It had been one solid week since she’d left Alma and he hadn’t heard from her since. What was she doing? Had she gone back to her work routine as if they hadn’t happened? As if the time they’d shared together was nothing more than a passing fling?
He couldn’t believe that. Something was up with her. He felt it deep down in his soul that something had happened to Portia to make her deny their love and break off their engagement. Juan Carlos had waited patiently all week to hear from her, anticipating a call that had never come, and his patience was at an end. Now he was taking matters into his own hands. He knew enough about relationships to know women liked to be pursued. They liked to have men come after them. Maybe Portia was testing him? Maybe she’d expected him to come running and convince her she’d been wrong?
If only it would be that easy.
But he had to try.
Outside of his bodyguards, he hadn’t told a soul of their breakup. He couldn’t bring himself to share the news so soon after publicly announcing their happy engagement. He had hopes of winning Portia back, hopes of restoring their love. He’d vowed to bring honor and credibility back to the monarchy of Alma as well as to carry out his grandmother Isabella’s dying wishes for the country. He wanted, needed Portia by his side. He and Portia belonged together. She was the love of his life.
Living without her would only be half a life.
Hours later, the plane touched down in Los Angeles, a place Juan Carlos had visited often. But this time, he had more than business to attend to—he had come to retrieve his woman. He’d managed to get a few winks of sleep, shaved and changed his crumpled clothes while they were in the air. Now he felt human again and more like himself, rather than the shell of the man he’d been this past week. Dressed in a slate-gray suit and neatly groomed, he planned on sweeping his princess off her feet again.
Returning home without her wasn’t an option.
“Are you ready, Your Highness?” Eduardo asked, rising from his seat.
“Yes, and you have our little surprise all set?” he asked.
“I do. If it doesn’t help your cause,” Eduardo said, grinning, “nothing will.”
Juan Carlos nodded. He couldn’t disagree.
* * *
A frozen waffle popped up out of the toaster and Portia set it next to the scrambled eggs on her plate. She doused the waffle with maple syrup, grabbed a fork and took the plate over to the kitchen table. Breakfast for dinner was always an option when one didn’t have the stomach to really cook. Or eat for that matter. Her belly squeezed tight as she looked at the food. She’d promised Jasmine she would eat something tonight.
Her friend had apologized profusely for breaking their dinner date. Jas had planned to cook a roast prime rib tonight, her specialty. They were going to do it up right with champagne and soufflé, and have a fun girls’ night watching Turner Classic Movies on television. It was the only reason Portia had put on a dress, instead of wearing her usual comfy gray sweats. She didn’t want to disappoint her friend.
“Poor Jas.” She’d come down with a bug. Hopefully it wasn’t the flu. Portia felt a little guilty about it, having dominated a lot of her time lately. Jasmine had been the best friend she could ever hope to have. Every day she’d come over to help Portia clean out her closets or rearrange furniture or cook a meal. Jasmine would bring in Mexican food on Taco Tuesdays and play card games with her until very late at night. She understood Portia needed to kill time so she didn’t have to think too hard.
Now her friend was sick.
“For you, Jas, I’m going to eat this.” She took a bite of her eggs and chewed and chewed. The eggs went down like rubber. She’d overcooked them again.
The waffle wasn’t much better. It was still frozen in the center. Two bites later, she figured she’d fulfilled her promise and took her dish to the sink, dumping the contents down the garbage disposal.
Now what? She glanced around the condo. It was spotless. She’d been cleaning all week long. She had no official work to do. She hadn’t been back to the office yet—they weren’t expecting her anyway since she’d taken a three-month leave to deal with wedding plans and her new life as wife to a king.
She’d truly questioned whether to go back to her job. Could she continue with the pretense? How could she go back, when her friends and associates still believed her to be Princess Portia of Samforstand? Could she go about her life, living the lie? And what if she decided it was impossible to resume her life as usual? What if she revealed all the lies about herself and her family? What would that mean for Juan Carlos? His humiliation would be monumental. He would hate her. And appear a fool, a man easily duped.
She was at a crossroads in her life, and didn’t know which way to proceed.
No one could possibly know how she felt right now. She was a phony, a fraud and an imposter. Jasmine kept telling her it wasn’t her fault and no one would blame her if the truth got out. But Portia didn’t know who she was anymore. Her life had been ripped out from under her. She felt at odds, lonely and bereft. Her emotions were all over the place. Anger took up residence, but sympathy crept in sometimes, as she imagined her family’s plight after the war. Still, those emotions didn’t come close to the emptiness she felt deep inside her heart. Because of something that had happened decades ago, she had had to give up the man she loved. The price was high, costing her her happiness.
The doorbell chimed and she jumped. “Who could that be?” she whispered. Surely, Jasmine wouldn’t come out tonight. She was in bed with a fever.
Portia had a mind not to open the door, but the bell chimed once again and her curiosity had her heading to the front door.
She stuck her face up to the peephole and gazed out.
“Eduardo?” What on earth was he doing here?
“Si, Princess, it’s me.”
She cringed at his reverent greeting. She didn’t deserve to be called Princess. The chain lock allowed her to open the door three inches. She peered out and he smiled wide. “Hello.”
