Forbidden nights with the prince

Crown prince Antonio De Santis hasn’t touched a woman since the tragedy that took his fiancée. But an unexpected encounter with notorious temptress Bella Sanchez has this royal breaking his one rule…and he discovers this seductress is not what she seems!

For Bella, life has been an empty performance since the injury that ended her prima ballerina career. But when Antonio demands her presence in his palace, she can’t resist the stolen moments he offers. Their forbidden affair must be kept secret, but soon Bella is faced with a choice—surrender her heart, or tame the De Santis prince!

‘You’re untemptable, right? Your absolute rejection of any physical intimacy is cowardly.’

‘In what way?’ Antonio asked icily, his words sharply enunciated. ‘Doesn’t it denote self-control?’

Something burned in his eyes now, but Bella was too hurt to take heed and too hurt to stop herself lashing out. ‘Maybe you’re afraid that once you start you won’t be able to stop.’

Silence strained for two beats, before he broke it with a soft-spoken, hard-hitting whisper. ‘You want me to prove it?’

He didn’t move a muscle, but somehow he made the room smaller. The subtlest change in his tone, the darkening in his eyes put her senses on alert. He’d gone from angered to something else altogether. Something more dangerous.

Goosebumps rose on her skin, but deep down satisfaction flickered. ‘You don’t have to prove anything to me.’

He walked closer, until he loomed in front of her. She held her ground and watched.

Dared.

These powerful princes request your presence before

The Throne of San Felipe

Destined for the crown, tempted to rebel!

Crown prince Antonio and his wayward brother Prince Eduardo have grown up in the shadow of the San Felipe throne. Now, with their royal destinies fast approaching, the rebel Princes must choose their path.

They’ve always resisted expectation, so the kingdom waits with bated breath to discover if the San Felipe heirs will be dictated to by duty or ruled by desire...

The Secret That Shocked De Santis

The Mistress That Tamed De Santis

Available now from Mills & Boon Modern Romance

NATALIE ANDERSON adores a happy ending—which is why she always reads the back of a book first. Just to be sure. So you can be sure you’ve got a happy ending in your hands right now—because she promises nothing less. Along with happy endings she loves peppermint-filled dark chocolate, pineapple juice and extremely long showers. Not to mention spending hours teasing her imaginary friends with dating dilemmas. She tends to torment them before eventually relenting and offering—you guessed it—a happy ending. She lives in Christchurch, New Zealand, with her gorgeous husband and four fabulous children.

If, like her, you love a happy ending, be sure to come and say hi on facebook.com/authornataliea, follow @authornataliea on Twitter, or visit her website/blog: natalie-anderson.com.

The Mistress That Tamed De Santis

Natalie Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my husband and family, and for the laughter we share.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

The Throne of San Felipe

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

CROWN PRINCE ANTONIO DE SANTIS strolled along the dark street, savouring the stolen moment of freedom as he walked off the burn from the last eighty minutes in the palace gym.

Silence. Solitude. Darkness. Peace.

He checked the hood of his sweatshirt still hid most of his face. He’d soon have to turn back. In less than an hour this road would be crawling with workers frantically finishing preparations and testing the barricades they’d installed over the last day. The crowds would gather early too. San Felipe’s car rally was prestigious, hotly contested and the starting gun for the annual carnival, which meant Antonio’s next couple of weeks were even more packed than usual. State balls, trade meetings, society events, the carnival celebrations required a round-the-clock royal presence as the world’s wealthy and glamorous came to indulge and experience his country’s beauty. And with his younger brother away, Crown Prince Antonio was the only royalty on offer.

He’d do it all anyway; he always did.

He approached an intersection. The road to the left headed into the heart of the city and was the entertainment ‘strip’—lined with restaurants and bars that would soon be packed for race action. He glanced up at the ornate exterior of the former firehouse on the corner—the latest building to have been reclaimed and refurbished into a hot night spot. But after only a week of business, the city’s residents were debating the merits of this particular establishment more than any other.

BURN.

The four bronze letters bolted to the wall screamed both defiance and demand. He read it as a blatant statement of intent—she was here, she didn’t care, and she didn’t intend to hide.

Antonio frowned. Suddenly the window just ahead was flung wide open. The shutter banged on the wall right beside him. If he’d been one pace on, he’d have been knocked out cold on the pavement.

He halted. Even with the relaxed rules in carnival season, the club ought to be closed at this hour. He glanced into the open window, expecting to see a few intoxicated patrons still partying, but no noise streamed out. No endless thud, thud, thud of drum and bass. No high-pitched giggles, loud laughs or low murmurs. It seemed there was no one in the vast room—until something white silently flashed in the deep recesses. He looked closer, tracking the fast-moving creature as the white flashed again. The woman wore a loose white top and...nothing else? The most basic instinct had him locking on her legs—unbelievably long legs that right now were moving unbelievably fast.

Pyjamas. Short pyjamas.

His suddenly slushy brain slowly reached a conclusion. She opened another window down the side of the room and turned again. She wore ballet flats on her feet, not for fashion, but for function, dancing across the floor—spinning so quickly her auburn hair swirled in a curling ribbon behind her. She leapt and landed near the window on the opposite side of the room and opened that one with another dramatic, effervescent gesture before turning yet again. That was when he saw her face properly for the first time.

She was smiling. Not one of the usual sorts of smiles Antonio received—not awed or nervous or curious or come-hitherish... This smile was so full of raw joy it made him feel he should step back into the darkness, but he couldn’t find the will to turn away.

Heat kicked hard in his gut.

Anger. Not lust. Never lust.

He’d have to have spent the last six months living under a rock not to know she’d moved to San Felipe. Given he ruled the island principality, he knew exactly who she was and why she was here. And he didn’t give a damn that she was even more stunning in real life than in any of the pictures saturating the Internet. Bella Sanchez was here to cause trouble. And Antonio didn’t want trouble in San Felipe.

Nor did he want Bella Sanchez.

He didn’t want anyone.

Yet here he was with his feet glued to the pavement, watching her whirl her way round the room with glorious abandon, from one window to the next in flying leaps until she’d opened them all.

She executed another series of dizzying spins across the floor, and suddenly stopped—positioned smack bang in the centre of the window frame he was looking through.

‘Enjoying the view?’ Her smile had vanished and her voice dripped with sarcasm.

When he didn’t move, she glided closer, her feline green eyes like lasers. She wasn’t even breathless as she stared him down like a Fury about to wreak revenge on a miscreant.

Antonio’s reflexes snapped. She thought she could shame him into scuttling away? Another hit of heat made him clench his muscles. He pushed back the hood of his sweatshirt and coolly gazed back up at her, grimly anticipating her recognition of him.

Her eyes widened instantly but she quickly schooled the shock from her face—her expression smoothing until she became inscrutable. Somehow she stood taller. She had the straightest back of anyone he’d ever seen.

‘Your Highness,’ she said crisply. ‘May I help you with something?’

Unfortunately he couldn’t reply; his tongue was cleaved to the roof of his mouth. How could she look this radiant so early in the morning? She had to have had an extremely late night and yet here she was without a scrap of make-up on, looking intolerably beautiful.

