Page 5 of Out of Office Nights (Royals of Cartana #2)

A one-hour dress fitting .

A thing he’d done countless times in the past but was now reserved for the very select few.

So why the hell was he on his fourth espresso before eight o’clock?

He’d already reconciled himself to the possibility of shutting down Domene X if things didn’t work out.

Si , but failure is still failure. And while Mama’s sneers wash over you these days, evidently you’re still not immune to Papa’s opinion. Are you?

He jerked his fingers through his hair, cringingly grateful when the doorbell interrupted the recollection of what he’d overheard his father say at Azar’s wedding.

Teo loathed to admit it, but more than the apathy and indifference to his and Valenti’s plight of being subjected to their mother’s attention-seeking manipulation, it was hearing that his father would rather face the consequences of his ill-health than interact with his third son— that was a pill that both chafed and angered Teo.

And if he did nothing else, he would get the old man to eat those words.

Setting his cup down none-too-gently on the pristine marble console, he waved the butler away from the door, ignoring the knots in his belly.

An hour today. A handful tomorrow night.

Then he’d be free to work on the most important project of his life.

Teeth set, he yanked the door open, causing the statuesque beauty’s head to rear up. And just like that, another knot strangled into being.

A part of him wondered abstractedly if Sabeen was a witch.

If she’d been sent by the devil himself to torment him.

Because surely no one—besides himself of course—had the right to look so effortlessly perfect at this time of the morning, with her hair neatly knotted once more, the barest hint of make-up highlighting every inch of flawless skin.

He granted himself the smallest glance at her cream thigh-skimming wraparound jersey dress. ‘You’re late,’ he snapped.

‘I’m not,’ she replied with calm so serene it was like watching a still pond at sunrise. ‘I’m actually a whole minute early.’

He wanted to toss out the trite retort about early meaning being on time but stopped himself. He was projecting. Again. Exposing that she was burrowing deeper under his skin when he knew most of what he was feeling wasn’t even her fault.

Or was it?

Wasn’t she the only one who’d been able to achieve that besides his parents?

He would struggle to name any of the parade of beautiful women who’d graced his bed in the last year.

Yet, a three-minute indulgence with this creature—albeit an intensely sizzling one—had taken seemingly permanent residence in his consciousness, resisting any effort to remove it.

‘Coffee?’ he tossed over his shoulder as he strode back into the living room. Then felt disgruntled all over again when she shook her head. What the hell was wrong with him?

‘No, thanks. I’ve had my one cup of the day. More and I get the…’ The faintest frown momentarily marred her forehead. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

He stifled the urge to demand that she elaborate. That it had risen in the first place was irritating in the extreme. He never asked a woman about her thoughts. He’d learned very early in life, much to his cost, that that way lurked landmines ready to annihilate him.

His mother had only needed the slightest prompting to launch into a vicious diatribe, outlining every source of disappointment, disgust and fury that her twin sons by the former king had had the audacity to arrive a few weeks later than the current King of Cartana, thereby depriving her of the coveted position of Queen of Cartana.

Decades later, her intense resentment for that slight still burned just as bright.

At times, Teo wished he could be like his twin: aloof, unruffled, insults and overdramatic recriminations bouncing off his wide shoulders as he moved through his quiet, if angst-filled life.

At some point Valenti had even offered the excuse that their mother’s behaviour stemmed from her inability to handle her twin sons as a single mother.

But Teo had tolerated that opinion for five minutes.

His mother was capable of love. Unfortunately that love only encompassed power, recognition and deeply material things.

Never him or his brother.

‘Come,’ he commanded, aware of the un-playboylike gravity of his tone. He barely bit back ‘Let’s get this over with’ before heading down the hallway of his penthouse.

Her heels clicked briskly behind him, his shoulder blades tingling at the sensation of her watchful gaze on his back, perhaps even puzzled by his mood.

You and me both , he mused bitterly.

Throwing open the doors to the room, he strode to the mannequin positioned in the centre of the room, draped with the outfit that had arrived first thing this morning as per his instructions.

For the umpteenth time he sought out flaws, his critical gaze seeking ways to elevate perfection into a masterpiece.

