His Bride for the Taking

by Sandra Hyatt

  “Both hands on my shoulders now. And look at me as we step to your left.”

  He placed his hands at the curve of her waist. Her eyes flew open again and a flush bloomed in her cheeks.

  She had eyes of the deepest green. He could lose himself there if he wasn’t careful. Two steps to the left. Or Vienna? He could go there. He’d always liked the Austrian capital.

  Her foot caught on his as she moved right instead of left and she stumbled. He tightened his hold reflexively, and for a breath-stealing second the length of her was pressed against him.

  They jumped apart and, gazes averted, came warily back together again.

  “Sorry,” she said, “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “An easy mistake. You’ve done perfectly otherwise.”

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice as strained and formal as his sounded.

  Then silence, except for the delicate teasing music. He could do this—dance with her and not hold her properly, dance with her and not kiss her, dance with her and not want to make love with her.

  They were almost finished. Thirty seconds and he’d made it.

  He twirled her out and back again so that she finished at his side within the shelter of his arm. As they made the small, courtly bow that signaled the end he sent up a prayer of thanks that this was over.

  “We’re done?” she asked, her relief palpable.

  “Yes. The old soldiers will love you.” He stepped away from her, headed for the door.

  She passed by him as he held the door for her. This is where he’d say goodbye. And if he could get himself on a plane in a few hours’ time, it would be best for all. But if he was leaving, then he only had these few minutes with her.

  Being with her was torture, and yet it was better than being without her. And so he walked with her through the palace. Too soon they reached the door to her suite. All he had to do now was walk away. And he would; he was strong enough for that.

  He looked down at her. She was so beautiful it unnerved him. Which was why he was leaving.

  A small smile, almost sad, played about her lips, but her eyes drank him in. He recognized that hunger—it was the echo of his own. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m only human, Lexie.”

  She backed away, crossed her arms as she shook her head. “I wasn’t looking at you…like that.”

  “Yes, you were. You want me.”

  Her jaw dropped open.

  “It’s nothing more than the truth. And if you’re looking at me like that, why are you marrying my brother?” The brother who liked and respected her, but who didn’t love her, not with the kind of love she deserved, the love she’d dreamed of for so many years.

  She paused, didn’t quite meet his gaze. “Adam is a good, kind, honorable man,” she said, not quite answering his question.

  “You forgot noble and sweet.”

  “You’re right. Noble and sweet.”

  “And nice.”

  “Yes. Nice.”

  “So, why do you think about me?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do. You watch me and you think about me. You think about me touching you.” He lifted his hand, touched fingertips to her jaw. A tremor shivered over his skin and her eyelids fluttered closed. With a gasp, she turned her head and stepped away from his touch.

  “You’re the last man on earth I’d think about.”

  Who did she think she was fooling? Rafe took a step closer. She took another away from him, stopping as her back pressed against her door.

  A sliver of air separated them, and it hummed with his need for her. “First and last, and all the ones in between.”

  “No.” She whispered her denial through softly parted lips.

  “Marrying Adam is a mistake. For you. For him.” He could see the rise and fall of her breasts as she drew in shallow, ragged breaths. “Don’t do it.”

  “No. I’m not,” she whispered.

  Her response didn’t quite make sense, but the pull of her overwhelmed him. He was leaving. For forever if he had to. But heaven help him he was going to kiss her.

  Just once more.

  One kiss to prove she shouldn’t marry his brother, one kiss to prove he was as depraved as the tabloids painted him.

  He lowered his head, his face so close to hers that her breath caressed his lips. Whatever happened, whether he kissed her or not, he couldn’t win; he would regret the decision for the rest of his life.

  Lexie closed her eyes. So young. So innocent.

  Calling on reserves of strength he didn’t know he had, Rafe pulled away.

  Her eyes flew open, locked on his for a timeless second. He tried and failed to back away. “I’m not marrying Adam.” Her words rushed out. And suddenly it was her hands in his hair, pulling him down, and Lexie rising up to him, pressing her lips to his.

  Her mouth fitted perfectly against his. She tasted of sweetness and sunshine. For long, exquisite moments there was just that simple joining, lips to lips and somehow soul to soul.

  He broke the kiss. “Say that again.” He needed the words that made sense of everything.

  “I’m not marrying Adam. We broke it off.” She reached for him again and her kiss was everything he needed and wanted in the world. She was his perfection.

  Still kissing her, he moved with her into her room, shut the door behind them. Lexie sighed against him as she melted into him, an echo of his own surrender.

  And he lost himself in her kiss.

  Thought deserted him, overwhelmed by sensation.

  “When?” he finally asked, minutes later.

  “After I kissed you the last time. I knew then that—”

  He pulled her against him, hip-to-hip, her yielding softness against his hardness. His hands desperately learning her shape, sliding beneath the silk of her blouse, touching heated skin smoother than the silk, tracing her contours, the flare of her hips, the curve of her waist, filling himself with the feel of her, her taste, her scent. Imprinting her against him, within him.

  Her tongue danced with his, an erotic twining as they each teased and explored. Nothing sweet, all heated desire. He cupped the soft weight of her breast, his thumb caressing the lace-covered nipple.

