Читать книгу Mr Right All Along - Natalie Anderson - Страница 12

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.

‘You really want to take some risks today,’ he murmured. ‘What else are you willing to risk?’ He pulled her closer again. ‘What am I going to have to do to make you answer me?’

‘Your worst?’ she suggested. ‘Or your best.’

He stepped back and shrugged off his jacket, spread it wide and placed it on the sand. He pulled her to stand just in front of it, then dropped to his knees.

She stifled a gasp as she looked down at him. To have such a gorgeous, powerful man like this kneeling before her...

He smiled, as if he understood the riot of emotions plundering her nervous system—anticipation, disbelief, power, arousal. Before she could speak he reached up and cupped her breasts in his hands, and then bent forward to kiss her belly. She reached out and put her hands on his shoulders for balance. Watched. Felt. Trembled.

As he kissed his way across her stomach he worked her shorts down over her hips, taking her panties with them, until she stepped out of them and was naked. Her legs were quivering. She wasn’t sure she could remain standing much longer.

He obviously knew, because he leaned back on his heels and looked up at her, his eyes very blue and wide. ‘Lie down for me.’

He tugged on her hands as he spoke and somehow she just melted to the ground. He pushed her shoulders, pressing her onto his warm jacket. He knelt above her and kissed her. Starting back at her mouth, he kissed every inch of her skin, his fingertips dancing lightly, providing a teasing accompaniment to the pleasure of his lips and tongue. Her face, neck, breasts, abdomen, thighs... Slowly he worked his way down until she was twisting beneath him. Willing, wanting and unable to wait.

She arched up as finally he kissed her there. The erotic sensation of his breath against her core almost sent her over. Then his tongue swirled into her sex.

‘You’re so wet,’ he muttered. ‘And you taste so good.’

His hands firm underneath her, he lifted her to him. She didn’t want him to stop because, no holds barred, he was all but feasting on her. Her fingers twisted in the hot sand, the granules slipping through her fingers, and she threw her head back, closed her eyes against the harsh sunlight. She arched, grinding against his wicked tongue as she teetered on the edge.

But then he suddenly broke the explicit suction. ‘Your name, my little pirate?’ he rasped.

She gasped. He had to be kidding. ‘You’re the damn pirate.’

He fixed his mouth to her again and pulled.

Oh, please. Yes. Please.

Her eyes almost rolled back in her head.

But he stopped and asked again. ‘Your name?’

‘Don’t stop,’ she sobbed. ‘Don’t stop.’

‘Tell me your name and I won’t.’

‘Stella,’ she muttered. ‘Stella, Stella.’

Her head thrashed as he went down on her once more. The unbearably blissful sensation hit, turning her sob into a scream. She roared her release to the sky and sea. And to him.

Long moments later she realised that he wasn’t even naked. That he’d only removed his jacket. And now he was leaning over her, that smile in his eyes.

She sat up. Her fingers shook as a sudden ferocity overtook her. She needed to know him the way he did her. But the pearl buttons on his shirt were tough, and he laughed at her impatient muttering. Finally she spread it wide, and when she touched him he stopped laughing.

‘That’s it. Kiss me better, Stella.’ He groaned, bending his head to catch her lips with his briefly. ‘Make me feel better.’

Relief that this wasn’t finished sent need surging through her bones. She didn’t stop to wonder at his words. As incredible as that orgasm had been, she wanted more—and for once in her life she was getting it.

His skin was hot and smooth, yet she could feel the powerful muscles lying just beneath. The sprinkling of hair on his chest was a delight to her fingertips. She traced the path arrowing down to his waistband. She experimented, licking his flat nipple, teasing the tight little centre with her teeth—as he’d done to her. It had been such sweet torment, and she wanted to trick him the way he had her.

Suddenly it wasn’t playful. It was pure animal passion. He might be big and strong, but she was agile and lithe. She kissed him all over, relishing the way she could explore him. Letting her, he rolled onto his back, pulling her astride him. She lay sprawled, intoxicated by a sense of power. Then she moved, kissing him to the heavens and back.

It was so physical. He pressed against her, grinding against her bared, open core. She pushed down to meet him, the rough, wet fabric of his trousers an almost painful friction against her flesh.

‘We cannot do this,’ he growled—a gravelly roar of frustration and anger.

‘Why?’

He breathed hard, thrusting against her body. She couldn’t help it—she writhed against him again. He suddenly flipped them both, pushing her hard into the sand. She moaned, aching for all that pressure—aching to feel him naked against her, pressing right into her and filling that gaping need.

