Читать книгу The Secret That Shocked De Santis - Natalie Anderson - Страница 10

CHAPTER THREE

WEDDING DRESS?

Surely he was joking—trying to provoke. Stella refused to rise to his bait. She lost control of herself around him, and if she was going to negotiate a way out of this and stay cool-headed, clinical tactics were required.

‘You have a room ready for me?’ She locked her wobbly knees. She’d show no more weakness.

‘Of course.’ He walked towards the door. ‘This way.’

Stella made a mental map as he escorted her down the long corridor and up a grand staircase. The palace had looked moderately sized from the air, but it turned out it was more of a Tardis—corridors, rooms, doors in all directions.

‘Your suite is next to mine,’ he informed her. ‘You can find your way back to the library when you’re ready?’

‘Of course,’ she muttered.

‘There are fresh clothes in the wardrobe. You may choose anything you like.’

She sent him an appalled look. Did he always keep a stash of women’s clothing on his island? His wicked look dared her, but she wasn’t going to bite. Yet.

‘Thank you.’ She walked into the room, closing the door behind her with a firm click.

Like the rest of the palace, the room was large and beautifully decorated—muted colours, soft, plush furnishings—and cool and comforting. She turned her back on the large bed and opened the door to a private bathroom and leaned against it in relief. Sleek, luxurious immaculate—all white marble and edged in gleaming lapis lazuli. Of course.

She eyed the enormous claw-footed bath, but then spotted the large glass shower stall. Several shower heads were strategically placed to blast water from all angles. Sheer heaven.

She turned on the taps and stripped, then stepped into the shower, shivering in delight as the water hit her. Water had rushed over her body that day on the beach too. Cleansing. Cooling. She pressed her palm on her flat belly, still unable to truly believe there was a tiny life within. How could she not have known?

She’d been so busy distracting herself she couldn’t recall when she’d last had her period. She’d deliberately kept a crazy schedule so she’d hardly had any quiet moments when memory could ambush her. But now she leaned against the shower wall and closed her eyes, finally able to surrender. No longer did she have the strength to battle back those memories.

Not now she’d seen him again.

Not when the ramifications of that day were so dramatic.

The floodgates opened and every secretly stored sensation, every muscle memory, every beautiful image burst into her brain. Unstoppable. Overwhelming. Sensations trammelled through her as she relived every minute.

Despite the glorious weather, that day had turned bad just after lunch. She’d been summoned by her commanding officer and informed that there was a peace-keeping crew being sent to a high-conflict area. And she wasn’t going.

‘You’re not the right officer for this mission.’

‘Why not?’

All she’d wanted was one chance to lead a team. She’d prove to them how capable she was. But the chance had never been forthcoming.

‘Do not question the decisions of your superiors,’ he’d answered bluntly. ‘Not this one, Zambrano,’ he had added more kindly. ‘Maybe the next.’

Or maybe not. She’d been certain her father was blocking her progression, but knew she’d never challenge him on it. She’d just work harder, longer...and ultimately she’d win. Because she’d be so absolutely the best he wouldn’t be able to ignore her any more. None of them would.

But frustration had burned at yet another disappointment. What did she have to do to prove her worth and make him see she was as fine a soldier as the men he favoured?

Back in her barracks, her anger had burned hotter. She’d been passed over for so many opportunities. Sure, she’d had a few crumbs thrown her way, but nothing that she’d really wanted, and she was busting her butt every single day.

She hadn’t been able to stick around the base in such a septic mood—she’d needed to get her game face back. So she’d left her room and walked out into the afternoon sun.

While she wasn’t on active duty she was required to be available in case anything came up. But she’d known she’d hear the siren from the bay if there was an emergency. Which there rarely was. And just a short time out wasn’t going to hurt anyone.

The base was situated on a cliff overlooking the sea. To a rock-climber it was a good challenge, because at the bottom of the cliff, hidden by a rocky outcrop, was the Cala de Piratas—a bay accessible from the other side of the beach only at low tide because of the treacherous rocks surrounding it. Tiny, beautiful, dangerous.

Stella had climbed down—out of sight of her superiors, away from everyone.

