Prince's Son of Scandal

by Dani Collins

  “That was insane,” Xavier said, not dropping his protective hold across her back.

  “Small wonder I’ve never been on a date before, isn’t it? We’re a nightmare to take anywhere.”

  Surprise loosened his clean-shaven jaw. “You never dated? At all?”

  “Well, there was this one stranger I met in Paris.” She gave him a cheeky wink and made a tiny adjustment to his boutonniere. It was a delicate creation of spotted feather and red-throated orchid with a lacy fern frond behind it. She deliberately avoided looking at the red sash that scored his chest, announcing his station—the role that was more important than she could ever hope to be.

  “Seriously? I’m the only one?”

  She shrugged. “One of Ramon’s friends recovered from a crash at Sus Brazos two years ago. I ate dinner with him by the pool a few times. We kissed once, but it was...”

  “What?” His fingers dug into her hip, something flashing in his eyes as his expression grew unreadable. She wouldn’t let herself believe it was possessiveness.

  “Nothing. Over before it started. Like you and me.” Affair, pregnancy, marriage. They were all slipping like sand through her fingers, refusing to be slowed. “But thank you for coming with me tonight. I should have said that before. I was dreading coming alone and having to dodge awkward questions about our marriage.”

  She made herself smile and meet his eyes as she started to step out of his embrace. His arm hardened.

  “The things I’m still learning about you,” he muttered. The fingers of his free hand looped around her wrist. He looked across the room, expression tight then came back, fierce and hot. “I hate this, bella. We had one damned night that was perfect. The only regret I had was that I didn’t have more time to get to know you better and now we have time and we’re wasting it.”

  Edginess came off him in waves, rattling whatever defenses she still managed to hold up against him. Her bottom lip grew wobbly and she had to tuck it between her teeth. “I thought you were just putting the time in, waiting for us to be over.”

  “No.” He shook his head, voice deepening. “No, I’m... I’m trying to protect you.”

  “Oh, Xavier.” She sighed. “I’m tired of being protected. That’s why I slept with you. I wanted to feel what other people feel. The ones who aren’t sitting in a vault waiting for their lives to start. I wanted to flirt. Feel pretty. Dance.”

  “Go on a date?”

  “Yes.”

  His thumb stroked the thin skin inside her wrist. “This is a date.”

  Not a real one, she thought. People who went on dates were hopeful of a future. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. She forced herself to make a face of forbearance as she said, “It’s not dinner and a movie, but I suppose it will do.”

  His expression relaxed, lips twitching. “Too cliché. I’ve brought you star gazing.” He deliberately let his attention scan the growing crowd of celebrities.

  Relief as much as amusement sent laughter bursting out of her. She slid her arm around him, hugging herself into him as lightness filled her. “If you promise to have me home by curfew, then yes, I would love to be your date.”

  * * *

  Over before we started.

  These last few days had given Xavier an unprecedented glimpse into Trella’s world. She was right. All too soon they would be strangers again. He couldn’t countenance it. Like his last night of freedom in Paris, he was compelled to grasp this chance with her.

  Unlike Paris, he couldn’t steal her away and it was delicious torture standing beside her, setting a subtly possessive touch upon her, but unable to do more. All the while, he fell under her spell, as did everyone she spoke to.

  It was humbling, in a good way, to be with a woman whose attention was as valuable as his own. Rather than having to consciously include her in a conversation, they operated as a unit. One minute she introduced him to a family friend with a pedigree that matched his own, the next he was catching up with a diplomat he’d dealt with in the past whose wife was a client at Maison des Jumeaux.

  Then they were interrupted and she threw herself into a man’s arms. “Sadiq!”

  The man’s wife, who happened to be Kasim’s sister, Xavier learned, was clearly a close friend, too. They spoke with the couple for a long time, until Xavier couldn’t wait to dance with Trella again.

  “Explain to me exactly how he saved you?” He prompted when they were on the floor.

  “Hacking.” She glanced around as she said it. “We’re not supposed to talk about it. He still does some high-level work on the side. He found out where I was being held and alerted the police.”

  “How old was he?”

  “Fifteen. Crazy to think of, isn’t it? He didn’t know us very well, either, just had some classes with the boys. I think it was the challenge of it. He’s stubborn that way. It definitely wasn’t a desire to be a hero because you can see how self-effacing he is. But he wanted to help and persevered until he had something. Every time I see him, I’m reminded that he gave me this life and I should be grateful for it. Not waste it.”

  She met his eyes as she echoed what he had said earlier, but he read the deeper question in the longing look she gave him. They’d been engaging in subtle foreplay all night, not pawing each other, but neither shy about taking the other’s hand or pressing close. He’d watched her nipples harden and heard her breath catch and felt the goosebumps that rose on her arms under the brush of his hand.

  God knew he was aroused just by her nearness, never mind the scent that had hardwired itself into him or the way watching her quick mouth as she talked and laughed made him want to kiss the hell out of her.

