Читать книгу The Wedding Party And Holiday Escapes Ultimate Collection - Кейт Хьюит, Aimee Carson - Страница 88

Lexie’s hat did little to shade her from the sun beating down on the San Philippe anniversary parade. The cheering, flag-waving crowd, most dressed in the national colors, many in traditional costume, lined both sides of the street.

Feeling like the ultimate fraud, she made her way carefully along the open-topped, double-decker bus that crawled at a snail’s pace, bringing up the rear of the parade. The bus carried the royal family and senior dignitaries and a few other guests. But not her mother, who had left early this morning after Lexie’s brief conversation with her.

She’d sat beside Adam at the front of the bus for a while, but there was something she had to do, and in public seemed like the safest place.

Her gaze was on the dark head of her quarry as she slid into the empty seat beside Rafe. She hadn’t seen or spoken to him since that kiss. He didn’t move, though he had to know someone was there. And she figured the very fact that he didn’t turn around meant he knew it was her. He just kept waving at an adoring public. Maybe it would be easier to say what she had to if he wasn’t looking at her, if she wasn’t reading contempt in his eyes. She took a deep breath. “I’m not leaving.”

“Seat’s free,” he said after several seconds. “Doesn’t bother me if you sit in it.”

Lexie gritted her teeth and then tried again. “I meant I’m not leaving San Philippe.”

Rafe glanced over his shoulder at her. “I gathered that much.”

“I told Adam about…”

Rafe lifted a hand and waved at the cheering crowds. “I know,” he said without looking at her. “So did I.”

“He wants me to stay. And I’ve agreed.” She leaned forward to better see his profile. And still knew no more than when she couldn’t see his face. He had on his public face, the smiling, pleasant expression he wore in all his publicity shots. The shots that missed the fire and depth of his eyes, and the smile that was a mix of knowledge and temptation.

Maybe his lack of reaction to her news was for the best, because she didn’t know whether she wanted him to be pleased or displeased that she wasn’t leaving. She didn’t, she admitted, know anything at all when it came to Rafe.

His gaze dropped to the unadorned hands in her lap. She offered no explanation for the lack of a ring. Adam had, in fact, wanted her to have and wear his ring. Lexie hadn’t been able to carry the deception that far. But for his sake, though their engagement was off, she’d agreed to stay and be seen with him for one more week. There were joint appearances, like this parade and tomorrow night’s Veterans’ dinner and dance, that they were committed to, that they would be expected to be seen at.

She’d also agreed to keep their…arrangement a secret. Even from his family. Even from Rafe.

After she left, the news would be released.

A cheer went up somewhere ahead of the bus. The most devoted of the public had waited hours to see this, staking out the positions lining the streets well before the parade began. And prior to the bus’s appearance, they’d waited through forty-five minutes’ worth of floats and bands and dancers.

Trying to get caught up in the enthusiasm of the waving crowd, and trying to look like she belonged, Lexie waved back. A proper wave, her whole arm moving, none of this sedate hand lifting and twisting of the wrist that most of the royal party thought passed for a wave.

“I fell into your trap. You made your point.” She needed Rafe to at least know that she knew what he’d been up to.

“My trap?” For the first time he turned and looked at her properly, a frown creasing his brow.

“You said at the outset you’d be watching me, that if you thought I wasn’t worthy of Adam you’d do what you could to send me packing. You were trying to prove that I don’t love Adam.” In reality he’d only helped speed the decision she would have made anyway.

“We don’t need to discuss it,” he said sharply.

But she hadn’t got to the important bit. She kept her voice low. “I just wanted to say I was sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” He stopped waving and turned to look at her again, those dark brows drawn together.

Fighting the urge to cower beneath the fierceness of his expression, Lexie instead sat straighter. “Yes. I’m apologizing for my part in it.”

He shook his head and looked back out at the crowd. “Enough. The fault wasn’t yours.”

“The weakness was.”

“The weakness was mine.” He stood, towering over her before he stepped past her. “I’ve seen someone I need to speak to.”

As he walked away, Lexie sagged back into her seat. It was over.

