He stepped closer. “You’re having trouble resisting me?”
Her fingers dug into the crushed velvet. “You have a certain appeal.”
“Glad to hear it.” He liked the way she didn’t gush with overblown praise. Duarte sat beside her.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting for the okay from Javier.” He slid his arm around her shoulders and nuzzled her neck.
“What about the mirror? Are you sure it’s not a two-way?” she asked but didn’t pull back.
“Thinking like a journalist, I see. Smart.” He grazed his knuckles along her bared collarbone, eliciting a sexy moan from her.
Flattening her hands against his chest, she dug her fingers in lightly. Possessively? “I’m thinking like the paranoid fiancée of a prince. Unless your whole intent is for someone to snap pictures of us making out in an elevator. I guess that would go a long way toward persuading the public we’re a happily engaged couple.”
“What I want to do with you right now goes beyond simple making out, and you can be sure, I don’t want anyone seeing you like that except me. I pay top dollar to my security people. Everything from my phones, to my computers, to my hotels—this is my domain,” he declared, his mouth just over hers. “Although you’re right in that it’s always wise to double-check the mirrors.”
He reached behind her and ran his fingers along the frame. “This one is hung on the elevator wall rather than mounted in it. And when you press against the pane…” He angled toward her until their bodies met, her back to the glass. “Hear that? Not a hollow thump. A regular mirror for me to see the beautiful curve of your back.”
“Duarte…” She nipped his lower lip.
“Not that I need to see your reflection when the real deal right in front of me is so damn mesmerizing,” he growled.
Sliding his hands down, he cupped her waist and shifted her around until she straddled his lap. Champagne-colored satin pooled around them, her knees on either side of him. His groin tightened. The need to have her burned through him.
And then she smiled.
Her soft cool hands cupped either side of his face and she slanted her lips more firmly across his. Just as she gave no quarter in every word and moment of her day, she demanded equal time here and now. He was more than happy to accommodate.
Liquid heat pumped through him as finally he had unfettered access to her mouth. Champagne and strawberries from their dinner lingered. He was fast becoming drunk on the taste of Kate alone. Her fingers crawled under his coat, digging into his back, urgent, insistent.
Demanding.
He thrust his hand in her hair. Tiny diamonds tink, tink, tinked from her updo onto the floor.
“Duarte,” she mumbled against his mouth.
“We’ll find them later.” To hell with anything but being with her. He couldn’t remember when he’d ached so much to be inside a woman. This woman. He’d known her for three intense days that felt a lot longer than his three-month relationships of the past.
Of course he’d never met anyone like Kate.
His phone buzzed in his coat pocket. She stiffened against him. His phone vibrated again, her fingers between the cell and his chest, so the sensation buzzed through her and into him. She wriggled in his lap. He throbbed in response, so hard for her that he couldn’t think of anything else.
“Ignore the phone.” He gathered her closer, not near enough with the bunching satin of her evening gown between them.
“The call could be important,” she said, regret tingeing her voice as she cupped his face and kissed him quickly again. “It could be Javier with an update. Or something even more important,” she insisted between quick nibbles. “You said your father is sick. You don’t want to be sorry you ignored a message.”
Her words slowly penetrated his passion-fogged brain. What had he been thinking? Of course that was the whole point. Kate had a way of scrambling rational thought.
He pulled out his phone and checked the screen. His gut clenched with dread.
“Duarte?” Kate asked, sliding to sit beside him. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s my brother Antonio.” He reached for the elevator button, already preparing himself for the worst—that their father had died. “Let’s go to our suite. I need to call him back.”
Standing in her walk-in closet that rivaled the size of her studio apartment, Kate stepped out of her princess gown and hung it up carefully among the rest of her extravagant wardrobe. Another elaborate fiction, covering up the sham of her engagement with layers of beaded and embroidered fabrics. She smoothed the front of tonight’s dress, releasing a whiff of Duarte’s cedar scent and memories of the elevator.
