Christmas in His Royal Bed / Rossellini's Revenge Affair: Christmas in His Royal Bed / Rossellini's Revenge Affair. Yvonne Lindsay
was bad, so very bad. He was wearing her down, eroding the last of her defenses.
She was very much afraid that she wouldn’t be able to evade him for much longer.
Eight
It was late by the time the evening wound to a close, but as Alandra watched the guests filing out, she was delighted to see that the majority of them had smiles on their faces. Better yet, Mrs. Vincenza had happily reported that she’d received several generous contributions throughout the night, with promises of more to come.
Watching Santa Claus hand out presents to the children had obviously turned a number of hearts—exactly what Alandra had been hoping for. She’d seen more than a few eyes turn misty during the gift-giving ceremony, and many follow the children out of the room and up the stairs at bedtime.
While it hadn’t been her main goal, Alandra hoped that tonight’s event would result in some much-needed adoptions, as well as added donations.
Stifling a yawn behind her small clutch purse, she watched the door close behind the last guest a moment before she felt Nicolas come to stand beside her.
Although she wasn’t surprised that she could sense his presence even before she saw him, it did disturb her. She didn’t want to sense him. Didn’t want to believe that they might be growing that close in such a short time, especially when she’d spent most of the last three weeks avoiding him.
Not that she’d been terribly successful. Nicolas, she was learning, had a way of being everywhere she was, whether she wanted him there or not.
She had to admit, though, that he’d been a definite asset this evening. Not only had he gotten everyone in the room to relax enough to dance to Christmas music, but he’d spent the rest of the night circulating through the crowd to shake hands, kiss cheeks and talk up the orphanage as an extremely worthy charity—or write-off, depending on who he was conversing with.
And she admired him for it. For caring about the children’s home and about what he could do to make the fund-raiser a success.
Glendovia was his country, and she had been hired to do a job for it. But he seemed to know that she took her work of organizing charitable events and raising funds for worthy causes very, very seriously. Seemed to know…and in his own way, care.
That touched Alandra more than a dozen roses, a hundred glasses of champagne or a thousand romantic dates ever could have.
He might have taken a wrong first step with her by inviting her into his bed before even getting to know her, but he had taken a few right steps since. Redeeming right steps.
When he took her elbow now, she felt a familiar tingle in every millimeter of skin his fingers came in contact with.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
She nodded and let Nicolas adjust her wrap around her shoulders before guiding her outside and into the waiting limousine.
Despite the late hour, there were still plenty of paparazzi gathered to snap more pictures upon the royal family’s departure. The camera flashes burned her eyes and blinded her vision. She was only too happy to have the car door slam behind her, blocking out the pesky photographers.
When they arrived home, the family said their good-nights before heading for their respective bedchambers. Alandra wished them all a good night, as well, before turning toward her own rooms.
“I’ll walk with you,” Nicolas said, catching up with her and once again slipping her arm through his.
She started to tell him it wasn’t necessary, but thought better of it with his parents and siblings still within earshot. Instead, she inclined her head, tightened her hold on his arm and murmured, “Thank you.”
They walked to her suite without speaking, and she was surprised to find it a comfortable silence. Perhaps because it had been such a long and busy day, and she was too tired to worry about what she should be saying or doing. She couldn’t find it in her to be concerned about what Nicolas might say or do, either.
When they arrived, he opened the door, then stood back for her to enter. Crossing the dark sitting room, she turned on a small table lamp, which bathed the space in a yellow-gold light.
Alandra straightened and turned, and nearly bumped into Nicolas, who had followed her silently and was standing mere inches away. For a moment, her mind went blank. Her breath hitched and her heart leaped at finding him so near.
She swallowed nervously and opened her mouth to speak, though she didn’t have a clue what she planned to say.
Not that it mattered. Before she could utter a sound or get her brain to function properly, Nicolas had lifted a hand to the back of her neck and threaded his fingers into the loose hair at her nape. He tugged her forward, and she went easily, willingly, like a puppet on a string.
Their eyes met, and in that brief second, she saw passion and fire and desire. Those same emotions caused her stomach to tumble to her toes, and made her feel suddenly light-headed.
Then he bent and lowered his mouth to hers.
The minute their lips met the earth seemed to rock on its axis. Alandra had never felt such heat, such electricity, such an amazing and overwhelming need.
Nicolas’s fingers at her nape tightened, while his other hand grasped her hip. Her own hands were on his shoulders, gripping and clawing. She couldn’t seem to get close enough.
His scent filled her nostrils, spicy and masculine. As his tongue swept through her mouth, he tasted the same.
She kissed him back with equal fervor, delighting in the way contact with him flooded her senses.
Just when she thought she might expire from pleasure, Nicolas broke the kiss. “Say no,” he whispered raggedly against her lips. “Tell me to go. Tell me you don’t want this.”
He kissed her again, hard and swiftly. “Go ahead, Alandra,” he taunted softly, “tell me.”
She knew what he was doing. He was challenging her to stick to her declaration that she wouldn’t sleep with him during her visit. That she wouldn’t allow herself to be seduced.
But, God help her, she couldn’t. She wanted him too much to deny it any longer.
To deny him.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pressed her mouth to his. The same smoldering heat washed over her again and, with a sigh, she whispered, “Don’t stop. Don’t go. I do want this.”
She expected him to smile—a cocky, self-important response to show her he’d known all along he would win their little cat-and-mouse game.
But he didn’t smile. Instead, his eyes flashed with fire, a second before narrowing dangerously.
Bending slightly, he scooped her up, ball gown, high heels and all. His determined strides carried them to her bedroom, where he kicked the door closed and crossed to the wide, four-poster bed.
The room was dark, with only a hint of moonlight shining through the diaphanous curtains on the French doors. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but as Nicolas deposited her on the mattress, then stood back to unbutton his jacket, she decided it didn’t matter. She could see him just well enough, and in a few minutes she would be touching him everywhere. Feeling him everywhere.
He stripped off his jacket and kicked off his shoes, then loosened the first few buttons of his shirt, keeping his gaze locked on her the entire time.
Not wanting to be a mere bystander, Alandra rose to her knees and pulled off her strappy heels, tossing them aside. She reached behind her for the zipper of her dress.
“No.”
Nicolas’s low, stern voice stopped her. He took two steps forward to the edge of the bed and ran his hands seductively down her bare arms.
“Let me.”
Her stomach muscles clenched