Eduardo lifted away from the door and walked towards her with long, easy strides that belied the speed and strength she knew he had. His expression was too leashed to be anything like reassuring.

This wasn’t the suave, gleaming-eyed Prince Charming whom the public adored. This was a coldly angry stranger, carved from granite. This was a side of him Stella had never seen.

Yet even now, despite his iciness, that sensual intensity still emanated from every inch of him. In seconds she was so close to succumbing to it again.

And that scared her more than anything.

He walked closer, his gaze never leaving her face, restraint evident in his too measured movements and the compression of his mouth. But for a second he’d looked furious.

It was only with supreme self-discipline that she suppressed the instinct to step back. Just beneath her skin her blood simmered, almost humming in delight from his nearness. It was insane, and she hated her foolishness. How could she be so weak when the result of this want had just ruined her world? And yet that wilful, wicked, reckless part of her only wanted him to touch her again. Touch her and make her forget the world, as he’d done so easily once before.

Mercifully, he didn’t. He stopped a single pace away, his muscles taut, his stance wide and predatory—as if he suspected she might try to escape at any second.

‘Stella Zambrano,’ he said softly, but through gritted teeth. His intense lapis lazuli eyes sharpened, hardened, chilled. And his words stabbed. ‘Welcome to Secreto Real. We will be married here tomorrow.’

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

March 2016

And look out for

Crown Prince Antonio’s story

coming soon from Mills & Boon Modern Romance!

The Secret

That Shocked

De Santis

Natalie Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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—facebook.com/authornataliea—follow @authornataliea on Twitter, or visit her website/blog at natalie-anderson.com.

For the fabulous Flo. Thank you for being such an awesome editor and giving me such support—there’d be no book without you!

Contents

Cover

Introduction

The Throne of San Felipe

Title Page

About the Author

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

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

STELLA ZAMBRANO FELT as if she was sitting outside the principal’s office, knowing she was in trouble without a clue as to why. All she could do was wait and try not to think the worst.

The military wing of the San Felipe palace was designed to impress and to intimidate. It succeeded in both. The vaulted ceilings were metres high, the floors tiled in a headache-inducing intricate mathematical pattern, and the walls plastered with gold-framed portraits of the De Santis predecessors—princes, military leaders, powerful men.

San Felipe, a famed island principality in the heart of the Mediterranean, was currently ruled by Crown Prince Antonio De Santis. Austere, yet beloved, and devoted to duty, Antonio was aided by his charming, utterly adored younger brother, Eduardo. The public face of San Felipe, risk-taking, suave Prince Eduardo almost single-handedly kept the tourism industry afloat.

The most recent portrait in the vast room depicted the two brothers standing side by side in full military regalia. It hung on the wall directly opposite, dominating Stella’s field of vision. She opted to stare at the floor. The sweat on her back iced. She desperately hoped the Princes were not present in the palace today.

‘Lieutenant Zambrano?’

She looked up as her name was called.

‘The General will see you now.’

Finally.

Stella searched the Captain’s face for clues, but saw that if he were any more expressionless he’d be dead. She was uncomfortable, conscious that she ought be wearing her sharply pressed midnight-blue trousers and a starched white shirt, topped with her gold-trimmed blue jacket. Her brass should be gleaming, her ribbons immaculate, her star straight on her shoulder. Instead she was wearing sweat-stained fatigues and muddied boots.

She’d just finished her morning run when a stony-faced sergeant had appeared and said it was urgent and that she didn’t have time to change. He’d driven her straight from the base to the palace, where the General of San Felipe’s army had his official quarters.

Now she felt conscious of the marks on her clothing, the grime on her face. But perhaps the General would overlook her untidy appearance. Perhaps this summons was to give her the overseas mission orders she’d been waiting so long for.

But the unnatural silence spiralling in the waiting room warned her differently. This call was too soon after her last rejection. Too unexpected. And the carefully blank faces of the civilian staff present... The way they wouldn’t look her in the eye...

Slimy snakes of doubt slid down her spine.

‘Lieutenant?’ the Captain repeated sharply.

She blinked, her brain lurching back to the present. Mortified, she stood. A superior officer had never been required to repeat orders to Stella before. She stiffly followed him to the large carved door that was firmly shut. He opened it and impassively waited for her to pass through.

Stilling her nerves, Stella walked into the room, then stood to attention at a respectful distance from the desk. The heavy door behind her closed with a thud.

The uniformed man seated behind the large desk didn’t look up. He didn’t tell her to stand at ease. Didn’t tell her to sit. Didn’t tell her anything. Instead he stared down at the personnel file open before him. She knew it was hers, but kept her gaze fixed on the wall behind him—yet another portrait of the Princes. Peripherally she was aware of the man’s greying hair and that he was wearing glasses to read the report. The General had been serving in this army for almost fifty years. Other men his age would have retired already. He never would. He was there for life. Because his life was the military.

She respected that. She understood that. Because she felt the same.

‘Lieutenant.’ He finally addressed her.

‘Yes, sir.’ She saluted.

He still didn’t look up. ‘On the afternoon of July the twenty-sixth you were based at the San Felipe barracks, is that correct?’

Her stomach dropped. That date was branded on her brain.

‘I believe so, sir.’ She licked her horribly dried lips.

There was no waiting now. Her instinct had been right: this wasn’t the new mission she’d been hoping for.

‘Did you remain on the base, as required, for all that afternoon and evening?’

She swallowed hard. It had been one hour. One hour in which she’d—

No. Don’t think about it. Don’t remember.

Calling on all her years of discipline, she blocked the memories from her mind, as she’d been doing almost successfully these past few weeks. But betrayal curled around her.

Someone had told.

‘Lieutenant?’ the General prompted. ‘Did you leave the base without authorisation that day?’

These past couple of months her nerves had been at breaking point as she’d wondered—waited—to see if anything would happen as a result of that madness. But nothing had and she’d finally begun to think the danger had passed and that she’d gotten away with it.

She hadn’t.

‘July twenty-sixth,’ the General repeated. ‘Do you recall that afternoon, Lieutenant?’

‘I...’ Bleakly she realised she had no answer that she could utter aloud. She licked her lips again. ‘I was nearby. I left the boundary only for a little while.’

‘You were on call at the station. You did not have permission to leave the base.’ A cold statement of fact.

She’d climbed down the cliff and gone to the bay, only metres away. She would have heard if the sirens had gone off—they hadn’t. And she knew no one had come to her room for her because surely they’d have said something later? Wouldn’t they have asked her?

‘You had your routine medical check last week.’ The General looked down at the paperwork again.

‘Yes, sir.’ Stella swallowed, nervy and surprised by the change in topic.

‘Your bloodwork showed a problem.’

Problem? Edgily she waited, only just holding her silence, knowing her superior would inform her when he was ready and not before.

But she was fine, wasn’t she? Fit and strong. Admittedly she’d been more tired than usual on her run this morning, but other than that—

‘How long have you known you’re pregnant?’

‘What?’ Stunned, she forgot to address him formally.

‘A soldier on active duty cannot be pregnant,’ he said crisply. ‘You’ve not reported your condition to your superior officer. Another rule you’re in breach of.’

Pregnant?

‘I’m not...’ She drew a shocked, shuddering breath. ‘I can’t be...’

It was impossible. There’d only been the one encounter in that one hour. And she’d used protection.

The General’s already frosty expression turned Arctic, but Stella’s blood had frozen anyway. No way could she be pregnant. It was the one thing she’d sworn would never happen.

He held up a piece of paper. ‘The test was repeated with the second sample taken. There is no question of your condition. Do not make your exit even more ignoble.’

‘My exit?’ Uncaring of proper decorum, she grasped the back of the chair beside her, her head spinning.

This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be true. It wasn’t possible.

‘You are relieved of all duties.’ He passed judgement in an expressionless drone. ‘You went off base without permission. You concealed your condition. You are discharged from the San Felipe Armed Services, effective immediately. Upon your return to the barracks you will surrender the uniform you are wearing. All other property of the San Felipe principality has already been removed from your room and your personal belongings are packed. You will take them and leave the base. You will have ten minutes before you are considered to be trespassing and escorted off.’

Nauseating dizziness swept over her and the edges of her vision blurred. She was being booted out of the army. The only place she thought of as home. The only place she had to go. And she was pregnant.

