Читать книгу A Royal Temptation - Charlene Sands - Страница 8
ОглавлениеStately and grand, Portia’s hotel in Del Sol was just a short distance from the palace. The big bed in her room was cushy and comfy. The morning sunlight streamed in to warm her and the air was sweetened by a bouquet of roses, compliments of the hotel manager. It was all fit for a princess. Yet she hadn’t slept well.
Last night, as Juan Carlos bid her farewell, he’d almost kissed her. She was sure he would have if they hadn’t been surrounded by his guests. She’d thought about that nonkiss during the night. How would his lips feel against hers? Heavens, she hadn’t had so much as a date with a man in almost a year, and it had been even longer since she was ravaged by a kiss. Which, she was sure, would have happened had they been alone.
She was thankful that he hadn’t locked lips with her in front of the attendees at the gala. Yet, lightbulbs had flashed and pictures had been snapped of the two of them. It was last thing she needed and she’d dashed out as rapidly as Cinderella racing against the midnight hour.
When he’d asked her to join him for brunch this morning, she’d quickly agreed, despite her tingling nerves and fuzzy brain.
Her brunch “date” with the King of Montoro would happen precisely at ten o’clock and he’d promised they wouldn’t be interrupted.
She heard the familiar Bruno Mars ringtone of her cell phone and grabbed it from the nightstand. Her assistant’s name popped up on the screen and she smiled. From the very beginning, her assistant had been her closest friend. “Hello, Jasmine.”
“Hi, Portia. I hope I didn’t wake you?”
“No, not at all. I’m getting ready to have brunch. It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Did you survive the coronation?” Jasmine Farr never minced words. “I know you weren’t thrilled about attending.”
“Actually, it wasn’t so bad.” The newly named king was quite a man. “And it’s my lot in life to attend these functions every so often.”
“That’s what you get for being a princess.” She chuckled. “I saw some of the coronation on YouTube.”
“That was fast.”
“It always is. Anyway, I’m calling to tell you that Mr. Greenboro had to cancel your meeting this week. He’s flying out of the country and won’t be back for three months. He sends his apologies, of course, and he did reschedule. I hope it’s okay that I took the liberty of making that appointment. I didn’t think you’d want to let him get away.”
“Oh, I’m disappointed. I’d set the entire week aside to work with him, but I’m glad you’re on the ball and rescheduled with him. Text me that date and I’ll mark it on my calendar.”
“Will do. So, now you don’t have to rush back. There’s really nothing else going on this week.”
“Right.”
“You’ve worked hard these past few months and you’ve been meaning to pencil in a vacation. Seems like a perfect opportunity.”
“It is beautiful here.”
“From the pictures I’m seeing, the beaches are to die for. I wish I could join you. I’d come in an instant.”
“Why don’t you come? We could have spa days together.”
“I can’t. I’m flying to Maryland for my cousin’s wedding at the end of the week. “
“I’d forgotten about that. Darn.”
“But that doesn’t mean you can’t stay on. I can book you a villa suite in Playa del Onda. The beach resort is top notch. You’ll get lots of R&R.”
“Let me think about it. I’ll get back to you later on today.”
After she ended the call, she stripped off her pajamas and entered the shower. The pounding water rained down and woke her up to the possibility of an actual vacation: away from phones, away from the hectic pace of gallery openings, away from the pressures of making art selections for her obscenely rich or drastically eccentric clients. Her schedule was a busy one, and this did seem like a perfect opportunity to unwind.
When she was finished with her shower, she slipped into a white dress with red polka dots that belted at the waist, slid on navy patent leather shoes and tossed her hair up into a ponytail. She applied light makeup, including eyeliner and soft pink lip gloss.
The jewelry she chose was delicate: a thin strand of pearls around her neck and wrist. She fastened her watch on her left arm and noted the time. Juan Carlos was sending a car for her in ten minutes. She grabbed her purse and left the hotel room.
In the lobby, she was greeted by a uniformed driver who escorted her to an ink-black limousine. She played the role of princess well, but she would rather be wearing a pair of jeans and going to the local café for a bite of breakfast.
“Your Highness,” the driver said, as he opened the door for her, “allow me.”
