Stolen Kiss From a Prince

by Teresa Carpenter

  “I am happy to hear it. You will both benefit from the contact.”

  “Tessa asked for her position back,” he told her.

  A sense of dread welled up. Her stomach knotted as her fears resurfaced. Had he brought her here to tell her she was no longer needed as Sammy’s nanny? To let her down easy?

  “Your father mentioned she showed interest in returning. He seemed to think Sammy would do well with someone familiar.”

  “I agree, but it will not be Tessa.” He continued the tour as they talked, showing her the dining room, an office, and the gourmet kitchen where Kristof prepared their meal before leading her up an open staircase.

  His response had her emotions ricocheting from one extreme to another in a matter of seconds. “Why not?”

  “It was clear her interest was not in caring for Sammy.” He gestured to a glass wall overlooking a pool. “The lower floor has a lanai. There’s also a gym with a sauna, and Kristof’s rooms are there along with additional servants’ quarters when they are required.”

  She bit back a smile. “You mean your security detail.”

  She should have known he’d see through the other woman’s shallow facade.

  “They have been used for that purpose, ja.” He showed her two bedrooms with en suite baths. Both rooms carried on the color scheme from downstairs and were starkly beautiful, but in her opinion the minimalism went too far. His suite was only slightly better in the fact it incorporated some color, gray and blue, and a few personal touches including a vivid painting of a storm at sea. The lavish bath with the large circular walk-in shower was the very definition of luxury.

  It was good to be the Prince.

  The view from his terrace took her breath away. The bay sparkled to the right, and in the far distance lightning flashed, highlighting clouds and sea as a storm rolled through. At the end of a long incline, waves crashed against a private beach.

  “Lovely,” she breathed. “You are closer to the coast than I realized.”

  Hard arms wrapped around her waist and drew her against his aroused body. “On a clear day you can see the British Isles from the roof deck. I’m on an inlet. Much smaller than the bay, but it protects me from the worst of the storms and has the benefit of the beach.”

  “You have a beautiful home.” She leaned back, savoring his warmth. And the knowledge he wanted her.

  “Hmm.” He kissed her neck. “That sounds like there is a but attached.”

  “I just have a hard time seeing Sammy here. All the white, it is a little cold.”

  He stiffened and his arms dropped away. He moved to a table next to a two-person lounge and picked up a glass of wine from a tray of foodstuffs Kristof must have left while they were touring the house.

  She hugged her arms to herself. What had she said to drive him away?

  “Many people consider me to be cold.” He sipped the wine, choosing to look at the view rather than her. “Unemotional is another word they use.”

  “Not me,” she denied, walking toward him, stopping between him and the view. “You have never been unemotional with me.”

  “No,” he agreed as he caressed her cheek. “You are a meddlesome creature. It is impossible to be unaffected by you.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Mon Dieu, that does not sound like a compliment. Perhaps you are cold after all.”

  “You dare much. It is hard to believe you are cowed by a phantom photograph.”

  It was her turn to move away. “Sometimes our fears are irrational. It does not make them any less real.” She stared out to sea, wished the past away. “I do not wish to discuss it.”

  “I dislike seeing you suffer needlessly. The type of photograph you described is worth a lot of money to the tabloids. If someone had them, they would already have sold them.”

  “Maybe they do not know who I am, or maybe they are waiting for me to gain in notoriety to drive the price up.” Seeking to distract him, she turned and looped her arms around his neck. “We could play the maybe game all night. But I did not come here to talk.”

  Lifting onto her toes, she pressed her lips to his, tracing the line of his mouth with her tongue until he opened and all but consumed her with his immediate response. He tilted her head and deepened the kiss.

  And all thoughts of phantom photos were lost under his sensual assault.

  He swept her up, making her head spin, or was that just the intoxicating result of his touch. The Fates knew he drove all rational thought from her head. But tonight she didn’t care. Tonight was all about giving in to passion, to the needs of her lover.