As they’d returned to the suite, Duarte had asked for privacy for his conversation with his brother and suggested she change clothes. Her heart ached to think what he might be hearing now. She wanted to stand beside him and offer silent comfort. Without question, the proud prince wouldn’t stand for any overt signs of sympathy. Apparently he saved unrestrained emotions for elevator encounters.
Her body hummed with the memory of embracing him, straddling his lap with the hard press of his arousal evident even through the folds of her dress. Warm air from the vent whispered over her skin as she stood in her matching champagne-colored underwear with nothing more than diamond earrings and a lopsided updo.
How different the evening might have been if the call hadn’t come through. She wouldn’t have stopped at just a kiss. Right now they could have been living out her fantasy of making love in an elevator.
Or here, in her room, with him peeling off her thigh-high silk stockings. What came next for them now? Would they be leaving right away? Or staying overnight?
She was used to pulling up stakes in a heartbeat for a story. In fact, she kept a change of clothes in her camera case for just such occasions. A camera case that wasn’t monogrammed or even made of real leather, for that matter. She was in over her head playing make-believe with a real live prince.
Her cell phone rang from across the room, and she almost jumped out of her skin. Oh, God. Her sister. They hadn’t spoken today and Kate had promised. She snatched up an oversized T-shirt from the top of her camera case and yanked it over her head as she sprinted across the room.
She scooped her ringing phone from the antique dresser without looking at the screen. “Hello? Jennifer?”
“’Fraid not,” answered her editor from the Global Intruder.
Harold Hough kept the e-zine afloat through his dogged determination. She should have known she couldn’t avoid him for long.
“Is there some emergency, boss? It’s a little late to be calling, don’t you think?”
“You’re a tough lady to reach now that you’re famous. Hope you haven’t forgotten us little people.”
Sagging on the end of the bed, she puffed out her cheeks with a hefty sigh while she weighed her words. “I explained that my fiancé is fine with me talking to you. I will relay more snippets when Duarte and I have discussed what we’re comfortable with the world knowing.”
Resentment scratched inside her. Thank God she hadn’t told him about her plans to sneak into Duarte’s Martha’s Vineyard resort. As far as Harold knew, she’d been hiding a relationship with Duarte these past few months and now was attempting to control the fallout with her leaks to him. And she sure wasn’t going to tell him about a surprise call from Duarte’s brother.
She stared at her closed door, her heart heavy for Duarte and what he might be facing in that conversation.
Harold’s voice crackled over the line. “But you were at that exclusive embassy dinner tonight. I’ve already heard rumblings about some party crashers. I’d hoped to get more pictures from you. Did you receive my latest email tonight? Is there something you’re not telling me?” he ended suspiciously.
“Have I ever been anything but honest? I’ve worked my tail off for the Intruder.” She paused to apply a little pressure in hopes Harold would back off. “So hard, in fa
ct, maybe I need a vacation.”
Tucking the phone against her shoulder, she rolled down a thigh-high stocking while waiting for Harold’s response.
“Right, you’re distancing yourself from the Intruder.” His chair squeaked in the background and she could picture him leaning back to grab a pack of gum, his crutch to help him through giving up cigarettes. “You’ve forgotten I’m the one who made it possible for you to pay your bills.”
She rolled off the other stocking, back to her pre-Cinderella self in a familiar baggy T-shirt. “You know I’m grateful for the chance you gave me at the Intruder. I appreciate how flexible you’ve been with my work schedule.” No question, she would have been screwed without this job. And she would still need it if things fell apart with Duarte. “I hope you’ll remember the information I’ve shared exclusively with you.”
“And I trust you’ll remember that I know plenty about you, Ms. Harper.” His voice went from lighthearted slimy to laser sharp. “If I don’t get the headlines I need, I can send one of my other top-notch reporters to interview your sister. After all, you of all people should know that even royalty can’t keep out an Intruder reporter.”
