My pulse speeds up.
A knock at the door is a welcome intrusion. I jerk to my feet, uneasy and tense, striding towards it.
Another staff member is there, holding a tray. She curtseys when she sees me, but before she can come in I hold out my hands to take the tray from her. I ignore her surprise, removing the sterling silver object and turning round in one movement. The door clicks shut, leaving me alone with Santiago.
I place the tray on a side table and remove the tall glass of beer, carrying it towards him with knees that are slightly unsteady. His eyes are sardonic as he extends a hand to take it. ‘Thank you, Your Highness.’
Nope. That’s no better. There’s still something illicit and inflammatory about his tone. He might sound as if he’s being respectful, but he’s not, he’s teasing me.
I double back to the tray, pouring tea from the pot then lifting the saucer and cup, holding them in my hands. I don’t approach my chair. It’s too close to the man, and there’s nowhere to look but at him. Besides, sitting doesn’t match my frame of mind. Instead, I walk towards the window, looking out at the river and the city beyond.
‘The project is...ambitious.’ It is not, by any stretch, the only word I can think of to describe his proposal. I hate everything about what he’s planning.
‘No more so than many others I’ve undertaken.’
‘Yes.’ I sip my tea. ‘Your track record with this sort of thing is impressive.’
‘Thank you, Your Highness.’
Another response that’s lightly mocking. My spine is ramrod-straight and I cast him a look that I think barely contains my own feelings.
‘It would be the first casino in Marlsdoven.’
‘And you don’t approve.’
Alarm bells sound in the back of my mind. Does he know about my uncle? Or is he simply hazarding a guess? ‘Why do you say that?’ There is a noise as he places his glass down. A cursory glance shows he’s half-finished it.
‘The negotiations are complete, your government ready to sign off.’
‘It’s crown land. The government can’t sign off without my agreement.’ It’s a small, unthinking admission and I realise what I’ve said as soon as I finish.
‘And for this reason you have organised a covert meeting at the eleventh hour to forestall the big, bad developer from corrupting your quaint kingdom?’
Fire spills through me. My lips part on an indignant rush of breath; I’m grateful to be holding the tea cup or I’m not sure what I might do with my hands! I cannot think that I have ever been spoken to like this, with such obvious disrespect, and such cynicism and dislike. And how can he downplay the seriousness of this? I’ve seen first-hand what addiction can do! I know the evils that come from places like his casinos. If there is to be one in Marlsdoven, then the benefits had better far outweigh the risks.
‘This is not a covert meeting,’ I respond to the first charge, too emotionally invested in the second to trust myself to speak to it sensibly. ‘Nothing about my life is covert. Your name is in my daily schedule.’
His disbelief is obvious. ‘I note I was directed to come to the back gate of the palace, brought through rear doors with no photographers in attendance.’
Heat prickles beneath my skin because his observation is accurate. While it’s not exactly ‘covert’, I did try to keep the meeting off the press’s radar. Spurred onto the defensive, I respond, ‘Would you have liked to be photographed, Santiago?’
I use his first name and realise I like the taste of it in my mouth. I’d started to think of him as Santiago since seeing so many photos of him during my research. I don’t care. We’re beyond the bounds of etiquette now, anyway.
‘My comment was more about your feelings than mine,’ he says, neatly turning the argument on me, studying me as though I’m a science experiment. I remember belatedly the advice in the security report: he has a savant’s genius when it comes to finding what makes people tick. ‘I have no issue with being ushered into the palace like a shameful secret, but I find it telling that this was your choice.’
I open my mouth to object to this characterisation but change my mind. After all, why should I be ashamed of my feelings? ‘I don’t see the point in advertising your intentions to my people until we’re confident the development is going to proceed.’
He reaches for his beer, takes a drink then replaces the glass on the table, standing in a lithe, graceful movement, walking towards me before I can properly realise what he’s doing. I have no time to brace for his proximity. He’s wearing an aftershave that sends my pulses into overdrive, but not enough of it, so I have to breathe deeply to catch the intoxicating masculine aroma.
Every hormone in my body is doing a dance.
‘Your Prime Minister is desperate for this to happen.’
‘Naturally. You’re looking at spending billions of dollars. Of course he’s keen.’
‘This doesn’t sway you, though?’ he asks, looking around the palace as if to emphasise the wealth at my fingertips. If only he knew! Our small country is far from prosperous. The privatisation of most of our state-owned assets shortly after my parents’ death, when I’d been too young, inexperienced and grief-plagued to understand what was happening behind my back, means much of our revenue is being paid to offshore companies.
‘Selling crown land is a difficult business,’ I murmur, remembering the lessons I learned as a seventeen-year-old. ‘Once sold, it’s gone. Everything needs to be structured so the advantages to the country outweigh the loss of such an asset.’
His eyes narrow. ‘You don’t think the casino will do that?’