Stella struggled to process the barrage of instructions. She couldn’t be pregnant. Not by—

Bile rose, burning the back of her throat. Did they know who she’d met in that mad moment? Who it was who’d made her cast aside every inhibition as if it was as of little importance as a chocolate wrapper? Who it was who’d sparked that intensity and had her acting in a way she’d never done before? Did they know that she’d been the biggest idiot on the planet?

Pure panic threatened to derail her completely, but then her defences kicked in with a last spurt of survival instinct. She rallied, fighting to keep her thinking clear. To keep hold of her own future.

‘Shouldn’t I be court-martialled?’ she asked, ignoring the catch in her voice and hoping he would too. ‘Shouldn’t there be a soldier present, recording this conversation?’

She did not want preferential treatment. Not because of what she’d done and who she’d done it with.

Or because of who she was.

The General muttered something incomprehensible. Not a regulation response. It was his first slip in this meeting—a flash showing he might actually be human. She thought she saw a fleeting expression in his eyes before he looked down at her paperwork again.

But the expression wasn’t the one she’d wanted.

‘We thought it best to save your blushes,’ he said curtly.

His abrasiveness dashed the last of Stella’s hope.

Who was the ‘we’ who’d made this decision? And was it really to save her blushes? Or someone else’s? Someone much more important than her.

Did they want this swept under the carpet and for her to disappear quietly? For this ‘incident’ to go away? For a moment rage blinded her. She wanted to scream this betrayal to the world. This unfairness.

But she couldn’t. Because it was her own fault that her life had been totalled. Her poor choice that afternoon. But this preposterous claim that she was pregnant... It had to be false.

‘I’m not pregnant,’ she reiterated forcefully. She refused to believe it.

‘You’re dismissed.’

The blunt order stopped her cold. He’d made it clear her career was destroyed and he wasn’t interested in her reaction or her defence. He didn’t care. He just wanted her gone, quickly and quietly.

She stared at the greying, ageing man who wielded so much power. He couldn’t know who it was she’d been with, because if he did he’d be angrier than this. He would care more.

Run, her instinct screamed. She needed to run before he did find out. Before anyone found out.

But she had nowhere to go. She had no permanent home of her own. When on furlough she travelled. Often on shorter periods of leave she stayed on the base and volunteered for extra shifts. So where? She couldn’t go to him. And as for her childhood home...

She looked again at the older man who was now studiously ignoring her with that utterly impassive face. She tried to ask him. ‘Sir—’

‘You’re dismissed.’

His emotionless repetition stripped the last veneer of confidence from her. All she had left was a plea.

‘Father...’

General Carlos Zambrano, operational leader of the San Felipe Armed Services and Stella’s sole parent, didn’t respond. He merely put the paperwork back into the thin manila file that was all that remained of the military career she’d worked so long for.

She’d done the one thing she’d vowed never to do—had never done until now. She’d broken that barrier between professional and private. The barrier both she and her father had enforced.

Defeat twisted and she didn’t try to speak again. Unbearably hurt, she turned and walked to the door. With every step she hoped her father would call to her. Stop her. That he would want to help her.

But he never had before, and today there was nothing but the inevitable disappointed silence.

Disappointment on both sides.

Glancing back as she closed his door behind her, she saw him still sitting at his desk. Still looking away. Still refusing to acknowledge her.

Once more she’d let him down. And there was no coming back from something this catastrophic. She’d never redeem herself in his eyes. She’d lost everything she’d worked so hard for.

She paused, clutching the door handle for support. She had no idea what to do or where to go.

Slowly she became aware of the surreptitious, speculative glances from the personnel working in the room. It was unusual for someone of her rank to be called into the General’s office. They probably thought it was preferential treatment because she was his daughter.

But perhaps they already knew. That thought horrified her. Did they all know what she’d done and who she’d done it with?

And it was preferential treatment. She should have been dishonourably discharged or, at best, formally warned and demoted. Instead her father had used his rank to ensure her removal from the service was done in secret.

So there was no embarrassment for anyone.

Except she was left with nothing. No job. No home. The reputation she’d worked so long and so hard to build had been burned with the strike of a single match.

Everything was gone because of that one hour in which she’d lost herself. The one hour that no one was ever supposed to know about...

‘I’m ordered to drive you back to the barracks.’ The Sergeant from earlier materialised in front of her.

‘Thank you,’ she said, but the words barely sounded.

She sat in the back seat of the car and wound down the window, trying to get fresh air to clear her head. Her gaze skimmed over the grand homes, with their marble columns and gorgeous gardens, and beyond to the aquamarine waters of the glorious coastline. The beauty of the wealthy island now oppressed her. She willed the Sergeant to drive faster. She had to find a place and space to think. And that was not San Felipe.

Doubts and questions scurried in her mind. It was just over three months since that afternoon in the blazing sun. How could she be three months pregnant and not know about it? Horror filled her at the prospect—pregnancy had never been part of her life plan.

As soon as the Sergeant pulled up to the security station at the base she got out. No one came within sight as she walked to her room, but once she was there it was obvious someone had been very busy in that short time. Her space had been completely cleared. All that was left was a large duffel bag that leaned against the foot of the stripped bed. She opened it and her hurt deepened. Someone had taken methodical care to pack away her few personal possessions. It felt invasive and pointed—and why were the soldiers she’d considered more than colleagues so conspicuously absent?

Blocking the stabbing wounds and setting her mind to the task, Stella quickly phoned for a taxi to collect her at the gate, then stepped out of her drill uniform and pulled on the first things that came to hand—an old grey tee shirt, black yoga pants. She stuffed her feet into thin, flat-soled trainers. And she added a sweatshirt, because despite the early autumn heat she was freezing.

She left the clothing she’d removed in a neat folded pile on the end of her bed. Then she hoisted her duffel onto her back and walked past Security.

In and out in less than eight minutes. Not that her father was ever going to be impressed by anything she did. No matter how hard she tried.

‘San Felipe airport, please,’ she instructed the taxi driver, and slumped back against the seat.

A mere twenty minutes later she was inside the light, airy terminal. Stella ignored the award-winning architecture and walked straight to the nearest airline desk, requesting a ticket on the next plane out.

The airline attendant smiled and helpfully started typing, but only moments later confusion—and caution—lit her eyes. She kept on staring at her computer screen and tightened her grip on the passport Stella had handed to her.

‘I’m sorry...’ she said, then her voice trailed off.

Stella stiffened, casting a careful check about her. There were two uniformed soldiers in the corner. And another one heading her way. The Captain who’d been in her father’s office.

‘I need you to come with me, Ms Zambrano.’ He reached out and took her passport from the airline attendant’s hand.

Stella didn’t move.

‘Ms Zambrano?’ he repeated quietly. ‘This way.’

Not ‘Lieutenant’. Not any more. Already she’d been stripped of the title that had taken her six years to earn.

She’d been rejected by the San Felipe army initially so she’d gone to New Zealand—her mother’s birth country. As she held dual citizenship she’d been able to train there. She’d worked so hard, risen through the ranks, until she’d been able to return to San Felipe with a record that not even her father could ignore. She was too good. She’d transferred, determined to maintain the rapid ascent of her career.

Now she studied her superior officer. Only he no longer had that role, because she was a civilian. He had no authority over her. And she could take him down and run. She’d had excellent training and she’d felled taller, bigger men.

‘You don’t want to cause a scene here,’ he said, accurately reading her flash of rebellion.

Didn’t she?

‘I will carry your bag.’ The Captain already had it.

She felt like snatching it back, screaming in defiance and stamping her foot. But it would get her nowhere. And the Captain was right—she didn’t want to make a scene. She wanted to quickly skulk away and sort out her life in obscurity.

The airline attendant’s brittle smile widened into an almost comical expression of relief as Stella silently fell into step with the soldier.

‘You were at the palace,’ she said, as they walked swiftly. ‘At my f—’ She checked herself. ‘At the General’s office. Why are you here now?’

‘I’m following orders.’

‘Whose orders?’

He kept his eyes front and didn’t answer.

‘Whose orders, Captain?’ she asked again.

‘This way, Ms Zambrano.’

It couldn’t have been her father who’d sent him after her—he’d have said something back in his office. He’d made it clear he’d washed his hands of her. Which meant it was someone else making the call. Someone even more highly ranked.

