Page 53 of A Queen and HER Bad Boy
“I don’t want you to ever let me go again. Please, just hold me.”
She didn’t have to ask him twice. He led her into the sitting room and lowered her down with him onto the same couch that had been his lonely bed these past torturous nights. They were both soaking wet from the storm, but they could warm each other up. The thought sent dangerous heat coursing through his veins as he realized how fast and far he was falling under her spell—and she had no idea, only that she wanted him to comfort her.
Would his kisses do that? Tingles of alarm raced through his nervous system as forbidden thoughts invaded his mind. He’d been obsessing over the memory of her lips against his, the way she’d melted into him the last time he’d dared touch her. And why was he such an ogre for thinking about loving her when assassins were hunting her down?
She lifted her chin to study his face with those luminous golden eyes, and he wondered if she could see even half of what he was considering. “We have to figure out how to access my trust fund,” she whispered urgently.
“What?” No, her mind was clearly on something else. “Why?” His mind raced through terrible possibilities. “Are you being blackmailed?”
“Those children I met today! They’re wearing rags—they’re so skinny and hungry!”
His chest constricted as realization hit him—she wasn’t crying for herself at all. She was crying for these people’s suffering. His breath turned ragged for an entirely different reason— something raw and overwhelming that felt too big for his chest. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” He could barely choke out the words.
“Do you think we can actually help them? Our people?”
Not even sure what he was agreeing to, he nodded wordlessly. He’d always glimpsed her tender heart beneath that fiery exterior—no one else had seen it, not even Venice knew the depths of compassion that Achilles knew was there.
“But I have to find a way around my father’s restrictions on my accounts. He’ll use my money as leverage, but if we can work around him somehow, get the crown first… of course, that means making deals with the High Consortium.”
More chains, more manipulation. “We don’t need their dirty money!” He pulled back to meet her eyes. There was another way. “We liquidate what assets of yours that we can. And don’t forget my dowry from your marriage contract. That’ll make a good start. Two million euros, plus the villa in Crete and my annual stipend. It’s not everything, but it’s a start.”
She gave him a watery smile that lit up her whole face and hugged him. “Oh, thank you! Thank you so much! I don’t wantpeople thinking I’m helpless just because I got attacked today. You know? It could happen to anyone!”
Part of her fierce courage came from shock—he’d been through enough street fights to recognize the signs. The real impact of danger often didn’t hit until days later. But her bravery was also purely, authentically Bris. She had a spine forged from steel.
But of all the times for her to launch a humanitarian mission, she’d chosen the moment when shadows lurked around every corner. And yet, what would be more damaging—hiding out in this palace and cowering from every threat, or facing those fears head-on?
He ran his fingers through her damp hair, marveling at its silky texture. “Babe, this won’t be easy.”
“I know the risks, but I’m not the spoiled princess everyone thinks I am.” She studied his face with a suddenly vulnerable look before asking, “Do you—do you think I’m spoiled?”
“No!” The word exploded from him with more force than he’d intended. Headstrong, absolutely! Impossible sometimes, definitely… but he liked her the way she was. It was why he was having such a hard time keeping his distance. Her father knew exactly what he was doing when he’d thrown them together, and even Venice had suspected Achilles’s feelings. It seemed like everyone knew except Bris.
And whose fault was that? He took a steadying breath. This was no longer a game. “If we’re going to reach out to our people,” he said carefully, “we’re not going anywhere without serious security. You understand? It’s dangerous out there.”
Her fingers squeezed his arms with desperate intensity. “Yeah, well… they’d better watch out for you. You almost killed that man today.” The reminder wasn’t welcome—he could still feel the violence in his scraped and bloody knuckles. Her eyes drifted to his damaged hands, and her gaze turned watery withsympathy. “I’ll take every precaution, Achilles. Just breathe… the world isn’t going to swallow me whole, okay?”
She might be less cooperative with his next announcement. He was done tiptoeing around the boundaries of their arrangement. He was ready to be the husband she needed. “I’m not sleeping on that couch anymore, either,” he said firmly. “I’ll be in the bed with you from now on.”
Bris went completely still against him. “You want to keep a closer eye on me?”
Yes, but she wouldn’t appreciate that level of honesty. He had to make this sound reasonable. “That couch is torture… it’s destroying my back.”
She laughed—the first genuine sound of mirth he’d heard from her all day—and his shoulders relaxed with relief. She’d bought his flimsy excuse. His real reasons were safely hidden away, though parts of them remained unclear, even to himself.
Chapter Sixteen
Monday, December 16th, DAY 25
—Six days of recovery—
BriswrappedtheplushEgyptian cotton towel around her damp hair, watching the last of the bathwater swirl down the drain of the immense marble tub.
She tugged on her silky pajama shorts set, the fabric whispering against her skin. The emerald-green silk didn’t scream honeymoon quite like that bridal nightgown from their wedding night that she’d banished to the back of her closet, though these weren’t much better. The matching shorts and camisole clung to her, forcing her to use a fuzzy bathrobe to cover up.
Her father had been sending her increasingly provocative sleepwear, and judging by tonight’s selection, he must be getting reports that his daughter’s romance wasn’t proceeding according to plan. Certainly, it wasn’t her fault. Her heart barreled through her chest like a freight train loaded down with hot coals every time Achilles was near.
All while he maintained a careful distance between them now that they shared a bed. If her father knew the level of reluctance his new son-in-law felt about their marriage, he would have ordered a smaller one. Not that it would help. Bris knew why her husband had insisted on staying with her—Achilles was punishing himself again.