  Lover.

  Her mind stuttered over the word. Especially when she looked into the heated eyes of the Prince. Prince. Boy, when she deviated from the norm, she went totally off planet.

  She’d denied herself for so long, unwilling to risk a closeness that would shatter the little confidence she’d reclaimed. But Julian’s grief ignited her compassion, allowing him to breach the wall she’d built around her emotions and reach her vulnerable heart.

  He set her on the lounge and joined her. Built for two, his bulk made it a tight fit, but she didn’t mind. Her body took over, putting a brake on the rising panic. She didn’t mind at all. The closer the better.

  Yes, she shivered as he traced his hand over the curve of her hip. She’d worry about emotion tomorrow. Tonight was about sensation, about forgetting, about touching the stars.

  “Are you cold?” He broke off the kiss to reach for a blanket, pulling it over the both of them.

  “Not in the least,” she assured him. But she spied the tray of food behind him and on cue her stomach rumbled. “Goodness.” She lifted one shoulder in a sheepish half shrug. “But I am hungry. I only picked at the food at the reception. Can we see what Kristof left for us?”

  “But of course.” He lifted the heavy tray with one hand and placed it on their laps. It contained roast beef, a choice of cheeses, soft bread cut into slices, some fruit and an assortment of biscuits.

  “Oh my. This is a feast.” She fed him a grape.

  He chewed then selected a roll of thinly sliced roast beef, but after a few minutes she realized she was the only one attacking the tray of food.

  “You are not eating.”

  “You made me eat at the reception. Plus, I am enjoying watching you.” He ran the back of his finger along the line of her jaw. “There is only one thing I am hungry for.”

  Heat bloomed under the intensity of his gaze. His thoughtfulness in the face of his desire touched her. First he protected her from the cold and then he fed her, all while putting his passion on hold.

  How could she have thought him cold or unfeeling?

  Yes, there was a necessary reserve he kept between himself and the world, but a royal learned early in life that a certain level of distance was needed to retain any sense of self. Add Julian’s natural inclination for order and control, his penchant for numbers and strategy, and his impatience with fools and incompetence, and it stood to reason he projected a cooler demeanor. It didn’t make him cold.

  His explosive passion taught her that.

  More, the man cared, for his nephew, for his family, for his country. Perhaps too much. For all his cool reserve, he gave his full attention to whatever was before him. Nobody could fault him on his dedication.

  And right now, all that lovely attention was focused on her.

  She took the tray and leaned across him to set it on the table, then she stood and held out her hand. “Come. Let us feast.”

  Taking her hand, he surged to his feet and pulled her to him, claiming her mouth in a kiss that demonstrated just how hot-blooded he was. He took and she gave, her surrender becoming its own demand, for more, for hotter, for him.

  A breeze blew a fine mist over the terrace. She gasped, the cold water a shock against her overheated skin.

  “The storm is getting closer.” She snuggled into Julian’s warmth.

  “Sometimes I like to sit out here and watch the storm roil across t
he sky. But not tonight.” He solved the problem by sweeping her into his arms and stepping into the room. “Tonight I want to watch your face as the storm we create flashes through your eyes.”

  “Feast and storms,” she teased, looping her arms around his shoulders. “Sounds like a soggy picnic.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “So much for romance.”

  “I do not need romance.” She stroked his jaw. “I prefer honesty.”

  “I, too, detest games.”

  “I know.” She sighed as he set her on her feet beside the bed. “You are the most truthful and honorable man I know. Our time together is so limited.” Her fingers went to the buckle of his belt. “Let us not waste time. Make love to me.”

  He caught her fingers, brought them to his mouth for a brief kiss. “You make me want to linger, to play. No time with you is wasted. I speak the truth when I say I want to watch you ignite in my arms.”

  He placed her fingers on the top button of his shirt then his went to work on hers. “I agree the time for talk is over, but I will not be rushed.” He bent his head to nibble the exposed curve of her neck. “I intend to take my time.”