If she’d felt cold before, she was hypothermic now. Under-dressed and vulnerable, she missed the weight and strength of her boots.

The Captain whisked her through several security doors and along a back corridor. The last door opened out onto the airport tarmac.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, her apprehension growing as she saw the waiting helicopter.

‘Somewhere you will be safe.’

Because she was under some kind of threat? ‘Why wouldn’t I be safe in San Felipe?’

‘You were not planning to stay in San Felipe.’

No. She hadn’t been. Another chilly finger pressed on her spine. ‘So where are you taking me?’

But it seemed he’d used up his word allowance for the day.

The helicopter’s engine was already running, the rotor blades whirring. Automatically she ran in low, and refused the offer of assistance from another soldier waiting inside. She knew how to strap in safely—she’d done it thousands of times.

Her bag was thrown in and the Captain pulled himself up into the seat alongside her, so she was boxed in by uniformed men—as if she were about to make a break for her escape.

Or as if she needed bodyguards.

She looked past the Captain to watch out of the window as the helicopter lifted into the air, her fingers curled tight into her palms. Didn’t she have the right to know where she was being taken?

The men said nothing, but simply by watching out of the window she had the answer in less than twenty minutes.

Initially, from the air, the island looked imposing and inhospitable. It seemed little more than an oversized rock; nothing but sheer cliffs with jagged edges—a rival for Alcatraz. But as they flew closer she saw a rocky outcrop along the left side. It created a lagoon that harboured the smallest, most private of beaches. On the edge of that rocky outcrop was a tall fortress—a defence tower built centuries ago, to prevent intruders from entering the beautiful lagoon and disturbing those on the beach.

Looking back to the main chunk of the island, she could now see a large stone building. Before she’d only seen it in pictures, but she knew exactly where she was headed. This was the most private place in San Felipe. Access was forbidden unless you had a royal invitation. Because this was the island upon which the royal family vacationed in seclusion, escaping the exhaustion of their daily demands.

But this was no relaxed, simple holiday home. This was a palace, ornate and ancient, one of the many jewels in the crown of an island principality that had been celebrated for centuries.

The helicopter circled, giving Stella a perfect view of stone columns, stained glass, statues. The gardens surrounding the main building were large, formal and immaculate. Miles of hedging grew in intricate Renaissance patterns, swirling around rose beds and ponds. She caught a glimpse of a deeper blue beneath a stone archway—a pool. Another glimpse of something white. Her eyes were so wide they hurt, and there was a constriction in her throat that made breathing painful.

Most people would be thrilled to get a bird’s eye view of this utterly exclusive island—and be beyond excited at the thought of setting foot on the place. Stella wasn’t most people. Stella felt sick.

As the helicopter began its descent to a small helipad on the farthest reaches of the garden a loud drumming thundered in her ears. She couldn’t tell if the noise was her heart or the helicopter, but it was growing louder, and her breaths came shorter. Her vision blurred.

Control yourself.

She tensed her muscles and mentally issued the order. She couldn’t afford to be weak now. She had to be stronger than ever. She had to be the soldier she was and be ready to fight.

‘If you would follow me, please?’ The Captain exited the helicopter, hefting her bag onto his shoulder.

Well, it wasn’t as if she had any choice. She quickly followed him along the immaculately tended pathways, feeling as if she was in the pages of a twisted fairy tale in which she had to cross an enchanted garden to find a beastly prince waiting for her in the castle.

Except he wasn’t beastly. And that was the problem.

She wasn’t led to the ginormous archway and large heavy doors that comprised the main entrance. Instead the Captain led her along a small path and then up a narrow stone staircase that took them to a wide patio that ran the length of the building. Large windows were set back from the uniform stone columns, and every so often formed a set of French doors.

Almost at the end of the building, one set of such doors was thrown wide open. Glimpsing a gloomy interior, she could see rows of bookshelves lining the walls.

The Captain led her right to the doorway, then turned and bowed. ‘I will leave you here.’

He was gone almost instantly, his retreat swift and silent. He took her bag with him. And her passport.

Stella paused, unwilling to take the fateful step inside. She knew that Prince Eduardo De Santis would be waiting for her in that room. The piratical playboy Prince, the handsome patron of all things adventurous and glamorous in San Felipe. Capricious, spontaneous, spoiled.

Everything she wasn’t.

Yet he was her one spectacular mistake. Her one tryst. The one thing her supremely disciplined self had been unable to resist that afternoon. And it seemed she was going to pay a fearsome price for her moment of Prince Eduardo’s kind of fun. So now she was more than wary. But, despite the time she’d had to prepare herself, she felt utterly unready to face him. She had no uniform to hide behind, no tactical plan to ensure she won this battle.

And it was going to be a battle—against herself as much as against him.

‘Don’t stand out there all day.’ His voice carried through the open door. ‘Strange things sometimes happen if you stay in the sun too long.’

It was part command, part dry warning, part pointed reminder. And just his voice had her reacting in ways she didn’t want to. Memories flickered at the edge of her mind. Teasing and tempting.

She couldn’t let herself remember. Couldn’t let herself fall again. She’d lost too much already.

Prince Eduardo De Santis wasn’t so much a ruthlessly wicked rake as a seductive buccaneer. He didn’t leave masses of broken hearts in his wake, more soft-eyed smiles and ‘if only he would’ sighs. But he never ‘would’—Eduardo was too much of a freedom loving soul ever to be caught fast.

For many, that was part of his allure.

No one had a bad word to say about him, but he was most definitely not all good. He did as he pleased, and pleased as he did. A lover of action and adventure, he was a princely poster boy for all San Felipe’s outdoor amusements.

And didn’t she know that fact intimately?

Steeling herself, she walked into the room, blinking to hasten the adjustment her eyes needed to make from the brilliant sunshine to this dim interior. Despite the spots dancing in front of her eyes she saw him immediately. And quelled her quiver. He was as devastating as ever.

Tall, with thick black hair worn slightly too long, adding to his air of unruliness. His muscled body was clad in a black tee shirt and black jeans. He looked like a special ops assassin—only his feet were bare, in that arrogantly easy way that was so uniquely him. He leaned against the closed door, watching her with eyes that shone remarkably blue. The exact intense hue of the lapis lazuli the islands were famed for.

That burning sensation curled within her. Her cells smoked at the mere sight of him. And her heart thundered, sending yet more heat around her body.

Always she’d thought him handsome. Any woman with eyes would. But the pictures online and in the papers and magazines never did him justice. In real life Eduardo was even more impressive. And the utter, skin-tingling thrill of being held captive in his sight...

Stella also knew the reality of his perfectly sculpted body. The glorious size of him. The force. The skill.

She halted her mind again. She had to regain some control over this situation. Over herself.

Her pulse skittered. Her palms dampened as nerves choked her. She couldn’t control that slick softening deep within her.

How could a man just stand there silently, yet exert such power over her treacherous body? How could he, with just one look, render her mute and immobile? How could she still want?

Pull it together.

Because if that medical report was accurate there was something far more serious to worry about. Someone other than herself she had to protect. And Stella had been trained to protect and defend what was most precious. Freedom—of a nation and its people. Including its future people.

So she paused just inside the door and looked back at him. Keeping her distance. And her cool.

The long silence built even more of a barrier between them.

Her nerves stretched as each second ticked on. As he regarded her so steadily with those captivating, all-seeing eyes. As he waited.

‘You can’t just kidnap civilians on a whim.’ She finally spoke, making a stand for independence.

‘You’re not a civilian.’ His voice held condemnation.

He’d been so angry when he’d found out who she was.

‘I am now,’ she countered, every bit as pointedly.

Something shifted in his eyes, but he didn’t answer. Didn’t acknowledge what had been taken from her or that he’d been instrumental in that loss.

She turned and pretended to read the spines of the books on the nearest shelf. Anything to give her eyes a reprieve from looking at him. Her attraction to him was too intense.

Her annoyance grew. ‘Am I a prisoner?’

‘You are here because this is the one place where we can have privacy.’

‘We don’t need privacy,’ she snapped.

She didn’t want to be anywhere near him. Not alone. Certainly not on his princes-only island, where he’d probably brought a million mistresses. And she couldn’t let herself think along those lines—couldn’t think of him as a lover. Not anyone’s. Least of all hers.

