by Nora Roberts
He was surprised his clothes didn’t simply steam off him. The heat of his temper paled with the fire that she brought to his blood. So soft, so fragrant, so wonderfully willing. Her face was wet now with the rain he’d brought in with him. He could’ve lapped it—and her—up like cream.
Undone, he buried his face against her throat. “I need you, damn it. I can’t get past it.”
“Then have me.” Her breath hitched as his hands roamed over her. “Take me.”
He lifted his head, looked down at her. Her eyes were dark now, tawny as a cat’s. And as her hands came up to frame his face, she smiled. “I’ve waited so long for you,” she murmured. “And I didn’t even know.”
To prove it, she drew his mouth down to hers again.
Everything he felt for her, about her, from her, bloomed in the kiss. She trembled from it, and the quiet hum in her throat had his pulse bounding.
That long, white throat fascinated him. The strong slope of her shoulders was a wonder. Damp with rain now, the thin night slip she wore clung provocatively to her body. He took his mouth, his hands over the wet silk first, then the hot, damp flesh beneath.
She moved under him. A graceful arch, a quick shiver. Slowly first, savoring first, he explored, exploited. Excited. When her breathing was thick, her eyes dreamily closed, he dragged her to her knees and ravaged.
He’d catapulted her from quiet pleasure to reckless demand so that she floundered. Drowned in him. Those hard hands that had been so blissfully gentle were now erotically rough. Bowing back, she surrendered to that hungry mouth. Moaned his name as he tore reason to shreds.
She went wild in his arms. As her need pitched to meet his, she tore and tugged at his clothes. Kneeling on the bed, they clung, flesh to flesh, heart raging against heart.
Once more, in a flash of lightning, their eyes met. Held. In his, at last, she saw all she needed to see. And it was she who shifted, taking him in. Wrapping her legs around him to take him deep until they both trembled.
“Je t’aime.” She said it clearly though her body quaked. “I love you. I can’t help myself.”
Before he could speak, her mouth covered his. What was left of his control snapped, whipping his body toward frenzy. She met him, beat for frantic beat. When she closed around him, he swallowed her cry of release. And emptied himself.
“Camilla.” He couldn’t think past her name, even as he slid down her body to nestle between her breasts. He felt her fingers stroke through his hair and wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and stay steeped in her for the rest of his life.
But his gaze skimmed toward the terrace—and the rain cheerfully blowing in the open doors and soaking floor and rug.
“I didn’t close the doors. We’re starting to flood. Just stay.”
As he rolled away, she watched him lazily. Then she bolted up as he started to cross the room. “No! Wait.” She scrambled out of bed, snatched the robe that had been draped over the curved back of her settee. “Someone might see,” she muttered, then, with her robe modestly closed, hurried to close the doors herself.
Control, he thought as he watched her draw the drapes. Even now. A princess couldn’t walk around naked in front of the windows—not even her own. And certainly couldn’t have a man do so.
She turned, saw him eyeing her speculatively. “The guards. Guests,” she began, then dropped her gaze. “I’ll get some towels.”
While she walked into the adjoining bath, he untangled his damp tuxedo pants. They were ruined, he decided, and would be miserably uncomfortable. But if they were going to have a conversation, he wanted to be wearing something besides his heart on his sleeve.
She came back, got down on her hands and knees and began mopping the floor. It made him smile. Made him remember her in his cabin.
“I have to be practical, Delaney.”
His brows drew together at the strained edge in her voice. “I understand that.”
“Do you?” She hated herself for wanting to weep now.
“Yes, I do. I admire the way you manage to be practical, self-sufficient—and royal.”
Her head came up slowly. She eased back to sit on her heels, and the look of surprise on her face was enough to have him shoving his hands in his wet pockets. “I admire you,” he said again. “I’m not good with words, these kinds of words. Damn it, do you think I’m an idiot? That I don’t have a clue what kind of juggling act you—your whole family—has to perform to be who you are and manage to have any sort of life along with it?”
“No.” Looking away from him again, she folded the damp portion of the rug back, then dried the floor beneath it. “No, I believe you understand—as much as you can. Maybe more than another man might. I think that’s why, in some ways, we’re at odds.”
“Why don’t you look at me when you talk to me?”
Struggling for composure, she pressed her lips together. But her gaze was level when she lifted her head again. “It’s difficult for me. Excuse me a moment.” She rose, and shoulders straight as a soldier’s, carried the damp towels back to the bath.
Women, Del thought, were a hell of a lot of work.
