Читать книгу Royal Holiday Bride - Brenda Harlen - Страница 9

As they made their way through the maze of hallways to the third floor of the north wing, Marissa’s apprehension increased.

Could she do this? Could she really make love with a stranger? She wanted to—and not just because she was determined to finally lose her virginity, but because she wanted this man as she’d never wanted anyone before. Because he’d made her feel things she’d never felt before.

But what if she got scared? What if she stepped into his room and he pressed her up against the wall and shoved his tongue down her throat and—

She jolted when he took her hand.

Behind the gold mask that covered half of his face, his gaze was hot and intense, but when he spoke, his voice was carefully neutral. “If this isn’t what you want—”

“No,” she interrupted quickly, shoving aside the unpleasant memory of the Duke of Bellemoro. “It is.”

“Good,” he said, and slipped his arms around her waist to draw her close. He lowered his head and kissed her again.

He truly was an exceptional kisser, teasing her lips, coaxing her response. As their tongues danced and mated, she felt as if she could be content to continue kissing him forever. But contentment quickly gave way to desire, and desire to need.

“Maybe we should take this inside,” he suggested against her lips.

She hadn’t even realized they were still in the hall. What was it about this man that he could make her lose all concept of time and place? And not even care that she’d done so?

He kept one arm around her as he slipped the old-fashioned key into the lock and pushed open the door, and he was kissing her again when he steered her inside.

She was too busy enjoying the sensation of his hands on her body to wonder how he’d scored the corner suite that was usually reserved for state visitors of the highest rank. Too preoccupied to appreciate that the thick rug on the floor of the formal sitting room was an antique Savonnerie, or that the mullioned windows were draped with heavy velvet curtains. But she did notice the massive Chippendale four-poster bed with its pale blue silk cover and mountain of pillows when he steered her into the bedroom.

“One moment,” he said, and released her long enough to light the trio of candles on the rosewood bedside table.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a romantic,” she admitted.

“There are times when romantic gestures are called for.” He took her hand again, brought it to his lips. “I would say this is one of them.”

“You’ve already succeeded in luring me to your room,” she reminded him.

“So I have.” His quick grin was sexy and satisfied as he drew her into his arms again. “And now that I have you here … how about some champagne?”

She blinked. “Champagne?”

“Sure, I could call downstairs and ask them to send up a bottle—or we could get something to eat, if you’re hungry.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want anything but you.”

“And here I was trying to show some self-restraint.”

“Why?”

“Because if I didn’t, we’d already be naked and in the middle of that big bed right now.”

“I want to see you naked,” she said and reached for the hooks that held his breastplate in place. It was heavier than she’d expected, and it nearly slipped out of her grasp before he took the armor from her and set it aside.

“Same goes.” He unfastened the braided gold rope at her waist, let it fall to the floor, then turned his attention to the twisted fabric at her shoulder. As he worked the knot, his fingertips brushed her bare skin and yearning flooded through her.

When the fastening was untied, the silky gown slid down the length of her body to pool at her feet so that she stood before him in only her mask, lacy sapphire bra, matching bikini panties and the gold-colored sandals.

His gaze skimmed over her, from her shoulders to her toes and back again, slowly, hungrily. “You’re even more beautiful than I anticipated.”

“And you’re still mostly dressed,” she noted.

He unclipped his leg guards, kicked off his sandals and tugged the tunic over his head. As she watched him strip away the various pieces of his costume, she couldn’t help but think that he looked even more like a god without the period enhancements.

His skin was darkly tanned—apparently all over—and stretched taut over glorious muscles. His chest was broad and smooth, and she instinctively reached out to lay her palms against the warm flesh. She felt the sizzle spread through her veins and reverberate low in her belly.

He reached for the tie at the side of her mask, but she turned her head away. Above the top of his, she saw his brows lift.

“I’m more comfortable being Juno,” she explained.

His smile was tinged with amusement and desire. “Then you won’t mind if I keep mine on, too?”

She suspected it was going to be a little awkward, making love while both of them were wearing masks. But she knew it was the only way she would be able to follow through with her plan. She had no objection to removing all of her clothes so long as her face remained covered, because as much as she wanted to be naked with him, she couldn’t risk her identity being exposed.

“No,” she responded to his question. “In fact, I’d prefer it.”

“Okay,” he agreed.

She exhaled slowly as her hands slid downward. Her fingertips traced over the rippling muscles of his abdomen to the top of his fitted briefs, then dipped inside. He groaned when her fingers wrapped around him, and she had a moment of worry when she registered the size and strength of him. He was huge and rock hard, and the thought of his body joining with hers made her shiver with anticipation.

“You’re going to obliterate what’s left of my self-restraint,” he warned her.

