Page 26 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy (Spies and Royals #4)
Chapter Thirteen
I t was intentional!
Bris was so mad she could spit. Achilles had found Charisse again and tried his best to get her alone to “talk”…
after everything Bris had said. He truly was trying to hurt her.
The only thing that seemed to stop her husband was his ex’s hawkish father who monopolized the conversation with talk of doing business with Tirreoy.
Bris was torn between tackling Achilles out of anger and bawling her eyes out. She ran a brush through her hair at the vanity. This time, she’d left his oversized rugby shirt alone and found something more queenly—her white silk banyan robe felt like cascades of liquid moonlight over her legs.
And Achilles’s eyes kept running over her when he thought she wasn’t looking. Strange that covering herself more brought her more of his attention than before.
Even stranger, now that her beast lived in a palace, he still refused to be tamed.
He’d stripped off his shirt the first moment they’d returned to their suite after that disastrous ball and had gotten into his shorts, hardly caring that she had to scurry from the room to give him enough privacy to change.
“I told Phoenix to give you your own room,” she informed him as soon as the coast was clear. She poked her head through the ornate doorframe, feeling like an overcautious deer emerging from the forest. “So, you’re free to go.”
“Sorry, the blue suite was found unsuitable… due to renovations, flooding…” Achilles informed her with casual indifference, “which means your father vetoed your pathetic rebellion. Keep up.” He slid out a piece of pizza from the almost empty cardboard box that he’d thrown on the pristine comforter, like they weren’t experiencing a honeymoon that belonged in a political thriller… or was that a slasher?
The question was who would turn out to be the murderer?
“Don’t eat on my bed,” she grumbled.
He ignored her request completely. “This is great stuff. You should try a bite.”
Yeah, she got it! He wasn’t going to become one of her servile subjects.
Obviously! She didn’t know what to do with this new dynamic.
This was usually when she broke up with someone—set them free, so she could be free.
Divorce was completely off the table. “Then why don’t you take it to your precious couch?
” she asked. “It’s calling to you… aren’t you exhausted… as usual?”
“If you don’t hurry,” he said, taking another deliberate bite, “there won’t be any pepperoni left.”
Her stomach grumbled traitorously, the sound embarrassingly loud in the tense silence.
He held up the last two pieces in the box with a triumphant grin that made her want to throttle him, and she set the brush down on the marble counter with more force than intended before she marched toward the bed.
His grin broadened at her obvious irritation.
This was usually the moment when she jumped on his back and forced him to give her what he’d stolen, but that was only for when he was in her good graces, not when she suspected him of cheating on her.
She slid the pizza boxes from the silk bedspread and tossed them in the trash with dramatic flair. That’s how little she cared for anything from him!
He let out a derisive snort that made her blood boil.
Taking another luxuriously slow bite, he ate like he was savoring fine wine, making her stomach whine pitifully at what she’d done.
She refused to give in to her traitorous appetite…
well, she could always retrieve the pizza when he left, which would be soon.
His dark eyes hardened as he moved to his side of the massive bed and eased up against the pillows, settling in like a conquering king claiming his territory.
She stopped in her tracks on her way to the sink and spun around, watching him grab his phone with deliberate casualness. “Are you… staying?” she asked. Her voice did one of those embarrassing catches.
He glanced up at her, his face a masterpiece of defiance—dark hair catching the lamplight, jaw set in stubborn lines that somehow only made him more devastatingly handsome. “Your turn to take the couch.”
How dare he? It was his idea not to share the bed, not hers—he wasn’t about to boss her around in her own bedroom. “I’m not scrunching up on some narrow couch, Killiefish. Forget it!”
“Someone sounds hangry.”
Unbelievable! And someone sounded like he was trying to get her to explode.
It wasn’t going to work this time! She took a deep breath and moved to her sink, going through the motions of her nightly routine—washing her face with cool water, brushing her teeth with mechanical precision, all while straining her ears for the sound of him leaving.
But he remained stubbornly planted on her bed like an immovable mountain.
She stared at her reflection in confusion.
The flush in her cheeks gave away how annoyed she was.
