The Formidable King Page 6

Even though she had her back to him, she stilled as he approached. There was a definite thread of awareness between them. He was almost certain she felt his presence; knew that he was close.

  As if in confirmation, she turned slowly and looked straight at him.

  He skipped any pleasantries. ‘Dance with me.’

  It wasn’t a request, it was a command, and he was delighted when she responded to it instantly. There was no hesitation as she put her glass on the table and walked straight to him as though she was a sleepwalker.

  Gabe took her hand in his and led her the short distance to the dance floor. Then she was in the circle of his arms and they moved together effortlessly. His instinct was to pull her closer, to enjoy the perfect fit of her body against his and dance just as closely as they had at the masquerade ball. He wanted to shift his head closer to breathe in the scent of her shampoo and to let his teeth nip at the delicate shell of her ear.

  Unfortunately, here, he didn’t wear a mask. Here he was on public display and he knew all eyes watched.

  Clearing his throat, he forced conversation in order to break the spell that had all his senses tuned into her. ‘You’re full of surprises.’

  The dazed look in her eyes vanished and he sensed the fine hairs rising on the back of her neck as she bristled against him. ‘Why, King Gabriel? Because you didn’t realise I’m eligible to have people call me Your Grace?’

  ‘Why don’t you?’

  ‘Why should I, Your Majesty? It’s not a title I earned.’

  ‘Artarmon said you have no respect for titles.’ That he could believe after the way she’d spoken so frankly with him when they’d met. She’d not shown any respect for his! ‘If that’s the case, I insist you call me Gabriel.’

  ‘Your title is vastly different from mine. You’re the king and that’s not just an honorary title. You actually run a kingdom—your title indicates your position... your duties and responsibilities.’

  It felt as though she deliberately tried to create a distance between them and it annoyed the hell out of him. ‘Why are you engaged to Artarmon?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You heard me. I want to know why you’re engaged to him.’

  ‘That’s absolutely none—’

  ‘There’s no spark between you. Not even the slightest bit of sexual awareness.’

  ‘We’re British. We’re renowned for our proper behaviour in public.’

  His grip on her hand tightened. ‘Rubbish! Lovers the world over are instantly recognisable. It’s in the way they look at each other, the way they stand close together or seek any opportunity to touch. You just have to glance at Devereaux and Mackenzie to see why they’re about to be married.’

  ‘They’re a lovely couple.’ She looked over toward them. ‘You’ll be very busy. No sooner will this ball be over than you’ll be in full swing for the wedding, then off to...’ She swallowed before she continued. ‘You’ll be off to open the hospital and school in Misanti.’

  ‘Don’t change the subject,’ he told her sternly. ‘I haven’t seen you and Artarmon touch once tonight. His arm hasn’t been around you, you haven’t held hands and you haven’t even stood close together as you’ve spoken.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘There are six hundred guests in this ballroom. You’ve hardly watched us all night.’

  ‘Well-suited lovers touch. Constantly.’ He allowed his hand to press more firmly into the small of her back. ‘Their body language and total absorption in each other screams to everyone. Artarmon isn’t totally absorbed in you.’

  ‘Not everyone behaves the same way.’

  ‘Nor are you totally absorbed in him.’

  ‘I... He—’

  ‘If he truly loved you, he’d use any excuse to hold you close and he’d hold you possessively to let you know of his desire and warn every other male in the room that you were his. He wouldn’t let you wander away to fill your own glass, he’d have a second one ready for you before you took your last sip of the first.’ Her lips parted and Gabe’s blood heated with his need to kiss her. ‘He’d take you to the dance floor as an excuse to hold you close. He’d undress you with his eyes and he’d hold you like this.’

  In demonstration of his point, he shifted his hand a fraction lower, so his fingers were no longer at her waist, but his thumb was able to rub over her hipbone. Her instant intake of breath and the slight dilation of her pupils revealed her immediate awareness. ‘You see, India? One touch from me and you’re instantly aware.’

