Читать книгу Christmas in His Royal Bed / Rossellini's Revenge Affair: Christmas in His Royal Bed / Rossellini's Revenge Affair - Heidi Betts, Yvonne Lindsay - Страница 8

One

Only she would do.

Prince Stephan Nicolas Braedon of Glendovia watched the ebony-haired beauty from afar. Tall and lithe, with an hourglass figure, she had silky black hair that fell in a straight curtain to her hips. He was too far away to know the color of her eyes or see the full pout of her lips, but he trusted the feeling in his gut that told him both would be just as alluring as the rest of her.

Cocking his head toward the tall, suited man at his side, he said in a low voice, “Find out her name.”

His bodyguard followed the direction of his gaze, then gave a stiff nod before moving away. Nicolas didn’t need to ask how Osric intended to get the information, nor did he care.

A few minutes later, his bodyguard returned, standing at attention at Nicolas’s side.

“Her name is Alandra Sanchez, Your Highness. She is in charge of the organization of this evening’s event.”

Alandra. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.

She floated around the large, crowded ballroom, smiling, chatting with guests, making sure everything was running smoothly. The full-length lavender gown she wore shimmered in the muted lighting every time she moved, and fit her perfect feminine curves like a glove.

Nicolas hadn’t attended this fund-raising dinner in hopes of finding a lover, but now that he’d seen her, he knew he wouldn’t be leaving the United States without making arrangements for her to become his next mistress.

It was true that he was the member of the royal family in charge of overseeing Glendovia’s charitable organizations, but his duties did not extend to attending charitable events outside of his own country. That, he usually left to his sister or one of his two brothers.

But though his sister, Mia, had been scheduled to make the trip to the States and attend this dinner to raise funds for a new children’s wing at a central Texas hospital, she’d had to cancel at the last minute. Since Nicolas was to meet with very wealthy oilmen to discuss fuel for his country, he decided to attend.

Until a few minutes ago, he had been resenting the interruption of his own life and plans, and all but cursing his sister for being the cause. Now, however, he was considering sending Mia a bouquet of flowers or a box of her favorite truffles. He wanted to thank her for putting him on a path to what could turn out to be an extremely pleasurable experience.

Smiling so brightly the muscles in her cheeks ached, Alandra Sanchez moved around the room, making sure everything was running smoothly. She’d been working to set up this gala for months now, in hopes of raising both awareness and money for the new children’s hospital wing.

Unfortunately, things weren’t going quite as well as she’d hoped, and Alandra knew she had only herself to blame.

Everyone in the room seemed to be watching her. She could see their curiosity. Sense their condemnation.

All because she’d had the dreadful misfortune to get mixed up with the wrong man.

Of all the things that could have happened to put a damper on this evening’s event, this was the worst. A hurricane, a flash flood, even the hotel catching on fire…

Those were all disasters she could have handled. They barely would have caused a blip on her radar. But instead, she was being personally attacked, her reputation besmirched.

It served her right for ever getting involved with Blake Winters in the first place. She should have known the minute she met him that he would end up causing her nothing but trouble.

And now everyone in this room—everyone in Gabriel’s Crossing, the great state of Texas and possibly the entire United States of America—thought she was a home-wrecking adulteress.

That’s what the newspaper gossip columns were saying about her. Her picture, along with Blake’s and that of his wife and two children, had been plastered everywhere, with glaring, slanderous headlines.

Ignoring the stares and whispers she knew were aimed in her direction, Alandra held her head high and continued wending her way through the ballroom, acting as though nothing was wrong. As though her heart wasn’t racing, her face wasn’t flushed with humiliation and her palms weren’t damp with anxiety.

Nothing that had happened in the week since the story of her affair with Blake Winters broke had led her to believe the fund-raising dinner wouldn’t still be a complete success. None of the invited guests had cancelled, making excuses for why they couldn’t attend. No one from the hospital benevolence society had called to complain about the scandal she found herself suddenly embroiled in, or to voice concerns about her name being linked to the organization.

All of which led her to believe everything would be fine. That even though reporters were camped out on her front lawn, the rest of her life continued to run smoothly.

Now, though, she wasn’t so sure. Now, she thought perhaps every seat in the room was filled because the cream of central Texas high society wanted an up-close-and-personal glimpse of one of their own who had so recently fallen from grace.

She might as well have a scarlet letter pinned to her chest or a piece of spinach stuck in her teeth, for all the attention being focused on her every move.

The attention—even negative attention—she could handle. What concerned her more than the stares and whispers was the impact her newly sullied reputation might have on the amount of money collected this evening.

She’d worked so hard to put this event together, was so passionate about her philanthropy, giving of both her time and money to support the causes she felt most strongly about. And she had always been quite successful in convincing others to give to those causes, too.

Usually, by this point in the evening, she would already have collected a dozen extremely generous checks slipped to her by those in attendance, with more to follow at the end of the night. Tonight, however, her hands—and the hospital’s coffers—were still empty.

Because she’d had the misfortune of meeting Blake Winters at another fund-raiser last year, and hadn’t been wise enough to turn him away when he’d started asking her out, those who were most in need could very well end up going without.

The prospect broke her heart, and she pressed a hand to the snug satin stays sewn into the lining of her gown in an attempt to settle the nervous caterpillars squirming and wiggling in her belly.

She would act as though nothing was wrong, nothing was out of the ordinary—and pray like the dickens that the crowd got over their curiosity and remembered their true purpose for being here before the evening was over. Otherwise, she had a sneaking suspicion her personal bank account would be taking a hard hit when she attempted to single-handedly make up for what the children’s wing fund should have earned tonight. And probably would have, if not for her bad luck and some of the poor decisions she’d made recently.