Rafe stood staring absently out one of the ballroom’s velvet-curtained, floor-to-ceiling windows. He’d thought his trials were over. He was wrong.

He needed something to take his mind off this test. Because that’s clearly what it was. His brother, called into yet another unexpected and unavoidable meeting, had enlisted him to teach Lexie the folk dance, watching him closely for his reaction as he made his request.

Things had, understandably, been strained between Adam and him since he’d kissed Lexie. Though when Rafe had fronted up to Adam about it he’d been surprised at the lack of fire in Adam’s annoyance. If their situations had been reversed, he wouldn’t have been anywhere near as understanding as his brother.

Of course, Adam, too, thought Rafe had planned and executed the kiss, but in Adam’s case he thought it was to teach him a lesson. The only consensus they’d reached was in his assurance to Adam that it wouldn’t happen again.

But Rafe could do nothing to stop the kiss from replaying itself in his dreams as he slept at night, the touch of her lips to his, the press of her body against his.

It might be easier if either or both Lexie and Adam looked happier. He’d been watching them since Lexie first got here, smiling and doing their best to look like a devoted couple.

Rafe had seen a few devoted couples in his time, and Adam and Lexie didn’t even come close. Something wasn’t right. Though fortunately the press were buying it. Today’s papers had again been filled with photos of Adam and Lexie together. Just one renowned gossip columnist had hinted that she, too, thought their relationship lacked spark.

And now this.

The folk dance might to all appearances be nothing more than a quaint number, but it had its intricacies and its intimacies, and the princes and their partners had to dance it slightly differently from anyone else at the anniversary gala. Or at least that was the story Adam and Rafe had told their respective girlfriends.

And the two of them had, in their day, enjoyed teaching the dance to their dates far too much. They both knew how seductive the held eye contact, the gentle palm-to-palm touches and the story the dance invoked could be.

And now Adam wanted him to teach the dance to Alexia and Rafe had to not seduce or be seduced by her in the process. Wittingly or unwittingly.

Of course it was also possible that Adam was trying to show that he trusted them. Either way, it would still be a trial for Rafe, dancing with the sweet Lexie who was to marry his brother. A man shouldn’t have to test his fiancée or his brother, but if Adam needed this, just this, then Rafe would give him that proof. And perhaps he needed it, too.

He turned as Lexie entered the ballroom. Her hair was tied up again—he preferred it that way, it didn’t tempt him the way it did when it sat softly over her shoulders, begging to be touched, so that his fingers itched to know the feel of it. She wore a simple silk blouse and a skirt that skimmed the flare of her hips and floated around her calves.

Her hands—her fingers—were still unadorned. Where was Adam’s ring? If she were wearing it, that would help; it would be another sign, and he needed all the signs, all the help he could get, to remind him that this woman was not for him.

But for as long as she didn’t wear a ring the possible reasons for that lack would taunt and tempt him.

She walked carefully, and Rafe could see in her bearing, her erect posture, her graceful steps, the years of ballet training. He could also see her reluctance to be here with him. “I’m sorry, you have to do this,” she said, looking around the cavernous ballroom. “I know you’re busy.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m not,” he lied. No point in her feeling bad, too.

“Yes, you are.”

The smile she delivered her accusation with reminded him of the Lexie he’d met that first day in Massachusetts, full of sass. And he realized that his glimpses of that woman were becoming fewer and fewer. Her fault or his?

She was right, of course, about him not wanting to do this, but not for the reasons she suspected. At least he hoped she didn’t know the temptation he fought and would go on fighting with every breath he took.

He already had the music for the dance on a loop on the sound system—a flute melody that changed from jaunty to rousing to haunting as it told the story of the two lovers credited with founding the nation of San Philippe and the battles fought between and because of them.

“You know the basic steps?” he asked.

“I learned them as a child, and I found a tutorial on the Internet, but it’s not the same as actually dancing it with a partner.”

“It’s not the same, but it’s a simple dance. This won’t take long.”

She was standing in the center of the ballroom. Sunlight slanted in from the high windows, seeking her out, burnishing her hair. His chosen one.

