Scandals Of The Royals. Lynn Raye Harris
wanting that.
But this wasn’t the time.
He turned to the photographers and offered a smile. Carlotta did the same, her head angled just perfectly toward him, almost as though she were deferring to him. They made quite a picture. A royal couple who looked better than his parents ever had, for the short amount of time they’d been a couple.
At least in pictures they looked like all Santa Christobel would expect of a ruler and his queen. Maybe these images would blot out the ones they’d looked at for years. Pictures of him with leggy blondes in tight skirts, driving fast cars, leaving notorious nightclubs. And then, one of their favorite sequences, he and a date entering a luxury hotel in the early-morning hours, him leaving a couple of hours later, and his date, dashing out in the daylight hours, wearing the same thing she’d worn the night before.
They loved that one. A look at the scandalous prince. After a while, reading his own exploits had bored him. And sometimes it made him …
He shut his mind on the thoughts. This wasn’t the time to reflect on all of that. Standing in the formal reception hall, the state seal behind him, his fiancée at his side, it made it seem like another life.
“Thank you,” he said, nodding again and dropping his arm from Carlotta’s waist. He moved to exit and she stayed with him, walking closely beside him.
She really was the perfect royal wife. At least in public. That was all that mattered.
As soon as they were outside the room, Carlotta seemed to deflate as she released the breath she’d been holding. “That was …”
“I know. I’m sorry that man mentioned Luca. It was out of line. I won’t tolerate it.”
“Thank you,” she said, her voice muted. “Thank you for standing up for him. I know that you aren’t … I know you don’t really like kids.”
“What? Who said I didn’t like kids?”
“He makes you uncomfortable. I can tell.”
Rodriguez shifted, a vague feeling of … embarrassment, something he wasn’t sure he could ever remember experiencing, washing through him. “That doesn’t mean I don’t like children. I have no experience with them.”
“You’ve never dated a woman who had a child?”
Vaguely, he remembered that there had been a woman who’d left the hotel before him once. He was almost certain she said something about needing to get back so her babysitter could go home. “I … Not one that ever introduced me to her children.”
Carlotta began to walk down the corridor, back to the private palace quarters. He followed, his eyes drifting to the rounded curve of her backside. His body most definitely approved of the view.
“I didn’t have any experience with children either. I don’t remember if I’d ever held a baby until I held my own. And then, he was so tiny and perfect. I loved him right then. And I knew I didn’t need any experience. I just needed to love him.” She tossed him a glance over her shoulder. “Of course, I now go through intermittent, crippling bouts of wondering whether or not I’m doing the right thing for him, but, essentially, I trust that just … loving him is enough.”
He stopped walking for a moment. “Do you think all mothers feel that when they hold their babies?”
She stopped too, turning to face him. “I … I don’t know. It was so strong for me. I know my own mother … she loves us, but she’s … she’s distant.”
“Not as distant as mine, I bet,” he said. “I haven’t seen her since I was younger than Luca.”
“That’s … I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “I’m not. I don’t do regret.”
Carlotta looked at Rodriguez’s face. The teasing smile was gone from his lips, but there was no regret in his expression. No longing or sadness. Just blank acceptance. The absence of emotion there was nearly frightening, like she was seeing past the veil, just for a moment, and into the man. That beyond his humor and easy manner there was a deep, dark void, one barely covered by a thin veneer that was in danger of being stripped away at any moment.
It was an insight she wanted to turn away from. An insight she longed to ignore, pretend she’d never seen. But she wasn’t sure she could.
“Well, I am,” she said. “Even though my mother and father can be difficult sometimes, I do love them.”
“Your father basically sold you into marriage, and you call that love?” he asked, a hard note lacing his voice, stripping the velvet off his normally enticing tone.
“Because he needed me. I’m royalty, a different set of responsibilities comes with that. You ought to know all about it.”
“And you’re doing your penance, right?” He seemed determined to make her angry, and it was working. It was working really, really well. It was easy to forget he’d just stood up for Luca. Easy now to just let all of the goodwill she’d allowed to build up between them slip right through her fingers, while clinging tightly to everything she’d tried so hard to ignore.
The helplessness, the sick, awful feeling that came with being used. The sense that she was little more to anyone than a pawn to be moved around on a chessboard.
And the anger. That was the easiest to latch on to.
“I’m doing the right thing,” she hissed. “Maybe I haven’t always. But I’m doing it now. Even though it means a lifetime of this.” She waved her arm, indicating the palace itself. Including Rodriguez in the sweep. “Because there’s more to life than just being happy, or satisfying base urges, or following your passions, whatever they might be at any given time. It’s about responsibility.”
“Perhaps. Why do you think I’m here? Why do you think I’m even in Santa Christobel and not in my apartment in Barcelona with a redhead? Responsibility. Don’t assume I don’t understand. But my sense of duty is not driven by guilt.”
“Well, it’s easy for you, isn’t it? Don’t you plan on just going along like Luca and I never happened to you?”
He paused for a moment, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “I did. But you seem pretty determined to make that an impossibility.” He advanced on her, his eyes locked with hers. She held her ground, mostly because she didn’t want to escape him. Whatever he had in mind, it didn’t scare her. It made her body feel tight, even while her muscles seemed to melt into pudding.
“What exactly does that mean? And do you expect an apology?” she asked, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, hoping that bracing herself like that might keep her body from trembling.
“No, princess, not an apology.” He stopped, just inches away from her, then he leaned forward, his palm flat on the wall behind her. She expected him to kiss her, to grab her, for his mouth to crash down on hers.
Her heart was trying to climb up her throat and escape, her pulse pounding so hard she felt dizzy, expectation and a huge helping of longing overtaking her senses. But there was no taking. No crashing.
He extended his hand, drew his finger along the line of her jaw, from her chin to just beneath her ear, the move slow and sensual, intoxicating. Then he brought his other fingers into play, sliding down her neck, his touch featherlight as it skimmed her sensitive skin. His hand drifted down, playing over the line of her collarbone, stopping right at the swell of her breast.
Her eyes clashed with his, the dark intensity she saw there drawing the knot of arousal that was building in her to even more extreme levels. Her body felt heavy, a sharp pain building and spreading at the apex of her thighs. What she wanted, and how quickly she had gotten to the point of wanting it, shocked her.
She’d never been a hot and fast girl. She needed time. But those few brushes of his fingers had been equivalent to thirty minutes of good foreplay. She had to make the decision that it was what she wanted. There was no