  ‘That’s because your touch is inappropriate.’

  His voice was a little gravelly as he told her, ‘If we were lovers it’d be a hell of a lot more inappropriate, even if we are on a dance floor in public.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. And... stop it!’ she hissed. ‘We are in a very public place and we aren’t wearing masks tonight.’

  ‘Rubbish! You’re wearing a mask, or a disguise at least. When you’re with Artarmon your entire passionate persona is masked, or neutralised.’

  ‘Really, Gabriel!’

  ‘Really, India!’ He mimicked, while he inwardly rejoiced that she called him by his first name. ‘You’d love nothing more right now than for me to waltz you right out of this ballroom and away to a place where we’re guaranteed privacy. Somewhere you can give into your passionate instincts and do all the things that you’d like to do to me. Somewhere I can do all the things you’d like me to do to you.’

  ‘No. You—’

  ‘You’d mould your delectable body against mine—your softness to my strength. You’d look up at me with your lips apart, just as you are now, wanting me to kiss you. Wanting me to taste you. Wanting me to make you mine.’

  For a moment her body went lax—the hand on his shoulder pressed down, telling him her raised arm had grown weightier.

  Savage need ripped through him. ‘Come with me, India.’

  She stiffened. ‘You’re supposed to be respectable. You’re supposed to be honourable and here you are propositioning an engaged woman.’ She flung the words at him, but there was a tremor in her voice that told him she was more vulnerable to his suggestion than she wanted to convey. ‘I thought it was your brother who was the playboy.’

  He looked at her sharply. Dev hadn’t been the playboy he’d been reputed to be, but he certainly hadn’t been chaste either. His brother had been single when he’d met India, and Dev was a red-blooded male who’d always appreciated a beautiful woman. ‘Do you have firsthand knowledge of his playboy ways?’ If she responded affirmatively, he might go and knock Devereaux’s teeth down his throat.

  ‘What?’ She was suitably taken aback.

  ‘You said you met my brother at Eden’s funeral. Did he proposition you?’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re asking me such a thing!’

  ‘Dev hadn’t met the gorgeous Mackenzie back then. He was free to proposition beautiful, single women, and I’m certain very few of them refused his invitation to share his bed.’

  She stopped dead on the dance floor. ‘You’re way out of line.’

  ‘Have you and my brother been lovers?’

  ‘No. What the hell is wrong with you?’ she hissed.

  Relief coursed through him, but even as he relaxed, he realised their lack of movement to the music drew attention. Well might she ask what was wrong with him. His behaviour was completely foreign and totally unacceptable. He was the king, for heaven’s sake, and there were six hundred guests here who could watch his every move. And every move he made with India was pretty obvious, given that both of them were so tall they stood out in the glittering sea of jewelled bodies.

  ‘My apologies,’ he said with less heat as he steered her off to the side of the dance floor and into a spot where they were shielded to a certain extent by a pillar. ‘Ever since I thought you and Devereaux may have been together—even briefly—I admit to having been jealous.’ Huge admission, but there it was.

  The violet depths of her eyes grew troubled, but even though they’d
come to a standstill, her hands still rested on his shoulders. ‘Why are you playing this game with me?’

  ‘It isn’t a game, India. I want you.’ He continued to enjoy the feel of her slender waist beneath his hands and no longer cared that the embrace might be witnessed.

  ‘I’m engaged.’

  ‘But not married. Have you set a date?’

  ‘No.’ Her gaze fixed on his bow tie.

  ‘What’s stopping you?’

  Her hands slid down from his shoulders and rested with her palms against his chest. ‘You said you knew Jeremy’s parents, but you obviously haven’t seen them for several years.’

  ‘That’s true.’ The fine hairs on his nape raised, his intuition telling him she was about to tell him something significant.

