The Princess and the Player (Royal House of Leone Book 5) Page 5

  “I loved you, you know.”

  His deep voiced words shocked her so hard she almost spilled her champagne. “What?”

  “You heard me.” His eyes narrowed just enough to convey how seriously he spoke.

  “I didn’t know. Honestly.” It felt right to say the truth.

  “Would it have made a difference?”

  He champagne glass sweated in her hand. Would it? Yes. No. Would she have defied her family and turned down a prestigious royal marriage for an uncertain future with him?

  Amadou sighed. “I suppose you’d have married him anyway. You always were the kind of nice girl who does what people expect of her.”

  “Not really.” She’d had the affair with him, after all. Her prudish and judgmental sister, Liesel, would have died if she’d known. Liesel would die right now if she knew she was here with him in his hotel room. “Though I can’t say I’ve ever been a rebel.”

  His wistful look turned to a wry smile. “It’s not too late to start.”

  “What am I supposed to rebel from?”

  “Quiet boredom. Settling for less than you deserve.”

  “I’m quite sure I don’t deserve to live in a magnificent three-hundred-year-old palace, but I certainly can’t complain about it. And why would you think I’m bored? I have plenty to do.”

  “Tending your roses?” His brow lifted slightly.

  “Something like that. Just because you wouldn’t enjoy it doesn’t mean that I don’t. You didn’t want children, and I devoted my life to raising mine and enjoyed every minute of it. So, you see, we weren’t meant for each other at all.”

  She said it boldly, feeling it with conviction.

  He watched her for a moment, his brow slightly furrowed with concentration. “Maybe with you, my life would have been different.”

  “Why did you never have children?” It was the kind of socially unacceptable question you knew to never ask anyone. But since he was apparently accusing her of ruining his life—or something—it felt appropriate.

  His chest rose slightly, inside his white T-shirt. “I was afraid.”

  “Of what?” She wasn’t going to let him off with the kind of empty answer that went over well in magazine interviews.

  He drew in a deep breath. “My father…he was a bad man.”

  “I thought you never knew him.” She couldn’t fully remember the story he’d told her. It had been short on details even back then.

  “I didn’t, but I knew enough to be…afraid. Of what I might pass on to my children.”

  “What do you mean, bad?” In the nature versus nurture debate she knew from firsthand experience that nature was a big deal, but could the wrong DNA curse someone from birth? She didn’t believe that.

  “He arranged for my mother to come here from Mali with the promise of work in a hotel.” He frowned. “He kept her locked up here in Paris, forcing her to work in an illegal sweatshop to pay her debt, which kept growing.”

  “Modern-day slavery,” she said slowly.

  He nodded. “One night he took my mother by force.” He pushed his words out through almost closed lips.

  “Oh, no.” The words rushed out. “I’m so sorry. Goodness. I can see that would be hard—” She had no idea what to say. No wonder he hadn’t told her. No one wanted to be the product of a rape.

  “It’s okay. She escaped from him that night and never saw him again. My history is just part of who I am.”

  “Have you always known?”

  “Since I was about eleven. I kept pressing my mom, pushing her, begging her to tell me who my father was and getting angry when she wouldn’t. She finally admitted it, and then I hated myself for forcing the issue.”

  “You never told me.”

  “I never told anyone. Not until years later. It was still an open wound when I was with you.”

  She sighed and sipped her champagne. “I suppose what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

  “And sometimes the pain leaves you in the form of beautiful music.” A smile lit his eyes again, even though the rest of his face still looked serious. “I probably wouldn’t be who I am if my dad was a nice accountant or engineer and I’d had a pampered existence.”

  “And the world would have missed out on your talent.” Phew. Negative into a positive. Next time she got the urge to ask a probing question, she was going to keep her trap shut.

  His smile shone quietly in his eyes for a moment. Then he tilted his head. “Perhaps I should call for dinner. Would you like the salmon? It’s pretty decent.”

  “That sounds lovely.” He called in their order, and they went back to polite chatter. What a relief.

  “More champagne?”

  “Why not?”

  The delicate poached salmon and braised vegetables were delicious—as you’d expect at such an expensive hotel—and they managed to keep the conversation on conventional topics like what all her children were doing. She could talk about them all day, and with all their accomplishments it was easy to do. “Did you know my son Darias is a world-renowned artist? He’s hoping to keep painting even now that he’s king. He’s set up a studio in the top of the medieval castle in the town center where he and his wife, Emma, live.”

  She didn’t mention how his wife was a former gallery assistant whom he’d paid to pretend to be his wife for a year. They’d made such a lovely couple at the lavish royal wedding that neither she nor anyone else had guessed it was all an act. Life was always more complicated than it seemed on the surface.

  “I’ve seen his work. He has a true appreciation for the beauty of women—both inside and outside. I’m sure he gets that from being raised by such a fine woman himself.”

  She laughed. “Flattery doesn’t work on me at all. Royals hear so much of it that we grow to hate it.”

  Amadou laughed loudly, probably grateful for some honesty after all the pleasant chatter. “I’ll do my best to be brutally frank.” He sat back in his chair and looked steadily at her face for a moment. “Did you miss me at all?”

