Scandals Of The Royals. Lynn Raye Harris
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woman was Carlotta. She had secrets. She had hidden depths. Passion that simmered just beneath the smooth, controlled surface. A passion she seemed to want to deny.
Normally, he wouldn’t care about anything hidden. Give him surface. He could enjoy surface forever. But he would be living with Carlotta. Having children with her. Already there was Luca.
It made him want to know.
Her throat convulsed as she looked down at her hand, at the glittering diamond there. “Not this one.”
He shook his head. “No, not that one. It’s too … expected.”
She laughed. “Well, maybe it is perfect. Because generally speaking, I’m expected.”
“Why do you say that?” he asked, scanning the tray, his eyes fixing on a gold, ornate band with a pear-cut emerald set in the center.
“I’m here, aren’t I? Marrying you, because my father asked me to. Because it was the right thing to do.”
“I find that very unexpected,” he said, taking the ring between his thumb and forefinger and pulling it from its satin nest.
“Do you?” she asked, green eyes, so close to the color of the gem, locked with his.
“Yes. I don’t know very many people who would drop everything in their life to do what was asked of them. Granted, I know several people who would drop everything to marry a prince, but I don’t get the feeling my title colored your motives.”
“I’m already a princess.”
“And you don’t live at the palace.”
She bit her lip. “No.”
“See? Unexpected.” He offered her the ring and she took it gingerly, sliding it onto her ring finger.
She held her hand out, her focus on the ring now. “Very unexpected.”
When she moved, he caught the scent of her. She smelled like clean skin and soap, a smell he wasn’t sure he’d ever noticed on a woman before. Either because it was covered by perfume, or because he’d just never taken the time to notice, he wasn’t sure.
He captured her hand, her skin soft and smooth. It was impossible for him not to wonder how it would feel for those delicate, feminine fingers to trail over his bare skin. Impossible not to wonder if her lips would be just as soft. On his lips, his body.
Six months. It had been six months, and his libido was really starting to rebel.
But she wasn’t just a woman at a club. Someone to have a night of fun with. She was supposed to be his wife. The Queen of Santa Christobel. Clearing his desk so he could press her back onto the hard surface and have his way with her wasn’t the kind of treatment she would be expecting. And anyway, it would scatter the jewelry.
Who cares? You’ll be a terrible husband and father, but you could give her this.
Sex. He was good at sex. At making women feel good about themselves. And in the process, it made him feel good.
“I like this one,” he said, shutting the images out of his mind.
Her eyes clashed with his. “You do?”
“Do you?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Then you should have it,” he said. “And it only seems fitting that I ask you again. Will you marry me?”
“I …”
He moved his thumb over the back of her hand, relishing the silken quality of her skin. He bent his head and pressed his lips to her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers. He saw her pupils expand, a strange mix of curiosity and desire mingling in there.
“Say yes,” he said, his lips brushing against her skin.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. He saw a sheen of tears there. It made his chest feel tight. Had he made her cry? Was he already a source of unhappiness for her?
“Good.” He managed to force the word out.
“Rodriguez …” She took a step toward him, her hand outstretched. And he wanted to draw her to him. To offer her some kind of comfort. To tell her things would be okay.
He took a step back, denying the impulse. This was why he was so intent on them leading separate lives. He couldn’t fulfill her needs, not the emotional ones. And why he cared, he didn’t know.
He didn’t understand this, the tightness in his chest mixed with a strange attraction that had been growing in him from the moment he’d seen her. Slow and steady, not hot and instant. But it was there. Smoldering. Constant. And what he was feeling now, it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t casual. Maybe that was what happened when you asked a woman to marry you.
“See you in the morning.”
He turned and walked from the room, ignoring the hurt he’d seen on her face. He’d done the wrong thing. But it wouldn’t be the last time. It was better they both get used to it.
“THERE will be a formal announcement of our engagement today.” Rodriguez walked into the dining area, where she and Luca were having breakfast, looking respectable in his tailored suit, yet somehow managing to look disreputable at the same time.
Or maybe that was just Carlotta’s mind, objectifying him. She’d certainly been doing a fair amount of it lately. She’d been absent any sort of sexual thrills for quite a while, and one thing Rodriguez provided, just by walking into a room, was sexual thrill. So, it wasn’t entirely her fault.
Anyway, there were scores of tabloid tales, provided by exes, talking about all his prowess. Prowess she would be experiencing soon.
Her face got hot and prickly.
“How formal? Are you sending an aide or …”
“We’re having a press conference.”
Carlotta set her coffee cup down on its saucer. “A press-conference press conference? With a room full of reporters and flashbulbs and hideously invasive personal questions? That kind of press conference?”
“If there’s any other kind I haven’t yet been to it.”
Luca took another bite of churro and Carlotta winced as he set it down on the white tablecloth, then planted his sticky, sugar-coated hands on the formerly pristine surface. Rodriguez didn’t seem to notice. “What’s that mean?”
She waited to see if Rodriguez might answer, but he seemed as oblivious to the question as he’d been to the sugary handprints. Or at least he was pretending to be.
“There will be reporters, people who work for the television news and the paper, and they’re going to come and ask Rodriguez and me questions. Take our picture.”
“Me too?” Luca asked.
Carlotta shook her head. “No. You would be bored. You’d have to sit still.”
Luca frowned. “I’ll stay and play with Angelina. She said she had movies.” His nanny had arrived late the night before and Luca was thrilled to see her.
Angelina hadn’t been full-time when they’d lived in Italy, but she’d agreed to drop her other charges and come to Santa Christobel to live in the palace. Because now life was different. Carlotta had responsibilities outside of her son. It was sort of jarring and depressing.
“Good,” she said, her response halfhearted now.
“We only have a couple of hours to prepare,” Rodriguez said.
“And why didn’t you tell me this last night?”