Princess from the Shadows Maisey Yates

by Maisey Yates

  “What exactly does that mean? And do you expect an apology?” she asked, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, hoping that bracing herself like that might keep her body from trembling.

  “No, princess, not an apology.” He stopped, just inches away from her, then he leaned forward, his palm flat on the wall behind her. She expected him to kiss her, to grab her, for his mouth to crash down on hers.

  Her heart was trying to climb up her throat and escape, her pulse pounding so hard she felt dizzy, expectation and a huge helping of longing overtaking her senses. But there was no taking. No crashing.

  He extended his hand, drew his finger along the line of her jaw, from her chin to just beneath her ear, the move slow and sensual, intoxicating. Then he brought his other fingers into play, sliding down her neck, his touch featherlight as it skimmed her sensitive skin. His hand drifted down, playing over the line of her collarbone, stopping right at the swell of her breast.

  Her eyes clashed with his, the dark intensity she saw there drawing the knot of arousal that was building in her to even more extreme levels. Her body felt heavy, a sharp pain building and spreading at the apex of her thighs. What she wanted, and how quickly she had gotten to the point of wanting it, shocked her.

  She’d never been a hot and fast girl. She needed time. But those few brushes of his fingers had been equivalent to thirty minutes of good foreplay. She had to make the decision that it was what she wanted. There was no way for her to make a decision now. She was helpless. Completely swept up in the desire she felt for him.

  She just wanted him to close the distance between them. To push her roughly against the wall and let her feel the hardness of his body against hers … in hers.

  Ultimately, she was the one that moved, the one who angled her head so that her lips could touch his. Heat exploded in her as soon as their mouths met, a hot, reckless urgency overtaking her.

  His kiss was hungry, but hers was starving. She needed it like air, with a desperation she hadn’t known lived in her. She planted her hands firmly on the back of his neck, fingers lacing through his thick dark hair as she held him captive against her.

  He kept one hand flat on the wall, the other on her lower back, his large hand splayed over her, his heat so perfect and wonderful and not enough.

  When they parted, it was with a moan of disappointment from her. His breath was coming in short, sharp bursts, and she was really glad to see it. To know he’d been affected too.

  “That,” he said, his voice rough, “that is what makes you hard to ignore.”

  Her stomach tightened, this time not with pleasure. She hated this. That he was able to demolish all of her barriers like this. That he brought up the hot, fiery passion in her that she’d fought for so long to ignore.

  Hadn’t she learned anything? Rodriguez was going to marry her, but he would be just as faithful of a husband as Gabriel had been to his wife. The only difference was that instead of being the bit on the side, she’d be the one raising his children, keeping the household and family going while he was off pleasing himself.

  Was that why Gabriel’s wife had stayed? Because Gabriel had her, body and soul, while she had nothing of him but his passing, occasional sexual interest?

  And was that what Rodriguez would do to her?

  No. It wouldn’t happen. She wouldn’t let it.

  But she feared that with Rodriguez, the choice might not be hers. Because he didn’t simply test her willpower. He smashed it into a million pieces. Pieces that were so tiny she feared she might never be able to assemble it again.

  “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls,” she said tightly, turning from him and walking down the corridor. Away from him. Away from the temptation he represented.

  And she tried to fight the depression that was creeping over her like fog, drowning out the lingering arousal and leaving in its place the stark realization that time and experience hadn’t changed her. She hadn’t truly mastered that wild, passionate part of herself. She’d simply managed to hide it for a while. She wasn’t in control, and Rodriguez seemed to be out to prove it.

  Madre di dio. Things could not get any worse.

  “Are you serious? A birthday party?” Carlotta looked at Rodriguez and tried to ignore the slight fluttering that seemed to be taking place everywhere in her body.

  She’d managed to steer clear of Rodriguez since the press conference, and since the kiss in the hall. She’d seen him, talked to him, but mostly she’d filled the two weeks since by acclimating Luca to his new home, visiting the local school, making a plan for him to attend in September.

  But that didn’t stop her from wanting him. From staring at him every time they happened to have a meal with him. From fantasizing about him in her bed every night. In the shower the next morning.

  She blinked and tried to concentrate on what he was saying.

  “It’s for one of the heads of state, and it’s one of the really fun things we get to do as rulers of Santa Christobel. You know, go stand on hard marble floors eating soggy appetizers until our backs hurt.”

  Carlotta wanted to melt into the settee she was perched on. She already felt spent. Rodriguez had been at the palace all day and avoiding him was starting to feel like a full-time job. She’d taken Luca to the cinema in the morning and then she and Angelina had taken Luca out to the beach for the afternoon. She currently felt grubby, exhausted and more than a little bit grumpy.

  “On such short notice?”

  He acted so calm around her. It was irritating. After the stupid fight, the passion explosion, the continued fighting.

  She closed that line of thought down. She wasn’t going to remember that. It had been two weeks. No. She didn’t recall any of it. And her lips did not still tingle. Neither did any other part of her.

  “Sorry, I only just got the invitation passed to me, but it really is too important to miss.”

