Page 48 of American Queen (New Camelot Trilogy 1)
I shake my head, smiling. “I know I can do that, but it’s not what I need. I need it to be…” God, how can I describe this in a way that won’t make me sound like I’m into tentacle porn or something? Just use the right words, Greer. If you do it in bed, you should be able to say the words. “…I need it to be, um, controlling. Dominating and submitting. That kind of thing.”
Her blue eyes light up. “I knew it!” she crows. “I knew you were secretly kinky. You are totally in the right city, my freaky cousin. I mean, it’s not my scene, but I know everyone in this town and I can get you anything you like. Congressmen who like being whipped, pegged, electrocuted, you name it.”
I can’t help the small giggle that escapes, and I’m waving my hand for her to stop. “No, no, I don’t need someone—” I was going to say, I don’t need someone who wants to be whipped, I want to be the whip-ee, because I know that Abilene wouldn’t immediately guess I’m submissive. She may not be into kink, but she’d be a Domme for sure if she was, and she would assume I’d be too, simply because that’s how her mind works.
But maybe it’s something in my tone or my face, because she misinterprets my sentence and by doing so, correctly interprets everything else. “Because you’ve met someone already?” Her eyes go wide and she scans my body, from my knee-high boots to my sweater to my face. “You have, haven’t you? You have that glow! Oh my God. Have you had sex? Is it someone powerful? Why didn’t you tell me the minute it happened?”
My stomach flips with nervousness, and I smooth my skirt over my gray tights. “It just happened this week. It’s really new…or I guess, it’s kind of old too. And we haven’t had sex yet. We agreed we would take our time with it.”
Abilene smirked. “What is he, religious?”
“Sort of. I mean, yes, but I don’t think he’s a monk or anything. He lost his wife recently.”
She leans forward. “A widower? Greer, is this an older man?”
Tell her. You have to tell her now. My stomach flips again, and I want to lie. I detest lying, and yet telling the truth seems so unnecessarily awkward and provocative…
But then I remember the State Dinner this week. If I don’t tell her myself, she’ll hear about it anyway, and that will be so much worse.
I take a breath. “Do you remember that party in London, the one Maxen Colchester was at?”
She looks a little thrown by the change in subject. “Yes, but what does that—”
“I kissed him,” I interrupt. “In the library. After you and I fought, he came in from the balcony, and we talked and then we…kissed.”
Abilene’s eyebrows rise and her mouth gapes. “What?”
“We kissed, and then after that, I was going to tell you, I swear, but you seemed so taken with him and I didn’t want you to be angry with me, especially when I thought I’d never see him again. It wasn’t worth it. So I didn’t tell you.”
She blinks. I’ve never seen her this stunned, this slow in gathering an emotional response. The vacuum of anger—anger I know will explode out of her at any second—gives me the courage to finish.
“And in Chicago I saw him again, and we had a moment…but it didn’t matter because then we all saw that he was with Jenny. That night, the man I slept with who never called me back? It wasn’t some random guy I met at the party. It was Embry Moore.”
“Holy shit,” Abilene says, still blinking.
“And so Embry Moore came to me a week and a half ago, and told me Maxen wanted to see me. And we met and kissed and it was just as ma
gical as the first time, and we—” Once again, I struggle for the right word. Dating sounds too informal, and it’s too early to claim love, at least anywhere outside my own head. “He’s asked me to go to the State Dinner this week with him,” I say, and I planned on being soft, being giving, because I’m the giving one in our friendship, always, always, but instead, I find my voice getting stronger and my chin lifting defiantly. “And I’ve agreed to go.”
She doesn’t respond, and I see signs of that Abilene rage fluttering under the surface of her skin: a dangerous flush on her neck, a brightness in her eyes, a tightness in her lips.
“Abi,” I say. Plead. Don’t do this. Don’t make this into a fight.
But then she swallows and gives me a forced smile. “Well, I’m happy for you. My crush on Maxen Colchester was so long ago, I barely remember it. And if anyone is going to be with him, it should be you.”
I want to believe her. I want it so badly. “Are you sure?”
This smile comes a little easier, although there’s still that same strange brightness in her eyes. “Yes, Greer. It would be ridiculous for me to carry a torch for someone I’ve only seen in person once. I’m glad you told me.”
“I was so scared to tell you because I knew how much you adored him when we were younger,” I say on a relieved breath. “Thank God you don’t hate me now.”
“Of course I don’t hate you.” She sits back, tapping a fingertip on the glass desk. “So the President and the Vice President too, huh?”
“No, no,” I rush to clarify. “What happened between Embry and me was a very long time ago. And I was upset about Ash and Jenny, and obviously Embry didn’t enjoy it that much, since I never heard from him again.”
Abilene’s head cocks at my casual use of Maxen’s middle name, but she doesn’t comment on it. Instead she says, “Are you sure there isn’t something between you and Embry still? You’re blushing.”
I press a hand to my cheek, and sure enough, the skin is warm and flushed. I try not to think about that night in Chicago. I try not to think how handsome he looked in the candlelight at our dinner last week, how that citrus and pepper smell of him seemed to follow me home and taunt me while I tried to sleep.
