Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love

by Beverly Barton

  She thought of how she felt when he held her and the way his inky gaze probed her to her soul, stirring up desires. “I’m not sure,” she admitted honestly.

  “Bon. Then I suggest you take time to know your heart. I can reschedule my appointment at the clinic and stay a few days longer until the police arrest this assassin. Or Renald can remain here with you.”

  “No! This appointment is too important to reschedule and I think you and Renald have a lot to discuss. I’ll be fine with Laurent and Heinrich’s men.”

  “All right, then. We will talk again of your feelings for Prince Laurent when you come to Estaire.”

  Rory forced a smile. Her feelings for Laurent were exactly what she was afraid of.

  LAURENT FELT RATTLED about spending an evening alone with his princess. It was their first date, and he wanted it to be an evening that they would remember for the rest of their lives. He wanted to distract her from the fact that the police had not identified or arrested the assassin.

  Although the police were strenuously investigating and conducting interviews, Claude Dupont had hired a lawyer and was not talking. The police had not yet discovered where he had been staying.

  Rory had awakened early this morning to wish her brothers a safe flight, but Laurent had noticed she’d been subdued during her German lessons and her clothing fittings. He wondered if she was missing her brothers—or feeling trapped in her position, trapped with him.

  Whenever their gazes met, he felt the strong pull of a current, drawing him to her. He wanted their first dinner alone to be as intimate as the conversations they had shared when she thought he was Sebastian Guimond. With the assassin still at large he was reluctant to put Rory at risk by venturing outside the hotel. Instead he had made arrangements with the hotel staff for a private dinner.

  Nerves lodged in his stomach as he presented himself at the princess’s suite at 7:00 p.m. He had forgone a suit in favor of black trousers and a black knit shirt. He had told Rory that dinner would be informal. He nodded at the bodyguard posted outside the princess’s suite.

  Chandale Allard opened the door, beaming. “Good evening, sir. The princess will be right out.” Her hands spread in front of her. “Prepare to be blown away.”

  Laurent raised his eyebrows. Americans had such peculiar expressions. “Blown away?”

  “She looks incredible.”

  “Ahh.” Laurent stepped into the suite. The last thing he desired was to be reminded that his princess affected his control like no other woman on earth.

  Despite the stylist’s warning, every muscle in his body ached with a need for release when his princess emerged from the hallway into the salon. She was half-clothed. She wore a virginal, white cotton crocheted top that bared her golden shoulders and her midriff and a white flirty skirt of a diaphanous material that made his fingers itch to peel it up over her thighs and explore her gorgeous body. Delicate sandals accented the slender beauty of her feet, and a fine gold chain studded with seed pearls circled one ankle.

  Her eyes were as blue as the mysteries of the ocean, hiding her thoughts, but the hesitancy in her step and the blush of uncertainty in her cheeks was his complete undoing.

  He was Crown Prince Laurent Sebastian Wilhelm of Ducharme, and he wanted to be on his knees before this woman, touching, tasting, granting her pleasures that made her tremble.

  But they were only supposed to have dinner.

  The scented sweetness of her hair enveloped him, sending a fierce hunger pounding to his groin as he kissed her forehead. “Words fail me at your beauty, Princess.”

  Her eyes leveled on him, frank and clear with a feminine power that made his heart pause. “Not Princess…Rory.”

  And Laurent knew that he was in more danger than he had ever been in. He knew why his mother had regretted falling in love with his father. He found himself on an emotional precipice and battled for the strength and the wisdom to keep a calm head. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” he said, placing his hand lightly on the small of her back and guiding her to the door.

  Her skin was temptation tenfold, so satiny soft he imagined it would taste like sun-warmed honey.

  They stepped out into the hallway, and he guided her to the right, instead of across the hall.

  Rory had intuitively known, from the moment her gaze had met Laurent’s in her suite, that they were going to make love tonight. He’d looked at her as if he wanted her naked. Her breasts ached for his touch. Her body was already craving the hardness of his muscled chest and thighs.

