American Queen

“You’re not fine though,” Embry hisses, turning to Ash. “Did you see how he was holding her? Touching her? We can’t let him near her again.”

Ash looks at me thoughtfully, on the surface all cool analysis while Embry seethes and mumbles threats next to him. But when I meet his eyes, there’s nothing cool or composed in their deep, clear depths. In them, I see the soldier. I see lead and fire and blood.

“He wants you,” Ash says finally. “That much is clear. I’m doubling your security for the duration of your stay, and you tell me the moment he says or does something untoward again. Understood?”

“I can take care of myself,” I say, a little snappishly. “I don’t need you to rescue me.”

Ash looks impatient. “This isn’t a game, Greer. You were just sexually assaulted by the leader of a country hostile to ours. Like it or not, you are an extension of my office now—your safety and the safety of our country are intertwined, and aside from all that, you are the most precious possession of my heart. I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

I don’t even know why I’m so riled up right now, so peevish, because none of this is Ash’s fault, but I bite off a caustic, “I’m not anyone’s possession” and glare at him.

And then he’s leaning into my ear, his hand on the small of my back. “That’s right, you’re not my possession. You’re going to be my wife. My wife who kneels at my feet, who presents her cunt to me without question when I demand it, who trusts me with her heart and soul and future. You think it’s either/or that you belong to yourself or belong to me, but I’m telling you right now that it’s both/and. You belong to yourself and you belong to me, and I don’t fucking care that it seems like a contradiction because we both know it isn’t. Now if you can’t accept that, then say my name right now and we will step back and renegotiate our relationship. But if you are willing to submit to the fact that I will move fucking heaven and earth to keep you from harm, then say yes, Sir.”

My irritation leaves instantly, my emotions taking a crash as the adrenaline in my blood begins to plummet down to pre-Melwas levels. “Yes, Sir,” I say, feeling instantly guilty for taking out my fear and anger on him. “I’m sorry, Ash. I’m not angry with you. I’m just shaken up.”

“I know.” He gives me a lingering kiss on the lips, parting them with his own and sliding his tongue inside my mouth. I taste mint and whiskey and Ash. “I love you,” he whispers, pulling back. “I have to go talk to Merlin, though. This…complicates things.”

“Please don’t let me undo all the work you’ve done for the treaty,” I say, instantly filled with unease.

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he says flatly. “This is on Melwas. The treaty must go forward, but I think more precautions need to be put in place immediately. Stay with Embry—you don’t leave his side, got it?”

The irrational desire to pick a fight with him has disappeared. “Got it.”

He gives me another quick kiss and then he’s off to find Merlin.

24

“Shall we dance?” I ask Embry, taking one of his still-fisted hands in both of mine. He still looks like he’s squaring off for a duel, and people are going to notice soon if he doesn’t stop.

“Dance?” he asks blankly, like I’ve just asked him to donate a kidney.

“We are still on a dance floor,” I point out. “And we still have to pretend that we’re here for diplomacy.”

“I guess,” he scowls.

“Come on,” I coax, sliding a hand up his shoulder to his neck. I did it to make him dance, but the second my hand touches his neck, I realize what a mistake it was. It’s the first time I’ve really touched him since he came to my office at Georgetown. Firm, deliberate touch.

And it’s the first time he and I have been mostly alone together, without Ash.

His lips part and his pupils dilate into black pools of lust. I make to drop my hand, but his hand covers mine, and he moves it back up to his neck as we slowly start dancing. Both of us are good enough dancers that we don’t need to pay attention to the steps or the music. “That feels good,” he murmurs. “Having your hand on me.”

I want my hand to be everywhere on him—his flat abs and curved ass and thick penis—I want him trembling underneath my touch as sweat springs up on his forehead, I want him so desperate for me that he can’t form words, I want to sit on his face and have him eat me while he reflexively tries to fuck the air.

The brief fantasy is so vivid and so unlike me that I have trouble catching my breath. Is it possible to be a different person with two different lovers? For a woman to be different with one man than she is with another? With Ash, I never want anything other than what we have. But for some reason when I think of Embry, I think of him moving beneath me, of blind passion without negotiation, him sometimes rough and fast and me sometimes cruel and teasing. Not a power exchange, but a power dance, back and forth, side to side, mindless and spontaneous.

“You okay?” Embry asks, eyebrows slanting together, and I snap back to reality, my cheeks warm.

“Yes,” I say, and then add quickly, to steer us away from more dangerous topics, “Where’s Abilene?”

Embry sounds weary, not sarcastic, when he answers. “You mean my date?” He tilts his head to the side, and I follow the gesture, seeing her dancing with one of the men from the Carpathian delegation. He can’t stop staring down her dress, and there’s a certain satisfaction on her face that I can’t quite read. “I hope she’s having fun,” I say. “I hope they hit it off. But I am sorry she wasn’t a very good date.”