Breathe Me: Smith and Belle (Royals Saga Book 11) Page 6

  “Parties are less fun when you’re pregnant,” I grumbled.

  “You can have as much cake as you want, though.” She pulled me toward the corner, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Lola is in Silverstone.”

  “Again?”

  Clara’s sister, Lola, was also my business partner. Given that our company, Bless, was almost entirely online and now boasted five employees to handle the work of shipping and stocking, she and I were free to work wherever we wanted—and lately, Lola had been doing double time working with Anderson Stone, who, apart from being a world-famous race car driver, was also Alexander’s half-brother. Lola had been dispatched to help acclimate to the sudden frenzy of interest from the media when the truth was revealed. Neither Alexander nor Anders had known about one another, there was a lot to tackle, and Lola had taken charge of it.

  “If I didn’t know better…” Clara let her thought trail off, her eyes flashing wickedly.

  “But she hates him,” I said with a laugh, knowing exactly what she was thinking. “She told me so herself.”

  “It’s a relief to have her there,” Clara confided. “With everything else going on. But we are not talking about that tonight, because there are sweets and presents and this mama has the night off!”

  “I can’t believe Alexander let you out of his sight,” I admitted.

  “He sent Norris.” She tilted her head to Alexander’s longtime friend, bodyguard, and advisor who was busy chatting with my Aunt Jane. Jane was making no attempt to hide her flirtations, even from here.

  “That would be an interesting match,” I murmured.

  “I just want everyone to have their own happy endings,” Clara said thoughtfully before taking a deep breath. We both knew that happiness didn’t mean perfection when it came to love. It just meant someone who made all the hard bits worth it.

  “Are we going to open presents?” My mother appeared next to us, looking directly at Clara like I wasn’t there. “I have an appointment in the morning.”

  I forced myself to lean over and kiss her cheek. My mother wasn’t an easy woman to love. In all honesty, I wasn't certain that I did love her, but the importance of familial duty had been drilled into me at a young age.

  “Belle,” she said in a snide tone, accepting the kiss without returning it, “you look tired. Have you seen your doctor?”

  “Tomorrow,” I told her. “I’m hoping that she’ll evict this little one.”

  “Well, you really don’t want to go much longer.” She eyed me carefully and I could see her counting up my flaws like she was tallying a register. “How much weight have you put on?”

  “Mary,” Smith’s stern voice broke through before the full weight of her words could strike, “lovely to see you.”

  My mother smiled in a way that was more grimace than greeting and excused herself.

  “Sometimes when I think my mother is bad, I remember your mother and I'm thankful,” Clara said thoughtfully. She wrapped an arm around me. “You haven’t gained an ounce. You just look like you swallowed a bowling ball.”

  I knew she was lying, but it was well-meant. There was a time when my mother’s remarks would have hurt, but I was past that now. I’d gained some weight and a lot of curves—which was not only normal, but healthy—and it wasn’t like my husband was complaining.

  “I stopped caring about what she thought a long time ago,” I said, waving off their concern, “but she brought up a good point. Presents?”

  “As you wish.” Clara clapped and called out for everyone to gather round.

  It turned out that a chair had been specifically designated for my use: new upholstered rocking chair, a gift from my Aunt Jane. I spent the next hour unwrapping tiny baby things. Booties and bonnets and tiny, knee socks. It was almost impossible to believe she would be here soon and that these would fit her. They looked like they were meant for a doll. By the time I was finished, I was surrounded by a mountain of wrapping paper and half the nursery selection of Harrods.

  “This is going to be a well-dressed baby,” Jane said from her seat near the hearth.

  “There’s one more,” Clara said, passing a small box to me with a smile.

  I looked at the pretty package, checking for a card or even just a tag. “Okay, out with it, who brought it?”

  No one spoke up. My eyes flickered to Smith, wondering if he’d managed to sneak in a gift without me noticing, but he looked as puzzled as I felt. I untied the pink bow and opened the lid of the box. Inside, I found a small, velvet jewelry box. I couldn’t bite back a smile. Of course, Smith had something ready, even without knowing there was going to be a party. I shot him a bemused glance, but he continued to feign innocence. When I lifted the velvet box, he took a step closer, his expression giving way to concern. My fingers paused on the lid as I realized he really didn’t know where it had come from.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t…” he began as I popped open the lid. Nestled inside was one single copper bullet.

  7

  Smith

  Georgia lingered after the other guests had gone. The evening’s final present had considerably dimmed the mood. Poor Clara looked on the edge of a nervous collapse when Norris took her home to Alexander. I had a feeling he wouldn’t be allowing her out again anytime soon. The trouble was that it wasn’t just any copper bullet. It was the copper bullet. The one I’d saved for Hammond but never used. The trouble is that I knew exactly where that bullet was supposed to be, and it wasn’t in a velvet box in Holland Park. Tonight, Clara would go home and tell Alexander the story. I would be paying him a visit soon, so he could explain how a bullet from a gun I gave him for safekeeping made its way to my wife’s baby shower.

  He wouldn’t have an answer for me. It didn’t matter. The message was clear enough: I was right. London wasn’t safe for us anymore. We’d gambled by staying linked to the royals. Now there was a price to pay.