Antonio actively avoided being alone with women—especially models, actresses and socialites—but, given his single status and Crown Prince title, they littered his path and made their play nonetheless. Over the past few years he’d met hundreds, if not thousands, of stunning, willing women. He’d refused every single one.

But none had ever looked as gorgeous as Bella Sanchez did right now. And none had looked as haughty.

At his continued silence, she stepped closer. ‘You were spying on me?’

His anger sharpened. He’d avoided meeting her most of all and now she made him sound like a peeping Tom. No matter that in part he felt like one.

‘It is past closing hours,’ he said stiffly.

‘You’re policing me?’ As she stared down at him that haughty barrier locked fully into place, leaching the last of the vitality in her eyes. ‘The club is closed.’

Her English accent was muddied. He figured it was from the years she’d spent abroad and the mix of people in her life.

‘I’m merely ventilating the rooms,’ she explained.

‘Getting rid of suspicious smells?’ He’d heard the rumours and he wasn’t going to ignore them.

A small smile emerged, nothing like the earlier one. ‘This is a non-smoking venue, not some den of iniquity.’

‘There are other vices,’ he replied with calm consideration. ‘Salvatore Accardi warned me this operation was going to bring San Felipe nothing but trouble.’

‘He would know all about trouble.’

She didn’t so much as blink as she snapped back her answer.

He’d wanted to see her reaction to his reference to Accardi—but he’d got almost none.

Salvatore Accardi, former Italian politician, had taken up permanent residence in his San Felipe holiday home. And Salvatore Accardi was reputedly Bella Sanchez’s father.

Twenty-odd years ago she’d been born of scandal, supposedly the love child of the married Salvatore and his sex-symbol mistress. Their affair had been splashed across all the newspapers of the day. But Salvatore had never acknowledged Bella as his baby. He’d refused to undergo paternity testing. He’d stayed with his long-suffering wife, pregnant at the time, and raised their daughter, who’d been born a mere three months before Bella.

Bella had been raised in the public eye, eventually dancing professionally before becoming chatelaine of this party house in the heart of Antonio’s principality. And according to Salvatore Accardi now, her presence would attract nothing but sleaze to San Felipe.

‘Is it so terrible to provide a place for people to have fun?’ Bella asked, shrugging one of her delicate shoulders. She looked slender, but strong.

Antonio frowned at the direction—distraction—of his thoughts.

‘This isn’t about that,’ he said coldly. ‘This is revenge. This is setting up so you’re right in Accardi’s face.’

‘Is that what he told you?’ Her poise cracked briefly as anger flashed. ‘Do you honestly think you can believe everything—or anything—he says?’

At a gut level Antonio had never much liked Salvatore Accardi, but nothing had ever been proven. All those rumours of corporate and political corruption had remained only rumours. And if the man had the personal morals of an alley cat, that was his own business. He’d owned property in San Felipe for too long for Antonio to find reason to require him to leave.

Just as there’d been no reason to refuse a work permit and residency to Bella Sanchez.

And didn’t everyone have the right to be believed innocent until proven guilty?

In her white short pyjamas Bella looked both innocent and unbearably sensual, because that white cotton was thin and she wore nothing beneath it. And when she moved? He could see the outline of her slim waist and generous curves.

‘I’m not sure a venue like this suits San Felipe,’ he said tightly.

‘As if there aren’t other clubs?’ she questioned softly but her gaze was sharp. She almost leaned out of the window frame, making him acutely aware of her unfettered breasts. ‘This isn’t a sex club. There are no pole dancers or strippers.’ She lingered over her quiet words, but then her eyes glinted. ‘Definitely no drugs in dodgy back-room deals.’

Her voice shook with fierceness. He knew her mother, Madeline Sanchez, one of the world’s greatest ‘mistresses’ in a time when such things had been scandalous, had overdosed more than a year ago in a Parisian apartment. Everybody knew all there was to know about Bella Sanchez.

‘This is a legitimate bar and dance floor,’ she added more calmly. ‘And I’m a responsible club owner.’

‘You’re young and inexperienced.’ He paused pointedly. ‘In managing a commercial enterprise, that is.’

Her eyes widened, for a split second she looked furious. But he watched the change as she controlled her emotions once more—the stiffening of that already ramrod-straight spine, her smile so different from the one earlier, the hint of calculation as she glanced at his casual attire.

He braced. She was sizing him up and about to fire her own shot. And oddly, he was looking forward to it.

She swept her arm across her body in a dramatic gesture, drawing his attention to her attributes once more. ‘Why don’t you come in and find out for yourself?’ she invited in a sultry tone. ‘Come inside and see if you can find anything wrong with my club.’

It was a blatant dare—she’d switched into ‘Bella Sanchez, Sex Symbol’ without skipping a beat.

But it wasn’t that challenge that did it for him. Not that coy smile of sophisticated amusement. It was the emotion lurking in the backs of her eyes. The anger she was trying hard to control—that slight tremor in her fingers before she curled them into a fist.

‘Yes.’

He said it because she didn’t expect him to.

She thought he’d politely and coldly refuse, smile distantly and retreat, like the conservative Crown Prince he was. She’d called his bluff.

So he’d called hers. Because at this moment, he damn well felt like doing the last thing anyone—least of all her—expected.

And she hadn’t expected it. Her shock flashed for one satisfying second.

He waited while she unbolted the heavy door, opened it and stepped aside for him to enter. He paused just inside the room, watching as she closed the door and marched around him to lead the way.

‘No suspicious smells, see,’ she said pointedly. ‘Nothing illegal.’

The ground-floor space was sleek and smelled clean, not yet permeated with the lingering, less than fragrant scent of five hundred sweaty clubbers dancing there night after night.

He glanced up—away from the back view of her never-ending legs—and saw the decadent wallpaper and the wrought-iron railings protecting patrons who wanted to party on the mezzanine floor. The chandeliers gleamed even this early in the morning. He hadn’t been in a nightclub in a decade. He’d been crowned in his early twenties, but had been aware of the restraints on his behaviour for years before that. He’d always been dutiful. He’d had to be.

Only now he felt the stirrings of a desire he’d buried deep all those years ago. When had he last danced?

‘You’ll want to see the liquor licence.’ She stalked over to the main bar. ‘And there it is, exactly where it should be. The emergency exits are well marked,’ she added, all officiousness. ‘It was formerly a fire station, you know.’

He did know. But there’d be no putting out the fire in her eyes.

‘The rest of the paperwork is upstairs,’ she said defiantly, turning to face him.

‘So lead the way,’ he answered bluntly. He was committed now.

For a split second her shock was visible again.

Yes, Crown Prince Antonio would never ordinarily go up into the back room of a notorious nightclub in the sole company of a supposedly scandalous siren...but he felt like doing it just to see that reaction again.

He suppressed a smile as he followed her to one of the winding staircases that were like pillars at each side of the room. But as he climbed behind her his amusement faded.

He hadn’t been so alone with a woman so barely attired in years. And it shouldn’t have been a problem now. Except her legs went on for ever. He tried to tear his attention from them. Failed. Was relieved when they reached the mezzanine and she darted ahead to open another window. She then headed to a small alcove that hid a door marked ‘Private’.

