Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

" W HAT DID YOU DO with your shoes?"

The question was totally unexpected, and she laughed. "My shoes? Is that seriously what you're thinking about right now?"

She saw the outline of his grin in the darkness of the tent. God, she wanted to see all of him. The darkness was infuriating.

"Actually, I was thinking about your shoes when I was locked in battle with mine and thought they'd never come off."

"I had the same thought. A little preparation next time, please, Your Highness."

It was on the tip of his tongue to implore her not to ever use his title, but from Sofia, he actually sort of liked it. It conjured all sorts of concubine fantasies…which he quickly blanked from his mind.

"I see. So, you were prepared for that?" he prompted, and she nodded sagely.

"Almost like I've been thinking about it all day."

She heard his sharp intake of breath and warmth exploded through her. She liked surprising him.

"You're nothing like I expected," he admitted after a beat.

"You mean the Santoros didn't tell you about this side of me?"

He laughed, moving towards the sleeping bag. She heard the rustle of zips and knew he was forming them into a single entity again. Her pulse throbbed.

"Definitely not."

"Well, they do think of me like a little sister," she admitted. "I'm pretty sure they would have to scrub their brains if they knew I'd ever slept with a guy."

He reached for her hand and tugged on her gently, in a way that made her heart turn over in her chest, pulling her towards the sleeping bag. "Do you need to get dressed?" he asked, a reference to the cool temperature.

"I'm sure you're capable of keeping me warm."

In truth, she'd happily suffer through a cold night's sleep if it meant being close to him. Naked, with him.

Just the thought had her body heating up.

"So, what did you think?" she asked, stepping into the sleeping bag, then crouching down.

Silence filled the tent. "I thought you were beautiful," he said eventually. "But somewhat?—,"

She waited, aware of what would follow. He was not the first person to say it. "Cold?" she prompted, after he failed to continue.

"Untouchable," he corrected, stroking her sides in a way that was distracting and overwhelming.

"Same difference," she said on a small sigh.

"You just seem…so perfect."

It was a compliment, but it didn't feel like that. She knew what he was describing: her veneer. The image she'd cultivated because she didn't want anyone to see the real her. With the Santoros, she let her guard down a little, though not often. If mainly because it had become second nature for her to keep everyone at a distance.

"Perfect, huh?" she flipped around, so they were facing, and he put an arm around her back, drawing her hard against him. Her breasts tingled at the feeling of skin on skin, of his chest flattening her front.

"Definitely."

"Aren't you just a natural-born charmer?"

His laugh was a gruff disputation of that. "Hardly."

"I'm serious."

"Believe me, I'm not that."

She lifted a finger and pressed it to his lips. "Are you fishing for compliments, Your Highness?"

She felt his intake of breath against her fingers. He'd had a similar reaction when she'd used his title before. She'd noticed, and she'd liked it.

"Is this how it usually works for you?" he asked, surprising her with the conversation change.

She was instantly wary. "How what works?"

"When you're with someone."

She bit into her lower lip, considering that. "I mean, you're the first King I've ever almost slept with."

He made a growl from deep in his throat. "I'm looking forward to remedying the ‘almost' part of that sentence."

Her heart lifted, because she had been hoping he'd feel that way, and her insides trembled a little, at the prospect of them having sex. It would have to be once they'd returned to the palace, though. "How will that work?" she asked, a little breathily. "I mean, you can hardly make a booty call in the palace, can you?"

He laughed. "A booty call?"

"My first royal booty call," she confirmed, smiling.

"Well, I definitely can't have you miss out on that." He leaned forward and kissed her, long and slow, so she could hardly breathe, and her whole body was on fire once more. "I'll find a way." And then his hand was between her legs, bringing her once more to a fever pitch, making her tremble and ache and then explode when she thought she surely didn't have another orgasm in her. Every nerve ending in her body was sensitive and raw, so afterward, when he pulled her back against him, she felt his touch in every cell of her being.

