Royal Elite: Leander (19 page)

“You've got to be kidding me.” Mattias rumbled a laugh,
refilled
his drink, and strolled in Leander's wake. “And me, with so few people to make bets with.”

. . .

The broad meadow surrounding the old church offered a velvety bed of green grass with a few wildflower shoots as a 'ring' to wrestle in. Leander stripped out of his shirt at the same time Sander did. Tossing the shirt on the grass, Leander rubbed the side of his wrist against his mouth, circling Sander as they sized each other up. Leaner than the king, and perhaps forty pounds lighter, Leander was nevertheless undaunted by Sander's greater height and breadth. This wasn't the first time they'd sparred and Leander prided himself on remembering every weakness Sander had—which were few. A king he might be, but that did not mean Sander Ahtissari wasn't a honed, skilled fighter who also had a knack for knowing
his
enemies weaknesses and exploiting them with a mercilessness Leander admired.

“You never did tell me whether you want me to go pay our 'friend' a visit tomorrow,” Leander said, never taking his eyes off Sander as they circled one another.

“You'd go, too, wouldn't you?” Sander asked.

“I would, even if we don't have proof of his involvement.” The man they suspected to be responsible for Kristo's kidnapping and ultimate threat to the Elite, a man the Elite had trouble with before by the name Franklin Carr, could not be pinned with hard evidence involving the arrangement of kidnapping and explosives aboard Ahsan's plane. That left the men of the Elite few choices in ways to deal with him so that it didn't happen again. The choice to kill Franklin was not a choice at all; none of the Elite members would agree to cold blooded murder, each believing that resorting to those tactics made them no better than any other killer. Leander, however, had a few tricks up his sleeve that might make Franklin Carr reconsider another attack against the Elite. He'd offered himself up for a trip across the world the day before his wedding to tie up 'loose ends'.

“Tell you what,” Sander said, slowly reaching into his pants pocket. Withdrawing a small, square object, he flicked it through the air toward Leander. “Use this. Mattias was able to salvage it from one of our hackers. You've got a special skill for putting this where it will be seen by the right people, which in turn
should
make Franklin Carr back off.”

Leander snatched the flash drive out of the air without taking his eyes off Sander. That would have invited an unexpected rush by the king, he thought, and he wasn't about to give his adversary an easy opening. “What's on it?”

“You can guess.”

“Oh,
those
kinds of things. Home surveillance, other 'business' transactions, maybe even Franklin in a very compromising position that would be of great interest to his local authorities.” The threat of blackmail hadn't worked on Franklin before, yet actually posting hints of the real thing in just the right place should make the man back down immediately. It was all a game of chance, of strategy, of outmaneuvering your opponent.

Kind of like the sparring match about to take place.

With a sleight of hand motion, Leander tucked the flash drive into his pocket. He knew exactly what to do with it. “The upside to this is that I don't have to hop a plane tonight and risk my life tomorrow. Very smart thinking, Sander.”

“Well, Mattias and I won't be there to save your sorry hide--”

Leander chose that precise moment to strike. Surging forward, he lashed his arms toward Sander's middle, shoulders down, intending to pile drive the king into the ground.

. . .

“It's all really coming together. I'm so excited for the official ceremony--” Wynn paused her gushing dialogue with Chey to glance at a gathering crowd near one of the church windows. It appeared as if something was going on outside. Murmurs preceded a few members heading to the side door to step out. Wynn looked at Chey, puzzled. “What's going on?”

Chey too watched as a few more people trickled to the side door and exited into the waning day. “I have no idea, but if you notice,
both
our men are missing.”

Wynn darted a look around the interior of the chapel. Leander, Sander and Mattias were nowhere in sight. Even Gunnar, the youngest Ahtissari brother, was gone. “Huh.”

“I have a feeling that's what everyone is going to see.” Chey deposited her drink on a table, grabbed Wynn's hand, and tugged her toward the side door.

“What are they doing that's drawing such a crowd?” Wynn frowned, pardoning her and Chey's hasty passage through the throng. More staff members gathered at the window, and another few slipped outside.

Something
was definitely going on.

