Читать книгу Royals: For Their Royal Heir: An Heir Fit for a King / The Pregnant Princess / The Prince's Secret Baby - Эбби Грин, Christine Rimmer - Страница 12

CHAPTER FOUR

THE ONLY THING stopping Alix exploding into orbit at the feel of Leila’s lush soft mouth under his and the shy touch of her tongue was the hand he’d clamped around her waist. He was rock-hard almost instantaneously. He’d never tasted such sweetness. Her mouth trembled under his and he had to use extreme restraint to go slowly, coaxing her to open up to him.

He felt the hitch in her breathing as their kiss deepened and he gathered her closer to feel the swell of her breasts against his chest. Right at that moment Alix couldn’t have remembered his own name. He was drowning in heat and lust and an urgent desire to haul Leila over his lap, so that he could seat her against where he ached most.

She pulled back suddenly and he cracked open his eyes to look down into wide green ones. Leila had her hands on his chest and was pushing at him.

‘Please—don’t do that again.’

Alix was on unsure ground. Another first. He wasn’t used to women pushing him away. And he knew Leila had been enjoying it. She’d been melting into him like his hottest teenage fantasy, and he felt about as suave as a teenager right then. All raging hormones and no control.

Drawing on what little control he did still have, Alix moved back, putting space between them. He looked at her. Cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes avoiding his. Mouth pink and wet. It made him think of other parts of her that might be wet. He cursed himself silently. Where was his finesse?

He reached out and cupped her jaw, seeing how she tensed. He tipped her chin up so that she had no choice but to look at him. Her eyes were huge and wary. There was an edge of something in her eyes that he couldn’t read. He felt a spike of recrimination. Had he been too forceful? But he knew he hadn’t. It had nearly killed him to rein himself in.

‘Did you have a bad experience with a previous lover?’

She pulled his hand down. ‘That’s none of your business.’

She avoided his eyes again and he wanted to growl his frustration. But they were pulling into the small private airport now, and staff were rushing to meet the car.

Alix got out and pulled his coat around his body, not liking that he had to conceal his arousal. He glared at the driver who was about to help Leila out of the car and the man ducked back to let Alix take her hand. When she stood up beside him, the breeze blowing a loose tendril of dark hair across one cheek, he had to forcibly stop himself from kissing her again.

Gripping her hand, when he usually avoided public displays of affection like the plague, he led her over to the waiting plane: a small sleek private jet that he used for short hops around Europe. He realised then how much he took things like this for granted. Leila had never even flown before.

He stopped and turned to her. ‘You’re not frightened, are you?’

She glanced from the plane to him and admitted warily, ‘It looks a bit small.’

He grinned and felt the dense band of cynicism around his heart loosen a little. ‘It’s as safe as houses—I promise.’

He urged her forward and up the steps, past a steward in uniform. He chose two seats opposite each other so he could see Leila’s expression. He buckled them both in, and then the plane was taxiing down the runway. With a roar of the throttle, it lifted up into the darkening Paris sky. Alix had had a discreet word with the pilot, and watched Leila’s face for her reaction as they climbed into the air.

Her hands were gripping the seat’s armrests, and when she cast him a quick glance he raised a brow while shrugging off his overcoat. ‘Okay?’

She smiled and it was a bit wobbly. ‘I think so.’ She put a hand to her belly as if to calm it.

Alix was charmed by her reaction. Her expression was avid as the ground was left behind, and her hands gradually relaxed as the plane rose and gained altitude and then found its cruising level. And then her face became suffused with wonder as she took in the fact that they were flying directly over the city of Paris.

It was perfect timing, with all the lights coming on. Alix looked down through his own window and saw the Eiffel Tower flashing. He’d taken this for granted for so long it was a novelty to see it through someone else’s eyes.

Leila felt as if she was in a dream. Her stomach had been churning slightly with the motion of the plane, but it was calming now. To be so high above the city and all its glittering lights...the sheer beauty of it almost moved her to tears. And it was distracting enough to help her block out how amazing that kiss had been. How hard it had been to pull away.

What had finally made her come to her senses had been the realisation that she was being kissed by an expert—who’d kissed scores of far more beautiful women than her.

‘Why did your mother hate flying so much?’

Leila composed herself before she looked at Alix, where he was lounging in the chair opposite, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, effectively caging her in. Despite her best efforts, one look at his hard, sensual mouth was bringing their kiss back in glorious Technicolor...the way it had burnt her up.