Seven
Phone in hand, Duarte paced across the sitting area between the two bedrooms. While not as large as his Martha’s Vineyard quarters, this suite would still accommodate him and Kate well enough for a few days.
If they even stayed in Washington, D.C., after this conversation with his youngest brother.
Duarte’s restless feet took him to the blazing hearth. “How high is his fever?” he asked Antonio—Tony. “Do they know the source of the infection?”
They’d only recently learned that their father had suffered damage to his liver during his escape from San Rinaldo. Enrique had caught hepatitis during his weeks on the run in poor living conditions. His health had deteriorated over the years until their perpetually private father couldn’t hide the problem from his children any longer.
“His fever’s stabilized at 102, but he’s developed pneumonia,” Tony answered. “In his weakened condition, they fear he might not be able to fight it off.”
“What hospital is he in?” He knelt to stoke the fire in the hearth. Windows on either side of the mantle revealed the night skyline, the nation’s capital getting hammered by a blizzard. “Where are you?”
“We’re all still at the island, not sure yet when we’ll go back to Galveston.” His brother’s fiancée had a young son from her first marriage. “He’s insisting on staying at his clinic, with his own doctors. The old man says they’ve kept him alive this long, so he trusts them.”
Frustrated, Duarte jabbed the poker deeper into the logs, sparks showering. The other suites had gas fireplaces, but he preferred the smell of real wood burning. It reminded him of home—San Rinaldo, not his father’s Florida island fortress. “Damn foolhardy, if you ask me. Our father’s an agoraphobic, except his ‘house’ is that godforsaken island.”
Tony sighed hard on the other end of the phone. “You may not be far off in your estimation, my brother.”
“Okay, then. I’ll scrap our next stop, and we’ll head straight to the island instead once the snowstorm here clears.” He hadn’t planned to take Kate there for a few more weeks, but he wasn’t ready to leave her behind. “Maybe meeting my charming new fiancé will give him a boost.”
“He seemed to take heart from the wedding plans Shannon and I have been making.” Tony had proposed only a couple weeks ago, but the pair didn’t want to wait to tie the knot.
Duarte had been surprised they chose the island chapel for the ceremony, but Tony had pointed out that place offered the best security from the prying paparazzi. Good thing they’d been amenable to Duarte’s suggestion of one reporter for a controlled press release. The Intruder wouldn’t have been his first choice—or even a fiftieth choice—of outlets for such an important family event, but he’d resigned himself on that point since Kate would serve as the press envoy.
And if he could make a better job open up for her? He cut that thought short.
When Antonio got married at the end of the month, Kate would walk away with her pictures and her guaranteed top-dollar feature. Why should her leaving grate this much? He’d only known her a few days. Tony had dated his fiancée for months and everyone considered their engagement abrupt.
Duarte replaced the iron poker in the holder carefully rather than risk ramming the thing through the fireplace. “Congratulations, my brother,” he said, standing, his eyes trained on his fiancée’s door, “and I look forward to telling you in person as soon as Kate and I arrive.”
“Be happy for yourself, too. Maybe this will help the old man get back on his feet again, then you can ditch the fake engagement.”
“What makes you think it’s fake?” Now why the hell had he said that?
“Hey now, I know we don’t hang out every Friday, but we do communicate and I’m fairly sure you would have told me if you were seriously seeing someone, especially the individual who exposed our cover to the whole world.”
“Maybe that’s why I didn’t tell you. Hooking up with Kate isn’t the most logical move I’ve ever made.” That was an understatement, to say the least. But he’d committed to this path, and he didn’t intend to back away. “If I’d asked for your opinion you might not have given the answer I wanted to hear.”
“Perhaps you have a point there.” Tony’s laughter faded. “So you really kept this relationship a secret for months? You’ve actually fallen for someone?”
Bottom line, he should tell Antonio about the setup. He and his brothers didn’t live close by. They’d only had each other growing up, which led them to share a lot, trust only each other.
