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“I...know.”
He tugged her hand gently and she fell forward, closing the gap between them. His dark-fringed eyelids lifted; she was struck by all-consuming heat. He wasn’t moving a muscle, but leaving it up to her. As if she had a choice now. As if she could deny him. His mesmerizing hunger was contagious; years of abstinence made her hungry, as well. Her gaze lowered to his mouth. Lord in heaven, she wanted his kiss.
She moistened her lips and his eyes drew down immediately. “You leave me no choice, Princess.”
He used a finger to tilt her chin, and then bent his head toward her. Anticipation pulsed through her veins. Every single second was an unnerving kind of torture. And finally, his mouth was on hers, his hand coming to wrap more firmly around her jaw, as if he couldn’t get enough, as if he would devour her.
Long live the king!
Her tummy ached from goodness and she indulged like a miser finding a hidden supply of cash. She touched his face, his jaw steel under her fingertips, and a groan erupted from his throat.
A whimpering mewling sound came from hers. Mortification would have set in, if the king wasn’t equally as needy. But there was no shame, just honesty, and it was, after all, the kiss to end all kisses. Juan Carlos didn’t let up, not for a moment. His lips worked hers hard, then soft, then hard again. Under her dress, her nipples ached. She was pretty sure the king was experiencing the same agony, but farther south on his body.
She didn’t know whose mouth opened first, or whether it was at the exact same instant, but suddenly she was being swept up and hollowed out, his tongue doing a thorough job of ravaging her. Any second now, she’d be out of her head with lust. But Juan Carlos placed his hands on her shoulders and, she sensed, with great reluctance, moved her away from him.
He leaned back against the seat, breathing hard. “I’ve never made love to a woman in a limo before, Princess. It wouldn’t take much to change that,” he said. He tried for amusement, tried to chuckle, but a serious tone had given away his innermost thoughts.
“It would be a first for me, too,” she said, coming up for air.
A rumpled mess, she tried her best to straighten herself out before she exited the limo.
He pressed a button and the window rolled down. Roberto appeared by the car door. “See Princess Portia to her hotel room,” Juan Carlos said calmly. He’d gotten his emotions in check already, while she was still a ravaged jumble of nerves.
Again, those warm brown eyes lit upon her. “I’ll send a car to pick you up for dinner at seven.”
She swallowed. “Maybe...we shouldn’t,” she squeaked.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked, though his confident tone indicated that it wasn’t even a concern.
She shook her head. “I’m leaving in the morning.”
“And you love your job. Your career means a lot to you. Yes, that’s clear.”
He’d made her refusal seem silly. And it was. Nothing would happen unless she wanted it to happen. She already knew Juan Carlos was that type of man.
“I’ll see you tonight,” she said finally. When the driver opened the car door, she rushed out.
She hadn’t exactly lied to him, had she?
She said she’d be gone, and he thought she meant back to the States. But she’d made up her mind to vacation on the shores of Alma, at least until the end of the week.
But he didn’t need to know that.
* * *
After a late lunch, Juan Carlos had a meeting in the city with the prime minister and few of Alma’s most trusted and prominent business leaders. He struggled to keep his mind on the topics at hand. The restoration of the entire country was a tall order. But every so often, his mind traveled to that place where Portia was in his arms. The image of her lips locked on his, their bodies pulsing to the same lusty rhythms, knocked him for a loop and sent his brain waves scrambling. She was, in his estimation, perfect. For him. For the country.
Wow. Where had that come from? Why was he thinking of her in terms of permanence? As a queen for Alma, for goodness’ sake.
Because aside from the fact that his sensual response was like the national flag being hoisted to full mast every time he looked at her, there was no doubt in his mind that she could take a place by his side at the throne.
As a public figure, he was never alone much anymore, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t lonely. He hadn’t had a serious relationship for years. His ambition had gotten in the way and sure, he’d had a few women in his life, but nothing serious. No one who’d made him feel like this.
Portia’s face flashed in his mind, that porcelain skin, those ice-blue eyes, that haughty chin, that mouth that tasted like sweet sin. The snow queen had become important to him in a short time, and...
“Your Majesty? Juan Carlos, are you all right?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” Prime Minister Rivera was giving him a strange look. “Just deep in thought.”
They’d been talking about how to bring new enterprise to Alma and how the rise of the monarchy would bring in tourism. They needed to brand themselves as a free country and show the world that democracy reigned, that new visitors and new businesses were welcome to their stunning Atlantic shores.
“Actually, I have an idea as to how to draw more tourists,” Juan Carlos said.
“Really?”