She slid into the backseat and bumped legs with Juan Carlos. Her breath hitched in her throat. He took in her wide-eyed surprise and grinned. “Good morning, Portia.”
“Excuse me, but I didn’t expect you to come to pick me up.”
Should she worry about the implications? This wasn’t a date. At least, not in any real sense.
“It’s a nice morning for a drive. After yesterday’s events, I thought you might like to join me to see some of the city. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve changed our brunch plans for today.”
He wore dark slacks and a casual white silk shirt, opened slightly at the collar. She glimpsed his tanned chest and gulped for air.
“Of course not.”
“Great. You look very pretty this morning.”
“Thank you.” And you look dynamic, powerful and gorgeous.
He issued directions to the driver and they took off.
“How were your first twenty-four hours as king?” she asked.
He rubbed his chin, thinking for a second. “It’s strange that I don’t feel any different. I keep expecting a big transformation, but I’m just me.”
She smiled at his earnest answer. “I thought it would be an adjustment for you. Every move you make now will be documented somehow.” She glanced out the window, expecting to see photographers following the limo, snapping pictures. She’d had experience with her ex-boyfriend’s fame and it had gotten old very fast. No one should be followed and photographed at every turn for entertainment’s sake. “How did you escape the palace?”
He chuckled. “You make it seem like prison.”
“No, no. I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant, Portia.” Her name slid effortlessly from his lips. “There are some advantages to being king.”
“Such as?” she probed.
“Such as, I didn’t make my intentions known. No one expected me to take a drive this morning. No one questioned me. I had the car ready to pick you up, and then I merely slipped into the backseat before anyone at the palace got wind of it.”
“You snuck out.”
He laughed again and she joined in. “Okay, yes. I snuck out.”
Speaking to him put her at ease and she settled back in her seat. “Do you have bodyguards?”
“Yes, they are following behind somewhere.”
“You’re not worried?”
He shook his head. “No. I’m not worried. And neither should you be.”
“Okay, I’ll trust you.” She’d never traveled with bodyguards, but her situation was quite different. As an exiled princess, she’d grown up in America and never had what Juan Carlos now had: a citizenry eager to reinstate their monarchy. “But you must have dozens of dignitaries and family members waiting to speak with you at the palace.”
“Which I will do later. But for now,” he said, reaching for her hand, “I find being with you more important.”
* * *
Juan Carlos held her hand during the tour of the city. He showed her sites of great historical significance and some trendy new hot spots that were cropping up. The rise of democracy was good for enterprise, he explained.
As he spoke, the tone of his deep and sincere voice brought a smile to her lips more times than she could count. It was intimate in a way, hearing the love he had for a country that was almost as new to him as it was to her. He kept her hand locked in his as if it was precious. As if he needed the connection. To hear him say that being with her was important did wonders for her ego.
Yet she only indulged him because nothing could possibly come of it. And because it had been a long time since she’d enjoyed a man’s company so much.
Tomorrow, she would leave Del Sol.
The limo stopped at a tiny café off the main street of town. “I hear Matteo’s is fantastic.”
“You’ve never eaten here before?” she asked.
“No, I haven’t. We’ll experience it together. Do you mind?”
“I love adventure.”
He nodded, a satisfied glimmer in his eyes. “I thought you might.”
They exited the limo, which looked out of place on the backstreets of the royal city. Once inside, they were escorted to their table by the owner. He was sweating, nervous and fidgety. Juan Carlos clapped him on the back gently to reassure him. “Bring us your specials, Matteo. I hear they are the best in all of Del Sol.”
“Si, si. I will be glad to serve you myself, Your Majesty.”
Juan Carlos nodded. “Thank you.”
Though the café walls showed signs of age, it was a clean, modest place. “Are you sure the food is good here?” she asked.
His brows gathered. “It comes highly recommended. Why?”
“We’re the only ones seated.”
Juan Carlos looked around the empty café. “My bodyguards. They called ahead to announce my arrival. I’ll make it up to Matteo. I can’t have him losing business on my account.”
“I’m sure he’ll be boasting that King Montoro of Alma dined in his café. His business will double by next week.”