She tipped her head back to brush her lips against his. “Good.”

He cupped his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her off the ground in a move that was so quick and unexpected, her breath whooshed out of her lungs. He tumbled her back onto the bed, the full length of his body pressing against hers, and she gasped with shock and pleasure.

Then his mouth was on hers again, hot and hungry. He wasn’t coaxing so much as demanding now, and she was more than happy to give him what he wanted, what they both needed. She ran her hands over his shoulders, down his arms, relishing the feel of his flesh beneath her fingertips. She arched beneath him, eager for more, for everything. He nibbled on her bottom lip, and she sighed again as pleasure drowned out caution and reason and everything else. She had no thoughts of anything but this man and this moment, no need for anything more. And then she had no thoughts at all as her mind gave way to the bliss of sensation.

She was everything Dante had imagined … and more. Beautiful and passionate and so incredibly responsive. And she was his—if only for this one night.

He stroked his hands slowly down her torso, a careful study of delectable feminine curves. From the sexy slope of her shoulders … to the lushness of her breasts … to the indent of her waist … the flare of her hips … then down those long, shapely legs to the laces of her sandals.

He broke the kiss and reluctantly levered himself off of her. Her eyelids flickered, opened, and she propped herself up on her elbows. He touched a fingertip to her lips, to silence any questions or protests. She said nothing, but watched him curiously.

He tugged on the lace that was tied just below her knee, then slowly unwrapped the cord. His fingers traced lightly over her skin as he unwound it, and he heard the catch of her breath. He took his time removing the first sandal, but when he dropped it to the floor, he still held on to her foot. It was narrow and slender and incredibly sexy. He stroked a finger along the arch and felt her shiver. He lifted her foot higher, kissed her ankle, then let his lips skim up her calf to her knee.

He repeated the same process with her other sandal, her other leg. Then he propped her feet on the edge of the mattress so that her knees were bent and lowered his head between her thighs to kiss her through the thin barrier of lace. She gasped, as if shocked by the intimacy of his mouth on her. But she made no protest when he slid his hands beneath her buttocks, tilting her hips forward to remove her panties.

He used his thumbs to part the slick folds that protected her womanly core and flicked his tongue over her. Once. Twice. She sucked in a breath, then let it out in a rush. He teased her mercilessly, alternating quick strokes with slow circles until she was whimpering. Then he teased her some more, relentlessly driving her toward the ultimate pinnacle of pleasure and leisurely easing back again. When he was certain that she could take no more—when her heels were digging into the mattress and her hands were fisted in the covers and her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps—he pushed her over the edge.

She was still shuddering with the aftereffects of her climax as he made his way up her body. He unfastened the clasp at the front of her bra and pushed the lacy cups aside. He paused, taking a moment to enjoy the glorious nakedness of her long, lean body stretched out on his bed.

Her breasts were perfectly shaped and centered with rosy-pink nipples that he ached to touch, taste, savor. He dipped his head and swirled his tongue around one turgid peak, while his thumb traced the same path around the other. She cried out when a second climax racked her body.

She was incredible. And he wanted her more than he’d wanted any woman in a very long time. As he drew away only long enough to shed his briefs and don protection, he thanked the gods that had allowed their paths to cross and cursed the fates that had decreed they would only have this night.

When he lowered himself over her, his whole body was trembling with the anticipation of finally joining with hers. She reached for him, her hands linking behind his head, drawing him down for another kiss.

His hands stroked over her again, arousing her, arousing himself. He could feel the blood pounding in his veins, hot and demanding. He could hear the beat of his heart, fast and fierce. Did she know how desperately he wanted her? How he ached for her?

Maybe she did, because her eyes—those gorgeous green eyes—met his and her hips lifted, and the silent urging snapped the last of his self-restraint. He guided himself into the slick heat between her thighs. But despite her apparent readiness, his entry wasn’t easy. He gritted his teeth and fisted his hands in the quilt, forcing himself to go slow, to give her time to adjust to his size. His muscles ached with the effort of holding back and his heart pounded against his ribs as he inched a little farther, swallowing her soft sighs of acceptance, of pleasure.

He frowned when he felt an unexpected resistance, but before he could begin to comprehend what it might mean, her legs lifted to lock behind his hips, pulling him deeper so that he pushed through the barrier of her innocence.

He held himself completely still over her, his arms locked in position, his brows drawn together behind his mask.

How was this possible? How could he not have known? And what was he supposed to do now?

But she seemed oblivious to his inner turmoil. Her legs were still hooked around his hips and her hands clutched at his shoulders as she instinctively moved against him, until his control finally snapped and there was nothing left to hold him back.

