The Rebel King

anger rise quivering into her chest. And what was this crying thing all of a sudden? She wasn't a crier-never had been. She'd been eighteen years old the last time she'd cried.

A chuckle jerked beneath the hand she'd placed, without realizing it, against his chest. Words whispered softly across her lips. 'Mmm…lovely. Wonder if it works with peanut butter as well…'

She pushed hard against his chest, contrary to her heart's desire. Laughing, she scolded in a voice that tried hard to be stern, 'Sorry-no dessert until you've eaten your supper,' and turned her face away so he couldn't see how desperately she wanted him to kiss her again…and again…and never stop.

'Ah-yes, I suppose you're right.' He drew back, wearing a look of mock seriousness, though a grin of appreciation tugged at his lips and his gray eyes were alight with laughter.

Gazing at him, watching him pop open the bag of potato chips, Rhia felt bedazzled. She thought. If he wasn't born to be a head of state, he could be one anyway. With that charm, that charisma, in America he could be a movie star. Hungrily, she watched him put a chip in his mouth and chew, then lick the salt and crumbs from his lips, and she understood the impulse that had made him kiss her.

'You know,' he said between munches, giving her an appraising, sideways look. 'I must say I'm surprised. I never would have taken you for a junk-food junkie.'

She swallowed a mouthful of Cheese Doodles and licked her fingers, then picked up the package of peanut butter crackers. She gave her head a little throwaway toss and said lightly, casually. 'I'm not, anymore. Used to be, though. A bad habit I picked up in juvie.'

'Juvie?'

'Juvenile detention-you know, jail for kids?' This moment had been inevitable from the beginning, she realized now, but that didn't mean she was prepared for it. She felt her heart racing, her nerves twitching, urging her to jump up and run away from it. Foolish thought; there was no running away from destiny.

'You're kidding.'

She shook her head and concentrated on opening the package so she wouldn't have to see his face while she told him. 'Nope. That's where I spent a good part of my teenage years, actually.'

'What on earth for?'

'Truancy, running away, shoplifting-that sort of thing. I wasn't a good person, Nik. I ran away for the first time about…oh…three days after I got to my dad's house in Palm Beach. Got as far as the bus depot in Miami, that first time, before his security guys picked me up. After that he bribed me to stay-first it was a bicycle, then a wave runner…a scooter…you name it, I had it. I still ran away, though-every chance I got. So, eventually, I wound up in juvie.' She shrugged and popped a cracker into her mouth, though her mouth was too dry already.

'And…the shoplifting?' His voice was gentle. She risked a glance at him and wished she hadn't; the sympathy and kindness in his eyes were almost her undoing.

She swallowed the bite of cracker, then took a breath that hurt her chest. 'Ah. That. Well…when the running away didn't seem to be working. I thought I'd become a big enough pain in his ass that he'd be glad to get rid of me.' She laughed harshly and threw him a bitter smile. 'Didn't work, of course. That would have been admitting failure. My dad didn't believe in failure. So…' she wrapped up the remaining cracker in its cellophane packaging paper and began systematically crushing it to smithereens '…on the day I turned eighteen I left for good. Left everything-took some clothes and enough money for a bus ticket to Louisiana and to eat on until I could start earning a living, and that was all. I told my father I was an adult, and if he tried to stop me or come after me I'd get a restraining order.' She dropped the pulverized cracker into the duffel bag and leaned back on her elbows, tilting her head back to glare up at him. 'And, I know what you're thinking.'

His eyebrow shot up. 'Do you now?'

Guilt made a hard lump in her chest; rejection of the guilt made her breathlessly angry. 'Yeah. You're thinking I was too hard on him-my dad. After all, he didn't abuse me, he gave me presents, put up with all my crap, and I was a spoiled, thankless brat. Well…you'd be right. But there are two things-two…things, okay? One. I was just a kid. And two… he robbed me of my mama. My mother. I can't forgive him for that. I won't forgive him for that.'

She was shaking, suddenly too angry to sit still. She would have jumped up, paced up the stairs, run down them…anything to release the pent-up emotions…the rage and the sorrow. But Nikolas's hands were resting on her shoulders, massaging, kneading, compelling…keeping her firmly anchored. And so she gave in to their gentle prompting and leaned her head against his thigh instead, and sighed and closed her eyes. And it felt so good… .so safe there…the tears that had been threatening all day came seeping through and puddled beneath her lashes.

'And did you find her?' Nikolas asked softly, his fingers lightly stroking. 'Your mum?'

'How did you know-'

'Hush-' a chuckle stirred through her hair, like a sweet warm breeze '-d'you think you're the only one with empathy? Obviously you went to find her. It's what I'd do.'

'I did.' Her whole body ached now with the memory… memories of the last time she'd cried. She gave a liquid, hiccupping laugh. 'I guess you could say it was…my first missing persons case. And my first failure. Because I was too late. Mama was gone. She died just a few months before I got there. She'd left me…' she drew a shuddering breath '…her saxophone. It's all I have of her now.'

Nikolas stared at the stained-glass window at the opposite end of the great hall until his eyes burned dry in their sockets. He asked himself when the conviction had come to him that what he felt for the woman sitting quietly nestled against him, her head resting on his thigh, her soft hair wafting like a baby's breath over his hands…that what he felt for this woman, perhaps the sexiest and most desirable woman he'd ever known…wasn't at all about sex. Well, at least, not all about sex.

Had it ever been?

He thought about that magical long-ago encounter on the balcony of a Paris hotel, and the events that had brought that fantasy creature back into his life, this time as a very real, veiy human, flesh-and-blood woman. Was she a part of it, this destiny with which he seemed to be on a collision course?

His mouth tightened and a little quiver of resolve skated down his spine. She would be a part of his future. He would make sure of that.

With that resolve came emotion, emotion so powerful he didn't know what to do with it, except wrap the cause of it tightly in his arms and bury his face in the soft curve of her neck, close his eyes and breathe the sweet scent of her into his lungs, let her warmth seep into his pores and the shape of her body and the texture of her skin imprint themselves eternally on his mind and his senses, make her his in every way he possibly could. In every way…

The wave of desire that hit him then was unlike anything he'd ever known. It grew out of those overwhelming emotions like a tsunami out of an earthquake… a natural force, impossible to ignore or defend against or deny.

'Memories,' he said, and she turned her face up to him, eyes tear-glazed and questioning. He touched her face…cradled her cheek in his hand and answered in a thickened voice, barely able to get the words out, 'Memories of your mother- the ones you told me about. You have them, too.' At least you have those…

But he didn't say that aloud.

Chapter 11

Rhia stared at him, stared at him so hard her eyes burned, as if his image were being laser-printed on her retinas. Memories… Her whole body ached with the thought: That's all I will have of you, too, one day… soon.

And then, through the blur of unshed tears, she saw the pain in his shadowed eyes. She hadn't believed it possible to hurt more than she already did, but in that moment her own sense of grief felt as if it had doubled. Oh, selfish Rhee! Thinking only of your own loss. Talking about your own past. What about his? This day, this trip, this time-it's for him, not you!

She placed her hand over the bigger one that lay warm on her cheek and whispered brokenly. 'I do have memories. But you don't. You don't have anything of your-'