Читать книгу Royal Baby: Forced Wife, Royal Love-Child / Cavelli's Lost Heir / Prince of Montéz, Pregnant Mistress - Lynn Raye Harris, Sabrina Philips - Страница 9

THE bath was hot and deep, the foaming bath gel forming a mountain of scented bubbles that comforted her body and soothed her fragile soul. Sienna sighed as she slid down into the slippery water, letting her hair fan out around her like a mantilla and gasping as she came back up again, feeling the weight of water streaming from her hair. Heaven. For a centuries-old palace, the plumbing was definitely state of the art and a major improvement on the cantankerous contraption her landlady labelled a shower and which justified her charging fifty percent over the odds for one shoebox of an apartment in the Thirteenth Arrondissement.

The best part of an hour later, feeling more relaxed than she had all day, she rinsed off the last of the bubbles and wrapped herself in the large plush towels provided. Marble, gold and mirrors, she thought, taking in her surroundings. What was it about that combination that turned a mere bathroom into a destination? Yet beyond the door awaited another, even grander destination, with a massive four-poster bed hung with curtains of lace and fine silks. She couldn’t wait to bury herself deep under the comforter. She hadn’t wanted to be here, but now that she was, there was no way she wasn’t going to enjoy this unfamiliar taste of luxury.

Her stomach rumbled and she gave silent thanks for the healthy sign. Whatever illness or nerves had plagued her earlier today, at least now she could contemplate the notion of food without feeling like she wanted to throw up.

There was a faint knock from outside and Sienna opened the bathroom door a crack to hear a woman’s voice advising in rusty English that her meal was ready. ‘Thank you,’ she called, ‘I’ll be right out.’

She towel-dried her hair until it settled into shaggy ringlets around her face and then rinsed out her underwear in the sink, hanging them over the towel rail. In this warm climate they would dry in no time.

Finally she unwrapped herself from the bath sheet and slipped on the silk robe she’d found hanging behind the door. She’d loved it from the moment she’d seen it hanging there, the jade green silk shot with gold thread, the vibrant shade changing subtly as the fabric moved under the light.

It felt every bit as good as it looked, the material gliding over her shoulders like a silken kiss, teasing her nipples into awareness with every soft shift of the fabric, reminding her all too well of Rafe and his magic touch …

Rafe.

He’d told her he wanted her again.

She sucked in a much needed burst of air. In the panic of not being able to get off the island, in her anger at being manipulated, she had let those words and her body’s reaction to those words slide away. But she hadn’t lost them at all. Instead the words had filtered down to a place deep inside her and taken root, sprouting questions like weeds.

He didn’t really want her. He couldn’t, she reasoned, answering one of those questions herself. Rafe was used to taking what he wanted and she was merely convenient. Available. A man like him would have no hesitation in assuming that after the first night they’d shared, she’d be willing to fall into his bed in a heartbeat.

Ready to discard in yet another.

He was merely toying with her, continuing that cat-and-mouse game he played so well, the predator enjoying the hunt.

He’d kept her here, prevented her from leaving, merely to continue the chase, because he damn well knew the longer he did, the more likely it would be that she would once again fall into his bed.

Sienna pulled the robe tighter around her, giving the tie at her waist a savage tug. She would not think about Rafe. At least, not that way. That other night was over. It was history. Rafe was nothing to her now but a mere inconvenience, and tomorrow she would be rid of even that.

She’d begun separating her hair into sections, preparing to braid it while still damp to control its natural curl, when the scent of food, fragrant and beguiling found its way into the bathroom. Her stomach rumbled again and she paused. It had been hours since she’d had a decent meal. Her hair could wait ten minutes; it wasn’t as if she had other plans for the evening.

So she abandoned the braid, working her fingers through her still damp curls with one hand as she pulled open the bathroom door with the other.

‘You look good enough to eat.’

