Princess's Pregnancy Secret

She kissed him. Kissed him long and deep and softened in the delight. In the rightness of the sensation. She could feel him there beneath her. She rocked her hips, as she’d done before, feeling him slide through her feminine folds. His hands gripped her hips, holding her, helping her. She pressed down, right on that angle, every sense on high alert and anticipation. But her body resisted, unyielding.

She wanted this.

So she pushed down hard. Unexpectedly sharp pain pierced the heated fog of desire.

‘Blue?’ A burning statue beneath her; his breathing was ragged as he swore. ‘I’ve—’

‘I’m fine,’ she pleaded, willing her body to welcome his.

‘You’re tight,’ he said between gritted teeth.

‘You’re big.’

He filled her completely—beneath her, about her, within her. The force and fire of his personality scalded her. Her breath shuddered as she was locked in his embrace, and in the intense heat of his gaze.

‘Have I hurt you?’ His question came clipped.

‘No.’ It wasn’t regret that burned within her, but recognition. This was what she wanted. ‘Kiss me.’

And he did. He kissed her into that pure state of bliss once more. Into heat and light and sparkling rainbows and all kinds of magic that were miraculous and new. Touching him ignited her and she moved restlessly, eager to feel him touching her again too. That fullness between her legs eased. Honeyed heat bloomed and she slid closer still to him. She sighed, unable to remain still any more. His arms tightened around her, clasping her to him as he kissed her back—exactly how she needed. Yes. This was so good, it had to be right. He shifted her, sliding her back, and then down hard on the thick column of his manhood.

He suddenly stood, taking her weight with no apparent difficulty. Startled, she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. He kissed her in approval and took those few paces to where that narrow table stretched along the wall. He stood at the short end and carefully placed her right on the edge of it, then slowly he eased her so she lay on her back on the cool wood. Her legs were wound around his waist, her hips tilted upwards as he braced over her, his shaft still driven to the hilt inside her. That mirror was right beside her now but she didn’t turn her head to look again at those strangers; she couldn’t. Her wicked rake claimed every ounce of her focus.

‘This is madness,’ he muttered. ‘But I don’t care.’

Nor did she. This moment was too perfect. Too precious. Too much to be denied.

His large hands cupped her, holding her as he pressed into her deeply, and then pulled back a fraction, only to push forward again. Again, then again, then again. Every time he seemed to drive deeper, claiming more and more of her. And she gave it to him. She would give him everything, he made her feel so good. He gazed into her eyes and in his she saw the echo of her own emotions—wonder, pleasure, need.

She’d never been as close to another person in all her life. Not so passionately, nakedly close. Nor so vulnerable, or so safe. Never so free.

She kissed him in arousal, in madness, in gratitude. Trusting him implicitly. He’d already proven his desire to please her.

‘Come again,’ he coaxed in a passionate whisper. ‘I want to feel you come.’

She wanted that too. She wanted exactly that.

He touched her just above the point where they were joined, teasing even as he filled her. She gasped as she felt the sensations inside gather once more in that unstoppable storm.

‘You...please...’ she begged incoherently as she feverishly clutched him, digging her fingernails into his flesh. She wanted him to feel the same ecstasy surging through her. She needed him on this ride with her. As she frantically arched to meet him she heard his groan. His hands gripped tighter, his expression tensed. She smiled in that final second. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to revel in it and she never, ever wanted it to end.

His face flushed as sensation swept the final vestige of control from his grasp. Pleasure stormed through her again, surging to the farthest reaches of her body. She sobbed in the onslaught of goodness and delight and his roar of satisfaction was the coda to her completeness.

Her eyes were closed. She could hear only the beating of her heart and his as they recovered. She was pinned by his weight and it was the best feeling on earth.

But then laughter rang out. Not hers. Nor his.

‘What’s in this room?’

Eleni snapped her head to stare at the door as someone on the other side tried the handle.