A need that had never been as strong. A craving that had to be sated. Her desire had to be slaked. Desperate, she was driven to move, unable to stop herself arching. She’d do anything to draw him closer.

He growled again. Then jerked his hips away from her sinuous dance.

‘I don’t have anything, darling. I can’t...’ He groaned, straining against her for a heavenly moment. ‘We can’t,’ he muttered in tortured tones. ‘I don’t have anything.’

It took several moments to register what he meant.

Protection...prophylactic...contraception... Condom.

She stared up at him, dazed, disappointment so bitter. ‘I do,’ she snapped as she suddenly remembered.

He stilled. His eyes burned into her with a look of such savage intensity she felt unable to breathe. Yet she felt bolder than she’d ever been.

‘I have something,’ she choked.

‘Give it to me,’ he ordered harshly, peeling away enough to let her reach for her shorts.

Her wallet was wet, and she struggled to part the old leather pocket and find the foil square that had been shoved there so long ago. They’d been issued with them back in basic training. Stella had stuffed hers into the smallest space and forgotten about it till now.

The flush built in her cheeks as she grasped hold of the small packet and suddenly balked. ‘That is...if you want...?’

‘If I want?’ The short, tense laugh sounded torn from his throat. ‘You have no idea how much I want.’

She gazed at him. ‘Then show me.’

He stood. Slowly he undid his trousers, spreading them to slide them down his hewn legs. Her jaw dropped as he revealed himself to her. He was beautiful. Muscled, yet lean, his skin glistening and golden. And his erection...

She swallowed as he tore open the small packet and rolled the condom down his impressive length. The pirate Prince was so much more than she could ever have imagined.

That this was happening at all was crazy. But to stop it, to say anything, would be crazier still.

The hot sun beat down on her. The silk of his spread tuxedo jacket was soft beneath her. But all she could really sense was him.

He lowered himself over her, encompassing her world. ‘You’re ready?’

She nodded wordlessly.

He gazed into her eyes for a moment and then bent to kiss her mouth, then the taut tip of each breast. Then he licked her core once more.

She moaned, and tugged him to come back over her. It wasn’t enough now.

‘Spread wider,’ he ordered harshly. ‘You are small and I am...not.’

He pressed his wide palm against her inner thigh, pushing her legs further apart. He slicked his fingers through her wet heat. She hovered in a whirling mess of anticipation and need.

Then he rose right above her, settling into position, and thrust.

Stella sucked in a shocked breath. An incredible feeling of fullness engulfed her. He was so big, so heavy. She frowned, fighting the drowning sensation, crinkling her eyes to stop the smart of tears.

‘Relax,’ he murmured, pushing forward again. But then he suddenly stilled. ‘Stella...?’

For a moment she couldn’t answer. She was still breathing through the overwhelming feelings, riding out the pleasure-pain that threatened to consume her consciousness.

Oh, man. He was so very much. But at the same time she wanted more.

The whispered need spread like a vine within her, trailing hot spears of desire and sensation through her limbs. Into her soul.

‘Stella.’

It wasn’t a husky, swiftly murmured endearment—the kind temporary appreciative lovers spent like small change. This was a warning.

She felt his furious tension building.

Instinct told her he was about to pull away, but she was a fighter, and she was not having this end this way. Driven by an instinct she didn’t really understand, she curled her legs around his hips, using every well-toned muscle she had within her to hold him to her and lock him in tight.

His rough groan echoed in her soul.

‘Don’t stop,’ she ordered, in low tones every bit as furious as his. ‘I want it. More. I want better.’

She deserved better. For once she was having what she wanted, and she wanted only the good bits. She wanted to crest that wave again, the way she had only minutes ago. He could help her.

‘Show me how to ride.’

And then she remembered his instruction—to kiss it better.

The confusion and disbelief in his eyes didn’t fade, and she couldn’t bear to see a glimpse of hurt there too. Even though she’d given him her body, she’d held back something vital. That bothered him, and she was sorry. She’d kiss it better.

She curled her fingers into his thick hair and pushed on the back of his head, straining upwards so that her mouth met his.

It was the worst kiss ever. She banged his teeth and bit her own lip in the process. But she didn’t stop. She refused to. And slowly her clumsy attempt grew into something more sensual, more skilful. Sexier.

His lips softened, his mouth opened. He let her in.

