Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

H E WAS GOING TO KILL Salvatore. Not slowly, either. He was going to strangle the other man of his last breath, Ares reassured himself, as he lay on his back staring up at the tent's top, doing absolutely everything he could not to think about the woman in the sleeping bag beside him.

The whole evening had been an exercise in restraint.

In determination.

In knowing his boundaries.

In acknowledging that he was most definitely still in a place in his life where the only woman he'd be with would be a rebound thing, akin to using her because the stuff with Louisa had all happened about three seconds ago. And while he knew their relationship was over, that didn't mean he was ready to start thinking about anyone else.

But the physical aspect of a relationship was something else entirely. At least, it was to Ares, and he could definitely imagine losing himself in Sofia for a while. In letting himself feel…good. Just simple, uncomplicated good.

Only, it wouldn't last for long.

He wasn't a man who was comfortable with that kind of situation, generally. It seemed disrespectful and tawdry. Besides, there was always the risk of press exposure, and that was the last thing he needed right now. For some woman to sell her story to the papers, to make a quick buck.

At least Sofia wasn't likely to do that. Not only was she wealthy, she was a part of the Santoros. Not biologically, but in all the ways that mattered. He knew, at least, that she was trustworthy.

But that was a greater obstacle anyway. She was part of the Santoros, a family he respected and loved. A family he'd welcomed to the palace, over the years, like his own family.

There was no way they'd forgive him for stuffing Sofia around.

Given that he wasn't in a place to offer more than a few nights in a makeshift camp bed, then to hell with it. He had no choice but to put her out of his mind. Which might have been easier to accomplish if it weren't for the fact that he could turn his head the smallest amount and watch her sleep. Watch the steady rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed, listen to the sound of her soft exhalations. Imagine the way her breath would feel on his neck, if she were to kiss him there.

He swore quietly.

"You're going to be wrecked in the morning."

He froze.

She was awake.

To confirm that, her eyes opened, a little groggily.

"Aren't you tired?" she asked, pushing up onto her elbow, to see him better.

Disaster. The sleeping bag slid down, revealing more of her body to him. He closed his eyes in instant rejection, but it was too late. His body was growing tight and hard. He tried to think unsexy thoughts. He tried to think about disgusting smells and his friends and off food and anything that might quell his body's rampaging needs, but it didn't help. Because Sofia was right there, at the front of his mind, all he could really focus on. And if he shifted, just a little, they'd be touching.

"No."

"Why not?" She stifled a yawn.

"Why are you awake?" He turned it back on her.

"I'm…" but she stopped talking, quickly after beginning.

"You're?"

"Don't be mad."

Amusement quirked his lips and he clung to that emotion. It was a hell of a lot better than white-hot need. "Okaaaay."

"I'm cold."

"In that thing?" he asked, gesturing towards her sleeping bag.

"It's cold," she insisted. "I can't help it if you're acclimatized and I'm not."

He could suggest she grab a jumper out of her backpack. Surely, she'd brought something for warmth. But naturally, there was another way he could warm her up. If she was game. If he was game. But suddenly, it became an important test for him, to see if he could touch her and keep that line drawn. And maybe it was also a way to give himself part of what he needed. Maybe holding her close would assuage the worst of his wants, so he'd be able to function again.

"Want me to warm you up?"

Even in the darkness of the tent, he saw the way her eyes widened, and he heard her sharp intake of breath.

"What—do you mean?—,"

"By holding you," he said, voice low and rumbling. "With all our clothes on—purely for body warmth."

"Oh, right."

The air ticked and groaned with the weight of silence. He held his breath, surprised by how important her acquiescence was to him. Regardless, it was her decision; he had to wait. And wait.

"We can try it," she said, after a beat.

He realised, then, that he'd been perfectly split down the middle. Half hoping she'd say yes, half hoping she'd say no, because sanity definitely lay with the latter.

"Okay," he said, like it wasn't a big deal. "Stand over there a second." He nodded to the corner of the tent and saw that she was indeed shivering. So definitely not a ruse then. He moved quickly, unzipping their sleeping bags then retracing the zip lines so that they were joined together as one far bigger, two person sleeping bag.

"I didn't know you could do that."

His response was to gesture for her to slide into the pouch he'd made.

With a hint of reluctance that he definitely shared, she did as he'd said, slipping down between the soft fabric until only her blonde head was visible.

Knowing that this was going to be the ultimate test of his strength, he did the same, shifting behind her and taking a deep breath before putting an arm beneath her and drawing her back against his chest. She was all soft and luscious, and her hair smelled like ocean salt. Her shirt had ruched up a little and his fingers grazed the warm flesh of her bare stomach; they both breathed in, and he moved his hand quickly, to pull her shirt back down. It wasn't like a piece of cotton was much defense, but at least it was a barrier of some sort.

