Author: Tiffany Reisz

“What?”

Laila opened the door and cast one last longing look at Wes. She wanted to go back to the bed, kiss him, stretch out on top of him and sleep on his chest all night long. A nice dream. But only a dream.

“My uncle would kill you.”

28

THE QUEEN

Nora’s eyes fluttered open and in an effort to stave off the panic she knew would descend on her like a ravenous vulture, she started an inventory of her body. She knew she’d been tased as soon as she came to. But not just tased—drugged, as well. Tased and drugged—she was almost flattered. Now she made them nervous. Everything still seemed to be in place—all the body parts, anyway. Although they weren’t feeling all that fabulous at the moment. Everything hurt from her head to her heels.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m in agony,” she said simply as she opened her eyes and looked up at Marie-Laure. She must have hit the ground hard when she blacked out. Her entire body felt like one solid bruise. “Typical morning after for me. It is morning, right?”

“Dawn.”

“Dawn and I have never gotten along. We try to avoid each other.”

“Try to enjoy it. This will be your last one unless someone shows up.”

“Might help if you told them where I was.”

“Oh, they know,” Marie-Laure said, kneeling down at Nora’s side. Nora wriggled in the ropes but this was some hard-core bondage going on here. Handcuffs, rope and duct tape. No way could she cut or squirm her way out of this mess. “They’ve known from the beginning. I made sure they knew.”

“Then they’re coming.”

“I don’t see anyone yet....”

“Don’t try to mindfuck a mindfucker. Either they don’t know where I am and you’re lying, or they do and they’re coming. Two and two is four. I know Søren.”

“You’re so certain of his love?”

“Two and two is four.”

“Harder question,” Marie-Laure said. Nora glanced around. She still lay on the floor of Marie-Laure’s room. Damon watched her from the bed, a gun in his hand, no emotion in his eyes. “Is he certain of your love?”

“Do I have to do the math again? Yes, I love him. Yes, he knows I do.”

“You love him, you say. Strange answer for a woman wearing another man’s engagement ring.”

“I love Wesley, too. You can love more than one person.”

“You’re not supposed to. That’s not how it works.”

“Maybe your heart’s just a few sizes too small, Mrs. Grinch. Some of us are capable of loving more than one person.”

“Who do you love more?”

“That is a stupid question.”

“That is deflection. Don’t want to answer? I would guess you love your fiancé more. You turned my husband down when he proposed. You said yes when your Wesley asked.”

“I don’t want to get married to anybody. I love Wes, but I said yes to get him out of the stables. I saw the writing on the wall, someone in the shadows. I couldn’t get him to shut up and move any other way.”

“Still...you have the ring on.”

“What was I going to do—swallow it?”

“You could have tried to bargain with it. I know diamonds. That one is easily worth seven figures.”

“It’s not mine to bargain with. It belongs to the Raileys.”

“It belongs to you if you’re his fiancée.”

Nora winced. Wesley’s fiancée? Next, someone would be calling her the Queen of England.

“It belongs to whomever Wes marries someday.”

“Not you?”

“Not... Jesus, can you flip me on my back or something? I’m going to suffocate on this damn carpet.”

“Of course.” Marie-Laure stood up, put her foot on Nora’s hip and pushed.

“Better.” Nora scooted into a sitting position. Her hands were cuffed in front but the ropes encircled her arms and ankles. She felt half-mummified. She started to stretch out her legs but another rope tightened around her neck. “Oh, that’s lovely. Choke collar. I’m good at those, too.”

In addition to the rope, the tape and the cuffs, someone, Damon probably, had tied the rope around her neck. If she stretched out her legs, she’d choke herself.

“So am I,” Damon said. “I also have very good aim.”

“So does Søren. Oh, you were talking guns.”

Marie-Laure knelt down again.

“You...I’m starting to think you aren’t even a person. Just an animal with an animal’s appetites.”

“At least I’m housebroken. Usually.”

“At the very least. I can’t believe someone like you who makes these kinds of disgusting jokes all the time is even capable of something as complicated as love. You seem like some kind of rutting beast.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Nora knew she was asking for it. But if she died today, she would at least die with her sense of humor intact. She would try to die with her dignity intact but she wasn’t entirely sure she ever had any.

“I want to find out something. Indulge me.”

“Milk bath? Chocolates? Massage?”

“Another story. A short story this time.”

Nora sighed heavily. “Fine. Whatever. What do you want? I can tell you about the time Søren and I spent two nights at this great B & B owned by one of our freak friends. Søren beat me, he fucked me, we went for long walks on the beach in the middle of the night. The end.”

“Not good enough.”

“Yeah, it needs more sex, doesn’t it? Story of my life.”

“What I want is a very specific story...about this.”

Marie-Laure reached into the pocket of her black robe and pulled out a square of white linen. Nora recognized it immediately.

“No...no. Fuck, you were in my house, weren’t you?” She stared at the linen, aching at the very sight of it.