Juan Carlos sharpened his gaze on her. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“You’re new to this royal thing.”
“Yes, I guess I am.”
Just wait, she wanted to say. He was an intelligent man, from all she’d read about him. He managed the sizable personal accounts of the Montoros and had helped build a fortune for the family. He had wits and smarts, but nothing would prepare him for the limelight he’d just entered. He’d have to experience it himself, the good, the bad, the ugly. His life would be under a microscope now.
And she didn’t want to be the amoeba next to him.
Coffee was served, along with fresh handmade tortillas, butter and a bowl of cut fruit. “Looks delicious,” Juan Carlos said to Matteo.
“Please, is there anything else I can bring you while the meal is cooking?”
“This is perfect. Don’t you agree, Portia?”
She nodded and smiled at the owner.
When Matteo left the room she continued to smile. “You’re kind. He will always remember this day because you put him at ease.”
Travis Miles had been kind, too, in the beginning.
“Now who is being kind?” he asked.
“I’m just speaking the truth. You’ll impact a great many lives.”
“In a positive way, I hope and pray.”
“Kind,” she repeated. “You care about the people in the country.”
“Thank you.” His incredibly warm brown eyes softened and her stomach did a little flip.
She buttered a tortilla, rolled it up and took a few bites. She sipped coffee and asked Juan Carlos a few pointed questions about his life to keep the conversation flowing and her mind off the fact that King Montoro was a hunk.
The meal was delivered with fanfare. Matteo and his staff put out the dishes in sweeping motions and finally left them to dine privately. The food was delicious. The main dish consisted of bits of sautéed pork topped with eggs and lathered with a creamy, mildly spicy sauce. There was also some type of sweet corn soufflé served inside the husks, as well as caramelized plantains. Every bite she took rewarded her taste buds. “Mmm...this is heavenly.”
Juan Carlos nodded, his mouth full.
As he chewed, his gaze remained on her. He had warm, luxurious, intense eyes that didn’t stray. Goose bumps rode up and down her arms. As far as men went, Juan Carlos had it all, except for one thing. His fatal flaw. He was king. And that meant after today, she couldn’t see him again.
“So what are your plans for the rest of the day?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m, uh, going to...” She really didn’t have any plans. Maybe do a little shopping. Check out the only art museum in the city. “I’ll be packing.”
“That can’t take all day.”
“I wouldn’t think so.”
“Would you consider having dinner with me?”
No. No. No. “I really shouldn’t.”
Juan Carlos leaned back in his seat, studying her. “Do you have a man in your life, Portia?”
Slowly, she shook her head. She felt a trap coming.
“No one? I find that hard to believe. Do you date?”
“Rarely. My career is demanding. And it’s very important to me. I’ve worked hard to get where I am.”
“Admirable. Are you working tonight?”
“No, but I...”
He grinned. “I’m only asking for a dinner date, Portia.”
Her shoulders sagged an inch. A barely noticeable move, but she felt the defeat all the way down to her toes. She couldn’t insult the king. “Then, yes, I’ll have dinner with you.”
After the meal, Juan Carlos escorted her to the limo. She took a seat at the far window and he climbed in after her. To his credit, he didn’t crowd her, leaving a modest amount of space between them. But as the car took off, he placed his hand over hers on the empty seat, and wild pings of awareness shot through her body.
Don’t let him get to you, Portia.
He’s not the man for you.
As the limo pulled up to the hotel, Juan Carlos spoke to the driver. “Give us a minute please, Roberto.”
The driver’s door opened and closed quietly. Silence filled the air and suddenly she did feel crowded, though Juan Carlos hadn’t made a move toward her. “I cannot walk you to your door, Princess.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? Do you know how much I want to?” His eyes were down, gazing at her hand as his thumb worked circles over her fingers. Her nerves jumped, like kernels of corn popping in a fry pan, one right after the other. “I don’t want to cause you any inconvenience.”
“I...know.”
He tugged her hand gently and she fell forward, closing the gap between them. His dark-fringed eyelids lifted; she was struck by all-consuming heat. He wasn’t moving a muscle, but leaving it up to her. As if she had a choice now. As if she could deny him. His mesmerizing hunger was contagious; years of abstinence made her hungry, as well. Her gaze lowered to his mouth. Lord in heaven, she wanted his kiss.
