The King Takes A Bride (Royals Book 4) Read Online Free PDF Page A

returned wordlessly, using his body to translate his passion and his animal need.
    By the time they fell from the lofty heights he'd taken her to, she was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and panting to get her breath back. Clinging with her fingers curled into the hard muscles of his back, Chey shuddered beneath him, forgetting everything but the sheer pleasure of release.
    “You're going to be late for your meeting this morning,” the devil said without bothering to let her up.
    Chey couldn't think, much less remember what she had planned for the day. Sander was her whole world, all she wanted to see or touch or smell. He wasn't a King, and she wasn't his bride. They were just a man and a woman reveling in an age old ritual that never failed to leave her boneless and weak.
    “It's your fault,” she finally said, slitting her lashes open. The handsome face peering casually down at her had a light layer of whiskers along the jaw and blue eyes that sparked with left over lust. Chey thought she could lay there forever, just like this, appreciating everything male and masculine about him.
    “No. You shouldn't tempt me like you do every morning, then this wouldn't happen.” Sander smiled a lazy, leonine smile.
    “I was asleep when you happened to start sucking on things,” Chey reminded him with a raspy laugh. She drew her fingers through his hair again, tilting her head on the pillow.
    “Lies.” Sander's voice, laced with languid amusement, had also picked up a gravely edge.
    “What time is it, anyway?” Chey, out of sorts, couldn't get a feel for how late or early it was. The curtains had been drawn over the windows the evening before, blocking any sunlight from coming in.
    “Five minutes before ten.” Sander centered his body more firmly over her own.
    Chey gasped and shoved at his immovable shoulder. “ What? Five minutes before ten? Get up, get up, hurry!”
    Sander didn't look to be getting up any time soon. He stared down into her eyes with an arrogant curve at the corner of his mouth, apparently enjoying himself.
    “What are you doing? Sander, you're going to make me late. Get up!” She squirmed beneath him, attempting in vain to dislodge him. Her appointment—since Urmas was all about appointments—was in fifteen minutes. She needed to shower and do something respectable with her hair hair before then.
    “I like when you get all swirly and bossy.” He sounded darkly humored.
    She laughed and swatted his shoulder. “What does swirly even mean?”
    “This, right here. Swirly. When your eyes get big and you start trying to move in ten directions at once. And your voice gets this higher pitch to it. Sometimes, in Swirly Mode, you're forgetful and yet demanding at the same time, which is highly amusing, I might add.”
    “You're impossible. Get. Up.” She thought if she enunciated her demand it might make him behave.
    Wrong.
    Sander did what Sander wanted to, when he wanted to.
    A change of tactic was necessary. Instead of pushing and squirming, she ran her fingertips up his back and brushed soft little kisses along his jaw. When she spoke, it was an outright coo. “If you move, I'll make it up to you later.”
    “Now we're getting somewhere. I knew you'd learned something in your time with me. What, exactly, are you willing to offer as a proposition?”
    Aware of every second ticking by, Chey met his eyes and batted her lashes. That might have been over doing it. The shake of his body, quelling a laugh, assured her she was right on the money with that guess.
    “Meet me in the King's garden at three and I'll show you.” Chey made it sound scandalous, the things she planned to do with him there. No one should be anywhere near the King's garden—except the King himself. It was, she surmised, therefore safe to engage in illicit transactions.
    He hummed, as if speculating.
    “You have to move within the next thirty seconds or the deal is off.” Chey restructured her initial request, realizing she