“I was. Spent a little time in your closet. We made a wonderful mess. It was a bit silly and melodramatic of us. I couldn’t help myself. My only real interest was in seeing the things you hide, the things you cherish. I found this scrap of linen in a locked metal box. When I saw the box I thought, Oh this is where she keeps her most precious possessions—diamonds, pearls, secret papers.... But no. Only this. Tell me what it is. Tell me a story.”

Nora couldn’t even look at Marie-Laure, only at the white linen cloth in her hand.

“Once upon a time...” Nora began, her voice quivering under the words. “A great and fair lady whose heart was made of music and who had given birth to a great and fair son...died.”

* * *

The phone call came late at night and from her hotline. Not even Kingsley called that late, not unless it was an emergency. When Nora answered and heard Søren’s voice saying her name, she already knew what happened.

“Your mom?”

“An hour ago,” he said. “Freyja called.”

“Call your sister back,” Nora said. “I’ll make the flights. I’ll handle it all.”

“Flights? You’re coming?”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask me that.”

“Thank you, Little One.”

Nora hadn’t even been able to speak at that point. She nodded even though he couldn’t see her, wiped the tears off her face and managed only to choke out the words, “I’ll be right over.”

She’d packed in a hurry, focusing on the little mundane tasks one always focused on in times of grief. She’d need clothes for the funeral, for the wake afterward. She needed to call Kingsley and tell him to cancel her appointments this week. She’d call her editor from the airport and let her know that the book would be a week late due to a family emergency that would take her out of the country.

Into her suitcase went her shoes, clothes, makeup, toothbrush, the full-length, rather conservative gray silk robe she wore only when staying with Søren’s family in Denmark. When alone with Søren, she always slept naked so she needed something to put on for nighttime trips to the bathroom. Right before she left the house to go to the rectory, she stopped, remembering something she knew she shouldn’t forget. For almost a full minute she stood at the front door debating whether or not to take it with her. Had she not left Søren three years ago, it wouldn’t have even crossed her mind. But she had left him and ever since the square of linen in the closet had taunted her, whispered at her, told her that it didn’t belong to her anymore.

She decided to take it with her and let Søren decide.

When she arrived at the rectory, she found Søren sitting in the armchair by the fireplace staring into the fire. He had on pants and a shirt. He hadn’t buttoned the shirt yet and his bare chest glowed in the firelight as if it burned from within him. She came to him and knelt at his feet, resting her head on his lap. The moment she felt his fingers twining through her hair, the tears started to flow.

“Her heart gave out,” he said, his voice quiet and steady. “She’s only eighteen years older than I am, and she’s gone.”

“She was sick for a long time. And her heart was never strong.” In fact, it was a miracle she’d survived as long as she had. A congenital heart problem had plagued Søren’s mother her entire life. A blessing in disguise, Gisela had always called it. Had she been a healthier child, she never would have had the patience to stay inside and learn the piano.

“I know, Little One. It’s only...I thought I would have her a few more years. The women I adore always leave me before I’m ready to let them go.”

She laughed and buried her face against his thigh.

“That is not fair.” She smiled up again. “I am here, after all. When you need me, I’m always here.”

He cupped her face in both hands and brought his lips to her forehead.

“I always need you.”

She raised her head and kissed him. Even in their shared grief there could be no denying the passion. He pulled her off the floor and into his arms.

“When does our flight leave?” he whispered against her lips.

“We have time.” That was all he needed to know, all that mattered.

He laid her on the rug in front of the fireplace and stripped her of her clothes. They had no time for equipment, for cuts or candle wax, whips or floggers. But they didn’t need them. Søren knew her body better than even she knew it, knew how to bring it to the extreme edge of pleasure and down into the depths of pain...all with his bare hands.

Gently he ran his fingers all over her naked body and desire quickened at the lightest of his touches. He didn’t meet her eyes, merely stared at her body that she’d given up to him. She was glad he didn’t look at her face since it gave her the freedom to study him. He’d no doubt been asleep when his sister in Denmark had called. Only in sleep did his perfect blond hair ever get mussed. It fell over his forehead, almost into his eyes. His eyes, how she loved looking at his eyes. She’d never known a more intelligent man with such perceptive eyes. And how strange that someone with such pale hair had such long dark eyelashes. She and Kingsley had gotten stoned together one night and spent an hour sitting in Kingsley’s bathtub waxing poetic about those damn eyelashes. If she remembered correctly, they never even turned on the water. Or taken their clothes off, for that matter.

“Are you ready?” he asked, running a finger over her lips.

“Always, sir.” She nodded, and tried to steady her breathing.

Søren slid his hand from her shoulder down to her wrist and back up again. He pressed his thumb hard into the top of the muscle where her forearm met her elbow. She gasped with a sudden pain she felt even in her legs. He pressed again and her back arched off the rug. If she’d been standing her legs would have involuntarily collapsed under her.