He plucked a twig from her hair and twirled it between his fingers. No need to tell her no one had any idea where exactly he’d been born, or whether there’d even been a roof for protection.
‘Ah, but I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth.’
She blinked, her mouth thinning for an infinitesimal moment, so that he wondered if he’d blundered in some way. Then she shrugged and smiled and he lost his train of thought when she took the twig from his fingers, her hand deliberately caressing his. That light touch drew his skin tight across his bones as lust flared.
‘Don’t tell anyone,’ she smiled from under veiled eyes as if sharing a salacious secret. ‘But silver spoons aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.’
With a quick twist of the wrist he captured her hand in his. Silence throbbed between them, a silence heavy with unspoken promise. Something kindled in her eyes. She returned his hungry look, not resorting to coyness.
‘I like the way you face challenges head-on,’ he found himself admitting, then frowned. Usually he measured his words carefully. They didn’t just shoot out.
‘I like the fact you don’t care about my social status.’
Her hand shifted in his hold, her thumb stroking his. It pleased him that she didn’t pretend disinterest, or lunge at him desperately. The sense of a delicate balance between them added a delicious tension to the moment.
‘It’s not your title I’m interested in, Marisa.’ Her name tasted even better the second time. Damaso leaned forward, eager for the taste of her on his tongue, then stopped himself. This wasn’t the place.
‘You don’t know how glad I am to hear that.’ She planted her palm on his shirt and his heart leapt into overdrive. It felt as if she’d branded him.
Tension screwed his body tight. He wanted her now and, given the way her fingers splayed possessively on him, her lips parting with her quickened breathing, she felt the same.
He wanted to take her here, hard and fast and triumphantly. Except instinct told him he’d need more than one quick taste to satisfy this craving.
How had he resisted her for a whole week?
‘Perhaps you could tell me on the way back down exactly what you are interested in, Damaso.’
He snagged her hand in his again and turned her towards the rough track leading away from the cliff. Her fingers linked with his, shooting erotic pleasure through him that felt in some strange way almost innocent. How long since he’d simply held a woman’s hand?
* * *
Marisa towel-dried her hair while looking out at her private courtyard in the luxurious eco-resort. A bevy of butterflies danced through the lush leaves.
She tried to focus on how she’d capture them on film but all she could think about was Damaso Pires. The feel of his hand enclosing hers as they’d clambered down the track. The wrench of loss when he’d let her go as they’d approached the others. The way his burning gaze had stripped her bare.
No wonder she’d avoided him.
But now she craved him. She, who’d learned to distrust desire!
Yet this was something new. With Damaso Pires she sensed a link, a feeling almost of recognition, that she’d never experienced. It reminded her a little of the very different bond she’d shared with Stefan.
Marisa shook her head. Was grief clouding her thoughts?
Physical exertion, even danger, didn’t ease her pain. Since Stefan’s death she’d been shrouded in grey nothingness, till Damaso had reached out to her. Could she do it? Give herself to a stranger? Excitement and fear shivered through her. Despite what the world believed, Marisa wasn’t the voracious sexpot the press portrayed.
Then she remembered how she’d felt trading words with him, their bodies communicating in subtle hints and responses as ancient as sex itself.
She’d felt happy. Excited. That aching feeling of isolation had fled. She’d felt alive.
A knock sounded on her door, reverberating through her hollow stomach. Second thoughts crowded in, old hurts. Marisa glanced in the mirror. Barefoot, damp hair slicked back from a face devoid of make-up, she looked as far from a princess as you could get.
Did he want the real woman, not the royal? She wavered on the brink of cowardice, of wanting to pretend she hadn’t heard him. She’d taken chances on men before and been disappointed. More, she’d been eviscerated by their callous selfishness.
The knock came again and she jumped.
She had to face this.
With Damaso, for the first time in years, she dared risk herself again. That tantalising link between them was so intense, so profound. She wanted to trust him. She wanted desperately not to be alone anymore.
Her heart pounded as she opened the door. He filled the space before her, leaning against one raised arm. His eyes looked black and hungry in the early-evening light. Her stomach swooped.
With a single stride he entered the room, closing the door quietly behind him, eyes holding hers.
‘Querida.’ The word caressed her as his gaze ate her up. If he was disappointed she hadn’t dressed up, he didn’t show it. If anything his eyes glowed warm with approval. ‘You haven’t changed your mind?’
‘Have you?’ She stood straighter.
‘How could I?’ His smile was lop-sided, the most devastating thing she’d ever seen. Then one large palm cupped her cheek and he stepped close. His head lowered and the world faded away.
Copyright © 2014 by Annie West
ISBN: 978-1-472-04291-0
A NIGHT IN THE PRINCE’S BED
© 2014 Chantelle Shaw
Published in Great Britain 2014
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited
Eton House, 118-214 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ®are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk
A Night in the Prince's Bed Page 18