  He touched her chin then couldn’t resist letting the backs of his fingers slide down the heat of her soft throat. As he let two fingertips rest on her pulse, the one that confirmed she was alive when she might very well have been lost and he never would have known her at all, he wondered how the hell he was ever going to say no to her again.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  TRELLA CHECKED ON Tyrol as soon as they arrived at the mansion. He was sleeping soundly, completely oblivious to the potential shift in his parents’ relationship.

  As she stood over him, she thought of all the reasons her marriage was impossible. Progeny, publicity, even Xavier’s rejection of love over duty. His refusal to open himself to love.

  She thought of all the ways she was broken, but miracles happened. This tiny boy, for instance. She owed it to him to try with his father, didn’t she? Really try to reach his heart?

  Was it a rationalization? Perhaps. She couldn’t deny that lust was alive and well inside her, but so was something deeper and more nascent. She didn’t want to believe it was love. Not yet. Not when she was about to risk rejection. Not when there was every chance she would have to spend her life yearning for a man who might very well be incapable of the emotion.

  “How is he?” Xavier asked in a whisper, coming up behind her.

  His need to see his son fed her hope that he was more than capable of deeper feelings.

  “Perfect,” she answered, watching his profile soften as he looked at Tyrol.

  “He is,” he agreed, turning up the flame of desire inside her.

  She led him from the room, heart hammering, and went to his room, not her own.

  “Bella,” he protested as he followed, but stayed in the open door, backlit by the light from over the stairs.

  “Close the door, please.”

  He sucked in a long breath, like he needed it to face a Herculean task. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

  “I don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of the guard in the hall.”

  He pushed the door shut and leaned on it, breath hissing out. He was a dark shadow in the unlit room. She saw his fist close against the hardwood next to h
is thigh.

  “Can you even make love?”

  “As of midnight, yes,” she said ruefully.

  His head thumped back against the door. He swore. “You know this is impossible. You know—”

  “I do.” She went to him and picked up that rock hard fist, gently rubbing his fingers, trying to coax the tension from his hand. “But who else am I going to have sex with? Hmm? Who else do I trust with myself?”

  “I still don’t understand why you ever did.”

  She kissed his fingers. “Because no one else makes me feel like this.” She set his open hand above her breast, where her heart raced. “If it’s not the same for you—”

  “It is, damn you.” He hooked his hand behind her neck and dragged her closer, voice growing hoarse. “No one else has ever—”

  He covered her mouth with his, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say.

  She didn’t care. All she cared about was being up against his lean, powerful body, feeling him devour her mouth as though it was the only thing he would ever need. It was an onslaught, his hand shifting to her hair to drag her head back. His other arm crushed her into him while his lips ravaged and his tongue invaded.

  Her heart knocked into her rib cage, sending sweet pulse beats through her arteries, weakening her limbs. She felt helpless, but not to him. To this yearning. Lethargy stole her strength when she longed to cling to him. All she could manage was to crush the edges of his jacket in her fists and moan into his mouth.

  He made a jagged noise and dragged his teeth along her generous lower lip, tugging then releasing. “I’m being too rough.”

  “I need to know you feel the same. I want you so bad. You have no idea.”

  “I do.” Another rough noise scraped from his throat. He dragged up the skirt of her gown, so when he picked her up as he pushed off the door, her legs were free to twine around his waist.

  “But it’s only lust, bella. Tell me you understand that.”

  She was on the verge of laughing, loving his easy strength. Her self-assurance slipped a notch, but she could feel him hard and straining between her legs. It was too beguiling to ignore, making her tighten her arms and legs, trying to increase the pressure there. “Whatever it is, I need it.”

  He walked her unerringly to the bed and came down to settle his weight on her, mouth sealing to hers again. Writhing under him, she tried to touch all of him with her whole body, tried to drag his clothes out of the way while searching for hot naked skin.

  “Slow down.” He grabbed her hands and pinned them over her head, then dragged his mouth along her jaw, down her throat and bared her breast for his fierce gaze. “This will not end before it starts.” He used his teeth on the swell of her breast, making her shudder. “I’ve fantasized about it too many times to rush now that I have you where I want you.”

  A surge of moisture hit her loins. “I think about us when I’m in the bath.”

  He lifted his head and with a hiss said, “You witch.” He levered up and rolled her over, swept her hair out of the way then slowly tugged open the ties behind her neck. “Tell me exactly what you do when you’re in the bath.” He set kisses down her spine. “Be specific.”

  “I could show you.” She lifted into his hardness.

  He grasped her hip and met her pressure with thrusts of his own, breaths thick and animalistic as he ground his erection into her soft cheeks. Then he slid a hand under her bunched skirt and across her stomach, fingers delving beneath her silk panties as he settled on her again. “Keep moving,” he said, gently sawing two fingertips between her damp lips, mouth planting wet kisses on her nape. “Show me how much you want me.”

  She did. She rocked herself between his hand and his heavy hips until she was trembling with desire. She stopped, shaking with arousal. “I’m so close. I want to feel you inside me.”

  “Not yet.” He shifted and settled his hand deeper, so his fingers slid inside her, so satisfying yet maddening. “Keep going.”

  Helpless to her own body, she did, until she was releasing broken cries, fists clenching the blankets, body clasping uncontrollably at his penetration, shivering and completely lost. Utterly his.