Eduardo had become her friend. Seeing this solid block of a man on her doorstep was a welcome sight.
“Hi.”
“Will you open the door for me?”
“Oh...of course.” She undid the chain and opened the door.
Eduardo stood rooted to the spot. “Are you alone, Princess?”
“Yes, I am alone. Why?”
“I had to ask as it is my duty to protect the king. It’s good to see you, but I am here on official bus—”
Juan Carlos stepped into her line of vision from a place on the porch that had concealed him. “Thank you, Eduardo. I’ll take it from here.”
Portia’s mouth dropped open. She blinked and started trembling. “Juan Carlos.”
He held a cat carrier in his hand. “Before you say anything, I brought you a gift. Well, two gifts. May I come in?”
With a lump in her throat, she looked away from Juan Carlos’s face to the two kittens from Duchess’s litter she’d appropriately named Mischief and Mallow. The kittens—one black and gray and mostly all trouble and the other almost all white with spots of caramel color here and there looking like a toasted marshmallow—were sleeping, curled up into little balls of fluff. Mallow’s head rested on Mischief’s body. Their sweetness brought a tear to her eye.
“Juan Carlos, you...you brought them,” she said, touched by the thoughtful gesture. Words she wanted to say tightened in her throat and wouldn’t come out. Initially, her heart had lurched when she spotted Juan Carlos, though he looked worn out. His eyes were rimmed with red—from sleepless nights? His handsome face looked haggard, as if he’d been through a war and his hair, while combed, needed a cut. She should have known he wouldn’t take no very easily. He wasn’t a man easily dissuaded. It was one of the qualities she loved most about him. “You didn’t need to do that,” she said,
finally realizing she wasn’t up to caring for pets. She’d barely been able to care for herself lately.
“I figured you might like the company. They are yours as much as they are mine.”
She gazed into his solemn eyes. “Come in,” she said.
She’d been engaged to a man who had never stepped foot into her home. How telling was that? An impetuous engagement, even though love was involved, wasn’t an ideal way to start a relationship. She understood that now. During the coronation and then while living at the farmhouse searching for hidden treasures, they’d lived in a fantasy world, untouched by outside influences. It wasn’t reality.
Juan Carlos stepped inside and glanced around, taking in the details of her home. “It’s as beautiful as you are, Portia. I wouldn’t expect any less.”
“Thank you,” she said. Her heart thumped hard in her chest. Thankfully, Eduardo’s presence helped defuse the situation at the moment. She peered over Juan Carlos’s shoulder. “Eduardo, would you like to come inside?”
She’d spent enough time with Juan Carlos and his bodyguards to know what Eduardo’s answer had to be. He would be securing the premises and standing watch outside. “I wish I could, Your Highness,” he said. “Thank you, but I will be right out here.”
It was just as she’d suspected. “Okay, I understand.” She turned to Juan Carlos and pasted on a false smile. “Surely, you and I both know that bringing me the kittens wasn’t the reason you’ve come.”
“But you’re glad I did?”
She glanced at the sleeping kittens. “I’m glad to see them. They are sweet and I did...miss them.” She cleared her throat. She couldn’t admit she’d missed Juan Carlos also. “They’ve been weaned from Duchess, I’m assuming?”
He nodded. “Early this week. Where shall I put them?”
“A good question. If you’d called and asked me I would’ve told you not to bring them, Juan Carlos,” she said softly. “I’m not equipped to care for them.”
“I’ll take them back to Alma with me, if you prefer.” His back stiffened a little.
“No, no. Now that they’re here, I can’t turn them away. I... They’re special to me.”
Juan Carlos set the cat carrier down on the floor of the foyer. When he returned his gaze to hers, his eyes bored into her. “I had hoped you would say the same of me, sweetheart.”
Her eyes closed at his hopeful plea. “You shouldn’t have come, Juan Carlos.”
“I couldn’t stay away. It’s not finished between us.”
She sighed. “It has to be. We’re not right for each other.”
He approached her and heaven save her, her pulse accelerated as he laid his palm on her cheek. She lifted her eyes to his. His heavy expression softened, as if touching her made all the difference. As if a light inside him was turned back on. “Not true. We’re good together. We’re meant for each other. I am here. Don’t turn me away, Portia. I would hope I am special to you, as well.”
His gaze dipped to her mouth. She swallowed. Oh, God, the pull, the magnetic force of his love surrounded her like a protective shield. She didn’t know where she found the will to back up a step, and then another. She couldn’t hide her emotions or the passion he instilled and as she moved, he moved with her, thrusting his body against hers until her backside met with the wall.
“I’ve come a long way for you, Portia.” His hands braced the wall, trapping her, so that she could only stare into his face and see his truth. “I’ve waited my entire life.”
His sweet, sincere words stymied any defenses she could muster. She put her hands on his chest but instead of shoving him away as she’d planned, her fingertips clung onto his shirt and her palms flattened against him. His breath hitched from her touch, and his immediate reaction to her nearly buckled her knees. How could she not love this man? How could she turn him away now?
“I came here to talk to you, sweetheart.”