Another flight of stairs.

This time he gave in to the temptation to look. She would never know. But there was the faintest flush on her porcelain cheeks as she waited for him to walk into her office.

The top floor was clearly her private space and very different from the dark and sensual decor of the club downstairs. This room was lighter, with white walls and a cream rug covering the floorboards. A large desk dominated the room. A laptop sat open on it, paper files spread beside it. A filing cabinet was behind the desk, while a couple of chairs sat at angles in front of it. But Antonio remained standing because there was another door—open—through which he could see a small kitchenette. And given she was wearing pyjamas, he figured it was safe to assume there was a bed in there too. Tension hit. This had been a mistake. And Antonio couldn’t afford any mistakes.

* * *

Bella stared. Crown Prince Antonio De Santis had accepted her challenge and was standing in her small office. She’d thought he’d decline, all unbending regal politeness. But it seemed he really had chosen this morning to inspect her business—obscenely early, name-dropping the man who refused to acknowledge her and dressed like that.

She’d recognised him the second he’d pulled back the hood of his sweatshirt but he looked nothing like the austere Crown Prince she’d seen on screens and in magazines. That man was tall and broad-shouldered, with not a hair out of place and almost always dressed in an immaculate midnight-blue suit. Perfect for the reserved, always polite but distant Prince.

The man in front of her now hadn’t shaved. His hair was mussed. He must have been out running or something what with the old sweatshirt, track pants and trainers he was wearing. And the edge she’d glimpsed in his eyes? She never would have expected that. Nor would she have expected to feel breathless and hot in his company. Not so hyper-aware.

She never felt that around any guy.

‘You’ll find everything is in there.’ She opened the file and turned it so he could read it, reading it upside down herself. She wanted him to see every single piece of paper and be satisfied and leave as soon as possible. She wasn’t going down without a fight. She’d prove to all her doubters that she could manage this club. She’d prove it to him.

So never mind that she was in her shortie pyjamas, her top slightly too loose and with no bra beneath, because she couldn’t be embarrassed. Never mind that she’d only managed two hours’ sleep because she had so much to do. The club had been open only a week and, while it looked promising, she had a long, long way to go before it could be declared a success and she could sell up and start up the business of her heart.

But he didn’t say anything about the paperwork. She glanced up and caught him staring at her. Again.

She was used to men looking. They all wanted the same thing, right? They all thought they knew everything there was to know about her. But the ice in this man’s eyes was something else. It burned.

He stood silent. Guarded. Judging.

She’d not expected that from San Felipe’s broken, beloved Prince. Wasn’t he supposed to hide a wounded heart? Wasn’t he supposed to be kind and benevolent under the weight of all that duty?

Everyone knew his story. His ‘One True Love’ had tragically died of cancer barely two months after his coronation and the accident that had claimed the lives of both his parents. He’d not been linked to another woman since. The Prince had buried his heart with his girlfriend. And, according to the glossy mags, the nation believed only the love of a pure and perfect woman could heal him and bring him happiness...

That woman clearly wasn’t her given he was looking at her like that.

Forbidding. Disapproving.

Thrown off balance, she felt goaded into provoking a reaction from him. Beneath the fifty feet of ice he hid behind, it had to be there—emotion of some kind.

She should have been intimidated. She should have remained polite. She should have respected the power he held. But she was too tired. And too hurt.

‘Why are you staring at me like I’ve forgotten something?’ She stepped out from her desk. ‘Should I have curtseyed as you walked in?’ She lifted her chin at his utter impassivity. ‘Should I get on my knees before you?’

She regretted the sultry taunt the second she’d uttered it.

Because there was no reaction. He didn’t move a muscle. Didn’t speak a word. Just kept, ever so coolly, regarding her.

Her cheeks burned as shame grew. She’d been everything the world expected her to be—a scandalous, tarty temptress. But she was a big fat faker.

And he wasn’t. He really was as frozen-hearted as they said. And every bit as breathtaking.

‘You’re going to have to do better than that,’ he finally said. ‘Do you think you’re the first woman to try seducing me by stripping and dancing in front of me?’

His words hit like hailstones.

‘I didn’t strip.’

‘Only because you didn’t bother getting dressed properly.’

‘And I didn’t dance for you.’ She ignored his interruption. ‘I was just warming up alone. You’re the one who stopped to watch. You could have kept walking, Tony.’

For a split second she got a reaction—his jaw dropped. Before he snapped it shut and then shot his words like bullets.

‘What did you just call me?’

‘Tony,’ she repeated, refusing to back down. ‘Crown Prince Antonio is too much of a mouthful.’

There was a pause, then his gaze skittered down her body—so deliberately. ‘Too much of a mouthful,’ he echoed slowly.

This time Bella’s jaw dropped. Did he say that while scoping out her breasts? Which, yes, were on the fuller side. Especially for a dancer.

Crossing his arms, he continued to regard her, making her feel uncharacteristically vulnerable. His complete attention wasn’t like any ordinary audience of thousands. His scrutiny was way more intense.

‘I’ve seen it all, every artifice, every attempt to attract me,’ he muttered. ‘It won’t work.’

‘Because we’re all out to entrap you?’ she asked, shocked at his direct approach. ‘You think I’m trying to use my feminine wiles to draw you in? Because you’re the biggest prize?’

‘Aren’t you?’ he answered, cocking his head. ‘Or are you just trying to provoke me? You want to win a reaction from “the Ice Prince”,’ he mocked. ‘Because you’re all about getting the reaction.’

She drew breath at the accuracy of his hit.

‘I’ve had every kind of play,’ he continued with a quietness that belied the edge to his words. ‘The sympathy, simpering agreement and the bitchy comebacks of the treat-me-mean kind...there’s nothing I haven’t seen or heard, so don’t bother.’

Anger rushed along her veins, scalding her skin. ‘You think I want you anywhere near me?’

His lips twisted in a coolly mocking look and he didn’t bother to answer.

‘You’re unbelievably arrogant,’ she said.

‘You think?’

Yes, she did. But swirling beneath the frost-covered atmosphere was elemental attraction at its most basic. He was appallingly attractive—her body yearned to get closer to his. And when he didn’t back away from her challenge?

Primitive instinct could be a powerful thing. But she had more of a brain than that. So her basic instinct could go bury itself back in the cave it had been dwelling in for the last three years.

‘I have no desire to attract you,’ she declared passionately. Totally meaning every word. ‘This isn’t some ploy with which I hope to gain your grace or favour or sexual interest. You do not interest me in the least.’

‘You interest me,’ he said softly, slicing the ground from under her.

Sensual awareness feathered over her skin.

‘Why San Felipe?’ He stepped closer. ‘Why now?’

Her heart stopped beating as she looked up into his blue eyes. For a second he actually looked human—as if he actually cared. And for a second she longed to open up and just be honest.

But as if she could ever tell him. When he’d so arrogantly assumed she wanted to land herself a princely lover? When he chose to listen to the father who’d always refused to recognise her?

He’d be just another man who denied her.

She wanted him to leave but she couldn’t tear her gaze from his. She’d thought she could handle anything. But she wasn’t sure she could handle him.