It was island legend that some of San Felipe’s wealth had come from the pirate ships that had been sunk against the jagged rocks hidden just below the rough waves. That legend was embellished with the whisper that even the royal family had a rogue pirate in their ancestry. Tourists paid handsomely to dive and explore the various wrecks not far from the island’s shores, hoping to find gold.

But they didn’t dive here, the place at the heart of the pirate folklore, because at this bay there was a rip tide that not even the strongest ocean swimmer could conquer. Stella hadn’t intended to swim—only to wash the sweat from her skin and cool the angry heat of her muscles. She’d kicked off her shoes and strode straight in, water splashing her shorts and tee shirt. But as she’d walked forward a large wave had buffeted her and she’d stumbled, almost slipped right under the water.

Strong arms had suddenly banded around her and pulled her back against a large body of steel. Hard. Forceful. Threatening.

Shocked, she’d jerked her elbow to free her arm and, moving on pure defensive instinct, turned and lashed out. She’d been trained well and her fist had landed true and hard.

She had heard his grunt and her own as visceral pain had zinged up her arm. She’d quickly flicked her fingers, reeling at the impact of bone on bone. But she’d drawn her arm back again, ready to land another.

But the giant who’d grabbed her had reached even more quickly, catching hold of her upper arm and twisting it behind her, pulling her harder, more tightly into his steely body.

‘Stop fighting. I’m not going to hurt you,’ he’d said, in a deep, loud voice right in her ear.

She knew her best plan was to go limp, then move and take him by surprise. But when she let her muscles relax and fell against him he pulled her closer still, locking her into a hold she knew she mightn’t be able to escape.

It seemed he’d been trained too.

‘You have a powerful punch,’ he said.

Her throat clogged, but not with fear. She recognised that voice.

At three in the afternoon Prince Eduardo De Santis was wearing a tuxedo that was now wet to the waist. As the waves ebbed and flowed, the water moulded his trousers to his long, muscled legs and he was moulding her to him. Her wrists were bound in his broad hands and twisted tight behind her back, thrusting her forward so she was pressed flat against his torso. His legs were parted only enough to lock hers together between his.

Because of the motion of the waves battering them she remained standing only because he held her trapped against him. Because of his strength.

Her anger morphed into something far more dangerous. Far more tantalising. Far more foreign.

Stella didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t believe it. But that melting sensation deep inside her was undeniable. She’d had many hand-to-hand training sessions with men. All kinds of scenarios. She’d never become aroused by any.

‘You’re Prince Eduardo,’ she said stupidly.

And while he might not want to hurt her, she’d certainly hurt him. Already the skin around his eye was reddened. It was going to result in a mega bruise. She wanted to curl into a ball and die of shame.

He inclined his head in acknowledgement, but didn’t loosen his grip. ‘You have the advantage. I do not know your name.’

And he wasn’t going to. Her father would kill her. She’d be demoted in seconds. And she’d be a laughing stock.

‘Why are you here?’ he asked. ‘This cove is not safe. Soon enough the tide will sweep back in and the sand will almost vanish. You’ll be stuck here for the next twelve hours.’

A hitherto mute part of her figured that wasn’t that bad an option if he was going to be here too...

‘I’m sorry I hit you,’ she said roughly, embarrassed at that rogue thought. ‘It might sting for a while. Then it will discolour. You’re going to be marked for a few days.’

His low laugh reverberated within her.

‘You think I haven’t been bruised before?’

Well, she’d never seen a picture of either prince with a black eye.

He smiled, and suddenly looked exactly as if he had a suave, dangerous pirate ancestor. ‘If you feel that bad about it, you could always kiss it better.’

‘I’m better at hitting than kissing,’ she answered bluntly. Honestly.

She wished he’d release her. The waves washing against her were doing nothing to cool the embers igniting within her. So inappropriate. So reckless.

His wickedly blue eyes sharpened. ‘If you kiss half as well as you hit, then I’ll be feeling fantastic in a heartbeat.’

She shook her head. But tendrils of temptation unfurled low in her belly.

This was the playful pirate Prince Eduardo, who charmed and made women smile and sigh. And Stella was as susceptible as any of them. Truthfully, he’d always been her favourite of the two. A stupid crush held since her teens. It was the fire in his eyes and his daredevil nature that appealed to something within her own soul.