  “We aren’t dining in your suite?” she asked as they walked toward the end of the hallway where she saw Heinrich standing in front of a door.

  Laurent ducked his head, his voice caressing her ear. “I have a surprise. For you.”

  Warmth stole over her. “What kind of a surprise?”

  Heinrich opened the door for them.

  Rory caught her breath. She was being swept into a fantasy. The balcony doors facing the ocean were opened wide, and a gentle salt-laced breeze stirred the yards and yards of sheer white fabric draped sensuously over wooden Morrocan screens that concealed the room’s formal wallpapered walls.

  Rose petals and white lily-shaped candles floated in a brass tub nestled in a bed of sand in the open doorway. More candles glowed from tall brass lanterns with ruby-red glass lenses. On the floor was a bamboo mat on which a gold-silk-covered chaise was piled with luxurious pillows in bright sari fabrics of cerise, cobalt and celadon. Two red silk ottomans were placed beside a low table offering platters of cheese, paêté, fruits and other delicacies.

  “I couldn’t take you to the beach, so I brought the beach to us, mein Lorelei,” he murmured to her.

  “Oh, Sebastian!” Rory turned and Laurent’s lips were on hers, hot, demanding and reckless. His fingers splayed through her hair, angling her mouth to fit his. This was a passionate, uncontrolled side of him that made her want to wrap her body around him now and agonize over the decision later. He felt so strong, so powerful.

  She ran her hands over his chest. Then, needing to feel his hot smooth flesh, she yanked his shirt from his trousers and explored the rigid muscles of his abdomen.

  Laurent groaned and deepened the kiss. Rory joyously continued her exploration, finding the flat circles of his nipples.

  She smiled into the kiss as his hands moved from her hair to her breasts to the bared flesh of her midriff. The heat of his palms sent her senses skyrocketing into meltdown mode as he traced her ribs. When his thumbs finally brushed her swollen nipples through her lace bra, Rory whimpered with an urgency that left her thong panties damp with anticipation.

  He eased her bra and the cotton fabric aside and suckled her breast, increasing the budding tension locked inside her. The tension built to an exquisite height as he devotedly caressed her other breast with his tongue. “I’m courting you, mein Lorelei,” he whispered against her damp areola. His warm breath made her shiver with delight.

  Rory made a unilateral decision that he was overdressed for the occasion. “I’m courting you, too, Sebastian. You need a wardrobe change.”

  She tore at his belt, then unzipped his zipper and freed his arousal from a pair of black briefs. The steely soft strength of him in her hand filled her with new love for this man. Laurent could be hard and inflexible, but gentle and sensitive at the same time.

  She wanted him, wanted his love more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life. When she was in his arms, her father’s abandonment and her mother’s lies didn’t matter. She felt healed. And she wanted to heal him from his own heartaches.

  Laurent broke the kiss. With a fluid motion he pulled off his shirt and divested himself of his shoes and other clothes. His naked body was shockingly beautiful. He was at his most vulnerable—scars and all.

  He took her hand and placed it on his chest where she could feel the racing thrum of his heartbeat. “I offer you my devotion and my passion, mein Lorelei. And my solemn word that I will treat you always with
respect.”

  She moistened her lips. “Does that mean you still won’t take off my clothes?”

  He muttered an oath in German and picked her up, depositing her in a heap on the chaise. His lips curved with amusement. “If madame would like her clothes removed, I am her humble servant.”

  Rory’s heart leaped as he joined her on the chaise.

  Laying astride her, he hitched her top up over her breasts and laved her, his tongue tracing a damp path to her belly.

  Rory dug her fingers into his hair and squirmed impatiently. “I thought you were taking my clothes off.”

  “All in due time. A man doesn’t gorge himself at a feast, he takes his time and savors each bite.” His tongue dipped into her belly button and a shudder of delight ripped through her. “You see? I can taste you here. And here.”

  His lips and his tongue moved seductively lower. Rory arched her hips toward him, greedily accepting his caresses.