She forced her gaze up to his eyes and tried to remember his question. ‘My mother flew only once in her life, when she came to France from India. It was a traumatic journey for her... She was in disgrace, pregnant and unwed, and was suffering badly from morning sickness.’ Leila shrugged lightly, knowing she was leaving so much out of that explanation. ‘She always associated flying with that trauma and never wanted to get on a plane again.’

‘Aren’t you curious about your Indian roots and family?’

An innocuous enough question, but one that had a familiar resentment rising up within Leila. Her mother’s family had all but left her for dead—they’d never once contacted her or Leila. Not even when a newspaper had reported that some of them were in Paris for a massive perfume fair.

Leila hid her true emotions under a bland mask. She forced a smile. ‘I’m afraid my mother’s family cut all ties with us... But perhaps one day I’ll go back and visit the country of my ancestors.’

She took refuge in looking at the view again, hoping that Alix wouldn’t ask any more personal questions. The lights of the city were becoming sparser. They must be flying further away from Paris now.

But it was as if Alix could read her mind and was deliberately thwarting her. He asked softly, ‘Why did you pull back when I kissed you, Leila? I know it wasn’t because you really wanted me to stop.’

She froze. She hadn’t expected Alix to notice that fleeting moment when she’d felt so insecure. She hadn’t wanted it to stop at all...she’d never felt such exquisite pleasure. And the thought of him kissing her again—she knew she wouldn’t be able to pull back the next time.

An urgent self-protective need rose up inside her. She had to try and repel Alix on some level—surely a man of a blue-blooded royal line wouldn’t want anything to do with the illegitimate daughter of a disgraced Indian woman?

She looked at him, and he was regarding her from under hooded lids.

‘You asked before if I’d had a bad experience with a lover...’

Alix sat up straighter. ‘You told me it was none of my business.’

‘And it’s not,’ Leila reiterated. ‘But, yes, I had a negative encounter with someone, and I don’t really wish to repeat the experience.’

Alix went very still, and Leila could see the innate male pride in his expression. He couldn’t believe that she would compare him to another man.

‘I’m sorry you had to experience that, but you can’t damn all men because of one.’

Leila took a breath. Alix wasn’t being dissuaded. In spite of the flutters in her belly she went on. ‘In fact, if you must know, my mother was rather overprotective.’ The flutters increased under Alix’s steady regard. ‘The truth is that I’m not as experienced as you might—’

‘Are you ready for supper, Your Majesty?’

They both looked to see the steward holding out some menus. Relief flooded Leila that she’d been cut off from revealing the ignominious truth of just how inexperienced she was. She welcomed the diversion of taking the menu being proffered.

She imagined that Alix would believe she was still a virgin as much as he’d believe in unicorns. But thankfully, when they were alone again, he didn’t seem inclined to continue the discussion.

When she glanced at him, he just sent her an enigmatic glance and said, ‘I recommend the risotto—it’s vegetarian.’

Leila smiled. ‘That sounds good.’

When the young man came back, moments later, Alix ordered. Then he poured them both some champagne. When the flutes were filled and a table had been set between them, Alix lifted his glass and said, with a very definite glint in his eye, ‘To new experiences, Leila.’

She cringed inwardly. He didn’t have to pursue the discussion. He’d guessed her secret. She lifted her glass too, but said nothing. She got the distinct impression that he still wasn’t put off. And, as much as she’d like to tell Alix that flying in a plane was the only new experience she was interested in sharing with him, she couldn’t formulate the words. Traitorously.

* * *

‘Why is everyone looking at us?’

Alix looked at Leila incredulously. She had no idea what a sensation she was causing—had caused as soon as they’d stepped from his boat and into the ancient palazzo on the Grand Canal where the opera was being staged. Leila stood out effortlessly—like a jewel amongst much duller stones. Now it was the interval, and they were seated in a private area to the right of the stage. Private, yet visible.

His mouth quirked. ‘They’re not looking at us—they’re looking at you.’

She looked at him and blushed. ‘Oh...it’s the clothes, isn’t it? I should have—’

Alix shook his head, cutting her off. ‘It’s not the clothes...well, it is. But that’s because you are more beautiful than any other woman here and you’re putting them to shame with your sense of style. Every woman is looking at you and wondering why their finger is not on the pulse.’