  “Tell Alexander I want to see him as soon as possible,” I told Georgia.

  Her eyebrow arched. “That sounds like an order. He won’t like that.”

  “But you’ll love delivering that message,” I said flatly.

  “What is this about?” she asked. “That looked like the bullet you’d saved for Hammond.”

  “It was.” I checked the lock of the back door as she followed alongside me. Then I began checking every window. “How long was the door unlocked tonight?”

  “I let them in myself. No one was in the house without me present.” She sounded almost apologetic. “If I had known…”

  I ignored her guilt. If Georgia had been here when the package was delivered, she would have seen who’d brought it. That meant it had slipped in with one of the evening’s guests. The problem was that we trusted all of them implicitly. I pulled up the security system’s app on my phone and began looking through recordings. It provided a list of every time a door or window opened. I watched each silently, Georgia hovering nearby, until I reached our own arrival. “You have a bigger problem than a single bullet. Whoever delivered it didn't bring it to the house themselves. One of the guests did.”

  “There was no one here that would have done that.”

  My eyes closed as I felt a headache coming on. “Exactly.”

  “I’ll call someone to watch the house tonight, so you can get some sleep. I’m sure we can arrange a security detail while you’re in town. I’ll speak with—”

  “No,” I cut her off. “I don’t trust Alexander’s men.”

  “They’re my men,” she said coldly.

  “And you know all of them? You trust all of them?”

  “I don’t trust anyone,” she reminded me. “Except…”

  “Who?” That was who I wanted here until I could figure out how to handle this situation on my own. I’d be retrieving my father’s gun from Alexander—if it hadn’t been taken as well.

  “Brexton,” she said, “but he’s doing double time keeping an eye on Anders.”

  “Get him here.” If MI-18, the shadowy
society that had dark plans for the royal family, had any interest in Anders, they could have taken him out a long time ago. The threat to Belle was immediate. I could sense it. “Wait, Brex knew about the bullet.”

  I’d shown it to him as proof that I wasn’t the one who killed Hammond when he came knocking on my door two Christmases ago. I had no reason not to trust Brexton Miles, but I couldn’t claim to know him well enough not to mention it.

  Georgia shook her head. “There’s no way. Brex is an open book.”

  It sounded like there was a story there, but she wasn’t going to share it with me. “Then, I want him. You can tell Alexander he’s coming back to London.”

  “He’s not going to like that.”

  “He owes me,” I said in a clipped tone. “I’ll remind him of that when we meet.”

  Georgia didn’t try to reason with me further. She knew better. “You should get some rest. Once the baby gets here, you won’t be sleeping much.”

  Despite everything that happened tonight, I couldn’t help smiling. The baby was the light in all this darkness. Soon, we’d meet the proof of our love. We’d be a family, and I would do anything to protect my child and her mother. “I won’t mind being tired then.”

  Georgia started toward the front door and I walked behind her. She drew her coat off a hanger by the door. “Is there anyone else who knew about that bullet? The one you’d saved for Hammond?”

  “No one alive.” I’d already asked myself that question. I couldn’t blame her for wondering.

  “Maybe this doesn’t have anything to do with MI-18.”

  “Do you really believe that?” All our troubles led back to them. It had taken years for us to put a name to the faceless organization. “No one else alive knows about that bullet, except you, Belle, and Alexander. Do you think one of them did it?”

  “They want him,” she said softly. “Not to bruise your ego, Price, but why would they be interested in you now? You’re out.”

  “I helped him. I stuck my neck out.” And now it was back on the chopping block.

  She studied me for a moment, her dark eyes veiled in secrets before she turned toward the door. Georgia was down the first step before curiosity got the better of me.

  “What are you thinking?” I called behind her.

  She stopped, not bothering to turn to address me, but I heard her voice cut through the crisp night. “I guess people really do change.”

  Change? I turned the word over in my head as I locked the front door, taking special care to throw the additional manual bolts not connected to the security system. The surveillance feed might not have shown anyone entering the premises but it also had not alerted me that my system was down earlier. That had been a harmless manipulation on Georgia’s part for the baby shower, but it was a good reminder that even a computer system could be deceived. While we were in Sussex, I didn’t care if someone broke in here, trashed the place, stole my shit. But while my most priceless possession slept upstairs, I wanted to know she was safe.

  I climbed the stairs, remembering a simple time when I would have spent tonight fucking Belle on them before watching her crawl to the bedroom, dripping with me. Now everything was changing. I was on the verge of having everything I wanted: her, a family, a future. Suddenly Thornham and its silly ghost stories looked even more appealing. The real ghosts were in London. This was where I’d committed my sins. This was where my bodies were buried.

  I paused in the hall, realizing how empty the house felt now. We’d never bothered to do much to it. Never hung art on the second floor. Anytime, we’d gotten close to a bed, we wound up in it, thwarting thoughts of decorating. It hadn’t been the same in Sussex. We’d relaxed there. We’d planned. We’d picked out bloody curtain rods for an entire day, and I’d never been so happy.