He reached out as if to take her hand. ‘Why now, Bella?’

Abruptly she turned to avoid his touch.

‘Careful—’

His warning came too late. As she whirled to escape her weak ankle went and she stumbled, catching her thigh on the corner of her desk.

* * *

Antonio winced at the grimace of pain on Bella’s face as she grabbed the desk to stop herself falling down. She’d gashed her leg, just above her knee. As he looked close he saw a long, jagged scar running in a wonky line up her shin.

She paled, her lips pressed together to mute any sound of pain.

It had been so long since he’d had any kind of physical comfort. Or offered any. He’d almost forgotten how. ‘Bella?’

‘It’s fine.’ She straightened and drew in a deep breath.

‘I’m sure,’ he replied, but he knew it wasn’t.

‘Wouldn’t want you thinking this was another ploy.’

‘It is my fault you fell,’ he said stiffly, his hands at his side, wanting to help her yet feeling oddly impotent.

‘You feel responsible? Rest easy, I won’t sue you.’ Her lips compressed. ‘It’s no more damaged than it already was.’

‘It still needs dressing.’ Blood was already oozing from the small wound. ‘You have a first-aid kit?’

‘Of course.’ She didn’t move.

He sighed at her reluctance. ‘I need to see it. Or I’ll revoke your operating licence.’

She gritted her teeth and limped behind her desk. His irritation smouldered. She really didn’t want him to help. Was that because he’d really offended her or because he’d struck too close to the mark?

She had been trying to get a rise out of him, but she hadn’t meant the vampish ‘on her knees’ offer—not when she’d jumped to get away from him.

She clutched the small container but he held out his hand. Sending him a death look, she passed it to him. Antonio bit back the smile of satisfaction and opened the lid.

‘Lean on the desk,’ he told her.

‘This isn’t necessary.’

He wasn’t used to repeating instructions. He glanced up and her stormy expression clashed with his. ‘Lean on the desk.’

Slowly, stiffly, she rested her body back.

‘Thank you,’ he said, ultra-politely.

He knelt at her feet, inwardly grimacing at the irony given her provocative remark only moments ago.

He knew an injury had ended her professional career. In the last decade Antonio had attended the ballet only out of duty but he could appreciate the strength and commitment it would have taken Bella to reach the level she had.

Her body was still incredibly athletic. This close he could smell her light, floral scent. It made him think of summer sun, not endless nights in a darkened dance club. In his mind’s eye he saw her on the floor, bumping and grinding up close to her patrons. He gritted his teeth. Not jealous. And not aroused.

He was not aroused by her.

He wasn’t like all the other red-blooded men in the world. He didn’t have time to be. He didn’t have the right. But just at this moment, he was every inch a mere man.

‘Do you dance your way through all your tasks?’ he asked, trying to distract himself from her sweet scent and delicate skin. He dabbed the blood and prepped a plaster as quickly as he could, not touching any part of her beyond necessary.

‘Is that a serious question?’ she mumbled.

‘Yes.’ Satisfied with how the plaster neatly covered the gash, he glanced up to read her expression. She was sitting unnaturally still—apparently holding her breath.

She met his gaze with those deep green eyes that were now almost liquid. ‘You want to know if I dance while brushing my teeth?’

He inwardly smiled at the image. ‘I bet you brush in time to the music playing in your head.’

Her eyes widened and her smile broke free—her full mouth softened and her eyes sparkled. She looked fresh and beautiful and bright.

Heat flared from flicker to flame, urging him to touch those lush curving lips—

He jerked to his feet and stepped away before he did something colossally stupid.

‘Have you been out drinking?’

He turned at the bitterness in her tone and saw her smile had vanished.

‘I don’t drink,’ he said simply.

‘No vices at all?’ she mocked. ‘No sex, right?’

That speculation was correct. It had been years since he’d had a lover. He was only about duty: to serve his country and to protect his people. All of them—dead and alive. That was his penance.

‘And no drinking,’ she added. ‘I guess that just leaves drugs.’

‘None of those either.’

‘Fast cars?’

He shook his head. ‘The Crown Prince cannot be injured or killed in a car accident. That can’t happen in San Felipe again.’ His parents’ tragedy had cut the nation too deeply.

‘So you’re reduced to watching.’ Storms gathered in her eyes.

‘If you wanted privacy you would have kept your curtains closed,’ he answered abruptly. ‘But you didn’t, because you like to be watched. You’ve made a career out of it.’

Anger flashed in her face. Before she could reply a short melody burst through the charged atmosphere. Then again. And again. His damn cell phone.

‘Are you going to answer that or would you like me to?’ Those temptress tones returned—but so shaky this time.

She was trying to goad him again, using her voice, her eyes, her femininity to bring a man to his knees.

Not this man. He wasn’t that weak.

Yet she knew that already. And that was the twist. She expected him to pull away—she wanted to drive him further back because she didn’t want him too close. Because his nearness bothered her.

That realisation shocked him. His body had already betrayed him. She was so damn beautiful, for the first time in years his desire was stirred.

‘It’s my security team.’ He cleared the frog from his throat and ignored the call.

‘I’m amazed they let you wander the streets alone,’ she said dryly.

‘They know exactly where I am.’

Her eyebrows lifted. ‘You told them you were coming here?’

‘GPS.’ His watch was tracked. It even had a silent emergency alarm button. Very spy film but he’d had to agree to it to get his morning walks alone.

‘Your every movement is accounted for? So you’re like a prisoner on electronic monitoring?’

‘The concept is not dissimilar. They’re concerned because I’ve not returned to the palace by my usual time.’ He pulled the phone from his pocket as it began to ring again. If he didn’t reply to this next call, a security team would be on its way in seconds.

‘A change in the usual routine,’ she drawled. ‘Heaven forbid.’

‘Yet here you are, doing the same warm-up dance routine you’ve been doing for years,’ he answered blandly. ‘We are creatures of habit, just doing what we usually do.’

Like falling back on old defences.

But as he read the message from his security chief he tensed. He double-checked the time on the screen—how had twenty minutes passed so quickly? He crossed the room to glance out of the window. In the space of a few minutes, the world had changed.

Outside people were lining the barricaded street, already standing two to three deep. He’d been so engrossed in dealing with Bella he hadn’t heard the crowds gathering.

Swiftly he stepped back. To be seen inside Bella Sanchez’s apartment at this hour of the morning would be unacceptable. But to be seen leaving it even worse. Especially given his unshaven, dishevelled appearance. The world would think he’d had another kind of workout altogether.

His gut burned.

Was this want? It had been so damn long since he’d wanted any woman. Clenching the phone in his fist, he faced her. She’d stilled, listening to the rising clamour outside. Given the way her features had tightened, the realisation the world had woken wasn’t good news for her either.

‘It seems it is your lucky day,’ he muttered, feeling like provoking her the way she had him. ‘I will have to remain here.’

Her eyes widened. ‘For how long?’

Until his team could work out a subtle extraction plan. ‘Until they’ve all gone home.’

‘But that race won’t finish for another six hours!’

Her obvious discomfort gave him a macabre pleasure. That she didn’t want him near echoed his own unwanted feelings.