Yet, for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to spill his guts about this. “As I said, we’re engaged. Wait until you meet her.”
“Hanging out with reporters has never been high on my list of fun ways to spend an evening. You sure you’re not just looking to poke the old man in the eye?”
Dropping into an armchair and propping a foot on the brocade sofa, he considered Tony’s question to see if deep down there was some validity, then quickly dismissed the possibility. It gave his father too much control over his life.
Being with Kate appeared to be more complex than some belated rebellion against his dad. “He will be charmed by her no-B.S. attitude. What’s the word from Carlos?”
Their oldest brother kept to himself even more than their father did, immersed in his medical practice rather than on some island. It could well be hours before they heard from Carlos, given the sorts of painstaking reconstructive surgeries he performed on children.
“He’s his regular workaholic self. Says he’ll get to the island for the wedding, and that he will call Dad at the island clinic. God, I hope the old man can hold on long enough for Carlos to decide he can leave his patients. I’d considered moving up the wedding, but…”
“Enrique insists plans stay in place.” His father was stubborn, and he didn’t like surprises. For security purposes he preferred life remain as scheduled as possible. Life threw enough curveballs of its own.
Tony rambled on with updates about travel and wed ding details. Duarte started to rib his brother over mentioning flower choices for the bride’s bouquet—
Across the suite, Kate walked through the door in a knee-length nightshirt. His brain shut down all other thoughts and blood surged south.
“My brother,” Duarte interrupted. “I’ll get back to you later about my travel plans. I need to hang up.”
Kate twisted her hair into a wet rope and hurried barefoot into the sitting area connecting her bedroom to Duarte’s.
Almost certainly she should have gone straight to sleep after her conversation with Harold. Except her editor’s threat of plastering Jennifer’s picture all over a tabloid story sent bile frothing up Kate’s throat. She’d played it cool on the phone while reminding Harold of how much she could deliver. Then she’d cut the conversation sho
rt rather than risk losing her temper.
Before she could think, she’d rushed to the door, knowing only that she needed the reassurance of Duarte’s unflappable calm.
Setting aside his iPhone, he kept his eyes firmly planted on her. “I’m sorry my assistant forgot to order night wear. The hotel does supply complimentary robes.”
“Your assistant didn’t forget. This belongs to me. I had it tucked away in my camera case.” Kate tugged the hem of her well-worn sleep shirt down to her knees. A picture of a camera marked the middle, words below stating Don’t Be Negative. “Did everything go all right with your phone call?”
Hopefully his was less upsetting than hers.
“My father has taken a turn for the worse.” His body rippled with tension, his hands gripping the carved wood arms of his manor chair. “He has developed pneumonia. And yes, you can leak that to the press if you wish.”
Her heart ached that he had to suspect her motives when she only wanted to comfort him. He seemed so distant in his tux against the backdrop of formal damask wallpaper. She searched for the right words to reach him.
“I wasn’t thinking about my job. I was asking because you look worried.” Seeing the shutters fall, Kate padded past the brocade sofa to the fireplace. She held her chilly hands in front of the blaze. “What do you plan to do?”
“Let’s talk about something else.”
Like what? She wasn’t in the mood for superficial discussions about art. How long could they shoot the breeze about the oil paintings in her room, or the lithographs in his? She’d noticed sailing art in his Martha’s Vineyard quarters. Maybe there could be something to those lighter conversations, and certainly she could use the distraction from worries about Jennifer.
“Hey,” Duarte said softly from behind her.
She hadn’t even heard him move.
The cedar scent of his aftershave sent her mind swirling with memories of how close they’d come to having sex in the elevator. She’d wanted him so much. The fire he’d stirred simmered still, just waiting to be rekindled. She was surprised to find herself with him so soon after. Had she come back in here purposely? Had she used her frustration over the call from Harold as an excuse to indulge what she wanted?
His Thirty-Day Fiancée Page 8