‘Perhaps I should show you how it’s done.’ The smile on his sensual lips deepened. ‘Or are you going to say no to me?’

‘Does anyone ever say no to you?’ she asked, sounding more scornful than she’d intended.

She felt the tiniest flinch as his muscles tightened that impossible notch more.

‘Maybe I ought to be the first,’ she added.

‘You’re telling yourself that I need a lesson?’ he asked, the edginess returning. ‘You don’t strike me as a woman who’d hide behind something so obvious. I did not think you would be so afraid.’

His words heated her blood to simmering point. ‘You think challenging me will make me say yes?’

‘I don’t need to challenge you.’ He twisted to hold her wrists with just one hand, so that with his other he could trace the side of her face with a lazy, teasing finger. ‘I don’t need to do anything but be this close.’

‘Such arrogance,’ she said, trying to mask her breathlessness. But he was right. She was melting. ‘You’re risking another knock-back.’

She was used to soldiers coming on to her. And civilian men she passed when in full uniform. But in those cases it wasn’t that they wanted her. It was about the power play—they thought she was tough and that she presented them with a challenge. Most of them only did it in an attempt to make her feel uncomfortable.

Eduardo De Santis didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, or even to challenge her. This was basic attraction—raw and real and undeniable. Even she, as lacking in intimate experience as she was, recognised that this was a fireflash and it wouldn’t easily be doused.

‘You want to fight with me?’ he asked softly.

Intuition told her there was more to his meaning, and the thought of physically sparring with him sent that slick of something hot and charged to her lower belly. She felt him adjusting his hold on her, as if he were assessing her strength.

‘You ready for another black eye?’ she parried.

‘As long as you kiss me better everywhere you bruise me.’

Was he even aware he was holding her more firmly? More closely? She gazed into his hyper-alert brilliant blue eyes.

Of course he was aware.

‘Naturally I would reciprocate,’ he added.

‘I don’t bruise,’ she lied.

‘But you do.’ He lifted his hand to her face again. ‘I see them here. Bruises in your eyes. That’s why I came in after you.’

She’d been so focused on getting to the water and cooling off she hadn’t even seen him. She’d thought the bay was empty and she was alone.

Now she was alone with him. The most handsome man on the planet. The most provocative. And the only one to whom she’d had this kind of reaction.

She felt his body tauten, and hers softened as his erection pressed against her. But then to her intense disappointment he relaxed his hold, fractionally pulling away from her body in a polite action that made her grit her teeth. She wanted to feel his attraction to her. She wanted to know that she wasn’t the only one bitten by this madness. Raw need snaked its way up her spine and clawed into every limb. She didn’t want him to let her go. Not yet.

‘I thought you were putting yourself in danger?’ His voice had gone husky.

She was in danger right now. But she couldn’t tear her glance away from his. ‘I’m fine.’

But she wasn’t entirely. She wanted him closer again.

‘I’m glad.’

‘You’ve ruined your suit.’

‘And my shoes. And my phone. Indeed, the damage you’ve caused is significant.’

The desire to flirt, to play, to entice him as much as he was her, overruled her usual restraint. ‘Are you going to throw me in a dungeon?’

‘I’m giving the matter serious consideration.’ He smiled, but watched her closely. ‘This is called Pirates’ Cove for a reason. Those rocks in the sea provide a thorny path to hidden caves once full of treasure... Not to mention the rumours of a secret tunnel connecting this cove to the island over there.’ He nodded in the direction just behind her, to the small island reserved solely for the Princes’ use.

He thought she was a tourist. Not surprising when her accent was not as strong as his. She’d spent too many years overseas at boarding school, banished from her home.

‘Isn’t that your private island? Where you keep your women?’ Teasing him was irresistible. She could be a tourist for a moment, couldn’t she? Not a soldier who’d promised to serve his family.

‘Bound to the beds—that’s right.’ Laughter lit his eyes—and so did sensual promise.

He would, she realised, do just that. And, more appallingly, she would let him. She touched the tip of her tongue to her dreadfully dry lips.

‘So you are a pirate prince? Is that why you’re here—stealing treasure?’