Well, two could play this game. He thought he could scare her away…
he couldn’t. She moved toward the bed like a sheriff meeting a gunfighter at high noon and flounced onto the mattress with regal authority, keeping her distance of course—it was perfectly easy with the ridiculous size of this bed.
She grabbed a pillow and fluffed it aggressively, using it as a barricade between them.
His lips curved in dark amusement. “What is that? Your version of a chastity belt?” The teasing in his velvet voice set her teeth on edge.
She held up her hand imperiously to silence him. “Just keep on your side.” She turned to adjust the bedside lamp and suddenly felt his warm fingers encircle her wrist with surprising gentleness. “Hey, what’s that?”
Glancing down, she startled at the ugly purpling bruises the Earl had left on her—dark fingerprints across her wrist where he’d brutally stopped her from leaving.
Her temper flared but underneath burned a deeper shame at her own helplessness.
Achilles didn’t need to know how she’d folded like a fragile doll, especially after what he’d done tonight with Charisse.
She snatched her hand back defensively. “It’s nothing. ”
He straightened, his entire demeanor shifting. “Did I do that?”
What? When could he have done that? He’d done everything in his power not to touch her since that explosive kiss.
Her cheeks burned at the memory of his lips soft and warm against hers.
No, if anything his touch had felt deliciously perfect.
An uncomfortable reminder that he’d earned his reputation as a womanizer.
“No, that wasn’t you,” she said, even as his gentle fingers sent shivers racing across her skin. He drew her closer, more tenderly than she’d ever felt him be with her, like he was afraid of shattering her. “If you bring me a centimeter closer,” she warned breathlessly, “I’m clawing your eyes out.”
He released her, but his dark eyes remained fixed on her injured wrist.
His concern pulled at her. For a moment, she wished she could throw herself into his strong arms and accept the comfort he’d offer, like they had when they were children.
Back then, there had been nothing between them—not these political rebellions, not his endless romantic conquests, not his bitter anger against her father.
“I’m sorry if that happened in the garden,” he said quietly.
“I was so angry at the Earl, I didn’t know what I was doing. ”
Well, he hadn’t actually touched her. At least she couldn’t remember him doing so. If anything, Bris was the one who’d grabbed him to pull him back.
Not that she could tell him the truth. He’d already threatened to fire Phoenix for leading her to the Earl of Alexopoulos in the first place, and no way would she rekindle that war.
She shrugged with forced casualness and turned away.
“Stop looking at me like you killed a puppy. I must’ve slammed my hand against a door frame. ”
Her stomach clenched uneasily at the blatant lie… and then growled with embarrassing volume. Really? Stomach? You can’t maintain some dignity for once? Her traitorous eyes drifted longingly toward the discarded pizza.
“You know you want it,” he said.
She made a sound somewhere between a growl and a whimper.
“I’ll turn my back,” he offered with mock gallantry.
“Then you can fish it out of the trash.” He rolled away from her, presenting the sculptured landscape of his broad shoulders and muscular back.
The sight made her heart clench. What if things could be different?
She wished she could curl up against that warm strength and forget about being so strong all the time.
And her hunger was making her weak. She needed pizza stat.
Swallowing her pride, she marched to the trash, not bothering to be secretive about retrieving the pizza box and extracting the last two slices. The first bite exploded across her taste buds—melted cheese and spicy pepperoni, exactly what her empty stomach had bullied her to eat.
Suddenly, familiar voices flooded the room through his phone. It sounded like TalkieTalk… and suspiciously like Deedeelicious’s channel. Her spine stiffened as she shot to attention. “Are you really playing that?”
“You’re not going to watch the train wreck?” His grin had a hard edge to it. “Deedee was so kind to send me the link. Oh look, we have twelve million views and counting.”
She wasn’t going to relive that public humiliation, but she found herself frozen as Deedee’s sickeningly sweet voice invaded their bedroom: “ Uh oh, trouble in paradise? Our two friends don’t look like they’re ever coming back!”
“If you call me Bestie one more time…”
Bris couldn’t take another second of this torture. Gathering up her silk blankets and feather pillows, she threw them over her shoulder and marched toward the sitting-room to claim that abandoned couch.
“Spill the tea, Queen Bee. Inquiring minds want to know—what’s the real drama with your missing husband?”