"You'd better," she murmured, her eyes growing heavy, her body pushed into a slumberous state by the incredible pleasure she'd experienced over and over. But as she drifted off, she was aware that she hadn't really answered his question about her past lovers, and she was glad she'd been able to avoid it. For some reason, she didn't want to talk about any of that with Ares. Nor did she want to hear about his relationship history. It wasn't like they needed to have those discussions anyway. Perhaps if this was the beginning of a relationship, but it wasn't. It was just a few nights, with a man who made her whole body and soul sing. No need to complicate that with anything deep and meaningful.

In the light of day, he was more aware of the potential pitfalls of what they'd done. Aware, though not necessarily influenced by. How could he care too much about common sense when her beautiful body was pressed against him, every inch of her in contact with his skin, so he could feel and touch and admire even before she was awake?

He loved touching her. He loved brushing his hands over her body, feeling her tremble, knowing that he had the power to blow her reserved demeanour into the heavens with his hands or his mouth. And eventually, with himself, because there was no way, after last night, that they wouldn't be sleeping together properly when they were back in the palace.

He'd been so tempted last night. She was on contraception. They were both safe. The chances of her conceiving had to be almost non-existent. But there was still a possibility, and he wasn't prepared to take that risk—for himself, or her.

It's the last thing I want, ever.

She'd been so emphatic, he remembered now. So certain that pregnancy wasn't on her radar. Did she mean now? Or ever, as she had said? Did she mean simply with him, or was this her stance in general?

Questions fired through him, but he also remembered the way she had of evading him, and he figured there was no harm in letting her. After everything with Louisa, he was actually excited by the prospect of something like this. Something simple and easy, something that was just about the physical. Which wasn't to say he didn't enjoy talking with her—he did. She was funny, intelligent, interesting. He liked the fact she didn't take herself—or him—too seriously. So why mess that up by pushing her to bare her soul to him?

He'd already done that.

He knew everything about Louisa. They'd swapped secrets and life stories and dreams, ambitions, resentments; all of it. In the end, it had just made the hurt that much greater.

He was done with being hurt, with putting himself in positions of vulnerability.

Things with Sofia were fun but also, in the ways that mattered most, meaningless. They'd enjoy this, for as long as she was in Moricosia, and then they'd end it. She'd leave, and he'd get on with the job of being King, confident that both Louisa and Sofia were in his rear vision mirror.

It was a perfect plan, and for Ares, that gave him the confidence that nothing could go wrong.

She could have put her hunger down to hiking. God knew they'd eaten up the miles again already today. But it was more than that. It was the insatiable heat he'd stirred in her the night before that had sent her nervous system into overdrive and meant her whole body was burning extra energy simply anticipating the next time they touched or kissed.

Which was taking way too long, she thought, disgruntled, when they finally stepped onto a campsite to pause for lunch, and Ares began pulling things out of his pack so they could eat. They were down to dehydrated rations now, she noted—not that she cared about food, despite her hunger.

She watched as he meticulously opened packets and set about reconstituting them, and she thought about him, and his hiking trips, and how he brought himself out here into the middle of nowhere, to be alone and to think, and she wondered about his life back in the palace, and what he might have been or done had he not inherited the throne. All sorts of questions that she wanted answers to, even when she'd decided, the night before, not to let things between them get too deep. Then again, it wasn't ‘deep' to wonder about a person, nor to ask them for some information about their life. Wasn't that just good manners?

But just as she was going to say something, he stood up and stretched his arms over his head, so his shirt lifted to reveal his tanned, toned abdomen. Just like that, her mouth went dry, and all thoughts dissipated from her mind. So too, her ability to think.

She stepped forward, drawing his attention. She didn't care. Another step. And another. And when she was toe to toe with him, she looked into his eyes, took a deep breath, and then, without another moment or thought, kissed him.

And he kissed her back. Oh, did he kiss her back. In a heavenly, swooning way, he kissed her as though they were lovers who'd been separated for months and miles, not virtual strangers who'd spent the night naked and in close confines. He kissed her as though she was the answer to a question he'd been trying to find for years. He kissed her and her knees went weak, her body felt heavy, her pulse was torrential. He kissed her and she felt as though she'd died and gone to heaven.

