The Most Powerful Of Kings - Jackie Ashenden Page 0,7

a boxing ring.

Several people stood around it, leaning on the ropes and watching the two men in the middle of the ring. One was a powerful-looking guard.

The other was the king.

Back in the receiving room, he’d been a still presence, projecting a cold, dominant authority. And apart from that one instant when she thought he might have kissed Ione’s finger, there had been no warmth to him. Almost nothing human. As if he was a god to be worshipped, not a man to relate to.

But not here.

Now that he was stripped to the waist, wearing black and gold boxing shorts, boxing gloves on his hands, and circling his opponent, that cold authority was gone. There was nothing but the lethal intent and aggression of a large and very hungry predator.

His olive skin glistened, outlining every single hard, carved muscle of his arms and torso; he looked as if he’d been chiselled out of solid rock. He moved so fluidly, all deadly athletic grace that was mesmerising to watch, and, as he circled around, Anna noticed that he had a tattoo inked across the top of his powerful back: a crowned and prowling lion.

Someone made a soft sound and it couldn’t have been her, absolutely not.

She abhorred violence.

Yet she couldn’t take her eyes off the king.

Heat rushed into her face and she knew she’d gone scarlet, but she still couldn’t look away. The lights of the gym glistened on his skin, and she followed every flex and release of those powerful muscles.

She’d never thought of a man being beautiful before, and when she’d first seen him in the receiving room all she’d been conscious of was his authority and power. But she was thinking it now.

Here, like this, all deadly grace and honed aggression, he was beautiful.

She started towards him, barely conscious of moving, but then the guard beside her said gruffly, ‘Stay here, Sister. I’ll speak to His Majesty.’

So she paused, her heart thumping as the guard approached the boxing ring. One of the men standing by the ropes held up a hand and the guard stopped.

For a second no one moved, and Anna discovered she was holding her breath.

Then the king abruptly burst into motion: a pivot, a turn, ducking under his opponent’s guard, drawing his right fist back and slamming it hard into the other man’s jaw. The man dropped like a stone.

Everyone watching cheered while the king went down on one knee beside his opponent’s recumbent body and issued a sharp order. One of the watching men jumped into the ring, checking over the stunned man, who finally groaned. The king offered him a hand and pulled him to his feet. The king said something and the man grinned.

Anna’s heartbeat was so loud she was certain the entire gym could hear it, and there was a fluttery feeling in her stomach, something like nervousness yet not. It was more similar to excitement, though that was strange, because why would she get excited about a boxing match?

The guard approached the ring and the king put his gloved hands on the ropes, leaning down as the guard said something to him. Then his head came up and he looked straight at Anna.

Electric-blue eyes pierced her right through.

She couldn’t breathe. All the air had somehow vanished from her lungs, from the entire room, the sound of her heartbeat the only thing she could hear.

The king straightened, still staring at her. ‘Out,’ he said. And instantly everyone headed towards the doors.

Anna made as if to go too, in instinctive obedience.

‘Not you, Sister,’ the king said.

Anna froze.

‘Come here,’ he ordered as the last person left the gym.

She didn’t want to. Something instinctive and very female told her that getting close to him would be a bad idea. But she couldn’t disobey a king’s command and, since she was the one who’d requested this meeting, she forced herself to move, walking slowly over the stone floor to the ring.

He leaned on the ropes, the lines of abs, biceps and sinews flexing, watching her every step of the way, making her feel like a mouse creeping closer to a huge, hungry cat.

She resented it. Being meek was yet another lesson the Reverend Mother wanted her to learn, a lesson Anna had always struggled with. Yet she tried to think of that lesson now as she went over to the king, her head bowed, resisting the urge to meet his gaze in instinctive rebellion.

He said nothing as she reached the ropes, and she suspected that