Waking Up In His Royal Bed

by Kim Lawrence

  As her climax came within reach Beatrice felt she was about to shatter into a thousand pieces. It was too much, too intense, then as it hit she was not broken, but miraculously whole again. She lost herself in the feeling as wave after wave of pleasure rippled along every individual nerve ending in her body.

  After it ended, and he lay breathing hard on top of her, responding to a primal need to extend this intimacy, she wrapped her arms around his waist and whispered fiercely, ‘Stay,’ against the damp skin of his neck.

  He kissed her and pulled her head onto his chest and they lay, still joined, until she felt him stir inside her.

  Her wide eyes flicked to his face so close to her own.

  ‘You make me hungry, cara.’

  ‘You make me greedy.’

  Later that night they made love again, slower and with infinite tenderness, exploring each other’s bodies with an endless fascination. The lightest touch of his hand and mouth made her body vibrate with pleasure. She sobbed with the intensity of it and every touch was heightened by the shattering depth, the sheer intensity of emotions that accompanied each brush of her skin.

  When the deep release came it took her a long time to float back to earth.

  Did she say, ‘I love you,’ over and over as she sobbed or was that part a dream?

  Beatrice was not sure.

  Dante did not sleep. Beatrice lay sleeping in his arms. His heart contracted when he looked at the perfect beauty of her face. It was hard feeling what he did when he looked at her, to hold on to the lie he told himself that what they shared was just sex, but it would never be just anything with Beatrice. He might try and deny it but deep down he had always known that. He felt a fool that he had ever imagined he could treat Beatrice like other women. She had always been different, she had always made him feel… Jaw clenched, he blocked the thought process before it led him to a place he was not ready to go, a truth he was not ready to see.

  A man could change; she had made him believe that, because against all the odds she believed in him. As he looked down at the woman lying like a sleeping angel in his arms, he vowed to deserve her faith.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  IT WAS STILL dark when Dante sliding away from her woke Beatrice. She stretched and stopped, the memories that explained the stiffness of her muscles flooding back. She reached out in the dark, her hand touching the smooth warm skin of his back.

  Seated on the edge of the bed, he responded to her sleepy murmur of protest with a kiss that deepened as her lips softened beneath the pressure before he pulled away abruptly.

  Suddenly cold even though the air was warm, she shivered.

  ‘Who has a conference call in the middle of the night?’ she complained, raising herself on one elbow and pushing the silky skein of hair from her sleepy eyes, desire ribboning through her and settling heavy and low in her abdomen as she smelt him on her skin.

  ‘The half of the world that has been awake hours. It is what living in a global economy is all about, and it is not night…’

  He heard her reach out for the lamp and covered her hand with his. ‘No, leave it.’ If he saw her, read the sultry invitation in her eyes and remembered feeling the aftershocks of her climax as they’d stayed joined as one, he was pretty sure that he would never get to that call.

  She ignored him—of course she did.

  She looked every bit as wanton and glorious as he had imagined as she sat there, her perfect breasts partially concealed by her hair.

  She pouted. ‘I don’t want to be awake.’ She didn’t want the night to end; she knew it would, she just didn’t want to think about it yet.

  He slanted a kiss across her lips, the touch making her shiver, and flicked off the light.

  ‘Then go back to sleep.’

  It was a week later that Dante walked into the drawing room just as a young woman was walking out. This was the second time this week he had managed to arrange his day to include lunch with Beatrice.

  On one level he couldn’t believe he was trying to earn brownie points from his own wife, but amazingly he actually found that his new schedule made him more productive.

  ‘Who was that?’

  ‘My new PA.’

  His eye-framing dark brows lifted. ‘You are not letting the grass grow under your feet.’

  ‘She came highly recommended.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘Jacintha.’

  His brow furrowed as he loosened his tie. ‘Who is Jacintha, again?’

  ‘The maid. The one with the red hair and cool glasses.’

  ‘You hired a PA on the say-so of a maid?’

  ‘Should I have run it past you?’ she challenged.

  ‘Not at all.’

  She smiled. ‘Well, Jacintha’s recommendation, and those of her previous employers.’ She gave a small smug smile as she listed them, watching his eyes widen. ‘I know working for me does seem like a step down, but she wants to come home because her mother has a heart condition. The best thing is she is not related even by marriage to any of the families.’ It did not take long to figure out that most of the top positions in the palace were given to relatives or cronies of a handful of historically powerful San Macizan families.

  ‘This will cause a storm in a champagne glass, you know that?’ he mused, watching her face with a half-smile as he perched on the edge of the polished mahogany desk and began to leaf through the diary that lay open. ‘Wow, you have hit the ground running,’ he remarked as he skimmed through the entries written in her distinctive hand. ‘Oh, leave Tuesday morning free. I’ve made an appointment with the obstetrician and—’ He stopped and leaned in closer as he reread the most recent entry that had caught his attention before he stabbed it with his finger. ‘What is this?’

  ‘What is what?’ she asked, not understanding the ice in his voice.