She wanted to get away from San Felipe all together and work out what she was going to do with her life.

The silence turned ominous.

She was acutely aware of him. All that was unspoken rose, unbidden. The memories she’d pushed back swirled closer, threatening to swamp her. She turned, tilting her head back to glare across the room at him again—in defiance and defence.

His expression was grimmer still. Stella quelled another shiver. She’d spent years working alongside fearsomely powerful men and she recognised that edge in his eyes. It denoted more than determination. It spelled ruthlessness—said that he had the mental strength to make the harshest, most irrevocable of decisions. This was not the teasing man she’d met that searingly sunny day.

‘You have been dismissed from the army,’ he said abruptly.

‘Yes.’

‘Because you are pregnant.’

His tone jarred, damning her with his certainty. And disapproval. Her throat thickened and clogged so she couldn’t answer. She didn’t know for sure, but in her bones she feared it. She feared his response. His retaliation. Most of all she feared her own future.

She’d been in some seriously dangerous situations in her time, but she’d never felt as afraid as she did right now. Nor had she ever felt so alone. She had no one to help her.

As a result, she was more than disarmed—she was emotionally disabled.

Her heart resumed that too hard, too loud thudding again. She took quickened breaths, trying to control her intense physical reaction to this horror situation. Trying to deny that her extreme internal reaction really was to him.

He lifted himself away from the door and walked towards her with long, easy strides that belied the speed and strength she knew he had. And his expression was too leashed to be anything like reassuring.

This wasn’t the suave, gleaming-eyed Prince Charming whom the public adored. This was a coldly angry stranger, carved from granite. This was a side of him she’d never seen.

Because when she’d left him that afternoon she’d not looked back.

Yet now, despite his iciness, that sensual intensity still emanated from every inch of him. And in seconds she was close to succumbing to it again.

That scared her too.

But she couldn’t peel her gaze off him. Never had she met such a wildly attractive man. Never had she wanted a man in the way she’d wanted him. The memories she’d tried to bury for so long now burst into her shock-weakened mind. For a split-second she saw him as he’d been that afternoon, naked and slick and braced above her, his gaze brilliant and fierce, his body both punishing and protective, while she—

‘Stella.’

Heat surged into her cheeks and she banished the scorching image—mortified that she could lose control so quickly. She lifted her chin, bracing herself—because that was a warning tone if ever she’d heard one.

He walked closer, his gaze never leaving her face, restraint evident in his too-measured movements and the compression of his mouth. But for a second he’d looked furious.

It was only with supreme self-discipline that she suppressed the instinct to step back. Her stupid body turned schizophrenic. Instead of freezing, she was burning. Just beneath her skin her blood simmered, almost humming in delight from his nearness. It was insane, and she hated her foolishness. How could she be so weak when the result of this want had just ruined her world? Yet that wilful, wicked, reckless part of her only wanted him to touch her again. Touch her and make her forget the world, as he’d done so easily once before.

Mercifully, he didn’t. He stopped a single pace away, his muscles taut, his stance wide and predatory—as if he suspected she might try to escape any second.

‘Stella Zambrano,’ he said softly, but through gritted teeth. His intense lapis lazuli eyes sharpened, hardened, chilled. And his words stabbed. ‘Welcome to Secreto Real. We will be married here tomorrow.’

CHAPTER TWO

MARRIED? STELLA LAUGHED. As if.

She was a disgraced soldier. He was a partying pirate prince. The idea of him marrying her was preposterous.

‘Did you hear what I said, Stella?’ Shadows darkened his blue eyes. ‘Do you understand?’

Why was he talking to her as if she was a two-year-old?

‘You’re not getting married,’ she said. He was a playboy. And when he finally settled down—at least five years from now—it would be with one of the stunning minor European royals with an aristocratic seal of approval.

‘I am. To you. Tomorrow.’

She shook her head. ‘There’s no need. I’m not pregnant.’

He caught her wrist. ‘Do not lie to me. Ever.’

She flinched, squeezing to stop her cells sizzling at his touch. ‘I’m not.’

She couldn’t be pregnant—surely she’d know if she was? Wouldn’t she have symptoms? She struggled to remember her last cycle, but other memories—whispered mentions of her mother—crowded her mind. Confused her. Scared the hell out of her.

Her skin burned. The edge of her vision wobbled and blurred.

‘You’re saying the report is wrong?’ he prompted.

‘I’m saying I don’t know.’ She frowned, trying to focus.

‘Well, I am saying that if you are pregnant we marry immediately. I am not having my child born illegitimately and left to live on the fringes of society, with none of the benefits he or she should rightly have.’

Royal benefits.

Stella refused to believe this was happening. She refused to allow control to be taken over every aspect of her life. She’d find an escape. Immediately.

‘Even if I am pregnant...who’s to say it’s yours?’ she challenged, breathing hard to fill her constricted lungs.

Deadly silence followed.

His grip on her wrist tightened painfully, then he grasped her chin with hard fingers and tilted it. Defiantly she held his gaze.

‘Try saying that again,’ he muttered, through lips that barely moved.

She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart hammered loud and hard, as if trying to smash free from its cage.

‘I remember,’ he said, low and harsh and so very angry. ‘I remember everything.’

They both knew the truth.

They’d both been aware of her feverish fumbling. Of her physical reaction—the resulting stain of surrendered innocence that couldn’t be feigned. She’d been with no other man before and no man since.

If she was pregnant, Prince Eduardo De Santis was the only possible father.

‘We used protection...’ she whispered unhappily.

‘It was your condom.’ He suddenly released her.

His cool attack sent a sharp edge of alarm scurrying down her spine. ‘Army issue,’ she snapped back.

Issued years and years ago. And it had been in her wallet ever since—surviving heat, travel, cold, time. At least she’d thought it had survived those things. Did condoms have ‘best before’ dates? Dread washed over her—surely she couldn’t have been so stupid?

‘I didn’t...’ She breathed hard but her words remained a mere whisper. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘You didn’t know I was going to be there because I didn’t know. Taking a walk on the beach that day was a spontaneous decision. An unfortunate one, as it turns out.’

Had he wanted to think she’d somehow schemed her way into this situation? But he couldn’t. Because it was a spur-of-the-moment decision of his that had caused this. As if she would ever want to become pregnant!

He watched her relentlessly as reality began to sink in.

She turned, breaking free of his intense gaze to stare sightlessly at the floor. She’d just lost her job. The one man she’d never ever wanted to see again was insisting she marry him tomorrow. And if she was having a child it would need shelter and food and warmth. If she was pregnant she’d have to do what her mother hadn’t. She’d have to survive childbirth.

Her whole world darkened and spun.

With a muttered oath he grabbed her hand again and guided her a couple of paces across the room. She hated herself but her skin burned—her cells aching for his closer touch, for him to pull her all the way towards him, to tuck her against his body and press her close.

As if she hadn’t got into enough trouble.

‘Take off your sweatshirt,’ he ordered as he pushed her into a large plush armchair.

‘What?’

‘You’re flushed,’ he explained dismissively. ‘You need to cool down.’

He tugged at her sleeves. Stella quickly pulled away, slipping her sweatshirt over her head to stop him from doing it and humiliating her completely. Because the look in his eyes was controlled and blank. Unaroused. He didn’t want her that way any more. He was livid and she didn’t blame him.

She scrunched her sweatshirt into a ball in her lap and stared down at it, thinking furiously. She heard him walk away, heard a clinking sound. And then he was back.

‘Here.’ He held a crystal tumbler out to her. His frown deepened as she hesitated.

‘It is only water,’ he muttered impatiently, taking her hand and curling her visibly trembling fingers around the glass.

Stella sipped a small amount and determined to pull herself together and straighten out this mess. ‘We’re not getting married. This is another of your whims.’

‘My whims?’

Slowly she nodded. ‘Like seducing strange women on the beach.’

‘You were the one swimming when you shouldn’t have been. You’re just as spontaneous. You said yes.’

‘I’m saying no now. This is my life.’

‘I am well aware of it,’ he countered. ‘It is not what I wish for mine either. But that is not the point.’

Stupidly, his words wounded her. Yeah, this is no fairy tale.

‘There is a doctor present.’ Eduardo leaned against the large reading table near her. ‘He will examine you.’

