Prince's Son of Scandal Page 4

  “Oh!” Her world exploded in a sudden release that had her shaking and shuddering, flesh pulsing and eyes tearing at the absolute beauty of it.

  She pressed his hand still, trying to ease the sensation, trying to catch her breath.

  He kissed her, tongue questing for hers, and continued to gently caress her, soothing and teasing so her level of arousal didn’t fade, only edged into deeper desire.

  With a groan, she rolled into him, strangely ravenous. She wanted the barriers between them gone. Wanted all of him. What was he doing to her?

  He made a feral noise and they tugged at each other’s clothing, stripping in seconds, then rolled back together, naked, gloriously naked. Now he was hers, all hers. She swept her hands over him, enamored with his broad shoulders but equally fascinated by his rock-hard biceps and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in a swallow.

  When she cradled the fiercest part of him in her palm, she wasn’t frightened at all. She felt powerful, especially when he looked agonized and closed his eyes and breathed, “Bella.”

  With a smile, she pressed her mouth to his throat and tried to roll him onto his back. He rolled her beneath him instead, pressing over her as he kissed her, letting her caress him as he used his tongue to mimic what he wanted to do until she couldn’t take it and tore her mouth from his. “I need—”

  She didn’t know what she needed. She was restless and urgent, loins feeling achy and neglected. Empty.

  He reached over to the night table then rose over her, knees sliding between hers and parting her legs with effortless strength.

  She felt so many things in that moment. Vulnerable, yes, but strangely trusting. It didn’t matter if she didn’t particularly enjoy this part. She wanted to know she could take a man—

  “Oh.”

  He paused, tip pressing for entry, the invasion startling enough that she tensed.

  His head came up. His whole body was taut, his cheeks flushed, his eyes glittering, but there was a shred of man still governing the animal. “I might literally die if you’ve changed your mind.”

  Maybe that’s what made her smile. Maybe it was the fact her body was so eager for his. Maybe it was simply the joy of this crazy, magical night.

  With a little arch, she invited him to complete his thrust and he did with a shudder, sinking deep, gaze never leaving hers, but glowing hot as the center of a flame as their flesh melded.

  To say she became a woman under his possession was silly, but she felt like a woman in that moment. Mature and whole and sacred. She was responding exactly as nature intended under the advances of a mate. Her mate. With this act, he gave her back her sexuality, her desire. Her self.

  She closed her eyes against something too big to contemplate, but it only made the sensations intensify as he took a testing withdraw and return. She shivered as though velvet passed over her skin.

  “Yes?”

  “Yes,” she moaned, savoring the deliciousness that lingered with anticipation for another stroke. “More.”

  Lucidity faded as he did it again. And again.

  He began to thrust with more purpose. She found her hips rising to meet his, longing for the return of his. Needing it. The dance delivered such acute pleasure, she released a strangled groan of enjoyment.

  He picked up the tempo and magnificent sensations ran through her. She wanted to tell him but couldn’t speak, as she was too enraptured. Tension gripped her. A kind of tortured ecstasy—her body searching for an answering call in his.

  She needed him to be as driven beyond himself as she was. To come with her to this place where nothing existed but this new being they had become with their joining. Scraping her nails down his back, she grasped at his buttocks and pulled him into her. Into the eye of the storm.

  They struck the pinnacle together, the climax so intense, she opened her mouth in a soundless scream. Pleasure like she had never known flooded in, drowning her as he held himself magnificently deep inside her, throbbing in her jubilant grip as he released a ragged cry of exhilaration and shuddered with completion.

  * * *

  Xavier swore.

  “What’s wrong?” Trella murmured, hands moving with endless appetite over his damp shoulders.

  He withdrew and rolled away. “The condom broke.”

  She was glad it was dark now. After the first time, they had turned out the lights and slid under the covers to fondle and caress for ages, barely speaking, just kissing and enjoying. Bonding, she might have been tempted to think, yet something in his silence, and the condoms in the night table, told her he had done this a lot.

  She had suffered a hollow ache as she’d forced herself to accept that, despite his sweet words, she was merely the woman du jour for him. A lady of the night, really.

  Whether he had sensed her withdrawal, or she was just that easy, he had grown more passionate. The second time had been even better than the first. Her inhibitions were gone and he held out, giving her two shattering orgasms before taking her on a third ride that nearly killed her, their shared climax being so powerful.

  She was too sweaty and lethargic to be triumphant, but she was pretty darned smug at having taken a lover. She had distantly been hoping she had rocked his world as thoroughly as he had rocked hers, but reality struck like a brick through a window at his words.

  “It’s okay. I won’t get pregnant.” She swallowed, trying to clear the thickness that gathered in her throat.

  “You’re on the pill or something?”

  Or something. “Yes.”

  “I have physicals all the time.”

  “I’m fine, too.” Did people really have these conversations? It scraped the romance off a wonderful evening, leaving her thinking about the rest of reality. Guilt crawled in. She had kept secrets from him and—far worse—from her family. They’d be worried sick if they knew where she was.

