Scandals Of The Royals. Lynn Raye Harris
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“Yes,” she said, turning, her face angled down. “I thought I heard someone.”
“I don’t hear anyone.”
“That isn’t the point.”
He tugged the zipper into place and she turned. “What is the point then?” he asked.
“That we could have been caught.”
“So what? We’re engaged.”
“So?” she choked out, her words rising as she stood from the lounger. “So? You clearly have never been the center of a tabloid scandal. Oh, yes, you have, you just don’t care! Well, I care!”
“Carlotta, there wasn’t anyone out here. And anyway, we’re engaged to be married, where’s the scandal?”
“Where’s the scandal? You can hardly find pictures of royals kissing each other politely, let alone … snogging … in a cabana!”
“We were a little bit past that point.”
“Don’t,” she said, her voice trembling as she bent down and grabbed his tie, tossed it in his direction, “remind me.”
“Why are you so angry? Nothing happened. There were no pictures.”
“But there could have been!” she said. “And they would have been online and my … my son would have seen them. It’s bad enough that Luca will be able to look his family up on the internet, see that they called him the Santina bastard. See the endless speculation about who his father is, the headlines intimating I might not know who it is. Should he also see pictures of me half naked on a lounge chair with a man?”
“No, I don’t suppose he should but I am the man you’re marrying.”
“You keep saying that like it matters. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I … How can you understand? You just … can’t.”
“Try me, Carlotta. Do you think you have the monopoly on whatever it is you’re feeling right now?”
“On this? Yes. I’m sure I do. At least when it comes to the two of us.”
“I didn’t think you were a saint. You’re doing a great impression of someone who finds themself to be holier than thou.”
“I want to be,” she said sharply. “I want to be better than this. I need to be.” Her voice broke on the last word, the desperation he heard there something he couldn’t understand. Something he didn’t think he wanted to understand.
“Better than what? People want sex, Carlotta. They need it. It’s fundamental. A drive, like eating and sleeping. It’s not wrong to want it.”
“You say that because you have no idea what it means to face the consequences of it. It’s not the same as eating and sleeping. You have to be careful. And I should be in control of myself … of my body. I should have control.”
She turned and walked away, her arms crossed over her front like she was cold, holding on to herself tightly. He didn’t follow her. She didn’t want him to. He knew it. He wanted to. He wanted to find out what her problem was. To figure out why her rejection of him made his stomach feel tight, his body numb. It was more than unquenched desire. More than simple disappointment over not achieving a climax.
He wasn’t sure what it was.
He watched her small figure until she made her way back up to the expansive home and slipped back into the ballroom. He hoped she didn’t attract attention.
Not for his sake. For hers. Because she hated having her photo taken.
He couldn’t remember the last time the needs of someone else seemed so much more important than his own.
CARLOTTA closed the door to Luca’s room silently, her heart heavy. With responsibility. Anguish. Guilt. Nothing was ever simple.
She’d made a hasty retreat through the less populated portion of the mansion, and had managed not to run into anyone beyond a few members of staff. A trick she’d learned during her last idiotic affair.
That thought made her feel sick. Why was she still struggling like this? Why, when she knew the kind of pain it could cause, had she let her guard down?
The easy answer was that Rodriguez and her need for him had blindsided her. She liked sex, and yes, she’d missed it periodically over the past six years, but the need for completion had never, ever been like it had been tonight with Rodriguez.
This was just plain scary. Shocking in its intensity. It was taking her over.
She was tempted to go back in Luca’s room and curl up with her sleeping son. Use him as a shield against everything Rodriguez had conjured up in her. Yes, he had reminded her that she was a woman, not simply a mother, a caregiver. But someone with needs of her own.
And she wished she hadn’t been given that reminder.
She leaned back against Luca’s bedroom doors and closed her eyes. And she gave in to the misery that was making her entire body feel too tight. She let one tear slide down her cheek, then another. A sharp, silent sob forced her to suck in a breath.
“Dios. Are you okay?”
She turned toward the sound of Rodriguez’s voice, wiping away the moisture on her face, hoping he didn’t notice that her hands were shaking. “F-fine, I’m fine.”
“Luca?”
“Sleeping. I’m just …”
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He took a step toward her, his dark brows locked together. “I thought … you seemed to want everything …”
“I did,” she whispered.
“Did someone hurt you? Did Luca’s father …”
She laughed, the sound hollow and watery. Pitiful. “Yes. Of course he did. We aren’t together as one big happy family, are we? But he didn’t … hurt me … not like you mean.”
He looked over his shoulder, down the long corridor, vacant for now, but they both knew that staff were still milling around, even though it was past midnight.
“Come on,” he said, touching her hand lightly. “Come talk to me.”
She followed him, trying desperately to keep from dissolving into a dribbly mess. Because no one had really wanted to talk to her about what had happened. Not with any real depth or meaning.
Come talk to me.
The way he said it was like he really wanted to hear it. But she wasn’t sure she could tell. Not when it seemed to live inside her, a dirty secret that roamed around in her belly like a hungry lion, consuming happiness, her joy in normal things. Reminding her, constantly, that she’d failed. That she could never be worthy of forgiveness.
He pushed open wide, double doors at the end of the corridor. His room, she knew. And yet, even though a couple of days ago she might have accused him of trying to seduce her, she didn’t think that tonight.
Anyway, she’d practically led the seducing earlier.
The front section of his chamber was a sitting area, and that seemed neutral enough. She sat in one of the chairs, the one farthest from any of the other chairs, because if they were going to have this discussion, she was keeping her distance. Keeping her control.
Rodriguez didn’t sit. He stood, leaning against the mantel, his posture relaxed, arms folded across his broad chest. He’d never put his tie back on and the top few buttons of his shirt were still open.
From her clawing at them like a deranged sex kitten.
Che