The Wrath of the King (24 page)

If she was right, something monumental was going on with Wynn, and Chey wasn't sure it had to do with the Leander fellow. Wynn glanced away from the view beyond the panes, cheeks picking up a curious blush.

“It's nothing,” Wynn said.

“I know better. What's wrong with you? You haven't been yourself at all last night and today.”

Wynn took a breath in and let it out slowly. “It's not something I'm comfortable talking about.”

Chey knew then that this was serious business. “Come on, Wynn. It's me. No one else is here right now. What's going on?”

Wynn twisted her fingers in her lap. It took her several minutes to begin her confession. “I...I started to feel something for Paavo. When I played his secretary. It's been eating at me for days.”

Chey couldn't have been more shocked. She stared, at first unsure what to say.
Paavo?
Wynn had felt something for Paavo? A flush of betrayal hit Chey unexpectedly, then doused itself when she realized Wynn wouldn't ever go against her. “Wynn—why didn't you say anything? Did you...I mean, did it go anywhere?”

“No, no.” Wynn waved a hand, then rubbed her forehead. “There was just an attraction, you know? And the whole time I didn't like it. Didn't want to watch him when he was in the room. I knew what he was doing, what he'd
done,
and I still couldn't rein it in.”

“Did he touch you--”

“Not once. Not like that. Never like that. He just kept me intrigued with looks and surprise visits. And I have to say, the visits weren't always welcome. He caught me talking to you once and I had to cover for it. He always seemed to be where I didn't want him to be when I tried to dig up information for you, like in his office and things.”

“How do you feel now? Are you sorry things have come to this? Do you regret helping me and Sander?” Chey frowned at the thought.

Wynn snapped a look at Chey. “Never. It wasn't like that. What I feel right now is guilt for not being able to control the attraction. Just guilt. And maybe...maybe wishing he'd been another man, with good intentions and decent honor.”

“Some people let the idea of power go to their head. It's all they think about, all they want. He became that—and maybe he was that before Aksel planted the idea of being King in his head. I don't know. What I
do
know, is that he won't stop until someone is dead. Sander, me, you—anyone who stands in his way.”

“I know. It's part of the guilt, part of feeling like crap over my choices. Although, if I would have trusted Leander at the family seat and stayed behind, I wouldn't have been there at Paavo's holding to set the fire.” Wynn cocked a small smile Chey's way.

“Exactly. You were where you needed to be, Wynn. Things happen for a reason. That fire likely distracted the guards and kept everyone busy so that I could get off the grounds. Serendipity, karma, call it what you like. You were supposed to be there.” Chey, desperate to make Wynn feel better, struggled up off the sofa and went to sit next to her friend. She didn't manage it without a few grunts and a pant of breath.

Wynn straightened and looped an arm around Chey's shoulders. “Thanks, Chey. It's better to talk it out than bottle it up. And besides, it's a lesson learned. Right? I won't ever make that mistake again.”

Chey patted Wynn's knee affectionately. “Right. You didn't fall in love with him, thank goodness, so at least it should be easy to put behind you.”

Wynn laughed a wry laugh. “I'd have to question my sanity if I'd fallen in love with him after knowing what he did.”

“And there's Leander,” Chey said, bringing up the guard who put a light back in Wynn's eyes the evening before.

Wynn smiled. “Yes, there's Leander. He probably thinks I'm a nutjob, and I've been rude to him on occasion, but he always turns up when I need him to.”

Reminded that they'd not heard a word from the men all night, Chey's smile faltered and fell. It had to be well after two now. Where the hell were they?

In a quiet voice, Wynn said, “I'm worried, too. They should have called by now.”

“If they're okay, I'm going to beat each of them to a pulp.” Chey didn't like the waiting game. She didn't like the odds that the men hadn't found time to call in or have someone else call in their stead. What did it mean?

Chey didn't like the things that came to mind.

“Hey lovebirds,” Natalia said from the doorway to the sitting room. “They're back.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chey reached the front door as Sander and Gunnar exited the dusty Hummer. As far as Chey could tell, Sander was in one piece. He wasn't limping, didn't have new bandages and didn't seem to be bleeding. A small sound of relief preceded her rush for the stairs. He glanced up as he rounded the nose of the vehicle, mouth set in a grim line that turned into a tight smile when he saw her. Gathering her up in his arms, he held her tight and pressed kisses into her hair.