  As if on cue, her phone plinked with the harp notes of her sister’s ringtone. Like some kind of empath, Angelique was picking up on her sudden discord.

  “I have to get that,” Trella murmured, then she groaned. Her muscles ached as though she’d run a marathon. She forced herself to rise and move naked across the shadowed room, finding her clutch where she’d dropped it in the lounge, then came back to the bedroom door.

  She stayed there, slyly hoping he was looking at her, silhouetted by the lamplight. In a quick exchange of texts, she reassured her sister she was fine. Gili knew something was up, though. Tendrils of misgivings began working through Trella’s system. It was time to call it a night. She needed to hole up at the flat where she knew she was completely safe and process all of this.

  “I have to go.” She clicked off her phone and sent him a smile of cheerful resignation.

  “Is everything all right?” He rose to pull on his pants, not bothering with underwear, which pleased her for some reason, but he didn’t invite her to stay, which depressed her as well.

  “Just my sister. She needs me to get home.” She texted her guard that she would be ready in fifteen minutes and stepped into her thong.

  Xavier shook out her gown and brought it to her, then moved behind her as she stepped into it. Hurrying her? She pulled up the gown then lifted her hair while he zipped.

  His hands lingered on her skin, not moving, not holding her in place, but his grave words pinned her motionless. “I remember her kidnapping.”

  She dropped her arms, letting her hair fall over his hands, as helpless and as terrified as she had ever been. Her breastbone turned to ice and her ears strained to hear what he would say next.

  “I was fourteen. My father was renouncing the crown. My mother was already gone, exiled by my grandmother for their divorce. I was feeling very sorry for myself. Then I saw photos of this little girl, so pretty and happy, stolen. I stopped worrying what would happen to me. I was so
relieved when she was recovered.”

  His fingertips stayed across her shoulders, not caressing, just resting in small hot prints. She thought she would bruise from the contact. Not in a painful way. It was the opposite of injury. Healing?

  He drew in a sharp breath and pulled his touch from her skin. “I don’t know why I said that. It was far too personal for both of us. You’re clearly still worried about her if you’re rushing off.” He bent to retrieve her shoes. “I hope she’s all right.”

  It was me. She should have said it, but her throat was too tight.

  She knew there were people who had rooted for her family all the way along, but it was so wrapped up in their notoriety, she didn’t differentiate the kindly meant from the intrusive or downright cruel. Her family hadn’t asked to be famous for the odd trick of nature that had created two sets of identical twins. They were just people, perhaps better looking by certain standards, definitely richer than average, but regular humans.

  Yet the world was insatiably curious about what brand of soap they used and held strong opinions on how they should conduct themselves.

  To have this man, who was completely removed from it, reveal such a personal memory connected to her affected her, changing the careful constructs inside her. Defenses that held darkness at bay while keeping her open to the people who loved her shifted and angled to provide space for him to enter.

  No. She couldn’t let him in! Tie herself to a man? Lose herself behind someone else’s goals and wishes and expectations when she had so many unreached aspirations of her own? She couldn’t attach herself to someone whose life was bigger than hers. She was trying to escape all the restraints that had bound her for so long.

  Shaken at how vulnerable she was to him, she jiggled her bodice against her breasts, then perched on a chair to strap on her shoes, hands trembling.

  “Is she really as beautiful as you?” He watched her with his fists pushed into his pockets. His naked shoulders were relaxed and outlined in pale gold while the shadows in his face suggested a brooding expression. The dark patch of his chest hair narrowed to a suggestive line, arrowing to his navel, then lower.

  He was the beautiful one. She memorized this last intimate glimpse of him.

  “Exactly as beautiful.” She smiled, amused with her own joke, then poignant gratitude accosted her. “Thank you for tonight. I—” She stopped herself from saying something truly gauche.

  She wanted to ask if he’d meant it when he’d said it wasn’t always like this for him. She wanted to tell him what he had given her. She wanted to get out of here before she revealed too much.

  She glanced at the clock. If she didn’t show her face promptly, her guard would knock and enter. They were paid very well to be diligent and investigate when she wasn’t where she said she would be.

  Xavier moved to offer a hand, helping her to her feet. “Thank you. This was lovely.” The words came off lighthearted, punching into her as she imagined the legions of other women who had heard such offhand praise. Not even, I won’t forget you. Just, this was lovely. A pleasant meal. Nothing life-changing.

  He brought her hand to his mouth, exactly as he had when they’d met, except this time he turned her hand over and kissed her palm.

  Trying to hide how deeply that affected her, she said, “Goodnight, sweet Prince.”

  He snorted. “I could have you beheaded for that.”

  With a lightning move, he pulled her close and wove his fingers into her hair, planting a real kiss, a final one, on her mouth. It was painfully sweet. Thorough, yet tender. Oddly heartbreaking.

  For her.

  And even though she was the one to draw back, her lips clung to his. Temptation to stay, to say more, gripped her, but he distracted her.