No. Casinos are dangerous. I bite back the thought, knowing how counter-productive it would be to rely on this man’s compassion and comprehension. ‘I think it could,’ I say with a small lift of my shoulders, my heart pounding as we draw closer to the crux of my argument. Somehow, he’s brought me here without my realising it. I wanted to take time to charm him, to impress him with the country’s history and cultural importance, to form some kind of rapport. But he’s cut through all that and found the kernel of my reservations so easily, so skilfully.
‘Then let’s talk, Princess. What do you need from me?’
CHAPTER TWO
WHAT DO I need from him?
My mouth goes dry as I struggle to come up with any kind of answer. My brain is clogged, completely overwhelmed by him, my body overtaking all my instincts. So, instead of focussing on the simple business of the matter at hand, I find myself aching to reach out and touch him, to feel for myself if that broadly muscled chest is as firm as I imagine it is.
What the heck is happening to me?
I have made it through my entire adult life without going gaga for a man, and yet here I stand, with exactly the man I need to keep my wits with, and I risk turning into a blathering fool.
‘Shall we go over your proposal?’ I suggest, the idea literally going off like a light bulb, because if we pore over contracts surely that will negate the impact he has on me?
‘Isn’t that what we’re doing?’
‘I mean properly. At a table, with the documents. It would be easier to address my concerns this way.’
‘We can do that,’ he agrees, and it’s then that I realise how totally he’s taken the upper hand in this conversation. ‘But first, I’d like to hear your concerns from you. Now. In summary.’
‘Are you ordering me?’ I can’t help but respond, lifting a brow.
‘Oh, never, Your Highness,’ he responds with a hint of droll amusement. ‘You’re the one who gives orders around here.’
My cheeks grow warm again. ‘You aren’t like anyone I’ve ever met.’ The confession escapes before I can stop it.
‘I can imagine.’ Again, I feel scorn layered beneath the banal response, as though my comment on his uniqueness has led him to derision for my place in the pala
ce, the country.
‘Meaning?’
‘That your usual visitors are probably a very carefully curated type of person.’
My gasp is audible. ‘Mr del Almodovár—’
‘Santiago,’ he interrupts, and if I liked the taste of his name in my mouth I love the feel of it in my ears even more. He says it with such Spanish tones, all sunshine and spice. My stomach clenches in overwhelming awareness.
‘I think we’ve got off on the wrong foot,’ I say, searching for a modicum of control. ‘You don’t know me, and I don’t know you. You’re not here to get to know me, and I have no interest in knowing you. What I care about is my country, and the impact your casino mega-complex will have on the culture of the region.’
I look at him through narrowed eyes, my breath uneven. My dad flashes into my mind and I feel a stomach-clutching panic. I’m letting him down so badly. I wish there was some other way! ‘So, perhaps we should avoid any personal observations whatsoever and move onto the contracts, as I suggested.’
‘Are you sure avoiding personal observations is what you want?’ he asks smoothly, and my whole body fires onto high alert. Heat builds low in my abdomen, spreading through me. My breasts are tingly and heavy, my nipples straining against the lace fabric of my bra. I turn away from him, afraid of how exposed I must be to someone with his experience. He’s unpicking me piece by piece, stripping me raw, and I have no defence against him. More concerning, I don’t know if I want a defence against him.
‘You don’t act like a man who’s eager for this deal to go ahead,’ I say, looking out at the river, seeking a sense of calm that won’t come.
‘No.’
‘Why not? I thought this was important to you.’
‘Oh, it is. But you are not the only one who does your research, Princess. I could walk away tomorrow and find another country to work with, many of which would be tripping over themselves to offer incentives to take my business there. But you? Could you find such an appealing investor as easily?’
I close my eyes on a wave of surrender, because he’s right. Damn him. I feel actual hatred for the man then, and it’s only intensified by the glorious, sensual awareness cresting through me. How dare he be the only man I’ve ever looked at and felt a stirring of desire for? No, not just a stirring, a total tsunami, a crushing weight of need that robs me of the ability to breathe.
‘Not to put too fine a point on this, but you need me. So let’s stop dancing around the issue and come to agreement. I want this concluded today.’
He’s so dismissive, so infuriatingly arrogant, I whirl around to face him, all semblance of regal control dissipating completely. ‘And you always get what you want, I imagine.’
His smile makes a flame flicker in my gut. ‘Does that bother you?’
‘You bother me,’ I respond honestly.
His eyes widen with a brief glimmer of surprise, as though he wasn’t expecting my answer.
‘But I don’t know why.’ More honesty. I frown. ‘We should focus on the business at hand, and then you can consider this concluded.’
The air between us sparks with lightning bolts.
‘I bother you because I am the opposite of you in every way,’ he says, his meaning not clear.
But that’s not it. I meet people who are different from me all the time. I celebrate difference and value diversity. This is not about difference, it’s about desire, and how completely threatening is my reaction to him. It’s as though my body, usually a trusted ally, has defied me in every way.
‘Your proposed development is bold and—’
‘Ambitious, yes. You’ve said.’
‘Mr del Almodovár—’
‘Santiago.’
I grind my teeth. ‘Please, let me finish my sentence.’
He eyes spark with mine and then he dips his head in terse agreement.
‘We have no casinos in Marlsdoven. This would be a first.’
