When I enter the bedroom, Montes lounges on a side chair. His tie is loosened and his jacket has already been removed. He doesn’t move for a moment, just takes me in.

Then, ever so slowly he gets up and makes his way to me. “I’m not a nice man,” he says.

“I couldn’t agree more,” I say.

“This is happening tonight.”

My throat works. “I know.”

“Good.” Then he closes the remaining distance between us and kisses me. At first, all I do is stand there, unresponsive. But eventually, I give in and move my lips. I wonder if this is how royalty felt when they were forced to marry one another. The repulsion, the nervousness, the sense of duty—all of it. I wonder if any of them felt perversely excited, as I do. Perhaps in this I am well and truly alone.

The king backs us up until I fall against the bed. He kneels between my legs to remove my shoes. First one comes off, then the other. But he doesn’t remove his hands. Instead he slides them up my leg until they brush the lace of my panties.

I gasp, and struggle against the urge to rip his hands away. A second later his hands are gone, but only so that he can remove his tie. Once he’s discarded the garment, he begins unbuttoning his shirt.

I squeeze my eyes shut. When I open them, he’s shirtless. His body is all sculpted muscle. I appreciate the sight on a physical level, but it bothers me that he can care so much about his body and so little for entire nations.

Then again, perhaps he has to keep himself in shape in case he ever needs to use his physical strength. It’s not like he doesn’t have enemies. With that thought, I scour his body for bullet wounds. He’s been shot before.

I reach out to his chest and run a hand over the smooth skin that covers his heart. “Where is it?” There should be scar tissue where he’d been shot. It was filmed on live T.V. I’ve seen him bleed in front of my eyes.

He closes his eyes slowly, as though he’s relishing the feel of my skin on his. “Don’t you know, my queen?” he says, opening his eyes. “I can’t be killed.”

I frown. “Stop calling me that.”

“No.”

I drop my hand and the king resumes undressing himself. I scoot further back on the bed as I watch him remove his shoes, then his socks, and then his pants. I fist the comforter beneath me to give my hands something to do.

When he stands in just his boxer briefs, his stomach muscles rippling, he returns his attention to me. “Come here.”

I don’t move.

He sighs. “You need to take your dress off, Serenity, and you need my help to do so.” He says it like he’s the most reasonable person in the world. As though I’m being ridiculous by wanting to keep on the dress I despised so much earlier. What he doesn’t realize—or maybe he does—is that it’s my last defense before we get intimate.

Reluctantly I scoot myself off the bed and pad over to him. I feel like the world’s most wretched person that my eyes linger on all the sculpted lines of his body. He turns me around and begins unfastening the buttons that trail down my back. I can feel the brush of his fingers along my skin. They draw out goose bumps.

Slowly my dress peels away from me. Montes removes the last of the buttons, and the gown glides over my hips and pools at my feet. Instinctively I cover myself. I’m still wearing lingerie, but it hardly leaves anything to the imagination.

Montes pulls my arms down from where they hide my chest. He gives me a surprisingly gentle look, and I close my eyes.

“Open your eyes, Serenity.”

“Then stop looking at me like that.”

“I can’t.”

I press my eyelids shut harder. “You’re heartless.”

“Most of the time. But sometimes … sometimes I’m not when I’m around you.”

I open my eyes at that. He’s being genuine. And this is the worst. A bad guy with a change of heart. I’m not his redemption; I’m going to be his executioner.

He kisses me, and this time I don’t fight it. My lips move against his, and I tangle my fingers in his hair, relishing the fact that I’m ruining it. He makes an approving sound in my mouth and lifts me so that my legs are forced to wrap around his hips.

The king moves us to the bed and then places me on top of it. He reaches under my back and unsnaps my bra. I wince as he tosses the flimsy garment aside.

And then he’s touching me, kneading my breasts, moving his thumbs over my nipples, and I can’t figure out whether this situation disturbs me or turns me on. Both, I think.

Montes’s mouth replaces his fingers, and his teeth skim the tender flesh. I shiver at the sensation, and he flashes me a smile.

“Still a virgin?” he asks.

“That’s none of your business.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, “which means it’s my job to make sure you enjoy yourself tonight.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“We’ll see what you say after all is said and done.”

His fingers hook under the thin fabric of my panties and he pulls them off me before removing his boxer briefs. When he returns to the bed, he lays his body over mine. I’ve never experienced so much skin-on-skin contact, and I’m surprised to find that it feels good.

Really good.

He rolls to my side and moves his hand until it’s touching the most intimate part of me.

“Montes.” I jerk away from him before I remember myself.