The Maverick Prince

by Catherine Mann

  And God help them all if her own secrets were somehow discovered.

  Best to lie low and keep to herself. Although she was finding it increasingly difficult to imagine how she would restart her life. Even if she was able to renew her teaching credentials, who was going to want to hire the infamous Medina Mistress who’d once been married to a crook? When this mess was over, she would have to dig deep to figure out how to recreate a life for herself and Kolby.

  Could Tony be having second thoughts about their relationship? His strict code of honor would dictate he take care of her until the media storm passed, but she didn’t want to be his duty.

  They’d dated. They’d had sex. But she only just realized how much of their relationship had been superficial as they both dodged discussing deeper, darker parts of their past.

  Still, she wasn’t ready to plunge into the murkiest of waters that made up her life with Nolan. She wasn’t even sure right now if Tony would want to hear.

  But regardless of how things turned out between them, she needed him to understand the real her. “I didn’t grow up with all those trappings of Nolan’s world. My dad was a high school science teacher and a coach. My mom was the elementary school secretary. We had enough money, but we were by no means wealthy.” She hesitated, realizing…“You probably already know all of that.”

  “Why would you think so?” he asked, although he hadn’t denied what she said.

  “If you’ve had to be so worried about security and your identity, it makes sense you or your lawyer or some security team you’ve hired would vet people in your life.”

  “That would be the wise thing to do.”

  “And you’re a smart man.”

  “I haven’t always acted wisely around you.”

  “You’ve been a perfect gentleman this week and you know it,” she said, as close as she could come to hinting that she ached for his touch, his mouth on her body, the familiar rise of pleasure and release he could bring.

  Tony shrugged and tore into his sandwich again, a grandfather clock tolling once in the background.

  “Kolby thinks we’re on vacation.”

  “Good.” He finished chewing, tendons in his strong neck flexing. “That’s how he should remember this time in his life.”

  “It’s unreal how you and your father have shielded him from the tension in your relationship.”

  “Obviously not well enough to fool you.” His boldly handsome face gave nothing away.

  “I know some about your history, and it’s tough to miss how little the two of you talk. Your father’s an interesting man.” She’d enjoyed after-dinner discussions with Enrique and Eloisa about current events and the latest book they’d read.

  The old king may have isolated himself from the world, but he’d certainly stayed abreast with the latest news. The discussions had been enlightening on a number of levels, such as how the old king wasn’t as clipped and curt with his daughter as he was with Tony.

  Tony stared at the last half of his snack, tucking a straggly piece of lettuce back inside. “What did you make for Kolby?”

  His question surprised her, but if it kept him talking…

  “French toast. It’s one of his favorite comfort foods. He likes for me to cut the toast into slices so he can dip it into the syrup. Independence means a lot, even to a three-year-old.” It meant a lot to adults. She reached for her bowl to scrape the final taste of custard and licked the spoon clean. The caramel taste exploded into her starving senses like music in her mouth.

  Pupils widening with awareness until they nearly pushed away his brown irises, Tony stared back at her across the table, intense, aroused. Her body recognized the signs in him well even if he didn’t move so much as an inch closer.

  She set the spoon down, the tiny clink echoing in the empty kitchen. “Tony, why are you still awake?”

  “I’m a night owl. Some might call me an insomniac.”

  “An insomniac? I didn’t know that.” She laughed darkly. “Although how could I since we’ve never spent an entire night together? Have you had the problem long?”

  “I’ve always been this way.” He turned the plate around on the table. “My mother tried everything from warm milk to a ‘magic’ blanket before just letting me stay up. She used to cook for me too, late at night.”

  “Your mother, the queen, cooked?” She inched to the edge of her chair, leaning on her elbows, hoping to hold his attention and keep him talking.