  It was infuriating, and it shouldn’t be, that he seemed entirely unaffected by the kiss-she-did-not-remember. Because he should look tense. Or unsatisfied. Or angry. Just … something. Rather than his typical, easy-breezy self. The mocking curve of his lips had returned.

  She blew out a breath. “I know this is what it’s like. Public appearance after public appearance. And then, after, you go home and go to your separate bedrooms, then get up the next day and start over. It’s what my parents have always done. They’re professionals at this.”

  “So you can do it too. I’m certain of that.”

  “I’m certain I can. I never wanted to. For a while I thought.” She shook her head. “Sorry, I’m sharing. I don’t know what got into me.”

  He sat in the chair across from her. “I have nowhere to be until 8:00 p.m. Share away.”

  “Why?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

  “Shouldn’t I know? I’m going to be your husband.”

  “It’s boring. But fine. I used to think I would get married for love. That my husband and I would have this grand passion that could not possibly be satisfied by separate bedrooms. I used to want. more than the sterile palace life I was raised in.”

  “And now you’ve lost that dream?”

  She snorted a laugh. “I lost that dream six years ago.”

  “Because you got pregnant?”

  “Because of the man who got me pregnant. I don’t like to call him Luca’s father. He’s never met him, so how can he be a father? But he … I thought he was the one, you know? I was stupid. I know better now. That’s just a bunch of romantic nonsense, it’s not reality. This, what we’re doing, is so much more meaningful.”

  “Even though you hate it?”

  She sighed. “At least there’s a reason. There’s something more firm than. love. Whatever that’s supposed to be.”

  “I don’t know that I’ve ever met a woman as cynical on the subject of love as I am.”

  “Well, now you have. We got distracted in the hall earlier,” she said, averting her gaze, “but the real reason I’m doing this isn’t abou
t penance. It’s about doing something that matters. I can’t matter while I’m hiding in exile in Italy. I certainly didn’t contribute to the greater good when I started a relationship with him. There’s more to life than passion. Duty, that’s real. Marrying to better my country? Your country? There are benefits to that that no one can take away. It’s all so much more permanent than some ephemeral notion of love.”

  “And lust? What are your feelings on lust?” The teasing light in his eyes was gone again, replaced by something dangerous, that intense darkness she’d sensed in him earlier.

  “Lust is unnecessary, certainly nothing to overturn one’s life for.”

  “Lust keeps things interesting,” he said.

  “And what’s the point of lusting after a husband who intends on taking other women to his bed?” she asked, her words clipped.

  “That’s only sex. Sex is cheap, Carlotta.”

  She laughed. “Sex has always been very expensive for me. But then, I suppose that’s how it is for women.”

  “I suppose so. Are your brothers virgins?”

  “What? I would never, not for any amount of money, ask them, but I can give you a very confident no.”

  “Your other sisters?”

  “I don’t. I don’t think so … well, Sophia’s married now and Natalia … the press wrote about one of her affairs, but it all blew over quickly enough.” Carlotta’s twin had always been the audacious one. The one who did what she pleased. She laughed off her indiscretions, and the world laughed them off with her. Her parents simply ignored her antics.

  And Carlotta had been the good one. The one who’d never done anything without the express permission of her parents. She’d envied Natalia. So much it burned sometimes. She felt like she was on the outside of this glowing sphere her twin lived in. One where she could do whatever she wanted and nothing could touch her, while Carlotta ached to break the chains that held her in place, and couldn’t.

  Then she’d met Gabriel. And she’d followed her lust, purposefully decided not to care what her parents might think. To embrace the rush for the first time instead of just turning away from it.

  And the fallout of that decision made Natalia’s behavior pale in comparison. The Sole Santina Bastard. That was her claim to fame.

  “So no one in your family is a saint. Why is it you’re the bad one? Because you got knocked up?”

  His words were stark. But honest. She swallowed. “Wow. Charming.”

  “Honestly, why are you worse than they are? Is it just that no one has physical evidence of their sexual history? The public has plenty of evidence of mine—they think I’m suave, if a bit feckless, but they like me. No one calls me names or degrades me. And I’d bet none of them do it to your brothers.”

  “You don’t understand …”

  “It’s hypocrisy. Plain and simple. That’s why, in our marriage, if I’m not going to be faithful I certainly don’t plan on holding you to our vows.”

  He was missing the real issue. Sure, some of her being “worse” had to do with her carrying visible consequences of something other people did behind closed doors without anyone else being any the wiser. But the biggest part had to do with the fact that Gabriel had been a married man, with a wife. Children. But admitting that was too … it was too hard. To look Rodriguez in the eye and confess that she’d been seduced by a married man? That she’d been so stupid she’d missed the signs? She’d already had to admit it to her father. He was the only one she’d had to explain anything to. And that was enough.

  “So you think women have just as many rights as men when it comes to sex?” she asked.

  “I think it’s a ridiculous double standard. Men want to have sex with whoever they want while they limit women. Then who are the men going to sleep with?”

  “A philosopher,” she said dryly.

  “Just all for equal rights.”

  “Wow. Well.” She stood from the couch, her insides feeling oddly jittery. “I’m going to go and see if I can find something suitable for tonight.”

