by Various
‘I haven’t brought one with me.’
‘Well, there are plenty around the place. Here. Have this.’
Fishing out a battered old panama from underneath one of the loungers, he tossed it to her, and she caught it.
‘Thanks.’ Her throat was dry as she slipped off her silken robe and lay down beside him. It was still early and the air was fresh and sweet. Unknown birds were making distant calls and she could smell the heavy fragrance of jasmine.
For a while she felt brittle, unsure of what to do or say to the man whose golden-olive body was so near—and yet which might as well have been on a distant planet for all the closeness which existed between them. There were a million things she felt she should ask him, but she was too weary to begin, and the sun sinking into her skin was so very distracting…and gradually it made her relax a little. She drank some cool water and picked up her book. Put it down again, and dozed.
Deep, accented words floated into her dreamless state and she looked up to find that Carlos was leaning over her, his black eyes gleaming with concern. ‘You’ll burn if you’re not careful,’ he said softly. ‘Want me to rub some cream on for you?’
‘I…’ What could she say? That she was afraid if he touched her she might not be able to control her emotions, or her body’s response to him? She would risk burning her skin because she was so vulnerable around him? How pathetic was that? Kat nodded, tongue flicking out over suddenly bone-dry lips. ‘If you don’t mind.’
Mind? Carlos’s mouth hardened. ‘Turn over.’ He squeezed lotion onto the firm flesh between her shoulder blades and then began to rub it in, expelling a slow rush of air as he felt the silken texture of her skin beneath his fingers. How long had it been since he had touched her like this? Pushing aside the straps of her bikini he began to massage her tight muscles, feeling some of the tension begin to melt beneath his questing fingers.
‘Carlos…’
‘Is that good, Princesa?’
Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, Kat couldn’t make up her mind whether she wanted to laugh or cry. ‘Well, yes…yes, it’s good.’ Of course it was good.
‘Then lie back and enjoy it.’
Was he mad? Didn’t he realise that, with his hands edging down to the wide band of flesh which lay above her bikini bottom, she just wanted to wriggle and squirm and pull him down against her rapidly warming body? Against her and into her. To feel his hard flesh united with hers once again. Kat swallowed. Now his fingers were kneading at the tops of her thighs—and this was really dangerous territory because what else would account for her almost strangled little gulp and the terrible sexual hunger which had begun to bubble up inside her?
‘Carlos!’ she said urgently.
‘What? What is it, Princesa?’
‘I…I…’
And suddenly Carlos couldn’t bear it for a second longer, knowing that he was about to fall into a snare of his own making. Knowing full well that he could seduce her in an instant, exactly where she was. He wouldn’t even have to meet the expression in her cold, hurt eyes. Could thrust into her from behind for a wordless and blissful coupling, knowing that they would both gasp out their relieved fulfilment and then it would be over. Their frustration forgotten and their bodies satisfied. And suddenly registering the certainty that it was no longer enough. Not nearly enough. Not any more.
Yes, it would be as easy as breathing to take her, but where would that leave them? Hadn’t he used the power of his sexual expertise to shield him from life for too long, seeking the heady power of sex as a substitute for emotion, time after time? And didn’t he owe this woman the truth, no matter how hard it was for him to admit it?
Turning her over, he stared down into her face—at the dark dilation of her blue eyes and the flare of colour which washed across her cheekbones—and felt a strange rush of something like pain in his heart. He had faced death and danger many times during his life, but he had never known such a feeling of trepidation. How was it possible to face the mighty wrath of a thirteen-hundred-pound animal in the bullring with a degree of steadfastness and resolve…and yet be rendered weak by the blaze in a woman’s beautiful blue eyes?
‘I’m sorry,’ he said simply.
Kat frowned. What was he saying—that he’d changed his mind about making love to her when it had obviously been on his mind only seconds ago? ‘Sorry?’ she echoed. ‘What for?’
He gave a bitter laugh. ‘How long have you got? For doubting you. For being a victim of my own prejudice. For not realising that the woman I saw on my boat was the real you, not the poor little rich girl I was determined to see. That once you’d peeled away the layers you’d used to protect yourself from the tough blows that life had dealt you, I caught a glimpse of the woman you really were. The real Kat. That beneath all the finery was something much more precious.’ For a moment his voice sounded shaken. ‘And that something was you.’
Kat stared at him, confusion tempered with the frantic clamour of her mind telling her not to raise her hopes. Not to let him hurt her. Not any more. ‘Are you saying all this because I’m having a baby?’ she whispered.
He shook his head. ‘I’m saying it because I mean it. Because I’ve been a fool, Kat. A stupid fool.’ Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to admit why. ‘Resenting you for the fact that, for the first time in my life, I lost control when I was around you. Without realising that sometimes a man needs to lose control, because that is what makes him human. What enables him to grab at the things which make life worth living.’
Suddenly, Kat could see how Carlos’s steely self-will had protected him in exactly the same way as the armoury of her clothes and rebellious attitude had protected her. The two of them had a lot more in common than she’d ever realised. They’d both witnessed violence and pain. Had both deployed their own methods of coping with them.
And now?