  “She may have been royalty even before she married my father, but there are plenty in Europe with blue blood and little money.” Shadows chased each other across his eyes. “My mother grew up learning the basics of managing her own house. She insisted we boys have run of the kitchen. There were so many everyday places that were off-limits to us for safety reasons, she wanted us to have the normalcy of popping in and out of the kitchen for snacks.”

  Like any other child. A child who happened to live in a sixteenth-century castle. She liked his mother, a woman she would never meet but felt so very close to at the moment. “What did she cook for you?”

  “A Cyclops.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s a fried egg with a buttered piece of bread on top.” He swirled his hand over his plate as if he could spin an image into reality. “The bread has a hole pinched out of the middle so the egg yolk peeks out like a—”

  “Like a Cyclops. I see. My mom called it a Popeye.” And with the memory of a simple egg dish, she felt the connection to Tony spin and gain strength again.

  He glanced up, a half smile kicking into his one cheek. “Cyclops appealed to the bloodthirsty little boy in me. Just like Kolby and the caterpillar and snake pasta.”

  To hell with distance and waiting for him to reach out, she covered his hand with hers. “Your mother sounds wonderful.”

  He nodded briefly. “I believe she was.”

  “Believe?”

  “I have very few memories of her before she…died.” He turned his hand over and stroked hers with his thumb. “The beach. A blanket. Food.”

  “Scents do tend to anchor our memories more firmly.”

  More shadows drifted through his eyes, darker this time, like storm clouds. Died seemed such a benign word to describe the assassination of a young mother, killed because she’d married a king. A vein pulsed visibly in Tony’s temple, faster by the second. He’d dealt with such devastating circumstances in life honorably, while her husband had turned to stealing and finally, to taking the ultimate coward’s way out.

  She held herself very still, unthreatening. Her heart ached for him on a whole new and intense level. “What do you remember about when she died? About leaving San Rinaldo?”

  “Not much really.” He stayed focused on their connected hands, tracing the veins on her wrist with exaggerated concentration. “I was only five.”

  So he’d told her before. But she wasn’t buying his nonchalance. “Traumatic events seem to stick more firmly in our memory. I recall a car accident when I couldn’t have been more than two.” She wouldn’t back down now, not when she was so close to understanding the man behind the smiles and bold gestures. “I still remember the bright red of the Volkswagen bug.”

  “You probably saw pictures of the car later,” he said dismissively, then looked up sharply, aggressively full of bravado. The storm clouds churned faster with each throb of the vein on his temple. He stroked up her arm with unmistakable sensual intent. “How much longer are you going to wait before you ask me to kiss you again? Because right now, I’m so on fire for you, I want to test out the sturdiness of that table.”

  “Tony, can you even hear yourself?” she asked, frustrated and even a bit insulted by the way he was jerking her around. “One minute you’re Prince Romance and Restraint, the next you’re ignoring me over dinner. Then you’re spilling your guts. Now, you proposition me—and not too suavely, I might add. Quite frankly, you’re giving me emotional whiplash.”

  His arms twitched, thick roped muscles bu
lging against his sleeves with restrained power. “Make no mistake, I have wanted you every second of every day. It’s all I can do not to haul you against me right now and to hell with the dozens of people that might walk in. But today on the water and tonight here, I’m just not sure this crazy life of mine is good enough for you.”

  Her body burned in response to his words even as her mind blared a warning. Tony had felt the increasing connection too, and it scared him. So he’d tried to run her off with the crude offer of sex on the table.

  Well too damn bad for him, she wasn’t backing down. She’d wanted this, him, for too long to turn away.

  Ten

  He’d wanted Shannon back in his bed, but somewhere between making a sandwich and talking about eggs, she’d peeled away walls, exposing thoughts and memories that were better forgotten. They distracted. Hurt. Served no damn purpose.

  Anger grated his raw insides. “So? What’ll it be? Sex here or in your room?”

  She didn’t flinch and she didn’t leave. Her soft hand stayed on top of his as she looked at him with sad eyes behind her glasses. “Is that what this week has been about?”