But he looked at her, outwardly unmoved. ‘What do you suggest we do to pass the time?’

CHAPTER TWO

BELLA STARED. HE was joking, wasn’t he? But Prince Antonio never joked; he looked as straight up serious and remote as ever. Worse, if anything.

‘Why can’t you leave now?’ She still didn’t understand why he was here at all.

He stepped further from the window, looking at his phone as it buzzed again. ‘The crowds outside are already too big.’

‘They love their Crown Prince. They’ll be happy to see you.’ He could do no wrong in his people’s eyes.

‘I’m not prepared for a meet and greet at this point in time.’ He quickly sent a text.

‘Because you’re not in one of your navy suits? The track pants aren’t all bad...’ In the baggy hoodie he looked younger and more approachable than in any of the stills she’d seen. In fact dressed like this he looked alarmingly attractive. ‘A prince at leisure—’

He glanced up and her words died in her throat. It finally dawned on her why he refused to leave.

‘You don’t want them to see you here,’ she said. ‘With me.’

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. She could see it all over his icy expression.

He was loath to be seen anywhere near her. Why? Did he think she could taint him in some way?

That hurt where she was most vulnerable. No one—not her old dance company, not her ex-boyfriend, not even her own father—wanted to claim a personal connection to her. Only those wanting instant Internet fame wanted to be caught near her. And as if that were what he wanted. Like her, Crown Prince Antonio De Santis had been born famous, but he was legitimately so—whereas she?

He steadily held her gaze. That unnerving reserve made her too aware of him, but she refused to let him silence her with little more than a stare. Not now or ever.

‘You think it would damage your reputation to be seen exiting my club at this hour of the morning?’ Her voice shook and she drew in a sharp breath. ‘Maybe it would enhance it.’

He still didn’t answer but his demeanour changed. He might be wearing worn workout gear, but now he looked every inch the powerful ‘Head of State’. Clothes made no difference. Nothing could pierce that princely aura. Bella’s anger flared. He was so protected, whereas she?

‘No one would believe anything “untoward” of you. But me?’ She laughed bitterly. ‘I’m the vixen, right? But surely not even wicked little Bella Sanchez could trap Prince Antonio with her wiles...’

It was what he’d accused her of attempting only moments before. And he was right, it was laughable. Scathing, she stepped closer; her words tumbled unchecked, unthinking.

‘I don’t know why you’re so worried,’ she snarled. ‘You’re untemptable, right? You’re the frigid Prince.’ She took no notice of his sudden frown or the muscle jerking in his jaw; his wordless judgment had unleashed the banked-up bitterness of so many betrayals. ‘Your absolute rejection of any physical intimacy is cowardly.’

Just as hiding here for hours would be cowardly.

And dangerous for her.

‘In what way?’ he asked icily, his words sharply enunciated. ‘Doesn’t it denote self-control?’

Something burned in his eyes now, but she was too hurt to take heed and too hurt to stop herself lashing out. ‘Maybe you’re afraid that once you start, you won’t be able to stop.’

He said nothing. He didn’t need to. His rigidity screamed irritation and arrogance.

‘Everyone loses control some time,’ she taunted. She’d seen it every night since she’d opened the club. People got carried away. Just as she was now. But she didn’t care.

‘Not me,’ he finally countered.

‘Because you’re a robot?’ she scoffed. ‘You’re just a prince—that doesn’t give you super powers.’

Silence strained for two beats before he broke it with a soft-spoken, hard-hitting whisper. ‘You want me to prove it?’

He didn’t move a muscle, but somehow he made the room smaller. The subtlest change in his tone, the darkening in his eyes put her senses on alert. He’d gone from angered, to something else altogether. Something more dangerous.

Goosebumps rose on her skin, but deep down satisfaction flickered. ‘You don’t have to prove anything to me.’

‘Don’t I? When you’ve taken it upon yourself to judge me so completely?’

‘You’d judged me before you even crossed my threshold,’ she pointed out with relish. ‘And you collude with other people’s judgments when you react with concern about being seen in my company.’

‘You’re mistaken in many ways.’ He frowned. ‘I’m not a robot. And no, I don’t have super powers. But I don’t lose control, Bella.’

He walked closer, until he loomed in front of her. She held her ground and watched. Dared.

‘I can start,’ he promised with wintry imperiousness. ‘And then stop.’

‘Start what?’ she taunted again.

‘You’re Bella Sanchez,’ he murmured. ‘You live for kisses and adoration.’

That stung. Her mother’s reputation had stained her own from the start. Men assumed that as she’d inherited her mother’s figure, she’d have her ‘skills’ too. But her mother had been discarded by every one of her many lovers. Which was partly why Bella was not the lover of anyone bold enough to make a move. And the truth was she was unmoved. Always.

She should shake him off with some glib retort and a smile and make her escape from a situation like this the way she’d done many times before. Or she should tell him exactly where to go and why.

‘What if I don’t want you to kiss me?’ she asked, determinedly standing in place despite the adrenalin rush urging her to run.

‘Don’t you?’ He laughed then. A low, sexy, mocking laugh.

That he’d laughed at all was a shock, but that he laughed like that? She just gazed at him, stunned by this glimpse of someone else altogether—a gorgeous virile man.

His smile disappeared as he neared, but there was still that glimpse of human behind the pale blue. ‘You are beautiful.’

Beneath that clinical assessment she heard huskiness. Heat washed over her, confusing her more.

‘Beauty isn’t everything,’ she pointed out.

Glossy magazines and plastic surgeons would argue otherwise, but Bella knew the truth. Beauty faded. Beauty depended on who was looking. Beauty didn’t count for anything at the end of the day.

‘No,’ he agreed softly.

The atmosphere thickened, building the tension both within her and between them. She wanted to duck and run. She already knew she wouldn’t feel anything if he kissed her. She never felt anything. That was the point. She’d tried but she wasn’t the hedonist the world wanted her to be. In ten seconds it would be obvious who the frigid one was. He’d know her secret. She gritted her teeth, angered by that old humiliation.

‘Go on, then,’ she finally snapped. ‘Try it and see what happens.’

‘Such an invitation,’ he mocked.

‘You’re hardly bounding over with unbridled lust.’

‘I don’t do unbridled lust, remember?’ He regarded her intently. ‘You’re not going to drive me crazy.’

It was almost as if he was challenging himself. Not her.

‘I don’t want to drive anyone crazy,’ she retorted. ‘People ought to take responsibility for their own actions.’

She just wanted to do her own thing. She hadn’t asked to be raised in the glare of paparazzi flashes. Yes, she’d chosen the ballet stage, but it wasn’t supposed to have intruded into her personal life as much. And now she did all that Internet sharing only to build something for the future—funding her escape route.

‘Indeed they should.’ He gripped her waist, his hands not too high or too low or too tight. He didn’t step closer so there was a clear two inches between them. He held her in the position perfect for a formal dance. But they weren’t in a ballroom. They were yards from her tiny bedroom.

