The Princess Affair (14 page)

“I study the history of architecture, so I know—I mean, I really know—just how little an entire civilization can leave behind. Not to mention one individual. Even so, I can’t help wanting to leave a—a mark of some kind on the world. A positive mark. I suppose my fear is that I won’t succeed in that.”

Sasha rocked up onto her knees, then stretched out alongside Kerry. “It’s a little frightening, isn’t it? Our lives are like shooting stars on the canvas of history.”

Kerry’s heart thundered in her chest—not only at Sasha’s proximity, but at her eloquent acknowledgement of the anxiety that lurked at the very core of her being. As Sasha propped her head on one hand and looked down at her, Kerry made the choice to ignore the alarm bells clanging in her brain. Their bodies were separated by mere inches. She licked her lips, hoping her voice wouldn’t fail.

“Surely you don’t worry about being remembered by history.”

“Even the names of kings are eventually forgotten.” Sasha rested her free hand in the hollow between Kerry’s breasts. Her fingertips twitched against the handspun wool. “We can’t know how, or if, we’ll be remembered. That’s why we have to pause sometimes to simply enjoy what we have.”

Dipping her head, she lightly pressed her lips to Kerry’s and then withdrew. “Your heart is beating so fast.”

Dizzy and aching with desire, Kerry dared to cup Sasha’s cheek with one hand. “More. Please.”

“I like how it sounds when you say ‘please.’” Sasha drew closer, but paused inches above Kerry’s mouth. “Say it again.”

Kerry curled her free hand around a fistful of grass to stop herself from pulling Sasha’s head down. How had such a brief touch infused desperation into her every cell?

“Please.”

Sasha’s eyes glittered in triumph. She bent her head again, and this time, Kerry surged up to meet her. She felt Sasha’s quick gasp of surprise against her face before she fused their mouths together, stroking Sasha’s tongue with her own. A soft, needy moan was her reward, making her head spin.

And then Sasha pulled away. Kerry smacked both palms against the ground in frustration, every cell clamoring for her to reverse their positions, tangle her fingers in Sasha’s hair, and kiss her until neither of them could breathe.

“Oh? Still not satisfied?” Sasha’s smile was insufferably smug.

Pride was far less important than feeling that perfect mouth on hers again. “Please.”

“One more. Just one.” Sasha licked her lips, and Kerry gave herself up to immolation. Surrender had never felt so much like triumph.

“Please.”

*

Sasha reclined in a chaise lounge, legs crossed at her ankles, watching the impromptu football match through large sunglasses. While some members of Kerry’s cohort had decided to avail themselves of the tennis courts, several others had created a makeshift pitch using cricket wickets for goal markers.

A sudden gust of cool air made her reach for the white cable knit cardigan hanging on the back of her chair. She’d dressed festively in Celtic colors—a green and white form-fitting sweater and black, skinny clamdiggers. Several of Kerry’s peers had complimented her on the matching green penny loafers that completed her outfit.

A shout went up from the lawn as Kerry broke free from a cluster of players and pounded after a loose ball. After controlling it with a series of light touches, she barreled down on the opposition’s final defender. At the last moment, she deftly flicked the ball over his extended foot toward Harris, who was there to guide it through the posts.

Sasha clapped, drawing curious glances from the scholars chatting at a table nearby. She didn’t care. They would see only that she was caught up in the game, not that she was applauding the woman who had repeatedly begged for her kisses mere hours before. Heat flashed down her spine at the memory of Kerry’s mouth opening beneath hers, of the low groan that greeted the slip-slide of their tongues. That last kiss had lasted an eternity, and when she had finally pulled away, the need eclipsing Kerry’s bright blue irises had almost made her forget her promise to move slowly. But for her iron will, they might still be lying in the long grass, exploring each other’s bodies.

As the players returned to the middle of the field, Kerry looked her way and smiled. Earlier, during the tour of the castle conducted by Raymond Fletcher, her demeanor had been all professional gravitas. She had listened attentively and asked interesting questions of which Fletcher had clearly approved. While she brought that same focused intensity to football, now an almost puppyish exuberance inflected her every movement. The more Sasha saw of her, the more she found to like. Such a thought should have been frightening, but mostly it just felt…good.