She came back, went to a small cabinet and took out a decanter. “I think some brandy would help. I was wrong,” she began as she poured two snifters. “Tonight in the garden, I was wrong to say those things to you. I apologize.”
“Oh, shut up.” Out of patience, he snatched a snifter out of her hand.
“Can’t you at least pretend to be gracious?”
“Not when you’re being stupid. If I want an apology, you’ll know it.” She’d beat him to the damn apology. Wasn’t it just like her? He paced away and though he didn’t care for it, took a slug of the brandy. “When you’re wrong, I’ll let you know it.”
He spun back, temper alive on his face. “You hurt me.” It infuriated him to admit it.
“I know. The things I said—”
“Not that. That just pissed me off.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “You lied to me, Camilla. Or the next thing to it. I started counting on you. And I don’t mean to clean up after me. I started thinking about you—about us—a certain way. Then it all blew up in my face.”
“I handled it badly. It was selfish—I was selfish,” she corrected. “I wanted some time—then more time—to just be. I ran. I told myself it wasn’t running away, but it was. Last summer, it was all suddenly too heavy, too close. I couldn’t …”
“Just be?”
“I couldn’t just be,” she said, quietly. “Last summer there was an incident with the press. Not much more, really, no less than so many others the past few years. But it had been building up inside me, all of it until it just got to be too much. I couldn’t eat. I wasn’t sleeping well, I couldn’t concentrate on what I was meant to do. I …”
“No, don’t stop. Tell me.”
“This incident,” she said carefully, “wasn’t so different from others. But while it was happening I could hear myself screaming. Inside. I thought—I knew—that unless I got away for a while, the next time it happened, the screams wouldn’t be just inside. I was afraid I was having some sort of breakdown.”
“Camilla, for God’s sake.”
“I should’ve spoken with my family.” She looked back at him because she’d heard that unspoken question in his shocked tone. “They would have understood, supported me, given me time and room. But I just couldn’t bring myself to confess such a weakness. Poor Camilla, who’s been given every privilege in life, and more—so much more—the unquestioning love from family, is suddenly too delicate, too fragile to deal with the responsibilities and difficulties of her rank and position.”
“That’s malarkey.”
The term made her laugh a little. And steadied her. “It didn’t feel like it at the time. It felt desperate. I was losing myself. I don’t know if you can understand that because you know yourself so intimately. But I felt hounded and hunted, and at the same time so unsteady about who I was, inside. What I wanted to
do with my life beyond what I was supposed to do, beyond duty. I had no passion for anything, and there’s a horrible kind of emptiness to that.”
He could imagine it—the pressures, the demands—and the nerves of steel it took to be who she was. The courage, he thought, it had taken to break from all that to find the woman inside.
“So you took off, with a couple suitcases in a rental car, to find it?”
“More or less. And I did find it, though as I said, in the end, I handled it badly.”
“We handled it badly,” he corrected. “I was over my head with you, and that was when I thought you were a weird rich chick in some kind of trouble. When I found out, I figured you’d used me for some kind of a lark.”
She paled. “It was never—”
“I know that now. I know it. I had feelings for you I’ve never had for anyone else. I’d worked myself up to tell you—and came into the kitchen and heard you talking on the phone.”
“To Marian.” Eyes closed, Camilla let out a long breath. “The timing,” she murmured, “couldn’t have been worse. I’m surprised you didn’t throw me out bodily.”
“Thought about it.” He waited until her eyes opened, met his again. “It felt better when I sat around feeling sorry for myself. It took me a while to start considering what it’s like for you. The people, the press, the protocol. It’s pretty rough.”
“It’s not all that bad. It’s just that sometimes you have to—”
“Breathe,” he finished.
“Yes.” Tears swam into her eyes. “Yes.”
“Don’t do that. I can’t have a rational conversation if you start dripping. Look, I mean it, plug the dam. I’ve never told a woman I love her, and I’m sure as hell not going to do it for the first time when she’s blubbering.”
“I’m not blubbering.” But her voice broke on a sob as joy leaped into her. She yanked open a drawer, tugged out a lace-trimmed hankie and wiped at tears. She wanted to leap again, just leap. But this time, she knew to keep quiet. “So, tell me.”
“I’ll get to it. You’re not fragile, Camilla.”
“Not as a rule, no.”
“Cordina’s crown jewel. I’ve been catching up on some magazines,” he said when she stared at him. “A jewel has to have substance to keep its shine. You’ve got substance.”
“That,” she managed to say, “is the most flattering thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“That’s just because you’re used to men telling you you’re beautiful. And I like your family.”
