Royally Claimed

by Marie Donovan

  “SO, STEFANIA HAS DECIDED to pick gold and ivory for her bridal colors. The cathedral in Vinciguerra has beautiful marble with lots of gold decoration and her wedding dress is ivory satin with gold trimming on it. The dress designer is engaged to my friend George, Stefania’s brother. That’s actually how they met. Since Stefania’s parents are passed away, George, Jack and I offered to help her with her wedding plans.” Frank knew he was babbling as he unlocked the kitchen door of the villa, but nerves were getting the best of him.

  Julia nodded as she entered the kitchen. “Well, this certainly looks the same,” she said.

  He grimaced and she saw it. “No, that’s not what I mean. I love the timelessness of the villa—of the whole island.” She walked around the kitchen running her hands along the old wooden table that acted as a center island. “How old is this table?”

  He shrugged, and set down the big paper bag of carry-out lunch from the café. “I suppose it’s really old. Benedito says that it’s been here since he was a boy, and he is at least 118 years old.”

  Julia laughed. “You two are so bad together, but I suppose by now it’s just a game for you.”

  “He means well, and he takes joy in keeping me on my toes. No chance of me becoming a stuffy nobleman with Benedito around.”

  “You could never be stuffy, Frank.”

  “My father died when I was about eleven, and I became the Duke. My mother is a lovely woman, but with my father gone, she focused all her fussing on me. I was well on my way to becoming quite the insufferable little prig, striding around the fazenda and barking orders to the men. Benedito was the only one who dared say boo to me and he made it quite clear that while I may have inherited the title, I had to earn the respect that went along with it.”

  “I can’t quite see you as the arrogant lord of the manor.” She leaned against the table, the movement causing her cleavage to deepen.

  “Here, let me take your jacket for you.” It was a pretty spring-green color that looked wonderful with her dark hair and hazel eyes. Of course, she could be wearing an old horse blanket and he would still think she looked wonderful. Especially if that was all she was wearing.

  Frank hung her jacket on a hook next to the door and forced himself to concentrate on their conversation. “Oh, I was a real piece of work at that age. Riding boots, a small riding crop and a bad attitude to go with them both.”

  “But your father just died,” she said. “Anybody would’ve had a hard time with that, especially a boy of that age.”

  “And that’s why Benedito didn’t beat the, um, snot out of me. He just worked me until I was too exhausted to be obnoxious.”

  “Attitude correction through exhaustion. I can think of a few nurses that I would like to try that technique on. Most emergency room nurses are good team players, but there are always a few prima donnas in any group.”

  Frank took out a container that smelled delicious—maybe beef? He’d offered the cook at the café a small fortune to make a wonderful meal for two. It looked as if it was enough food for five. “Are you hungry?” He had finished unpacking the one bag and went to the next. This bag had those tasty marinated olives and more pastries. He hoped they would put her in an equally sweet mood.

  “Starving,” she said. “I only had some fruit and bread and butter for breakfast, and after that I was in the hair salon all morning.” She looked mortified, as if she hadn’t meant to tell him about that part of her day.

  Frank hid a smile. His masculine nature puffed up in the knowledge that she had spent her whole morning primping for him. “It was time well spent,” he said. “But you do realize that I have always enjoyed your looks, hairstylist or not.”

  “Good thing for me,” she retorted, “because I am not sure I can do this again myself.” She pulled a curl in front of her nose and deliberately looked at it cross eyed.

  He couldn’t help laughing. She was the most unpretentious woman he’d known. Unlike Paulinha, who needed at least three hours to get ready for a simple evening, and six for a formal function. He tensed briefly and deliberately shoved away her image. He hadn’t ever promised her anything, but once he went back to Portugal, he had to make his intentions—or lack of intentions—clear. It wasn’t fair to her, taking time away from her life in Lisbon to travel to Aguas Santas, presumably to visit with his sister.