She stopped dead, a frisson of fear shimmying its way down her spine, a sudden rush of heat pooling in that naked place between her thighs. She abandoned her hair and clutched the robe tighter around her, crossing her arms over her chest for good measure. ‘What are you doing here?’

Rafe smiled at her as he transported dishes from a trolley onto a small table set by a window overlooking cliff-top and sea. A table covered in a lace tablecloth, complete with a floral centrepiece, a candle already lit amongst the flowers even though the evening was still young outside.

A table set for two.

‘The chef has prepared his signature dishes for tonight’s meal. I told him I would let him know personally what you thought.’

‘I said, what are you doing here?’

He looked up at her ingenuously. ‘Having dinner with you.’

‘Even after I told you that I wouldn’t dine with you.’

‘No.’ This time he stopped what he was doing and stood up straight, his eyes raking over her in such a way that she wondered if he could see right through the fabric to the truth of her state of undress beneath. ‘What you actually said was that you would not join me for a meal. So I decided to join you instead.’

Anger welled up inside her, any hint of the relaxation afforded by the bath diminishing by the second. ‘I made it plain that I had no wish to see you again tonight.’

He shrugged, that Mediterranean shrug that told her he cared not a damn for whatever she thought. ‘I did not believe that was what you meant. You should know by now that you have a very expressive body. It told me otherwise.’

Heat flooded her face and she turned away, half regretting it when the sudden play of silk over skin sent her senses shimmering further into overdrive.

‘You have no right—’

‘I have every right! This is my principality, my island, my kingdom. Everything and everyone on it is subject to me. And that, my dear Sienna, whether you like it or not, includes you!’

She wheeled back around, grateful for his outburst. Anger was the reaction she’d wanted. Anger she could deal with. ‘So now you fancy yourself as some petty despot and you’ve come to take what you think is yours. Well, sorry, but you don’t suck me in with all that lord of the manor garbage.

Don’t expect me to fall at your feet like some loyal subject grateful to have been asked to service her lord and master.’

His eyes glittered dangerously, a muscle in his jaw popped, and for a moment she feared she’d overstepped the mark. If he wanted to take her now, by force, who would come to her rescue? She was utterly alone here, in a world that was not her own, where the laws were not the laws she understood and where he was the master, the ruler of all.

But he’d never been a prince to her, just a man, and since his oh-so-rapid excision of her from his life, not a man she respected, let alone particularly cared for. So there was no way she would stoop to playing the game by his rules.

‘Oh, I never assumed it would be that simple.’

His intentions thudded into her sensibilities with all the subtlety of cannon fire. Slowly she shook her head. ‘I won’t sleep with you,’ she said, her voice abandoning her, leaving her with nothing more than a hoarse whisper.

‘That remains to be seen.’

‘I mean it, Rafe. Been there. Done that.’

‘If you say so. So why don’t we just concentrate on what we do agree on? Are you hungry, Sienna?’

Was he talking about food? The way he looked at her, his gaze warm on her skin, his eyes electric in their dark intensity, told her otherwise.

Her stomach chose that precise moment to make itself heard. Sienna shifted her arms over her stomach, but nothing could muffle the rumble, loud and insistent.

He smiled. ‘Clearly you also have a beast that requires feeding. Come. Sit.’

She was hungry, so hungry that not even Rafe’s presence could make a dint in it. But there was no way she was going to be comfortable enough to eat while clad only in a thin silk robe. No way in the world.

‘I … I’ll just get dressed.’ She turned to collect her uniform where she’d left it lying on the bed, thinking that even without the underwear still drying in her bathroom, it would put more of a barrier between them than a mere whisper of silk.

But there was no uniform. She looked around, confused, sure she’d left it on the bed before her bath. She pulled open a closet door, thinking it might have been hung up, to find the closet devoid of everything but hangers.

‘Is there a problem?’ he asked behind her.

‘My uniform. It’s gone.’

‘Why should you need it?’

‘I left it on the bed, and now it’s gone.’

‘You seem to have an unusual knack for losing things. First, your helicopter. Now your uniform.’