Stealing hearts. He was scooping hers up without a second thought. And so easily he wasn’t even aware of it.

‘Who’s the pirate really?’ he challenged, gently shaking her. ‘The mysterious woman in black? Strong, agile. Thief of thoughts.’

‘Thoughts?’ she queried.

‘Si. I can think of nothing but you,’ he admitted in a low tumble of words. ‘I no longer care about what I should be doing. That I ought to be moving. All I can think about is...’

‘Is...?’ she prompted, melting.

He angled his head and finally pulled her that bit closer again. ‘It is not right that your skill set is so imbalanced.’

She almost purred at the blatantly sensual undertone to his words, at the feel of his hard length pressing against her again. ‘You’re taking it upon yourself to rectify my training?’

‘I think I must,’ he murmured. ‘Because if you know how to give a bruise, you must also learn how to make it better. It is only fair.’

He was wrong. Bruises healed just fine on their own. She’d never had anyone to kiss her bruises better. But she didn’t mind going along with him for just these few moments.

‘So what do I need to do?’ she breathed.

‘When a woman is bruised you must kiss her very lightly. With great care. To ensure you’re not hurting her more.’ He brushed his lips against her temple—the lightest kiss that made her toes curl into the wet sand. ‘And you do this until you sense that she is ready for greater pressure.’ He brushed his lips lightly over her skin again, then again. ‘That she is ready for pleasure. And then you give pleasure until the hurt is forgotten.’

He claimed her mouth then. She leaned into it, letting him explore, and he did—with wicked skill, torching the tinder between them until white-hot need poured through her.

‘Feel better?’ he asked, drawing back, arrogant knowledge gleaming in his eyes.

‘No. I feel terrible.’ And she did. The yearning inside her was a pulsing, hungry thing that she feared would never be assuaged. ‘Kiss me more.’

‘Strong little thing, aren’t you?’ He half laughed. ‘And demanding.’ He suddenly lifted her, splashing back the few feet to the shore and setting her on dry sand. ‘Well, so am I.’

‘Little?’ she teased, attraction magnifying her audacity. Since when in her life had she ever flirted?

He kissed her again in answer. Rougher—harder—even more pleasurable. She sank into it, gripping him fiercely. She had no idea how long they clung, wet and wild on the edge of the sea. All she knew was that it wasn’t for long enough. But he broke the seal.

‘I want to see you bared,’ he said harshly, pressing his hot mouth to her neck. ‘I want to touch you.’

He was a man used to getting what he wanted. To issuing a command and having it obeyed instantly.

Stella was used to following orders. And this was what she wanted.

Heated and frantic, she knew she’d have only this one chance to feel this wild exhilaration. Stella wriggled free, pulled off her tee shirt and tossed it to the sand. Unclasped her embarrassingly utilitarian-style bra super-quick—before he had the chance to really see it and before she had the chance to think. And to stop.

All of a sudden she was there, half naked before him. For a moment he just stared at her bared breasts. She felt her nipples tighten, despite the heat of the sun and the warmth of the gentle breeze. Then he raised his glance and glared at her.

It was as if she’d been plunged into a crucible. Her bones became like molten steel. Malleable, she awaited his instruction. She realised vaguely that she would do anything he asked. And enjoy it. Because that was Prince Eduardo’s absolute promise—pleasure, fun, abandonment.

She drew in a shuddering breath, startled at the ferocity—the foreignness—of her own surrender. And for a split second she froze.

His pupils dilated.

Before she could run he reached for her, hauling her back into his fierce embrace, kissing her with such a passion that her knees actually buckled. She looped her arms tight around his broad shoulders, kissing him back, revelling in the sensation of her breasts pressed against his shirt. She clung and she didn’t care. Lust, savage and raw, overruled everything.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked, his hands roving up and down her spine as if he couldn’t get enough of the feel of her.

She didn’t answer.

‘I’m not going to let you go until you tell me.’

She didn’t know what made her do it. Maybe it was annoyance at his arrogant assumption that she’d do as he asked—even though they both knew she would. Or perhaps it was the newborn imp within her, wanting to test him. She felt him tense again and her anticipation heightened.