Alex Ramon’s ears perked up. As the deputy prime minister of commerce, he was fully immersed in the issue. “Tell us your thoughts.”
“It’s been rumored in our family for years that our ancestors had stashed a considerable amount of artwork, sculptures and paintings on land that had fallen to ruin. Land that Tantaberra overlooked. Right before the family was deposed, they’d thought to hide the art so it wouldn’t fall into the dictator’s greedy hands.”
Juan Carlos’s mind was clicking fast. He didn’t know how true those rumors were. He’d only heard the tales while growing up; Uncle Rafael had spoken of hidden treasures the way a master storyteller would about a pirate’s bounty. It had all been exciting, the sort of thing that captured a little boy’s imagination. But the rumors had held fast and true during his adulthood, and only recently, his cousin Bella had found a hidden cache of letters at one of the family’s abandoned farms, letters that proved that he, a Salazar and not a Montoro, was the rightful heir to the throne.
“I have plans to visit the area myself and see what I can find. If it’s true, and artwork is indeed on the property, think of the story. The art could be restored, and we could have a special showing or a series of showings to bring awareness to Alma.”
“It’s genius, Your Highness,” Prime Minister Rivera said.
Others around the board table agreed.
The meeting ran long and Juan Carlos didn’t get back to the palace until six. He had just enough time to shower and dress for dinner. His pulse sped up as he thought of Portia again, of her sweetly exotic scent and the way she’d filled his body with pleasure when he was near her. She caused him to gasp and sweat and breathe hard. It wasn’t ideal. She was a hard case. She didn’t seem interested in him. And that worried him, because as far as he was concerned, she was The One.
He came down at precisely six forty-five and bumped into his new secretary at the base of the winding staircase, nearly knocking the clipboard out of her hands. “Oh, sorry, Your Highness.” She was out of breath, as if she’d been running a marathon.
“My apologies,” he said. “I’ve been preoccupied and didn’t see you.”
Alicia was redheaded, shapely and quite efficient. She wore glasses, but under those glasses were pretty, light green eyes. She’d taken on a lot, being a first hire, as there was much ground to cover. “Your seven o’clock appointment is here.”
Warmth spread through his body at the mention of his dinner date. “Princess Portia?”
“Oh, uh. No, Your Highness. I’m sorry. I don’t see Princess Portia on the books.” She studied her clipboard, going over the names. “No, you have appointments every half hour for the next few hours. I penciled in a dinner break for you at nine.”
“I thought those were on tomorrow night’s schedule.” Surely, he hadn’t been mistaken, had he? Yet he had to take Alicia at her word. He’d already come to find that she rarely if ever made mistakes. He, on the other hand, had been hypnotized by a pair of deep ocean-blue eyes and was more than distracted.
“I can’t possibly make all of those appointments.” High-ranking officials and the heads of businesses along with their wives or husbands wanted to meet the new king. It was as simple as that. It was good for commerce to know the pillars of trade in Alma, so he’d agreed to a few evening appointments. Under normal circumstances, he’d rather cut off his right arm than cancel them, but he couldn’t break a date with Portia. “See what you can do about cancelling them. Who was first on the schedule?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Rubino. The Rubinos are in the royal study. And your next appointment after that is already here, I’m afraid. They are notoriously early for every occasion, I’m told. They are waiting in the throne room.”
He ran his hands through his hair. “Fine. I’ll see them. But see what you can do about cancelling the rest.”
“Yes, Your Highness. I’ll do my best.” She bit her lower lip, her eyes downcast. “Sorry for the confusion.”
“Alicia?”
“Yes?”
“It’s not your doing. I forgot about these appointments. We’re all learning here. It’s new to all of us.”
She had ten years of experience running a duke’s household in London, coordinating parties and events with dignitaries and the royal family. She hadn’t much to learn. He was the one who had screwed up.
“Yes, Your Highness. I’ll get on those cancellations right away.”
Juan Carlos rubbed the back of his neck and headed to the study.
With luck, he could salvage the evening.
* * *
Portia had been stood up. She’d been delivered to the palace minutes before seven, only to be informed that the king had visitors and to please be patient and wait. She was shown to the dining room and shortly after, the palace chef himself had set dishes of appetizers on the table before her.
Candles were lit and soft music filtered into the room.
The only problem? Her date wasn’t here. And she wasn’t about to eat a thing until he showed. Call her stubborn.
It was after eight. She knew because her stomach refused to stop growling and finally, she’d glanced at her watch.