He drove into her, hard and deep. She cried out, but he recognized that the sound wasn’t one of shock or fear but pleasure. She met his rhythm, thrust for thrust, in a primitive and almost desperate race toward the release they both craved. When the next climax took her to the edge and finally over, he could do nothing but surrender with her.

It was a long time before Marissa managed to catch her breath. She felt stunned, overwhelmed and exhilarated. She’d never even imagined that so many emotions and sensations could rocket through her system at the same time.

She’d felt desire before, subtle tugs that had piqued her curiosity and made her wonder. But there had been absolutely nothing subtle about what she’d experienced in Jupiter’s arms. It had been so much more than she’d anticipated, so much more than she ever could have hoped for, and she would always be grateful to him for this night.

Unfortunately, she could tell that he wasn’t feeling grateful. He was angry, and she was afraid that she knew why.

“You were a virgin,” he said.

The accusation in his tone confirmed her fears and took some of the shine off of the experience for her. She shifted away from him, pulling up the corner of the quilt to cover herself.

“And you wanted someone with more experience?” she guessed, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“I wanted to know.” He rose from the bed and paced across the carpet, apparently unconcerned by his own nakedness. When he faced her again, his anger was visible despite the mask he still wore. “I had a right to know.”

She pushed herself off of the bed, dragging the cover with her. “I’m sorry you were disappointed.”

She started to gather up her costume, but it was hard to see through the tears that blurred her eyes. She’d had the most amazing, exhilarating sexual experience of her life, and her partner wished it had never happened.

He crossed the room in three quick strides and caught her arms. “I wasn’t disappointed.”

She couldn’t read his mood. He’d sounded furious, but now he was looking at her with such tenderness in the depths of those beautiful dark eyes. She wished, for just a moment, that she could push the mask off of his face, to really see this man for who he was. But that wasn’t just a futile wish, it was a dangerous one. It was the assurance of anonymity that had given her the courage to follow through with her plan. She couldn’t let him discover her identity now.

“But you’re angry,” she said again.

“At myself.”

“I don’t understand,” she admitted.

“I should have realized.” Sighing, he thrust a hand through his hair. “If I’d known, I would have been more careful.”

“You didn’t hurt me.”

But Dante knew that he had. Every muscle in her body had tensed when he’d pushed through the barrier of her virginity. He’d been stunned by the knowledge, and appalled that even when his brain had finally registered that she’d been an innocent, he hadn’t been able to stop.

He’d wanted her with such desperation that even knowing she’d been untouched hadn’t tempered his desire. In fact, discovering that he was her first had somehow stoked the burning need to take, to claim, to possess. One thought had echoed in his mind: mine.

Of course, she couldn’t be. Not for more than this one night.

It was something they both knew, though neither had spoken aloud of the fact. The anonymity had served his own purposes—he’d thought this night would be one final fling without the heavy cloak of royal responsibilities that had settled around his shoulders. But now he was ashamed, knowing that he’d taken the innocence of a woman and he didn’t even know her name.

He brushed his knuckles gently down her cheek. “Actually, if I’d known you were untouched, I would have made sure you stayed that way.”

“Why?”

“Because your first time shouldn’t have been with a stranger.”

“It was what I wanted,” she insisted.

“You deserved better. You deserved more. And I can’t give you anything more than this night.” His words were heavy with genuine regret.

She lifted her chin. “All of this night?”

It was more of a challenge than a question, and he fought against a smile. She had spirit and spunk and a willingness to go after what she wanted, and he felt both honored and humbled that she’d wanted him.

“Did you think I was going to turn you out of my room now that I’ve had my way with you?” he asked lightly.

“How would I know? This is new territory for me,” she reminded him.

He took the gown that she’d twisted into a ball and set it aside. “I would very much like you to stay.”

Marissa thought those words meant that he wanted to take her back to bed. Instead, he excused himself and disappeared into the adjoining bathroom. A few minutes later, he was leading her toward a deep tub filled with fragrant bubbles and surrounded by dozens of flickering candles.

“I thought a bath might help ease some of the soreness in your muscles,” he told her.

“I won’t be sorry to have aches to remind me of this night,” she said, and meant it. “But how can I refuse when you went to so much trouble?”

He smiled and brushed a soft kiss over her lips. “Take as much time as you want.”

She didn’t plan to be long. She didn’t want to waste a single minute of the short time they would have together, but the bath was too tempting to resist. There was a robe on the back of the door, and she used the belt from it to tie the heavy length of hair up off of her neck. She didn’t dare take off the wig or her mask. Though she kept a fairly low profile, there was always the possibility that she might be recognized, and that was a chance she couldn’t take. Not tonight.

Pushing the worry aside, she stepped into the tub, sighing as she sank into the warm, scented water. She hadn’t realized she was tense until she felt the stiffness seep out of her muscles. But while her body relaxed, her mind raced.

