The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren [Daughters of the Empire 2] (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Hollingsworth, Suzette

  And she was on fire. She was the fire to his ice. Only he didn’t feel so cold this evening.

  Oh, God, what was he doing? She could not be a release for him, a game. She had either to be his wife or nothing at all.

  And she could not be his wife.

  “Nicolette, why are you doing this?” he grunted, hating himself, leaping from the chair and placing her in it in one swift movement. “I never wanted to debase you.”

  “Because I want you to feel fire.” She appeared dazed, as if she were coming out of a dream.

  “I do, believe me, Nicolette. You have no idea.”

  “First you were so involved in the music, and then I saw you drifting away, once again unreachable.” She shook her head. “I thought if I could make you feel desire, I could bring you back. Bring you back to me. Bring you back to yourself.”

  “You did.” He began to pace the terrace, running his hand through his hair, even as he kept his eyes glued to her every curve.

  “And then—I can’t explain it myself—for some inexplicable reason, I thought that I might like to know sensual passion…rapture.” Her lips formed a quivering smile. She stood beside him, running her palms slowly across his chest, causing a sensation to strike through him. “I am ashamed to admit it, Alejandro. Never before, even as a child, have I ever compromised my performance. I forgot about my performance!”

  “What were you thinking of instead?” he asked quietly.

  “I forgot about everything but my need for you.”

  He closed his eyes, willing her to stop. It was too much. All he wanted in the world was to be needed the way she needed him. She was an independent woman, pure and wild, who desired him.

  “Anything so strong that it could make me forget my obligations to music, I wanted to experience. And then, all in an instant, I truly felt that I had not forsaken my performance at all. I somehow knew—just as my mother knows things she shouldn’t know. I felt that our needs are one and the same.”

  He groaned. She could not have had a greater impact on him had she been the most experienced courtesan of all history.

  “What is the matter, Alejandro?” she asked, puzzlement written all over her face.

  “Everything. And nothing. I cannot marry you, Nicolette. I am promised to Spain.”

  “Marry me?” She laughed, tilting her head and looking up at him through lush, dark eyelashes. “I never expected that, nor do I wish it.”

  “Then why would you…” He turned to stare at her.

  “Your reputation precedes you, Alejandro. There is no reason that we should not make love.”

  Passion had caused her to imagine whatever feelings she thought she had for him. He could not take her virginity from her. But if she were as experienced as she appeared…

  “Nicolette, are you a virgin?” he demanded abruptly, feeling his jaw tighten, surprised at his lack of composure. That seemed to be the order of the day.

  “A virgin? Me?” She blushed and looked away for an instant, forcing a laugh. “I’ll have you know that the city’s most eligible bachelors throw themselves at my feet, Alejandro.”

  He studied her face. She was the most straightforward woman he had ever met, and yet she had looked away and avoided a direct answer. He had no doubt of the answer to his question, and that answer pained him as much as any information ever had. The last time he had felt such a pit in his stomach was upon learning of the bombing of the Spanish Armada by the Americans following the explosion of the Maine.

  “Nicolette, you are a passionate woman.” He sighed heavily and began to pace, forcing himself to keep some distance from her. “You live only for the moment and for your own pleasure. You would regret this tomorrow. I expect it seems romantic to bed a prince, but I am no different from any other man.”

  He expected her to be furious, but he saw only cool assessment in her eyes. Her eyes moved along the full length of his body and then returned to his face. “My eyes tell me otherwise,” she replied softly.

  He longed to take her in his arms again. She was so close.

  Somehow he found the determination to take another step backward, testing all of his will.

  “Alejandro, how do you do it?” Then came the fury he had long expected. “In an instant your discipline took over, and you became a statue again. In one minute you are a living, breathing man, and in the next you are dead. How do you do it? Why can you not stay with me?”

  “I assure you, Nicolette, that I am not dead. I am very much alive and hurting.”

  “Alejandro,” she commanded, her voice creating an ache in his heart, “I want you to make love to me now.”

  “I cannot. It would be like raping a saint.”

  “You know very well that I am not a saint and that I am a woman of many faults!”

  “I cannot take this from you without marrying you, Nicolette.” He moved toward her, which he knew was a mistake.

  “I would not marry you if you asked me, Alejandro! There is nothing in the world which could induce me to do so. Do you hear nothing that I say? Or is everyone a mere puppet in your imagination? I wish only to feel your passion. Your desire for only me. I ask for only now. And you cannot even give me that.” She turned away, clenching her fists.

  “Nicolette, your virtue is too important to discard for one night of…of…”—he let his eyes take in every inch of her—“ecstasy.”

  “My virtue?” She turned on him, running her hands along his arms, causing his skin to burn, and there was fire in her eyes as well. “If you make love to me, then I have lost my virtue? Explain this to me. The minute you have experienced every pleasure, then you have lost all respect for me?”

