Page 79 of American Queen (New Camelot Trilogy 1)
The hand moves to my hair, loving and lazy and indulgent. “But even knowing all that, I couldn’t have predicted how I would actually feel knowing that he fucked you. Desperate and hard and a little angry and scared and…excited. Jealousy on its own can’t hold all of those feelings, but I don’t know what other word can. So I suppose it’s good enough for now to say that yes, I am jealous. Of both of you.”
I know how that feels, don’t I? To be jealous of Embry and Ash at the same time, jealous of them having each other in a way that I’ll never have, with their war history and fraternity and close working relationship. It’s a circle I’ll never be inside of, and it stings, stings, stings.
“Go to sleep, Greer. We have all the time in the world to think about this.”
I want to protest, want to resist him, because there’s no way I can fall asleep after our first time having sex, after he learned about Embry and me. No way at all, no matter how languid my limbs are, how thoroughly and utterly wrecked my body is, no matter how warm Ash’s arms are and how steady and reassuring his breathing is…
I wake up alone, the bed cool next to me. Ash must have gotten up to work—is it morning already? I blink at the clock on the nightstand for a moment, waiting for the numbers to make sense. 11:13 p.m. I’ve been asleep for three or four hours, and my stomach reminds me that I didn’t eat before that. I sit up and stretch, and then hunt through the room for pajamas and slippers.
I won’t bother Ash if he?
?s working, but I plan on bothering the shit out of some crackers and cheese. I open the door and head out towards the living area, seeing the twinkly-gold light of the Christmas tree spilling out around the corner. There’s nothing better than that light on cold winter nights. Cozy and quiet and joyful.
I turn the corner with a smile on my face and then freeze.
Ash is standing underneath the mistletoe.
Kissing someone.
My blood pounds in my ears and my throat is immediately tight with pain, but I can’t look away and I can’t interrupt. I’m as useless as a pillar of salt, doomed by my inability to look away.
Ash is wearing a thin T-shirt and low-slung pajama bottoms that highlight his flat stomach and narrow hips. His hair is tousled and even from here, with only the light of the Christmas tree, I can see the stubbled outline of a day-old beard. His hand is fisted tight in the shirt of the person he’s kissing, yanking that person close and holding them there.
And when they turn I see that the person is—inevitably, fatefully, tragically, wonderfully—Embry. Still in his sweater and jeans, barefoot and rumpled, with his hands underneath Ash’s shirt and digging into the small of his back.
The kiss is so slow and lingering and deep. They meet and explore, and then their lips pull apart and there’s fluttering eyelashes and long breaths, and then they’re kissing again. There’s both a familiarity and a hesitation there, as if they’re relearning something they used to know. Ash will come in, his lips a breath away from Embry’s, his body and face painted with longing, and then Embry will press forward, all passion and no thought, kissing hungrily until Ash slows him down, his hand going flat on Embry’s chest and his mouth pulling back just the tiniest bit until Embry cools off. And then Ash moves in again, these soft, gorgeous noises coming from his throat.
After a few minutes of this, Embry’s hand finds the waistband of Ash’s pajama pants and moves down. I can’t hear what he says to Ash, but I hear a small groan and I can guess.
And with that groan, my brain sputters back to life like a neglected engine, and I wish I could turn it back off because there’s too many thoughts, too many questions, all contradicting each other, all fighting each other.
I’m aroused.
I’m angry.
I’m curious.
I’m betrayed.
I don’t ever want this moment to stop.
And seeing this now, in this way, I realize I already knew. Not consciously maybe, but the knowledge was there like a shipwreck waiting for the sands to shift, waiting for me to finally turn my head and see what part of me has suspected from the beginning.
Suddenly what Ash said back in the bedroom makes sense. Jealousy is a word with too many meanings. It’s a TARDIS of a word, bigger on the inside, a small, mean thing on the surface, but a complicated dance of emotions and negotiations within. I’m suffering with every single meaning of the word jealous.
I’m relieved that now I’m not the only one in this engagement that kept an important secret. I’m terrified of what happens next. Because really. What could possibly happen next? This was supposed to be my fairy tale, with me as the princess and Ash as the prince, but there’s a third person here, a person we both want and who wants both of us.
None of the fairy tales I read as a girl had three people.
My thoughts are interrupted by another groan from Ash, but he’s stepping back and adjusting himself inside his pants. Both men have bee-stung lips and wide, dark eyes, both men seem a little thunderstruck with each other, awed and incredulous and as yet unsatisfied.
“Merry Christmas, Embry,” Ash says in a roughened voice.
Embry’s voice is husky too. “Merry Christmas.”
Ash turns away, his thumb at his forehead and then touching his lips, and Embry stands stock still under the mistletoe as Ash leaves and walks toward the office. He stands there for several long minutes, his eyes on the hallway where Ash disappeared, and then he finally turns around and goes to his bedroom, his hands scrubbing through his hair.
And me, I’m left alone the cold hallway. Confused, wanting, hurt.