‘Pardon?’ She nearly smashed the glass of water on the floor.

‘A doctor. Your condition must be assessed.’

Here and now? He had to be joking.

One look at his implacable expression told her he wasn’t.

Control over her life was slipping further from her grasp and her outrage over his high-handed treatment grew. She wanted to see her own doctor in her own time and in private. She straightened. ‘I will not be subjected to this...invasiveness. You have no right.’

‘I have every right.’

‘It is my body.’

‘And my baby,’ he shot back.

‘Mine too,’ she whispered, suddenly afraid. So very, very afraid—of now, of what it might mean for tomorrow and for a few months’ time.

Even assuming everything went okay, he had such power and she had none. He could take her baby and send her away if he chose. Banish her. He would be able to. He could sell the world any kind of story. He had such charm he could sell the moon and the stars to the heavens.

‘Ours,’ he answered, his tone more measured. ‘But you were going to leave San Felipe. Why?’ He trained his fierce gaze on her. ‘Where were you going to go? What were you planning to do?’

‘Nothing, I—’ She broke off. She’d had no plan other than to get away and think. What did he think she’d been going to do?

She hated the look of suspicion and condemnation in his eyes. Why was Eduardo determined to think the worst of her?

‘You did not turn to your father?’ he said.

She’d tried, but her father had turned his back. And when the General found out the whole story he’d be even more furious.

‘He’s not pleased,’ Stella mumbled.

Eduardo’s nostrils thinned and he finally glanced away from her.

‘He does not know who I was with,’ she added in a low voice, her embarrassment excruciating. ‘No one does.’

Eduardo turned back to her. ‘You have not told anyone?’

‘Have I boasted that I bedded one of San Felipe’s princes on the beach? No. I have not.’ Her flush scorched her skin.

‘Your discretion is a credit to you.’

She nearly rolled her eyes. As if his approval was anything she wanted!

His intense scrutiny softened and he almost smiled, as if satisfied at something. ‘You will see the doctor now.’ He walked to the door, opening it and calling in a low voice.

Stella set the glass down and steeled herself. Were there other people here who knew? She’d never felt shame over her action that afternoon, but she’d wanted to keep it close—just her one private memory to treasure. But now the world was going to know how reckless she’d been.

‘You feel unwell again?’ Eduardo had returned to stand right in front of her, looking angry again.

‘I feel shocked,’ she corrected miserably.

She was angry too. Mostly with herself. That she could have been such a fool.

‘Prince Eduardo?’ A man spoke from the doorway.

‘Dr Russo.’ Eduardo turned so he stood beside her chair. ‘Please come in. I’d like you to meet Stella.’

Stella didn’t even glance at the doctor. She was too surprised by the charming, ‘glossy-pages prince’ look that suddenly lit up Eduardo’s face.

‘I understand there may be good news today?’ The doctor couldn’t quite hide the excited note in his voice as he quickly crossed the room.

‘We hope so.’ Eduardo placed a hand on her shoulder in a mockery of a loving gesture.

‘That is very exciting.’ The doctor smiled as he put his bag on the big desk and opened it. ‘I’m sure you’re desperate for confirmation, so shall we do that right away?’

The man lifted out a small box and turned to her, still with that smile. But his eyes were wide and sharp and prying.

‘You know how to use this?’ He handed her a commercial pregnancy test.

‘Yes.’ Mortified, Stella wanted to hide.

‘This way, Stella.’ Eduardo took her hand and pulled her out of the chair. He wrapped his arm around her waist and walked her to the doorway. ‘There is a powder room second door on the left,’ he murmured, but there was steel beneath the soft tone. ‘One of my assistants will help you if you can’t find your way back.’

This wasn’t pleasant courtesy. He was issuing a warning. She was under surveillance and she couldn’t escape.

‘Why don’t you just wait here for me?’ she whispered back snappily.

‘Good idea.’

He walked with her right to the bathroom door. For a horrified second she thought he was actually going to go into the room with her, but he paused and she shut the door in his face.

Her palms were damp and she grimaced, but the indignity of doing the pregnancy test paled in the light of what the result might show. In her heart she knew her army medical tests wouldn’t have been mixed up. The San Felipe army was too good for such a mistake to be made. It was Stella who’d made the mistake and the result could be catastrophic.

* * *

Eduardo De Santis leaned against the wall and waited, furious and impatient that he’d found out so late. That she’d nearly escaped from the country. Where had she been going to go? What had she been planning to do? He couldn’t figure it out. Couldn’t figure her out.

She finally emerged and walked back to the library. She held the test tightly in her fist and wouldn’t meet his eyes. Wouldn’t speak either.

She barely came to his shoulder. Her blonde hair was scraped back into a straggly ponytail, her skin was shiny and her loose clothes old. He still thought she was beautiful. And dangerous.

She placed the test on the desk by Dr Russo. Eduardo watched as the result was revealed. It didn’t take the two minutes it was supposed to. The word was illuminated almost immediately.

Pregnant.

The last hint of colour drained from her cheeks. Her lashes lifted and she looked up at him. The intense emotion in her expression struck deep and burned hot within his belly.

Stark fear.

She was right to be afraid. He’d never felt so angry—not since the last time he’d seen her. Was her wide-eyed, wounded reaction all an act? Had she somehow planned this? He knew that was impossible, but there was something he couldn’t trust in her.

It took him a moment to simmer down enough to think—though he’d been doing nothing but thinking since his aide Matteo had phoned this morning, to relay information about a certain young lieutenant Eduardo had asked him to keep tabs on.

Inexplicably, as that burst of anger settled, another ferociously hot feeling surged in its place. Satisfaction? As if he were some Neanderthal, proud of his success in procreating and preserving the species—the family name.

His name.

But Eduardo did not have the same liberty as others. He could not do entirely as he wanted. He was part of the royal family and with that came restrictions, responsibilities and requirements not to get in trouble. He was the public ‘face’ of his country, and one day he would have to marry.

He was eighteen months off thirty. Palace aides had been dropping hints about a royal wedding for the past year. They’d even gone so far as to invite every European society princess or supermodel to the upcoming annual autumn ball, in the desperate hope that one might catch the princes’ eyes. They were dreaming if they thought any would interest Antonio. And if Eduardo had to marry eventually, what better bride than the woman already carrying his baby?

So was it any surprise that the plan had come to him half formed as soon as he’d found out this morning? Now it only needed to be enacted—quickly, quietly, incontrovertibly.

He took her hand in his. Her fingers were freezing. Instinctively he tightened his grip and rubbed this thumb over her knuckles.

‘Darling,’ he muttered roughly. ‘I’m so pleased.’

Startled, she choked on a gasp. He leaned close and kissed her temple, so his head hid her suddenly astounded—and angry—expression.

He had absolute faith in the discretion of his physician, but Dr Russo was also his brother’s doctor. Patient confidentiality might not hold when it was the Crown Prince asking questions. Eduardo had to sell this as a love match—starting now.

When he drew back a flush of colour had returned to her cheeks, but she still looked so slim and vulnerable.

He knew she wasn’t. Those apparently skinny biceps could support her entire body weight, and her legs could wrap around a man and lock him in close. She was strong, powerful, and he wanted to kiss her properly—her mouth, her body. Latent and unwelcome desire rippled in his gut—like a beast beneath the surface of an eerily still lake.

‘You are in good health?’ Dr Russo turned to Stella.

Eduardo listened impatiently as the doctor asked her preliminary questions. He wanted the man to do his job, but he also wanted him gone so he could ensure his control over Stella and this situation.

Stella nodded.

‘Do you have any idea of the date of conception?’

Precisely. But Stella didn’t answer.

Eventually Eduardo did. ‘Possibly late July.’

There was a startled look in the doctor’s eyes as he worked out how far along Stella must be, but the man was wise enough not to comment. He kept asking his routine questions. ‘You’ve had no morning sickness?’

‘No symptoms at all. I have an irregular cycle,’ she said in a strangled voice. ‘Apart from that I’ve always been very healthy.’

‘From your army medical file it seems that indeed you are,’ the doctor said jovially, apparently ignorant of the tension swirling in the room. ‘So there’s nothing else—no family history that we ought to be aware of?’

Her eyes dropped. Inside his, her hand had curled into a fist.