‘One of the reasons I selected your country for this project. You’re primed for this.’
‘You mean my citizens are “primed” to become good little gambling lemmings?’
His eyes narrow. ‘Have you ever been to a casino, Princess?’
Heat rushes my face. Before I can answer, he continues.
‘Of course you haven’t.’
I don’t want to analyse his tone or meaning.
‘Do you think if I’d been to a casino I’d be more likely to look favourably on your project? I believe the opposite is true. Seeing one of these places would likely make me refuse to sell the land to you regardless of any benefits I perceive for the country.’ I suck in a shaky breath. ‘But I suspect that would be cutting off my nose to spite my face, and I’ve no interest in doing that.’
He lifts his hand, rubbing the back of his neck, the gesture separating enough of his shirt from the waistband of his trousers to reveal an inch or so of tanned, taut abdomen. My mouth goes dry, my heart in overdrive. I stare at his chest, my stomach in knots, my brain fizzing. I’ve lost my train of thought completely.
‘How do you know if by your own admission you have no experience?’
The challenge drags me into the conversation again, but not fully. His arm drops, and so does the shirt. The sight of his flesh is buried in my mind, yet it’s not enough. I have a yearning to see him completely shirtless, to see all his chest, the entire expanse of muscled abdomen. I blink hard, trying to clear the thoughts, the vision, trying to focus. My country needs my concentration right now. I can’t be distracted just because he happens to be seriously attractive.
‘The land you’ve chosen is valuable, historic and prominent.’ I return the discussion to ground I’m more comfortable with, clearing my throat, vanquishing thoughts of his chest from my mind—for now.
His accent grows thicker as he defends his plans with obvious determination. ‘This land is the obvious place for this. It’s perfect for such a development.’
My eyes sweep shut on a wave of sadness. My own dreams for the piece of central real estate are impossible to visualise now. The arts precinct I wanted to commission—a testament to the cultural richness of Marlsdoven history and a space where children could go and be inspired to create—was now just a once-upon-a-time fantasy.
‘And your prime minister agreed to the sale.’
‘I know.’
‘Yet you don’t agree?’
‘It’s irrelevant,’ I say quietly. ‘Isn’t it? Would you consider a different location at this stage?’
‘Would it make you happy if I did?’
I stare at him, not expecting the question and with no clue how to answer.
‘Or wouldn’t you still have the same ideological issues then that you do now? You don’t want a casino at all. Right?’
‘I don’t think that matters.’ The words are numb, resigned. ‘I’m in the minority. My Prime Minister and Treasurer assure me the parliament wholeheartedly supports your investment. I have no justifiable power to overrule them.’
‘It’s crown land. As you said, your signature is required on the contract.’
Is he throwing me a lifeline? Reminding me that I do hold some power here? For all that I feel he’s reading me like an open book, I can’t understand him at all.
‘I’m not in the habit of going against my parliament.’
‘You’re a terrible negotiator.’
My eyes widen at the criticism and then, to my surprise, he smiles, his teeth baring, his expression changing completely. His eyes crinkle at the corners and it’s as if the sun is blasting into the room. I grip my tea cup more tightly, but nothing can stop my knees from wobbling.
I stare at him, so entranced by his smile that it takes a moment for his words to settle in my consciousness.
‘You can refuse to sell to me, Princess, and that’s your leverage here. So let’s pretend
you didn’t just say that and go back to your agenda. What do you want from me?’
My heart turns over in my chest. I finish my tea, placing the saucer on a side table before fixing him with a direct stare.
‘I want...’ I find it impossible to finish the sentence. Focus. Focus, for the love of God. He’s staring at me, waiting, and the more he looks the more my pulse fires and my brain fuzzes. ‘Assurances,’ I haltingly add. ‘That you’ll employ ninety per cent Marlsdovens, in both the construction of the development and then in the staffing once completed.’ Relief that I’ve been able to pluck one of my talking points out of thin air spreads through me.
‘I’ve already made assurances that fifty per cent of the contractors will be locally sourced.’
‘Fifty isn’t ninety,’ I point out.
His eyes lock to mine as if to say, Oh, really? but then his lips twist with the hint of another smile and my thoughts get scattered again.
‘It isn’t possible to guarantee that requirement.’
‘Why not?’
‘I can’t say that your contractors will be the best, and I’m only interested in hiring the best.’
‘You think we can’t offer quality workmanship?’
‘The “best” encompasses many things—quality, affordability, experience. I work with a group of architects based in New York.’
‘Yes, and that can be your ten per cent,’ I say, glad that I spent so long analysing the details of his proposal.
‘What else?’
‘Is that an agreement?’
‘No. But I’m interested in your list. Go on.’
He’s so close to me—just a foot or two away—yet I don’t move. I should. I know I should. But standing here so close to him is hypnotic and addictive. ‘My biggest concerns centre on the benefits of this agreement to my people. Once I sell this land, it’s gone. I need to know the choice will benefit Marlsdovens for a long time to come. Particularly if the trade-off is having a casino right over there.’
My Forbidden Royal Fling Page 2