  “Nicolette, you know very well that I am speaking of your reputation. You are not one of my ladybirds who knows full well what she is doing. If I cannot marry you, I should not make love to you. This is just a fleeting thought for you, the impulse of the moment. Don’t you ever think of the repercussions for tomorrow?”

  She laughed, moving closer to him. “Alejandro, I am entitled to experience delight. Joy is everyone’s right and the purpose of life. How can this be any different?”

  “Joy is important, but the purpose of life?” He shook his head. She might be an angel sent from God, but she was of a singular bent. She was like a sheltered child without thought for anything but her own pleasure, an endeavor which had the potential to cause her great harm. He was determined to look out for her. He owed her everything.

  “Oh, let me guess, the purpose of life is duty.”

  “Do you never think, preciosa, that you cannot do precisely what you wish and what pleases you?” As he watched her he breathed a sigh of relief at the same time he felt enormous regret.

  “Do I ever…? Oh! I want to strangle…” Good. He might be in as much pain as ever, but he had transformed her lust to anger. She was furious.

  “You think that I sing for myself? Do you see nothing, Alejandro? It is nothing about me. I am simply a channel through which the Creator flows.” She shook her fist at him. “Do you not see even yet, Alejandro? It is about experiencing joy. I express all these things in a believable way even though I might not have experienced them myself.”

  Very believable.

  “This is art. This is music. This is God. I did not ask for this gift, but I would be a fool to refuse it.”

  No doubt he was the fool.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Already I taste in spirit

  the heights of tenderness!

  Love trembles in our kiss!

  —Giacomo Puccini, La Bohème

  He didn’t understand a thing about her. She wanted to walk out on him and not look back, knowing that he would regret it for the rest of his life.

  And she wanted to show him rapture like he could never imagine.

  She was certain he had bedded the most skilled paramours. And she was just as certain that she could erase them from his memory.

  “I can give you something no other woman can give you
, Alejandro.” Nicolette glanced at herself in a gilded mirror on the wall. In the reflection she saw her exotic, elongated eyes and black hair flowing over her shoulders.

  He was accustomed to beautiful women. She had something more to give him. “If you let me,” she added softly in her most seductive voice.

  “I have no doubt about that.” He swallowed, backing up.

  “Myself. I give all of myself to every moment, holding nothing back. It is who I am.” It was her gift and it was her scarlet letter, the means by which she was both labeled and repulsed.

  She thought she saw perspiration develop on his forehead even as she moved toward him, and he retreated.

  Returning her eyes to Alejandro’s, a sudden fervent longing to be with him forever washed over her. As different as they were, it was as if they completed each other.

  “The reality is that there is no future for us, Alejandro. I am not as naive as you might think. All we have is now. We can delight in it, or we can let it pass us by. Forever.” She was never one to let an experience pass her by.

  “How well I know that, Nicolette. I wish you would not remind me. It serves no purpose.” He closed his eyes momentarily, and she saw his jaw tighten.

  Searching his eyes, she saw her own desire mirrored there. How long she had waited to see it. She knew now that she loved him, possibly that she had always loved him. She had been attracted to him since the first moment of seeing him. Against all instincts and reason she had fixated on him, unable to leave him, even as the opening-night curtain awaited her.

  No, it went back further than that. When she had first seen him in the palace of the sultan as a child.

  Even then, just seeing him for a few seconds had touched her deeply. She had been drawn to him, as if by divine design.

  And now, nothing was real to her except the desire in his eyes.

  She took her hand and ran it along his cheek, the roughness satisfying somehow, as was the harsh gasp that escaped from his lips.

  “Nicolette…please…don’t…” For some time now in those eyes she had seen isolation, contempt, and sadness. But there had been a change. She would have been satisfied to see any reflection—proof that he had connected with something, with anything. To see his longing for her thrilled her.

  “Please don’t what, Alejandro?” she asked coyly, delighting in the effect she was having on him.

  “Please…don’t…touch me!” He grabbed the wrists of her hands and then, as if he could not help himself, pulled her to his chest, leaving no space between them. He released her and turned away from her, letting his head fall.

  “I have no idea what tomorrow will hold. I only have today. And today I wish a night of pleasure with you.”

  He had been correct in saying that she didn’t give the future a second thought. There was too much joy to be had in the present. She made a circular movement around him until she faced him again.

  He groaned even as she moved the palms of her hand along his muscular arms. The sensation of feeling hard muscle under the palms of her hands was heavenly to her. And she could see that her small movement caused a response. She moved her hands to his chest. And then she did the unthinkable—she ran her hand along his hips, and his eyes opened wide.

  “I have few to no concerns about pregnancy. I know your reputation, and I have no doubt that you are in possession of French letters.” He grabbed her wrists again, but this time he held her at a distance, apparently afraid of where her hands might stray.

  “Nicolette! How can you know about those? It isn’t decent!”

  “Not decent?” She laughed. “How ridiculous! It would be far more indecent to become pregnant as an unmarried woman.”