Heart thudding, Bella fisted her hands and held them to her stomach, but she couldn’t bring herself to say stop. Instinctively she knew that if she did, he would. But she was curious to see how far perfect Prince Antonio would take this. She kept her eyes open, focusing intently on him. It was a trick she’d learned when amorous dates had moved closer than she’d wanted. Guys didn’t like to think they weren’t wowing a woman with their sensual prowess.

But Antonio kept his eyes open too. As he inclined his head she found herself sinking into their surprising depths—they were such a pale blue, but there was an echo of that smile glinting in the backs of them. That smile was what she really wanted more of.

He pressed his lips to hers in the lightest caress, offering less than a heartbeat of touch. But it delivered a lightning flash of heat. Bella froze, teetering on the edge of something unknown, so tempted to tumble over—but he didn’t take her there. He didn’t touch her again.

He remained a breath away but she couldn’t fathom his feelings in his unreadable eyes.

Finally it dawned on her that he had no feelings. He’d been teasing her. He’d intended to give her nothing but that chaste peck all along. Perfectly, bloodlessly executed. Any second now he’d step back and say, ‘I told you so’. He was utterly in control at all times.

Disappointment spilled into that vast, empty space in her chest. She really shouldn’t feel it, she really shouldn’t care, she should concede his victory with laughing grace and push him away.

But she’d felt a glimmer of what might have been—a sliver of heat that had stunned her with its strength.

So she could only stay still, unable to move for thinking—for feeling. His eyes were so damn mesmerising but now she couldn’t bear to look into them any more. Yet when she dropped her gaze, she saw his sensual mouth and his chiselled jaw roughened with morning stubble. He was picture-postcard perfect and it was so unfair because for one millisecond she’d actually wanted—

His fingers tightened, pinching her waist. She looked up in surprise but before she could speak his lips brushed hers again. Another soft, too brief—tantalising—caress. She got the smallest glimpse into his eyes before he bent to her again. His reserve crumbled as intensity flared. Her heart stopped at that flash of emotion.

When he kissed her that third time, he lingered. She lifted her chin, meeting him, her body instinctively yearning for him to stay. She wanted more—a real kiss. She wanted him to release the energy she sensed building within him and ease the need starting to ache within her. She wanted more of the magic she’d tasted in that first swift touch. She wanted more than disillusionment and emptiness and abandonment all over again. She just wanted more.

For the first time in her life, she really wanted it.

He didn’t disappoint her this time. He stayed. He held. He kissed. His lips moved from gentle, to more insistent, to finally demanding. As she acquiesced, parting her mouth, his demands grew greater still. His hands shifted, shaping her curves and then possessively pulling her closer. Her heart struck up again, sprinting to a frantic tempo—in shock. In passion. She wriggled her hands from where they’d been squashed between them and reached up to his shoulders so she could literally hang on as he bent her backwards and kissed her more thoroughly still.

Oh, he kissed her. Her eyes drifted shut as she focused on the pressure of his lips—the teasing pleasure. His kiss lightened and she gripped his shoulders more tightly, afraid he was about to pull away. But he kissed her again and again in a series that mimicked that first—softly stirring desire, building her frustration until she couldn’t control the small moan that escaped. Then he kissed her hard and long again. And he repeated the pattern—unpredictable, maddening. Delicious.

She’d never have expected Prince Antonio to be as playful. Or as skilled. But what did it matter when he made her feel like this?

She moaned in pleasure as he kissed her deeply again. It was as if all the empty places within her were being filled and heated and the sensation was so addictive. There was pure pleasure to be had in his arms. The kind she’d never experienced with anyone else.

Breathless, she wanted to say something, but couldn’t. She didn’t want to break the magic—uncaring of any consequences, of how crazy this had suddenly become. She just wanted to feel it—all of him—all of the gratification she could get. Instinctively she moved, circling her hips. His hand slid, pressing over the curve of her bottom and pulling her harder against the heat of his pelvis. Feeling how aroused he was made her melt all the more into his embrace.

His arms tightened around her but she didn’t resist as he walked her backwards and then pushed her back against the desk. She couldn’t remain standing anyway and she had no desire to stop. She only wanted more. Just here. Now. In this white-hot moment.

He shoved the files behind her to the floor with a sweep of his arm, pushed her back until she lay on the hard wood, and followed her down.

He kissed down the side of her neck, burying his mouth in that sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulders. His hand slid beneath her light pyjama top. The sensation of skin on skin made her arch involuntarily. His hand was heavy, then light, teasing as he traced small circles over her abdomen, up to her ribs, then higher still. She shivered as he neared the hard peak of her breast. He lifted his head from hers, breaking the kiss to look into her eyes. He didn’t look down as he lifted her top to expose her breasts. She felt the cool air, felt her nipples tighten more—until they were almost painful. She licked her dried lips as she waited, splayed on the desk beneath him, until he looked down at her partially naked body.

A groan ripped from him when he finally looked. She looked down too, saw how her breasts thrust up towards him, her nipples tight and needy and erect—begging for more than his visual attention. They wanted touch. He muttered something unintelligible. Before she could ask him what he’d said he bent his head and took her nipple in the hot cavern of his mouth. Her breathing came quick and erratic as she watched him take pleasure in her body—in pleasuring her.

She closed her eyes, sprawled back on the desk, basking in the sensations as he explored her more fully. He pushed between her legs, grinding against her, and cupped her other breast in his hand, his fingers teasing that taut peak. When he pushed her full breasts together to lave both nipples with his tongue, she almost arched off the wood completely. All her restraints were now off, her need unleashed. She bucked, thrusting her hips against his, wanting him to strip her, touch her and kiss her where she was hot and wet and so, so ready.

Never had she been ready for a man the way she was for him. Never had a man made her feel this aroused. The ache between her legs burned, her blood ran faster in a quickening beat of need. She reached out, wanting to explore him too. His skin was hot to the touch. His jaw bristled but it was so good as it gently abraded her tender skin. She raked her hands across his back, the heat of him burning through his sweatshirt.

His muscularity surprised her. He was only ever pictured in suits so she’d never have guessed he’d be this defined. Granite muscles like these meant he worked out—regularly and hard. She wanted to see them. Wanted to touch. But he pressed down, smothering her attempts to pull his sweatshirt up, distracting her from that goal by simply kissing her again and again and again while running his hands over her bared breasts with wicked skill.

And she couldn’t resist succumbing to the pleasure of it.

That it could be this man who pulled this feeling from her? This unadulterated lust. He left no room for regret or reason. There was only this, only now. His breathing roughened but he said nothing more. He kissed down her neck, then lower to tease with fiery touches across her quivering belly, then back up to her breasts. But his hand worked lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her flimsy short pyjama bottoms. She parted her legs further without thinking about it, aching for him to touch her there. He growled guttural approval as his fingers cupped her intimately. She shuddered at the intensity of desire that consumed her as he gently stroked. She was so close. The pleasure built so shockingly quickly. She’d never been so close with anyone.

‘Antonio...’ She breathed the quietest plea as she arched against him, right on the edge.

He froze, then glanced up to look into her eyes for a heartbeat. Dazed, she didn’t register his tormented expression. But then he pulled away from her, his face now utterly impassive.

‘You’re stopping?’ She gasped in disbelief. ‘Now?’