She’d already taken in the paintings on the walls, assessing them and noting that they weren’t up to par with usual palatial art. Oh, they were lovely pieces, but from contemporary artists. Many of them were replicas of the real thing. It was a curiosity. The monarchy stretched way beyond the years of the dictatorship. There should be older, more authentic works on the walls. But this was only one room. Maybe for security reasons, the gallery held the most valuable pieces.
After wandering the dining hall, she picked a particular patch of space near the fireplace and began pacing.
She couldn’t fault Juan Carlos. His secretary had taken the blame, explaining that she’d failed to remind the king of his visitors. She’d tried her best to cancel the meetings, but she was afraid she wasn’t as successful as she’d hoped.
But the more Portia thought about it, the more pangs of anger replaced her patience.
How long would he keep her waiting?
Travis is in a meeting. He won’t be available for hours. He’d like you to wait, though.
This isn’t the same thing, she reminded herself. Her ex-boyfriend wasn’t a king. Well, maybe the king of late-night television. And she’d fallen for him. He was funny and charming and kind. It was like a regular Cinderella story, the poor broke comedian hooks up with a real live princess. Travis was far from poor now, although he’d come from humble beginnings and the press loved their story and ate it up.
A new American fairy tale, they’d called it.
Travis had been on top of the world when they were together. Everyone loved him and thought he was worthy of a princess from an obscure little country. Only dating a supermodel would have given him more credibility.
And here she was, doing the same thing. Another American fairy tale, only this time with a real king.
Stupid of her.
Her nerves were jumpy and by the time eight-thirty rolled around, she was royally pissed.
Juan Carlos had twisted her arm to accept this dinner date, the way charming men did. He’d trapped her and then kissed her until every brain cell was lulled into capitulation. God, she’d been looking forward to being alone with him again. That kiss was good. Better than good. It was the best kiss she’d ever had. Not even Travis could kiss like that, and he’d been plenty experienced in that department.
“Sorry, so sorry, Portia.”
She jumped. “Oh!” Juan Carlos entered the room, looking dashing in a dark buttoned-up suit but no tie. Another growl emitted from her stomach, this time not due to hunger.
“Did Alicia explain what happened? It was my fault. This is the first chance I’ve had to—”
“It’s been over ninety minutes,” was all she could think to say.
“I would’ve cancelled with you and sent you home, but this is your last night in Alma. Selfishly, I wanted to see you again.”
Guilt rose like bile in her throat. She remained silent.
He glanced at the feast of food that had been put before her. “You didn’t touch anything Chef prepared. You must be famished.”
“I’m not hungry anymore, Your Majesty.”
His lips pursed in disapproval.
She still couldn’t bring herself to call him by his given name.
“You’ve been so patient. There’s just one more meeting I have to get through. Will you wait?”
She shook her head. “Actually, I think I’d like to go.”
“You’re angry.”
“No, I’m tired and, and...”
“Angry.”
She didn’t respond. “Will you have your driver take me back to the hotel?”
Juan Carlos closed his eyes briefly. “Yes, of course. I just assumed after we kissed, you’d... Never mind. You’re right. I shouldn’t have made you wait.”
A man who admitted when he was wrong? How rare.
“Duty called. I’m afraid it always will.”
That’s how it had worked with Travis. The difference? Travis had been building his own personal dynasty, while Juan Carlos was trying to build one for his country. But that still left Portia with the same end result. She’d never be a top priority and while she liked Juan Carlos, she had vowed, after many disappointments with Travis, to never get herself in that situation again.
With that, she wished Juan Carlos a good evening, assured him she wasn’t angry and put enough distance between them that he couldn’t touch her, couldn’t plant his delicious lips on hers again and make her change her mind.
Three (#ulink_6fbada88-d81d-5f5c-9b06-ad8b8fcc47e1)
The beach at Playa del Onda was one of the most stunning Portia had ever visited. Warm sand squeezed between her toes as she sat on a lounge chair, reading a book. This morning she’d gotten up early and taken a long jog along the shoreline, the October sun warming her through and through. She’d met a lovely family of tourists and had breakfast with them at a terrace café that overlooked the Atlantic. But their two little children, aged five and three, reminded her that it would probably be a long time before she was blessed with motherhood.
Often, she thought of having a family. She’d been orphaned at a young age. Aside from her great-aunt Margreta, she had no other family. Her grandmother Joanna had died during Portia’s sophomore year in college. But she had her work and it fulfilled her, and she had good friends. She wasn’t complaining. Yet being here on this beautiful beach was not only relaxing, it was...lonely.
Face it, Portia. How many books can you read this week? How many hot stone spa treatments can you indulge in? How many solo dinners in your room can you enjoy?