  And compared to Julia’s tart sense of humor and lack of deference, Paulinha was almost too sweet, like eating a box of pastries all by himself. When he was younger, he had basked in her girlish admiration as a balm to his battered ego, but now she was a woman and rightfully expected the things a woman expected of an eligible single man.

  Things he wasn’t willing to give. At least to her.

  “Why so serious?” Julia gave him a playful squeeze on the back of his arm. “Did the café pack the wrong food?”

  “No, of course not.” He busied himself unloading the bags and pulled several serving bowls out of a cabinet.

  Julia opened a box and inhaled deeply. “Mmm, pork.” She started to pour it into a bowl and Frank shooed her away.

  “No, no, you are my guest. If you would like to freshen up before lunch, the powder room is through that door and on the left.”

  “Okay, if you insist.” She strolled off and he hurried to fill the bowls. The dining room table was already set, so all he had to do was open a bottle of Aguas Santas red wine and let it sit for a few minutes before pouring it.

  He set the bowls on the table, which would easily hold a dozen guests, but he had set places across from each other at one end. No point in creating the old farce where the couple yelled at each other from opposite ends of a giant table. The dishes were heavy pottery instead of fine china, but Frank wanted to keep things looking casual. The red, yellow and blue glaze had a warm, friendly Mediterranean look that said, Just a casual lunch between friends. No, really, I’m not trying to get you into bed. I’d use the good china for that.

  He groaned. Ever since he’d been helping Stefania with her bridal registry, he’d learned more about china and dishes than any red-blooded man needed to know.

  “Frank?” Julia called, a funny tone in her voice.

  “Are you all right?” He stopped worrying about dishes and trotted down the hallway to the powder room. She stood in the doorway, a pained expression on her face.

  “I’m all right, but your bathroom is coming down with something.”

  “What?” He stuck his head in the door. “What!” Wide swathes of violent acid green and pumpkin orange striped the walls.

  “So this isn’t your redecoration attempt?”

  He shoved his hands into his hair and gripped his scalp. “Benedito! Oh, my God, why would he do this?”

  “He’s testing the paint colors to see which looks better.” Julia tried fighting back a laugh and gave up. She laughed so hard that she bent at the waist, gripping the sink to hold herself upright.

  “Testing the paint colors?” Frank stared at the wall in horror. “Look better?”

  Julia started to cough from laughing. “Oh, Frank, this is the worst…” She broke into giggles again.

  “He actually bought these colors.” He was in that state of shocked amazement where it wasn’t quite sinking in.

  She hauled herself upright. “You better check the rest of the villa.”

  His jaw dropped. “Oh, dear God.” He bolted into the living room. Fortunately Benedito had left the exposed stone and white plaster alone. He thumped upstairs to the master suite, which was the other focus of the re-do.

  “Red?” he howled. The bubblegum pink had been bad enough, but Benedito had taken the opportunity while Frank was busy outside to try out three different shades of red on the wall next to the bathroom. It looked as if they had been slaughtering livestock, only messier, thanks to the drops that had run down the wall.

  Julia came up behind him. “Trying for the romantic look?”

  “Probably reminded him of a brothel in Lisbon from his bachelor days,” he
said without thinking.

  She burst out laughing again. “Oh, Frank, what were you thinking to let him pick colors?”

  “Let him? Let him? I’ve been trying to get him to the eye doctor for the past year to check his cataracts! He told me after the fact that he had bought paint so I could have more time with you.”

  “Aww.” Julia wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “That’s sweet.”

  “Sweet? I have to paint over this and get new paint. Do you know how much primer that will take?”

  “For a second I thought I was back in the E.R.” She made a face. “What color were you going to paint this room?”

  He made a helpless gesture. “Off-white? I thought I was bad with decorating, but…”

  “We’ll figure this out,” she announced. “I decorated my own condo a few years back—no problem.” Her stomach growled. “Is lunch ready?”