  “Of course, but you shouldn’t even know about…”

  “Why, Alejandro? Do you prefer your women to be ignorant? Having a suffragette grandmother who provided contraceptives to the women of her village as a young lady and parents who never concealed any truth from their children, I am well aware of Goodyear and Hancock’s invention in the 1840s, improving further upon French letters.”

  “French letters,” he growled, “are for use with…”

  “With prostitutes?” she asked, smiling, even as his expression was aghast. “I am well aware that French letters are so associated with prostitutes that many gentlemen cannot brook the thought of using them with their partner, believing that it infers she is a prostitute. When, in reality, it is merely a selfish and antiquated thought!”

  “I would never dream of…”

  “Of actually pleasing me?” Nicolette smiled widely.

  “I can please you. Have no doubt on that score.”

  “I have seen no evidence of it, Alejandro! People can say or think whatever they wish about me. I know who I am.”

  And she knew this was possibly the only man she would ever love.

  “We would never have spent any time together if you had not been concerned about what other people think, Nicolette.”

  “Stop making excuses, Alejandro. No one will know,” she whispered. “It hurts no one for us to experience ecstasy in this moment.”

  “That’s where you are wrong, Nicolette. I would know. And it would hurt both of us in the end.”

  “I understand,” she replied, gently kissing his face. “Every time you were passionate, it has turned out badly for you. First your parents and then the actress who sold your letters to your father. You have had, and will continue to have, more than your share of betrayers. But you must learn to trust someone—and to trust yourself. Allow yourself to receive love.” She brushed her lips against his, and the electricity was instant.

  A look of confusion crossed his face, as if her words startled him.

  She bit her lip. She should not have spoken of love. “I didn’t mean…” she murmured.

  “Damnation!” Alejandro pulled away, picking her up and setting her on the chair. He began pacing frantically, as if his energy were uncontainable. He clenched his fist in the air as he turned to face her. “I want you so much that I almost fell for it, Nicolette. Listen to yourself.”

  “The words slipped out. I didn’t really mean…”

  “You are telling me that if I compromise your virtue, I will receive love, feel loved?” He laughed, even as he stood before her completely aroused. Her eyes opened wide. “Believe me, every inch of me wants to believe you. Would that it were so. But it is quite the opposite.”

  “You have such a peculiar view of things, Alejandro. Don’t you understand that love is a gift from the divine?” She raised her eyebrows.

  “And if I gave in to my desires and compromise you…” He took her hands and held them lightly. Suddenly his expression turned somber, and he dropped them, letting his own hands fall to his side. “I would never be a whole man in your eyes. It would be an empty reward.”

  “Please disappoint me, Alejandro, I beg you!” Her frustration grew decidedly. How could she get through to this man? She had gotten through to him, and that very fact was causing him to pull away.

  He grew very still, and his eyes almost bored a hole through her. “I would not disappoint you, I can assure you.”

  “Trust your passion,” she whispered. “Do not let your mind take over every time you start to feel. Cease needing to be so damn perfect!”

  “I am not perfect, and I will never be perfect, Nicolette. I see that now. But never ask me to stop striving every moment of the day or to abandon my ideals.” Alejandro shook his head, scowling. “Every time I am in error, someone may go without food, medicine, education, or even life. Someone may die. Are fifty-five thousand Spaniards sufficient proof?”

  “Alejandro, you wanted the music to heal you. It cannot.” She touched her hand to her forehead. “Only you can heal yourself. No one can give you what you will not receive. You must embrace this moment. You must embrace yourself. You must live. This entire performance was for nothing. It did not help you at all.”

  “That is where you are in error, Nicolette.” He took her b
y the shoulders and pulled her up, holding her at a distance from him, his expression pleading. “You gave me exactly and precisely what I needed. I owe a huge debt to you and am at your service for the rest of my life.” Gently he kissed her forehead even as he closed his eyes, and for a moment time stood still.

  “My heart and soul are yours,” he whispered.

  “Mine?” She noticed that he had omitted his body from that which was at her disposal. Still, his words shocked her. Did he mean it? “You no longer live for Spain?”

  “Quite the contrary.” He laughed. “My goals are the same as ever. Only now I bring my heart to it. I am more for España than ever.”

  “More than you were? I don’t quite picture this. I dread to picture it.”

  “Now I am a whole man, and I owe it to you, mi cielito.”

  My heaven.

  “If that is the case, Alejandro, show me what your need looks like.” She looked up into his eyes. She could tell that he wanted to hold her but, instead, was using his arms to keep her at arm’s length. “Put yourself first and foremost for one moment in time. Live not for Spain, not for me, but for you, if only for a brief time.”

  “It would not be that brief.” As he stared at her, he seemed to be fighting with himself. His voice was deep and resonant, and she felt it whirl inside her.

  “Alejandro, I may never see you again. I want you to ask yourself every day not ‘what is my duty?’ but ‘what would give me joy today? What do I need?’” She stroked his cheek.

  He looked into her eyes, and she saw a burning desire there. “Princesa, it does not matter what I need. It matters what España needs. And, right now, it matters what you need.”