  ‘“Fun run, five K, fancy dress optional”,’ he read out.

  ‘Oh, that’s Lara. She rang earlier. She is organising a fun run for the children’s hospice. I agreed to take part.’

  ‘That is out of the question.’ The diary closed with a decisive click and he was on his feet looking tall, austere, and oozing simmering disapproval while inside his gut was churning with visceral fear.

  She clung to her temper and reminded herself that this fragile peace between them required concessions on both sides. ‘I don’t have to wear fancy dress.’

  ‘Running five K is a reckless risk in your condition.’

  Her lips tightened as she pushed out her chin to an aggressive angle and, hands on her hips, stalked towards him, stopping a couple of feet away. ‘There is nothing reckless about it. It is basically a fun jog or walk for a good cause, and I will enjoy it!’

  ‘The risk is too great.’

  Struggling to channel a calm she was not feeling, Beatrice held his stormy gaze. ‘Do you really think that I would risk the life of our child on a whim?’

  His eyes slid from her own, his chest lifting, before returning as he growled out reluctantly, ‘No. The last time—’

  The shadow of fear she glimpsed in this strong, seemingly invulnerable man’s eyes drained the anger from her. She hurt for him because he couldn’t own that fear, he couldn’t reach out. ‘I’m scared too, Dante,’ she confessed, tears standing out in her eyes. ‘But I can’t…’

  Nostrils flaring, he looked down into her face and felt the anger and frustration drain away. ‘I’m your husband. Why won’t you let me protect you?’

  ‘Protect, not suffocate.’ She took his silence as encouragement and added, ‘And I’ll make my own appointment, choose my own doctor.’

  ‘Shall I come back later?’

  Dante stepped back and gestured towards the table under the window embrasure. ‘No, that’s fine,’ he said to the maid, without taking his eyes from Beatrice’s face. ‘Put it on the table.’
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br />   ‘Shall I fetch another cup?’

  ‘No!’ Beatrice supplied as the door closed silently behind the scared-looking young maid. ‘So, I’ll tell Lara, no, you won’t come to cheer me on, shall I? She figured that would be worth double in sponsorship.’

  He dragged a hand through his dark hair, the internal struggle clear on the hard drawn lines on his handsome face. ‘I will donate, and I’ll come and support you.’

  Her jaw dropped at the capitulation. ‘You’ll come.’

  He shrugged. ‘Someone has to make sure you don’t decide to get competitive, but in return—’

  ‘Return for what?’ she began explosively before literally biting her tongue. ‘In return what?’

  ‘In return you go and see the doctor I made the appointment with. She is the best.’

  Was it really a point worth making? She released a long hissing breath. ‘All right.’ She fixed him with a warning glance. ‘But the next time you make a unilateral decision concerning me or the baby—don’t!’

  He gave a slow smile. ‘I wouldn’t dare.’

  The walk through the private grounds calmed Beatrice after the confrontation. Gradually her pace slowed to a stroll as the healing of the quiet and solitude and nature’s beauty seeped imperceptibly into her.

  She remained, what? Wary, confused? Nobody in the universe made her feel as much as Dante did, and she couldn’t get the fear she had seen in his eyes out of her head.

  Instead of lunch with his wife, Dante spent a half hour pounding his body into submission in the private gym.

  His mind remained another matter. Had he made the right decision? He knew that their marriage could not survive if they maintained a war of attrition. There had to be compromise even though it went against his instincts, and the idea of her running…falling… He threw himself into the next series of repetitions in the hope the pain in his muscles would drown out the torturous thought in his head.

  Drenched with sweat, he was finally heading for the shower when he felt it.

  Around him, weights in their cradles began to shake as the low distinctive subterranean growl of the earthquake built.

  His first thought was Beatrice. He didn’t pause. He grabbed his phone and got a low static buzz…and hit the ground running. Face set in grim lines, he was exiting the leisure facility when he encountered a uniformed figure who, without a word, fell into step beside him.

  ‘We have set up a command centre in the old armoury to coordinate all rescue efforts.’

  Dante nodded his approval. It made sense; the walls were ten feet thick and the building was cut into solid rock. ‘Highness, we have choppers ready and waiting and the King and Queen will be evacuated as a priority. It’s the communications that are the problem.’

  ‘I’m on that…’

  ‘My wife?’

  ‘She left by the south-west door, heading in the direction of the sunken garden, twenty minutes ago.’

  Lifting a finger in acknowledgement, Dante picked up his pace, leaving the military figure behind.

  Bea dropped the flower she had just picked and froze, trying to figure out if she was having a dizzy spell or… The answer to her question came in the form of a deep primal subterranean roar that went on and on, it felt like for hours. She wasn’t swaying but the ground was.

  It stopped, and there was a total silence. Not even a bird sang or a bee buzzed, then, as if a switch had been flicked, individual sounds began to emerge from the silence. The noise built; there were cries from all directions mingling with the distant sound of sirens.

  Beatrice hadn’t moved; there’d just been an earthquake. What did she do, stay outside or go indoors? The sounds were mostly coming from the buildings.