  “I’ll need to open another bottle of wine.” He shook his head and followed her downstairs. What a mess. On the other hand, Julia had offered to help him, so that meant more time with her. Maybe Benedito had this in mind the whole time. If so, he’d pull a bottle of the 1958 sherry out of the fazenda’s cellar and give it to the old man with a big, fat kiss.

  6

  JULIA PUSHED AWAY FROM THE lunch table and groaned. The café had outdone itself again with a pork stew, spiced beef and garlicky roasted potatoes. She’d allowed herself a glass of Frank’s own red wine but had sipped on it through several courses along with mineral water so she wouldn’t get a headache.

  “More dessert?” He offered her a cream-filled pastry, but she shook her head.

  “No. I’m so full, thanks.” She stood, enjoying the slight dizziness that came with good food and wine, not head injuries.

  Frank jumped to his feet, as well. He may have been the descendant of autocratic peasant-repressers, but he did have nice manners. She gathered up her plate and he made such a dismayed sound that she nearly dropped it. “What?”

  “You are my guest.” He snatched it away from her. “Guests never need to clear their own plates. I’ll take care of this.” He shooed her away and Julia realized she did need to use the facilities. Unfortunately that meant the pumpkin-pistachio powder room of horrors, but she hadn’t drunk enough that it made her physically ill. Just visually.

  She finished and washed her hands as quickly as possible before returning to the kitchen. The kitchen was her favorite room in the whole villa, even before the paint fiasco. It had probably been the only room for many years judging from its size and the giant fireplace. Julia could imagine the hearth heating the space, with big tables and plenty of room for a bed tucked into the corner next to the fireplace. Even now, there was a leather sofa in front of the hearth, the substantial island and a dark rustic table that would easily seat ten. She’d seen reproductions on furniture websites but Frank’s table was the real deal, probably made from wood shipped from the mainland several hundred years ago.

  Frank had turned on the radio he kept on the kitchen counter and listened to rapid-fire Portuguese. His frown deepened. Julia looked out the window and knew what was coming. She couldn’t understand the radio, but she knew weather from her life on air force bases.

  She stuck her head out the back door. The sunny day had rapidly darkened, with ominous clouds blowing from the west. It had been such a warm day and a cold front was stirring up trouble when it hit the mass of warm air. Ah, life on an island.

  This storm was a bad one, and they would be foolish to set off for the bigger island of São Miguel.

  He turned down the volume and faced her. “Julia, the weather has turned, and there is a boating danger advisory. I can’t take you back. You’ll have to spend the night.”

  Her stomach quivered. A night in the villa with Franco was laden with possibilities—and pitfalls. He stared at her and she knew he felt the same way. “I have to spend the night,” she echoed. “With you.”

  “With me.” He took a step closer. “Don’t worry, meu bem. I will take care of you.”

  Meu bem. That was hard to translate into English but easy to understand, basically meaning “sweetheart.”

  “I trust you, Frank.” She touched his cheek and he covered her hand with his, turning his face to kiss her palm.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t.” He dropped her hand and spun away. “I have to check on the boat.”

  His steps echoed on the stone floor as he hurried out the door down to the dock. She slowly lowered her hand to her side, her palm burning where he kissed it. The rest of her burned as well.

  Julia redirected her attention. A storm on a small island meant loss of utilities, so she searched in the kitchen cabinets and pantry for flashlights, candles, matches and even kerosene lanterns. After setting several of each on the center island, she filled several jugs with tap water and then ran both the downstairs and upstairs bathtubs full to use for flushing and bathing, if needed. As the tub filled upstairs, she glanced around the master suite, noting the dated overblown cabbage rose décor and baby pink bathroom, not to mention the red paint samples. No wonder Frank wanted to update the villa before his young friend’s honeymoon.

  Frank’s comb and brush sat on the white spindly dressing table, complete with gilded mirror. A dark blue T-shirt hung over the gold-velvet upholstered chair. She couldn’t imagine Frank enjoyed sleeping there in that ugly bed. Poor Frank, under that dizzying bedspread. Some impulse made her test the mattress with her hand.