They could, she realised, put all their demons in the past—but only if he wanted to. Because she realised something else too. That time after time she had given herself to Carlos, only to have him push her away. She understood why he had done it—but she couldn’t keep on doing it. Giving was a two-way street—or there could be no true equality. No real relationship. Her voice was gentle. ‘Carlos, what exactly are you saying?’
He was intelligent enough to know that this was one of life’s big questions, the sort that your entire future would depend on. And even as she asked it, the answer came to him instantly, with a kind of blinding certainty he’d never before realised he was capable of.
He stared straight into her face. ‘That I love you,’ he said simply.
They were words she never thought she’d hear—never from Carlos—but it didn’t occur to Kat to doubt them. Not for a minute. Perhaps because she sensed how much it had taken for him to say them—and because although his words could sometimes wound, they were always truthful. And perhaps because she knew that he had missed out on love for so much of his life, it didn’t occur to her to hesitate. Nor to hold back in any way. In fact, she couldn’t have done—for the joy in her heart was too insistent to be silenced.
‘Oh, Carlos. My sweet, darling Carlos. I love you too,’ she whispered. ‘So much.’
He took her face in his hands, cupping its heart shape between both palms. ‘I want to marry you, Kat,’ he said unsteadily. ‘I want us to make a life for ourselves together. A new life. A proper life.’
And now she did hesitate. For Kat hadn’t grown up with the best role models in the world where marriage was concerned. Her family was littered with divorces and their complicated consequences.
‘And I want to be a good father,’ he continued fiercely, before she had spoken. ‘The best father in the world to our child. He—or she—will have their own destiny and never will I try to live my life through them.’
She heard the resolve which had deepened his voice and knew that Carlos was determined never to replicate the cruelty practised by his father. And that determination of his spurred her on. Because w
asn’t marriage a leap of faith for everyone? In a way, she and Carlos were lucky. They had witnessed the mistakes that other people could make with their lives—and they could do their best to ensure they didn’t repeat them.’
She drew back a little as she looked up into his face. ‘Oh, Carlos—of course I’ll marry you. I want to marry you more than anything else on earth.’
He nodded, and for a moment there was a lump in his throat so big that he had difficulty in speaking. ‘Then seal it with a kiss, Princesa,’ he commanded at last.
Something in his eyes made her tremble and something in the sweet restorative power of his lips made her tremble even more. She sighed when he lifted her off the sunbed and carried her to the nearby cabana, where he peeled off her little lemon bikini with a quiet and urgent hunger which was underpinned with an unmistakable sense of awe.
A shaft of pure love shot through her as he positioned his powerful naked body over hers and when he filled her with one slick, long thrust, she cried out her pleasure. As sunlight and birdsong drifted in to mingle with the sound of their muffled moans of pleasure, Kat thought she had never known happiness like it.
Please make it last, she prayed silently, as she held him, both still shuddering from the sweet onslaught of their passion. But somehow she knew that they would make it last. The two of them—and then, one day in the coming months, three. They would do everything in their power to ensure that life would be good.
Snuggling against him, Kat felt the slowing of his heart and she nuzzled against his neck, wanting to shower him with tiny kisses which demonstrated all the love she was bursting to give him.
Funny, really—her father had sent her away to learn commitment and she had found it. It had been a tough lesson but she knuckled down to it—and Carlos had helped show her how. So really, it made sense for him to reap the benefits.
For wasn’t marriage the biggest and most wonderful commitment of all?
Emily’s Innocence
India Grey
A self-confessed romance junkie, India Grey was just thirteen years old when she first sent off for the Mills&Boon® Writers’ Guidelines. She can still recall the thrill of getting the large brown envelope with its distinctive logo through the letterbox and subsequently whiled away many a dull school day staring out of the window and dreaming of the perfect hero. She kept those guidelines with her for the next ten years, tucking them carefully inside the cover of each new diary in January and beginning every list of New Year’s Resolutions with the words Start Novel. In the meantime she gained a degree in English Literature and Language from Manchester University and, in a stroke of genius on the part of the gods of Romance, met her gorgeous future husband on the very last night of their three years there. The last fifteen years have been spent blissfully buried in domesticity and heaps of pink washing generated by three small daughters, but she has never really stopped daydreaming about romance. She’s just profoundly grateful to have finally got an excuse to do it legitimately!
For the Elmhurst Olympics crowd, and for Louise in particular, much-loved keeper of the family flame. xx
Prologue
‘CALL me when you grow up!’
As Emily ducked beneath the ghostly, blossom-shrouded trees and emerged onto the twilit lawn his voice followed her: mocking, amused and, with its faintly exotic accent, horribly sexy.
She quickened her pace, thinking only of putting as much distance as possible between herself and the man in the shadows. Head bent, oblivious to the curious stares of the guests scattered across the velvet lawns of Balfour Manor, she hurried towards the house, pressing her teeth down into a lip that still tingled and throbbed from where he had kissed her.
The 99th Balfour Charity Ball was in full swing and the sound of laughter, conversation and clinking glasses drifted above the music coming from the marquee. Ahead of her the majestic house shimmered with light from every window, its honey-coloured stone glowing in the dusk like old gold. Behind her the darkness of the garden pressed at her back, spreading goose bumps over her skin. Her heart was beating so hard she could feel it all through her body, a rapid, throbbing pulse that intensified as she ran lightly up the shallow stone steps to the house.
