Princess's Pregnancy Secret. Natalie Anderson
distance she heard a roaring. A clinking of—
Glasses. Guests.
Good grief, what was she doing?
Far too late those years of training, duty and responsibility kicked in. How could she have forgotten who and where she was? She could not throw everything away for one moment of lust.
But this lust was all-consuming. All she wanted was for him to touch her again—decisively, intimately, now.
Brutal shame burned from her bones to her skin. She had to get alone and under control. But as she twisted from his hold a long tearing sound shredded the unnatural silence between them. Time slowed as realisation seeped into her fried brain.
That too tight, too thin strap over her shoulder had ripped clear from the fabric it had been straining to support. And the result?
She didn’t need to look to know; she could feel the exposure—the cooler air on her skin. Aghast, she sent him a panicked glance. Had he noticed?
Of course he’d noticed.
She froze, transfixed, as his gaze rested for a second longer on her bared breast before flicking back to her face. The fiery hunger in his eyes consumed her. She was alight with colour and heat, but it wasn’t embarrassment.
Oh, heavens, no.
She tugged up the front of her dress and turned, blindly seeking escape.
But he drew her close again, bracketing her into the protective stance of his body. He walked, pressing her forward away from the crowd she’d foolishly forgotten was present. And she was so confused she just let him. Through a discreet archway, down a wide corridor to space and silence. He walked with her, until a door closed behind them.
The turn of the lock echoed loudly. Startled, she turned to see him jerkily stripping out of his dinner jacket with barely leashed violence. His white dress shirt strained across his broad shoulders. Somehow he seemed bigger, more aggressive, more sexual.
Appallingly desire flooded again, rooting her to the spot where she clutched her torn dress to her chest. She desperately tried to catch her breath but her body couldn’t cope. Her lips felt full and sensitive and throbbed for the press of his. Her breasts felt tight and heavy and, buried deep within, she was molten hot and aching.
All she could do was stare as he stalked towards her.
All she could think was to surrender.
‘SLIP THIS AROUND your shoulders and we can leave immediately.’ He held the jacket out to her. ‘No one will...’ He trailed off as she stared at him uncomprehendingly.
He’d only been stripping in order to clothe her? To protect her from prying eyes rather than continue with...with...
Suddenly she was mortified. She’d thought that he’d been going to—
‘No.’ She finally got her voice box to work. ‘No. That’s impossible.’
Nervously she licked her lips. What was impossible was her own reaction. Her own willingness. Horrified, she stepped away from the temptation personified in front of her, backing up until she was almost against the wall on the far side of the room.
He stood still, his jacket gently swinging from his outstretched hand, and watched her move away from him. A slight frown furrowed his forehead. Then he shifted, easing his stance. He casually tossed the jacket onto the antique sofa that now stood between them.
His lips twisted with a smile as rueful as it was seductive. ‘I’m not going to do anything.’
‘I know,’ she said quickly, trying and failing to offer a smile in return.
She wasn’t afraid of him. She was afraid of herself. Her cheeks flamed and she knew a fierce blush had every inch of her skin aglow. Shamed, she clutched the material closer to her chest.
This had been such a mistake. More dangerous than she ever could have imagined. Her breathing quickened again. She was so mortified but so sensitive. She glanced at him again only to have him snare her gaze in his. He was watching her too intently. She realised that his breathing was quickened, like hers, and a faint sheen highlighted his sun-kissed skin.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked softly. ‘I’m sorry.’
But he didn’t look sorry. If anything that smile deepened.
But she also saw the intensity of the heat banked in his expression and something unfurled within her. Something that didn’t help her resistance.
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she muttered. ‘It’s a cheap dress and it doesn’t really fit that well.’
‘Let me help you fix it,’ he offered huskily. ‘So you can get out of here.’
‘I can make do.’ She glanced at the locked door behind him. ‘I’d better go.’
She knew there was another exit from the room, but it was locked by the security system. She couldn’t use it without showing him she was intimate with the palace layout. He could never know that. Maybe she could drape the blue and purple hair of her wig over her shoulder to hide that tear.
‘Trust me,’ he invited gruffly. ‘I’ll fix your dress. Won’t do anything else.’
That was the problem. She wanted him to do something. Do everything or anything he wanted. And that was just crazy because she couldn’t set a lifetime of responsibility ablaze now. What made it worse was that he knew—why she’d moved to put not just space, but furniture between them.
‘You can’t get past them all with that strap the way it is now,’ he muttered.
He was right. She couldn’t get away from him either. Not yet.
So she stepped nearer, turning to present her shoulder with the torn strap. ‘Thank you.’
Holding her breath, heart pounding, she fought to remain still as he came within touching distance. The tips of his deft fingers brushed against her burning skin as he tried to tie the loose strap to the torn bodice. She felt it tighten, but then heard his sharp mutter of frustration as the strap loosened again.
She inhaled a jagged breath. ‘Don’t worry—’
‘I’ll get it this time,’ he interrupted. ‘Almost there.’
She waited, paralysed, as he bent to the task again, trying desperately to quell her responsive shiver to the heat of his breath on her skin but he noticed it anyway. His hands stilled for that minuscule moment before working again.
‘There,’ he promised in a lethal whisper. ‘All fixed.’
But he was still there—too close, too tall, too everything. She stood with her eyes tight shut, totally aware of him.
‘You’re good to go.’
Good. She didn’t feel like being good. And she didn’t want to go.
She opened her eyes and saw what she’d already felt with every other sense. He was close enough to kiss.
She shook her head very slightly, not wanting to break this spell. ‘It was a dumb idea. I shouldn’t have come.’
She hadn’t meant to tell him anything more but the secret simply fell from her lips.
‘But you’ve gone to such trouble.’ He traced one of the swirls of glitter she’d painted on her shoulder. His finger roved north, painting another that rose up her neck, near her frantically beating pulse, and rested there.
‘You shouldn’t miss out.’ He didn’t break eye contact as he neared, but he didn’t close the half-inch between their mouths.
She had to miss out. That