  He eased up her skirt as if peeling back the petals of a flower. He ran an appreciative finger over the thin strip of silk that covered her femininity, rubbing her through the fabric. Rory writhed at the incredibly erotic friction. He kissed her inner thigh, then kissed the damp fabric.

  Her body quivered. “Sebastian, please!”

  He obligingly moved the tiny band aside, and the rasp of his tongue sent her over the edge. Only, the pleasure didn’t stop. He kissed her and caressed her with his clever fingers while she shuddered and cried out his name. She was barely cognizant when he stripped her of her panties and her skirt, and slipped her top over her head.

  Time shifted around her. She was only aware that as lovely as this pleasure was, she needed to hold him inside her to fully express the love she felt. She urged him between her parted thighs.

  He slid into her, filling her body. Her heart soared at the communion of their souls. He started to move, murmuring words in German she didn’t understand, but she knew they were beautiful and they were about her. His handsome features were fixed in concentration. Rory met his every thrust eagerly. Willingly.

  The pleasure became too much, and her world fragmented like a wave crushing down on her. She felt Laurent buck inside her as he reached his own climax. She held him tightly into her body. “I love you, Sebastian!”

  Laurent collapsed on top of his princess, breathing raggedly, holding himself back. Her words of love rang in his ears, reaching a deep part of him that hadn’t been touched by anything in much too long. But he was unable to answer. He saw his mother’s face, heard her grief.

  He cradled Rory’s face in his hands, kissing her delicate brows, her adorable nose and her golden rosy cheeks. “You are so beautiful, mein Lorelei,” he told her over and over again. But he couldn’t look her in her eyes, and he couldn’t bring himself to say the words he knew she waited to hear. Duty came before everything, even love.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rory stole out of the suite at six o’clock in the morning. Laurent was deeply asleep. They had made love three times, each time more incredible than the previous. They had lain on the chaise naked, eating and laughing. She felt sated and pleasantly sore, but a growing unease nagged her.

  Even when she had rolled over on top of him and ridden him until he’d thrown his head into the pillows and buried his hands in her hair as he begged her never to stop, he had not whispered a word of love.

  Maybe it’s too soon, she thought, blushing as she nodded at the bodyguard who was on duty in the hallway.

  Maybe she was only kidding herself, an inner voice warned. Maybe he would only ever love Marielle.

  To her surprise, Odette was sitting at the desk in her suite’s salon, her head bent over the black leather portfolio that no doubt contained Rory’s schedule for the next few days. A cup of coffee was at her elbow.

  She lifted her head as Rory entered, a stiff, cautious smile spread on her coral-pink lips. “Good morning, Your Serene Highness. How was your evening?”

  Rory was aware that her hair was a mess and her clothes were wrinkled. She wanted a bath and a long nap and some time to think about what had happened between her and Laurent. “Eventful. I’m exhausted.”

  Odette demurely lowered her eyes to her schedule. “You have an elocution lesson at nine-thirty, followed by a French lesson at eleven. Will you be all right or would you like me to rearrange your schedule?”

  Rory was tempted to cancel, but she remembered what Laurent had told her about inconveniencing the staff with last-minute schedule changes. “No, I’ll be fine. Just make sure I’m awake by nine.”

  “Very good. Pleasant dreams, madame.”

  Rory was almost to her room when it occurred to her that Odette must have known Marielle. She doubled back to the salon, hoping to ask Odette about Laurent’s relationship with the heiress, but Odette was on her cell phone.

  “I’ve just reviewed the princess’s schedule with her. Everything’s continuing as planned…”

  Rory told herself she’d ask the press secretary later.

  TALKING INTO A MICROPHONE to an empty conference room on three hours of sleep was not a good way to begin the day.

  Rory had never liked public speaking. The thought that she would be required to make speeches at public engagements was way beyond her comfort zone. She struggled with the mike for over an hour, trying to read the speech that Odette had prepared and master the art of making eye contact while appearing relaxed and sincere. To her frustration, the elocution teacher Odette had hired reminded her every few minutes to put her mouth closer to the mike or to speak up. Or not to slouch.

