My Forbidden Royal Fling

by Clare Connelly

  I point down the river to the banks in question, my pulse quivering as I think of my father and how devastating this would be to him. My entire life revolves around doing what my parents would have expected of me, remembering every instruction they gave me over the course of my life. I’m betraying them now, and I’m sickened by that.

  ‘It is more than a casino. The development features restaurants and a six-star hotel as well.’

  ‘Yes, for guests of the casino.’

  ‘Why do you oppose this?’

  ‘I told you, I just need to make sure—’

  ‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘It’s more than that. You dislike the concept. You disapprove of the casino. Why?’

  ‘It’s just not something in our culture.’

  ‘Gambling? I think you’re wrong.’

  ‘Gambling is everywhere, to some extent, but casinos make it so easy.’

  ‘And that’s bad?’

  I stare at him. ‘How can you not see that?’ I shake my head, remembering what gambling did to my uncle, how his addiction led to his death. ‘Of course you don’t see it.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  I realise I’ve gone awfully close to throwing an insult at his feet—worse, to blaming him for Uncle Richard’s problem. I try to back-pedal. ‘You made your fortune building casinos. Why would you stop and think about the ramifications on a society? Why would you see anything but good in these places that tempt and seduce people to fritter away their hard-earned money? How many lives have been ruined in your quest for this gambling empire?’

  To his credit, he doesn’t let my barb derail his argument. ‘If I don’t build this casino, someone else will––perhaps not on crown land, and then your approval will not be needed.’

  ‘I’m aware of that.’ It’s the only reason I dismissed the possibility of refusing to sell to him. I’m fighting a losing battle, so I might as well try to control it and get some benefits for the people of this country.

  ‘I want to know that the income from your venture will fund health care and education for my people. I want to know there will be employment prospects for future generations. I want there to be world-class hospitality training available. Marlsdoven is haemorrhaging young citizens. They go to school here, but many then move abroad for tertiary studies and stay there. I understand the lure of your casino, Mr del Almodovár, and I understand that there are benefits. But I’m not going to stand here and pretend I’m not highly sceptical of the whole operation.’

  He looks at me for several moments and I wonder if I’ve gone too far. I intended to improve the deal with him, not ruin it altogether. Is there a risk I’ve done just that?

  ‘Your parents died seven years ago.’

  It’s the absolute last thing I’d expected him to say. It’s like an arrow coming out of left field, spearing me with pain in my side. I blink away from him, frowning as I take in the glistening river.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You were seventeen.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s very young to assume such responsibilities.’

  It’s true. At seventeen, I felt grown up but, looking back, I was still a child. A child who’d had to grieve the loss of her parents and somehow hold together a grief-stricken nation as well. The need to be what my people required meant I never had the time or space for my own feelings.

  ‘I managed.’

  For a moment, before he dips his head in acknowledgement, I think I see sympathy in his eyes. I hate it. I don’t want his sympathy—or perhaps it’s more that I can’t live with it. When anyone is kind to me I grow close to tears, and if this man, who came barrelling into the palace with such obvious animosity and disrespect, starts being nice...?

  I cough to hide the fact I’m clearing my throat, not wanting him to register that I’m emotionally off-kilter.

  ‘I can see you take your duty to the people of Marlsdoven seriously.’

  I stare at him, waiting for him to make his point.

  ‘This casino will benefit them.’

  I hate that he’s talking as though this is a fait accompli, even though I understand that it is. It must be. I can’t go against the wishes of my country’s Prime Minister and Treasurer. Frustration is like a whirlpool in my gut, swallowing me whole.

  ‘Casinos benefit nobody,’ I say caustically. ‘Except, of course, the corporation behind the casino, which naturally stands to make gross profits from people’s hope-filled gambling.’

  It’s the wrong thing to say. Anger flashes like a blade in his eyes, whatever sympathy I’d seen a moment ago evaporating completely. ‘Yes, I profit from my casinos.’

  ‘Not just ‘profit’.’ Now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. ‘You make tens and tens of billions every year. Honestly, what does someone even need with all that money? Don’t you have enough? Is another casino in your empire really necessary?’

  His eyes narrow.

  ‘How do you sleep at night, Santiago, when the people who flood the floors of your casinos are living out their worst nightmare?’

  ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I do. I know damned well what places like your casinos do to families and lives.’ I’m trembling with the force of my anger, Uncle Richard’s haunted expression something I’ll never forget. ‘I hate everything about what you do. And I loathe the idea of selling this land to you.’

  ‘What can I say, Your Highness? We do not all have the advantages of being born into this.’ He gestures to the palace, and contempt is encompassed in the flat line of his mouth.

  I’m so tempted to tell him that being born into royalty is many things, but ‘advantaged’ is not one of them.

  ‘No, that’s true,’ I say instead. ‘Most people aren’t royal.’ I aim for sarcasm. It’s small-minded and rude, but I don’t think I care.

  A scathing twist of his lips shows, if anything, my remark has amused him. ‘You want to keep “your people” in the dark ages.’

  ‘By saving them from the lure of gambling?’

