Page 1 of Out of Office Nights (Royals of Cartana #2)
Teodor Domene shook his head, a bark of disbelieving laughter escaping as he raised the crystal tumbler of premium cognac to his lips and drained it.
The spectacular view before him and the sounds of revelry at the wedding of the decade blurred to nothing beneath the red haze of impotent rage threatening to swallow him whole.
He really should’ve gone ahead and called his bookie to place a bet on himself on how long he’d last at his brother’s wedding before the inevitable storm of belittling, indifference and outright mockery eroded whatever good mood he’d managed to cobble together.
Despite knowing what being in this place, this palacio , did to him.
Hell, he deserved a medal for enduring a single minute, no matter how much he loved his oldest brother.
Better yet, he should’ve taken the easier way out and avoided his father altogether, royal protocol be damned. Then he wouldn’t be caught in this relentless maelstrom of seething, helpless rage.
It’d started, as always, with the little things.
A too-long sideways glance from a member of the king’s inner circle here.
An uncontested scoffing remark there. Jabs wreathed in humour and false smiles.
Then travelling up the food chain to the throne, where it slowly spiralled into frigid, uneasy silences from his father, the king. Culminating in downright dismissal.
As a creative, the part of Teo he’d wrestled hard into emotional detachment quite admired the intricate, hived framework of it all.
There was a time when he’d talked himself into believing it wasn’t about him, that he was overthinking things, being too sensitive as his mother had liked to taunt him with when he’d done the utterly astonishing thing and complained.
These days he never allowed it to get to that stage. Where the blatant rejection got too acute for even him—older, infinitely wiser and securely cloaked in his beloved armour of deep insouciance—to make excuses.
He felt the weight of familiar scrutiny but didn’t turn around. He was well enough attuned to his twin brother to know Valenti lurked somewhere behind him, casting one of his brooding stares his way. Teo fought the dual sparks of resentment and shame.
It wasn’t fair to shove Valenti beneath the tent of his discontent when his brother had chosen a path in life that had earned their father’s respect but had also brought horrific tragedy that Teo wished he could have spared the brother he loved.
He was much better off working harder to sluice off this oily sensation of worthlessness that slicked him when he visited his father’s palace.
A place not very many welcomed him to despite his grudging title of Prince of Cartana.
The Playboy Prince.
The reminder brought another sordid twist of humour but not the smug satisfaction he usually derived from his carefully cultivated persona.
He knew the source of that dissatisfaction.
Words strewn about with little care, as sharp and stinging as had been his bad luck to avoid overhearing them all his life. Including just five minutes ago.
‘One successful union, King Alfonse. Perhaps you can work on Valenti next? Or the wild playboy? Surely it’s time he curbed his disgraceful ways?’
‘I have heirs coming out of my ears now, hopefully with more on the way. I trust Valenti to do the right thing when the time comes. As for Teo…’
There had been a charged silence, mirth siphoned from the air.
‘Perhaps it is as well that I might not be around for much longer, eh? There are some things a father can be excused for sparing himself from, no? ’
Sparing himself from…like the failure of a son?
The tightness in his diaphragm was just indigestion, he was sure. He’d overindulged in the—
‘Excuse me… Your Highness?’
He tensed at the husky voice but didn’t turn around.
He’d mastered masking his feelings, but even he reached saturation point eventually. And the owner of that voice, the woman he was increasingly struggling to place in an appropriate box, possessed eyes that saw far too much.
Her throat cleared pointedly, challengingly, and with a silent grimace he discarded his glass and turned. ‘What is it?’ His tone was harsh enough to draw a flinch, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when he was positively roiling in being aggrieved.
Sabeen El-Maleh’s eyes narrowed for a nanosecond before her proud chin went up, highlighting a regal beauty that wouldn’t have been amiss in this grand, history-drenched palace. ‘I need to talk to you. I need—’
His caustic laugher stopped her. Wasn’t this the very contrary story of his life?
Those who had zero use for him and those who always wanted more ?
‘You “need” ? I handed you the commission of a lifetime not a handful of months ago. You had the honour of making every stitch of the Queen of Cartana’s wedding dress and trousseau.
You’re the envy and talk of the haute couture scene.
What else could you possibly need from me, Miss El-Maleh? ’
Her chin notched up higher. ‘I need to know why I’m still just your temporary creative director. I deserve to—’
The feral sound working from his throat stopped her flow of words. ‘Now is not a good time,’ he interrupted. ‘You should leave.’
‘Really?’ she scoffed. ‘What could possibly be occupying you? You’ve been standing here, alone, for ten minutes.’