  “Why?” He heard his own doubt. Felt his desperation.

  She hesitated. “Because I don’t love him. I can’t love him. Not the way I want to.”

  Could it be the insanity telling him he heard the words he needed to hear? The relentless grip of his ungovernable need for her? He undid the top button of her blouse.

  “He was very gracious about it.”

  Showed what a fool his brother could be.

  “I think he was secretly relieved.”

  Not half as relieved as Rafe was. He undid the second delicate button. “Why are you still here?”

  “For Adam.”

  He frowned, his fingers stilling on the third button. “You do still have feelings for him?”

  “No. I told him I’d stay and attend any engagements I’m expected at. If I left so soon it wouldn’t look good. There would be all sorts of speculation. I leave after the christening.”

  Rafe’s hands resumed their exploring.

  “It turns out he was mainly going through with this to please your father and the country. Apparently, a wedding, any royal wedding, will be good for the country’s morale. Funny how no one thought to mention that to me.”

  “You’re not angry with him?”

  She shrugged and he felt the movement beneath his fingertips. “I was hardly in a position to take the moral high ground.”

  He undid the fourth and final button and, with a profound sense of achievement and victory, pushed apart the sides of her blouse, revealing a strip of creamy skin and partially uncovering the swell of lace-covered breasts.

  His breath caught in his throat.

  He arranged the blouse to his liking and traced a finger along the edge of the lace. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  “Because I didn’t want th
is to happen.”

  He paused. “Why are you telling me now?”

  “Because now…now I want this to happen. I can’t bear it any longer. The wanting you. I didn’t break up with him because of you. We’re supposed to be keeping it a secret, but…”

  He didn’t need buts. She wasn’t engaged to his brother, and the realization filled him with euphoria, swamped any other thought.

  He cupped her sweet face in his hands and kissed her again. He could no more have stopped himself than he could from taking his next breath. He wanted to know her, every inch of her.

  She wasn’t marrying Adam. She didn’t love his brother. His brother didn’t love her. That was all he needed to know.

  Wrapping his arms around her, he held her to him, drowning in the sensation of her, in the shape of her and how she fit against him, body and mouth and soul.

  Her hands slid from his shoulders to his head, her fingers threading through his hair, her touch becoming fevered.

  He kissed her lips, her eyes, her jaw, her throat. His hands learned the exquisite shape of her body as he led her to the broad bed in the center of the room. He eased the sides of her blouse farther open, kissed her breast above the lace of her bra, moved lower till his lips covered the nipple beneath the lace.

  Sweet Lexie arched into him.

  He pushed her blouse from her shoulders. Her skin was so pale, so beautiful. He found the single button at the back of her skirt, a short zip, and the fabric slithered to the floor. She stood before him in delicate scraps of lace and her shoes.

  Almost perfect.

  He unpinned her hair, let it cascade over his hands as it came loose. He undid the clasp of her bra and her breasts spilled free. He tossed the lace aside and then drew her panties down her legs. Breathless, he looked at her, his fantasy complete.

  Now she was perfect.

  And Rafe was both honored and humbled.

  Her lips curved into a slow, sensuous smile. With just a touch of hesitancy she reached for his belt. Urgency replaced the hesitancy as she worked the buckle and then the button and zipper behind it.

  He pulled his top off, stepped out of his shoes and the pants she’d pushed down his legs. He held himself still while those pale, delicate hands of hers explored his torso, lighting sparks with her curious, reverent touch.

  Demure Lexie was his siren. Bold, beautiful. Smiling. Her hair whispering over her shoulders.

  He could bear it no longer. He scooped her up and lowered her down onto the bed. Where he’d wanted this woman from the moment he saw her dancing in the nightclub. He raised her arms above her head, captured her wrists in one hand so that his other was free to caress and slide and cover and tease. And to claim. Every inch. Sliding his hand up one pale thigh to her apex, he covered her and she arched into his hand. She closed her eyes, as he’d imagined, as he’d dreamed.

  He found her center and took delight in her pleasure and her growing need till her head swung from side to side, her breathing ragged.

  The only thing he wanted was to give her pleasure.

  He covered her lips again with his and moved his body over hers. She parted beneath him, welcomed him as he slid slowly into the depth of her, sheathing himself in her heat. She opened her eyes then, and her gaze locked on his as he began to move within her.

  Slowly. He should take it slowly, but she moved beneath him, urging him faster, her hips rising to meet his thrusts, the hands he’d freed now clasping his hips, pulling him in deeper.

  Little moans and mewls of pleasure escaped her, driving him out of his mind with need for her. Along with the spiraling need, a rhythm that was theirs alone grew and hastened. All the world narrowed down to this one joining. Her with him.

  As she cried out his name, he lost himself in her.

  Afterward, she lay within the circle of his arms, her hair auburn and beautiful spilling over the pillow, across his shoulder, its faint floral scent teasing his senses. As Rafe watched her, a strange sense of bliss settled over him.