A shadow fell over her chair, and when she glanced up she found herself looking into the classically handsome face of Byron, Fletcher’s famous nephew.

“Sasha, darling! Just the person I was hoping to meet out here. So lovely to see you.”

“And you, Byron.” She swung her legs over the edge of the chair and rose to embrace him lightly. Tan and fit, dressed in immaculate tennis whites, he looked a decade younger than his forty-one years.

He winked at her conspiratorially. “I have a business proposition for you. Is there somewhere we can sit and talk shop, as they say?”

“Certainly.” Intrigued by the proposition of a joint venture, she took his arm. Byron’s design expertise was coveted by some of the most exclusive venues and events in Europe. If he wanted to partner with her in some way, the opportunity would be a golden one. “My father’s study has a beautiful view of the gardens and an excellent selection of bourbon. Will that suffice?”

“It sounds like heaven. Lead the way.”

After conversing with Byron for an hour, Sasha had to change for dinner. As she slid her crimson, one-shoulder dress over her head, she reflected on the details they had discussed. The Mandarin Oriental Hotel had contracted with him to organize their Christmas gala for the following holiday season. He had some ideas about how her company could get involved, and at this point she was all ears. Yoking her business to one of the hottest designers and one of the most exclusive hotels in the city could only help her company gain credibility. She wanted it to be successful in its own right, and not simply as a byproduct of her parentage.

Plenty of people, her father included, regarded her business venture as pure vanity. Yes, her company wasn’t eradicating malaria or building irrigation ditches in the Sahara. But she provided an important service that made people happy. Happiness was intrinsically valuable, wasn’t it? Besides, she organized at least one pro bono event a year, and a sizeable portion of her profits were earmarked for charity. This proposed joint venture with Byron and the film premiere for Ashleigh had the potential to significantly boost her demand. She was finding ways to contribute to society while doing what she was good at. Where was the harm in that?

Upon entering the dining room, Sasha caught sight of Kerry, chatting with a few of her friends near the fireplace. Dressed in a checkered jacket and gray trousers, her colorful hair stylishly mussed, she made Sasha’s mouth water. She had just set out to join the group when a touch on her shoulder brought her up short. She turned to the sight of Byron, clad entirely in black, from his jeans to his collared shirt—unbuttoned halfway down his chest—to his sport coat. Cowboy boots completed his obstinately underdressed look.

“Do you have another few minutes? I just finished a chat with my contact at the hotel, and he has some more details to share about the venue.”

“Another few minutes” became significantly more, and one of the scholars graciously permitted Byron to switch seats with her so that he could continue to engage Sasha in conversation throughout dinner. Across the table, Kerry seemed deep in discussion with Byron’s father, and Sasha fleetingly hoped their chat would lead to professional opportunities for her.

By the time the group withdrew into the games room, Sasha belatedly realized she had allowed Byron to monopolize most of her attention during the meal. Determined to play the role of gracious hostess, she moved methodically from group to group, chatting for several minutes with each in turn. Kerry was nowhere to be found, and at first Sasha thought she might have elected to continue her own conversation upstairs. But when she noticed the elder Fletcher keeping company with two trustees, she began to suspect that Kerry had misinterpreted her interest in Byron.

After an hour, she didn’t have to feign a headache in order to find an excuse to leave. Her temples were throbbing, but after sequestering herself in her bedroom, she bypassed her medicine cabinet and headed straight for the desk, where she withdrew a piece of stationary from the top drawer.
I want to see you tonight,
she wrote, haste making her script less elegant than the night before.
This guard will escort you back to my room.
She signed her name, and then on second thought added a postscript.
Please.

Once she had given Darryl his instructions, she kicked off her shoes, tossed back two aspirin, and began to pace. Kerry probably thought she’d been ignoring her all evening. “Oh, admit it,” she muttered, suddenly cross with herself. “You were, but not in the way she thinks.”

Several uncertain minutes later, a single knock came at the door. Sasha crossed the room quickly, unable to care that she would be betraying her own eagerness. She threw back the bolt and smiled in relief at the sight of Kerry, wearing orange sweats and a gray tank top, both of which were emblazoned with the Princeton crest. She could have changed back into her evening wear, but she’d elected not to. Sasha wanted to take that as a good sign. Besides, Kerry somehow looked even more attractive in baggy sweats and a tank than she had in her dressy attire.