She wheeled around, not fooled for a moment. ‘You might consider this is all some sort of game, but I don’t.’

‘I assure you, this is no game.’ His expression sent shock waves through her system, his voice set so low and deep that the words vibrated through her, and his eyes lit with an intensity that left her breathless. ‘And just for the record,’ he continued, letting his lips turn up into the barest of smiles, ‘your uniform is in safe hands. It has merely been taken away for laundering. You will have it back by morning. Do you have a problem with clean clothes?’

Damn the man! ‘Only that you expect me to sit down and dine wearing nothing more than a silk robe. Of course there’s a problem!’

His eyes flared as they cruised hungrily over her robe like a heat-seeking missile. ‘Nothing more?’

She turned away, cursing herself for her inadvertent admission, but he didn’t wait for her response. ‘If you feel at a disadvantage, I could similarly divest myself of a few extraneous garments.’ She turned back to see him make a move to start unbuttoning his shirt and she tossed her head, determined not to let him see just how much he’d rattled her. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! I didn’t want, and wasn’t expecting, company. What I meant is I’m hardly dressed for dinner.’

‘On the contrary,’ his eyes raking over her with all the subtlety of a hungry jungle cat, devouring her in a single heated glance, ‘you are delightfully attired. Did anyone ever tell you how much those tones complement your colouring? You have the most beautiful skin,’ he said, drawing close enough to touch the back of one finger to her cheek. ‘Like the finest porcelain. So pale, almost translucent.’

Her heart was beating so loud she was sure he must hear it, her nipples so rock-like under their silken covering, there was no way he couldn’t see them if he lowered his eyes.

But his gaze remained fixed on her face, searching her eyes, before lingering so long on her lips that they tingled under his scrutiny, so long that she realised she’d been holding her breath the entire time. Her lips parted as she drew in air, and suddenly his scent filled her and she could taste the man on her tongue, and the hunger she had been feeling changed direction.

He could kiss her now. The thought came from somewhere from the deep, dark recesses of her mind, somewhere forbidden and unwelcome. But the path was clear. He would kiss her, and she would accept his kiss, and then she would push her hands against his chest and be the one to break it off, before things went too far, before he assumed more than he already had.

But first—oh, God yes—first she would have that kiss.

The air crackled around her, heavy with expectation, every breath an eternity as his lips hovered so close to hers, the tug of his fingers through her hair and the glide of his nails against her scalp an exquisite torture.

And, as she gazed up at him, something skated across his eyes, something that told her he thought he had her right where he wanted her, something that tugged her ability to reason right back from whatever dark place she’d temporarily locked it away.

And reason told her she’d been kidding herself. Because if she kissed him now, she’d never stop. If she put her hands up to his chest it wouldn’t be to push him away, but to drink in the feel of his skin over muscled chest with her fingers. And one kiss would never be enough.

‘You’re right.’ She mouthed the words, hardly recognising her own voice as she saw the answering question in his eyes, momentarily thrown off track.

‘About what?’

It was her turn to smile. ‘I’m famished.’ She turned her head away, forced herself to move, clumsily at first, awkward in making her body move away from where it most wanted to be, before sinking gratefully into a chair. ‘What’s for dinner?’

Rafe watched her go, bemused by her sudden change of mood. Seconds ago she’d been his for the taking. Seconds ago the meal had been all but forgotten and promised to be long cold before they returned to it.

She wanted him, she’d made that more than plain with her parted lips and hitched breathing. She had wanted him then and she still wanted him, if the flame-red cheeks and the way she studiously refused to meet his eyes were any indication. She was just determined not to give in to it. Just like the last time, when she’d played hard to get.

But just like last time she would capitulate. And just like last time it would be worth the wait.

It wouldn’t take long. He’d give her until the end of tonight’s meal. And then he’d soon change her mind about leaving any time soon. One night had not been enough; he couldn’t imagine it being enough again. And, after the last few frenetic weeks, he deserved a little relaxation. What better way to get it?