  He laughs, a thick, gruff sound that sends sparks of lightning through my body. ‘Do you have any idea how prim you sound?’

  I gape, the disparagement unexpectedly hurtful. I spin away from him, because I need the breathing space. He’s too close, too everything.

  ‘In every pleasure, there is the potential for pain. Should alcohol be banned altogether because some people have a propensity to alcoholism? Should driving be outlawed because there are some drivers who will always speed just for the thrill of it? Of course not. You cannot protect your citizens from every possible perceived evil. Life doesn’t come with any guarantee.’

  ‘That’s just the sort of reply I’d expect from someone who’s never borne any personal responsibility.’

  His head whips back, as though I’ve punched him. ‘With respect,’ he says it in a way that makes it clear the words are empty, ‘You know nothing about me or my responsibilities.’

  ‘I know enough.’

  ‘Because I own casinos.’

  ‘Because you own casinos,’ I agree, my anger stirred beyond usefulness. ‘Because you live the life of a hedonistic bachelor intent on drinking, smoking, having debauched parties on super-yachts, all the while robbing poor people of their homes and relationships. I ask you again, how do you sleep at night?’

  ‘Rarely alone,’ he throws back, the words sparking through me, and I gasp, the image of him naked fully formed in my mind. ‘But apparently you know that already, Princess.’

  ‘This is getting out of hand.’ My voice shakes, fury still ripe in my gut, disbelief at the direction our conversation has taken making my skin clammy. Or is it the reference to his sexual activities? I press fingertips to my throbbing temples, willing myself to calm down.

  ‘You are the one who’s letting a
personal opinion interfere with a business proposition.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘Then how come the way I live my life doesn’t bother your Prime Minister or Treasurer?’

  My eyes sweep shut at his very valid point. ‘Of course it bothers them. They’re men of integrity and you’re...you’re...’

  I whirl around to face him, only to find that the Spanish billionaire has closed the distance between us. He’s right behind me, his eyes latched onto mine, his face a mask of repressed emotion––but I see beyond it. I feel the fury emanating off him in waves.

  ‘Si? What am I?’

  ‘Not like them,’ I finish lamely, my anger cresting and falling, being replaced by something else now, a different wave, something more dangerous and distracting. I stare up at him, my body quivering with a thousand and one things.

  He’s so close, though, so close, and I find myself slipping, my fingertips tingling with a need to feel. I clasp them together in front of me to stop myself doing something really stupid, like reaching up and running them over his chest.

  I know I should move away. Take a step backward. Put some space between us. But being near him is doing something vital and addictive to my body; it’s resonating through me.

  I hold my ground, inches from him.

  ‘No.’ His expression is grim, his eyes piercing mine before dropping to my lips, tracing the line of my mouth until I open it on a small gasp. A gasp or a plea? I can’t be certain. ‘I imagine they never argue with you like this.’

  I shake my head wordlessly, just the tiniest movement, for fear of dislodging his gaze from my mouth. I feel as though he’s touching me. Pleasure spikes through me. I have no idea what this means—I’ve never seen a man and longed for him in this way. It’s wrong and inappropriate, but even that knowledge makes me want him more, not less. ‘No one does.’

  Something like understanding flashes through his eyes. ‘And do you like being argued with?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I lie, ignoring the fact that I feel more alive right now than I have in my entire life.

  His soft laugh shows he understands, and it embeds itself in my nervous system. ‘Then shall I leave?’

  Yes. Yes, he should. This conversation is counter-productive, his presence an affront. We’re never going to agree. He should absolutely leave. ‘I...’ The words are jammed in my throat, some invisible barrier preventing them from escaping.

  Triumph crosses his expression. His eyes shift to mine, a challenge in their depths as he lifts a hand, moving it closer to my face. I hold my breath, staring at him, waiting. He touches his fingertip to my cheek, phantom-like, so I shift a little closer, pressing my cheek to his palm. What’s happening to me? How can I possibly be doing this? I’m the Crown Princess of Marlsdoven and this man represents a serious threat to my country. Yet here I stand, entranced, captivated, pleasure exploding through me.

  ‘Come to Spain with me.’

  The invitation is husky, his voice deep and accented. I blink, not understanding. His finger inches lower, towards my lips. I have to swallow back a groan. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Come to see my casino there. You cannot truly form an opinion on the merits of my proposal until you have witnessed one for yourself.’

  My eyes sweep shut, reality intruding on the fog of awareness that has momentarily incapacitated me. It’s a timely reminder of who he is and why I have to fight this drugging attraction with everything I have. I snap out of my haze, pulling away from him, jerking backwards, trying to load anger into my eyes. ‘I know enough.’

  He’s surprised by my rapid shift, but surprise quickly morphs into determination. ‘Are you afraid to be proved wrong?’

  ‘There’s no chance of that. I’ll never approve of gambling.’

  ‘Casinos are so much more than gambling,’ he insists.

  ‘Next you’ll be telling me people play with tokens and no real money is ever wagered.’

  ‘There’s no fun in that,’ he drawls sardonically.

  ‘There’s no fun in people losing their money, gambling until their debts get out of control.’