  By the tenth rehearsal, Rory was ready to tear up the index cards. Her throat was bone dry.

  Odette brought her a glass of water and told her she was doing fine. Rory took a grateful sip of the water and put it on the shelf inside the podium. Then she began the speech one more time from the beginning. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. It is a great privilege to—”

  “Confidence. Acknowledge the audience,” the elocutionist called from the center of the room.

  Rory gave the podium a kick and felt a trickle of water dribble down her knee. Great.

  Odette placed her hand over the mike. “Why don’t you take a break and finish your water while I have a word with Ms. Johnson about your next lesson.”

  Rory glanced down. She’d spilled half the water. She drank what was left, then snagged several tissues from her purse and mopped up the mess.

  Fortunately, Odette was walking the elocution teacher to the exit. Rory grabbed her purse to tell Odette she wasn’t up for a French lesson.

  As Rory caught up with Odette near the exit, the press secretary took a call on her cell phone. Odette signaled Franz at the entrance to the conference room. She spoke urgently to the bodyguard.

  Shock telegraphed in the blonde’s pale features, warned Rory that something was wrong. “What is it?”

  “That was Heinrich. Prince Laurent went down to the hotel’s jewelry store, and he was shot at close range.”

  “Shot? Close range? Is he—” Rory’s heart sped up, and she had trouble getting a full breath. “Is he all right?”

  They’d just made love all night, and now she faced the terrifying possibility of losing him.

  Odette slipped a supportive arm around Rory’s waist. “Come with me! The bodyguard’s gone to get a car. They’ve taken Laurent to Mercy Hospital.”

  Rory needed no further urging.

  “He’s strong. We are not going to lose him,” Odette told Rory comfortingly as they hurried out the lobby entrance. A limo pulled up to the curb, and Rory numbly clambered into the back seat.

  Odette picked up the phone and told the driver their destination. “Don’t waste any time!”

  Rory couldn’t believe this was happening. A heaviness descended upon her, weighing her down. She closed her eyes, digging deep inside herself for strength. For courage. She could hear Laurent calling her his Lorelei and telling her she was beautiful. A tear slid onto her cheek. They were su
pposed to have forever together. She wanted to experience the joy of knowing that he loved her. “Who did it? Did they catch him?” she asked, biting back a sob.

  Odette patted her hand. “Heinrich didn’t say.”

  Rory silently urged the limo to go faster. It seemed to take forever to drive over the Coronado Bridge. She expected the limo to head north on Interstate 5, but when the driver headed south toward National City she snatched up the phone. “You’re going the wrong way—”

  Suddenly her arm felt too heavy and it wasn’t working right. The phone slipped from her fingers and tumbled to the floor. Her eyelids drooped. She felt odd, drowsy and incredibly tired—like the day she’d passed out during her defensive driving lessons. Had she been drugged again?

  Odette serenely bent to retrieve the phone. “Don’t worry, Princess. The driver knows where he’s going.”

  Her foggy brain registered a note of triumph in Odette’s tone. Oh, no. The water! Odette had drugged her!

  Fighting to stay conscious, Rory fell across Odette while reaching for the button that controlled the privacy screen. She had to alert Franz. The screen slid down a few inches. But the front passenger seat was empty.

  “Help!” she screamed to the driver.

  Odette straightened, squishing Rory against the back of the seat. Then Odette grabbed her arm and yanked her down onto the floor of the limo.

  Rory flopped like a dead fish. Odette smiled coldly, not an elegant blond hair out of place. Her gray-green eyes gleamed. “Meet the man who is going to kill you, Princess.”

  Rory blinked blearily at the press secretary. The drug was too strong. It was overtaking her. The stories Odette had told her of her childhood in the palace jumbled together in Rory’s mind along with something Claude had said about the night Marielle had died. Claude had thought Marielle was okay because she was with a girlfriend. Rory had a sick, queasy feeling the shoulder Marielle had cried on was Odette’s. She licked her lips. “You killed Marielle.”