  Nine

  Lexie stood between Adam and Rebecca in the royal enclosure, trying to enjoy the anniversary fireworks display. As per their arrangement, she’d stayed at Adam’s side through yet another formal dinner and for the last half hour out here. And still she’d been constantly aware of Rafe.

  Rafe, whom she’d slept with.

  She watched a series of starbursts of color and noise. As dandelions blossomed in the night sky, she heard the oohs and ahhs of the gathered crowd. But from the corner of her eye she watched Rafe. More riveting than the fireworks.

  Among the royal guests were the young teens from Rafe’s polo team, whom he’d promised this treat to if they won their last match. They had. Convincingly. He was great with the kids and they clearly idolized him, the boys and girls alike. They listened avidly to what he said and tried hard to impress him. And he seemed to give them just the right amount of attention and encouragement back. Not too much, not too little. For someone who didn’t want a relationship, he’d make a great dad. And that was not a thought she should be having.

  As he crouched to speak with an older man in a wheelchair, her thoughts began to wander.

  She hadn’t seen him since she’d left her bed yesterday afternoon to shower.

  Sanity had returned after the desperation of their lovemaking. They’d agreed, as they’d lain together, legs entwined, Rafe stroking her hair, touching her face, that it couldn’t be allowed to happen again. That, in fact, they’d pretend that it had never happened in the first place.

  It was the only sensible course of action. No matter how hollow the decision had made her feel.

  A failed engagement with Adam was bad enough. A relationship with Rafe, the Playboy Prince, even if it never became public, could only be catastrophic, on so many levels.

  He’d been gone by the time she came back out from her shower. Today she’d had back-to-back engagements. Mostly with Adam. During all of which she had thought about Rafe.

  And missed him.

  Rafe, who’d made no attempt to contact her. She knew he wouldn’t, because they’d agreed that was best.

  And the fact that she’d wanted him to only made her a fool.

  She’d half hoped, as she gave herself to him, that he would be a disappointment. Because there was no future in a relationship with Rafe. They wanted different things.

  But he hadn’t been a disappointment. He’d been a revelation. An insanity. Ecstasy and bliss. He’d been overwhelming passion. Infinitely more than her meager imagination had conjured.

  “How are things going with Adam?” Rebecca asked.

  “Fine,” she said hesitantly. Not wanting to discuss Adam with Rebecca. Not wanting to carry the deception any further than she had to. “Who’s Rafe talking to?”

  Rebecca followed her gaze and smiled. “Malcolm. He was our head groundsman for decades. Such a lovely man. It’s so hard to see him like this. He and Rafe had a really special bond. Rafe was so active, always needing to be doing something, and Malcolm had the patience to teach him practical skills as well as a love of the outdoors to share. It all started with the tadpoles and frogs he used to find for Rafe in the lily pond.”

  Lexie smiled at the thought. “I used to call Rafe the Frog Prince. Ever since that time I was eight and he threw a frog at me.”

  Rebecca laughed. “Rafe went through such a phase with them. And turtles. That particular frog was one of the last generation in a long line of frogs he’d had since he was a little kid. He even had a name for it. Arnold or something.”

  “Arthur.”

  “That’s it. Dad had told us to think of something nice for you on that visit. That frog was the best Rafe could think of. He wanted to show it to you. Thought that an eight-year-old girl would have been as interested as he’d been when he was eight. Adam and I tried to tell him it wasn’t the thing, but he wasn’t having it. Then Adam knocked him and it fell into your lap.”

  “Adam knocked him? I thought Rafe threw it.”


  Rebecca was still smiling. “I remember the pandemonium. Us all on our hands and knees searching for it. Dad had a fit. Rafe had to put it out in the pond after that. In fact, he was banned from frogs thereafter.”

  Lexie had to rewrite the entire incident in her head. Her Frog Prince. It had been a small thing, but pivotal in her admiration of Adam and her dislike of Rafe. For an eight-year-old, she’d been able to hold a powerful grudge.

  And she’d had it all wrong.

  He hadn’t been trying to torment her. He should have been the one with the grudge. Because of her, he’d lost his pet. Though she couldn’t help thinking Duke was a vast improvement.

  Rebecca looked back in Rafe’s direction. “It’s so nice that Adelaide, Malcolm’s granddaughter, is home for the summer now, to help look after him. She got back just a couple of days ago.”

  Lexie looked at the woman behind Malcolm. She was the same woman she’d seen Rafe talking to in a doorway just a few nights ago. Her heart sank. This was the woman she’d more or less implied he was having an illicit relationship with. Adelaide lifted her sunglasses from her eyes and Lexie realized just how young she was, still a teenager. A handsome youth approached and slung his arm around Adelaide’s shoulders and the girl blushed. And Lexie was racked with yet more guilt. She’d all but accused Rafe of having an affair with the young woman, thinking herself worldly as she did so. She was as bad as the tabloids. And Rafe had done almost nothing to defend himself or correct her assumption. He’d said there was nothing going on and she hadn’t believed him.

  She’d done him such a disservice, thinking the worst of him, believing his tabloid reputation when she should have known better. There was so much more to him than the picture the press liked to paint of him. He let people believe the worst of him, when clearly he was so much better than that.