Читать книгу Love Islands…The Collection - Ким Лоренс, Jane Porter - Страница 43

EDUARDO WAS TEASING the tiger. He shouldn’t. He was too close to losing control. But he couldn’t resist.

He wasn’t going to like what she’d come to say. He could read it in her diamond-bright eyes and firm-held mouth. On the plus side, he relished the fact that his nudity had shot her concentration. That made them even.

He didn’t want to fight. He was mentally worn out from the day’s revelations and resulting requirements, and he absolutely shouldn’t have kissed her before because it was all he could think about now.

He’d spent hours organising every damn detail and all he wanted now was for the next few to pass quickly so he could complete his plan. Then he could have her—how he wanted, where he wanted. All would work out. It had to.

‘You really are the most arrogant pri—’ she growled in a low, rusty voice.

‘Arrogant prince—yes.’ He readily admitted it. ‘We’re born that way.’ He reached past her for a towel, letting his hand brush her denim-clad thigh. ‘Now, tell me the problem—cold feet?’

‘I’m not marrying you tomorrow.’

He wrapped the towel round his waist and then just looked at her.

She stared back, obviously waiting for a reply, but he’d learned a few tricks from his ice-cold brother. When the silence grew too much for her to bear—as he had known it would—she started talking.

‘It’s a bad idea. You know it’s not necessary.’

He remained unmoved.

‘I can go away and take care of the baby. We don’t need to do this.’

She was so wrong.

‘You don’t need me?’ Anger clouded his vision. ‘What can you give this child alone?’ he asked, determined to remain calm. ‘You would travel to some distant place, put the child in daycare for all hours while you work to feed and shelter it?’

‘How is that worse than an army of nannies and a distant father the child will see for five minutes a day if it’s lucky?’

‘Why assume I’ll be a distant father?’

Her eyes flashed with disbelief.

His anger roiled at her rejection. Why did she judge him so harshly? She had no reason to, and yet she hadn’t given him a chance. Not once. Right from the beginning she’d kept the most important things from him. She hadn’t told him her name, hadn’t told him she was a virgin. She’d used him, then left him hanging. And then she hadn’t even told him she was expecting. Instead she’d tried to flee. Did she think that little of him?

‘You would deny your child’s birthright?’

‘You would ensure he or she missed out on nothing.’ Anger flushed her cheeks.

‘So...’ He nodded bitterly. ‘You only want cash from me.’

‘This isn’t about me or what I want.’ She glared at him.

‘The hell it isn’t.’ It damn well was about her. And him. And this insane pull they shared. She didn’t like it. Well, nor did he. But they were both going to have to get over it. This time he was getting it right.

‘This is about what’s best for our baby. Think about it.’ She switched to a calm tone that made him suspicious. ‘Together we can arrange for this child to have a quiet, happy life out of the spotlight. He or she wouldn’t suffer the burden of royal expectation or protocol. No duty to fulfil. No desire to be denied.’

Oh, she was smart—picking up on the smallest hint of discomfort within him and using it to bolster her argument. The fact that she was so astute invigorated him. But that she could so easily dismiss the idea that he might have anything more than money to offer burned.

‘But it could never be kept secret. Would you be happy to play the role of unmarried mother?’ he growled back, his temper slipping his hold because her words had struck hard. ‘Of fallen woman?’

‘This is the twenty-first century—children are born out of wedlock all the time. Kids grow up in sole-parent households all over the world—’

‘Not in the De Santis family,’ he interrupted harshly. ‘Honour above all else.’ He captured her hand in a hard grip and pulled her closer. He clamped his other arm around her. It felt damn good to touch her—even if she was spitting fire.

‘Honour?’ she snarled. ‘You call this sham wedding honourable? It is deceit.’

‘There is no deceit,’ he argued hotly. ‘We will be married for real. What is it that you want from me?’ he exploded, pushing her away from him so he could think. ‘I am doing what’s right. I am being reasonable. You want me to tie you up in chains and drag you to the altar? Would that make you feel better in some warped way? You want me to play lord and master?’