‘Stella?’ Eduardo prompted, and felt her shiver alongside him.

But she shook her head.

‘Good.’ The doctor smiled. ‘I’m sure you would like privacy to celebrate, so I will leave you with some information for you to read together at your leisure.’

A pamphlet didn’t seem much for something so important. ‘Shouldn’t you do more tests?’

‘I will arrange a scan to be done on the mainland next week,’ Dr Russo answered. ‘For now I’m confident that Stella can continue with her normal routine.’

Something flashed in her eyes. She knew she was never doing her ‘normal routine’ again. Eduardo knew that her dismissal from the army rankled, but it was convenient.

‘You may, of course, also continue normal sexual relations,’ the doctor added as he closed up his briefcase.

Eduardo felt her fist clench again—in revulsion? Was she afraid of him? Was that why she’d run away that day? Why she’d looked so terrified at the pregnancy result?

He gritted his teeth and maintained his smile. ‘Thank you, Doctor. I will be in touch.’

The doctor lifted his bag and his smile grew impossibly wider. ‘Congratulations. This is a wonderful thing for San Felipe. The bells will be ringing loudly in a few months’ time.’

Indeed they would. But first Eduardo had to ensure the legitimacy of the next royal heir.

He released Stella’s hand to escort the doctor to the door, closing it firmly after the man. Then he turned and leaned back against it, waiting for her next move.

‘I’m not marrying you,’ she said firmly, rising from the chair to stand in the centre of the room.

‘No?’ He lifted away from the door and walked towards her. He was pleased to see her trembling had ceased. ‘Tell me your plan.’

She stared up at him, not stepping back even when he stepped too close. Her serious eyes were fixed on his. Both her hands had fisted now. By sheer force of will he kept his own hands at his sides, not lifting his fingers to rub at the skin she’d marked that day on the beach. And as he looked down at her defiant stance the desire that had felled him that day returned in full force.

Even for him it had been shocking. He was known for his adrenalin addiction—his spontaneous decisions and risk-taking. In truth his risks were never that great, because he was too constrained by responsibility, but to have taken a woman he’d only just met...to have seduced her within minutes in broad daylight...? He’d not done that even in his most hedonistic university days.

She’d looked so stormy—strong and sensual. She’d waded into those waves without so much as a glance around or a second’s hesitation as the cool water had hit her. She’d been every inch the fighter then. And she looked it now.

He didn’t want children at this time in his life. Definitely didn’t want a wedding. But he’d step up. Because there was an underlying benefit for someone even more important.

‘Your plan, Stella?’ he prompted, irritably ignoring the urge to haul her against him and kiss her into compliance.

She didn’t answer.

‘Why didn’t you come to me?’ he asked. Was she afraid of him? Or was it just the usual—no one thought Prince Eduardo could be capable in a crisis.

‘I didn’t know,’ she said, as if choking on the words.

He wanted to believe her, and almost did. He even felt a twinge of sympathy. But he damped it down. People lied. People withheld information. She already had. This would never have happened had she been honest in the first place. But she’d hidden her identity for reasons he had yet to work out, and the fact that she had given her virginity to him so quickly was utterly unfathomable.

‘Where were you going to go?’ he asked, wanting to see whether she’d offer even a scrap more information.

‘I don’t know. Anywhere.’

Anywhere but to him. That was clear. And she wasn’t willing to talk about it. Why was she so secretive? And why did he still want her so acutely?

He clamped his teeth together, angered by the searing betrayal of his body. She was just another woman, wasn’t she? Hadn’t he had plenty? But he hadn’t slept with another woman in the weeks since that afternoon. Maybe that was why he was feeling the edge now.

He knew it wasn’t.

‘You have no choice, Stella,’ he said harshly. This situation would be defused, because there could only be duty now. ‘And nor do I. We must make the best of this situation. We must do the right thing.’

She stared at him, and he knew she was desperately thinking up alternatives. ‘I cannot stay here.’

‘You can. And you will.’

He didn’t like the look that now entered her eyes. It echoed the way she’d looked at the result of that pregnancy test. Terrified.

‘Think of it as a mission.’ He softened, trying to speak in language she understood to reassure her. ‘Like a tour of duty. It doesn’t need to be for ever.’

And it didn’t. While not ideal or desirable, a divorce within the royal family was something that could be weathered. An illegitimate heir, however, was not.

She stiffened at his words, the spark in her eye reigniting, but she paused before answering, ‘I understand.’

He’d angered her, but at least that vitality had returned to her expression. His skin tightened and his blood heated.

‘But now I’ve had a chance to think,’ she said slowly, ‘it seems obvious to me that we don’t need to do this at all. Your brother is the Crown Prince. He makes the laws. So he can simply change the law to recognise the child as your heir. There is no need for us to marry for the baby to have its birthright.’

Anger flared. Would she deny his child? Would she defy him? And she dared suggest he ask his brother to fix up this mess? Never would he do that.

‘My baby will have nothing less than she or he deserves. Nothing less than the very best.’ He placed his hands on her fine-boned shoulders and spoke right into her face. ‘I repeat. We will be married here tomorrow. Whether you like it or not, it is what will happen.’

She flung her head back and glared up at him. ‘You can’t make me.’

‘No?’ He laughed at the challenge, and the urge to bait her was irresistible. ‘You are a soldier. You are trained to do as you are told.’

Her nostrils flared. ‘I will not obey you. You are not my superior officer. And I’m no longer a soldier.’

‘You’re a born soldier,’ he said. ‘And I am a prince of the realm.’

‘But not the Crown Prince.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘You’re not the supreme commanding officer. You’re not the monarch who passes the laws of the land. You are nothing but a mere man to me.’

His lips curled as satisfaction rushed and adrenalin surged, sharpening every one of his muscles. This challenge and fearless fighting vitality was what he’d liked about her. She was no prince-adoring sycophant.

‘A man that you wanted. That you had. That you’re now stuck with. For better or for worse,’ he mocked, but he meant it. ‘And you will do as I say tomorrow. You’ll find you have very little choice in the matter.’

‘There are always choices.’ Her chin stayed high, her expression determined.

And she had made hers. She’d turned her back on him and climbed away. At the time he’d only been able to watch, angered beyond belief and yet frankly marvelling at her agility.

Then he’d waited to see what the ramifications would be. He’d ordered a trusted ally to keep an eye on her, because as much as he wanted to move on he couldn’t until he understood why she’d done what she had. He needed to ascertain whether she would sell her story or try to seize some other opportunity that he couldn’t foresee. But there’d been only silence. Until that call today from his aide—detailing the worst consequence ever.

‘Some choices are wiser than others,’ he said ruefully. ‘Do not make this harder than it needs to be. There is no point banging your head against this particular brick wall. You’re only going to bruise yourself.’

He leaned closer, so close to the tense, sulky mouth that he knew was actually soft and hungry. The mouth he wanted more than was rational. The mouth he would not let himself taste again until she acquiesced to everything.

Until he was certain she really wanted him again.

Because she was an enigma, this woman who’d given so much and yet held so much back. He did not trust her. But he wanted her. Her quickened breathing fanned his smouldering desire and the spark in her eyes ignited it.

‘If you insist on doing so,’ he murmured huskily, ‘I will kiss your bruises better.’

Stella sucked in a shocked breath. Silenced. He remembered their stupid banter that afternoon on the beach? How could he make a joke at a time that was so terrible? He couldn’t be taking this seriously.

Yet his words and his expression sent heat licking along her veins. Sweetness rushed south to where it would be needed if her body was to take his again. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t take her eyes off him.

His slight, set smile now faded. He was staring back—at her mouth. She yearned to lick her lips but knew it was her body attempting to send a blatant signal to pull him nearer, and she was resisting that instinct this time. She was not giving in to it again. That basic, carnal instinct had succeeded in what it had wanted. Procreation. The drive to mate and create new life. There was no need for her body to want his again.

Oh, but there was pleasure, her reawakened inner wanton whispered. There was all the pleasure he could give her with his lips, tongue, hands and—

‘I suggest you freshen up and then have some lunch,’ he said brusquely, stepping away from her in a quick, leashed movement. ‘We have many plans to make and you’ll need to be able to concentrate.’

‘Plans?’ she choked, determined to bite back the desire that he so easily conjured from her.

