Royal Holiday Bride

“My apologies,” she said sincerely, accepting the fresh glass of champagne he offered.

“No need to apologize,” he assured her, leading her away from the crowd and onto the balcony. “It’s understandable that every man in attendance would want a turn on the dance floor with the most beautiful woman here.”

“There’s that glib tongue again,” she noted.

He maneuvered her into the shadows. “Do you believe in destiny?”

“I believe we make our own destiny,” she said, and reminded herself that this was the destiny she had chosen. To take control of her life and her future.

“And I believe our paths were meant to cross tonight.”

She wanted to think that he sounded sincere, but even if it was nothing more than a well-worn line, even if he was just looking for a quick hookup, wasn’t that what she wanted, too? Wasn’t that what she needed to prove that she was capable of controlling her own destiny?

“And now that our paths have crossed,” she said, “where do we go from here?”

Dante wasn’t entirely sure how to answer her question, except that he knew he wasn’t going to walk away from the lovely goddess. Not just yet.

He knew nothing about her and she knew nothing about him, and maybe the anonymity was part of the attraction. He’d been born in a castle and raised from the cradle to understand that he would rule his country one day. It was a birthright that carried with it tremendous responsibility—and relentless public scrutiny. Everything he did was fodder for the tabloids. Every decision he made was documented and analyzed. Every woman he dated was subjected to background checks and media attention.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he wasn’t a royal representative of Ardena. It was as if he’d completely shed that identity when he’d donned the costume of the Roman god. And then he’d spotted his goddess.

He didn’t know if he believed in destiny, but he did believe that she’d felt that same instantaneous tug of attraction he’d experienced when their eyes met across the room. And he hoped they would have a chance to explore that attraction.

So he replied to her question with one of his own. “Where do you want to go?”

She tilted her head, studying him with steady green eyes as she considered her response. “Are you married?”

“No.” His response was quick, vehement.

Her lips twitched, as if she was trying not to smile. “Engaged?”

“No,” he said again. “There’s no one.”

She continued to hold his gaze as she finished off her champagne. When the glass was empty, he set it aside and took her hands in his, noting the absence of any rings on the third finger of her left hand. “How about you? Boyfriend? Lover?”

She shook her head and her earrings glinted in the moonlight. “Completely unattached,” she assured him.

“I’m very glad to hear that,” he said, and lowered his head to kiss her.

Her lips were as soft as he’d suspected, and sweetly yielding. And the flavor of her lips buzzed through his veins, more potent than the champagne he’d drunk and more addictive than anything he’d ever tasted.

She neither pulled away nor moved closer, and he sensed a certain amount of both caution and curiosity in her response. He couldn’t blame her for being wary—he was a stranger and they were alone in the shadows—but he didn’t want her to be afraid. So he held his escalating desire firmly in check and forced himself to move slowly.

He touched his tongue tentatively to the seam of her lips, once, twice. The second time, her lips parted for him. When he dipped inside, she brushed his tongue with her own.

He wanted to pull her into his arms, to hold her tight against his body. He wanted to feel the soft press of her breasts against his chest, to let her feel the hard proof of his desire for her. He knew what he wanted—he wanted her. But he sensed that she was still undecided, and he was more than happy to take whatever time was needed to convince her that she wanted him, too.

Thankfully, she seemed willing to be convinced. When he released her hands and inched closer to her, she didn’t protest. When he slid his hands from her waist to her breasts, she only sighed and pressed closer to him. It was all the encouragement he needed. The fabric of her costume was almost gossamer thin, and he could clearly feel the pattern of the lace on her bra. Through the lace, he traced circles around the peaks of her nipples, felt them pucker in response to his touch.

She gasped and shuddered, but didn’t pull away. He eased his lips from hers and skimmed them along her jaw, down her throat, over the curve of her collarbone. The soft, sexy noises that sounded in her throat made his blood pound and his body ache.

Maybe this was crazy. It was certainly beyond scandalous. Anyone could wander out from the ballroom as easily as they had done, but he didn’t care. He experienced a heady sense of freedom that he’d never known before, trusting that even if someone did venture out onto the balcony, they wouldn’t catch the king of Ardena in a compromising position. Because he wasn’t the king of Ardena right now—he was Jupiter, and making love with Juno seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

He tore his mouth from hers and drew in a deep, shuddering breath to say, “Come upstairs with me.”

It was a plea as much as a demand, and there was only one answer Marissa wanted to give. She would follow him to the ends of the earth if he would keep doing what he’d been doing, if he could make those exquisite sensations ricocheting through her body never stop. But even with lust clouding her mind, something in his words gave her pause.

She’d been on the verge of saying “yes.” She’d been on the verge of letting him take her right there on the balcony. Because she’d thought he was an anonymous stranger. But he hadn’t said come home with me or come back to my hotel. He’d said come upstairs with me. And if he was staying at the palace, he had to have some kind of connection to the prince regent.

She drew back, tried to catch her breath and focus her thoughts. “You have a room … here at the palace?”

He hesitated, as if only now understanding the implications of his words. But then he said, “I’m visiting with a friend who is well acquainted with the minister of foreign affairs. He arranged for our accommodations.”

It was a logical explanation and not one that would concern most women. Of course, most other women weren’t closely related to the minister of foreign affairs.

She exhaled slowly, reconsidering his invitation. But if the connection to her brother was only through a friend of his, then this … interlude, she decided for lack of a better term, could remain anonymous. Which meant that his revelation didn’t require her to abort her plan. At least not yet.

“That seems rather convenient,” she said lightly.

He brushed his lips against hers again. “Or maybe it’s destiny.”

She smiled and splayed her palms on his breastplate. She could feel the ridges of the storm-cloud design beneath her fingertips, but what she wanted to feel was the warmth of his bare flesh. She wanted to explore every inch of him, with her hands and her lips. It was a shockingly bold desire for a woman with zero sexual experience, and a desire that she didn’t want to deny any longer.

For the first time in her life, she wanted a man without hesitation. Maybe it was foolish, maybe it was irrefutable proof that she had set upon a desperate course, but it was true. She wanted to be with this man. She wanted him to kiss her again, she wanted to feel his lips on hers, his hands on her body, his naked flesh against hers.

She whispered against his lips, “Lead the way.”

Chapter Two

As they made their way through the maze of hallways to the third floor of the north wing, Marissa’s apprehension increased.

Could she do this? Could she really make love with a stranger? She wanted to—and not just because she was determined to finally lose her virginity, but because she wanted this man as she’d never wanted anyone before. Because he’d made her feel things she’d never felt before.

But what if she got scared? What if she stepped into his room and he pressed her up against the wall and shoved his tongue down her throat and—

She jolted when he took her hand.

Behind the gold mask that covered half of his face, his gaze was hot and intense, but when he spoke, his voice was carefully neutral. “If this isn’t what you want—”

“No,” she interrupted quickly, shoving aside the unpleasant memory of the Duke of Bellemoro. “It is.”

“Good,” he said, and slipped his arms around her waist to draw her close. He lowered his head and kissed her again.

He truly was an exceptional kisser, teasing her lips, coaxing her response. As their tongues danced and mated, she felt as if she could be content to continue kissing him forever. But contentment quickly gave way to desire, and desire to need.

“Maybe we should take this inside,” he suggested against her lips.

She hadn’t even realized they were still in the hall. What was it about this man that he could make her lose all concept of time and place? And not even care that she’d done so?