  She was still standing in frozen indecision when a familiar figure wearing running shorts and a gym vest appeared. She let out a sigh of relief. Dante was here; things would be all right. It might be illogical when you were dealing with the forces of nature, but she believed it. But he didn’t know she was there.

  Tears ran down her face as she tried to cry out, but nothing came, then, it was a miracle, just before he would have vanished from her eyeline, he turned.

  A moment later he was racing towards her.

  His name was lost in the warmth of his mouth as he grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged her into him. Crushing her as he kissed her with the hunger of a starving man.

  When the kiss stopped, he lifted his head. ‘Beatrice, you’re safe…you’re safe… Oh, God!’ he groaned, dragging his hands down either side of her face, framing her delicate features, a mixture of frustration and fascination stamped on his face.

  ‘I want…this is…’ Teeth clenched, he set her away from him. ‘We experienced an earthquake.’ Unable to take his eyes off her, he ran his hands up and down her arms as he scanned her face. ‘There may be aftershocks. You can’t be here. Are you hurt?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I’m fine. So that was an earthquake.’

  ‘Yes.’

  He sounded very calm and maybe it was catching because she could breathe again without panting. ‘I’m scared.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I want to help…’

  ‘No—no, you don’t.’

  Hands on her shoulders, he led her firmly back in the direction she had just come into the open green space of the gardens. He pushed her down on a stone bench and squatted down beside her.

  ‘Listen carefully. I have to go,’ he admitted, frustration etched in the strong lines of his face. ‘But I won’t be long. You stay here and if… There might be aftershocks and if there are, just get under this.’ He patted the bench. ‘You’ll be safe, and I’ll be back.’

  She nodded. ‘Be careful.’

  Already feet away and jogging, he turned and grinned over his shoulder, waving a hand as though he were off for his morning run.

  An hour later, Dante was relieved to see Bea sitting in the same place he had left her, but she seemed to have been joined by a dog.

  The dog gave a warning growl when he approached, then licked his hand when he offered it. By the time he knelt beside Beatrice they were best friends.

  ‘He just appeared,’ she said, adding urgently, ‘The earthquake, Dante?’

  ‘So, right, first indications are it’s not too bad.’

  ‘Thank goodness!’ She hadn’t really been conscious of how high her tension levels were until they lowered, leaving her knees literally shaking as she reached out to stroke the fawning dog.

  ‘What does not too bad mean?’ she pressed cautiously as he pulled himself to his feet. It was weird that she loved the fluid grace of his movements, even at a time like this.

  ‘Riota had the worse of it.’

  She nodded, knowing that the only things on the uninhabited rocky outcrop a mile off the coast were the native tough sheep who, it had been explained, were ferried out there each breeding season and brought back after lambing.

  ‘The damage is concentrated on the east coast.’

  She released another little gusty sigh. It was another area where the rugged terrain meant there were no settlements.

  ‘There was a landslip so the coast road is blocked, which is causing some problems. As far as I can tell from reports, the damage to outlying areas is minimal and, though there have been a few minor injuries, nothing significant so far. Except, of course, I’m sure it feels significant for the people involved. I need to get to Mentsa. The emergency services are coping but there is some panic. The church tower there has fallen.

  ‘We’re still assessing the airport, but the helicopter that dropped Carl off has already taken my parents to the mainland, and a few essential—’

  At the mention of his parents, she shook her head.

  ‘I get it,’ she said, struggling not to judge, but it was hard when you compared the powerful couple’s apparent response
to their son’s. Dante’s instinct was to protect his people and theirs was to protect themselves.

  She struggled to subdue her anger—this was not the time or the place—but she was determined to point it out the next time they criticised anything Dante did—always assuming that she would be here to say anything.

  The abrupt realisation brought with it a wave of desolation as, still playing mental catch-up, she dragged her wandering thoughts back to the present.

  ‘Carl is here?’

  ‘He was on the mainland.’ He slid his foot into his boot and looked up, meeting her eyes. ‘I followed your advice and we were going to meet up and talk in person. He jumped in a chopper as soon as he heard. He’s persuaded Grandfather to evacuate, along with you and some of the—’

  Well, good luck with that, she thought. ‘Along with me?’ she interrupted.

  Dante bent his head to tighten the belt on the trousers he had exchanged for his shorts. Nobody had produced a shirt; he still wore the vest that clung to the contours of his muscled chest and exposed the powerful musculature of his arms. He flashed her an impatient look.

  ‘Don’t be difficult,’ he pleaded.

  ‘I thought you said there is no danger.’

  ‘There isn’t.’

  She gave an eloquent shrug and stood her ground.

  ‘I’ll just have someone gather a few essentials for you and be ready in five minutes. Someone will—’

  ‘I’ve only just got back. I’m not going anywhere.’ This was so frustrating; she had so much she needed to say. ‘Are you leaving?’

  He stood with his phone half raised to his ear. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘I have no doubt,’ she countered coolly. ‘That wasn’t what I asked.’

  ‘Me leave!’