Because he didn’t want this any more than she did.

‘Yes.’ He turned and gave her thin tee shirt and clinging pants a coolly ironic once-over. ‘You’ll need to choose your wedding dress.’

CHAPTER THREE

WEDDING DRESS?

Surely he was joking—trying to provoke. Stella refused to rise to his bait. She lost control of herself around him, and if she was going to negotiate a way out of this and stay cool-headed, clinical tactics were required.

‘You have a room ready for me?’ She locked her wobbly knees. She’d show no more weakness.

‘Of course.’ He walked towards the door. ‘This way.’

Stella made a mental map as he escorted her down the long corridor and up a grand staircase. The palace had looked moderately sized from the air, but it turned out it was more of a Tardis—corridors, rooms, doors in all directions.

‘Your suite is next to mine,’ he informed her. ‘You can find your way back to the library when you’re ready?’

‘Of course,’ she muttered.

‘There are fresh clothes in the wardrobe. You may choose anything you like.’

She sent him an appalled look. Did he always keep a stash of women’s clothing on his island? His wicked look dared her, but she wasn’t going to bite. Yet.

‘Thank you.’ She walked into the room, closing the door behind her with a firm click.

Like the rest of the palace, the room was large and beautifully decorated—muted colours, soft, plush furnishings—and cool and comforting. She turned her back on the large bed and opened the door to a private bathroom and leaned against it in relief. Sleek, luxurious immaculate—all white marble and edged in gleaming lapis lazuli. Of course.

She eyed the enormous claw-footed bath, but then spotted the large glass shower stall. Several shower heads were strategically placed to blast water from all angles. Sheer heaven.

She turned on the taps and stripped, then stepped into the shower, shivering in delight as the water hit her. Water had rushed over her body that day on the beach too. Cleansing. Cooling. She pressed her palm on her flat belly, still unable to truly believe there was a tiny life within. How could she not have known?

She’d been so busy distracting herself she couldn’t recall when she’d last had her period. She’d deliberately kept a crazy schedule so she’d hardly had any quiet moments when memory could ambush her. But now she leaned against the shower wall and closed her eyes, finally able to surrender. No longer did she have the strength to battle back those memories.

Not now she’d seen him again.

Not when the ramifications of that day were so dramatic.

The floodgates opened and every secretly stored sensation, every muscle memory, every beautiful image burst into her brain. Unstoppable. Overwhelming. Sensations trammelled through her as she relived every minute.

Despite the glorious weather, that day had turned bad just after lunch. She’d been summoned by her commanding officer and informed that there was a peace-keeping crew being sent to a high-conflict area. And she wasn’t going.

‘You’re not the right officer for this mission.’

‘Why not?’

All she’d wanted was one chance to lead a team. She’d prove to them how capable she was. But the chance had never been forthcoming.

‘Do not question the decisions of your superiors,’ he’d answered bluntly. ‘Not this one, Zambrano,’ he had added more kindly. ‘Maybe the next.’

Or maybe not. She’d been certain her father was blocking her progression, but knew she’d never challenge him on it. She’d just work harder, longer...and ultimately she’d win. Because she’d be so absolutely the best he wouldn’t be able to ignore her any more. None of them would.

But frustration had burned at yet another disappointment. What did she have to do to prove her worth and make him see she was as fine a soldier as the men he favoured?

Back in her barracks, her anger had burned hotter. She’d been passed over for so many opportunities. Sure, she’d had a few crumbs thrown her way, but nothing that she’d really wanted, and she was busting her butt every single day.

She hadn’t been able to stick around the base in such a septic mood—she’d needed to get her game face back. So she’d left her room and walked out into the afternoon sun.

While she wasn’t on active duty she was required to be available in case anything came up. But she’d known she’d hear the siren from the bay if there was an emergency. Which there rarely was. And just a short time out wasn’t going to hurt anyone.

The base was situated on a cliff overlooking the sea. To a rock-climber it was a good challenge, because at the bottom of the cliff, hidden by a rocky outcrop, was the Cala de Piratas—a bay accessible from the other side of the beach only at low tide because of the treacherous rocks surrounding it. Tiny, beautiful, dangerous.

Stella had climbed down—out of sight of her superiors, away from everyone.

It was island legend that some of San Felipe’s wealth had come from the pirate ships that had been sunk against the jagged rocks hidden just below the rough waves. That legend was embellished with the whisper that even the royal family had a rogue pirate in their ancestry. Tourists paid handsomely to dive and explore the various wrecks not far from the island’s shores, hoping to find gold.

But they didn’t dive here, the place at the heart of the pirate folklore, because at this bay there was a rip tide that not even the strongest ocean swimmer could conquer. Stella hadn’t intended to swim—only to wash the sweat from her skin and cool the angry heat of her muscles. She’d kicked off her shoes and strode straight in, water splashing her shorts and tee shirt. But as she’d walked forward a large wave had buffeted her and she’d stumbled, almost slipped right under the water.

Strong arms had suddenly banded around her and pulled her back against a large body of steel. Hard. Forceful. Threatening.

Shocked, she’d jerked her elbow to free her arm and, moving on pure defensive instinct, turned and lashed out. She’d been trained well and her fist had landed true and hard.

She had heard his grunt and her own as visceral pain had zinged up her arm. She’d quickly flicked her fingers, reeling at the impact of bone on bone. But she’d drawn her arm back again, ready to land another.

But the giant who’d grabbed her had reached even more quickly, catching hold of her upper arm and twisting it behind her, pulling her harder, more tightly into his steely body.

‘Stop fighting. I’m not going to hurt you,’ he’d said, in a deep, loud voice right in her ear.

She knew her best plan was to go limp, then move and take him by surprise. But when she let her muscles relax and fell against him he pulled her closer still, locking her into a hold she knew she mightn’t be able to escape.

It seemed he’d been trained too.

‘You have a powerful punch,’ he said.

Her throat clogged, but not with fear. She recognised that voice.

At three in the afternoon Prince Eduardo De Santis was wearing a tuxedo that was now wet to the waist. As the waves ebbed and flowed, the water moulded his trousers to his long, muscled legs and he was moulding her to him. Her wrists were bound in his broad hands and twisted tight behind her back, thrusting her forward so she was pressed flat against his torso. His legs were parted only enough to lock hers together between his.

Because of the motion of the waves battering them she remained standing only because he held her trapped against him. Because of his strength.

Her anger morphed into something far more dangerous. Far more tantalising. Far more foreign.

Stella didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t believe it. But that melting sensation deep inside her was undeniable. She’d had many hand-to-hand training sessions with men. All kinds of scenarios. She’d never become aroused by any.

‘You’re Prince Eduardo,’ she said stupidly.

And while he might not want to hurt her, she’d certainly hurt him. Already the skin around his eye was reddened. It was going to result in a mega bruise. She wanted to curl into a ball and die of shame.

He inclined his head in acknowledgement, but didn’t loosen his grip. ‘You have the advantage. I do not know your name.’

And he wasn’t going to. Her father would kill her. She’d be demoted in seconds. And she’d be a laughing stock.

‘Why are you here?’ he asked. ‘This cove is not safe. Soon enough the tide will sweep back in and the sand will almost vanish. You’ll be stuck here for the next twelve hours.’

A hitherto mute part of her figured that wasn’t that bad an option if he was going to be here too...

‘I’m sorry I hit you,’ she said roughly, embarrassed at that rogue thought. ‘It might sting for a while. Then it will discolour. You’re going to be marked for a few days.’

His low laugh reverberated within her.

‘You think I haven’t been bruised before?’

Well, she’d never seen a picture of either prince with a black eye.

He smiled, and suddenly looked exactly as if he had a suave, dangerous pirate ancestor. ‘If you feel that bad about it, you could always kiss it better.’

‘I’m better at hitting than kissing,’ she answered bluntly. Honestly.

She wished he’d release her. The waves washing against her were doing nothing to cool the embers igniting within her. So inappropriate. So reckless.

His wickedly blue eyes sharpened. ‘If you kiss half as well as you hit, then I’ll be feeling fantastic in a heartbeat.’

She shook her head. But tendrils of temptation unfurled low in her belly.

