She was intoxicating. Like a poison in his blood.
Maxim was going to take her, but first, he wanted her to know that she would have no worries in his care, that he would provide for her generously when they arrived in Varros. Everything he had would be hers.
He tore his mouth from hers with great reluctance, resting his weight on one forearm to keep from crushing her, and used his free hand to caress her cheek. “I’ll protect you. Whatever you want, whatever you need in Varros, it shall be yours.”
Her brow furrowed, confusion flashing in the depths of her eyes. “What do you mean?”
Maxim struggled to speak over the raging lust coursing through his veins. “I’ll take care of you. You will be provided with your own house and servants. I’ll shower you in jewels. Every man, woman, and child in the kingdom will know who you are and kneel to you.”
Yes, he liked the notion of her waiting for him, naked, fistfuls of fine gems sprinkled over her ivory skin. Or better still, a necklace of his choosing glistening around her throat and nothing more. She was too beautiful to be a lady-in-waiting. She deserved all the finery his wealth could provide. She deserved an army of attendants to do her bidding, every member of his court bowing and scraping to her. She deserved to be revered and adored, worshiped like the goddess she was. His goddess.
For a fleeting moment, he imagined her as his queen, but he quickly banished the tempting notion. He owed the people of Varros peace after so many years of protracted and bitter war, and the surest means of achieving it was an alliance with Boritania. That meant he had no choice but to wed the princess, even if he wanted another more.
But something had suddenly changed in Lady Tansy. The dreaminess had fled her countenance, and she was stiffening beneath him, her arms falling away so that she no longer embraced him. The loss produced an ache deep inside Maxim.
“Your mistress?” she hissed. “Is that what you would make me?”
“My woman,” he corrected, for there was an important difference.
A mistress was a temporary lover. But the lifelong position of power and respect he offered her was one he had never given another. She would have every bit as much importance in his kingdom as his queen. Perhaps even more.
“No,” she said, planting her palms on his chest.
Maxim was sure he had misheard.
“No?” he repeated.
“No,” she growled at him, suddenly an angry cat with razor claws instead of a drowsy kitten who had been content and pliant. “I’ll not be your kept woman. Get off me.”
“Not a kept woman,” he attempted to explain, rolling to his side to accommodate her request, although doing so nearly killed him. She belonged to him, was meant for him, his by right as much as the throne of Varros was. “Mywoman. The king’s woman. I will give you everything.”
“Everything but your respect,” she spat, rising from the bed and shaking out her skirts as if she expected to find them filled with vipers.
“I respect you greatly.” Frowning, Maxim rose to his feet as well, towering over her, taking great pleasure in the sight she presented, so thoroughly mussed and kissed, despite her ire. “That is why I would give you a house and carte blanche, servants to do your bidding, and the loyalty of everyone in my kingdom.”
Perhaps she didn’t fully understand. Boritanian ways often differed from Varrosian traditions. Now she would accept his proposition and allow him to kiss her again, he was certain of it.
But Lady Tansy’s eyes were still flashing with stubborn fire.
“You do not respect me at all, or you would not wish for me to step down from a position of honor to lie in your bed in a position of dishonor.”
He stared at her, bemused by her outrage. “The position is one of great honor. You will want for nothing.”
Her chin rose, and he couldn’t deny the picture she presented—a gorgeous beauty, regal as any queen—affected him deeply, despite her angry rejection.
“I must decline Your Majesty’s offer,” she said coolly. “My loyalty is to the princess, and I have failed her this evening.”
Maxim was suddenly, absurdly jealous of Princess Anastasia. He wanted the fealty Lady Tansy gave to her to belong to him alone. He wanted her to accede to his wishes. To give them both what they so plainly desired. He hadn’t mistaken the restless way she had moved against him and clung to him, nor the half-dozen breathless sighs and soft moans she had given him, the answering glide of her tongue against his, the seductive nip of her teeth.
The wet heat of her sex, tantalizing him through the barrier of his trousers.
“You will change your mind,” he vowed.
To Lady Tansy. To himself.
She was his, and she would know it. The damnedworldwould know it.
But he was a man who had spilled the blood of others on the battlefield, and he knew when it was time to retreat.