‘Hello?’

More laughter reverberated through the wood.

Reality returned in a violent slam, evaporating the mist of delight. Suddenly she saw herself as she’d look to anyone who burst through that door—Princess Eleni of Palisades, ninety per cent naked, sprawled on a table with her legs around the waist of some stranger and his body ploughed deep into hers.

Sordid headlines smashed into her head: shameless wanton...a one-night stand...the eve of her engagement... There would be no mercy, no privacy—only scorn and shame. She had to get out of here. Aghast, she stared up at the handsome stranger she’d just ravished. What had she done?

* * *

Damon watched his masked lover’s eyes widen in shock. Beneath the blue sparkled powder, her skin paled and her kiss-crushed lips parted in a silent gasp. This was more than embarrassment. This was fear. He was so stunned by her devastated expression he stepped back. She slipped down from the table and tugged at her crumpled clothing. Before he could speak someone knocked on the door again. More voices sounded out in the corridor.

Her pallor worsened.

‘I’ll get rid of them,’ he assured her, hauling up his trousers so he could get to the door and deny anyone entrance to the room. He was determined to wipe that terror from her face.

He pressed a hand on the door. Even though he’d locked it, he couldn’t be sure someone wouldn’t be able to unlock it from the other side. He listened intently, hoping the revellers would pass and go exploring elsewhere. After a few moments the voices faded.

He turned back to see how she was doing, but she’d vanished. Shocked, he stared around the empty room, then stalked back to where she’d been standing seconds ago. Only now did he register the other door tucked to the side of that large mirror. There were two entrances to this room and he’d been so caught up in her he’d not even noticed.

He tried the handle but it was locked. So how had she got through it? Keenly he searched and spotted a discreet security screen. Had she known the code to get out? She must have. Because in the space of two seconds, she’d fled.

Just who was she? Why so afraid of someone finding her? Foreboding filled him. He didn’t trust women. He didn’t trust anyone.

If only he’d peeled off that mask and seen her face properly. How could he have made such a reckless, risky decision?

Anger simmered, but voices sounded outside the other door again, forcing him to move. He glanced in the mirror at his passion-swept reflection. Frowning, he swiftly buttoned his shirt and fixed his trousers properly. Thank heavens he’d retained enough sense to use protection. But as he sorted himself out he realised something he’d missed in his haste to ensure that door was secure. The damn condom was torn. And more than that? It was marked with a trace of something that shouldn’t have been there. He remembered when she’d first pushed down on him. When she’d inhaled sharply and tears had sprung to her eyes.

Uncertainty. Pain.

Grimly he fastened his belt. He’d been too lost to lust to absorb the implications of her reaction. Now his gut tensed as he struggled to believe the evidence. Had she given him her virginity? Had she truly never had another lover and yet let him, a total stranger, have her in a ten-minute tryst in a private powder room?

Impossible. But the stain of her purity was on his skin. His pulse thundered in his ears. Why would she have done something so wild? What was her motivation?

Hell, what had he been thinking? To have had sex with a woman he’d barely met as fast and as furiously as possible? Almost in public?

But her expressive response had swept all sensible thought from his head. She’d wanted him and heaven knew he’d wanted her. He was appalled by his recklessness; his anger roared. But a twist of Machiavellian satisfaction brewed beneath, because he was going to have to find her. He was going to have to warn her about the condom. The instinct to hunt her pressed like the blade of a knife. She owed him answers.

Find her. Find her. Find her.

His pulse banged like a pagan’s drum, marching him back to the busy ballroom. He even took to the balcony to scan the braying crowd, determined to find that blue hair and swan-like neck. But he knew it was futile. The midnight hour had struck and that sizzling Cinderella had run away, never wanting to be seen again.

Least of all by him.

CHAPTER THREE (#uabfbee12-41a4-522a-91cd-a3b51575adcc)

‘YOU LOOK PEAKY.’