Rafe sighed as he joined her at the table, pulling a chilled bottle from the antique silver ice bucket before reaching over to pour her a glass of the local wine, already looking forward to the next few nights. He needed a distraction from worries about casinos and international financing and rebuilding the world’s trust in Montvelatte. He needed something to persuade Sebastiano to ease off on the wife hunt. Just for a while.

‘No,’ she said, holding up one hand. ‘No wine, please.’

He held up the bottle so that she could see the label. ‘Are you sure? It’s a vintage San Margarita Superiore, the island’s pride and joy.’

She was shaking her head, the internationally acclaimed wine label with its clutch of gold-medal stickers from a dozen different wine shows clearly making no impression.

He moved the bottle and poured some of the straw-coloured liquid into his own glass. ‘Are you worried I might get you drunk and try to seduce you?’

For the first time since he’d sat down, her eyes flicked up to meet his. ‘Not at all. I’m worried I have to fly a helicopter tomorrow morning and I’m being professional. But if my caution stops me from doing something unwise into the deal, so much the better.’

He raised his eyebrows at her words, and at the opening she’d given him. ‘And would this thing you might otherwise do be so unwise?’

She flicked a napkin in her fingers, unfolding it before letting it settle on her lap. ‘I think so.’

‘Even though it might also be very pleasurable?’

Her chin set, she turned those deep honey-coloured eyes up to his once again, any intended coolness belied by the twin slashes of red adorning her cheeks, and he knew she was remembering, as was he, just how pleasurable that night had been.

‘It would be a mistake,’ she said, her tone defiant, ‘and wherever possible, I try to avoid making the same mistake twice.’

The words grated on his senses, as did her ability to turn defensiveness into attack. He replaced the bottle in the ice bucket with a satisfying crunch, half tempted to tell her she wasn’t going anywhere tomorrow or any time soon until he was good and finished with her.

But as he’d seen before, that would merely fuel her resistance. And he didn’t want resistance. He wanted her warm and willing and begging him to fill her. And he wanted it all tonight.

Rafe forced a smile to his lips as he raised his glass to her in a toast. ‘Then we must ensure you are not tempted to repeat any of the so-called mistakes of the past. Please, eat up.’

Sienna did eat up, as course after course of the most amazing food was delivered steaming-hot to her door. And she knew it must be amazing from the descriptions he gave her along the way, though she never tasted a thing, not the crayfish-filled ravioli or the lightly dusted tender calamari. Even the most succulent quail was completely wasted on her. The fine textures she could appreciate, but nothing of the taste.

Not with him sitting there, so close, so larger than life.

A man she had slept with once before.

A man who had made it plain that he wanted to sleep with her again.

And, if she were true to herself, a man who, despite everything, tempted her more than she cared to admit.

‘Why did Signorina Genevieve come today?’ she asked, as she contemplated the stunning dessert that had been placed before her. Fresh berries and cream lay sandwiched between wafers of meringue, creating a tower of colour and summer delights circled with a raspberry coulis and sprinkled with icing sugar, and she honestly wished she could appreciate it more, but the question had been circling through Sienna’s thoughts for some time. That and the reason for the woman’s sudden departure from the island so soon after arriving. The young woman had been in good spirits during their flight, and, even though she hadn’t spoken a word to Sienna, it had been clear through her animated conversation with her mother how excited she had been to be travelling to Montvelatte. Sienna had figured her own reason for the visit, but given her sudden departure, now she wasn’t so sure. ‘Surely she would have stayed longer.’

Across the table Rafe leaned back, dragging in a breath. He crossed fingers in his lap, even though she could tell by the tightness of his shoulders that he wasn’t as relaxed as he made out. ‘She came for an interview, that’s all.’

‘She was applying for a job?’

This time he gave an ironic laugh. ‘You could say that. My adviser seems to be obsessed with finding Montvelatte a princess. Which unfortunately involves finding me a wife.’