She made the most of it—tasting him, teasing with her tongue the way he’d done to her. Heat slicked her body again and she grew restless. The pain subsided. Now she only ached for him to move.

He tore his lips from hers and looked into her eyes for a long, silent moment.

‘Please,’ she whispered.

Finally his hesitation went up in smoke and determination exploded within him. He kissed her again. Holding the rest of himself still, he plundered her mouth. Then he moved fractionally lower, bracing and bending to kiss her puckered nipple. He scraped the sensitive nub with his teeth. An arrow of pleasure shot to her sex, making her slick. And at last he moved. A slow, gentle, rolling motion of his hips. Easily, his big body slipped slightly further inside hers.

She moaned. She wanted more.

To really ride.

But still he moved slowly. He teased a hand between them, rubbing around her most sensitive spot with torturously gentle fingers—just enough to make her scream. She was so close. So insanely close. But as he pleasured her, the desire to please him sank deeper within her. She wanted to know that he felt this magic to the degree she did.

She cupped his jaw. ‘Eduardo.’

No matter that he hadn’t given her leave to address him by his Christian name. No matter that he was a prince and she a nobody. In this moment there was nothing but naked joy. No past, no promises. Nothing but now.

She groaned. ‘Please.’

She wanted him to move faster again, as he had before, when he’d been clothed and rocking against her. She spread her hands wide on his butt, squeezing the tight muscles, feeling the bunched strength of him slowly pumping into her.

It was so carnal. So delightful. Utterly unlike anything she’d known. And utterly addictive.

She didn’t want it to end. Yet she wanted something more so badly. She wanted him to feel this completion with her.

She moaned in frustration as he kept the pace infuriatingly yet tantalisingly slow. She could no longer form words, no longer think. She could only moan and strive to kiss him more.

Finally he moved faster. His thrusts became rougher. He cupped her buttocks with both his hands now, holding her so he could grind into her as deep as he could drive himself. The hold plastered him against her, sealing them tight together.

She loved it. She met his thrusts with hers, over and over, their bodies wet with sweat now rather than sea water. Her fingers curled, clawing into his skin.

‘Look at me,’ he ordered harshly through tightly clenched teeth.

She already was. She couldn’t look away. She’d never been able to look away.

His eyes bored into hers, their blue irises obliterated by passion-inflamed pupils. Only then her vision swam as her orgasm finally slammed into her like a wave sweeping over a rudderless yacht. She was capsized into a tumultuous sea of sensation.

His expression tightened almost to pain as he worked to hold his own release at bay. Instinctively she understood that he wanted to make her succumb once more before he did. But all she wanted was to feel his unrestrained passion. Somehow she had to summon it.

As her orgasm ebbed and feelings of bliss stole into every cell she fought harder, her fingers bruising, her mouth sucking, her tongue licking. She sought to touch him all over, to pull him over the edge with her. She poured every ounce of power she had into the passion she felt. Into somehow showing him what she wanted. And needed.

That was when she finally felt his massive body shaking—when his roar reverberated into her mouth as he gave in to it and released his hold on himself. His final thrusts came in a torrent of fury and lust. His satisfaction spurted. He shouted loud and rough, and sent her tumbling into the velvety hot darkness again.

He rested for only a moment. His breath blew hot and quick on her neck. Then his biceps bunched as he braced and pulled free of her embrace.

Suddenly empty and cold, she remained prone on the sand and shielded her eyes with her arm. She didn’t want to answer the questions she knew he was going to throw at her.

But he didn’t savage her. There was only silence.

Eventually she lowered her hand, forcing herself to look at him.

He was watching her face intently, and then ever so slowly he gazed down her body. The expression in his eyes was bleak and forbidding. She sat up, but it was too late to hide. The smear of rust-coloured blood on her thigh was incontrovertible evidence. But he already knew the truth.

‘Why?’ he asked harshly.

She had no answer she could give him.

‘You should have told me.’

‘I didn’t think it was important.’

‘You did not act like a virgin,’ he said icily.

‘How is a virgin supposed to act?’ she asked, every bit as frozen.

Shouldn’t she have enjoyed it? Shouldn’t she have pushed for all that she had? But she had enjoyed it. She’d been unrestrained, unfettered in her actions. And untutored.

She hadn’t been able to control her reaction to him. She’d been utterly lost in that flare of desire for him. And she refused to regret it now. She didn’t want him to regret it either. But it seemed he already did.

Before she could move he picked up her wallet, which she’d tossed to the side in her haste. Before she could think to snatch it from him he’d flicked it open, was reading her identity card.