  “You’ve lost an earring.” His fingertip flicked at her lobe.

  “No!” Both hands went to her ears, finding one empty. “Here? In the room? Did you notice if I had both while we were downstairs?”

  “I’ll buy you new ones,” he offered with an offhand shrug.

  “They’re sentimental. A gift from my father.” To Gili. She clicked on the lamp and flung back the bed covers, searching.

  A polite knock tapped on the main door, her guard telling her the car was in position. They avoided waiting whenever possible. It drew a crowd.

  “I’ll find it and send it to you at the design house.”

  “Promise?” She looked from his muscled chest to the sheets to his eyes. Oh, he was spectacular in the golden light, emptying her brain all over again.

  “I only make promises I can keep.”

  “Thank you.” She didn’t bother worrying about him addressing it to Angelique. She would intercept it or come clean if she had to. “I really did, um, enjoy this.”

  His eyes warmed with laughter. “My pleasure, bella.”

  She was starting to sound like the neophyte she was. Definitely time to make her escape. She ducked her head and made for the coach before she turned into a pumpkin.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Present day...

  COMMUNICATIONS FROM PRINCE XAVIER’S grandmother fell into three categories. All were delivered by the palace’s Private Secretary, Mario de Gaul.

  “Your grandmother requests a meeting to discuss...” Fill in the blank. Those were routine and benign. She listened to her grandson’s opinions and they worked together on a strategy for whatever event, negotiation or dignified visitor stood on the horizon. They were equals, more or less.

  The second, more ominous type of appointment began with “Her Majesty invites you to join her at...” Fill in the meal. Those were more dictatorial instructions on how she wanted something handled. A parliamentarian or ambassador needed massaging. A high-level staff member needed firing. He was doing her dirty work.

  Then there was—

  “The Queen is in her receiving room. She expects you.”

  Mario entered with that missive on the heels of Xavier’s Personal Assistant, who still stood before him, his speech bubble of grim news dissolving in the air above his pleading don’t-shoot-the-messenger expression.

  “Of course.” Xavier rose from his desk. It was the appropriate response. One didn’t refuse the Queen. One certainly didn’t leave her waiting.

  Still, his agile brain leapt to all the triage he needed to accomplish in the next few minutes, not least of which was to reassure his new fiancée, Patrizia, before she saw the headlines herself.

  Switched Before Birth!

  Future King an Expectant Father?

  Trella Tricked Everyone—Including the Prince!

  He should have said something a few weeks ago, of course, when the first bomb went off. Trella Sauveterre, lately returned to the public eye, had turned up pregnant. The reaction had been loud enough to shake the world off its axis, forcing him to reach out to her, again, much to his dismay. He didn’t want anything to do with her after realizing how thoroughly she’d duped him.

  Why had she done it?

  The sting of chasing her to Berlin a week after Paris, like a fool with his first crush, came back hot and fresh under his skin. He’d had a very real duty to meet with Patrizia, but he had put it off, stealing an extra few days of bachelorhood, inventing excuses so he could...what? Have sex with a stranger once more?

  Sex was sex. He’d had many lovers over the years and experienced varied degrees of pleasure. He put down the better experiences to chemistry, the less satisfying ones to inhibitions and incompatibility.

  That night in Paris had seemed extraordinary while it was happening. She hadn’t been a virgin, but she’d made sex feel new again. She’d been so responsive. So sensual. So abandoned. His stomach tightened just remembering it.

  So what? He knew from his father’s history that letting the brain below his belt do his thinking was disastrous
.

  Nevertheless, a day later, when he had read that Angelique would be in Berlin, he had reconfigured his entire schedule. Rather than courier her earring as promised, he had sought her out—only to find her with another man.

  It had been the most lowering of moments, not because his ego was dented, but because he had revealed something of himself to her. Somehow, she had tricked him into believing they had a connection that went beyond the physical. What had possessed him to talk of those dark hours when his parents had been banished?

  He didn’t form intimate friendships. He was an only child raised by a grandmother whose life was too demanding to offer affection. Yet, for some reason, he had entrusted a one-night lover with his private thoughts.

  He had trusted her. When she had said she didn’t sleep around, he had believed her.

  Judging by what he found in Berlin, however, she’d moved on very quickly. The innocent act was part of her routine, he had concluded, castigating himself for acting so callow as to follow her.

  Nevertheless, when he had the chance to catch her alone, he approached, waiting for the catch of excitement she had kindled in him the week before.

  Nothing. She was desirable the way all beautiful women were, but whatever he’d felt in Paris was gone. It had perplexed and annoyed him, made him doubly irritated with himself for thinking they’d had something special.

  He’s stood there searching for whatever it was that he’d found so enthralling and she had pretended she didn’t even know him, staring blankly as though he had broken into her bedroom and stolen the diamond hoop earring he was returning.

  In those seconds, he had felt as though she was even more of a stranger than she had been before they’d made love—which she was, he promptly learned. He hadn’t slept with Angelique. He had slept with her twin, Trella.