Rafe banished the thought as he approached her. She stood taller and her hands flexed and clenched at her sides, as though this was some kind of test for her, too.

“And you know the story that the music and the dance tell.”

“It used to be my favorite bedtime reading.”

He allowed himself a secret sigh of relief. He didn’t want to speak to her of the man and woman, at first distrustful of each other, who ended up as lovers meeting clandestinely against their family’s wishes, and of how as their families fought, they ran away together, escaping over the Alps and journeying to this land.

“We begin the usual way.” Rafe circled her while she stood still, looking straight ahead. The second time he circled her she followed him with her eyes, and the third time, as his shoulder drew level with hers, he held up his palm in a stop gesture and she did the same, touching her palm to his.

That simple touch ricocheted through him. Only, he told himself, because touching her from now on, in any way other than the most formal, was forbidden. Sister-in-law, sister-in-law, he repeated the mantra as they moved through the steps, Rafe instructing her, giving her pointers where necessary, keeping his touch as brief as possible.

“You’ve pretty much got it,” he said after ten torturous minutes. “Let’s run through it one more time.” Just once. He could do that. Sister-in-law, sister-in-law. Once and then they’d leave. Then he wouldn’t see her or the image of the two of them together reflected in the mirrors on the ballroom walls.

They began again. Holding eye contact they turned together. Rafe shut down his mind. He just had to get through this. It was a simple dance. Get through it and then get out of here.

Maybe asking him to teach Lexie the dance was neither a test nor a sign of trust, but a punishment. Adam knew Rafe would let nothing happen and he wanted to rub his nose in it.

As the beat of the music changed, they lowered their arms and turned to each other, and he took both of Lexie’s hands in his, leaning out, relying on each other for a full rotation. He pulled her closer and then they each stepped back out again. She moved so well, she was so in control of her body. The pale vee of skin at her neckline looked so soft. The curve of her waist, the flare of her hip so tempting. Sister-in-law, sister-in-law. He would not be tempted. For a second she closed her eyes, and she could have no idea how that affected him. He’d imagined her, eyes closed, moving with him in a very different way. Sister-in-law, sister-in-law. This had to pass. Either that or he’d have to leave the country. Maybe New York? Somewhere he could lose himself. Speculation be dammed.

“Both hands on my shoulders now. And look at me as we step to your left.”

He placed his hands at the curve of her waist. Her eyes flew open again and a flush bloomed in her cheeks.

She had eyes of the deepest green. He could lose himself there if he wasn’t careful. Two steps to the left. Or Vienna? He could go there. He’d always liked the Austrian capital.

Her foot caught on his as she moved right instead of left and she stumbled. He tightened his hold reflexively, and for a breath-stealing second the length of her was pressed against him.

They jumped apart and, gazes averted, came warily back together again.

“Sorry,” she said, “I wasn’t thinking.”

“An easy mistake. You’ve done perfectly otherwise.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice as strained and formal as his sounded.

Then silence, except for the delicate teasing music. He could do this—dance with her and not hold her properly, dance with her and not kiss her, dance with her and not want to make love with her.

They were almost finished. Thirty seconds and he’d made it.

He twirled her out and back again so that she finished at his side within the shelter of his arm. As they made the small, courtly bow that signaled the end he sent up a prayer of thanks that this was over.

“We’re done?” she asked, her relief palpable.

“Yes. The old soldiers will love you.” He stepped away from her, headed for the door.

She passed by him as he held the door for her. This is where he’d say goodbye. And if he could get himself on a plane in a few hours’ time, it would be best for all. But if he was leaving, then he only had these few minutes with her.

Being with her was torture, and yet it was better than being without her. And so he walked with her through the palace. Too soon they reached the door to her suite. All he had to do now was walk away. And he would; he was strong enough for that.

He looked down at her. She was so beautiful it unnerved him. Which was why he was leaving.

A small smile, almost sad, played about her lips, but her eyes drank him in. He recognized that hunger—it was the echo of his own. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m only human, Lexie.”