His lips twisted but he didn’t reply. Running his hand through his hair, he huffed out a harsh breath and stepped back from her.

Astonished, she stared, realising what he’d done. He’d done this to prove a petty point. And he’d proved it already. But it was also a punishment. He was putting her in her place in a humiliating show of power—he could have her any way he wanted, however he chose.

But now he chose not to.

That he’d use his sensual dominance over her this way was most especially cruel because she’d never felt anything like this. No man had made her want in this way and this one time she’d almost felt pure, sensual pleasure, it had been snatched from her. She swept her hand over her belly, as if she could press away the ache deep inside.

‘I don’t need you,’ she muttered angrily. So hurt. ‘I don’t need any man.’ She didn’t need any one.

He turned back, his gaze smouldering. Her legs were still splayed. She was so exposed, half-stripped and spread on her own damn desk for him to toy with but she refused to cover up and show how shamed she felt.

‘What are you doing?’ His words sounded raw and accusing.

She realised he was staring at her hand pressed low on her belly. Bitterness rose in her throat. Because yes, the only way she’d ever experienced an orgasm was by her own action. But as if she’d do that now?

Heat burned in his narrowed eyes. Outrage burned in her. She wasn’t giving him the pleasure of watching. She curled her fingers into a fist, her vision swimming with acidic tears.

She heard his groan and a muttered word, but she didn’t know what he said because suddenly he was there. Back where she needed him. Bending between her parted thighs, his spread hand raking up her body.

‘It wouldn’t be as good,’ he muttered, leaning close, catching her gaze with his.

She tried to turn her head away but he moved too fast, holding her chin with a firm grip. He almost smiled as he moved closer.

This kiss was cautious and tender.

She didn’t close her eyes and when he drew back a fraction to gauge her response, she kept glaring at him. But then he kissed one eyelid. Then the other. Making her close her eyes. Then he caught her mouth with his again. Not cautious at all. Not holding anything back. Just that passionate teasing, stirring her to react again. To want.

And heaven help her she did. So quickly she was there again, lost in the lust he roused within her. She couldn’t wriggle away from him. Couldn’t break the kiss. Rather she moaned in his mouth—a mixture of hurt and want and pleading.

In answer he slid his hand firmly over her stomach, wrapped his broad palm around her fist and lifted her arm, pressing it back on the desk beside her, clearing his path down her body. He cupped her breast, then teased his way lower again, to where she was still wet and hot and wanting. All the while his lips were sealed to hers, his tongue stroking and teasing and claiming her the way the rest of her wanted to be claimed.

She moaned again, nothing but want this time. She wanted him naked, wanted to touch him everywhere, wanted him to thrust deep inside her and ease this hellish ache. He didn’t. He just teased—decadently, mercilessly until she was sweat-slicked and shivering and mindless.

She bucked against his hand—wanting faster, deeper, more. He groaned in approval, kissing her harder, letting her feel more of his weight. She wanted to take it all. Her hips rocked, undulating in an increasing rhythm, matching the stroke of his fingers and tongue. She wanted to force him to break free of his control. She wanted him to stop holding back. She wanted him to just take her.

But he didn’t relinquish his restraint for one second. He kept kissing her. Kept touching her where she needed him most. Stirring, rousing, until she was almost out of her mind with desire, until she was moaning a song of need into his mouth, her body trembling beneath his, her nails clawing into his skin as she hurtled towards the peak. Finally he broke the passionate kiss, letting her gasp as the rest of her arched, utterly rigid in that unbearable moment before release. Oh, it was here. He’d pulled her through the burn and made her feel it. Her eyes closed, she cried out as the wave of pleasure hit, sweeping her away in that powerful turbulent crest. She clutched him fiercely as the sensations tumbled within her, drowning her in almost unendurable bliss. He pressed hard against her as she convulsed, not letting her pull back from the intensity he’d stirred. His fingers rubbed relentlessly, ensuring she received every last spasm of pleasure from her orgasm.

Finally she fell back on the desk, limp as the warmth spread along her veins, sending her into a lax, dazed state. Raggedly she gasped, trying to recover her mind, but it was impossible to catch her breath. Impossible to wipe the smile from her face. Impossible to believe what had just happened.

Never had a man made her feel so good. It wasn’t just the orgasm, it was the heat and vitality he’d seemed to pour into her. He’d made her feel wholly alive, here and now. Twin tears escaped her closed eyes before she had the chance to brush them away but she was smiling at the same time, because it was so good and such a surprise and she was so happy.

Yet even now, despite that mind-blowing pleasure, the ache within burned anew. Suddenly she felt empty even with that elation still zinging around her. She wanted all of him. And she wanted him now.

Shocked at her surging hunger, she opened her eyes and looked into his.

‘Antonio,’ she whispered, shocked when she read what was so obvious in his unguarded expression. Torment—desolation and desperation. Feelings she understood all too well.

‘Please.’ She reached out to cup him—to make him feel as good as he’d made her feel. But he gripped her wrist and stopped her, his hand painfully tight.

‘Don’t touch me,’ he ordered through clenched teeth.

His words hit like physical blows. It was utter, raw rejection.

She closed her eyes but his spurn had already slammed the lingering sense of pleasure from her. Emptiness ripped her open. Now their imbalance struck her forcefully. She was almost naked. He was fully clothed. She was vulnerable and exposed. He was sealed and silent.

But they were both angry.

He released her wrist, pulling away to put three feet of distance between them. He stopped and stood with his back to her, his hands on his hips, his head bowed. She could see the exertion in his breathing, as if he’d run a race to the death. He was trying to slow it, regulate it and recover his equilibrium. Well, so was she. But she was failing.

She sat up, yanking her top down to cover herself, confused and lonelier than ever. ‘Maybe it’s time—’

‘I behaved like—’ he interrupted her harshly, then broke off. He twisted to face her. Tall and proud and formal. Icy again. ‘I behaved inexcusably,’ he said in those remote, clipped tones. He bowed stiffly. ‘I apologise.’

For a long moment she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t believe he’d become this remote statesman again. Did he feel guilty? Was he upset that he’d sullied the memory of his dead lover because he’d felt up the tart from the nightclub? Was that what this was?

Fury burned but oddly pity was entwined with it. She felt sorry for herself. Sorry for him. Sorry this whole moment had started.

But she only had to look at him to know any attempt at conversation would be futile. He’d scorched any sense of connection or compassion. There was simply nothing left. Yet he remained standing like a statue in the middle of her room, staring at her with that damned unreadable expression.

In the end she could only whisper, ‘You behaved like a human.’

His nostrils flared but he didn’t reply. He swiftly turned and strode to the door.

‘You didn’t want to be seen,’ she called scornfully as this next rejection scalded her all over again.

He still didn’t hesitate. He just walked out without a word, rapidly descending the stairs.

Bella closed her eyes until the sound of his footsteps receded completely. She understood anyway. He’d rather risk being seen leaving her club than staying another second in her company.

He didn’t want to be near her ever again.

CHAPTER THREE

CARS ROARED: a relentless mass of humming metal and fuel. Distracted, Antonio almost forgot to applaud when the first passed the chequered flag. He’d not been looking at the finish line because she was down with the winning team’s pit crew, and she was dressed not to be seen, but to stun.