She’d lucked out tonight, she realized that. In retrospect, she could appreciate that her plan to go to bed with a stranger had been not just desperate but reckless. And she had absolutely no regrets. Maybe she did wish that she knew something about the man who had been such an attentive and considerate lover, but there was no point in getting to know a man whose presence in her life couldn’t be anything more than temporary.

Pushing those thoughts from her mind, she rose from the tub and briskly rubbed a thick towel over her body. Then she released the tie that was holding her hair, tucked it through the loops of the robe she’d wrapped around herself and stepped back into the bedroom.

He’d lit more candles in here, too, she realized, and folded back the covers on the bed. An antique serving cart had been rolled into the room, on top of which sat an assortment of bowls and platters offering fresh fruits and an assortment of crackers and meats and cheeses. There was also a bottle of champagne in a silver bucket filled with ice beside two crystal flutes waiting to be filled.

“I thought we might have that champagne now,” he said.

She was as surprised as she was flattered that he’d gone to so much trouble, but the wild pounding of her heart made her wary. Was she a complete sucker for romantic gestures? Or was it somehow possible that she could be falling in love with a man she didn’t even know—a man that she wouldn’t ever see again after this night?

She wasn’t sure she could answer those questions, or that she wanted to, so she responded to his suggestion instead.

“Champagne sounds wonderful.” Then she went to him and linked her hands behind his neck, urging his head down so that she could meet his lips with her own. “Later.”

Her heart gave another sigh when he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. She had never dreamed that such romance could be found anywhere outside of the pages of a Victorian novel, and knowing that she was unlikely to experience anything like it again, she savored every moment.

She promised herself that she would remember each stroke of his hands, every touch of his lips, and she knew that she would treasure the memories forever. Whatever happened tomorrow, whatever trials and tribulations she might face in the future, she would always have her recollection of this incredible night. No one could ever take that from her.

He lowered her gently onto the mattress and sank down beside her. He’d shown her pleasure already—so much more than she’d expected. But now, with every brush of his fingertips, there was even more. With every caress, he showed her that she wasn’t just desired but revered. With every kiss, he proved that she wasn’t just wanted but cherished. And when he finally joined his body with hers again, she felt not just connected but complete.

It was hours later before Marissa finally slipped from his bed.

She hadn’t intended to stay so long. Truthfully, her plan for the evening had been remarkably sparse on details beyond finding a willing lover. She knew that she’d been fortunate to find one not just willing but eager to please, and she’d been reluctant to leave the warm comfort of his arms. But she did so, anyway, understanding that she had no other choice.

If anyone was to see her leaving his room—well, she didn’t even want to imagine what kind of scandal that would cause. Definitely enough of a scandal that Anthony Volpini would have to accept she would never be his virgin bride. That thought made her smile, and for a brief moment she actually considered stomping her feet as she made her way down the hall so that she would be discovered.

But aside from an arranged marriage to the Duke of Bellemoro, there was nothing Marissa dreaded more than the possibility of finding herself at the center of a media circus. So instead of stomping, she carried her sandals in her hand to ensure a quiet escape as she slipped away from Jupiter’s room.

Although she’d stayed longer than she’d intended, it was still early enough that Marissa didn’t expect to encounter any servants moving through the halls just yet. So she didn’t notice the shadow behind the curtains across the hall or hear the barely audible click of the shutter as her clandestine departure was captured by the camera’s lens.

She was gone when Dante awoke. The only proof he had that she’d even been there was a lingering trace of her scent on his pillow and a broken peacock feather that he picked up off of the carpet near the bed.

He sat on the edge of the mattress with the feather in his hand and thought about the woman he knew only as Juno. They’d shared intimacies but not names, and while he didn’t regret a minute of the time they’d spent together, he did regret that she’d disappeared from his bed and his life without even saying goodbye.

It wasn’t impossible to imagine that their paths might someday cross again, but the possibility did nothing to ease the unexpected emptiness inside of him. Because he knew that, in the unlikely event that they did meet again, he wouldn’t recognize her. If he really wanted to ascertain her identity, he could probably finagle a copy of the guest list from one of the palace staff. But then what?

Was he really prepared to track down every female guest until he found a green-eyed redhead with a sexy little mole on her right hip? Of course not, because even if he had the time or the energy for such an endeavor, the discovery of Juno’s true identity would change nothing. He’d known when he invited her back to his room that they could never be anything more than strangers in the night.

So why was he wishing for something different now? Why was he fantasizing about an impossible reunion with a woman he didn’t even know?

His future was already laid out for him and last night had been only a temporary and forbidden deviation from the path that had been set for him at birth. It was time to set himself back on that path and be the king his country needed.

It was time to meet his bride.