It wasn't just a kiss though. His hands were on her body, pulling at her clothes, undressing her with the same fevered need as his kiss had communicated, kissing her until she was incandescent and then worshipping her body with his touch, before pulling away, and simply staring at her. "You're beautiful," he muttered, so her cheeks flushed self-consciously.

He wasn't the first person to tell her that, but she'd always put the compliment down as something people said. With Ares, she really felt the sincerity in his words. He said it almost as if he resented her for being beautiful, as if he wished he didn't find her so.

"I wanted to see you, so badly last night," he admitted. "But I couldn't have imagined," he gestured to her with a wave of his hands, and then pulled her back against him, kissing her once more, running his hands over her shoulders, her back, her naked bottom, holding her against him, so his rock hard arousal pressed against her sex, driving her quite wild with what she desperately wanted to feel—him, deep inside of her.

"Ares," she groaned, rolling her hips, grinding against him.

"I know," he muttered, and then pulled away, looking around for a second before striding to his pack and pulling out a blanket, which he threw on the ground at their feet before drawing her down with him, laying her on her back, and bringing his body over hers.

He was fully clothed, and yet the textures of his clothing—the buttons, the zip, the fabric—all added to the heady sensuality of what they were doing. Nothing, though, could compete with the feeling of his arousal at her sex—her naked, him not. It didn't matter though, because he moved as though he was trying to be with her, and the pleasure for Sofia was immense. He was right there, pressing against her in the place that offered multitudes of sensation, so she was suddenly digging her nails into his shoulder and arching her back, crying out as wave after wave of release washed over her, making her whole body tremble.

"So beautiful," he grunted, against her neck, holding himself still, even when his breath was rushing, and she knew what willpower it must be taking for him to give into this and come with her. She lay on her back, staring up at the milky grey sky, contentment a strangely unfamiliar experience.

Usually, the moment she'd been with a guy, she was pulling away—mentally at least—and working out when she could extricate herself physically. She enjoyed the flirtation, and she enjoyed the physicality of sex, but she hated anything that seemed like a promise for more, and sex definitely ran the risk of that.

With Ares, everything was different.

She could relax into this, enjoy every moment because they'd both been so clear from the beginning about the limitations of what they were doing. That was so freeing—how could she fail to enjoy the feeling?

"So, tell me something," she murmured, stroking his back with her nails. Up, down, feeling the bumps of his spine, the breadth of his shoulders.

"Something."

She rolled her eyes. "That's a dad joke, Your Highness."

"God, you're right. It's something my father used to say, all the time. I never even realised."

"It's funny how that happens."

"What do you want to know?"

"How hard and fast is the three-day hike rule?"

"It's how long it takes," he said. "There's no rule."

"And I guess, being King, you make the rules anyway."

He laughed. "Not exactly how a constitutional monarchy works, but I get your meaning."

"So, we could stay out here longer. Like, for example, stay right here for the afternoon?"

He pushed up to look down at her. "And how would we fill the time?" he asked, but with a slow, sexy grin that made her insides twist.

"Well, we could analyse the literary merits of War and Peace," she suggested.

"Ah," he nodded sagely. "One of my favourite subjects."

She pushed at his chest, playfully. "I'm serious."

"So am I. Tolstoy is—," she kissed him, forestalling whatever else he'd been about to say. "Not really on my mind, right now," he added when they came up for air.

"I'm very glad to hear that. So?"

He pushed up on his elbows so he could see her properly. "Isn't there a part of you that wants to get back to the palace?"

She thought about that. At the palace, there was the promise of sleeping together, but there was also the looming spectre of things becoming more ‘real'. Out here, they were just two people with incredible chemistry. There, he was the King, she was working on a tender that he could grant, there were servants, a Santoro; all they were missing was a partridge in a pear tree.

"I'm looking forward to that," she said, but with a hint of ambivalence. "But I'm enjoying this too."

"A glutton for punishment?"

"If this is punishment, sign me up for a lifetime of it," she muttered and then clasped a hand to her mouth. "That's an expression. I didn't mean…you know, this thing," she gestured from his chest to hers. "A lifetime isn't what either of us wants."