“What took you so long? It's the middle of the afternoon and we haven't heard a word!” Chey said, chastising him and Gunnar both.
Someone
should have called. She kissed his jaw, mindless of the faint layer of stubble on his skin. Leaning her head back, arms around his neck, she sought his eyes. Chey could usually tell many things by what she saw there.

Today she saw weariness, pain, and other, less definable emotions.

“I should have had someone get in touch, you're right,” he said. “We've been a little busy.”

Chey took that to mean his night had been hard, and the day even harder.

“Where's Leander?” Wynn stood on the landing, looking around the driveway, fear evident on her features.

“He stayed behind to take care of a few things. He's fine,” Sander said to Wynn.

“Yes, he's fine,” Gunnar said from where he greeted Krislin in the same way Sander greeted Chey. “He'll be here a little later.”

Wynn wilted with obvious relief. “Thank God. I'm glad you're all okay.”

Natalia stepped down to Sander and Chey and pecked a kiss to Sander's cheek, then to Gunnar's. “I knew you'd make it back in one piece. Congratulations.”

Sander rumbled a sound like
Thanks
for Natalia's good wishes.

Chey sought Sander's eyes after Natalia retreated. “What happened?”

“In summary, we caught Paavo fleeing the castle after our men started skirmishes with his troops. Unfortunately, Paavo left me no choice but to maim him so he didn't do something stupid. He's fine, mad as hell, but alive,” Sander said.

“Maim him?” Chey asked.

“I had to shoot him.”

That answer brought everyone's attention to Sander.

“Paavo had his weapon aimed at Dare,” Gunnar explained. “He could have shot him any time. When it became apparent Paavo wasn't going to go down without a fight, Dare did what he had to so no one else would get hurt. Paavo's just nursing a wounded shoulder, nothing more.”

“Do you really think he might have shot you?” Chey asked, disturbed by the mental images Gunnar's reply brought.

“Maybe. I didn't want to take the chance. Besides that, Gunnar was there and he could have as easily gone after him. It was better to take him out first rather than wait and see just how far he would push it.” Sander scraped Chey's hair back from her forehead with his palm. “He'll have a trial and spend what's left of his life behind bars. It's not a perfect solution, but at least he's breathing.”

“You're lucky he didn't shoot you right off,” Chey said. She ran her hands up the outsides of his arms.

“We ambushed him. It was risky guessing that he would leave the castle, but a risk worth taking because it gave us the upper hand,” Sander said.

“Dare knew exactly what Paavo planned to do,” Gunnar added. “He knew his adversary well.”

“Either way, I'm glad it worked out the way it did,” Natalia said. “I was afraid...well, you know what I was afraid of.”

“Yes,” Sander said with a glance at his sister. “Like I said, it's not a perfect solution. We have months and months of work ahead to fix what's broken, to regain the trust of the people. It'll take a full four weeks, I think, to make sure all of Bashir's 'borrowed personnel' are removed from our borders.”

Gunnar snorted a derisive sound. “And what are you going to do about Bashir? He conspired in a plot to overthrow you.”

“He'll pony up a good amount of money, that's what, to help right the wrongs. And if he doesn't, I'll make sure to inform the international community what kind of man he really is,” Sander said.

“He won't dare tarnish his 'good name',” Natalia said with a rude scoff. “You'll get what you want from him in the end.”

“We'll see. Sometimes he doesn't like to be parted with his money unless it's his idea,” Sander said. “Either way, it's over. I'll arrange a public address later this evening and tomorrow, I need to tour the country to see exactly what we need to do.”

“That's fine. But right now, you're going to come in and let someone look at your stitches and other injuries. I won't take no for an answer.” Chey slid her hands down to Sander's and back-stepped up the stairs.

“What's in it for me?” Sander asked, arching a brow. Regardless, he followed her to the landing and from there, to the open door.

“Hours of blissful silence instead of me ranting in your ear.”