He imagined how easy it would be to crest his hand upwards, to brush his palm over her breasts, and just like that, he was growing hard again, so he had to rearrange himself a little, putting some space between his lower half and hers, so she wouldn't feel the uncomfortable evidence of his arousal for herself.

"Is that better?" He asked when it was now a thousand times worse for him. I'm going to kill you, Torre.

"Uh huh." She was still shivering though. He ground his teeth.

"Did you bring anything warmer?"

"I didn't pack the bag," she reminded him.

"Right. I have a jumper."

"It's okay. I'll warm up. Just…stay close." She cleared her throat. "Closer, maybe."

Oh, hell. Did she have any idea what she was asking?

"Sofia—," her name was a tortured sound of surrender. "This isn't?—,"

"I know. It's not a good idea. Which is why we're not going to do anything except lie like this. Fully clothed, and close."

He swallowed, wondering if that was a boundary they could both live with and deciding it was better than nothing. He shifted back to spoon her fully, his body an echo of hers, his hardness pressed to her bottom, so she made a sound of shock then sighed softly.

Disaster.

"Okay?" He asked, because this was a big freaking line cross and he needed to hear it from her that this was what she'd actually meant, and that he hadn't misunderstood.

Her response was to nuzzle her head against his bicep a little, and inhale deeply, as though he was the best-smelling thing she'd ever been near. It was nothing. A whole big nothing, in the scheme of things, but it was inflating like a balloon inside of him, so that every time she moved, the balloon got bigger, and bigger, and he didn't know when it was going to burst.

It was ridiculous.

Not once had he felt an attraction like this. Not once had he wanted someone so badly that he found he could barely control it. They hadn't even known each other a full day!

But he had heard a lot about her, so it wasn't as though she was a total stranger.

No, it was worse. She was like a sister to some of his closest friends.

"You're different from what I expected."

"Different how?"

"Less stuffy."

He stiffened imperceptibly. "Is that how they've described me?"

"What?" Her voice was a little confused. "Oh, the Santoros? No, no. I just mean, because you're a King. And you seem like a King. Or you do, sometimes. But other times, you just seem…normal."

"Normal? Is that good?"

"Okay, not exactly normal," she said, and he could practically hear the eye roll in her words.

"But not stuffy either?"

"Right." She shifted a little and he wanted to beg her to stay perfectly still, because when she moved, it was like the striking of a match, setting his whole body alight. "What about me?" She yawned, so the last word was a little smothered. "Am I what you expected?"

He considered that for a moment. "Yes."

"Hmph. Now I'm curious." And to his chagrin, she pulled away from him completely, but only so she could flip onto her other side and face him. "How did they describe me?"

"Beautiful, smart, and very, very ambitious."

Heat flushed in her cheeks. He wished the moonlight was stronger so that he could see her better.

"Funny and kind might have been mentioned, too."

"And here I thought I was like an annoying little sister to them," she quipped, but her voice was softened by emotion.

"They all love you," he said, simply, but it was something he was reminding himself of, too. Sofia was not just some woman he'd met, some woman he could treat like he might any other woman, if he was a normal, non-royal guy. She was different.

"I'm not that ambitious," she said, wriggling so she was a bit closer, shivering a little. He put his arm around her, to warm her, and told himself it was a purely practical consideration.

"Aren't you? According to Dante, you'd run the place if he stepped aside."

She made a small laughing sound. "Hardly."

"You sure?"

"Why do you say that? You seem to think you know more about me than I do."

"I know that you came on a three-day hike with some guy you'd just met on the off chance it would get your pitch across the line."

Her eyes lifted to his and even in the dark, he felt the spark of their connection warming his whole body.

"I came for Salvatore, because he couldn't."

"In case you're wondering, this isn't what I imagined my sleeping arrangements would be with Torre."

She laughed. "Hey, no judgements here."

"He's not really my type."

Her laughter was silenced by a hitch in her throat, and he realised, belatedly, what he'd admitted. "But I am?" she asked, the words husky.

"Sofia…" there was a plea in his voice. "Leave it."

She expelled a soft breath and moved a hand to his chest. "Yeah, you're right," she murmured, and she flipped back over, so she was facing away from him. "Let's leave it."

He wasn't sure if she fell asleep or just fell silent, but either way he was glad the conversation was at an end.

It was impossible not to feel awkward the next morning. While nothing had happened, strictly speaking, they both knew something had changed. Something weird and unexpected, something totally inappropriate given, well, about a million factors, really. From his being royal, and a close friend of the Santoros, to the fact he was just fresh out of a long-term relationship, to the fact she was always, always guarded with herself, to the point of iciness; not to mention the fact they were pitching a huge development to him.

And yet she'd still had one of the best sleeps of her life, lying curled against him like a conch shell, enjoying his warmth and strength, the feel of his breath in the curve of her neck, the thwomp of his heart, beating against her back.