Photographers called and clicked constantly, like seagulls incessantly circling a kid with an ice-cream cone. Bella paused long enough to send them a glittering smile, then turned to snap a selfie with the winner of the race. Doubtless she’d upload it once she’d filtered it to her satisfaction.

I don’t need any man.

Her vehement denial replayed in his mind, but the vulnerability that the harsh-edged words revealed echoed loudest of all. Those tears after she’d come apart in his arms haunted him. He’d broken past that slick, sophisticated façade and found her to be tender and he’d been a jerk. Because he hadn’t reciprocated. He hadn’t been as honest with her as she’d been with him. And she’d been mortified.

But now, only hours later, her façade was back—beautiful and bulletproof. Grimly he fought the urge to take her somewhere isolated and break her walls down to get to that genuine, emotional response again. As if she’d allow him to now.

While he’d returned to the palace without detection that morning he was in no way pleased. He was a leader of not just an army, but a nation, and he never ran from a situation. Yet he’d run from the desire she’d aroused in him. Now regret and anger burned alongside it.

For the best part of a decade he’d staved off sexual want, using extreme exercise to gain self-control; his honed physique was a by-product of that intense discipline. Because he refused to hurt anyone the way he had Alessia and he refused to use women to satisfy purely physical desires. Discipline had become habit. It had almost become easy.

Until today.

Maybe his apparently uncontrollable desire for Bella had been a reaction to tiredness and stress. Or maybe it was because it had been so long since lust had burned him, it had been able to slip his leash like quicksilver...

He could come up with reasons, but they still didn’t excuse his actions. And they didn’t explain why he was unable to look away from her now.

She was ravishing, putting on a performance for more than the thousands in this crowd and her online audience of millions. This fortnight on San Felipe was packed with festivities and events, ones he had to attend while sandwiching in the vital trade talks and tax-exemption debates with the foreign politicians who’d come to work during the day and party at night.

Bella would use this fortnight to build her brand and define her club as the most ‘it’ venue on the island—if not the world. This was the reason for the glamour, the smiles and selfie-central behaviour. All those society events that he had to attend, she would be present at too. There would be no avoiding her. Not in the immediate future.

His jaw ached with the effort of holding back his frustration.

As soon as the race formalities had concluded, he returned to his large office in the palace. He listened to the requests of his aides, read through the official papers in the scarlet box on his desk and braced himself for the celebration reception that evening.

As he’d figured, she was there, draped in an emerald-green silk dress that skimmed her curves before falling in a dramatic swathe to the floor. He was even less talkative than usual, preferring not to circulate at all. It would hammer home his icy reputation even more, but so be it. If only Eduardo weren’t away—his brother had more social patience. Antonio just wanted to get back to the paperwork and the important decisions.

Except that wasn’t quite all he wanted.

He endured her presence three more times over the next two days. At a charity brunch, at the unveiling of the plans to redevelop the marina, at the opening night of the new exhibition in the national art gallery...

Every time he saw her, the craving bit harder.

He avoided speaking directly to her, but more than once he met her gaze. Across the crowd in the gallery, during speeches, every glance seared, stopping that breach in his armour from sealing shut again.

Three days since that morning in her office, he seethed at his inability to wrest back his self-control. His mind wandered every chance it got. When he should be focused, when he should be listening to someone else, when he should be thinking about things so much more important than himself, he thought about what he’d do to make her writhe in his arms until he heard her soft cry of release again.

That cry had made him harder and more wanting, yet more satisfied than he’d ever been in his life. He’d revelled in it for one incredible moment. Then he’d remembered. He couldn’t have any kind of relationship.

Then he’d run.

But that cry had tormented his dreams day and night since. Now it was all he could think of.

He glanced at the valet pointlessly polishing Antonio’s already buffed-to-brilliant shoes. He had a performance at the opera house to attend tonight and there was no way Bella Sanchez wouldn’t be there.

‘Leave me.’ Abruptly he dismissed the man.

‘Sir?’ The servant looked nonplussed at the sudden command.

Varying from his schedule was impossible, given how crammed it was, but Antonio needed to pull himself together and cool this burn with a reality check. He needed to see through Bella Sanchez and remind himself she was merely a woman. And he’d refused hundreds, if not thousands of women. It was in their best interests that he had.

‘I need ten minutes alone,’ Antonio ordered.

His valet swiftly bowed and left. Antonio picked up the tablet he used to scan newspaper headlines. With a couple of swipes he opened up a video channel. The simplest of searches retrieved an endless list of clips. He clicked on the first. Lifted from a performance at one of the US’s most prestigious ballet theatres, it had been viewed millions of times.

Bella Sanchez dancing the title role of Carmen. In this scene she was seducing a soldier to get him to do her bidding. Antonio watched, his gut tightening, as Bella sent the man a smouldering look over her shoulder—alluring, enthralling, practised. It was a move she performed on stage night after night after night, yet she made it utterly convincing. At the end of her solo the audience exploded, chanting her name over and over, stomping their feet, delaying the rest of the performance for a full five minutes while they called for encores. He stared at the screen, as spellbound as everyone in the audience had been, watching as she didn’t break character for even a second. Haughtily she waited, accepting the adulation and keeping them in her sexual thrall as if it was only to be expected.

But when she’d lain before him, warm and exposed, she’d not been at all practised or polished. She’d been unrehearsed and real and what had happened had taken her by surprise as much as it had him. And the raw emotion in her eyes when he’d pulled away from her?

He’d hurt her. He regretted that. He regretted touching her.

Yet all he wanted was to do it again.

He tossed the tablet back onto the desk. Reduced to watching her like this, like some unbalanced stalker, was no way to find relief.

Why couldn’t he end this aching awareness of her? The slow burn threatened to send him insane. He’d resisted already, hadn’t he? He’d stopped before taking the pleasure he’d wanted so badly. He’d proven himself.

But he was tired of having to prove himself, tired of devoting every minute of his life to his crown. Maybe resisting had been the wrong action.

Why shouldn’t he have something for himself for once? He’d been restrained for so long. Every other damn prince took lovers. His younger brother had been a total playboy. In other countries princes, politicians, people with power and wealth indulged their desires. Ordinary people did too. It was normal.

But not for Antonio.

Not when he knew the heartache the inevitable intense media coverage would cause. Nausea churned in his gut from guilt as he remembered. He was sure Alessia’s parents knew the truth of what he’d done to their daughter. They never discussed it, but they knew. So the least he could do was protect and honour both them and the memory of her. It was his duty. Having a public affair with a woman like Bella Sanchez would destroy everything he’d worked so hard to maintain. And an affair would become public.

Slaking this haunting lust was impossible.

But still his blood burned.

At the theatre he saw her immediately. She’d made that unavoidable. A scarlet petal in a sea of black suits, she wore the colour of seduction and vampishness, unapologetically sensual and attention stealing and a bold choice given the red highlights in her hair. Held up by thin straps, her dress was cut low over her generous breasts, their size and shape accentuated by her slender waist. Her strappy sandals made her almost tall enough to look him in the eye. Except tonight she refused to look at him at all.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.