He had ruined everything.
She’d looked forward to this party for so long—all those years at boarding school, when she’d been reduced to picking over the edited details of the annual Balfour Ball in celebrity magazines and piecing together snatches of gossip from her older sisters. This year, with ballet school all but finished, her time had finally come.
She blinked as she stepped into the brightness of the hallway. Heading straight for the stairs she gathered up the long skirt of her dress, trying not to think of the excitement with which she’d put it on only a couple of hours earlier. She had felt so grown up and sophisticated…
Until the moment those knowing, gold-flecked eyes had wandered lazily over her, and then she had felt something different altogether.
Reaching her bedroom she slammed the door and leaned against it for a moment, breathing hard. The room was filled with violet shadows which blurred the edges of everything, making the familiar objects seem suddenly strange and unrecognizable. She didn’t turn on the light though. Instead she found herself drawn towards the window.
Spread out before her the garden glittered with tiny lights. It was like a picture from a child’s storybook—an enchanted kingdom, the butterfly ball. And that’s what she’d wanted, she thought with a sob, leaning her burning forehead against the pane. She’d wanted it to be like a fairy tale, with the handsome prince just waiting to fall in love with her.
Her eyes were drawn beyond the delicate strings of fairy lights and the glittering crystal chandeliers that stood on the tables across the lawn; deeper, into the darkness itself, where inky shadows moved beneath the trees.
That’s where he was.
Emily pressed her hands to the glass, suddenly pierced by a shaft of longing so pure and painful that she couldn’t breathe. His cool, clean taste was still on her lips and she ran her tongue over them, remembering the moment when he had stepped out in front of her beneath the trees and pulled her to him—languidly, unhurriedly, as if it had been the most natural thing in the world…
And kissed her.
She had been too shocked to resist. It was as if some powerful tidal wave had been unleashed inside her and she was helpless to do anything as it sucked her down, into warm, secret whirlpools of unfathomable sensation, obliterating logic. His mouth moved over hers, slowly and expertly, and his fingers caressed the back of her neck, the hollow beneath her jaw, sending ripples of intense, shuddering pleasure down her spine, until she felt taut and fragile enough to shatter.
And then he lifted his head and in that moment she caught the gleam of his wicked gold eyes in the darkness. The spell was broken and she surfaced again, gasping and fighting for breath, speechless and horrified at her own unrecognisable behaviour. Terrified of the ease with which he had made her act like that.
Because Prince Luis Cordoba of Santosa was handsome, of that there was no doubt. But he wasn’t interested in love, and behind the designer suit and dazzling smile he was no harmless, fairy-tale Prince Charming.
Dangerous, compelling, beguiling…
He was the wolf.
Chapter One
One year later
BALFOUR MANOR—golden and majestic and glowing like topaz in a bed of emerald velvet. Every detail was as familiar to Emily as the back of her own hand. And yet it was the last thing she expected to see in the grimy, diesel-scented chill of the underground station.
It was rush hour. Carried along in the flow of harassed and preoccupied commuters, blinking in the sudden gloom after the brightness of the May evening outside, Emily’s first thought was that she was imagining it. That, after two months of self-imposed exile in a bedsit that added a whole new dimension to the word grim, her homesickness had finally got the better of her and she was hallucinating.
Behind
her a man cannoned into her as she stopped in her tracks, and swore disgustedly. Muttering apologies Emily ducked her head and pushed against the stream of people, back in the direction of the news stand. She must have been mistaken. It was a picture of Buckingham Palace she’d seen—some story about a minor royal indiscretion or—
Illegitimacy Scandal Rocks Balfour Legacy
Light-headed with horror Emily snatched up a paper and scanned the column beneath the headline, her mind reeling. It bristled with exclamation marks and was dotted with sly ellipses, but the names jumped out at her: Olivia Balfour…Bella…Alexandra…Zoe…
Zoe?
‘Are you going to buy that paper? I’m not running a library here, you know.’
From an alternative reality the disgruntled voice of the newspaper-seller penetrated her consciousness. ‘Oh. Yes. Sorry. Of course,’ she said hastily, delving into the pocket of her cardigan for the five-pound tip given to her by a drunken businessman who had told her all about his wife and kids and then put his hand up her skirt. Mollified, the newspaper man gave her a conspiratorial wink.
“Ow the other ‘arf live, eh? Beautiful houses in all the best spots across the world, cars, money, parties—but I ask you, is any one of them Balfours happy?’ Shaking his head, he gave an amused chuckle.
No, Emily thought numbly as she backed away, the paper clutched in her hands. I don’t think we are—not any more. She attempted to give him an answering smile, but her face was stiff, her eyes wide and unblinking as the words from the article swooped and swelled inside her head: shocking discovery…illicit affair…illegitimate…disgrace…scandal…
Just a year ago it had all been so different. As she rejoined the press of people the moment before the guests started to arrive and she had gone downstairs in her blue silk dress, feeling so grown-up.