Page 38 of Twelve Nights In The Prince's Bed

‘I like the sound of that. Only...’ Her lips pulled to the side. ‘I don’t really know what to do.’

He moved closer, so close that his mouth brushed hers as he spoke. ‘You’re already doing it.’ And then, he pulled her with him back to the bed, his body so hard, his need so great, he couldn’t think straight, he couldn’t do anything except allow his body the freedom to touch every inch of her, to be in this moment feeling, pleasuring, giving, receiving...

Poppy felt different the next morning. Physically different. She was stretched and sore and her nerves buzzed and hummed with new pleasures rendered and experienced, with the feeling that Adrastos had made her his so utterly and completely she wasn’t sure how she’d ever think of herself as her own person again.

That thought had her sitting upright, her face draining of colour, and her eyes seeking him on the other side of the bed. She was relieved that he wasn’t there, even when her heart gave a funny little clutch and her lips tugged downwards. But the truth was, seeing Adrastos now would be too much.

She needed time and space to give some perspective to what they’d shared.

Or, she thought, her frown deepening, she needed to talk to someone, to her very best friend in the whole world, who always helped Poppy know what she wanted when Poppy was lost. But how could Poppy turn to Eleanor at a time like this? What would she say?

She dismissed the idea completely.

This was her ruse, and the last thing she wanted was to involved Ellie in any of it.

But that strange sense of doom, of danger, lurked on the edge of Poppy’s mind. She felt as though she were walking through a field of snakes, burrowed deep in their holes but likely to emerge at any point and strike. She felt danger prodding her and yet she couldn’t explain it.

This was temporary. They both knew what this was: a pretend relationship. The sex was by the by. Poppy was attracted to Adrastos. It was clear Adrastos felt the same, but Poppy wasn’t naïve enough to think that she was special to him in any way. If Poppy hadn’t been here, Adrastos would have found another woman to be with. That was who he was. It was who he’d always be.

She shook her head, wondering why that knowledge, a piece of certainty she’d held for a long time, suddenly made her throat feel as though it were filled with sharp rocks. Why should she care that Adrastos was a serial bed-hopper?

It wasn’t her business.

And this was just sex.

Her heart gave that strange twist again and she dropped her head forward, staring at the crisp white coverlet of his bed. Where was he? Poppy told herself again that she was glad he wasn’t here, but, deep down, Adrastos might have been the only person on the face of the earth who could have helped calm her fluttering nerves—by kissing them right out of her head—and he was nowhere to be seen.

He hadn’t intentionally avoided her, and yet giving both of them space had seemed wise after last night. He couldn’t think of it without a growing sense of disquiet. It hadn’t been ‘just sex’, for the pure reason, he reassured himself, that neither of them had been able to leave again afterwards. Sharing a bed, naked, limbs entwined, they’d fallen asleep with Poppy’s head on his chest, his hand curved around her back, fingers possessively splayed over her hip, and when he’d woken several hours later, it had been because Poppy was kissing his chest, still half asleep, in the early hours of the morning. He suspected she hadn’t even been aware of what she was doing, but Adrastos had kissed her back, waking her up the rest of the way, until they’d come together in a frantic, desperate joining, as if neither had known the other’s body for years, not hours.

He’d been too wired to go back to sleep after that. He’d waited for Poppy to slip into dreams, then pushed back the covers and strode out of the room, pausing only to grab some clothes on his way to his office, where he greeted the dawn, staring out at the forest, admiring it for its ancient trees and wisdom, for the fierce danger that lurked beneath the beautiful, almost serene-seeming surface.

It was the kind of forest that made up postcards of this region, so picturesque and pretty, but there were many threats amongst those broad, round trunks. Predators, the weather, the lack of cell service so if you didn’t know exactly what you were doing and became lost, there was no easy rescue. Adrastos had been told, as a young boy, never to go into the forest alone, which of course had only made him determined to do exactly that. But he was no fool: he understood the dangers and so he respected them. He took precautions each time, testing his strength as one grew and developed a muscle, until he was confident he could walk amongst those trees like any of the predators who owned the woods.

Just as he was confident he could control what was happening with Poppy. True, it was different from his usual relationships, for many reasons, not least because he knew her and, worse, she knew him. Really knew him—in the way you couldn’t avoid having knowledge of a person when you’d been in their home and immersed in their family. She saw facets of him he liked to keep all to himself.

But that was also to his advantage, because she understood what he was like. She’d seen his attitude to relationships, she’d heard his parents and sister bemoan his inability to settle down, she knew that after their very gentle, respectful ‘break-up’, he’d go back to his normal life, and she’d go back to hers, and they’d return to seeing each other a few times a year, when palace life brought them home at the same time.

It was a thought he held like a talisman, but, much like his early walks into the forest, he sensed danger in the idea, because he was no fool. Sleeping with Poppy was different and new, and he would need to train himself to treat her like any of his other lovers; he’d need a different kind of strength to simply walk away from her and stay away.

Adrastos, fortunately, never failed once he’d set his mind to something and, in this, he was determined.

CHAPTER TEN

SHEFELTINEXPLICABLYSHY!Poppy knew these people, loved them, and yet sitting at the table, beside Adrastos, she found her tongue was tied in knots and her fingers quivering so she had to hold them in her lap. She was nervous and overcome, a jangle of feelings, of awareness. She felt, she realised, as the waiters brought out plates ladened with local delicacies, as though she were on a first date. With Adrastos, and his whole family.

She could barely look at the man, for goodness’ sake! After the intimacy of the night before, after the way he’d made her feel, after the wayhe’dfelt, she reminded herself with a deep crimson blush spreading over her cheeks, she was unprepared for how to go from that level of sensual connection to this, to normal life, to pretending they were just themselves, and yet not themselves, because Poppy and Adrastos had never beenthis.A couple. A pretend couple.

She sipped her water, barely listening to the conversation swirling around her, barely conscious of anything, except at one point, when Adrastos physically stiffened beside her, so that his tension was impossible to ignore. Poppy sat up straighter and tuned into what was being said.

The King was speaking—with obvious pride—shaking his head at how naturally Adrastos had handled a trade negotiation. ‘They can be difficult to work with, you know. I’ve never found it easy, at least. But you, of course, had them eating out of the palm of your hand. You will have to teach me how you did that.’ Alexander’s eyes crinkled at the corners and Clementine added some noises of congratulation. Adrastos’s face was ash beneath his tanned complexion, and when he thanked them, it was in a voice that was almost completely devoid of emotion.

Poppy skimmed his face, trying to understand, but then he turned to Poppy and her pulse almost throttled her, and her body flooded with warmth and need and all thoughts of understanding Adrastos fled from her mind.

The festive season in the palace was beautiful and wondrous and usually Poppy adored it, but she found it hard to focus on the little traditions this year, on enjoying the quintessentially local food. In fact, she could barely taste anything!

Somehow, she made it through the main course, and then dessert, but afterwards, when Clementine suggested they adjourn to the drawing room, where the family traditionally listened to classical music and drank something very similar to gin but made from berries grown only in Stomland, Poppy made her excuses.

‘I have a bit of a headache,’ she murmured apologetically excusing herself, barely able to meet anyone’s eyes, least of all Adrastos’s. Would he be annoyed with her? Or secretly relieved if she left, so he could also stop pretending?

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