Page 27 of Act of Passion

Malik wanted to kiss away her sadness. “Do you remember any of his made-upstories?”

She kissed his chest and then eased up slightly. “Yes. He had a really strong dislike of KingTut.”

Malik snorted. “I cansympathize.”

“He’d talk about a king who didn’t want to be king so he stepped aside,” she stated, smiling atouch.

He held her thighs, keeping her on him. “W-what?”

“He would tell me these made-up stories and make me say them back to him over and over,” she confessed. “And he’d cry when he told me some of them. Like when he talked about being good friends with the king who didn’t want to be king. And that one day I’d know him too.” She wrinkled her nose. “But then he’d grumble about wanting to kill the guy because of his appetite for women. I was little then. I thought the king who didn’t want to be king actually sat at a table and ate a feast of cooked women. I was scared senseless for a while that he’d show up and gobble me uptoo.”

He ran his thumb over her lower lip, unable to shake what her father had said to her. It hit a little too close tohome.

She touched another of his tattoos. “What does this onemean?”

He moved her fingers over his tattoos. “This all means ‘son of the godking.’”

Brooked looked stunned—and when she spoke again, it was in perfect ancient Egyptian. She said “son of the godking.”

With a sharp intake of breath, he continued to run his thumb over her lips. “Brooke? How did you know how to say ‘son of the god king’ in ancientEgyptian?”

She laughed hard. “I don’t know. It was part of my Dad’sstories.”

It was anything but made up. Malik tilted her chin upwards. “Brooke, did he teach you anythingelse?”

“I guess,” she said. “But I don’t remember much of it anymore. Just certain things he made me repeatendlessly.”

“Can you tell me what else you remember him teaching you or about him?” heasked.

“I remember what he looked like. He was tall, like you. Well, honestly, he had a lot in common with you; same color hair, same skin tone, lots of tattoos like you, and your temper,” she said softly, tracing circles on his chest. “Oh, and he had an accent similar to yours but thicker. My mom used to laugh when he’d attempt slang. I thought he was perfect. And I thought he hung the moon. I was totally and completely a daddy’sgirl.”

For a split second, Malik wondered if her father was like him, immortal, but Brooke would be as well, and she wasn’t. She may have fast reflexes but she was human, nothing more. He’d smell it on her if shewasn’t.

Brooke traced the tattoo that had launched the discussion. “Son of the god king. That would make you a prince,right?”

Malik bit his inner cheek, unsure how to respond. There was so much he kept from everyone in his life that lying about his past had just been second nature. But lying to her felt wrong. “Yes.”

She snorted and then kissed the tattoo. “Uh-huh. What you’re saying is I’m living out Edee’s Egyptian fantasy. You know, come here, find a hot prince and make him my sexslave.”

Malik really liked the idea of being her sex slave. “Edee’s fantasy isthat?”

“Yep,” said Brooke, kissing his chest again. “She’s going to be really jealous when she finds out I didit.”

He could tell by her tone that she didn’t believe for one moment that he was a prince. But it was true. In what felt like another life, he was heir apparent to the throne. A throne he’d never wanted but had been thrust upon him. A throne he walked away from, allowing another to rule in hisplace.

He ran his fingers through her hair. “So now that you have a prince at your service, does it make you want to change your mind on moving in withme?”

“No,” she said, bending and kissing the tattoos in question once more. She then moved to others. “How many do youhave?”

“I have no idea. A lot. They aren’t anywhere that people can see when I’m dressed and in a long-sleeved shirt. Do they bother you?” he asked, willing to have them removed. It would involve needing to have his skin peeled fully from the area and then allowing his shifter side to heal the damage. The act of getting tattoos to stay and not heal over was something of an art form for supernaturals, and was painful. He didn’t care about the pain. But if Brooke didn’t like them, he’d get rid of every lastone.

“I like them,” she said, lying down on himfully.

He hugged her to him, his chest tightening with a swell of emotions. “Move in withme.”

She laughed. “We’re back to thatagain?”

“Yes,” he said, running his hand over her ass cheek. “Say yes and I’ll stopasking.”

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