  He let his gaze linger on the vee of her frothy nightgown set. Lace along the neckline traced into the curve of her breasts the way his hands ached to explore. “I’ve been clear from the start about what I want.”

  “Are you so sure about that?”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he snapped.

  Sliding from her chair, she circled the table toward him, her heels clicking against the tile. She stopped beside him, the hem of her nightgown set swirling against his leg. “Don’t confuse me with your mother.”

  “Good God, there’s not a chance of that.” He toppled her into his lap and lowered his head, determined to prove it to her.

  “Wait.” She stopped him with a hand flattened to his chest just above the two closed buttons. Her palm cooled his overheated skin, calming and stirring, but then she’d always been a mix of contradictions. “You suffered a horrible trauma as a child. No one should lose a parent, especially in such an awful way. I wish you could have been spared that.”

  “I wish my mother had been spared.” His hands clenched in her robe, his fists against her back.

  “And I can’t help but wonder if you helping me—a mother with a young child—is a way to put her ghost to rest. Putting your own ghosts to rest in the process.”

  Given the crap that had shaken down in his past, he’d done a fine job turning his life around. Frustration poured acid on his burning gut. “You’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this.”

  “What you told me this afternoon and tonight brought things into focus.”

  “Well, thanks for the psychoanalysis.” His words came out harsh, but right now he needed her to walk away. “I would offer to pay you for the services, but I wouldn’t want to start another fight.”

  “Sounds to me like you’re spoiling for one now.” Her eyes softened with more of that concern that grated along his insides. “I’m sorry if I overstepped and hit a nerve.”

  A nerve? She’d performed a root canal on his emotions. His brain echoed with the retort of gunfire stuttering, aimed at him, his brothers. His mother. He searched for what to say to shut down this conversation, but he wasn’t sure of anything other than his need for a serious, body-draining jog on the beach. Problem was? The beach circled right back around to this place.

  Easing from his lap, she stood and he tamped down the swift kick of disappointment. Except she didn’t leave. She extended her hand and linked her fingers with his.

  Just a simple connection, but since he was raw to the core, her touch fired deep.

  “Shannon,” he said between teeth clenched tight with restraint, “I’m about a second from snapping here. So unless you want me buried heart deep inside you in the next two minutes, you need to go back to your room.”

  Her hold stayed firm, cool and steady.

  “Shannon, damn it all, you don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t want any part of the mood I’m in.” Her probing may have brought on the mood, but he wouldn’t let it contaminate her.

  Angling down with slow precision, she pressed her lips to his. Not moving. Only their mouths and hands linked.

  He wanted—needed—to move her away gently. But his fingers curled around the softness of her arm.

  “Shanny,” he whispered against her mouth, “tell me to leave.”

  “Not a chance. I only have one question.”

  “Go ahead.” He braced himself for another emotional root canal.

  She brought his hand to her chest, pressing his palm against her breast. “Do you have a condom?”

  Relief splashed over him like a tidal wave. “Hell, yes, I have one, two in fact, in my wallet. Because even when we’re not talking, I know the way we are together could combust at any second. And I will always, always make sure you’re protected and safe.”

  Standing, he scooped her into his arms. Purring her approval, she hooked her hands behind his neck and tipped her face for a full kiss. The soft cushion of her breasts against his chest sent his libido into overdrive. He throbbed against the sweet curve of her hip. At the sweep of tongue, the taste of caramel and her, he fought the urge to follow through on the impulse to have her here, now, on the table.

  He sketched his mouth along her jaw, down to her collarbone, the scent of her lavender body wash reminding him of shared showers at his place. “We need to go upstairs.”

  “The pantry is closer.” She nipped his bottom lip. “And empty. We can lock the door. I need you now.”

  “Are you su—?”

  “Don’t even say it.” She dipped her hands into the neckline of his loose shirt, her fingernails sinking insistently deep. “I want you. No waiting.”