She ushered Kerry quickly into the room and shut the door, keeping her fingers curled around the handle to anchor herself in place. As much as she wanted to pick up exactly where they’d left off among the ruins, she could sense that their mood had been broken. Kerry was regarding her warily, and Sasha cursed her own idiocy for allowing distance to spring up between them.

“Hi,” she said softly.

“Hi.” Kerry looked around the room, as though expecting to find someone else. “So I’m not really sure why I’m here.”

“Because I said ‘please’?”

Kerry flushed. She was remembering the morning. Good.

“You seem to be irresistible.”

Sasha took one step forward. “I’m glad you came. I wish I’d had more of a chance to talk with you downstairs. Byron approached me earlier with a business proposition, and we spent most of the night hashing out the preliminaries.” She took another step. “If it goes through, it could be a fairly significant venture.”

“That sounds promising.” The tautness of Kerry’s shoulders eased as she smiled. “Congratulations.”

“Normally, I might indulge in some champagne.” Sasha extended her hand, praying she wouldn’t scare Kerry away. “But I’d rather have one more kiss from you than all the Dom Pérignon in the world.”

Kerry’s laugh sounded forced. “Ever since you came down the stairs in that dress, I’ve needed to kiss you again.”

Their fingers entwined, and Sasha pulled her further into the room. “Come here.”

When they reached the foot of the bed, she pushed Kerry backward until her legs hit the mattress. Kerry sat down hard, clutching the coverlet.

“I can’t lie down,” she whispered.

“Oh?” Sasha climbed onto her lap, trapping Kerry in place with her knees. “Why not?”

“Because if I do, I’ll lose what little control I have left.”

The strangled words made Sasha go liquid deep inside. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to make that happen—to drive Kerry to the point of surrendering to their mutual need. Unleashed from her inhibitions, she would be simply stunning—a dangerous, sensual creature.

Combing her fingers through Kerry’s hair, she settled herself on those muscular thighs and embraced the warmth of the adrenaline rush. She would content herself with teasing. For now.

“What are you afraid of? That if we sleep together I’ll disappear?”

“Yes.”

She tugged lightly. “Are you that bad at it?”

Kerry’s laugh was breathless. “What do you think?”

Sasha let her hands drop to Kerry’s smooth, broad shoulders, then trail down along the prominent bulges of her triceps and biceps. So strong. She reached for Kerry’s hands and tugged.

“I think I want your arms around me.”

In the next moment, she felt Kerry’s right hand at the small of her back, even as her left hand caressed the nape of Sasha’s neck. Kerry pulled her closer until those blue, blue eyes filled her vision.

“Now what?” Kerry whispered, breath puffing against Sasha’s mouth.

“Now you kiss me. But only for a little while.”

Kerry’s hand tightened on her neck, igniting a surge of arousal that forced Sasha’s hips to edge forward, involuntarily seeking relief against the ridges of Kerry’s quads. Gritting her teeth at the storm of sensation, she never once broke their gaze. At her movement, darkness absorbed Kerry’s eyes.

“Only for a little while,” she agreed, the words barely a whisper.

Leaning forward, she finally took Sasha’s lips in a slow, deep kiss. As her tongue stroked rhythmically within Sasha’s mouth, her hand massaged Sasha’s shoulders to the same slow, tantalizing beat. Utterly lost, Sasha gave herself up to the maelstrom of sensation, praying Kerry would never stop.

Sasha stood in the shade of an oak tree, thirty feet from where the small crowd was clustered near the midfield line of the pitch. Despite the fact that she was dressed in her incognito attire today—skinny jeans, a University of Connecticut hoodie, her blond wig, and navy trainers—Ian had insisted they remain separate from the group of observers.

The Balliol women’s football team was playing New College today, and from what Sasha had seen of the match, it was a fairly equal contest. She’d arrived just as the second half began, frustrated at her own lateness. Her daily meeting with Bloom had run long; she was set to deliver a speech at the groundbreaking ceremony for a new wing of the British Museum tomorrow, and Bloom had forced her to drill and re-drill the text until he was satisfied she wouldn’t choke.