His Scandalous Christmas Princess (Mills & Boon Modern) (Royal Christmas Weddings, Book 2), стр. 45

But Griffin had taught her that there was no level of intensity he couldn’t meet. And that was the Griffin she believed—the man who was as wrecked as she was, but still reached for more. The man who held her so close she felt as if she was inside him, too. The real Prince, dark and stirring and, most of all, hers.

She was tired of hiding. Of fighting on mats, with Fen, and never for herself.

Never for what mattered the most.

That ended here.

“What I’m suggesting is that each and every one of us is filled with the same dark mazes, Griffin,” she said then, the intensity of her feelings making her voice shake. “It doesn’t make us special. It doesn’t make us different or unique. What makes a person is what they do with the darkness inside of them. Because you can dress it up in any pretty words you like. You can blame your mother. You can claim you blame yourself. But at the end of the day, you and I both know that the real reason you want to keep us in these boxes of yours is because you’re afraid. Of us, Griffin.”

“If you do not remove your foot,” he bit out, sounding far more vicious than before, “I will stop treating you with the courtesy my wife deserves and instead treat you to the sorts of things I learned when I was a soldier. You do not want that.”

“I welcome it,” Melody shot right back. “You speak of honesty? Then fight me. Me, the person who’s right here in this room with you. Don’t hide behind old promises and ancient guilt when you know as well as I do that what is between us is extraordinary.”

She felt his hands grip her ankle tighter, and not entirely gently.

It thrilled her.

“I do not wish to be indelicate,” Griffin hurled at her, and she could feel the great blaze of him, there beneath her foot. She could feel it race up her limbs, making her shiver. Making her wet. Making her that much more determined to get through to him. “But you are not in a position to judge, Melody. You lack context.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” she chided him. “Do you really think that you can insult me? My father is inferior to you in every conceivable way, save one. When it comes to insults, Aristotle Skyros is truly peerless.”

Below her, she could feel the tension in Griffin tighten. He had to be reaching his breaking point, she thought.

And in the next moment, he moved.

It was sheer joy.

He tried to simply shove her away, moving her foot as if he could move her body that easily. Succumbing to that belief in his own superior power that Fen had always taught her about. Even if they see what you can do, they will not believe it, the older woman had told her. It will not make sense to them. They will assume that because they are bigger they will always be stronger. That is a weapon. Your weapon.

Melody broke his hold and flipped backward, hampered only slightly by the dress she wore. Despite the dress throwing off her form, she landed nimbly and evenly, laughing as her feet hit the ground.

“Come now, Griffin,” she scolded him. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“I’m not going to fight you,” he said stiffly.

“Why ever not? Are you afraid that I will best you? You should be.”

He made a noise like thunder. “What will happen, Melody, is that I will hurt you!”

She danced closer. And then she punched him, hard.

Right in the solar plexus.

And waited until he pulled a ragged breath back in.

“No,” she said, steadily. Intently. “You won’t.”

“I won’t fight you,” Griffin gritted out. “No matter the provocation.”

“No sex.” Melody kept her hands up as if, at any moment, she might strike him again. “No sparring. What remains, then, in this imaginary marriage you intend for us to have?”

“I don’t care,” he growled at her. “Just so long as it does not—”

“Hurt?” she prompted him. “But I think it will, Griffin. I am certain of it.”

And this time, when she danced close again, she ducked beneath his arms. And stayed there, flush against his chest, her palms flat against the steel of his pectoral muscles.

“Melody...”

Her name was a warning.

“Here is a greater hurt, then,” she said softly. “I love you, Griffin.”

And for a long moment, he was silent. Still. Beneath her hand, his heart pounded, but it was as if he was once again made of stone. Impossible marble beneath her palms.

Deep inside her, something started to crack. Because if she could not reach him, then what? Had she truly exchanged one prison for another after all? She hadn’t wanted to believe it.

“No,” Griffin said at last. She had begun to worry he would not speak at all. And he sounded tortured when he did, making that cracking inside her go deeper. Wider. “You cannot. That is a darkness no one can penetrate, I promise you.”

“I’m not afraid of darkness,” she whispered. “I live there.”

“Melody.” Another warning, though this one more broken. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Close your eyes.” And then she checked that he’d obeyed her, lifting her hands and sliding them over his eyes. She pulled in a breath, holding them there. “Stop worrying about the darkness. Think about your heart. Listen to your breath. To the sea outside, far below. To me, Griffin.”

“Melody...”

But this time her name was more like a song.

She shifted up on her toes, closer to him, glorying as ever in the way their bodies fit so perfectly together. Whether they were dancing, fighting, or exploring each other on his wide bed, it was always like this.

As if they had always been meant to find each other.

“Feel this,” she whispered, and then she kissed him.

And Melody knew how to kiss him now. How to tease him, how to tempt him. How to make them both shudder.

How