She moistened her lips and his eyes drew down immediately. “You leave me no choice, Princess.”
He used a finger to tilt her chin, and then bent his head toward her. Anticipation pulsed through her veins. Every single second was an unnerving kind of torture. And finally, his mouth was on hers, his hand coming to wrap more firmly around her jaw, as if he couldn’t get enough, as if he would devour her.
Long live the king!
Her tummy ached from goodness and she indulged like a miser finding a hidden supply of cash. She touched his face, his jaw steel under her fingertips, and a groan erupted from his throat.
A whimpering mewling sound came from hers. Mortification would have set in, if the king wasn’t equally as needy. But there was no shame, just honesty, and it was, after all, the kiss to end all kisses. Juan Carlos didn’t let up, not for a moment. His lips worked hers hard, then soft, then hard again. Under her dress, her nipples ached. She was pretty sure the king was experiencing the same agony, but farther south on his body.
She didn’t know whose mouth opened first, or whether it was at the exact same instant, but suddenly she was being swept up and hollowed out, his tongue doing a thorough job of ravaging her. Any second now, she’d be out of her head with lust. But Juan Carlos placed his hands on her shoulders and, she sensed, with great reluctance, moved her away from him.
He leaned back against the seat, breathing hard. “I’ve never made love to a woman in a limo before, Princess. It wouldn’t take much to change that,” he said. He tried for amusement, tried to chuckle, but a serious tone had given away his innermost thoughts.
“It would be a first for me, too,” she said, coming up for air.
A rumpled mess, she tried her best to straighten herself out before she exited the limo.
He pressed a button and the window rolled down. Roberto appeared by the car door. “See Princess Portia to her hotel room,” Juan Carlos said calmly. He’d gotten his emotions in check already, while she was still a ravaged jumble of nerves.
Again, those warm brown eyes lit upon her. “I’ll send a car to pick you up for dinner at seven.”
She swallowed. “Maybe...we shouldn’t,” she squeaked.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked, though his confident tone indicated that it wasn’t even a concern.
She shook her head. “I’m leaving in the morning.”
“And you love your job. Your career means a lot to you. Yes, that’s clear.”
He’d made her refusal seem silly. And it was. Nothing would happen unless she wanted it to happen. She already knew Juan Carlos was that type of man.
“I’ll see you tonight,” she said finally. When the driver opened the car door, she rushed out.
She hadn’t exactly lied to him, had she?
She said she’d be gone, and he thought she meant back to the States. But she’d made up her mind to vacation on the shores of Alma, at least until the end of the week.
But he didn’t need to know that.
* * *
After a late lunch, Juan Carlos had a meeting in the city with the prime minister and few of Alma’s most trusted and prominent business leaders. He struggled to keep his mind on the topics at hand. The restoration of the entire country was a tall order. But every so often, his mind traveled to that place where Portia was in his arms. The image of her lips locked on his, their bodies pulsing to the same lusty rhythms, knocked him for a loop and sent his brain waves scrambling. She was, in his estimation, perfect. For him. For the country.
Wow. Where had that come from? Why was he thinking of her in terms of permanence? As a queen for Alma, for goodness’ sake.
Because aside from the fact that his sensual response was like the national flag being hoisted to full mast every time he looked at her, there was no doubt in his mind that she could take a place by his side at the throne.
As a public figure, he was never alone much anymore, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t lonely. He hadn’t had a serious relationship for years. His ambition had gotten in the way and sure, he’d had a few women in his life, but nothing serious. No one who’d made him feel like this.
Portia’s face flashed in his mind, that porcelain skin, those ice-blue eyes, that haughty chin, that mouth that tasted like sweet sin. The snow queen had become important to him in a short time, and...
“Your Majesty? Juan Carlos, are you all right?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” Prime Minister Rivera was giving him a strange look. “Just deep in thought.”
They’d been talking about how to bring new enterprise to Alma and how the rise of the monarchy would bring in tourism. They needed to brand themselves as a free country and show the world that democracy reigned, that new visitors and new businesses were welcome to their stunning Atlantic shores.