  “So good,” he said, licking between her shoulder blades, still mimicking lovemaking with light thrusts of his hips, drawing out her orgasm as he kept his hand in place. “I want you in a thousand ways. There will never be enough time for how much I want you.”

  And he called it only lust?

  She pushed against the mattress, trying to twist beneath him. He withdrew his hand, but hooked his fingers in her panties and pulled them down and off, sitting up on the edge of the bed to throw them away, then he shrugged off his jacket and kicked off his shoes.

  She knelt behind him and reached to work down the buttons of his shirt. He turned his head to catch at her mouth with his, easily distracting her. Their tongues met and the heat kept growing, not appeased in the least. She sobbed and he turned to scrape his hands down her shoulders, brushing her gown away so she knelt in a puddle of near-black velvet.

  He stood then, chest expanding in deliberate breaths between the edges of his open shirt, as if he strained to keep control of himself. “Don’t ever ask me again if you’re beautiful. Know it, bella. You are the kind of beautiful that could topple a kingdom.”

  He reached out and wound her hair around his hand then bent to kiss her.

  She tried to balance the bitter with sweetness in her own kiss, but her desire was too potent. It was all lust. He pulled back to yank his pants open then stripped, checking for a moment with one hand and reaching toward the night table.

  “I can’t get pregnant,” she reminded.

  He snorted and found a condom anyway, tearing it open with his teeth.

  It shouldn’t have made her want to cry, but it did.

  “Bella,” he chided as he pressed her flat and used a knee to part her legs, “I’m protecting you.”

  It didn’t feel like it. But when he stroked his tip against her, hot and beguiling, he seemed to send electric lines of pleasure radiating through her. She forgot to be outraged or hurt. She set her hands on either side of his head and kissed him. Extravagantly. Invitingly.

  And when he sank into her, it was her turn to bite his lip and groan.

  “I’m going to make it last,” he said into her mouth. “All night.”

  “Yes, please...”

  * * *

  Mario met them as they entered the palace. He smiled benignly at Tyrol, who was fussy after the travel, and said to Xavier, “The Queen expects you. She’d like to hear about Australia.”

  Completely attuned to her husband after their night of lovemaking, Trella felt his surreptitious sigh.

  “Of course.” He glanced at Trella from eyes bruised by their sleepless night. “Eat. Get some rest.”

  She nodded and followed his retreat with her gaze, feeling as though he took her heart and spun it out like twine behind him.

  All of her felt undone and achy. They’d had one conversation in the dawn light, bodies still damp with exertion, while her nerve endings had still been singing with joy.

  “You know this doesn’t change what has to happen.” His voice had been grave, his body steely against hers.

  She had shifted her head on his shoulder. “I know. But I’m not sorry. Are you?”

  “I’m trying to be.”

  She had turned her lips in to his throat and they had started all over again.

  “Gerta can take the Prince up to the nursery, Ms. Sauveterre,” Mario said as they arrived on the second floor.

  Signora Deunoro, Trella longed to say, but it had been agreed from the outset that she would not change her name. After Tyrol’s christening, she was to receive an honorific title of Dama, the lowest of Elazar’s ranks. A future monarch could not have a pa
rent who was common.

  “I’ll keep him. He’s having an off day.” And she was feeling neglectful after leaving him in Gerta’s care during the wedding last night. “You go settle in,” she said, since Gerta hadn’t actually seen where she would be living in the palace. “I’ll bring him when he’s ready for a long nap.”

  With a curtsy, Gerta followed Mario’s direction to the nursery level while Trella turned toward the room she’d occupied before she’d gone into the hospital, the ones adjoined to Xavier’s.

  Mario cleared his throat. “You’re in the dowager’s wing now, Ms. Sauveterre.”

  This doesn’t change what has to happen.

  Speechless, composure fraying, she let Mario escort her across the gallery, through a pair of doors, down a long hall where paintings of Xavier’s ancestors watched her progress in silent judgment, and through another set of doors.

  The temperature grew cooler as they walked. Tyrol’s fussy cries echoed off the high ceiling with the sounds of their footsteps. She didn’t try to soothe him, just let him express exactly what she was feeling, and was viciously pleased to see Mario’s obsequious expression grow more and more strained.

  She understood that the dowager’s wing had been deliberately placed to provide as much distance as possible between former queens and new ones. It wasn’t a horrible place. It had been prepared for her occupancy with cheerful floral arrangements, a new sofa and her very own lady’s maid, Adona, who was eager to prepare her some soup.

  Mario offered a quick tour, pointing to a bright, empty room as a potential studio, if she wanted to provide a list of items she would like placed there.

  “A crib and a change table,” Trella said, growing as fractious as her son. “Tyrol needs a nursery.”

  Mario tilted his head in a way that was unbearably condescending. “Royalty inhabits the royal wing.”

  “I see.” She sat on the sofa and dug in her shoulder bag for the receiving blanket she carried. She shook it out with a snap then tucked a corner into her collar as she met Mario’s gaze with a challenging one of her own. “And do I go on safari to the nursery to feed him? Or does he exercise his lungs through the palace every two hours as he is brought to me?”