Blinded by the sun when they stepped out on the heels of someone else, Wynn tossed a hand up to block the glaring rays. It took her a moment to focus as Chey dragged her to the edge of a circle of people.

The sight that greeted her brought a gasp to Wynn's lips and a bubble of laughter to Chey's.

“So
that's
what's going on. Half naked boys, wrestling on the ground,” Chey quipped, drawing a laugh from some of the onlookers.

Sander and Leander, stripped to the waist, battled it out with each other, grappling and twisting for purchase. Just when one man gained an upper position, the other flipped over and the wrestling started again.

It was the most glorious thing Wynn had ever seen. She couldn't take her eyes off the ripple of muscle in Leander's arms and shoulders. Laughing, catching up late to Chey's quip, she said, “Are they for real? Why in the world are they wrestling?”

“Boys will be boys.” Chey fished around her pocket, pulled out a twenty, and waved it in the air. “I've got twenty on Leander!”

As if struck dumb, both Sander and Leander froze in place, mid-fight, snapping startled looks at Chey.

Wynn clapped her hands and belly laughed. She knew Chey had done that on purpose simply to get that reaction from both men. No one would have
ever
believed Chey would root for anyone but Sander, thus the shock value. The small crowd rippled with laughter as well, intimate enough with the king and queen to guess at Chey's tactic. More curious onlookers spilled out from inside the church, drawn by the noise and action.

“Well? Don't just sit there, Leander, I've got money on you!” Chey said, waving the bill in the air as if that might galvanize the men into motion.

In a flash of sinewy muscle, Leander and Sander got to their feet. Bits of grass, dirt and other debris stuck to their pants and skin.

Laughing with delight, Chey charged forward and threw herself into Sander's arms. “That worked so much better than I thought it would. I got you right where I want you.”

“Now we'll never hear the end of who 'won',” Wynn said, parroting Chey's laugh. She stalked her husband-to-be, gaze raking him head to toe.

“Clearly
I
won,” Sander said, though he was looking at Chey rather than Leander. He planted a possessive kiss on Chey's mouth, easily holding her a foot off the ground.

“In your dreams,” Leander retorted to Sander. Like the king, Leander's gaze stuck with his girl. He slid an arm low around Wynn's hips and pulled her snug against his body. “Isn't that right, Wynn?”

“It was a tie as far as I could tell, which means you both won.” Wynn kissed Leander on the mouth, then hugged him with both arms, holding on tight. When he spun her around in a slow circle, she kicked her feet up behind her in a girlish pose and smiled into his face.

“He's slow and old and seriously showing a decline in strength,” Leander said, cutting a sly look sidelong at Sander.

“Stop trying to goad him into round two!” Wynn said.

“Keep it up, pup. I'll show you slow and old.” Sander mock growled, bringing a smattering of laughter from the onlookers.

Wynn kissed the smile on Leander's mouth, determined to distract him. It worked better than she thought. In the next second, he had her curled back over an arm, 'dipping' her as if they'd been dancing.

“He's slow, old,
and
lacking my natural gallantry with women,” Leander said.

“Hang on, Chey. Just give me five minutes...” Sander set Chey down and gently pried her arms from around his neck.

Laughing, Chey blocked him from advancing on Leander and Wynn. “Wait a minute! There will be no more wrestling—at least until we leave.”

“Leave? Who's leaving?” Leander arched Wynn back to a stand.

“The girls. I'm stealing them early. You can see your bride day after tomorrow.” Chey kissed Sander one more time, fingers dragging down his chest then off.

“Hey wait. Just because Leander's cut off for the next two days doesn't mean I have to be, too,” Sander said, lodging a complaint.

“Already? Damn, Chey, you could have given us another couple hours.” Leander, grinning despite his own complaints, kept Wynn tucked into the curl of his arm.

Wynn regarded her friends, her loved ones, and the members of her family watching on from the sidelines. It was a poignant scene, one Wynn knew she would remember for the rest of her life. Sometimes it was the little things that made her heart flip-flop in her chest. Glancing at Leander, she studied his profile, the stray blade of grass stuck in his hair. In two days, she would finally become his wife. It felt strange to know that the next time she saw him, it would be with her in a white dress and him in a tux, prepared to say I Do.

“Guess this is it,” Leander said, meeting her eyes.

