Eternally Seduced (89 page)

She woke up screaming from her nightmares, in a room that was not hers, and with Rathe next to her. It was the worst sense of déjà vu and it made her cry when she realized that what she was hoping did not happen
did
happen.

Rathe rocked her in his arms. “It’s all right. I’m here.”

“We killed him.”

He knew she was talking about herself and her piranha. “No. Your pet saved you.”

“He made me dance and I t-told him I wanted the light of the aquarium to be behind me. I stood…I was on a stool as I danced…he kept coming closer and I wanted him to come closer. He had a knife…it was my only chance…”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“I have to, I have to…” She covered her face, sobbing, the memories so painstakingly clear it was as if she was reliving every horrible second of it. “The moment I had the chance, I dunked his head in the water. He stabbed me here---” She touched her side. “It hurt so bad, but I didn’t let go. I dug my nails in his flesh until I drew blood…”

She looked at him with glassy eyes. “I killed him.”

“You didn’t kill him,” he said harshly. “And if you did, then he deserved it. He would have killed you if he didn’t.”

He wanted to say more, wanted to have the chance to tell her he loved her, but she was crying and after her tears dried, she was drifting off to sleep.

****

The next day she was more stable, enough to talk to the investigators. He stayed at her side, making sure that the interrogation did not overly tax her. By now, the media was in a frenzy, having been tipped off regarding the Duke of Flanders’ involvement in the case.

“You should leave. I won’t tell anyone about you,” she said when he turned away from the window after checking if the crowd of reporters were still camped outside, circling for news like vultures. They seemed to grow in number every day and he knew there would come a time when he would have to make a statement.

Ignoring what she said, he came to her side and said roughly, “I’m so bloody sorry I failed to protect you again, Mary.”

Her tone was paper thin as she said, “It wasn’t your fault.”

He could feel her coldness seeping through him and knew that she no longer trusted him. “I’m sorry, too,” he said hoarsely, “---for lying to you. I never even read the contract. All I knew was that they were the same papers my mother signed for my father---”

Mary gasped, unable to believe what he was saying but knowing instinctively that he was not the type to lie.

“---and that was why I thought it would be all right.” He swallowed thickly. “I didn’t know…I wouldn’t ever have thought he could make her sign something so viciously crude.”

“Why would she sign something like that?”

“It’s something I’d like to ask them…with you.”

Her eyes flew to him, incomprehension in her gaze. “With…me?”

“I fucked up badly with you, Mary. I wish I could tell you that I love you now, but I don’t want to lie. All I know is that you are not just a mistress to me. You’re the girl that makes me…” He closed his eyes. “You’re the girl that makes me forget I’m the Duke of Flanders.” He exhaled sharply. “You make me human, and you make me want to believe that when it comes to the two of us, people don’t see that you’re too young and that I’m too old---”

She couldn’t bear it, the way he spoke of himself with such hatred and revulsion. “Rathe---”

“I don’t want to lie to you. I’m…I’m not incapable of love. But I am incapable of loving
you.
” Rathe slowly knelt down, gripping her hand. “You will always remind me of the past. You will always be the one girl that my heart will tell me I mustn’t love but even so…”

It hurt. Oh dear God, it hurt to hear him say the truth, and she was so afraid that it would always stay true. How ironic that she was the one girl who made him feel loved and yet she was the one girl he could not make himself love.

“Mary…”

“I still love you, Rathe.”

His head jerked up.

“And I believe that I can make you love me, too.” Her voice wobbled and again her entire body shook as she gave her hand to him, waiting to see if he would take it. “The question is, will you let me try?”

“Do you love me now?” Mary asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she came back to his side and handed him a cup of steaming coffee. They were still waiting for Saffi and Staffan as well as Constantijin and Yanna, who were all joining them for Christmas in London. Their plane had been first to land and rather than staying in the comfort of their plane or leaving the airport altogether, Mary had insisted that they wait for the other couples to arrive.

Rathe rolled his eyes at the question, which was something Mary asked several times a day. It had become a game of sorts to them, one that he had fun playing at times. But other times, it scared him. “You really want me to fall in love with you just because you got me coffee?”

She pouted. “It was very expensive coffee. Normally, I get mine from a vendo machine but for you, I bought the largest one from Starbucks.”

“Remind me to pay you back,” he said dryly.

She pouted again.

Laughing, he bent down to steal a kiss from her lips. “I love it when my little pearl acts spoiled.”

“But I am spoiled. You spoil me all the time.”

He gave her a look of disdain. “That is a patent lie. You don’t let me spoil you enough and you are often too nice for your own good.”