He pulled a face, pretending to be wounded. "Are you going to be the second woman to reject me in as many months?" He said, and she sobered because something about the comment rubbed her the wrong way. Not his words, but the way he said it, like it was a big joke, when she could tell it wasn't. And she didn't want to push him on that, because she'd sworn they wouldn't do the personal information swap, but at the same time, she wanted to say something to acknowledge what he'd been through.

She lifted a hand to his face, cupping his cheek. "Do you want to talk about it?"

His laugh was a harsh rejection of that. "Definitely not."

"Do you think you need to talk about it?" she differentiated.

He lifted one beautiful, strong shoulder. "What would be the point? Nothing that you or I say here changes what happened between Louisa and me back there."

Her insides twisted sharply. She hated hearing the other woman's name from his lips. She especially hated it when he was on top of her, and she was naked. But she wouldn't reveal that, because it was a response that seemed to indicate an emotional reliance she definitely didn't feel.

"Do you want to change what happened back there?" she asked, her voice carefully flattened of care, one way or another.

"It's not possible."

"But if it were?—,"

"It's not." Case closed.

She sighed softly, trying to suppress the response of obvious frustration. She felt everything she'd thought last night. She still believed that keeping things light and pared back to the physical was the best course, but that didn't mean she wasn't irked by the way he was walling himself off from her. Which was a lot like the pot calling the kettle black, she acknowledged wearily. She who had made an art form out of hiding anything too private from anyone and everyone.

"Are you still in love with her?" It was a strange question to ask. Somewhat out of body, given the way they were sitting. But it was almost like she wanted him to say ‘yes', because that would add an extra layer of protection against what they were doing. There were already so many reasons in place to accept that this was just a temporary fling, but if his heart was still firmly in the grasp of his ex, then Sofia's own heart was definitely beyond touching.

He pulled away from her, standing, his back straight. She watched him walk away, cold suddenly, and aware that she was utterly naked while he was fully dressed. She looked around for her clothes—they were across the clearing. He'd really thrown them when he'd undressed her, and she hadn't even noticed. She hadn't been capable of noticing anything but him.

"You don't have to walk away from me," she said, with icy hauteur. "It's just a question, and like any question, you have a right not to answer. You just have to use your words."

He spun around to face her, exasperation on his features before he saw that she was reaching for her clothes. Before he saw her, something softened on his face, cooling what had obviously been a moment of temper.

"I don't know how to answer," he said, finally. Simply. Honestly. "I don't want to talk about Louisa. I particularly don't want to talk about Louisa with you. It feels disloyal."

It took Sofia a moment to realise that he meant disloyal to Louisa, and not Sofia. Her insides tightened, and her heart, so used to rejection and pain, thumped reassuringly.

We've got this. Don't worry. You've been hurt before, and you've always been fine.

"Okay, then," she shrugged like it didn't matter. "What's for lunch?" The question was no-nonsense, her voice carefully intoned with a hint of lightness she was struggling to feel.

"Sofia," he sighed. "I thought we had an understanding. Neither of us wants to talk about our past relationships, do we?"

He was calling her out for her evasiveness from the night before. She bit into her lower lip and nodded. That was certainly the case for Sofia, but then again, she hardly had much of a past to talk about. She'd had lovers, but not that many, and no one of note. No one she'd really thought of again after she'd ended their relationship. What would she tell him? That she had no interest in putting herself on the line again? That if her own mother didn't even love her, why would anyone else?

"No." Usually, Sofia was able to hide her feelings, but for the briefest moment, her veneer cracked and the word was loaded with pity. Anger. Feelings.

She blinked quickly and looked away. "We don't have to stay an extra night. It was just a stupid idea."

He made a gruff sound of impatience and strode across to her. "I like the idea." He pressed a finger to her chin, angling her face to his, and then moved his hands to cup her cheeks. "I don't want to fight with you."

It was such a lovely, kind, normal, respectful sentiment that the crack in her veneer seemed to widen, and she felt the sting of tears at the back of her eyes. She blinked quickly to forestall something so stupid.

"Then let's not fight." And because she knew she could hide in the attraction they felt for one another, she lifted up onto her tiptoes and kissed him slowly. "There's far better ways for us to spend this time, you know…"