He made no apology for achieving the impossible repeatedly through his career. It was what had earned him endless accolades, a rabid following and more billions than he would be able to spend in six lifetimes.

He exhaled, slow and deep, his roiling senses settled, finally , as the throbbing pulse that fed his first and only love slid into place.

Some people bandied about, tearing their hair out over what their roles in life were, whether they were on the right path or not.

He had known from the very first time he’d slid a swathe of silk between his fingers that this was what he was born for.

Not even the brief stint in the army with his brothers, when their deep bond had solidified and his twin had been co-opted into special ops, had tempted Teo to change paths.

Disparaging, sneering, downright mockery hadn’t dissuaded him.

These days he had the last laugh. His own mother begged him, when she found the grace to drop her perennial animosity, to create signature gowns for her, which she would then boast about—out of his earshot, of course, because heaven forbid a word of approval should fall from her lips.

And depending on his mood, he either sent her away with nothing or tossed something her way. He curbed a jeering smile.

Yes, he was aware that some would deem him a disrespectful son. He had earned many more unfavourable labels than that in his thirty-five years. Hell, these days he collected them like trophies.

‘Are we doing this?’

He tensed, then forced himself to relax, to drag himself into the present. ‘By all means, but you will need to—’

His words dried up when he turned to see her already shrugging out of the wraparound dress she had arrived in.

Dulce cielo.

He clamped his jaw to keep it from dropping.

And yes, for the first time in his life he yearned for the strength to resist staring at a beautiful woman like an uncouth schoolboy.

But he couldn’t have stopped himself if the world was ending.

Because even dressed in underwear that covered more than most bikinis, Sabeen was simply magnificent.

Serene, composed and so utterly unaffected by him that he wanted to ruffle every last edge of her.

To watch her come undone, in a way that would both shake him out of this entrancement he found himself in and teach her that he wasn’t to be trifled with.

To eject this despised, curious tongue-tiedness that held him speechless as she finished undressing, clad only in a pair of chocolate French knickers, balconette bra and stylish heels, her garments thrown over her arm, one eyebrow raised as she waited for him to collect himself.

‘Where do you want me?’ she muttered.

Dios. Was he completely out of line to deem some words forbidden between a man and a woman striving to remain professional? Just for his sanity’s sake?

‘Where do you think?’ he threw back at her and then almost laughed beneath his breath. At this rate they would descend into childish taunts and hair-pulling before the hour was out.

Ignoring him, she went to the nearest armchair, dropped her dress over it then, after spotting the tailor’s platform behind the mannequin, calmly stepped onto it and simply…waited.

Teo ignored the faint shaking in his fingers as he plucked the garment off the mannequin.

Watched instead as she focused on what he held in his hands.

The stretched crepe-and-silk blend had been produced to his exact specification, sifting through dozens of combinations before settling on this.

And as he’d envisioned, the fall, feel and texture elevated the garment to incredibly special.

‘Turn around,’ he instructed.

When she did, he assured himself the head-to-toe scrutiny was to judge which adjustments were needed but mocked himself silently when he lingered far too long on the dramatic dip at her waist, the flare of her hips, the glorious texture of her skin and, of course, her flawless, endless legs.

Jaw clenched, he inhaled deeply. His control back where it needed to be, he draped his creation over her head, secured the discreet zip, then stalked around her, scrutinising every inch of the gown. ‘Turn,’ he commanded once more, indicating the walls of mirrors.

Pride stalked through his veins as he watched her eyes widen at her first glimpse in the mirror that bordered the room on three sides.

‘It’s…’ She sucked in a breath, her composure satisfyingly fracturing as she altered her pose, angling for a different look.

‘It’s okay,’ he stated. ‘I’ll wait while you find the perfect words to heap praises on my head.’

Her awed expression didn’t change. Something heated in his belly and rose to his chest. It was far too warming, too needy to be tolerated. So he stamped it beneath ruthless feet.

‘It’s incredible,’ she offered simply in the end, her rasp deep. Sincere.

And there he went clenching everything again to stop the relentless battering at his senses. To stop himself wishing for that voice to belong to a different individual. Like his father…