  ‘Jeremy’s mum has multiple sclerosis and is extremely unwell. She is being nursed round the clock by a palliative care team who’ve moved into their country home. Although she’s put up a brave fight, she isn’t expected to live for much longer.’ Her eyes were moist as she spoke, and Gabe couldn’t help but think that she reacted with more emotional attachment for her fiancé’s mother than she did for her fiancé. ‘Jeremy and I... er... it would be inappropriate to make wedding plans at this point.’

  Her tie to the Countess of Picksbury seemed sincere, but her reference to wedding plans didn’t ring true. ‘I remember the countess spoke frequently and glowingly of her only child. I would’ve thought she’d find much more contentment and more to live for knowing her son was happily settled before she passes away.’ Another thought struck him, ‘Unless she disapproves of you for some reason?’

  Pain shot through his foot from where she deliberately brought her heel down hard onto his toes.

  Gritting his teeth against the stabbing agony, he challenged, ‘Hit a raw spot, did I?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she enunciated clearly, as she pushed against his chest. Her lips formed a benign smile, but her eyes were hard chips of amethyst. ‘You’re just being your usual rude self and making assumptions about things of which you know nothing.’

  He released her, allowing his hands to fall back to his sides. ‘You’re close to his mother?’

  ‘I adore Jeremy’s mother,’ she said passionately. ‘In fact, I adore both his parents. They’ve been absolutely wonderful to me—especially when my grandmother died.’

  ‘You speak with more feeling for them than you do for your viscount. I can’t understand what you see in him. Why are you planning to marry him when you’re so attracted to me?’

  ‘You seriously overrate your appeal.’

  Propriety be damned! Before she could protest, he put his arms back around her and steered her into the open again and onto the dance floor.

  ‘Damn you, Gabriel de la Croix! This has to stop,’ she vented through clenched teeth. Ignoring her directive, he exerted a little more pressure on her lower back until he felt the softness of the lower half of her body pressed intimately against his.

  Her eyes widened. ‘Gabriel, please!’

  ‘You don’t need to beg me, India. I’ll become your lover willingly.’

  ‘Damn it all! You’re verging on making a scene. Anybody watching us would think...’

  ‘That we’re lovers?’ he supplied. ‘They wouldn’t be far off the mark considering that’s what we both want to be.’

  The nails of her right hand tried to score his shoulders through the fabric of his jacket, but didn’t even come close to leaving an indentation.

  With a smile he said, ‘Got to hand it to the Italian tailors. They only use the best fabric.’

  Her eyes were a stormy, violet sea.

  Fortunately, sanity asserted itself. Despite his deliberate goading, he knew India was right. He held her too closely in public. Easing his body away from hers, he felt instantly bereft.

  Overwhelmed by an all-encompassing need to be with her, he continued to guide her through their dance with one overriding purpose. Weaving between the other couples, he manoeuvred her over to the far side of the room and right behind another pillar. This pillar not only obscured him, it concealed a doorway from the view of the rest of the ballroom.

  Anticipation coursed through him. He’d reached his destination.

  Gabe didn’t even give India time to protest. He nodded to the liveried guards who were on duty to prevent access to this wing of the palace. With efficiency of movement, he opened the door to an informal retiring room and whisked her inside. A split second later, he shut the door firmly behind them and turned the key in the lock to ensure they wouldn’t be interrupted.

  His only thoughts were of India and the ravenous physical hunger that assailed him. He drew her again into his arms and was impaled by a spike of lust, which shattered every ounce of his control. With a deep groan, he plundered her mouth.

  There was only a small hesitation before he felt her body soften and her arms creep up so her fingers speared through his hair. She used her hands to anchor his head to hers. The ragged, husky sounds she made were further communication that she was also powerless against the tide of longing between them, and welcomed the possession of his lips against hers.

  Every instinct he possessed strained to satisfy the unrestrained hunger and mutual need that flared between them.

  When his hand splayed across the curve of her lower spine to gather her closer, he felt the tiny quivering vibrations that passed through her slender frame. All cool, practised seduction techniques were forgotten as he was swept up in a maelstrom of fiery, elemental, lust that consumed him and blinded him to all else. There was nothing refined in the way his hands moved over her frame in desperate need, moulding her to him as she moaned into his mouth.