She backed away, crossed her arms as she shook her head. “I wasn’t looking at you…like that.”

“Yes, you were. You want me.”

Her jaw dropped open.

“It’s nothing more than the truth. And if you’re looking at me like that, why are you marrying my brother?” The brother who liked and respected her, but who didn’t love her, not with the kind of love she deserved, the love she’d dreamed of for so many years.

She paused, didn’t quite meet his gaze. “Adam is a good, kind, honorable man,” she said, not quite answering his question.

“You forgot noble and sweet.”

“You’re right. Noble and sweet.”

“And nice.”

“Yes. Nice.”

“So, why do you think about me?”

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. You watch me and you think about me. You think about me touching you.” He lifted his hand, touched fingertips to her jaw. A tremor shivered over his skin and her eyelids fluttered closed. With a gasp, she turned her head and stepped away from his touch.

“You’re the last man on earth I’d think about.”

Who did she think she was fooling? Rafe took a step closer. She took another away from him, stopping as her back pressed against her door.

A sliver of air separated them, and it hummed with his need for her. “First and last, and all the ones in between.”

“No.” She whispered her denial through softly parted lips.

“Marrying Adam is a mistake. For you. For him.” He could see the rise and fall of her breasts as she drew in shallow, ragged breaths. “Don’t do it.”

“No. I’m not,” she whispered.

Her response didn’t quite make sense, but the pull of her overwhelmed him. He was leaving. For forever if he had to. But heaven help him he was going to kiss her.

Just once more.

One kiss to prove she shouldn’t marry his brother, one kiss to prove he was as depraved as the tabloids painted him.

He lowered his head, his face so close to hers that her breath caressed his lips. Whatever happened, whether he kissed her or not, he couldn’t win; he would regret the decision for the rest of his life.

Lexie closed her eyes. So young. So innocent.

Calling on reserves of strength he didn’t know he had, Rafe pulled away.

Her eyes flew open, locked on his for a timeless second. He tried and failed to back away. “I’m not marrying Adam.” Her words rushed out. And suddenly it was her hands in his hair, pulling him down, and Lexie rising up to him, pressing her lips to his.

Her mouth fitted perfectly against his. She tasted of sweetness and sunshine. For long, exquisite moments there was just that simple joining, lips to lips and somehow soul to soul.

He broke the kiss. “Say that again.” He needed the words that made sense of everything.

“I’m not marrying Adam. We broke it off.” She reached for him again and her kiss was everything he needed and wanted in the world. She was his perfection.

Still kissing her, he moved with her into her room, shut the door behind them. Lexie sighed against him as she melted into him, an echo of his own surrender.

And he lost himself in her kiss.

Thought deserted him, overwhelmed by sensation.

“When?” he finally asked, minutes later.

“After I kissed you the last time. I knew then that—”

He pulled her against him, hip-to-hip, her yielding softness against his hardness. His hands desperately learning her shape, sliding beneath the silk of her blouse, touching heated skin smoother than the silk, tracing her contours, the flare of her hips, the curve of her waist, filling himself with the feel of her, her taste, her scent. Imprinting her against him, within him.

Her tongue danced with his, an erotic twining as they each teased and explored. Nothing sweet, all heated desire. He cupped the soft weight of her breast, his thumb caressing the lace-covered nipple.

“Why?” He heard his own doubt. Felt his desperation.

She hesitated. “Because I don’t love him. I can’t love him. Not the way I want to.”

Could it be the insanity telling him he heard the words he needed to hear? The relentless grip of his ungovernable need for her? He undid the top button of her blouse.

“He was very gracious about it.”

Showed what a fool his brother could be.

“I think he was secretly relieved.”

Not half as relieved as Rafe was. He undid the second delicate button. “Why are you still here?”

“For Adam.”

He frowned, his fingers stilling on the third button. “You do still have feelings for him?”

“No. I told him I’d stay and attend any engagements I’m expected at. If I left so soon it wouldn’t look good. There would be all sorts of speculation. I leave after the christening.”

Rafe’s hands resumed their exploring.