‘And you took that as an open invitation?’ he taunted. ‘Fine, if you’re going to impose your presence on me, then dance with me.’
‘What?’
Dios , even frowning her face was perfect. ‘You heard me.’
‘No,’ she replied coldly. ‘I don’t dance.’
He didn’t bother tempering his mocking laugh. ‘Nonsense. Everyone dances. And I’ve seen you dance with my own eyes.’ And sí , he’d been more enthralled than he cared to admit.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ she demanded.
‘Right now? Very many things.’ He prowled towards her as he spoke. She stepped back in sync with his movement, initiating the very dance she’d refused. Then her back met the wall, the darkness closing around them.
His eyes swept down her body, fully aware he was using this distraction to allay the turbulent emotions flaying him but unable to stop himself from admiring what he saw.
The flawless cut of the gown she’d created for this wedding.
The faint notes of purple in honour of his brother and the bride’s chosen theme colour.
Sabeen El-Maleh’s talent was undeniable.
His gaze snapped up to catch the censure in hers. But alongside was another expression. One he’d caught faint tendrils of in their past interactions. One he’d recognised because he’d also felt the undercurrents of it, there beneath the river of his denial. Heat. Desire. Lust.
‘Right now, though, I can pinpoint one very wrong thing.’ Her breath hitched, pushing a puff of air over his lips. Propelling him closer. ‘Or is it deliciously right ?’
Her tongue slicked over her lips. ‘I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
He laughed. ‘We both know that’s not true. Question is, can I be bothered to prove you wrong, Sabeen?’
Teo told himself he would’ve behaved himself if she hadn’t let out that barely audible moan. If she hadn’t writhed like a shameless siren against the wall. If—
He captured her mouth before reason could take hold. Reason had failed him spectacularly tonight. It’d tricked him into believing he could remain unaffected by his father’s indifference. That the old king would be mellowed by illness and the reality of staring mortality in the face.
Well, reason could take a flying jump!
Instead he welcomed the illicit pleasure that stole through him as, after a moment’s resistance, she melted in his arms. Her arms wound around his neck, her gorgeous greed mounting as she strained closer, her mouth opening in ravenous need beneath his.
He moulded her supple hips, dragging her closer to his body, her pelvis over his raging need.
Tongues duelled in aggressive challenge, their sampling of each other building hunger on top of hunger.
She tasted divine, her scent heady, as he’d half feared she would.
The addicting, mind-numbing kind he craved.
When the need for air forced them apart, he buried his mouth in her neck, licking her warm skin as she moaned.
‘That’s it. This is the only need I’m interested in fulfilling.’
She stiffened, and he cursed inwardly. Then she was pushing at his shoulders, her face a picture of regret and horror. ‘If you think you can have your way with me just because you’ve heard—’
‘Heard what?’
Her lips pursed, her gaze dropping from his. ‘This was a mistake.’
He’d heard the rumours of her affair with a certain photographer and how she’d been jilted. Had listened to uncouth speculation from his own circle about the possibility of another stepping in for a chance to be the recipient of a rebound fling.
Teo hadn’t dwelt on why the notion had riled him then and continued to do so now. Somewhere buried deep, he registered that within his aversion lurked a layer of carnal desire he should repel. If for no other reason than her position within his professional empire.
‘Prince—’
The reminder of his position frayed the temper he’d fought to keep under tight control. Santa cielo , anyone with a lick of sense could see he wanted to be left alone. If they didn’t, then they deserved the lash of his tongue. ‘Save the false outrage, Sabeen. We both know you weren’t unwilling.’
The scorching look of contempt she gave him should’ve been sobering. But all he wanted was to drop to his knees and beg for another kiss…he who never begged.
It was this place. His father. His mother. The whole infernal lot of them. He needed to get away. He suspected not even the love of his brothers could make the trapped scream in his soul remain throttled for long.
‘Whatever you need, the answer is no , Miss El-Maleh. If you’re that unhappy you can end your contract now. Otherwise, we’ll both forget this little…lapse in judgement happened. Agreed?’
He watched her fight for composure and win where he’d failed so miserably. Spike him a look filled with regal attitude. ‘I couldn’t agree more. Goodnight, Prince .’
He turned on his heel and left the terrace, the knots in his gut tighter than ever.
And if her scent and taste lingered long after he’d boarded his private jet, discarded his clothes and stepped beneath his shower to angrily take care of the erection that wouldn’t subside, well, no one knew about that offensive loss of control but him.
And if he threw himself naked on his bed knowing that the problematic areas of his life had just expanded from his father to include Sabeen, and that he didn’t intend to rest until they were both resolved once and for all, well, the first step of overcoming adversity was acceptance.
Wasn’t it?