  “It’s been taken care of. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  She wished he wouldn’t, because she kind of needed a Rodriguez reprieve, but she wasn’t about to admit that to him.

  “All right, lead on.”

  She followed him back to her room, her mind going over the conversation they’d had in the study. He didn’t look at her any differently for having a child out of wedlock. Her family was so traditional, that she was the only Santina to ever give birth to a bastard had been major news. It had made her mother hardly able to meet her eyes. Had made her father look at her as though she were dirty, something almost beneath contempt at times.

  To have someone simply not see that dark mark on her record … that was something she hadn’t thought possible.

  It had altered her own parents’ perception of her so profoundly she’d assumed everyone must look at her and see a big scarlet A branded across her chest, even without knowing the full story.

  He pushed open the door to her room and stood there, allowing her to enter first. Rodriguez had that smooth, surface chivalry down to a science. It probably made women melt at his feet. If his dark good looks, hot body and wicked grin hadn’t already done the job.

  “I went out today and I was driving through downtown when I saw this.” He took a garment bag out of her closet. “And it made me think of you.”

  “Did you go through my things?”

  “No, I asked one of the household staff to put it in the closet.”

  “Oh.”

  “You don’t like it when people go through your belongings?”

  “Would you?”

  “I don’t know. I live alone so I don’t have that problem.” His eyes locked with hers. “I did live alone anyway.”

  “Now you have us.”

  “And servants. You can never be truly alone in a castle. Even if all of the staff left there would still be ghosts wandering the old dungeon.”

  “You have a dungeon here?”

  He smiled. “You interested?”

  A reluctant laugh pulled up from her stomach. “Not really my thing.” She took the garment bag from his hand. “You should be used to staff. You lived here when you were a boy.”

  “Until I was old enough to go to school. When I was eight I went to boarding school.”

  “That’s so young! I could never send Luca away. Not in three years’ time. I don’t think I ever could.”

  He looked at her, his eyes blank, that darkness that lay beneath the surface a palpable force. “I liked school.”

  “Good.” She unzipped the back and her mouth dropped when she saw the black lace dress that was nestled inside. “This is … there’s not much to it.”

  “It will look perfect on you.”

  “I don’t flaunt. I’m a mother.”

  “You are a woman,” he said, his voice firm, insistent. “Don’t forget that. Whether you’re Luca’s mother, my wife or the Queen of Santa Christobel, you are a woman and there’s no crime in remembering that.”

  “I. I know that. I remember. How could I forget?” Of course, for her, being a woman was basically a crime. She didn’t know what to do with that part of herself. The part that wanted occasions to dress for. The part that wanted a man in her bed. It was easier to simply be Luca’s mother and ignore everything else.

  “You dress nicely,” Rodriguez said. “But not sexy.”

  She frowned. “I thought my press conference dress was sexy.”

  “No, you were sexy in it. It would only be considered sexy at a tea party.”

  She looked him over, at his black pants and shirt, so lovingly fitted to his body, making him look dangerous and attractive. “Well, you dress like you’re on the prowl.”

  “I generally am,” he said, offering her a crooked smile. “Now go try the dress on.”

  She shot him a deadly glare and folded the bag over her arm, heading for the dressing room that was just off the main portion of the bedroom. She go
t out of her beach clothes and tugged the flimsy dress up over her curves.

  She contorted her arm and tugged the zipper midway up her back, unable to finesse it all the way up. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. So, she’d ask him for help. He was going to see her naked after the wedding anyway. And this wasn’t even naked, this was just a partially exposed back. A bathing suit, even a modest one, would show much more than the dress put on display.

  But it wasn’t so much about the amount of skin as it was about what Rodriguez made her feel.

  Well, she wasn’t giving him that power. She owned her body, and she wasn’t a slave to errant desires.

  She opened the door and poked her head out. “Can you zip me?”

  The teasing light in his eyes vanished again, like a candle thrust into the wind. He frightened her when he looked like that. Because he lost that easy manner completely and he became someone—something—else entirely. Dangerous. A predator. And she had the feeling she was the prey.

  “Sure,” he said, walking to the dressing room door. Her heart pounded in rhythm with his steps and she did her best to ignore it. To ignore the languid heat that seemed to be inside her bones, spreading through her, making her feel weak and shaky.

  She turned and braced her hand on the door, anything to disguise the slight trembling in her fingers.

  He didn’t bother to pretend, even for a moment, that the brush of his skin on hers was accidental, didn’t pretend he was simply helping with the last bit of the zipper. His finger trailed up the line of her back, hot and exciting.

  She tensed, drawing her shoulders up.

  “Relax, querida,” he said softly, his knuckle brushing against her shoulder.

  “Then you’re going to have to stop touching me.”

  She felt his fingers toying with the zip tab, his other hand moving to her waist, his touch light but so … present. She felt it all the way down to her toes and every interesting point in between.

  “Not possible if you want me to help you with your dress.”

  “You’re taking liberties,” she said, her voice stiff.

  “Don’t you sound like the maiden in a Regency drama? I quite like it.”