She wriggled away from him carefully, wondering if he was awake but, in the light of day, almost not daring to look.

"Morning." His voice was gruff; her pulse trembled.

"Morning." She turned to face him, forcing a smile, but it was so painfully awkward, she winced. "Thanks for last night. I'll rug up more warmly tonight, so I don't have to bother you."

A little divot formed between his brows. "It was no bother. At least, not in the way you might think."

That didn't make much sense, but she didn't ask him to elaborate. "Anyway," she said with a lift of her shoulders. "Where to today?"

"About twice the distance of yesterday," he said, casually, like her legs weren't already killing her.

"Great," she enthused to cover her inner groan. "Can't wait. I'm just going to use the facilities."

He nodded once, and she felt his eyes on her the whole way to the tiny little building.

He had been right; they were basic. Just a tiny room with a toilet in one corner—though thank god it had some kind of rudimentary flushing mechanism—and a small sink. It was enough to freshen up though, to brush her teeth, wash her face, and apply some moisturiser. She brushed her hair and pulled it into a ponytail before returning to the campsite, which Ares had already packed up and put away.

"Wow, you're really good at this."

His smile made her whole body hum. "I told you," he said, eyes locking to hers. "I do this a lot."

"On your own?" she asked, curiously.

"Generally."

Was that a guarded response? Was he hedging around the fact he usually brought his girlfriend? She thought of how quickly he'd managed to zip their sleeping bags together and realised that it was not only probable, it was highly likely. They'd dated for years; why shouldn't he have brought her?

"What about security?" she blurted out, eager to change the subject—and get the idea of him with his ex out of her mind.

He lifted his shoulders. "This is a royal park."

She looked around them. "But it's still a park. Surely anyone could gain access."

"Not really. I mean, theoretically, but it's well monitored, and well secured. The chances of getting in if you're not authorised are slim, and of being undiscovered even slimmer."

"Monitored how?" she asked, curiously.

"There's drone surveillance. When I'm hiking, there are check points I'm expected to reach, like this, and once I'm here, I notify my security detail."

She blinked. "Notify how?"

He laughed. "A phone."

"You bring a phone with you?"

"Well, a satellite phone, yeah, of course. Why?"

"I just thought the whole point was to disconnect or something. Be zen."

"Zen?" He lifted one dark brow. "Like meditate?"

"I guess."

His laugh was gruff. "Last night was about as close as I get to zen."

"Really?" It had been the exact opposite for Sofia. She had felt hyped to a fever pitch just by his proximity.

"No." Another grin. Her pulse sped up.

She met his smile with one of her own. "Sure you're not hiding another tent in that backpack, Your Highness?"

He pulled a face. "Out here, I'm definitely just Ares."

Strange, she felt as though he would always be ‘just Ares' to her.

"And no. Just the one. But I'll sleep under the stars tonight, if you'd prefer privacy."

Her heart quickened a little at his obvious chivalry. "Oh, no, that's fine. I mean, it's fine. It was just a practical thing last night. I was cold, you helped me get warm. It's nothing. Nothing happened."

Another laugh, but this time, it was a little strained. "Are you trying to convince yourself, or me?"

Her eyes dropped to the ground between them. "Both?" she answered.

"I like your frankness," he admitted, after a beat.

"That's a relief. Most people find it confronting."

"No, it's nice. A lot of people seem to think they have to suck up to me. I like that you're just yourself."

"Does that wear thin?"

"The sucking up?"

She nodded. "I mean, I could tolerate it for a while," she joked, waving a hand in the air, before sobering. "But this is your life. You must get a bit fed up with it all."

Something shifted in his expression. The mirth was gone, replaced by a look of something like resignation. "I'm used to it."

"Because it's how it's always been?"

"Not always. But for a long time."

She could have kicked herself for her stupidity because of course she knew the sad truth of Ares's childhood. He hadn't been born to rule. He was born second in line, after his older brother, who had died, along with their parents, when Ares was only fifteen years old. On that day, she imagined, his whole world had changed, but far beyond the normal changes wrought by grief. He had gone from being a prince to the King in waiting, and all that entailed.

"Ready for breakfast?" He changed the subject, and she supposed she was glad because it was far too heavy to ask him about that episode of his life at this hour. Or possibly ever.

"Yes," she said, changing gears. "And while we eat, maybe you could tell me more about the development."

He laughed softly. "You're incorrigible."

"I've been told that's one of my best traits."

He took a step closer, and her smile dropped as her heart slowed. His finger lifted and pressed the tip of her nose. "I'd be hard-pressed to pick a best trait," he said, simply, and artlessly, so it felt true and real, and her whole body seemed to separate from the physical and soar, cloud-like, into the highest tree limbs. She had to get a grip—this was getting out of hand.

And she was kind of loving that.