  “Of course I did.” She spoke the truth. “You were my closest friend, and under the circumstances I could hardly call you up for a chat.”

  “I’d have given you all kinds of bad advice.” His wolfish smile did something strange to her insides. “Especially late at night when I was missing you in my bed.”

  “I know.” She turned the stem of her wineglass. “And I might well have listened. So I didn’t call.”

  “I ached for you, and there you were in the cheap newspapers, beaming with joy under your tiara.” He let out an exhale. “I’ve never been so jealous in my life as I was of your husband. I’d have liked to challenge him to a duel over you.”

  She giggled at the idea. “You’d have won.”

  “Tell me about it.” He tilted his head and lowered his thick lashes, regarding her through hooded eyes that gleamed with…something. “And I’d still like to win the prize.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Amadou watched Lina’s eyes widen. Some would accuse him of being too bold, but if anything he’d showed restraint.

  There was no “might” in his mind. He intended to claim her, if only for one night. “Would you like to hear the new song I just wrote?”

  “I’d love that.” The relief in her eyes showed that she was glad of a change of subject. He wanted to laugh. Didn’t she realize his song would be about her?

  “I wrote it last night and laid down some tracks in the studio this morning with my band.” He pulled up the MP3 on his phone. Just the background beat and the guitar.

  He stood, feeling suddenly shy. He’d written plenty of songs about Lina over the years but never performed one to her face—at least not since they were both kids.

  He turned and walked into the middle of the sitting room, as the music poured out of his portable speakers and flowed around them.

  Lina looked so beautiful sitting there, her blonde hair falling softly to her shoulders, her blue eyes bright with anticipation and
her cheeks flushed from champagne.

  Damn but he longed to take her in his arms right now.

  He let the tension build, filling his creative well, growing the song inside him. Finally, when he couldn’t stand it anymore, he let the words spill out.

  Lina had moved to the sofa, glad to stretch out and relax. Making conversation had made her tense. Watching his mouth move made her want to kiss him. His gestures made her wish he would touch her. And also that he wouldn’t, because where would that lead?

  She relished the opportunity to sit back and listen to him sing. It would give her a chance to think up a polite excuse to leave. An early-morning hair appointment, perhaps? Might as well choose something that made her seem dull and shallow.

  Amadou didn’t use a mic. He hung his head for a moment, moving slightly to the beat as the opening bars of the music played, then suddenly he threw his head back and started to sing.

  In the relatively small space of the hotel suite, his voice rang with raw power that emanated from every muscle of his body. Hoping to relax, instead she found herself sitting to attention, rapt, hanging on every note that echoed off the elaborate plaster moldings of the high ceiling.

  Then she noticed the lyrics.

  She was always there inside me

  Hidden in my mind

  So many years apart meant nothing…

  He stared right at her, his gaze trapping hers, his words penetrating her brain.

  I don’t think she knew it

  But I was there inside her all the time

  She swallowed. Was he right? Had she been carrying Amadou—or feelings for him—all through her marriage to Emil?

  Yes.

  Impossible, though. She didn’t think about him. Not much, anyway. But she couldn’t deny there was still something powerful between them. Probably just that chemistry people made so much of. It worked like an expensive perfume, creating a connection between people even when there was no real reason for them to communicate.

  He kept singing, and she deliberately tried not to listen to the lyrics. His strong voice was transfixing enough already. And his eyes, the way they stared at her, as if they could see right through to her thoughts.

  Suddenly he stopped, and she realized she’d been holding her breath. She drew in air and managed to conjure a smile. “That was wonderful.”

  He cocked his head, challenging her. “Wonderful?”

  He thought her comment sounded phony. Which it was. Wonderful was a word you’d use to praise an elaborate floral arrangement, a beautiful bridal gown, or perhaps a pleasant tea party for a few hundred of your favorite foreign diplomats.

  “Powerful,” she attempted. “Moving.”

  “Thank you.” Now one corner of his lip lifted into a wry smile. “I’d hate to think I hadn’t moved you.”

  “You move audiences of a thousand people,” she said, trying to make it seem like it wasn’t just her.

  “A thousand? I played to ninety thousand in the Wembley Arena last month.”

  “Really? I didn’t know anywhere could hold that many people.”

  “I bet there are a lot of things you don’t know.” He walked toward her.

  “No doubt.” She pushed another smile to her lips. “I never claimed to be perfect.”

  He sat down on the sofa next to her, which sent a shockwave of awareness through her.

  She should have sat on the chair instead.

  “You don’t have to claim to be perfect.” He took her hand. Uh-oh. And kissed it. Double uh-oh. Heat flashed through her, up her arm and to her face. “It’s enough for you to be simply—you.”

  Before she could respond—or even gather her thoughts—his lips met hers in a fiery explosion of…whatever that was that happened between them when they got too close.

  This time the kiss deepened instantly. Her hands flew to his neck, drawing him to her. He wrapped his around her, enveloping her in his warmth.

  I’ve missed you so much.