  Frank all alone. Naked. His smooth skin catching on the worn sheets as he tossed and turned, his cock hardening in the night. He would toss the bedding away and cup himself, erect and thick. She swallowed painfully, desire thickening her blood. Her nipples tightened as she fantasized about him caressing himself from base to tip.

  Juices slipping from him as they were slipping from her. She moaned, the pulsing between her thighs unbearable enough that she rubbed herself through her thin denim pants. A poor substitution for a real man, but the pull of her fantasy was too much to stop.

  His fingers caressing his hard, masculine nipples. She undid a button and slipped her hand inside her blouse. Her breasts were full and heavy, their peaks aching as she tentatively brushed across them.

  His hands tightening around his dark, heavy sac, milking and stroking himself. His heels digging into the mattress as his back arched from the bed, his hands working himself into a powerful frenzy of desire. Up and down his shaft.

  “Oh, yes,” she moaned, shivering at the edge of orgasm. Her hand crept up toward the drawstring at her waist. One touch on her bare flesh and she would shatter.

  Him crying out in pleasure. Calling her name in violent climax—Julia, Julia.

  “Julia! Julia!” The call was real this time. She yelped and yanked her hands from her body.

  She blindly pulled extra blankets and pillows from the linen closet next to the bathroom. She headed for the stairs and almost knocked both of them down the rest of the way.

  “Careful, Julia.” He steadied her and took the pile from her. “Downstairs with these?”

  “Yes.” Her face was burning and her breath was as fast as if she had just played a soccer match.

  “I saw all the supplies in the kitchen and the water as well. Good thinking. The electrical power still runs through that underwater cable from São Miguel, but the lines on our island are above ground and go down sometimes. If we lose electricity, we’ll have some generator power but not enough to run the water pump very much.”

  She shivered, half from desire and half because the temperature had dropped precipitously. He noticed, but she had the feeling he noticed everything about her. “Go upstairs to the master suite where I’m staying. There should be a sweater in the closet. I’ll bring these blankets downstairs.”

  Back to her fantasy room. She ducked in and grabbed a yellow fleece pullover that made her look like a hazard sign, even though she was still steaming hot. At least it was on the inside, where he couldn’t see.

  Frank had
set the blankets on the big leather couch in front of the fireplace and was eyeing the iron firewood rack. “We don’t have much wood inside. I’ll go to the shed in back to bring more in.”

  “Do you need me to help?”

  He laughed. “You’re asking a Portuguese man if he wants a woman to help him with heavy lifting? Remember where you are.”

  “Hmmph.” As if she could forget. “Would you like me to cook or clean something while you do all the manly work around here?”

  He gave her a long look up and down her body. “You make me wish I could do even more manly work for you.” Then he disappeared out the kitchen door.

  Wow. She stood for several long seconds staring after him and then shook herself and got to work. She did a quick inventory of the fridge and pantry, noting the leftovers from lunch, some eggs, sausage, bread and milk. If the power went out, she could cook the eggs over the fireplace in one of the well-seasoned cast iron skillets, maybe make some French toast or an omelet. The sausage was smoked, so no need to keep it cold. Everything would keep until breakfast tomorrow.

  Julia slowly closed the refrigerator door, making sure it was snug. How long since she had shared breakfast with a man? And no, quick runs to the hospital cafeteria for leaden pancakes or stale Danishes after a hellacious night of work didn’t count.

  She thought. And thought. And thought. And decided to stop thinking after she had traveled well back into the previous decade.

  But before breakfast came the night together. The pile of bedding drew her gaze.

  Frank thumped through the door balancing an armful of firewood. He set the logs in the wrought-iron holder and then winced and shook his hand.

  “What is it?”

  “Splinter.” He picked at his palm with and then winced again. “Ah, I only got part of it.”

  “Let me see.” She took his hand in hers. “Look, you broke it off inside and drove it even deeper.”