She whispered, “Is that what you’re doing to me? Talking?”
He flashed a charming, inescapable smile. “Maybe showing is better than telling, after all.”
Then his mouth swooped over hers and claimed her in a breath-stealing kiss. His lips were rough but not unkind, wild but not crazy, sexy but not demanding. Caught up in the kiss, she couldn’t think beyond the pleasure he evoked. The love she’d tried to bury was resurrected and she fell deeper in love with this man, this honorable king who had come for her.
She’d missed him and didn’t know how much until this very second.
His tongue played over her lips and she opened for him. Sweeping inside her mouth, he kissed her again and again. A fire was building in her belly. She was past the point of refusal.
She was putty. He could do with her what he liked.
And she would enjoy every second.
She was lifted, floating on air now, held by two strong arms. She wrapped herself around his body, nestling her head into his chest. “Where’s your bed, Portia?”
She pointed to the doorway down the hall.
His strides were long and determined and steady.
He continued to kiss her without missing a step.
Juan Carlos set Portia down on a ruffled lavender bedspread. Matching pillows, some big, some small, surrounded her head. He did a quick scan of her room decorated in soft whimsical colors. Wispy white curtains covered the windows and modern pieces of art, mostly pastels and some oils, adorned the walls. It was so Portia: soft, delicate, sweet.
God, he loved her.
And he wasn’t going to leave here without her.
She was his prize, his love, the treasure he couldn’t live without.
He unbuttoned his shirt, spread it wide across his chest and then gave it a toss. He kicked off his shoes and socks and gazed into her eyes as he unfastened his belt.
Her brows lifted, her lips parted slightly and a sharp breathy gasp escaped her lips. Her hungry expression softened his heart, but made every other part of his body hard. He had one night to change her mind. He wouldn’t waste a minute. He took her hand and lifted her to her knees. “Come here, sweetheart,” he demanded. “Touch me. Put your hands on my body.”
Another gasp ripped from her lips and she moved to him. She wore a simple black dress with thin straps and short hemline. It adorned her breasts with just enough material to tempt him beyond belief. He ached to touch her, to shed her clothes and join their bodies, but first, he had to make her see how much she needed him, too. How perfect he was for her.
Her hands came to his torso and he gritted his teeth. She explored the breadth of him, tracing her fingertips over his chest, and then kissed everywhere her fingers had just touched. His body flamed; it was almost too much to bear. She was proving to him that they belonged together.
“Your touch is like no other, Portia. You know that. See what you do to me.”
“We are good here, in bed, Juan Carlos,” she whispered.
“We are good everywhere, sweetheart. Why do you fight me on this?”
She turned her face from him and disengaged, and he knew he’d pushed her too far. Something was eating at her. Something was making her hold back from him. “Don’t retreat,” he whispered. He couldn’t let her think. Couldn’t let whatever notions she had in her head continue to separate them.
He sank down on the bed beside her and unleashed his love for her, stripping down her defenses, loving her with everything he had inside. Holding her steady with one hand, he eased her dress off with the other, baring her upper body. He cupped her breasts, made love to them with his mouth and tongue and was rewarded with sighs of pleasure, little throaty moans of delight. Her throat, her chin, her lips. He devoured them all while covering her body with his. She arched her hips and they moved in the same unique rhythm, thrusting, aching, groaning until he couldn’t take another second. He joined their bodi
es, pushing through her mental defenses and bringing them skin to skin.
Her eyes closed to the pleasure, her face beautifully masked in satisfaction. He thrust into her deep and long. It was hot and damp and sweaty and when he sensed her readiness, he called her name. “Portia.” Her eyes snapped open. He stared into them and announced, “This is our place.”
Connected by more than their bodies, she sighed and nodded her head.
Then he brought her home.
* * *
Early dawn broke through the curtains and Juan Carlos smiled in his drowsy state, his eyes still closed as images of making love to Portia flashed in his head. God, how he’d missed her. And now she was where she belonged. With him. After the night they’d shared, he hoped he’d convinced her that she loved him, he loved her and whatever was bothering her could be worked out and put to rest. It wasn’t rocket science. Perhaps he’d pushed her too far early in their relationship. They’d only known each other for weeks. Not the months or years some take to cement their connection. She’d gotten cold feet. Any problems that arose could be dealt with. He couldn’t see a reason why they shouldn’t live their lives together. They’d made love twice during the night, and the second time had been even more thrilling and revelatory than the first. No one could tell him that Portia didn’t love him. She’d displayed that in the way she’d taken the initiative, kissed him, touched him and made love to his body.
It was good, so good, between them. In all ways.
Juan Carlos rolled over to cradle her in his arms. They’d welcome the day together. But his hands hit upon cold sheets. He squeezed his eyes open. Portia was gone, her half of the bed empty. Was she always an early riser? He didn’t know. They’d spent time together at the farmhouse in Alma on his schedule, not hers. There were still things they needed to learn about each other.
He hinged his body up, eager to see her. Eager to kiss her. Rising from the bed, he dressed in his trousers and shirt, ran a hand through his hair to comb down the spiky ends and then padded out of the room.
A Royal Temptation Page 14