The Mistress That Tamed De Santis. Natalie Anderson
clutched the small container but he held out his hand. Sending him a death look, she passed it to him. Antonio bit back the smile of satisfaction and opened the lid.
‘Lean on the desk,’ he told her.
‘This isn’t necessary.’
He wasn’t used to repeating instructions. He glanced up and her stormy expression clashed with his. ‘Lean on the desk.’
Slowly, stiffly, she rested her body back.
‘Thank you,’ he said, ultra-politely.
He knelt at her feet, inwardly grimacing at the irony given her provocative remark only moments ago.
He knew an injury had ended her professional career. In the last decade Antonio had attended the ballet only out of duty but he could appreciate the strength and commitment it would have taken Bella to reach the level she had.
Her body was still incredibly athletic. This close he could smell her light, floral scent. It made him think of summer sun, not endless nights in a darkened dance club. In his mind’s eye he saw her on the floor, bumping and grinding up close to her patrons. He gritted his teeth. Not jealous. And not aroused.
He was not aroused by her.
He wasn’t like all the other red-blooded men in the world. He didn’t have time to be. He didn’t have the right. But just at this moment, he was every inch a mere man.
‘Do you dance your way through all your tasks?’ he asked, trying to distract himself from her sweet scent and delicate skin. He dabbed the blood and prepped a plaster as quickly as he could, not touching any part of her beyond necessary.
‘Is that a serious question?’ she mumbled.
‘Yes.’ Satisfied with how the plaster neatly covered the gash, he glanced up to read her expression. She was sitting unnaturally still—apparently holding her breath.
She met his gaze with those deep green eyes that were now almost liquid. ‘You want to know if I dance while brushing my teeth?’
He inwardly smiled at the image. ‘I bet you brush in time to the music playing in your head.’
Her eyes widened and her smile broke free—her full mouth softened and her eyes sparkled. She looked fresh and beautiful and bright.
Heat flared from flicker to flame, urging him to touch those lush curving lips—
He jerked to his feet and stepped away before he did something colossally stupid.
‘Have you been out drinking?’
He turned at the bitterness in her tone and saw her smile had vanished.
‘I don’t drink,’ he said simply.
‘No vices at all?’ she mocked. ‘No sex, right?’
That speculation was correct. It had been years since he’d had a lover. He was only about duty: to serve his country and to protect his people. All of them—dead and alive. That was his penance.
‘And no drinking,’ she added. ‘I guess that just leaves drugs.’
‘None of those either.’
‘Fast cars?’
He shook his head. ‘The Crown Prince cannot be injured or killed in a car accident. That can’t happen in San Felipe again.’ His parents’ tragedy had cut the nation too deeply.
‘So you’re reduced to watching.’ Storms gathered in her eyes.
‘If you wanted privacy you would have kept your curtains closed,’ he answered abruptly. ‘But you didn’t, because you like to be watched. You’ve made a career out of it.’
Anger flashed in her face. Before she could reply a short melody burst through the charged atmosphere. Then again. And again. His damn cell phone.
‘Are you going to answer that or would you like me to?’ Those temptress tones returned—but so shaky this time.
She was trying to goad him again, using her voice, her eyes, her femininity to bring a man to his knees.
Not this man. He wasn’t that weak.
Yet she knew that already. And that was the twist. She expected him to pull away—she wanted to drive him further back because she didn’t want him too close. Because his nearness bothered her.
That realisation shocked him. His body had already betrayed him. She was so damn beautiful, for the first time in years his desire was stirred.
‘It’s my security team.’ He cleared the frog from his throat and ignored the call.
‘I’m amazed they let you wander the streets alone,’ she said dryly.
‘They know exactly where I am.’
Her eyebrows lifted. ‘You told them you were coming here?’
‘GPS.’ His watch was tracked. It even had a silent emergency alarm button. Very spy film but he’d had to agree to it to get his morning walks alone.
‘Your every movement is accounted for? So you’re like a prisoner on electronic monitoring?’
‘The concept is not dissimilar. They’re concerned because I’ve not returned to the palace by my usual time.’ He pulled the phone from his pocket as it began to ring again. If he didn’t reply to this next call, a security team would be on its way in seconds.
‘A change in the usual routine,’ she drawled. ‘Heaven forbid.’
‘Yet here you are, doing the same warm-up dance routine you’ve been doing for years,’ he answered blandly. ‘We are creatures of habit, just doing what we usually do.’
Like falling back on old defences.
But as he read the message from his security chief he tensed. He double-checked the time on the screen—how had twenty minutes passed so quickly? He crossed the room to glance out of the window. In the space of a few minutes, the world had changed.
Outside people were lining the barricaded street, already standing two to three deep. He’d been so engrossed in dealing with Bella he hadn’t heard the crowds gathering.
Swiftly he stepped back. To be seen inside Bella Sanchez’s apartment at this hour of the morning would be unacceptable. But to be seen leaving it even worse. Especially given his unshaven, dishevelled appearance. The world would think he’d had another kind of workout altogether.
His gut burned.
Was this want? It had been so damn long since he’d wanted any woman. Clenching the phone in his fist, he faced her. She’d stilled, listening to the rising clamour outside. Given the way her features had tightened, the realisation the world had woken wasn’t good news for her either.
‘It seems it is your lucky day,’ he muttered, feeling like provoking her the way she had him. ‘I will have to remain here.’
Her eyes widened. ‘For how long?’
Until his team could work out a subtle extraction plan. ‘Until they’ve all gone home.’
‘But that race won’t finish for another six hours!’
Her obvious discomfort gave him a macabre pleasure. That she didn’t want him near echoed his own unwanted feelings.
But he looked at her, outwardly unmoved. ‘What do you suggest we do to pass the time?’
BELLA STARED. HE was joking, wasn’t he? But Prince Antonio never joked; he looked as straight up serious and remote as ever. Worse, if anything.
‘Why can’t you leave now?’ She still didn’t understand why he was