Scandals Of The Royals: Princess From the Shadows

No. She really, really didn’t. Because it brought back memories of another dance, on another night, and all of her weakness.

“Of course,” she said, offering the Ramirezes a smile for good measure.

Rodriguez kept his arm around her waist and they followed the older couple out onto the area in front of the stage that had been kept clear for dancing.

When they were out in the center of it, he pulled her in, clasping her hand in his. “Try not to look so much like you want to chew me out,” he said dryly, resting his cheek against hers.

She closed her eyes, sucking in a sharp breath, and just for one moment reveled in the feel of his hard body so close to hers. The light brush of stubble from his face. He was a man. So different from her. His body promised the kind of satisfaction that eluded her when she was by herself, more than a simple climax, but real, hot human touch. His scent would surround her, his heat.

She shivered as he moved in time to the music. Nothing sexy, nothing that should send tremors of arousal through her. It was just a dry, classical piece. But Rodriguez’s touch made it seem like more. It made the strains of the cello warm, made the music wind through her body, wrapping around her, as though she were a part of it. One of the instruments. And he was playing her.

She couldn’t even bring herself to care, she wanted to embrace it.

This wasn’t safe. This wasn’t controlled. And she didn’t care.

Because tonight she felt like a woman. And he was right, she had forgotten what that was like. She hadn’t seen the point in remembering. It was so much safer to get lost in the world of dinners at home and imaginary games with cuddle toys.

There was nothing safe about being in Rodriguez’s embrace. She’d discovered that earlier in the corridor when they’d kissed. When she’d all but attacked him, truth be told.

No, his embrace was danger. Delicious, dark, decadent, probably bad for her, but all the better for it. Part of her wondered what was wrong with her. The other part didn’t care. Not now. He was stealing control out of her hands. And she was letting him.

“Feeling warm?” he asked, his voice a whisper, his lips pressed against her earlobe.

“How did you know?”

“Because I am.”

“We might … step outside for a moment.” Bad idea, Carlotta. Very bad.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” A dark, glittering fire lit his eyes and she knew that it was the kind of bad idea that she’d had before, and yet, it felt different. She felt different. Not all glowy and wide-eyed, hoping for some kind of emotional revelation.

She just wanted him to touch her. Her only fear was that he wouldn’t.

He kept his arm locked around her waist and she led the way through the crowd, to the back of the ballroom and out onto the vast terrace. It was warm outside, ocean mist hanging thick in the heated air.

“The beaches in Santa Christobel are famous. And I don’t believe you’ve been yet,” he said, sliding his hand over her waist and to her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.

“It’s dark,” she said dryly.

“This is where I say something pithy about the moon reflecting off the water. Or where I would say something to that effect if I were toying with you.” He tightened his hold on her hand and halted his steps. Carlotta stopped and turned to him, studied his face, his dark eyes glittering in the dim light. “But I’m not. The simple truth is, I have wanted to have you to myself from the moment I saw you in that dress. I’m luring you away from the crowd so I can get you alone.”

She sucked in a breath. “Are you planning on having your wicked way with me?” She’d meant to tease, but unfortunately her question sounded completely sincere and a little bit breathless.

“Is that what you want?”

“Why don’t we go down to the beach and … see the moon.”

“Sounds like a line. I should know.”

She shot him her deadliest glare, one that would have sent a lesser man running for cover. But there was nothing lesser about Rodriguez. And it was dark, so her look was probably completely wasted. “Rodriguez, this isn’t easy for me, can we just walk?”

“And not talk?”

“That would probably be best.” She didn’t want to think. She wanted … she didn’t want to think about what it was she wanted either, because there was nothing smart or good or self-controlled about what she wanted. It didn’t really matter if Rodriguez was the man she was supposed to marry. She didn’t have any of the feelings she should have for a future husband for him, she just … needed him.

The need was elemental. It wasn’t a pursuit of rebellion, it was physical. As necessary as breathing. Terrifying and foreign in its intensity, but far too compelling to walk away from.

“Then follow me.” He started walking again and she followed. He led her down a stone path that went from the house and disappeared into the thick, lush sand of the beach. “You might need to lose your shoes,” he said, looking down at the glittering high heels she was wearing.

“Right.”

He tightened his grip on her while she lifted one foot up and toed the first spiky shoe off, then the other. He picked them up off the sand, the feminine heels out of place in his large, square hands. “I don’t want you to lose them,” he said.

“Thanks.” She didn’t really care about the shoes. She couldn’t. She felt somehow outside of herself and more connected to her body’s physical needs than she’d ever been. Above and also deeply immersed in what was happening to her, to them. She just wanted to block everything out but the feelings that were moving through her. The desire and lust and things she’d ignored for so long. To embrace the heat in her blood instead of trying to suppress it.

For one moment, she just wanted to be a woman. To capture what had been ripped from her life, not just by Gabriel, but by her parents and their disapproval, the media and their cruelty.

She scanned the beach, looking for a place that might afford some privacy.

“This way,” he said, drawing her forward, into a cove of palms that stood back from the water. There was a cabana there, linen curtains tied back on thick, wooden posts, blowing in the warm evening breeze.

A large, white mattress was placed in the middle on a wooden frame. It was clearly meant for two, and it was obviously meant for privacy. As private as one could get out in the open.

“Before you go and get angry, I’ve toured the property before. I haven’t sneaked out of parties and brought dates here.”

“Not here specifically.”

“I never claimed to be a saint.”

“Neither did I,” she said, climbing the wooden steps that led into the secluded structure. “But I seem to have been trying to do an impression of one for most of my life.”

She sat on the edge of the lounge and leaned back slightly, almost shocking herself with her boldness.

He approached the lounger and rested his knee on the thick, white padding, just between her thighs. He didn’t touch her, but she could feel his heat, felt a hollow ache starting at her core and working its way into her stomach, making her feel needy and edgy. Nervous too.

He leaned in closer and she leaned back, the move reflexive. She could see a smile curve the corner of his wicked mouth in the dim lighting. He rested his hand next to her hip, brought his face closer to hers and she scooted back a fraction. He chuckled, resting his other palm on the other side of her so that he was over her, his lips so near her she would barely have to move to kiss him.

So she did it. She tilted her head up, bringing her mouth against his, her tongue teasing the seam. He tasted even better than she remembered. Until two weeks ago it had been so long since she’d been kissed, so long since she’d felt beautiful. So long since she’d wanted anything that was just for her.

He returned the kiss, his mouth hot and hungry, his tongue sliding against hers, the friction so sensual she thought it might kill her. She didn’t think anything had ever felt so good. Her hands moved to his shoulders and she felt herself falling back slowly, her head resting against one of the throw pillows that had been placed on the lounger.

He put one hand on her leg and pushed the hem of her dress up, allowing her to part her thighs so he could settle between them, the hard ridge of his erection hot even through layers of lace and silk, teasing her sensitized body.

He rocked against her, teasing her with the slight pressure from his arousal, pleasure pouring through her like warm oil. She arched into him, wanting more, wanting him to keep kissing her. Wanting him to touch more of her. Wanting more in general.

“Touch me,” she whispered against his lips, moving her hands from his shoulders to the front of his shirt, jerking the knot on his tie, loosening it and pulling it off so she could get to the buttons on his dress shirt.

She worked the buttons quickly, desperate to touch his skin. Desperate for more. She placed her palm flat on his chest, his flesh hot and hard, the hair prickly and masculine beneath her hands.