  Inside our bedroom, I found Belle slipping on a silk kimono. It closed under her bust, fluttering open over her belly. My breath caught for a moment as I looked at her. She looked up, grinning sheepishly. “It doesn’t fit.”

  She’d managed to maintain a good attitude about the evening’s events, but I worried that she might be on the verge of a breakdown. Between Thornham’s skeletons and cryptic, but sinister gift deliveries, it was too much. She should be focusing on the birth of our daughter, soaking up the last few days of being a couple before we became a family of three.

  “You look pensive,” she said unhappily.

  I shook my head, determined to leave our troubles outside the bedroom. We should have one safe place.

  “Fine.” She sighed, sweeping her hair into a knot on top of her head. “I’ll say it. Someone sent me Hammond’s bullet. I didn’t want to talk about it in front of everyone, but we should talk about it.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. Georgia is looking into it.” I decided to leave out that we’d have a security detail soon. She’d find out soon enough.

  “Nothing to talk about?” She turned, arms crossed, her lips still sporting her signature crimson shade although the rest of her make-up had been removed. “It’s not your job to carry all the burdens of the past.”

  “It is—” I held a hand to stop her from interrupting me “—while you’re pregnant. You’re carrying the most important part of our family right now. Let me handle this.”

  Her open mouth closed. I waited, but she seemed struck silent by my request.

  “Beautiful.” I crossed to her and took her in my arms. “Nothing can tear us apart, remember? You and me? We’re forever.”

  “I just want a break from it,” she admitted, nuzzling against my chin. “From the construction and the drama and the swelling ankles.”

  “I can do something about that.” I led her to the bed, and she licked her lips in anticipation as I dropped to my knees before her. Picking up one foot, I rubbed her ankle.

  She groaned. “Should I be concerned that foot rubs are becoming our go-to foreplay?”

  “This isn’t foreplay.” I said, shushing her. “I’m just taking care of my wife.”

  “So you don’t want sex?” she teased.

  My eyes traveled to where her knees were parted slightly. “I’ve heard it can induce labor.”

  “Orgasms can,” she corrected me.

  “In that case.” I abandoned her foot. I stood and offered her my hand. She was breathtaking as I helped her to her feet. Certain, but tentative. Wicked, but innocent. Nothing I ever expected, everything I ever wanted.

  I led her to the tall armoire in the corner and opened its door. She waited with curious eyes as I slipped off my jacket and reached for a hanger.

  “You’re going to make me beg, aren’t you?” she murmured with a knowing smile, but I shook my head.

  “No, beautiful. Although, I love when you beg.” I pressed my thumb to her lower lip, pushing it down and smearing her red lipstick ever so slightly. Belle gasped with pleasure, flicking her tongue over its tip. “Give me your hands.”

  She held them out, crossing them at the wrists as I’d trained her. I smirked as I slipped the sash from her robe, marveling at my perfect plaything. Then I slid the kimono from her shoulders, allowing it to flutter like falling petals to rest at her feet.

  “You’re going to stay very still,” I informed her, reaching for an empty hanger, “and let me give you the orgasms. You’re to come hard as many times as I choose, but you don’t have to ask for permission. Understood?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she breathed.

  I tied the sash around her wrists, leaving a small loop but knotting it tightly.

  “Over your head,” I ordered.

  She lifted her arms obligingly, and I backed her against the door of the armoire, allowing it to close to a mere crack behind her. I reached up with the hanger, slipping the loop of the sash over its hook before hanging it over the top of the door. Grabbing her hips, I pushed her against the door until it clicked, trapping the hanger’s hook—and my wife.

  “Spread your legs.”

  She did as she was told, my hands hover
ing protectively near her in case she lost her balance. It was a fucking beautiful sight. My pregnant wife, legs spread, her nude, curvy body stretched and on display.

  “You are the sexiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” I muttered, almost annoyed. Soon, I’d have to go without her for far too long. The thought of her being physically kept from me after the baby was born was nearly enough to make me want her to stay pregnant forever.

  “Prove it,” she challenged.

  I’d learned that if I wasn’t dominating Belle, I could never quite expect how she’d react in the bedroom. Sometimes, she folded into submission without prompting, a sign that she needed my dominance. Others, she met each bite and mark with her own teeth and nails. And then there were times like tonight, when her sharp tongue spurred me on, reminding me of the reason I’d never been able to resist it.

  The reason I never would be able to resist her.

  Those were the nights she came the most.

  I moved my hand between her legs, pressing my palm to her warm pussy. She moaned, trying to open her legs wider. I chuckled at her obviousness. Despite her impatience, I rewarded her by sliding my hand farther and pushing my thumb past her wet slit to rest of her swollen clit. She groaned as I circled it.

  I’d start slow and work her until she couldn’t keep her eyes open. I coaxed the orgasm from her gently. There was no need to rush. She was always the most beautiful as her body wound around me—around whatever I was giving her—and I wanted to enjoy watching her until every inch of her was taut and strained and mine.

  She pulled against the hanger, moaning, and I crushed my mouth to hers, stealing those sweet sounds from her lips. I increased the pressure, dipping one finger inside her and then another. I stroked the pleasure out with slow, deliberate fingers until there was nothing left of her to wind up.