The Ice Princess (Princes #3.5)(6)

"Would you prefer to stay and listen to the drivel pouring from Hyde's mouth?"

"No, naturally not, but—“

"Then point me to your room."

She pressed her lips together and jerked her chin at the stairs.

He mounted them two at a time until she nearly tripped. Then he muttered something under his breath and slowed his pace. Coral tugged, but he still held her wrist firmly and she suddenly realized that she would be having sexual congress with this man very soon.

Possibly within minutes.

Her mouth went dry, her heart beating nearly out of her chest. It'd been years now since she'd let a man touch her. To feel the sense of helplessness, to be overpowered by another stronger than herself, to have to wall off that part of her spirit that rebelled against such servitude. Could she do it? But of course she must. She'd done it before. One more disgusting act hardly mattered, did it?

She snuck a glance at Wargate's grim face. And what if the act wasn't quite so disgusting? Could she still keep her soul intact?

Wargate halted at the top of the stairs, turning to her with a raised eyebrow.

Coral inhaled and pointed to the third door down the hall. "That one."

He strode to it without comment and threw open the door.

Inside was a simple room furnished with a bed, chair, and small lit fire.

The captain frowned. "This isn't your room."

Well, of course it wasn't. No one but her maid was allowed in her rooms. Coral compressed her lips and indicated a room at the very end of the hall.

Wargate was there in a few seconds, Coral panting beside him. This time he threw open the door to a much more sumptuous room. The bed was draped in crimson velvet, the rug thick and luxurious, and a table and two chairs sat before the fire. Coral gave a small satisfied smile. The Red Room was one of her best. Surely he'd be satisfied with it.

Except his scowl was thunderous when he turned to her this time. "Quit playing with me, madam. I want your rooms, not a whore's set stage."

Coral stiffened, feeling an edge of panic. Her rooms were private. They were her refuge.

"I am a whore," she snapped. "You wouldn’t be bedding me otherwise, Captain."

He simply looked at her.

"What do you care whose rooms these are?" she waved at the red velvet opulence in frustration. "Believe me, you shan't be looking at the room when you're with me."

His sharp eyes narrowed. "I want your rooms. And before you try and tell me these are your rooms, let me point out that rich as the furniture is, there isn't a single personal item within it."

She tugged again at her wrist and had as much luck pulling it from his grasp as she’d had before. She settled for propping her free hand on her hip. "You're ridiculous."

"And you're obstinate," he countered. "Do you want me to find Hyde and tell him you've reneged on the deal?"

No, she didn't. Coral turned with ill grace and led him around the corner, down another corridor, and finally to a hidden door in the wall.

"Watch your head," she muttered as she ducked inside the dark passage behind the little door.

She heard a thud and a grunt as her warning came too late and his head connected to with the low lintel. Ha! She couldn't help but smile. This man never failed to discompose her. With everyone else--even the most disgusting animals such as Hyde--she was cool. Composed and dismissive. Only with Wargate did her blood run too hot, her composure crumple like ashes.

He was her own personal Armageddon.

The narrow little hall dead-ended with a door which was locked. Coral fished under her skirts until she found the key hanging from a ribbon at her waist. She unlocked the door and entered, not bothering to see if Captain Wargate followed.

Molly, her maidservant straightened in surprise from the little fire in the grate.

"Ma'am?" Her eyes widened and flicked to look behind Coral.

Coral felt heat rise in her cheeks behind her mask. She'd never brought a man here before. "That'll be all, Molly."

Molly curtsied, still looking curious, and left the room by a door on the far wall. It led to a back stairway that opened eventually into the kitchens and from there to a back door to Aphrodite's Grotto.

Coral turned as the door clicked shut behind her maid and looked at Captain Wargate. He'd moved away from the door they'd entered and was inspecting the objects on her dresser. She grit her teeth, feeling a sense of imposition. These were her private rooms, her private possessions.

The bed was comfortable, but by no means large, the hangings a soft, faded green stripe. By the fire was a small, square table and a single chair. She used the spot both to take her meals and to look over the Grotto's accounting books. A dark wood wardrobe held the extravagant costumes that Aphrodite wore, but at the moment a simple robe hung on the outside of the wardrobe--a gown she habitually wore whilst in her own rooms. It was a lovely emerald green velvet, but the lace at the sleeve had been mended and the elbows were beginning to go bald from wear. The dresser Captain Wargate inspected held a simple white china pitcher and washing bowl, her hairbrush, a folding mirror, a pile of hairpins in a glass dish, and a miniature portrait of a worn-looking woman.

Coral inhaled. He had no right. But she knew how to distract him from his examination of her possessions.

"Shall we begin, Captain?" She drawled, her fingers going to the laces of her gown. She slowly drew them apart as she spoke. "Have you a particular fancy tonight? Perhaps you'd like my mouth and tongue on your cock? Or would you prefer to bind me to the bed for your pleasure? You may sit and I'll ride you until we both succumb. Or you may mount me from behind like a great, randy beast. What will you, sir?"