But Stella didn’t walk away as he’d expected her to. No, she stepped right back into his personal space.

‘Play? You are dragging me to the altar.’

‘You do not want this marriage. Fine. Nor do I. But we must do what is right and best for the baby, for the royal family—an institution far bigger and more important than us two individuals. That is the reality. Accept it. Be the mother you want to be here, in San Felipe.’ He stopped and dragged in a breath, frustrated as hell. ‘And when we are alone I will not take that which you do not want to give. That which you do not want.’

She tempted him to the point of madness, but he was more of a man than that.

‘I know you wouldn’t.’

She took the wind out of his sails. For a half-second he just stared. But a need for more of her honesty burned through any reticence he had left.

‘But you want me. Don’t try to deny it.’ He spoke through clenched teeth. ‘Don’t lie to me.’ There was nothing he hated more than that.

‘I didn’t.’ Stormily she glared back up at him. ‘I won’t.’

The sulky, sultry words tore through the last of his control. He put his hand on her back and pulled her close until she was pressed tightly against him. ‘So, in your version of the future, what would you see us doing about this?’

There was no hiding his desire, and hers was equally obvious. She might have put her hands on his chest to hold him at a small distance, but her fingers spread and stroked, as if she couldn’t resist touching what she could of him. Her body shivered on impact against his, before softening to accommodate and mould to him. Her erect nipples were beautiful beacons, calling for his attention; so was her reddened, pouting mouth.

But she hesitated before answering. ‘There’s no reason why we can’t indulge for a while.’

She licked her lips, but despite the cool breathiness with which she spoke there was no hiding the hint of anxiety in her huge eyes.

He ought to laugh. Instead he was infuriated.

She would try to act the coquette? This woman had avoided physical pleasure for so long and now she was acting as if she was hard enough to cope with that game? Did she intend to acquiesce to a series of meaningless temporary affairs after screwing around with him for a while?

He would never treat her as a disposable sex partner who’d happened to get pregnant. Never let anyone else. The playgirls of minor princes in Europe were often passed from one wealthy lover to the next like possessions—the toys du jour. It wasn’t a scene he had any part of, for all his carefree reputation. The thought of any of those men laying a finger on her scalded his flesh.

Nor would he let the press hound her. Already they reported endlessly on any possible affair of his. Her private life would be up for public speculation, gossip and innuendo. Without palace protection—and control—she might succumb to the need to feed the machine. She might be tempted to sell her story.

Never happening.

She needed the protection of his ring. So did the child. And he would ensure they had it, so that when this ended she would have the dignity and respect of having been his wife. She would have honour, a permanent position. He would ensure the blame for the break-up would be his burden alone.

And she’d admitted her attraction to him. Satisfaction scoured his anger. Rampant sexual anticipation reared. He ached for her surrender to his kiss, to his wishes, to her own pleasure.

Rough desire drew him to mutter in her ear. ‘Your body has known no other but mine. Your body craves mine. And the baby it carries is mine,’ he said rawly, his reason lost. ‘You are mine.’

‘I am not a thing to be owned...’ A shaken whisper, and then her face lifted—unbearably, kissably close to his.

‘No, you are a woman to be treasured. Respected.’

‘I am a soldier,’ she corrected through gritted teeth.

‘You are determined to fight?’ Adrenalin primed his muscles. A bed was the best battleground for them.

‘I’m not that immature. But it is my job to protect. Defend.’

‘What is it that’s so in need of protection? What defence is required when you know I only want what’s best for this baby? When you know I will move heaven and earth to ensure it is safe? Perhaps it is not the child you are protecting. Perhaps it is yourself.’

Her vividly blue eyes widened. ‘I’m not afraid of you.’

‘No? Are you not a little afraid of this?’ He slid his hand over the curve of her butt and around her beautiful long thighs, slipped his fingers up in between them. Even through the old denim he could feel the heat of her. ‘Is that what all this bluster is about? You said yes to me, but was it too intense that day on the beach? Did sweet, virginal Stella get more than she bargained for?’ Ordinarily he’d offer a smile with this teasing, but he was too hard, too serious, because he feared this was the truth. ‘Is that why you ran away?’

