The Secret That Shocked De Santis. Natalie Anderson
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she said slowly, ‘it seems obvious to me that we don’t need to do this at all. Your brother is the Crown Prince. He makes the laws. So he can simply change the law to recognise the child as your heir. There is no need for us to marry for the baby to have its birthright.’
Anger flared. Would she deny his child? Would she defy him? And she dared suggest he ask his brother to fix up this mess? Never would he do that.
‘My baby will have nothing less than she or he deserves. Nothing less than the very best.’ He placed his hands on her fine-boned shoulders and spoke right into her face. ‘I repeat. We will be married here tomorrow. Whether you like it or not, it is what will happen.’
She flung her head back and glared up at him. ‘You can’t make me.’
‘No?’ He laughed at the challenge, and the urge to bait her was irresistible. ‘You are a soldier. You are trained to do as you are told.’
Her nostrils flared. ‘I will not obey you. You are not my superior officer. And I’m no longer a soldier.’
‘You’re a born soldier,’ he said. ‘And I am a prince of the realm.’
‘But not the Crown Prince.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘You’re not the supreme commanding officer. You’re not the monarch who passes the laws of the land. You are nothing but a mere man to me.’
His lips curled as satisfaction rushed and adrenalin surged, sharpening every one of his muscles. This challenge and fearless fighting vitality was what he’d liked about her. She was no prince-adoring sycophant.
‘A man that you wanted. That you had. That you’re now stuck with. For better or for worse,’ he mocked, but he meant it. ‘And you will do as I say tomorrow. You’ll find you have very little choice in the matter.’
‘There are always choices.’ Her chin stayed high, her expression determined.
And she had made hers. She’d turned her back on him and climbed away. At the time he’d only been able to watch, angered beyond belief and yet frankly marvelling at her agility.
Then he’d waited to see what the ramifications would be. He’d ordered a trusted ally to keep an eye on her, because as much as he wanted to move on he couldn’t until he understood why she’d done what she had. He needed to ascertain whether she would sell her story or try to seize some other opportunity that he couldn’t foresee. But there’d been only silence. Until that call today from his aide—detailing the worst consequence ever.
‘Some choices are wiser than others,’ he said ruefully. ‘Do not make this harder than it needs to be. There is no point banging your head against this particular brick wall. You’re only going to bruise yourself.’
He leaned closer, so close to the tense, sulky mouth that he knew was actually soft and hungry. The mouth he wanted more than was rational. The mouth he would not let himself taste again until she acquiesced to everything.
Until he was certain she really wanted him again.
Because she was an enigma, this woman who’d given so much and yet held so much back. He did not trust her. But he wanted her. Her quickened breathing fanned his smouldering desire and the spark in her eyes ignited it.
‘If you insist on doing so,’ he murmured huskily, ‘I will kiss your bruises better.’
Stella sucked in a shocked breath. Silenced. He remembered their stupid banter that afternoon on the beach? How could he make a joke at a time that was so terrible? He couldn’t be taking this seriously.
Yet his words and his expression sent heat licking along her veins. Sweetness rushed south to where it would be needed if her body was to take his again. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t take her eyes off him.
His slight, set smile now faded. He was staring back—at her mouth. She yearned to lick her lips but knew it was her body attempting to send a blatant signal to pull him nearer, and she was resisting that instinct this time. She was not giving in to it again. That basic, carnal instinct had succeeded in what it had wanted. Procreation. The drive to mate and create new life. There was no need for her body to want his again.
Oh, but there was pleasure, her reawakened inner wanton whispered. There was all the pleasure he could give her with his lips, tongue, hands and—
‘I suggest you freshen up and then have some lunch,’ he said brusquely, stepping away from her in a quick, leashed movement. ‘We have many plans to make and you’ll need to be able to concentrate.’
‘Plans?’ she choked, determined to bite back the desire that he so easily conjured from her.
Because he didn’t want this any more than she did.
‘Yes.’ He turned and gave her thin tee shirt and clinging pants a coolly ironic once-over. ‘You’ll need to choose your wedding dress.’
WEDDING DRESS?
Surely he was joking—trying to provoke. Stella refused to rise to his bait. She lost control of herself around him, and if she was going to negotiate a way out of this and stay cool-headed, clinical tactics were required.
‘You have a room ready for me?’ She locked her wobbly knees. She’d show no more weakness.
‘Of course.’ He walked towards the door. ‘This way.’
Stella made a mental map as he escorted her down the long corridor and up a grand staircase. The palace had looked moderately sized from the air, but it turned out it was more of a Tardis—corridors, rooms, doors in all directions.
‘Your suite is next to mine,’ he informed her. ‘You can find your way back to the library when you’re ready?’
‘Of course,’ she muttered.
‘There are fresh clothes in the wardrobe. You may choose anything you like.’
She sent him an appalled look. Did he always keep a stash of women’s clothing on his island? His wicked look dared her, but she wasn’t going to bite. Yet.
‘Thank you.’ She walked into the room, closing the door behind her with a firm click.
Like the rest of the palace, the room was large and beautifully decorated—muted colours, soft, plush furnishings—and cool and comforting. She turned her back on the large bed and opened the door to a private bathroom and leaned against it in relief. Sleek, luxurious immaculate—all white marble and edged in gleaming lapis lazuli. Of course.
She eyed the enormous claw-footed bath, but then spotted the large glass shower stall. Several shower heads were strategically placed to blast water from all angles. Sheer heaven.
She turned on the taps and stripped, then stepped into the shower, shivering in delight as the water hit her. Water had rushed over her body that day on the beach too. Cleansing. Cooling. She pressed her palm on her flat belly, still unable to truly believe there was a tiny life within. How could she not have known?
She’d been so busy distracting herself she couldn’t recall when she’d last had her period. She’d deliberately kept a crazy schedule so she’d hardly had any quiet moments when memory could ambush her. But now she leaned against the shower wall and closed her eyes, finally able to surrender. No longer did she have the strength to battle back those memories.
Not now she’d seen him again.
Not when the ramifications of that day were so dramatic.
The floodgates opened and every secretly stored sensation, every muscle memory, every beautiful image burst into her brain. Unstoppable. Overwhelming. Sensations trammelled through her as she relived every minute.
Despite the glorious weather, that day had turned bad just after lunch. She’d been summoned by her commanding officer and informed that there was a peace-keeping