Leila’s blush deepened, and it had a direct effect on Alix’s arousal levels.

‘I’m sure that’s not it at all. I’ve never seen so many beautiful people in one place in my entire life. I’ve never seen anywhere so breathtaking—the canal, this palazzo...’ She ducked her head for a moment before looking back at him. ‘Thank you...this evening has been magical.’

Alix had to school his features. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had thanked him for taking her out.

‘You’re glad you overcame your reluctance to spend time with me?’ he queried innocently.

Her green gaze held his and Alix felt breathless for a second. Crazy. Women didn’t make him breathless.

Her mouth twitched minutely. ‘Yes, I’m glad—but don’t let it go to your head.’

An unfortunate choice of words when it made him aware of the part of his anatomy that refused to obey his efforts to control it.

Leila looked so incandescent in that moment—a small smile playing around her mouth, eyes sparkling—that Alix had to curl his hands into fists to stop himself from kissing her again.

The lights dimmed and the cast resumed their places. Alix tore his gaze from her, questioning his sanity and praying that he’d have enough control not to ravish her like a wild animal in the darkened surroundings.

* * *

After the opera had finished Alix took Leila out of the palazzo and along the Grand Canal in his boat, to a small rustic Italian restaurant where he was greeted like an old friend by the owner. They ate a selection of small starters and drank wine, and to Leila’s surprise the conversation flowed as easily as if they’d known each other for months, not days.

Something had happened—either as soon as she’d agreed to this date or on the plane, when events had become a dizzying spectacle. Or maybe it had been when she’d chosen a different perfume for herself...

She’d stepped over a line—irrevocably. She felt as if she was a different person, inhabiting the same skin. As if she’d thrown off some kind of shackle holding her to the past. She was a little drunk. She knew that. But she’d never felt so light, so...effervescent. So open to new possibilities, experiences.

She wasn’t naive enough to think that it would be anything more than transient. Especially with a man like Alix. And that was okay. If anything it was a form of protection. He was practically emblazoned with Warning! And Hazardous! signs.

She must have giggled a little, because Alix said dryly, ‘Something I said was funny?’

Leila shook her head and looked at him, all of a sudden stone-cold sober again. He was beautiful. Their mingled scents wrapped around her. Leila imagined them curling around her brain’s synapses, rendering them weak. Making her want what he was offering with those slate-grey eyes—hot with a decadent promise she could only imagine.

Leila realised with a sense of desperation that she wanted whatever he was offering. She wanted to lose herself and be broken apart. She wanted to know what it was like. She wanted to taste the forbidden.

She didn’t want to go back to her small poky apartment above her failing shop and be the same person. Looking at life passing by across the square. She wanted life to be happening to her. She’d never felt it this strongly before. It was his persistent seduction, the perfume, the wine, the opera...leaving her country for the first time. It was his kiss. It was him.

Impetuously she leaned forward. ‘Do we have to go back to Paris tonight?’

Immediately his gaze narrowed on her. She was acutely conscious of the fact that his jacket and bow tie were gone and his shirt was open at the throat, revealing the strong bronzed column of his neck.

‘What are you suggesting?’

Feeling bold for the first time in her life, Leila said, ‘I’m suggesting...not going back to Paris. Staying here...in Venice.’

‘For the night?’

She nodded. The enormity of what she was doing was dizzying, but she couldn’t turn back now. Her heart was thumping.

Alix cocked his head slightly. ‘I think you might be a little drunk, Miss Verughese.’

‘Perhaps,’ she agreed huskily. ‘But I know what I’m saying.’

‘Do you now...?’ Alix looked at her consideringly.

For a second something cold touched Leila’s spine. Maybe she had this all wrong. Maybe Alix was just toying with this gauche girl from a shop until a more suitable woman came along? No doubt he was getting a kick out of her untutored reactions to flying and seeing the opera.

And now this... Maybe the thought of bedding a virgin wasn’t palatable to a man of his undoubted experience and sophisticated tastes? She thought of how that woman had undressed in front of him and her insides contracted painfully. She could never do that.

She looked away, searching for her bag and wrap. ‘Forget I said anything. I’m sure you have meetings—’

Suddenly her hand was clasped in his and reluctantly she looked at him. He was intense.

‘Are you saying you want to stay in Venice for the night to share my bed, Leila?’