Once she’d made her loop through the crowd to be sure every seat was filled, every guest served and everything was running as smoothly as possible, she returned to her own place at the front of the room, where a raised dais had been set up for the event’s organizers. She made small talk with the women on either side of her and choked down her meal, barely tasting a bite.

Next came a speech from the organization’s president, and a short ceremony where plaques were given to several members who had gone above and beyond in the past year. Even Alandra received one, for her continued dedication to raising money for the hospital.

Finally, the evening drew to an end, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She was now holding a few generous checks, and had received promises for more. Not as many as she’d collected in the past, and she had definitely noticed a distinct difference in the way people had treated her throughout the evening. But at least things were looking a bit brighter than they had when the night began.

She made a final round of the room, nodding farewells to guests as they exited the ballroom, and making sure no one left anything behind before the hotel staff started cleaning up.

Gathering her own small, beaded clutch and shawl from her seat, she found her mind racing ahead to what she needed to do the next day—thoughts that were interrupted when she heard a low, masculine voice call her name.

“Miss Sanchez?”

Turning, she found herself dwarfed by a wide-shouldered, dark-haired mountain of a man.

She swallowed once before pasting a smile on her face and tipping her head up, up, up to meet his gaze.

“Yes?”

“If you have a minute, my employer would like to speak with you.”

He inclined his head, drawing her attention to the back of the room, where a lone gentleman sat at one of the now-cleared round tables.

From what she could see at this distance, he was quite handsome.

He was also staring at her.

“Your employer?” she asked.

“Yes, miss.”

So much for gaining more information about who, exactly, the mountain’s employer was.

But if he had attended tonight’s dinner, then he was likely a current or potential donor, and she always had time to speak with a contributor. Especially one who could afford his own bodyguard, or CIA agent, or professional wrestler….

“Of course,” she said, maintaining her bright, upbeat demeanor.

Turning sideways, the giant gestured for her to move ahead of him, and then escorted her across the nearly empty room. Around them, dishes clinked and stacked chairs clattered as the kitchen and cleaning staff worked to disassemble what had taken all day to set up.

As she approached the man who wished to speak with her, he lifted a flute of champagne and took a long sip.

He wore a smartly tailored jacket of navy blue, cut quite differently than most of those she’d seen throughout the night. He definitely was not a local.

She also noticed that her earlier perception of him being “quite handsome” was a gross inaccuracy. He was movie-star gorgeous, with dark hair and startling blue eyes that seemed to bore into her like laser beams.

Holding out her hand, she introduced herself. “Hello, I’m Alandra Sanchez.”

“I know,” he replied, taking her hand and refusing to let it go as he tugged her gently forward. “Have a seat, won’t you, please.”

Letting her shawl fall lower on her bare back, she slid onto the chair beside him. “Your…employee said you wanted to speak to me.”

“Yes,” he replied slowly. “May I offer you a glass of champagne?”

She opened her mouth to refuse, but the hulk was already pouring and setting a glass in front of her.

“Thank you.”

Though they both had drinks now, and the evening’s event was clearly over, the man seated beside her still didn’t speak. The silence made Alandra shift uncomfortably, and caused gooseflesh to break out along her arms.

“What did you need to speak with me about, Mr.…” she finally pressed, careful to remain as polite as possible.

“You may call me Nicolas,” he replied.

His voice carried a slight accent. Perhaps the hint of a British lilt, but Alandra couldn’t place it.

“Nicolas,” she repeated, because he seemed to expect it. Then she continued in her attempts to get to his reason for wanting to speak with her.

“Were you interested in making a donation to the fund for the new children’s cancer wing of the hospital?” she asked. “If so, I would be happy to accept a check tonight. Or if you’d prefer, I can put you in touch with someone from the organization you can speak with, to make your contribution personally.”

For a moment after she finished, he simply continued to study her, his lapis-blue eyes sharp and commandingly intense.

After taking another sip of the expensive champagne, he slowly said, “I would be happy to give to your little…cause. However, that is not why I invited you over here.”

Alandra’s eyes widened fractionally at that, but she did her best to hide her consternation.

“I am staying in a suite of rooms here in this hotel,” he informed her. “I’d like for you to return there with me. Spend the rest of the evening in my bed. If things go well and we are…compatible, perhaps we can discuss further arrangements.”

Alandra blinked, but otherwise remained frozen in place, her entire body mannequin-stiff and unmoving. She couldn’t have been more stunned if he’d lifted a hand and slapped her across the face.

She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what she should say.

This certainly wasn’t the first time she’d been propositioned. Young or old, rich or poor, men had always been attracted to her, and she’d had more than her share of invitations to dinner, the theater, even romantic jaunts to private island hideaways.

And, yes, she was well aware that every single one of those men had hopes that dinner, the theater and tropical getaways would help him to seduce her into his bed.

But never—never—had any of them been so bold, so brash, as to flat-out ask her to sleep with him.

This was all because of the scandal, she realized suddenly, her spine snapping straight with offense. Those bloody articles had labeled her an immoral home wrecker. And this man had obviously gotten wind of that and decided she wouldn’t be averse to an indecent proposal.

Well, she was averse. She was disgusted and thoroughly insulted.

Pushing her chair back, she rose to her feet, rearranged her shawl across her back and arms, and tightened her fingers on her small clutch purse. Concentrating on her breathing, she stood perfectly rigid, looking down at him.

“I don’t know what kind of woman you think I am. But I can assure you I’m not the kind to go to bed with a man I’ve just met.”

She cut a quick glance at the bear standing at attention a yard or two away. “Maybe your bodyguard can find someone a little more willing and a lot less discriminating to go back to your room with you tonight. That is, if you’re utterly incapable of finding her on your own.”

With that, Alandra turned on her heel and marched out of the ballroom to the elevator.

Just who the hell did the man think he was?