Page 74 of The Royal Curse

Precisely as I’d always known would happen if I depended on someone else.

It didn’t help that the hard, agonized knot in the pit of my stomach wasn’t due to reluctance to humble myself. Or at least, not mostly.

It was because I missed him like I’d miss air, because my skin tingled with the need for his touch, because I felt like I’d lost a limb in his absence.

Footsteps on the stairs made me look up sharply, and I froze mid-pace, my heart skittering and my chest suddenly tight.

Andreas appeared at the head of the stairs, took two steps onto the terrace, and then stopped abruptly. The air around me felt thick and heavy. Gods, I’d usually be in his arms by now, and the distance between us seemed so dreadfully wrong.

He had his soldier’s face on, hard and neutral, but his intent, hungry gaze roved over me before he looked me in the eyes again. My heart pounded. He had to touch me first. He had to, or I’d never be able to respect myself again.Please, please…

“I brought you something,” he said, the words startling in the tense silence. “I didn’t know if you had any left. The other day, I asked Gennaro to make some just in case.”

He took another step forward, pulled something out of his pocket, and set it on the table by my chaise. A bottle.

My potion.

My heart actually stopped for a moment, and I reached out blindly, fumbling for the back of the chaise and leaning on it for support when my knees threatened to give out.

I stared at the bottle, throat dry. Two bottles, now, because my vision had blurred and the corners of my eyes stung horribly.

“Damn it, Niko,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t look like that! Damn it. You owe me an apology, because you’re in the wrong and you acted like a fucking royal brat, but don’t look like—fuck. I promised myself I wouldn’t crack first,” he muttered.

I looked up at him, blinking to try to clear my eyes. “You brought my potion,” I said, too softly, too huskily. Clearing my throat didn’t help. “How am I supposed to look? If you don’t want to—”

“If I don’t want—say the fucking word, Niko. One word from you, and I’ll have you bent over that chair in two seconds!” His eyes blazed, and he took one step forward and then stopped again, as if he could hardly help himself. He had his fists clenched at his sides. “I brought that so you don’t have to make up the quarrel if you don’t want to. Even though you’re wrong, because there’s no number of fancy titles that can paper over what I am, Your Highness, and if you’re ashamed of me, you should say so now. Before I—while I—” He cut himself off by running a hand over his face roughly, and when he dropped it to his side, he looked—well, as exhausted and desperate as I felt after two nights apart.

“It doesn’t matter when, actually,” he went on, low and quiet. “If you tire of me now, or later, one won’t be worse than the other. But tell me. I’d rather not have you at all than make you unhappy. I brought the potion so you can make up your mind without feeling—you can be as angry with me as you want, and I’ll fuck you if you’d prefer that to the potion. No apology required, and we can keep fighting after we’re done. Or you can drink that and tell me to go to hell. It’s your choice.”

Andreas gestured at the bottle on the table and then put his hands behind him, standing straight, at parade rest.

My choice. He loved me enough, understood me enough, respected me enough…and of course he did. He would never use my curse against me. And I’d have known that, rationally, if I’d taken the time to think about it rather than letting my lifelong fears come rushing back the moment we had a quarrel.

Love welled up in me so strongly that I couldn’t speak, could hardly breathe.

Instead, I held out my hand, praying that he’d cross the gap between us and take it.

An instant later everything went whirling sideways, and I landed on my back on the chaise, Andreas stretched out over me. I blinked and he was there, eyes fixed on mine. Searching.

“I want you to choose me,” he said. “But I won’t try to persuade you.”

He had one arm propped on the chaise, with the other hand buried in my hair, his thumb stroking my cheek. And the weight of him rested between my legs, pressing me down, his already half-hard cock pressing behind my balls.

I almost laughed. No, not persuasive at all.

“I don’t need persuading,” I managed. “I don’t care if you have a title, or a rank, or neither. That’s not—it doesn’t matter to me.”

He bent and kissed the corner of my mouth, lingering, his breath hot on my skin as he took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly. “Then what, sweetheart? Because you’re too upset for something that doesn’t matter.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. He nuzzled my cheek, bent lower, softly kissed my throat, his hips starting to move.

Gods. Not try to persuade me. Right.

“Niko,” he whispered. “Come on. You know I’ll get it out of you as soon as I get your pants off.”

“You’ll get something out of—ow!” I winced and flailed as he ducked down and bit my nipple through my shirt. “All right, I—gods, that feels—you can’t legally marry me without a title!”

Andreas went as still and tense as if I’d turned him to stone, his mouth open over my nipple, the fingers pressing against the side of my face digging in painfully. My words hung in the air. Fuck, fuck,fuck.

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