The last of the delicious heat that had softened her fled. Dread solidified into a cold ball in the pit of her belly.

‘Zambrano... Lieutenant.’ He stood utterly still. ‘No relation of General Zambrano?’ He glanced at her, swiftly taking in her colouring, her features. ‘His daughter,’ he said brusquely.

He didn’t need to look at her as if she’d done something wrong.

‘You should have told me!’ he suddenly shouted. Irate.

But if she had he’d have stopped. He’d have recognised her surname and refused to continue. If she’d told him she was a virgin he’d have stopped then too. And she hadn’t wanted him to stop. She’d wanted this one thing, this one time, for herself.

But she hadn’t stopped to consider the consequences—these appalling moments afterwards. And the possible ramifications for her career.

She hadn’t thought he’d even notice her virgin status. She hadn’t thought it would be so obvious. She led such a physical life she’d not really thought she’d bleed. And she hadn’t thought it would really hurt like that. Nor had she thought it would feel that fantastic.

‘Why did you do this?’ He grabbed her arm. ‘I hurt you.’

The bruise around his eye was livid now—but it was nothing on the anger within his eyes.

A good soldier knew when to attack, when to stand and defend, and when to retreat. There was only one option for Stella now. She jerked her arm—was surprised when he let her go. Then she turned and struggled to pull her sodden shorts back on. She pulled the tee shirt on too. She didn’t bother with the ugly sports bra and plain panties, or even her shoes.

‘What are you doing?’ His voice was lethally quiet now.

‘I need to get back to the base.’

‘I will escort you there.’

‘You will not. You will go...wherever you were going in that.’ She gestured at the sodden sand-splattered suit now in a crumpled heap at his feet.

He glanced down and swore.

Stella turned away from him again—from the sight of him standing there tall and naked and filled with burning emotion. A crazy part of her wanted him all over again.

‘Lieutenant—’

‘No. There’s no need to say anything.’ She hated it that he referred to her by her rank now. ‘No one will ever know about this. You have my word,’ she said quickly, glancing to see his reaction.

He looked disbelieving.

‘I don’t kiss and tell,’ she snapped.

‘No, you just like to hit.’ He drew a breath. ‘And you are very good at it.’

‘It’s only a bruise. It will fade. There’ll be no scar.’

But what about for her? She feared she’d just got a wound that would run bone-deep and mark her for life. She couldn’t let it. She had to forget it. Her few minutes of heaven would be buried like a pirate’s treasure, deep in the bottom of her heart and mind. Never to be found again.

She turned and faced the cliff.

He grabbed her arm again. ‘You’re not going that way.’

She shook him off. ‘Watch me.’

She didn’t know whether he did or not. But being partially dressed while he was still devastatingly naked meant she had the advantage. She ran and pulled herself up the rocks with a speed and nimbleness exacerbated by adrenalin and anger and the remnants of sensual energy.

When she finally reached the top of the cliff she didn’t stop to turn and look. She just ran back to the base, the need for a fast escape driving her. Before she did something even more stupid like turning back and begging to see him again.

But he’d called after her.

‘Stella? Stella!’

Even months later she heard him calling. As much as she’d tried to forget him—forget that whole afternoon—when she closed her eyes she always heard his furious demand.

‘Stella!’

She frowned as she heard banging, then an ear-splitting splintering sound. She opened her eyes in time to see the door smashed open. Abruptly she was yanked back from memory into the present. Into the bathroom at the Palacio de Secreto Real. Where she was no longer alone in the shower.

Eduardo De Santis had been hollering her name here and now—and he was incandescent.

‘What the hell have you been doing all this time?’ His chest rose and fell, his muscles bunched from the effort of breaking down the bathroom door.

He stepped right into the stall and flicked the shower lever with a sharp, vicious movement, shutting off the jets of steaming water. But it was too late. His tee shirt was already wet. So were his jeans.

Memory melded with the present moment and she was speechless. Melting. Crazy.

‘Are you unwell? Did you almost faint again?’ He towered over as he interrogated her. ‘Stella?’

Dumbfounded, she stared up at him, registering his frown, his concern, his confusion. His fury.

Once more she was fascinated. He was magnificent. Mesmerising. And so mad with her.

Suddenly she was furious too. With her situation. With him. With her stupid lust-lost self. And she was too shocked, too ripped open, too angry to do anything but answer with an honest snarl.

‘I forgot, okay? I forgot.’