Her beautiful mouth parted. Her shadowed eyes locked on his. ‘I’d had what I wanted,’ she said. ‘All that I wanted. So I left.’

‘All you wanted?’ He shook his head. He really didn’t think so. Not when he could feel her so tense with need in his arms now.

‘Sex has consequences,’ she whispered.

‘Not just physical,’ he agreed softly. ‘Not just the baby.’ He sighed. ‘You were very inexperienced.’

Hot emotion flashed in her eyes. ‘That doesn’t make me an idiot. Or a coward.’ She tossed her head and inched her feet apart, inviting him to stroke her even more intimately. ‘Take me now and see how scared I am.’

The thin threads of his self-control started to snap.

He’d swum length after length to take the edge off the desire that had dominated him since he’d clapped eyes on her again. Maybe he shouldn’t have left her alone. Maybe she needed something else.

He skimmed his fingers higher, stroked harder. He smiled, almost purring at her sigh, at the rotation of her hips that gave her away completely.

‘If I were to kiss you there now—’ his voice roughened ‘—I think I would find you wetter than you were in that shower.’

He was pushing too close to his own limits. To hers. But he couldn’t resist. He had to touch her. He’d give anything for a taste. He watched her through hooded lids, seeing her lips part in invitation, hearing her breathing quicken to match her small movements as he stroked her.

‘Don’t...’ she said brokenly. ‘Stop.’

Eduardo momentarily closed his eyes, breathing in her delicate scent as her words echoed in his head. Just two words, yet their meaning could be read in two—polar opposite—ways. He had to err on the side of caution.

So he stopped.

Her groan—and the look of pure chagrin in her eyes—told him he’d made the wrong choice. But it was the right one for now.

‘Poor Stella.’ He put his hands on her shoulders for a second, to ensure she had her balance. ‘It has been a tough day.’

She gasped. ‘I hate you.’

He half laughed. That comeback was so weak, and it told him so much he was unable to resist rubbing his hand down her back again. So lithe and warm and willing, and everything he wanted. ‘Hate away. You still want me.’

He was dying of want for her.

‘You’re going to hate being married to me.’ Her breathing hitched again.

But he was going to love giving her a wedding night she’d never forget.

By signing those confidentiality clauses and the prenup contract she’d acquiesced to the control he needed. He’d reward her. He’d indulge every sensual fantasy with her like this—moving and moaning, her body hot, her eyes hungry. So hungry she hurt. He’d help her understand the pleasure of this kind of passion and then it could burn itself out within the safety of their marriage. Ultimately their child would be cared for. Their futures would be assured.

His plan was perfect.

‘You will have me,’ he promised huskily, drawing on all his self-control so he was able to step back. ‘Once we are married.’

Stella stifled another embarrassing moan of disappointment as Eduardo gently pulled his hand away from the small of her back. Her heart beat wildly...her body felt jumpy. So easily he had seduced her into agreeing—again. So easily he had won. So easily he could have her stupidly weak body.

‘But not before then, Stella.’

He knew how much she wanted his touch, knew he could wield the power of it over her. That he could control his own desire for her was alarming. He totally had the upper hand. All the fight fell from her. All that was left was an unbearably empty ache. She might almost cry. But Stella never cried.

‘I’m going to bed,’ she mumbled.

‘Not yet.’

She shook her head. ‘You can’t keep ordering me around. I won’t do what you say. I’m not your servant. Not your soldier. I’m Stella. Your equal.’

He stepped back and held out his hand, that roguish smile curving his lips. ‘Please.’

Eduardo the ‘Fun in San Felipe’ poster boy was back. Charming, slightly wicked, irresistible.