She started to answer, but she was cut off by someone calling Rathe by his title. “Flanders!”

Rathe turned, and with him not letting go of her, she also turned. A heavyset man came to them, a jolly grin on his face. “Nice to see you back in London. It’s been a while, right?”

Rathe nodded, smiling in return for Count Champignon was one of the nicer chaps in European aristocracy. “You look well, sir.”

“You, too, Your Grace.” He looked at Mary curiously. “And who may this be?”

The scrutiny made her self-conscious and tongue-tied, and all she could do was smile weakly.

Rathe needed more than a moment to get himself together. She kept bragging to him that she was no longer shy and yet when she was presented to strangers, she reverted back to her old self. “A beautiful lady who I wish to remain a mystery,” was all he said.

Mary remained quiet by his side the whole time he spoke with the count. When the older man left, he looked down at her with a smirk.

She knew what it was for. “Shut up,” she said glumly.

He laughed. “It’s all right, little pearl. You really will be shy forever with other people and I like it that way. Besides, the only times you’re not shy is when you’re with me and I also like it that way.”

Still glum, she said, “I just wish I could change for you.”

“You want more practice about not being shy?”

She nodded eagerly.

“Your wish is my command, my lady.”

Her heart jumped at the title. It was the first time he had called her that.

Rathe pulled her close to him, her back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, his huge overcoat covering most of her. And then---

She froze.

Was that his hand sneaking inside her own winter coat and---

Oh my God, was he cupping her breasts in the middle of Heathrow Airport?

Her eyes flew up to him, horrified.

“Think of it as practice,” he said in a mixture of wickedness and ducal aloofness – a tone that only Rathe Wellesley, the Duke of Flanders, could use.

She started to speak and tell him it was wrong, but then he was twisting her nipples with his fingers. It felt too good, and her protests died. Swallowing, she leaned back against him and allowed the “practice” to continue. ###

The Rosemary Manor Country Club & Golf Course

Orlando, Florida

Everyone in the crowd was not breathing, their gazes trained on the player about to make his shot. He was dressed in a plain white collared shirt and a pair of khaki pants, but because his body was hard and muscular all over, the outfit seemed like it came straight off a men’s designer catalog from Fashion Week.

The blazing sun in the sky cast a shadow on the grass, and when its rays touched the player’s head, it caused his hair to turn into every shade between gold and copper. It was a blindingly beautiful sight, one that had women itching to run their fingers through it.

The player bent down, his posture as perfect as if he had been professionally golfing since he was a child. His long sure fingers wrapped around his club, a simple act that had the women in the crowd swallowing. Oh, oh, oh – if only they could do the same for his shaft.

He lifted the club in the air, and in that moment he looked like Michelangelo’s David. Oh, oh,
oh –
if only they could see him naked, too!

Swoosh!

The golf ball flew into the air at the mighty shot, traveling at a perfect arc before landing less than a dozen feet away from the hole.

The crowd screamed their approval, but the player didn’t seem to hear or notice them. Instead, his gaze searched for and settled on one woman standing apart from the crowd. She was small, slim, and dark-haired. There was nothing extraordinary about her, but all the women gnashed their teeth at the sight of her.

What was so special about her that made Netherlands’ #1 Playboy, Constantijin Kastein, propose marriage to her?

The woman – Yanna Everleigh, her name was – had her face turned towards another man – a
nobody.

Was she truly ignoring Constantijin Kastein – for real?

****

“You can’t be serious.” I tried to keep up with my Dutch billionaire, but it was like asking for my Dutch to be as fluent as his. And that was, like, impossible. When he spoke it, his words were like music. When I spoke it, I sounded like Transformers’ Bumblebee with a badly broken voice box.

He bit out a few words in Dutch.

I winced. He had said
‘watch me’.
When he spoke in his native language to
me,
it meant he was truly mad. So mad he couldn’t risk having anyone hear him speak to me in English.

Constantijin was getting further and further away now, and I picked up my speed. Unfortunately, I was wearing two-inch high boat shoes. They were pretty to look at, a perfect complement to my white-and-khaki combo (I had to wear
his
colors for the tournament’s championship, you know), but they were hard to run in, even on the flat-surfaced greens of the golf course.

Looking furtively around, I checked if there was anyone near who could hear us. All I saw were oaks and maples, their low-hanging branches turning this part of the course into a darker alley, shadowy paths hidden from the late afternoon sun.

Birds chirped as they landed on water lilies floating on top of the pond, the only noise that interrupted the soft whistle of a gentle breeze that wafted through the air.

Satisfied that we were as alone as we could be, I called after him, “Constantijin, come on! We need to talk about this.”

No reaction.