“My family?”
“Yeah. Your mother’s an amazing woman. I like your brothers, your cousins. Still haven’t quite figured out—for sure—which is which, but, I like them. And your sister’s sweet.” He paused. “I meant that in a good way.”
“Yes.” Camilla smiled a little. “She is, very sweet.”
“Your aunts, uncles, they’re interesting people. Admirable. I guess that’s where you get it. Had some trouble with your father. But I figure if I had a daughter and some guy was … Well, it’s natural for him to want to kick my ass for putting hands on what’s his.”
“He likes you.”
“He’d like to roast me over a slow fire.”
“He thinks you have potential.”
Del snorted, paced, then glanced back at her. “Does he?”
“Yes. Of course if you make me unhappy, that slow fire could still be arranged. But I don’t mean to pressure you.”
“You’re a clever girl, princess. Sharp, sexy mind. I could get past that face of yours, but your mind kept hooking me in.” He gestured to the thick book on archaeology resting on her nightstand. “So you stayed interested?”
“Yes. I want to learn. I really loved working with you.”
“I know.”
“I find the work fascinating. Not just because of you, you know. I want to learn for me first. I needed something for myself. Something that pulled at me, from the inside. Something beyond what’s expected—must be expected of me because of my position. I wanted to find my passion, and thanks to you I did. I’m making arrangements to join Dr. Lesuer on a project in France.”
“Yeah, Lower Paleolithic.” Del shrugged. “He’s good. Hell of a teacher, too. He’s got patience. I don’t. It’d probably be less complicated to work with him. Then again, it’d be a shame for you to miss following through on Bardville.”
She took a deep breath. “Are you suggesting that I join the project?”
“I’ve been thinking about outfitting a new site trailer. The old one’s a dump. And I need to oversee a lot of lab work. It’d probably be practical to rent a house near the university. Maybe buy something.”
The pressure in her chest was unbearable. It was wonderful. “It’s understood in my family that when one of us takes a career, or makes a personal commitment, his or her official duties can be adjusted. Tell me.”
“Listen, I’m going to complain every time I have to gear up in some fancy suit—and you’ll probably throw my own title in my face when I do,” he said, walking to her.
“Naturally.”
“But I’ll carry my weight on what you bring to the deal, and you’ll carry yours on what I bring.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “Are you asking me to ma—”
He cut her off with a quick, warning sound. “You’ve got some looks, don’t you?” He lifted her chin and cupped her face. “Some fabulous looks. You know, I don’t care how many times this face of yours is splashed over magazines. I don’t care about the gossip and bull written in them, either. That kind of stuff doesn’t matter to me. We know who we are.”
Tears clogged her throat, shimmered in her eyes again. Nothing, nothing he might have said could have told her more clearly he believed in her. “Oh, Delaney.”
“I don’t have a ring for you right now.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“I do.” Funny, he thought as he lifted her hand, studied those elegant fingers, that he would feel it was important. “I want you to wear my ring.” His gaze shifted to hers and held.
“If you don’t want me to cry again, you’ll hurry up.”
“Okay, okay. Try to give a woman a little romance.”
“You climbing down the palace walls is about all the romance I can take for one night. Thanks all the same.”
He grinned. “I’m crazy about you. Every bit of you, but especially your smart mouth.”
“That’s lovely. But I could probably stand just a little more romance than that, if you can manage it.”
“I love you.” He took her face in his hands. This time when a tear slid down her cheek, he didn’t mind. “Camilla. I love who you are. I love who we are when we’re together. I love the woman who mopped my kitchen floor, and I love the woman I waltzed with tonight.”
Joy soared inside her. “Both sides of that woman love all the sides of you. You make me happy.”
“Marry me. Make a life with me. You won’t always be comfortable, but you sure as hell won’t be bored.”
“I’ll marry you.” She touched her lips to his cheek. “And work with you.” And the other. “Live with you. And love you. Always,” she murmured as their lips met.
“Come back with me.” He pulled her close and just held on. “We’ll work out the details—whatever has to be done. I don’t want to go back without you.”
“Yes. I’ll arrange it.” She tightened her grip. “We’ll arrange it.”
“I’ll carve out some time off—whatever we need to deal with whatever we have to deal with.”
“Don’t worry.” Here, she thought, was her passion, her contentment and her love all wrapped in one. “We’ll work it all out. When there’s a question, we’ll find the answer.”
She rested her head on his shoulder, smiling as she felt his lips brush over her hair. The most important question, she thought, had been asked. And answered.
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