“Actually, I have an idea as to how to draw more tourists,” Juan Carlos said.
“Really?”
Alex Ramon’s ears perked up. As the deputy prime minister of commerce, he was fully immersed in the issue. “Tell us your thoughts.”
“It’s been rumored in our family for years that our ancestors had stashed a considerable amount of artwork, sculptures and paintings on land that had fallen to ruin. Land that Tantaberra overlooked. Right before the family was deposed, they’d thought to hide the art so it wouldn’t fall into the dictator’s greedy hands.”
Juan Carlos’s mind was clicking fast. He didn’t know how true those rumors were. He’d only heard the tales while growing up; Uncle Rafael had spoken of hidden treasures the way a master storyteller would about a pirate’s bounty. It had all been exciting, the sort of thing that captured a little boy’s imagination. But the rumors had held fast and true during his adulthood, and only recently, his cousin Bella had found a hidden cache of letters at one of the family’s abandoned farms, letters that proved that he, a Salazar and not a Montoro, was the rightful heir to the throne.
“I have plans to visit the area myself and see what I can find. If it’s true, and artwork is indeed on the property, think of the story. The art could be restored, and we could have a special showing or a series of showings to bring awareness to Alma.”
“It’s genius, Your Highness,” Prime Minister Rivera said.
Others around the board table agreed.
The meeting ran long and Juan Carlos didn’t get back to the palace until six. He had just enough time to shower and dress for dinner. His pulse sped up as he thought of Portia again, of her sweetly exotic scent and the way she’d filled his body with pleasure when he was near her. She caused him to gasp and sweat and breathe hard. It wasn’t ideal. She was a hard case. She didn’t seem interested in him. And that worried him, because as far as he was concerned, she was The One.
He came down at precisely six forty-five and bumped into his new secretary at the base of the winding staircase, nearly knocking the clipboard out of her hands. “Oh, sorry, Your Highness.” She was out of breath, as if she’d been running a marathon.
“My apologies,” he said. “I’ve been preoccupied and didn’t see you.”
Alicia was redheaded, shapely and quite efficient. She wore glasses, but under those glasses were pretty, light green eyes. She’d taken on a lot, being a first hire, as there was much ground to cover. “Your seven o’clock appointment is here.”
Warmth spread through his body at the mention of his dinner date. “Princess Portia?”
“Oh, uh. No, Your Highness. I’m sorry. I don’t see Princess Portia on the books.” She studied her clipboard, going over the names. “No, you have appointments every half hour for the next few hours. I penciled in a dinner break for you at nine.”
“I thought those were on tomorrow night’s schedule.” Surely, he hadn’t been mistaken, had he? Yet he had to take Alicia at her word. He’d already come to find that she rarely if ever made mistakes. He, on the other hand, had been hypnotized by a pair of deep ocean-blue eyes and was more than distracted.
“I can’t possibly make all of those appointments.” High-ranking officials and the heads of businesses along with their wives or husbands wanted to meet the new king. It was as simple as that. It was good for commerce to know the pillars of trade in Alma, so he’d agreed to a few evening appointments. Under normal circumstances, he’d rather cut off his right arm than cancel them, but he couldn’t break a date with Portia. “See what you can do about cancelling them. Who was first on the schedule?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Rubino. The Rubinos are in the royal study. And your next appointment after that is already here, I’m afraid. They are notoriously early for every occasion, I’m told. They are waiting in the throne room.”
He ran his hands through his hair. “Fine. I’ll see them. But see what you can do about cancelling the rest.”
“Yes, Your Highness. I’ll do my best.” She bit her lower lip, her eyes downcast. “Sorry for the confusion.”
“Alicia?”
“Yes?”
“It’s not your doing. I forgot about these appointments. We’re all learning here. It’s new to all of us.”
She had ten years of experience running a duke’s household in London, coordinating parties and events with dignitaries and the royal family. She hadn’t much to learn. He was the one who had screwed up.
“Yes, Your Highness. I’ll get on those cancellations right away.”
Juan Carlos rubbed the back of his neck and headed to the study.
With luck, he could salvage the evening.