  ‘No,’ he agrees. ‘And we have safeguards in place to try to prevent this.’ He closes the distance between us. ‘Come to Spain and see for yourself.’

  My heart twists, my ability to think clearly impeded once more.

  ‘Or are you afraid of what will happen once you leave this gilded cage?’

  I blink up at him. ‘Afraid?’

  ‘Just you and me, no rank, no staff––no reason to ignore what we both clearly want.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  HIS WORDS POUND through my mind with the force of a sledgehammer: the challenge, the assertion, the statement of intent. A frisson of danger and need runs down my spine. I stare at him for a long time, losing myself in the vortex he’s created. I need to say something to set aside his ridiculous suggestion.

  ‘My rank goes where I go, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Then I’ll call you “Princess” at all times.’

  It’s a sensual promise that does little to calm my raging bloodstream.

  ‘Santiago...’ His name is a plea, but for what?

  ‘Your Prime Minister and Treasurer do not oppose this development because they know what you do not: this development is good for your country, your people, your future. And while, yes, there are some down sides associated with casinos, mine is probably the only casino group in the world that actively provides gambling support and interventions. But I think you’re afraid to be proved wrong.’

  ‘I’m not afraid of that,’ I deny swiftly.

  ‘Then what are you afraid of?’ Has he moved closer? Our bodies are almost touching. My breath is uneven, loud in the silent room. ‘Or do I even need to ask?’

  ‘I’m not...’

  Now it’s my turn to stare at his lips. Of their own volition, my eyes drop to his mouth, chasing the outline, and such raw, primal need surges through me that I make a soft, gasping sound. It’s as though I can will him to kiss me.

  Kiss me?

  Alarm spears my side.

  I can’t seriously want...

  But, oh, I do.

  ‘You despise me,’ he says gruffly, his body position changing just enough for me to feel as though he’s forming a wall around me. I like it. ‘You despise my life, my choices, my business.’

  I don’t deny it. Not because it’s true—though it is—but because I’m not capable of following A to B right now. My thought train has been completely derailed.

  ‘But right now you wish that I would kiss you on those perfect pink lips of yours.’ His eyes spark to mine, daring me to contradict him, daring me to say that’s not what I want.

  ‘So?’

  A short, sharp laugh of surprise breaks between us, and then his head lowers, his face only an inch from mine. ‘Come to Spain with me.’

  It’s the last thing he says before he kisses me—the first kiss of my life and it’s with this man who, as he just pointed out, I despise.

  I’ve seen enough movies to know what it’s like to be kissed—or at least I’ve imagined it. But this blows every expectation way out of the water.

  My stomach is in knots, looping over and over. My body is paralysed and then on fire as he lifts one hand to the back of my head, his fingers driving through my hair, holding me where I am as his mouth ravages me—there is no other word for it. His lips separate mine, his tongue lashing me, demanding answers I can’t give, showing me his supremacy. I whimper into his mouth, a sound of acquiescence and surrender, a sound that hopes for more of this—him—so much more. The kiss drives down into my soul. I am in agony but an agony born of the knowledge that this kiss is not enough. My hands lift to his chest, pressing to his warmth, the rock-hard muscles just as tantalising as I’d imagined.

  I curl my fingernails into the fabric o
f his shirt and he kisses me hard, his knee nudging my legs apart so I groan, the unexpected contact so unmistakably sexual, so hot, so raw, that I can’t think or speak. I am floating high above the planet, and nothing matters besides this.

  Alarm bells clang in the back of my mind. I know this is wrong, so wrong, but I’m powerless to stop it, held hostage by a body that has been denied any form of sensual pleasure for far too long. As a teenager I read romance novels and, oh, how I loved them. Yet that zing was never for me in the real world. I’ve never met anyone with the ability to set my soul on fire.

  But Santiago del Almodovár, with his charismatic devil-may-care attitude, is the very last word in hot and, like the many, many women who’ve no doubt come before me, I have no desire to resist him.

  He pulls away, just enough to break the kiss, his eyes probing mine. ‘Spain. Come next week.’

  ‘Next week,’ I repeat, my mind not following.

  ‘Stay at the casino. Experience the type of building I want to bring to Marlsdoven.’

  I nod, but it’s not an agreement. My brain is too fogged to think straight. Belatedly, logic starts to fall into place. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Then stay somewhere else.’

  ‘I can’t come to Spain.’

  He frowns. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it would...arouse suspicion? I don’t know.’

  ‘Suspicion of what?’

  My cheeks flame. His smile is mocking and I feel about three feet tall. I shake my head in frustration, desperately trying to re-establish a modicum of control, to put some cool between us. But his leg is between mine, his body still so close, our faces separated by only an inch. My breath burns in my lungs and my nipples tingle against the fabric of my bra. My insides feel like mush and warm heat is spreading through my abdomen. I am lost.

  ‘It’s just not like me to go somewhere on the spur of the moment.’

  ‘This is not spur of the moment.’

  ‘A week is... My schedule...’

  ‘Do not make excuses.’

  ‘I—I’m not.’