‘A wife?’ Sienna dragged in her own breath and fiddled with the placement of her napkin. Rafe was getting married?

She should have seen it coming. It wasn’t a constant supply of high-class mistresses he’d had ferried to the island over the last couple of weeks—since when did they take their mothers with them?—it was potential brides.

And somehow that was no relief at all.

She did her best to inject some amusement into her voice. ‘And this is how princes of Montvelatte find their wives, is it? By interview? How very romantic.’

Rafe reached for his wine glass and swirled the white wine in lazy circles, but he didn’t take a sip. ‘Romance doesn’t enter the equation. A direct Lombardi descendant must take the throne, or the principality loses its right to exist. This is all about ensuring that doesn’t happen.’

‘That sounds very melodramatic.’

‘Simply fact. Montvelatte’s right to exist is predicated on the continuation of the line.’

‘So that’s where you came in.’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘Even bastards have a purpose, it seems.’

His self-deprecating manner didn’t fool her for a second. ‘That’s what was happening—that night—when the news broke on the television and they carted away your two half-brothers. You knew then, didn’t you? You knew what it meant.’

‘I had a gut feeling I might get a call.’

‘And you just couldn’t wait to take over the reins and put on that crown.’

He raised the glass to his lips and, without taking his eyes from hers, drank down the wine. ‘You think I wanted this? To have my life turned into public property?’

‘You seem happy enough lording it over me, holding me here against my will and forcing your way into my room when you’re not welcome. Seems to me you’re a natural at playing to the manor born.’

He stared at her a while, his eyelids half closed. ‘If you say so.’

‘And now you must have a wife. To give you an heir and to give Montvelatte the breathing space it needs.’

‘That’s right.’

She toyed with her dessert, making lazy figure eights through the raspberry coulis that lapped at the edges of her triumph in chocolate. ‘So you’re “interviewing” prospective wives. And meanwhile you’re dining with a woman you once spent a night with, and who you have every intention of sleeping with again.’

It was meant to be an accusation, something that put him at a disadvantage, but the way he looked at her, the sudden widening and wanting revealed in his eyes, the planes of his face suddenly harsher in the fading light, more dangerous seemed to have the opposite effect. ‘I am.’

And she felt a rush of heat infuse her skin, throbbing in places that responded eagerly to his words like an invitation. She was a fool for walking into his trap, for bringing up the one thing he’d somehow avoided talking about all night, and yet the one thing she knew he expected to happen. She looked down at her plate helplessly, at the dessert she’d barely touched, and knew there was no escape there. There were no more courses to come, the coffee already poured, the petit fours sitting between them accusingly. Dinner had come to an end and now he would expect her to fall into bed with him.

He needed a wife. He wanted a bed warmer. And it was clear whatever place she occupied fell into the latter category.

By rights she should hate him for it.

She did hate him for it.

And yet …

His gaze washed over her in a heated rush. He didn’t have to utter another word; the question was there in his eyes, the hunger, the need. The promise of bliss.

Memories of the night they’d spent together surged back, rushing over her like a king tide, deep and unable to be resisted, a force of nature that could not be denied. What he’d done to her with his hands and his mouth and his perfect body. The way he’d made her feel …

The knowledge of how he could make her feel again.

Was it so wrong to feel so tempted? Was it so wrong for her body to hunger for more of what he’d given her, to experience more of that particular brand of magic?

She was leaving tomorrow.

She could have one more night. Where was the harm in that? One more night, and this time she would do the leaving. There could be no more surprises, no more disappointments. This time he wouldn’t have the chance to dump her. This time she would be the one to walk away, the one in control. She could leave him to his ladies and his princesses and contessas. One of them would ultimately win him for ever, but she could have him right here, right now.

Maybe it would never be enough. But wouldn’t one more night be at least something for the inconvenience he’d put her through today?

She deserved something. Surely.

He chose that exact moment to extend his hand to her. ‘It’s time.’