* * *
Portia had been stood up. She’d been delivered to the palace minutes before seven, only to be informed that the king had visitors and to please be patient and wait. She was shown to the dining room and shortly after, the palace chef himself had set dishes of appetizers on the table before her.
Candles were lit and soft music filtered into the room.
The only problem? Her date wasn’t here. And she wasn’t about to eat a thing until he showed. Call her stubborn.
It was after eight. She knew because her stomach refused to stop growling and finally, she’d glanced at her watch.
She’d already taken in the paintings on the walls, assessing them and noting that they weren’t up to par with usual palatial art. Oh, they were lovely pieces, but from contemporary artists. Many of them were replicas of the real thing. It was a curiosity. The monarchy stretched way beyond the years of the dictatorship. There should be older, more authentic works on the walls. But this was only one room. Maybe for security reasons, the gallery held the most valuable pieces.
After wandering the dining hall, she picked a particular patch of space near the fireplace and began pacing.
She couldn’t fault Juan Carlos. His secretary had taken the blame, explaining that she’d failed to remind the king of his visitors. She’d tried her best to cancel the meetings, but she was afraid she wasn’t as successful as she’d hoped.
But the more Portia thought about it, the more pangs of anger replaced her patience.
How long would he keep her waiting?
Travis is in a meeting. He won’t be available for hours. He’d like you to wait, though.
This isn’t the same thing, she reminded herself. Her ex-boyfriend wasn’t a king. Well, maybe the king of late-night television. And she’d fallen for him. He was funny and charming and kind. It was like a regular Cinderella story, the poor broke comedian hooks up with a real live princess. Travis was far from poor now, although he’d come from humble beginnings and the press loved their story and ate it up.
A new American fairy tale, they’d called it.
Travis had been on top of the world when they were together. Everyone loved him and thought he was worthy of a princess from an obscure little country. Only dating a supermodel would have given him more credibility.
And here she was, doing the same thing. Another American fairy tale, only this time with a real king.
Stupid of her.
Her nerves were jumpy and by the time eight-thirty rolled around, she was royally pissed.
Juan Carlos had twisted her arm to accept this dinner date, the way charming men did. He’d trapped her and then kissed her until every brain cell was lulled into capitulation. God, she’d been looking forward to being alone with him again. That kiss was good. Better than good. It was the best kiss she’d ever had. Not even Travis could kiss like that, and he’d been plenty experienced in that department.
“Sorry, so sorry, Portia.”
She jumped. “Oh!” Juan Carlos entered the room, looking dashing in a dark buttoned-up suit but no tie. Another growl emitted from her stomach, this time not due to hunger.
“Did Alicia explain what happened? It was my fault. This is the first chance I’ve had to—”
“It’s been over ninety minutes,” was all she could think to say.
“I would’ve cancelled with you and sent you home, but this is your last night in Alma. Selfishly, I wanted to see you again.”
Guilt rose like bile in her throat. She remained silent.
He glanced at the feast of food that had been put before her. “You didn’t touch anything Chef prepared. You must be famished.”
“I’m not hungry anymore, Your Majesty.”
His lips pursed in disapproval.
She still couldn’t bring herself to call him by his given name.
“You’ve been so patient. There’s just one more meeting I have to get through. Will you wait?”
She shook her head. “Actually, I think I’d like to go.”
“You’re angry.”
“No, I’m tired and, and...”
“Angry.”
She didn’t respond. “Will you have your driver take me back to the hotel?”
Juan Carlos closed his eyes briefly. “Yes, of course. I just assumed after we kissed, you’d... Never mind. You’re right. I shouldn’t have made you wait.”
A man who admitted when he was wrong? How rare.
“Duty called. I’m afraid it always will.”
That’s how it had worked with Travis. The difference? Travis had been building his own personal dynasty, while Juan Carlos was trying to build one for his country. But that still left Portia with the same end result. She’d never be a top priority and while she liked Juan Carlos, she had vowed, after many disappointments with Travis, to never get herself in that situation again.
With that, she wished Juan Carlos a good evening, assured him she wasn’t angry and put enough distance between them that he couldn’t touch her, couldn’t plant his delicious lips on hers again and make her change her mind.