  Her words closed down arguments and rational thought. He made a sure-footed beeline across the tiled floor toward the pantry. Shannon nuzzled his neck, kissed along his jaw, all the while murmuring disjointed words of need that stoked him higher—made his feet move faster. As he walked, her silky blond hair and whispery robe trailed, her sexy little heels dangling from her toes.

  Dipping at the door, he flipped the handle and shouldered inside the pantry, a food storage area the size of a small bedroom. The scent of hanging dried herbs coated the air, the smell earthy. He slid her glasses from her face and set them aside on a shelf next to rows of bottled water.

  As the door eased closed, the space darkened and his other senses increased. She reached for the light switch and he clasped her wrist, stopping her.

  “I don’t need light to see you. Your beautiful body is fired into my memory.” His fingers crawled up her leg, bunching the frothy gown along her soft thigh, farther still to just under the curve of her buttocks. “Just the feel of you is about more than my willpower can take.”

  “I don’t want your willpower. I’m fed up with your restraint. Give me the uninhibited old Tony back.” Her husky voice filled the room with unmistakable desire.

  Pressing her hips closer, he tasted down her neck, charting his way to her breasts. An easy swipe cleared the fabric from her shoulders and he found a taut nipple. Damn straight he didn’t need light. He knew her body, knew just how to lave and tease the taut peak until she tore at his shirt with frantic hands.

  His buttons popped and cool air blanketed his back, warm Shannon writhing against his front. Hooking a finger along the rim of her bikini panties, he stroked her silky smooth stomach. Tugging lightly, he started the scrap of fabric downward until she shimmied them the rest of the way off.

  Stepping closer, the silky gown bunched between them, she flattened her hand to the fly of his jeans. He went harder against the pleasure of her touch. Shannon. Just Shannon.

  She unzipped his pants and freed his arousal. Clasping him in her fist, she stroked once, and again, her thumb working over his head with each glide. His eyes slammed shut.

  Her other hand slipped into his back pocket and pulled out his wall
et. A light crackle sounded as she tore into the packet. Her deft fingers rolled the sheath down the length of him with torturous precision.

  “Now,” she demanded softly against his neck. “Here. On the stepstool or against the door, I don’t care as long as you’re inside me.”

  Gnawing need chewed through the last of his restraint. She wanted this. He craved her. No more waiting. Tony backed her against the solid panel of the door, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, his back, lower as she tucked her hand inside his jeans and boxers.

  Arching, urging, she hooked her leg around his, opening for him. Her shoe clattered to the floor but she didn’t seem to notice or care. He nudged at her core, so damp and ready for him. He throbbed—and thrust.

  Velvet heat clamped around him, drew him deeper, sent sparks shooting behind his eyelids. In the darkened room, the pure essence of Shannon went beyond anything he’d experienced. And the importance of that expanded inside him, threatening to drive him to his knees.

  So he focused on her, searching with his hands and mouth, moving inside and stroking outside to make sure she was every bit as encompassed by the mind-numbing ecstasy. She rocked faster against him. Her sighs came quicker, her moans of pleasure higher and louder until he captured the sound, kissing her and thrusting with his tongue and body. He explored the soft inside of her mouth, savoring the soft clamp of her gripping him with spasms he knew signaled her approaching orgasm.

  Teeth gritted, he held back his own finish. Her face pressed to his neck. Her chants of yes, yes, yes synced with his pulse and pounding. Still, he held back, determined to take her there once more. She bowed away from the door, into him, again and again until her teeth sunk into his shoulder on a stifled cry of pleasure.

  The scent of her, of slick sex and them mixed with the already earthy air.

  Finally—finally—he could let go. The wave of pleasure pulsing through him built higher, roaring louder in his ears. He’d been too long without her. The wave crested. Release crashed over him. Rippling through him. Shifting the ground under his feet until his forehead thumped against the door.