A ripple of laughter swept through those remaining on the porch.

Sander cut Chey a sly grin. “I had other things in mind.”

“Sander, I can't see my feet, my ankles look like cantaloupes, and I'm pretty sure some of this bloat is gas. Still feeling frisky?”

Sander guffawed and bent to sweep her up into his arms. “You're a real buzzkill, Chey Ahtissari. Let's go find the Doc.”

. . .

After getting the okay from an onsite physician, Chey accompanied Sander upstairs while he prepared a formal announcement. She rubbed his shoulders, played with his hair, and generally made a nuisance of herself because she couldn't keep her hands off him. Relief felt like a drug in her system. For the first time since their ordeal began, she was hopeful that the worst was over with family problems and that they could get back to a more normal life.

Sander didn't seem to mind her hovering or her touches. Occasionally he reached up to skim the rough pads of his fingers across her knuckles or paused to lean back for a kiss. Otherwise, he was intent on his work.

Later, after sending dispatches to the Crown Prince, Sander went before the cameras to give his speech. It was filled with heartbreaking honestly about Paavo's misdeeds and the fallout after the capture. But Sander was also stern and strong, letting it be known that he would not tolerate acts of treason or attempts to overthrow him. No matter who it was, even family. He did not discuss his coma, his wounds, or Paavo's attack on the caravan. The public got a modified version of the facts, enough, Chey thought, to quell any suspicion or more questions. She stood at his side, with Gunnar and Natalia on the other, lending her support to the process.

When it was over, Sander led her back into the castle and closed the doors to the world. He led her to their temporary suite upstairs and, after changing into nothing but a pair of black boxers, passed out on the bed.

More than anything, his actions told Chey just how exhausted Sander really was, and how hard the ordeal had been. The man he presented to the rest of humanity appeared to be bulletproof—Chey knew better. As she watched him sleep with one arm thrown over his forehead, the sheets haphazardly wrapped around his sprawled legs, she took in the essence of Sander the Man instead of Sander the King. Sander, with his flaws and insecurities, his weaknesses and vulnerabilities. He had them, just like everyone else. It made her love him more than ever, a feat she didn't think possible.

She joined him shortly before midnight, after she settled her mind. He curled her instinctively against his body, holding her close enough that she heard his heartbeat under her cheek. The heat of his skin warmed hers, the masculine scent of aftershave and cologne mingling with the soft floral of her own.

It took an hour for sleep to find her. The first crack of a thunderstorm ushered her into dreams.

. . .

Wynn regarded the rain from a covered terrace on the second floor. It was too dark to see anything except when streaks of lightning blitzed the sky. Wrapped in a cardigan of gray, a borrowed garment from one of the female members of the staff, Wynn propped her chin on her knees and looped her arms around her updrawn knees. She couldn't sleep, couldn't get her mind off her confession. These were the hours she came to terms with the truth, with her real internal feelings.

That she was so bothered about her lapse in judgment over Paavo was no real surprise when she thought about it. She'd always been in control of her emotions, never one to blithely engage men unless she knew exactly what she wanted. This proved, however, that sometimes a person wasn't as in control as they believed. Either that, or attraction was more powerful than she realized. Never before had she been drawn like that to any man, and perhaps, she reasoned with herself, part of the allure was the taboo aspect. Sometimes people wanted what they knew they couldn't have.

She was glad it was over, glad that Chey knew. It eased the weight she'd been carrying around on her shoulders. With a deep breath of rain-tainted air, she let it all go. Just like that. No more would she pause to think about
what if.
Paavo was out of her life, no longer a threat, and no longer a temptation.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Wynn twisted around in the chair. Leander stood in the doorway, shoulder leaning against the frame. Instead of fatigues or a uniform, he wore distressed denim and a midnight blue button down. The boots looked rather worn, perhaps a favorite pair. Wynn understood in that moment that she'd been wrong about something:
this
man attracted her on a whole other level than any other. It wasn't just physical, although there was a wealth of that as well. It was how he handled himself, his confidence in the face of adversity. There didn't seem to be anything he
couldn't
do. Anything he couldn't fix.