  So that was his plan. To take his time. He’d certainly been doing that. Giving her the tour, feeding her, all the while seducing her with soft touches and heated kisses. Slowly, surely, he’d gotten her all worked up. And now he wanted to put the brakes on again? No.

  “Then we are at odds, lover.” She grasped the edges of his shirt and pulled with all her strength. Buttons flew in every direction as the hard planes of his chest were revealed. “Hmm.” She hummed her approval. “You take your time, but I am done waiting.” And she dived in for a taste of all that yummy skin.

  The muscles under her lips moved as he chuckled. “So contrary. You go at your pace and I’ll go at mine.” He lifted her head to press a kiss to her lips. “I am sure we will meet up in the middle.”

  She smiled and nipped his bottom lip. “Get naked. Now.”

  Surprisingly—considering his slower agenda— he complied. He shrugged out of his ruined shirt, stepped out of his pants and briefs. His socks flew over his shoulder and then she was finally in his bed. And while he slowly undressed her, she trailed her hands over every muscle and bulge, enjoying the feel of him, smooth in some places, hair roughened in others.

  Every caress led to a need for more. Everything about him was vital, resilient, addicting. He was all male and he made her feel alive, feminine, empowered.

  But with every slow, deliberate touch, she felt a growing urgency. Even as she clung to him, time seemed so short. If this night was all they had, she couldn’t waste a second.

  She arched under the soft caress of his hands. With deliberate, unhurried determination he stripped her, carefully leaving her nearly sheer cotton camisole, and then proceeded to trace the curve of her body until he cupped her breasts under the soft fabric. With loving, torturous precision, his mouth tormented the tips through the cloth bringing her exquisite pleasure.

  Okay, that slowed her down. Kind of hard to seduce him while she soared on sensation. Then again, maybe this was where they met up. He certainly had her attention. She dug her nails into his back and lifted into his touch, pushing her breast into his hand, wanting more, wanting it harder.

  He didn’t disappoint. But neither did he hurry.

  “Beast,” she taunted him. “Stop teasing me.”

  “Not teasing,” he breathed against her ear. “Pleasing.”

  “Not fast enough.”

  “Why are you in such a hurry?” He slid his hand down her hip. “We have all the time in the world.”

  “But we do not,” she corrected him. “Time is slipping away. We must hurry or we will lose this opportunity.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “But—”

  “Shh, my dove. We have all night. And I won’t be rushed.”

  How could he be so calm? “You could get called away at any minute.”

  “Is that what you’re worried about? No need.” He trailed his mouth along her collarbone. “No one will disturb me short of World War Three.”

  She pulled back, her eyes going wide. “Mon dieu, we have just jinxed the world.”

  He laughed, causing his body to rub against hers in interesting ways. “You are such a delight.” A hard kiss destroyed her thought processes. “If this is the end of the world, then let us make it worthwhile.”

  “If this is the end of the world—” she rose up, and biting her lip, pulled her camisole up and off “—then I do not want anything between us.”

  His eyes glinted in approval, easing her anxiety. He rose up next to her, drawing her to him, offering her the shelter of his arms, replacing fear with wonder.

  Sighing, she gave herself into his care.

  His talented fingers sent her body arching again. His reverent touch making her feel cherished. And still he would not be rushed. Darn him. Her nerves sizzled. What he did to her defied rational thought. He went to her head like the finest champagne, making her tipsy on sensation.

  Still a novice at lovemaking, she mimicked his every caress, doing unto him what he did to her, and soon she experienced the thrill of having him on the brink of losing control. He joined them with more urgency than care, and she loved how driven he was.

  She wrapped him in her arms and rode the storm, feasting on his cry of fulfillment. And when the world exploded in a prolonged moment of bliss, World War Three could be raging outside and she wouldn’t even know.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  DAWN JUST TOUCHED the horizon when Katrina strolled with Sammy onto the terrace for breakfast a week later. Disappointment bit deep when she saw the empty chair at the head of the table. No Julian.