“I guess so. What are you going to do tomorrow while we're doing...whatever Chey's got planned?”

“Probably work around the house a little, make sure I have everything ready for the wedding. Maybe take your parents out to dinner while you're at this top secret bachelorette party.” He winked.

“They'd love to go to dinner with you. I'm just sorry I'm going to miss it!” Wynn had the grace to blush about the bachelorette party. She knew what typically happened with those. “I'm going to try and talk Chey out of that. I don't want to see any man but you stripping his clothes off.”

“It's your last chance to have at it,” Leander said, arching a brow.

Laughing, Wynn said, “Are you trying to get me into trouble? I'm being good, here!” Then, a thought occurred. She narrowed her eyes at Leander, then addressed the king. “Sander and Mattias Ahtissari! Are you giving Leander a bachelor party?”

In the middle of putting his shirt back on, Sander glanced at Wynn. His expression never changed. Not a flicker of guilt, innocence or otherwise. He traded a quick look with Mattias, then said, “I hadn't thought about it. Mattias?”

“Of course not. I'm sure we'll get together for a drink later in the evening, but no bachelor party has been planned,” Mattias said. His lips trembled at the corners.

“...you are too! Chey!” Wynn pointed at the brothers, prince and king, then looked up at Leander. His expression was also carefully neutral, Wynn noticed. How convenient.

“I know nothing.” Chey held both hands up, eyes downcast, a dimple spearing her cheek.

Wynn sucked in a slow breath. She knew exactly what Chey's avoidance of eye contact meant. Strangely enough, Wynn experienced a stab of wild jealousy at the thought of some woman stripping down to almost nothing for Leander. Suddenly, the crowd that had gathered to watch the good-natured wrestling match dispersed like dandelions on the wind. They escaped inside, several friends of the bride and groom chuckling and giggling behind their hands.

“You chickens,” Wynn called out, earning a laugh from Sander, Mattias and Leander.

“Say your goodbyes, Winnie. It's time to go.” Chey clapped her hands in a hurry up fashion.

Wynn pointed a finger up at Leander's face and searched his eyes. “No touching. And she's not allowed to actually
sit
on your lap. I mean it. I have ways of finding out everything that happens.” After a pause, she said to Chey, “And don't call me Winnie!”

Leander cupped Wynn's face in his hands and kissed her soundly. “There is no stripper and no bachelor party. I'm spending my last night of being single watching a boring television show or talking shop with my friends.”

Wynn's mock stern facade melted at the feel of his lips on her own. “All right. I'll see you day after tomorrow then.”

Chey flirted a little more with Sander while she back-stepped alongside the church toward the front, where a limousine now waited. “I'll call you whatever I want to, Winnie.”

Sander smiled while he watched Chey, hands sliding into the pockets of his pants.
Bye,
he mouthed.

Bye,
Chey mouthed back.

Wynn caught the tail end of their flirting. If she and Leander wound up as happy as Chey and Sander, Wynn thought it would be a great life indeed.

The cottage felt empty without Wynn. Every room echoed with her laughter, her soft cries of passion, her quirky endearments that affected him more than he let on. Sitting on the small patio with a view of the ocean, Leander brought his mug of coffee to his lips and reflected on the year gone by. It had been a good one, as far as he was concerned, filled with casual trips to the mainland and a few exotic ports of call for mini-vacations which never failed to please Wynn.

Not a man to drown in memories or regrets, he found himself unusually pensive the day before his wedding. Perhaps all couples experienced this inner searching, this poignant survey of their life before another person became a permanent fixture there.

Rising suddenly from the chair, Leander carried his coffee into the house. He traversed the halls and two sets of stairs until he arrived at an upstairs attic that spanned a good portion of the cottage. Inside, cobwebs hung from the high juncture of beams like gossamer threads, easier to see thanks to weak light spilling through an arching window. Boxes, trunks and bins made neat rows on either side of a walkway, a creation of Wynn's for the times she came up to dig out seasonal decorations or something more personal and private. Not one bin, trunk or crate belonged solely to him. Wynn had expressed shock to discover that Leander kept very little in the way of memorabilia from his childhood. So little that it all fit into one drawer of his nightstand.