  Where was the man who prided himself on his self-control?

  A voice he didn’t recognise scoffed at him, telling him it didn’t know and it didn’t care.

  His fingers drew down on the long zipper of her dress, which rested over her spine. In return she loosened his bow tie, then started working at the top button of his shirt.

  His senses were swamped by the softness of her breasts pressing into his chest, and the alluring floral fragrance of her perfume mingled with the barely perceptible musky hint of her need.

  The taste of the expensive French Champagne on her tongue brought back memories from the masquerade ball. How was it that the flavour improved when he tasted it from her mouth? If only the vignerons could capture that secret ingredient, their vintages would be even better.

  ‘Gabriel,’ she whispered against his lips, when his fingers completed their mission with her zipper and he was able to peel back the fabric and trace the toned flesh of her back with his hands.

  It wasn’t enough. He wanted all of her.

  Naked.

  Now.

  Easing the garment from her shoulders, down her arms and off over her hands, he was delighted when her breasts sprang free. He pulled back a little to admire her as she undid the buttons of his shirt.

  My God! He’d never seen breasts so perfect. Reaching out, he cupped each of them in his large hands. His thumbs and forefingers drew on the already distended dusky-pink nipples, causing a raw, needy sound to emerge from her throat.

  Each tug of his fingers resulted in a corresponding jerk of his arousal.

  Her hands were under his shirt, smoothing over the crisp, masculine hair smattered over his pectoral muscles. Every touch was electrifying, but there’d be time later for her to explore his body. Right now, he wanted to explore hers.

  Bending his frame, he claimed one taut peak of perfection in his mouth. The taste of her heated flesh was even more divine than the Champagne on her tongue. How much better would she taste lower down? He had to know. He had to make love to all of her with his mouth before he claimed her with his body.

  ‘We were meant to be lovers,’ he told her raggedly. ‘Break off your engagement with Artarmon.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ she gasped, and he saw the panic in her eyes as she pulled away from him and instantly dre
w her dress back up over her breasts. ‘Jeremy!’

  ‘You forget about him the instant you’re in my arms. You can’t marry him, India—not knowing how strongly you want me.’

  ‘This is... lust.’ She thrust her arms back into her dress. ‘It doesn’t count.’

  ‘It counts, and it’s obviously a lot more lust than you have for Artarmon.’ God knew it was lust that was killing him—his physical need for her so great, his masculine desire throbbed painfully. ‘In the whole evening, nothing in your behaviour or his would make anybody believe you’re engaged. One second alone with me and we’re tearing each other’s clothes off.’

  ‘I don’t normally behave this way.’

  ‘Nor do I. That’s exactly my point.’

  ‘This is madness!’

  ‘It might be madness, but it would be cruel to marry Artarmon when you feel this level of madness with me.’ God damn it! She had to listen to him before she killed them both with frustration. ‘Break off your engagement tonight or I’ll break it off for you.’

  ‘Don’t you dare say anything to Jeremy.’

  Shit! How could she stand there and deny this passion between them?

  ‘If you have any regard for him at all, you’ll agree he deserves more than marriage to a woman who goes up in flames every time she’s with another man.’

  ‘I can’t break up with him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Damn it, Gabriel, just accept it.’

  He took a step toward her, but she backed away. ‘Become my lover, India. You won’t regret it.’

  She shook her head but her expression was miserable.

  ‘I won’t lie to you. I’ll never offer you marriage,’ he told her baldly. ‘I’ve been married before and I’ve vowed I’ll never take another wife. But I can guarantee you’ll be happier as my lover than you would be as Artarmon’s wife.’

  ‘You have no right to ask this of me. This thing between you and I... it’s just... a throwback... Maybe it goes back to that night years ago when we were both so attracted and that went unfulfilled. There’s nothing more to it.’

  ‘It won’t go away,’ he told her adamantly. ‘Every time we’re together, it builds between us.’