  She hoped he was only running late. This time alone with him—well, except for Sammy—had become a favorite time of day. Superseded only by the passionate nights when he managed to steal through the secret passage to light up her world.

  The time was fast approaching for her to leave. Sammy had taken to Inga. And though he still ran to Katrina, the time would soon come when delaying her exit would be more detrimental than beneficial.

  A maid arrived with a tray of food. She set it in the middle of the table, nodded and retreated.

  Katrina had made two official appearances with Sammy, one with Giselle at a hospital luncheon and one with the royal family as King Lowell accepted a Cross of Saint James awarded to Donal for his dedicated service to the Kardanian Armed Services. It was the highest honor a soldier could receive.

  There hadn’t been a dry eye at the ceremony, except for Sammy, who didn’t understand. He’d been more upset by her tears than by the accolades heaped on his father. With the resilience of the very young, he was already moving on. Yes, he still missed his parents, but he was more concerned with what was in front of him than in those beyond his reach. It was both sad and encouraging.

  And ultimately the best thing for Sammy.

  She’d helped him through the transition, but soon she would become a part of what he needed to set aside in order to move forward.

  But she wasn’t ready to go.

  She glanced at the terrace door, hoping to see Julian appear. This past week had been the happiest of her life. Not even having the press latch onto her connection to Jean Claude could dim the joy she took in Julian’s arms. And the attention hadn’t been that bad. The connection seemed to legitimize her presence at the funeral, and she was praised for her assistance during a difficult time.

  Julian was quick to point out she’d worried over nothing.

  She sighed. So far.

  When everything was so good, she couldn’t help worrying something would come along to spoil it.

  “Where Unca Julie?” Sammy demanded. He did enjoy his mornings with his uncle.

  “Uncle Julian is a busy man.” She dished some hot cereal up for the boy and set it in front of him. “Hopefully he will be here soon.”

  Sammy nodded and dug into his food. Katrina wai
ted for Julian for a few minutes but when he didn’t appear, she made herself a plate of eggs and rashers and a bit of toast. After she caught herself glancing at the door for the third time, she reached for the paper set on the table in front of Julian’s seat.

  She flipped it open and froze. The paper shook until she dropped it onto her plate of half-eaten eggs. It wouldn’t matter. She felt sick. She buried shaking hands in her lap as she reread the headline.

  PRINCE JULIAN GRIEVES IN THE ARMS OF JEAN CLAUDE’S GODDAUGHTER. IS THERE A ROYAL WEDDING ON THE CARDS?

  Under the caption was a picture of Katrina locked in Julian’s arms. They were kissing, his hair was tousled and her clothes were in disarray. It was more than clear what they’d been doing and what they intended to do. They were on the balcony of Julian’s home.

  The blood drained from her face leaving her light-headed. She closed her eyes, unable to look at the picture of a special moment turned ugly. This was what she’d feared, becoming a public embarrassment.

  It tore her up, knowing her father would see the image. And Jean Claude. And Bernadette. Worse, Julian and King Lowell had probably seen it. Was that why Julian wasn’t at the table?

  Of course it was. He was probably working on damage control right now.

  No need to read the article.

  Her stomach churned and spots formed before her eyes. Frightened because Sammy was there, and she was responsible for his care, she scooted back and put her head in her lap. Immediately the dots began to fade.

  “K’tina okay?” Sammy climbed off his chair to pet her hair.

  Great, a young child was comforting her. That really spoke to her state of mind.

  Pulling herself together, she lifted her head and gave him a weak smile. “I am fine. Just a little tummy ache.”

  “You need medcin?” he asked, worry puckering his little forehead.

  Damage control. That’s what she needed, action to replace the helplessness that nearly incapacitated her from the moment she saw the newest life-destroying photo.