Finally she realised. He used it to get his own way—knew he could seduce her into saying yes to anything. So perhaps the best strategy was for her to let him think he was getting his way and work on her resistance from inside the marriage. It was only a temporary thing anyway, wasn’t it? Maybe if she played it right she’d be able to convince him to let her and the child live in some nice house on one of the smaller islands after they divorced. If she was agreeable now—

‘Stella.’

She took his hand and he led her back along the terrace and then into the library. Her pulse skipped again at that simplest of touches. While she was relieved he’d wrapped the towel around his waist, it sat too snug and low on his hips, revealing his rock-hard, ridged abs. She forced her eyes front.

A sleek black case was on the desk. Eduardo pressed his thumb on the edge of it and Stella heard electronic beeping, then the unmistakable sounds of locks sliding open.

‘How very spy movie,’ Stella muttered.

But when he lifted the lid and pulled away the black velvet cloth covering the contents she couldn’t hold back her gasp.

Jewels. Necklaces. Tiaras. Rings.

‘No.’ She blinked rapidly, her decision to be agreeable zapped by the gleaming brilliance of so many precious stones and the subtle meaning they represented.

Eduardo was looking at her with a quizzical expression. ‘My bride must wear—’

‘I can’t wear any of these,’ she interrupted. She never wore jewellery. She didn’t even have her ears pierced. She didn’t fancy having it used against her in combat. ‘What do you do? Keep a selection on hand for all your mistresses?’

He sent her a sideways look. ‘I don’t have mistresses.’

‘Not while we are married,’ she snapped back.

‘You think you need to tell me that?’ He actually laughed.

‘You had sex with me within ten seconds of talking to me,’ she reminded him.

‘And you had sex with me within ten seconds of talking to me. So the same rule applies to you,’ he answered mildly. ‘I already know I am going to have to work extremely hard to keep you sated.’

Bereft of words, she could only glare at him. He turned away, his lips twitching.

‘These are not trinkets tossed to temporary lovers to placate them,’ he explained quietly. ‘These are royal jewels. Gifts from centuries past, kept within the family vaults and treasured for their personal value as much as for their supposed price. Which will you wear tomorrow?’

‘None.’ She couldn’t possibly pick any of them. She didn’t want to be adorned, to be reduced to a decoration. That hadn’t ever been a role of her choosing.

‘You do not even want to see them?’ A hint of steel underpinned the question.

‘No. I don’t wear jewellery.’ If she did she’d feel even more like a fake.

‘If you will not choose I will choose for you.’

‘They’re all amazing,’ she said, trying to pull together some politeness. ‘But I don’t want to wear any of them.’

‘My bride will wear what is appropriate and what is expected.’ She felt his gaze hard on her. ‘I will send my selection to you in the morning. If you are not wearing them I’ll put them on you myself.’

It was a threat. A promise.

‘Why do you want me all dolled up?’ she asked, not understanding him at all. ‘What’s the point? This is an elopement, right? No one is going to see me anyway.’

‘I am going to see you.’

That edge in his voice sliced, letting the lust within her stream out. Like smoke in a jar it swirled, constantly seeking escape—release.

‘I’m going to see all of you,’ he promised.

She knew he wanted to see only her body. He wasn’t interested in her soul.

And wasn’t that okay? She wasn’t interested in his either. She refused to be.

‘Then fine—whatever you want.’ She stepped back. ‘Send it to my room and I will wear it.’

‘So you are not going to jilt me?’ His lips twitched again, but there was seriousness in his eyes.

‘I’ll be there,’ she replied.

What choice did she have? She would marry Eduardo because he was right. He could give this child so much that she couldn’t. Together, they would give this child the best chance possible.

She’d stay fit. She’d survive the birth. And she’d tell her baby every single day how much she loved it. History was not repeating itself.

She’d marry a man who didn’t love her. She’d make that sacrifice because already she loved her baby. And she would do whatever was necessary to protect and defend not just its physical safety, but its emotional safety too. She’d give her baby everything she hadn’t had.

But at the same time she had to keep her heart safe. She had to rid herself of this physical infatuation as quickly as she could.

She walked out of the room without glancing back at him. ‘See you at the altar, Eduardo.’