This was the playful pirate Prince Eduardo, who charmed and made women smile and sigh. And Stella was as susceptible as any of them. Truthfully, he’d always been her favourite of the two. A stupid crush held since her teens. It was the fire in his eyes and his daredevil nature that appealed to something within her own soul.

‘Perhaps I should show you how it’s done.’ The smile on his sensual lips deepened. ‘Or are you going to say no to me?’

‘Does anyone ever say no to you?’ she asked, sounding more scornful than she’d intended.

She felt the tiniest flinch as his muscles tightened that impossible notch more.

‘Maybe I ought to be the first,’ she added.

‘You’re telling yourself that I need a lesson?’ he asked, the edginess returning. ‘You don’t strike me as a woman who’d hide behind something so obvious. I did not think you would be so afraid.’

His words heated her blood to simmering point. ‘You think challenging me will make me say yes?’

‘I don’t need to challenge you.’ He twisted to hold her wrists with just one hand, so that with his other he could trace the side of her face with a lazy, teasing finger. ‘I don’t need to do anything but be this close.’

‘Such arrogance,’ she said, trying to mask her breathlessness. But he was right. She was melting. ‘You’re risking another knock-back.’

She was used to soldiers coming on to her. And civilian men she passed when in full uniform. But in those cases it wasn’t that they wanted her. It was about the power play—they thought she was tough and that she presented them with a challenge. Most of them only did it in an attempt to make her feel uncomfortable.

Eduardo De Santis didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, or even to challenge her. This was basic attraction—raw and real and undeniable. Even she, as lacking in intimate experience as she was, recognised that this was a fireflash and it wouldn’t easily be doused.

‘You want to fight with me?’ he asked softly.

Intuition told her there was more to his meaning, and the thought of physically sparring with him sent that slick of something hot and charged to her lower belly. She felt him adjusting his hold on her, as if he were assessing her strength.

‘You ready for another black eye?’ she parried.

‘As long as you kiss me better everywhere you bruise me.’

Was he even aware he was holding her more firmly? More closely? She gazed into his hyper-alert brilliant blue eyes.

Of course he was aware.

‘Naturally I would reciprocate,’ he added.

‘I don’t bruise,’ she lied.

‘But you do.’ He lifted his hand to her face again. ‘I see them here. Bruises in your eyes. That’s why I came in after you.’

She’d been so focused on getting to the water and cooling off she hadn’t even seen him. She’d thought the bay was empty and she was alone.

Now she was alone with him. The most handsome man on the planet. The most provocative. And the only one to whom she’d had this kind of reaction.

She felt his body tauten, and hers softened as his erection pressed against her. But then to her intense disappointment he relaxed his hold, fractionally pulling away from her body in a polite action that made her grit her teeth. She wanted to feel his attraction to her. She wanted to know that she wasn’t the only one bitten by this madness. Raw need snaked its way up her spine and clawed into every limb. She didn’t want him to let her go. Not yet.

‘I thought you were putting yourself in danger?’ His voice had gone husky.

She was in danger right now. But she couldn’t tear her glance away from his. ‘I’m fine.’

But she wasn’t entirely. She wanted him closer again.

‘I’m glad.’

‘You’ve ruined your suit.’

‘And my shoes. And my phone. Indeed, the damage you’ve caused is significant.’

The desire to flirt, to play, to entice him as much as he was her, overruled her usual restraint. ‘Are you going to throw me in a dungeon?’

‘I’m giving the matter serious consideration.’ He smiled, but watched her closely. ‘This is called Pirates’ Cove for a reason. Those rocks in the sea provide a thorny path to hidden caves once full of treasure... Not to mention the rumours of a secret tunnel connecting this cove to the island over there.’ He nodded in the direction just behind her, to the small island reserved solely for the Princes’ use.

He thought she was a tourist. Not surprising when her accent was not as strong as his. She’d spent too many years overseas at boarding school, banished from her home.

‘Isn’t that your private island? Where you keep your women?’ Teasing him was irresistible. She could be a tourist for a moment, couldn’t she? Not a soldier who’d promised to serve his family.

‘Bound to the beds—that’s right.’ Laughter lit his eyes—and so did sensual promise.

He would, she realised, do just that. And, more appallingly, she would let him. She touched the tip of her tongue to her dreadfully dry lips.

‘So you are a pirate prince? Is that why you’re here—stealing treasure?’

Stealing hearts. He was scooping hers up without a second thought. And so easily he wasn’t even aware of it.

‘Who’s the pirate really?’ he challenged, gently shaking her. ‘The mysterious woman in black? Strong, agile. Thief of thoughts.’

‘Thoughts?’ she queried.

‘Si. I can think of nothing but you,’ he admitted in a low tumble of words. ‘I no longer care about what I should be doing. That I ought to be moving. All I can think about is...’

‘Is...?’ she prompted, melting.

He angled his head and finally pulled her that bit closer again. ‘It is not right that your skill set is so imbalanced.’

She almost purred at the blatantly sensual undertone to his words, at the feel of his hard length pressing against her again. ‘You’re taking it upon yourself to rectify my training?’

‘I think I must,’ he murmured. ‘Because if you know how to give a bruise, you must also learn how to make it better. It is only fair.’

He was wrong. Bruises healed just fine on their own. She’d never had anyone to kiss her bruises better. But she didn’t mind going along with him for just these few moments.

‘So what do I need to do?’ she breathed.

‘When a woman is bruised you must kiss her very lightly. With great care. To ensure you’re not hurting her more.’ He brushed his lips against her temple—the lightest kiss that made her toes curl into the wet sand. ‘And you do this until you sense that she is ready for greater pressure.’ He brushed his lips lightly over her skin again, then again. ‘That she is ready for pleasure. And then you give pleasure until the hurt is forgotten.’

He claimed her mouth then. She leaned into it, letting him explore, and he did—with wicked skill, torching the tinder between them until white-hot need poured through her.

‘Feel better?’ he asked, drawing back, arrogant knowledge gleaming in his eyes.

‘No. I feel terrible.’ And she did. The yearning inside her was a pulsing, hungry thing that she feared would never be assuaged. ‘Kiss me more.’

‘Strong little thing, aren’t you?’ He half laughed. ‘And demanding.’ He suddenly lifted her, splashing back the few feet to the shore and setting her on dry sand. ‘Well, so am I.’

‘Little?’ she teased, attraction magnifying her audacity. Since when in her life had she ever flirted?

He kissed her again in answer. Rougher—harder—even more pleasurable. She sank into it, gripping him fiercely. She had no idea how long they clung, wet and wild on the edge of the sea. All she knew was that it wasn’t for long enough. But he broke the seal.

‘I want to see you bared,’ he said harshly, pressing his hot mouth to her neck. ‘I want to touch you.’

He was a man used to getting what he wanted. To issuing a command and having it obeyed instantly.

Stella was used to following orders. And this was what she wanted.

Heated and frantic, she knew she’d have only this one chance to feel this wild exhilaration. Stella wriggled free, pulled off her tee shirt and tossed it to the sand. Unclasped her embarrassingly utilitarian-style bra super-quick—before he had the chance to really see it and before she had the chance to think. And to stop.

All of a sudden she was there, half naked before him. For a moment he just stared at her bared breasts. She felt her nipples tighten, despite the heat of the sun and the warmth of the gentle breeze. Then he raised his glance and glared at her.

It was as if she’d been plunged into a crucible. Her bones became like molten steel. Malleable, she awaited his instruction. She realised vaguely that she would do anything he asked. And enjoy it. Because that was Prince Eduardo’s absolute promise—pleasure, fun, abandonment.

She drew in a shuddering breath, startled at the ferocity—the foreignness—of her own surrender. And for a split second she froze.

His pupils dilated.

Before she could run he reached for her, hauling her back into his fierce embrace, kissing her with such a passion that her knees actually buckled. She looped her arms tight around his broad shoulders, kissing him back, revelling in the sensation of her breasts pressed against his shirt. She clung and she didn’t care. Lust, savage and raw, overruled everything.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked, his hands roving up and down her spine as if he couldn’t get enough of the feel of her.

She didn’t answer.

‘I’m not going to let you go until you tell me.’

She didn’t know what made her do it. Maybe it was annoyance at his arrogant assumption that she’d do as he asked—even though they both knew she would. Or perhaps it was the newborn imp within her, wanting to test him. She felt him tense again and her anticipation heightened.

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