She hated it that he was making her spell it out, but she lifted her chin and said, ‘If you’re not interested—’

His hand tightened on hers. ‘Oh, I’m interested. I just want to make sure you’re not going to regret this in the morning and blame it on too much wine.’

Leila stared back, suppressing an urge to say I’m blaming it on much more than that. He wouldn’t understand. ‘I want this—even if it’s just one night.’

Alix interlaced his fingers with hers. It felt like a shockingly intimate caress.

‘It won’t be one night, Leila, I can guarantee that.’

She shivered lightly. The way he said that sounded like a vow. Or a promise.

‘Signor Alix...?’

He didn’t even look at his friend. He just said, ‘We’re finished, Giorgio, thank you.’

But it was a long moment before Alix broke his gaze from hers and let go of her hand to stand up.

Leila couldn’t remember much of leaving the restaurant, or of the boat ride along the magical Grand Canal at night. She was only aware of Alix’s strong thighs beside hers on the seat, his arm tight around her shoulders, his hand resting disturbingly close to the curve of her breast.

She was only aware that she was finally leaving a part of her life behind and stepping into the unknown.

She couldn’t believe she’d been so forward, and yet she knew that even if given a choice she wouldn’t turn back now. This man had unlocked some deep secret part of her and she wanted to explore it. She didn’t care about the fact that Alix Saint Croix was famous or rich or royalty. She was interested in the man. He called to her on a very basic level that no one had ever touched before.

And as the boat scythed through the choppy waters she reassured herself that she was going into this with eyes wide open. No romantic illusions. She was not starry-eyed any more. Pierre had seen to that when she’d let him woo her. That had been just after the death of her mother, when she’d been at her most vulnerable. She wasn’t vulnerable any more. And Leila had no intention of shutting herself away like a nun for the rest of her life.

They were approaching a building now—another grand palazzo. A man stood on the small landing dock and threw a rope to the driver. They came alongside the wooden jetty and Alix jumped nimbly out of the boat before turning back to lift Leila out as easily as if she weighed nothing.

As he let her down on the jetty he kept her close to his body, and her eyes widened when she felt her belly brush against a very hard part of him. Her pulse quickened and between her legs she felt damp.

Then he turned, and held her hand as he strode through the open doors. Leila had to almost run to keep up and she tugged at his hand. He looked back, something stark etched onto his face. She refused to let it intimidate her.

‘What is this place?’

‘It belongs to a friend—he’s away.’

‘Oh...’

A petite older woman dressed in black approached them and Alix exchanged some words with her in fluent Italian. It was only then that Leila looked around and took in the grandeur of the reception hall. The floor was marble, and there were massive stone columns stretching all the way up to a ceiling that was covered in very old-looking frescoes.

Then Alix was tugging her hand again and they were following the woman up the main staircase. The eyes from numerous huge stern portraits followed their progress and Leila superstitiously avoided looking at them, sensing a judgment she wasn’t really blasé enough to ignore in spite of her bravado.

The corridor they walked into had thick carpet, muffling their footsteps. Massive ornate wooden doors were closed on each side. At the end of the corridor the woman came to some double doors and opened them wide, standing aside so they could go in.

Leila’s breath stopped. It was the most stunningly sumptuous suite of rooms she’d ever seen. She let go of Alix’s hand and walked over to where the glass French doors were open, leading out to a stone balcony overlooking a smaller canal.

She heard the door close softly and looked behind her to see Alix standing in the centre of the room, hands in his pockets, legs wide. Chest broad.

He took a hand out of his pocket and held it out. Silently Leila went to him, kicking off her sandals as she did so.

When she got to Alix, he drew her chiffon wrap off her shoulders and it drifted to the floor beside them. Then he reached around to the back of her head and removed the pin holding her hair up. It fell around her shoulders in a heavy silken curtain and he ran his hand through the strands.

‘I wanted to do this the moment I saw you,’ he said.

Feeling suddenly vulnerable, she blurted out, ‘Did you really not sleep with that woman after you pulled the curtains that night?’

His grey gaze bored into hers. ‘No, I did not sleep with Carmen that night. I wouldn’t lie to you about that, Leila.’

She found that she believed him, but she still had to battle the insidious suspicion that he would say whatever he wanted to get her into bed. Not that he’d had to say much—she’d all but begged him!

Furiously she blocked out the raising clamour of voices and reached up, touching her mouth to his. ‘Take me to bed, Alix,’ she whispered.