“It turns out he was mainly going through with this to please your father and the country. Apparently, a wedding, any royal wedding, will be good for the country’s morale. Funny how no one thought to mention that to me.”

“You’re not angry with him?”

She shrugged and he felt the movement beneath his fingertips. “I was hardly in a position to take the moral high ground.”

He undid the fourth and final button and, with a profound sense of achievement and victory, pushed apart the sides of her blouse, revealing a strip of creamy skin and partially uncovering the swell of lace-covered breasts.

His breath caught in his throat.

He arranged the blouse to his liking and traced a finger along the edge of the lace. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I didn’t want this to happen.”

He paused. “Why are you telling me now?”

“Because now…now I want this to happen. I can’t bear it any longer. The wanting you. I didn’t break up with him because of you. We’re supposed to be keeping it a secret, but…”

He didn’t need buts. She wasn’t engaged to his brother, and the realization filled him with euphoria, swamped any other thought.

He cupped her sweet face in his hands and kissed her again. He could no more have stopped himself than he could from taking his next breath. He wanted to know her, every inch of her.

She wasn’t marrying Adam. She didn’t love his brother. His brother didn’t love her. That was all he needed to know.

Wrapping his arms around her, he held her to him, drowning in the sensation of her, in the shape of her and how she fit against him, body and mouth and soul.

Her hands slid from his shoulders to his head, her fingers threading through his hair, her touch becoming fevered.

He kissed her lips, her eyes, her jaw, her throat. His hands learned the exquisite shape of her body as he led her to the broad bed in the center of the room. He eased the sides of her blouse farther open, kissed her breast above the lace of her bra, moved lower till his lips covered the nipple beneath the lace.

Sweet Lexie arched into him.

He pushed her blouse from her shoulders. Her skin was so pale, so beautiful. He found the single button at the back of her skirt, a short zip, and the fabric slithered to the floor. She stood before him in delicate scraps of lace and her shoes.

Almost perfect.

He unpinned her hair, let it cascade over his hands as it came loose. He undid the clasp of her bra and her breasts spilled free. He tossed the lace aside and then drew her panties down her legs. Breathless, he looked at her, his fantasy complete.

Now she was perfect.

And Rafe was both honored and humbled.

Her lips curved into a slow, sensuous smile. With just a touch of hesitancy she reached for his belt. Urgency replaced the hesitancy as she worked the buckle and then the button and zipper behind it.

He pulled his top off, stepped out of his shoes and the pants she’d pushed down his legs. He held himself still while those pale, delicate hands of hers explored his torso, lighting sparks with her curious, reverent touch.

Demure Lexie was his siren. Bold, beautiful. Smiling. Her hair whispering over her shoulders.

He could bear it no longer. He scooped her up and lowered her down onto the bed. Where he’d wanted this woman from the moment he saw her dancing in the nightclub. He raised her arms above her head, captured her wrists in one hand so that his other was free to caress and slide and cover and tease. And to claim. Every inch. Sliding his hand up one pale thigh to her apex, he covered her and she arched into his hand. She closed her eyes, as he’d imagined, as he’d dreamed.

He found her center and took delight in her pleasure and her growing need till her head swung from side to side, her breathing ragged.

The only thing he wanted was to give her pleasure.

He covered her lips again with his and moved his body over hers. She parted beneath him, welcomed him as he slid slowly into the depth of her, sheathing himself in her heat. She opened her eyes then, and her gaze locked on his as he began to move within her.

Slowly. He should take it slowly, but she moved beneath him, urging him faster, her hips rising to meet his thrusts, the hands he’d freed now clasping his hips, pulling him in deeper.

Little moans and mewls of pleasure escaped her, driving him out of his mind with need for her. Along with the spiraling need, a rhythm that was theirs alone grew and hastened. All the world narrowed down to this one joining. Her with him.

As she cried out his name, he lost himself in her.

Afterward, she lay within the circle of his arms, her hair auburn and beautiful spilling over the pillow, across his shoulder, its faint floral scent teasing his senses. As Rafe watched her, a strange sense of bliss settled over him.