  A line from his song and from her own heart pulsed in her head. She’d forgotten what it was like to experience this kind of passion. To have her whole body come alive in a man’s arms.

  Her fingers wove into his hair, feeling the familiar shape of his head, then down his back, where they plucked at his T-shirt, groping for the hot skin beneath it.

  His lips made a trail of kisses across her cheekbone and to her neck, where he hit an erogenous zone and made her gasp. His hands roamed over her, exploring her back and touching the sides of her breasts, which made her shiver with pleasure.

  I’ve missed you so much.

  Why did she leave him? It seemed insane. So long ago she couldn’t even conjure her actual reasoning at the time, just her much-repeated official version of it.

  Her fingers probed under his T-shirt and pressed into the hard muscle of his back. She felt his belly contract as he sucked in a breath.

  “In thirty years my feelings for you haven’t changed one bit.” He breathed the words into her neck, and she felt the truth of them in her heart.

  Mine neither. She had the presence of mind not to speak her thoughts. Still, she couldn’t seem to stop her hands from wandering lower, to caress his hard backside and powerful thighs.

  She’d forgotten what it felt like to be with such a strong man. Her late husband, Emil, was…an intellectual—not given to exercise or physical development. Amadou was naturally built like an athlete. He approached his daily life with such muscular energy that every day was a full-body workout. If anything his body looked better than ever—fuller and more substantial but still lean as a college student.

  The effect on her own body was electrifying. Her insides quaked and yearned for him. And when she felt his fingers on the zipper of her dress, the only thought she could summon was yes!

  He lowered the zipper carefully, sliding his fingers over the bare skin of her back. She shivered in anticipation of feeling his skin against hers. As soon as he reached the bottom she tugged at the hem of his T-shirt and together they pulled it over his head.

  “Stand up.” His whispered command brought her to her feet, and she realized he was about to release her dress at the shoulders and let it drop to the floor. Sudden panic surged through her. He’d last seen her naked when she was a skinny girl of twenty without a single stretch mark.

  What if he saw her body and was repulsed, or at least unpleasantly surprised?

  As if sensing her hesitation, he held her close and kissed her until she started to relax again. Then, releasing her only far enough from him that there was room for her dress to slide down, he eased it off her shoulders and over her arms.

  As it fell to the floor he let out a ragged sigh and ran his hands over her sides.

  “I never thought I’d hold you in my arms again,” he murmured. He cupped her backside, then slid his arms around her waist and pressed her naked body against him. Her insides shimmied. “This is a dream come true.”

  Emotion welled inside Lina. She hadn’t dreamed about meeting Amadou again. If anything she’d dreaded it, maybe because she knew there was still buried emotion deep inside her. Unfulfilled longing that had lain dormant somewhere in her heart throughout her long marriage, just waiting for the right conditions to burst forth and bloom again.

  She shouldn’t be doing this.

  Her nipples grew tight against his hard chest. He made her feel young inside. Her heart beat like a drum, and her breathing grew unsteady. Passion snuck over her and made her skin hot and her thoughts confused.

  She wasn’t supposed to get this overexcited at her age.

  It didn’t feel…safe.

  Still, her fingers wandered to the button on his pants and undid it. Then she unzipped them, and together they slid his pants and underwear down over his strong thighs until he stepped out of them.

  The sight of Amadou naked always had an alarming effect on her, and nothing had changed. Her insides clamored when she saw his proud erection, and she ached to have him buried deep in her.


  Again.

  As they kissed and caressed, reveling in each others’ bodies, there was an eerie familiarity that made the strange situation seem somehow totally natural.

  “I want to make love to you,” he whispered softly in her ear. “May I?”

  Her heart squeezed. “Yes.” He’d asked her like that the first time all those years ago. The thoughtful gesture had surprised her since everything else about him was so bold. She’d given the same answer then.

  He led her into his bedroom, where he retrieved a condom from a drawer and rolled it on deftly. Her anxious self-consciousness had vanished. His appreciation of her body—of her—was so evident and obvious she almost wanted to laugh.

  He lifted her onto the bed and her skin tingled with awareness as he climbed over her and kissed her softly on the lips. She held her breath as he entered her, but her body welcomed him, drawing him deep, and soon she relaxed and they started to move together.

  Oh, my.

  Sensations she hadn’t experienced in decades rippled through her. He moved with the same confidence, the same tender affection that had stirred her when she was too young and shallow to realize how much it meant.

  Now she’d lived long enough to know that this kind of passion was rare. That the emotions flooding her right now were feelings you could go through an entire lifetime and never know.

  She inhaled his scent—intoxicating as always—and drew it down into her core. As they kissed she felt herself growing drunk on the taste of him. He moved them both with such ease, guiding the rhythm and moving them between positions in a way that felt both completely natural and utterly exciting. Being with him felt effortless, inevitable, like the sunset and the sunrise, or getting caught in the rain of a sudden storm.

  When her climax finally overtook her she cried out, then immediately apologized. Surely decades of royal training should have disciplined such an outburst out of her? A palace or a hotel had far too many employees who could overhear a moment of passionate indiscretion.