his and kissed her palms. To have a powerful man like Demetrius acquiesce to her made her, in turn, feel powerful.
He watched her with such absolute focus that she felt like the only person in the world who mattered to him in that moment. Maybe she was. “I’ve fantasized about having you in my bedroom and about what I would do to you when I finally got you here.”
They had flirted, they’d had long conversations, but they hadn’t allowed their relationship to cross over into a physical one. Their attraction was the one part of their relationship that had been consistent. Consistent and persistently drawing her to him. She had daydreamed about him, about this moment, and now she couldn’t think about anything except him. “Then, do it to me. Show me.” He would be confident and talented in bed. She knew it.
His eyes blazed sex. Taking the relationship from zero to sixty was rash, but Iliana didn’t know how long this would last. She had kept his attention, and he had pursued her. They were alone together in his room. Why fight it? Iliana knew the difference between sex and intimacy, and while she preferred the latter, in this blistering moment, she wanted the former with Demetrius.
“When I’ve thought of you at night, when I’m alone, I’ve imagined you touching me and I know you will be very, very good,” she said.
He grinned. “You know right, but I will show you.”
She expected him to pounce on her, but instead he stood and drew her to her feet. He walked her to the large window overlooking the gardens.
He stood behind her and moved her hair to the side. He pressed his lips to her neck and ran his hands down her sides. Her stomach fluttered in anticipation. He had been restrained every other time they were alone, and it made her want him that much more.
When he reached her waist, he unsnapped her pants. She had a moment of panic. What underwear was she wearing? She couldn’t recall what she had slipped on that morning. She hadn’t been anticipating taking a lover that day.
“Relax. What are you worried about?” he asked.
“I think I’m wearing green underwear.”
Demetrius laughed and plucked the back of her pants. “Yes. It seems you are.”
She felt a flush over her cheeks. Normally sleeping with a man for the first time required careful preparation—manicure, a facial and some primping. No special arrangements had been made today. But she had the feeling with Demetrius, this could be now or never. He had said the word marriage to her, but Iliana couldn’t process that on any real level. Achy, needy desire swelled inside her. She couldn’t slow the build of lust and wanting in her body. “I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“There is nothing you could do now to disappoint me. Except maybe leave.” He slid her pants down her legs and let them fall to the floor around her feet. She stepped out of them. He tugged her shirt over her head.
Demetrius spun her around. He growled as he swept his eyes down her body. “You are glorious and perfectly feminine.” He touched the side of her face gently, tracing his thumb down her cheek.
Then he moved quickly and deliberately, bringing her against his body and kissing her. His lips seared her to the core. She moved against him, feeling his hardness through his pants, and had the intense urge to drop to her knees and take him in her mouth. The kisses turned carnal, tongues tasting, teeth clicking.
Demetrius reached between her legs and ran a finger across the V of her thighs. “Wet. Already. I like that.”
She was dripping. Hungry. His hands cupped her breasts, and he squeezed lightly.
He was wearing entirely too many clothes for this to be fair. She tugged his shirt from his pants, pulling at the buttons and grappling with his belt. When his shirt was unfastened, he shrugged it off, and it joined her clothes on the floor.
His pants came next, then his boxers, and she could see everything. Every bronzed, roped muscle, his impressive arousal, long and thick, the ripple of his abdominals and a collection of scars.
She set her hand over the circular scars, one near his heart, two at his sides, one on his thigh. “What happened?”
“Gunshot wounds.” He sounded indifferent.
“All of them?” He had been shot four times?
“Different occurrences. Do they bother you?” For the first time, he sounded unsure, and that warmed her. He was human. He was sweet. He had a soft side that she guessed he revealed to few people.
“Not at all. You are a warrior.” To prove it, she kissed each one, tracing them and the other scars that marred his body.
“Enough,” he said, and swept her into his arms. He carried her to the bed and laid her down. She let her legs fall open because she wanted him now and didn’t feel the need to be coy about it.
He removed her bra with the snap of his fingers and kissed each of her breasts, laving them with attention, making her feel loved and cherished. He reached for her feet, removing her shoes and letting them hit the floor.
“Demetrius, please hurry.” Her body ached for his, longed to feel his weight on top of her.
Other sexual encounters with boyfriends had been brief, a quick pounding, leaving her unsatisfied. Demetrius seemed in no hurry and intent on leaving her satisfied. She was so turned on, if she moved the right way against him, she might come from his touch.
He kissed a trail down her body and tugged her green—ugh—panties down her legs. “I’m throwing those out,” she said.
“Keep them. I’ll think of you like this every time I see them,” he said.
He brought his mouth between her legs, and she involuntarily bucked against him. He set his hand on her hip to settle her. Excitement and pleasure pulsed between her legs. He took his time, licking, sucking, caressing her until she was frantic with need. He knew what he was doing, and she tried to stay calm. Watching him in that intimate position, she felt affection and warmth flood over her.
“I need you inside me,” she said. “Please, Demetrius.”
He moved over her and reached into his bedside table. Donning a condom, he positioned himself at her opening. With almost no effort, he pushed inside her. She was hot and wet and so ready for this. The sensation of him filling her, of him reaching deep inside her, was utterly amazing.
He moved with hard, insistent thrusts, seeming to enjoy the thump of his body delving into hers. She ran her fingernails down his back, digging them into his buttocks, and lifted to meet him.
She felt pressure building between her legs. Everything inside her spun with pleasure and desire, pushing her higher and higher until she was plummeting over the edge of ecstasy. Their eyes locked, and she felt a shudder go through his body as he spilled his essence.
As her body relaxed beneath his, he collapsed on top of her. She welcomed the weight of him. She kissed his shoulder and rubbed his calf with her foot. The words I love you were on her tongue, but she refused to speak them, scared of what they could mean, fearful they were coming too soon or may be an excited utterance.
Most of all, she was scared they were true and she had fallen for a ruthless dictator who would hurt her all over again.