“Constantijin, please stop running away from me!”

He stilled.

I gulped.  Yeah, I had his attention now. I knew I would if I said that and---

Constantijin turned.

I blinked, and the next thing I knew he was stalking towards me, a coldly furious expression on his face. “You
dare –
you dare say that I am the one running away from you?”

Before I knew it, he was next to me. “If there’s someone running away here, it is not me.”

I opened my mouth to argue with him, but he gave me no chance to speak again, his lips closing over mine. His kiss was all-consuming, passionate and commanding. He was a man. I was a woman. I was
his
woman.

My arms went around him. That we were in a public place, that any one of the players or spectators could still wander back into the course even though the tournament had been over hours ago – all of it was forgotten.

He hefted me into his arms and my legs automatically wrapped themselves around his waist. Without breaking our kiss, he started walking. A moment after, he had me leaning against a trunk. When he lifted his head, I gasped for breath. I lifted my gaze up to him, and his silvery eyes blazed down on me.

“NEVER. IGNORE. ME. AGAIN.”

“I didn’t want to!” I meant it. “But people have been talking and---”

His lips slammed back onto mine. More relentless. More punishing, beautifully so, in a way that my body craved. I felt his hand going up my skirt and a second later, he was tearing off my panties and throwing it away.

I cried out in protest against his mouth. I struggled, unable to believe that he was letting it go this far. We were at a golf course! A golf course! Anytime now, new players would start coming in!

Constantijin was immune to my struggles. They were puny blows, pitted against his muscular strength. “Keep still,” he hissed against my lips.

“Are you crazy?” I hissed back.

Constantijin didn’t answer, a distracted look on his face. Between us, I could feel his hand moving while his other hand remained below my bottom and hips, supporting my weight. Before I could look down to figure out what he was up to, I heard him grunting in approval, followed by the sound of his zipper going down.

Oh my God, was he seriously---

He looked at me.

And then his cock surged in, and my body welcomed him.

Had I mentioned the fact that I was wet for him, embarrassingly so, ever since the first time our lips touched?

I moaned, but Constantijin swiftly swallowed the rest of it into his mouth, his kiss keeping me silent. “You are now the one making noise,
schat
.”

There was no way for me to answer. It was always like this, me out of my mind the moment he possessed me. Now, all I could do was think in monosyllables.
Ooh. More. Aah. Fast. Yes. Hard. Please. Strong.

He pounded into me, my back pressing hard against the uneven surface of the bark. I was going to end up all scratched later for sure. But it didn’t matter. Each thrust left me gasping and wondering what I could do to make it last forever. He kept making me feel fuller and fuller, like his cock was growing an inch with every thrust.

My nails sank into the skin of his back. “Please…”

“What do you want?” he purred.

Oh, he was such a bastard when he was like this. He loved it when I talked dirty, never mind if I felt embarrassed and awkward when I did. Hornier, too, if I had to be honest, but that was a fact I did my best to ignore.

I pounded on his shoulders with my fists. Weakly. All my strength went to my hips, which I was desperately trying to raise up and down to meet his every thrust.

“Please!”

“Then tell me---”

“
Fuck me and make me come
!” The words were barely out when his hand joined his cock, fingers clasping my clit as my internal muscles clasped his cock and squeezed it. We both gasped. And then we were wildly moving against each other, his thrusts frenzied.

I clung to him, my head on his neck as I inhaled his scent. It was addictive and arousing, a scent that was uniquely his. I moaned in his ear as his thrust and fingers coincided at one point. He shuddered. I shuddered.

“Fuck, I can’t hold off---” He withdrew as much as he could without letting me go before shoving his cock back into me, hard enough to make me feel like he had just torn me apart with his love.

I came with a gasp, drowning under the pleasure. Dimly, I heard Constantijin letting out a rough growl as he came with me, his cock still shoving in and out of me.

Moments passed – how long they were I had no idea – before I felt Constantijin slowly pulling out, his cock still semi-erect. He kissed my hair and I closed my eyes, kissing his neck. Still in his arms, I made a murmur of protest as Constantijin lowered me gently to the ground, making sure that my skirt was properly covering everything that had to be covered by the time I was on my feet.

I opened my eyes and was content to silently watch him. He had whipped out a handkerchief and he wiped me dry before wiping his cock. After tucking it back inside his pants and zipping it closed, he crumpled the hanky into a ball and snuck it back into his pocket.

He looked at me. “I love you, Yanna.” He raised his hand when I started to say I love him, too. “But you cannot make me wait forever.”

The bleakness in his silvery gaze made me swallow. And when he spoke again, I wanted to cry.

“What can I do to make you marry me?”