Royal Holiday Bride. Brenda Harlen
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noted. He moved easily, naturally, and it felt so good to be held in his arms, close to his body. Her heart was pounding and her blood was humming. For the first time since she’d set her plan in motion, she started to believe that she could go through with it.
If she could be with Jupiter.
That this man had chosen to come to the ball dressed as her mythological mate was nothing more than a coincidence, she knew that. And yet, in her heart, she believed it was a sign that she was doing the right thing.
Or maybe it was just her hormones, because she honestly couldn’t ever remember responding to a man as immediately and intensely as she’d responded to this one.
She tipped her head back, smiled when she met his gaze. She’d danced with a lot of men whose eyes had roamed the dance floor, looking for their next partner, their next conquest. But Jupiter seemed interested only in her, and for a woman who was used to standing on the sidelines, being the center of such focused attention was absolutely exhilarating.
Though his face was half-covered by a gold-colored mask, there was no disguising the strength or masculinity of his features. His eyes were as dark as espresso and surrounded by thick lashes, his jaw was strong and square, his lips exquisitely shaped and quick to curve.
“So why Jupiter?” she asked him now.
“Why would I choose the identity of any one god when I could be the ruler of the gods?” he countered.
“Lofty ambitions,” she mused.
For just a second, she thought she saw a shadow cross his eyes. But then he smiled, and everything inside of her quivered.
“I would expect the consort of the king to have similarly grand desires,” he noted.
She didn’t think his use of the word desires was either inadvertent or inappropriate. She had very specific plans for this night, and while she didn’t think they were particularly grand, she was determined to see them through.
“You don’t honestly expect me to confess my grandest desires to a stranger on the dance floor, do you?” she challenged.
“But I’m not a stranger,” he pointed out, leading her away from the crowd as the song ended. “I’m your mythological mate.”
He plucked two glasses of champagne from the tray of a waiter and passed one to her.
She murmured her thanks and lifted the glass to her lips to soothe her suddenly parched throat. It was easy to flirt with him on the dance floor when they were surrounded by other dancers. But now, even though there were probably five hundred people in the ballroom, she felt as if they were alone. And the nerves tying knots in her stomach were equal parts anticipation and apprehension.
She had barely finished half of her champagne when she was approached by a Minotaur. Ballroom protocol dictated that an invitation not be refused, so she let him lead her back to the dance floor. After the Minotaur, she danced with Apollo, then with a senator. Each time she made her way around the dance floor past the table where she’d left Jupiter, she saw him watching her.
She felt like the belle of the ball and she had a wonderful time dancing and chatting with all of them, more comfortable in her anonymity than she’d ever been as Princess Marissa. But all the while, she was anxious to return to Jupiter.
“I was beginning to feel neglected,” he said when she finally escaped the dance floor and made her way back to him again.
“My apologies,” she said sincerely, accepting the fresh glass of champagne he offered.
“No need to apologize,” he assured her, leading her away from the crowd and onto the balcony. “It’s understandable that every man in attendance would want a turn on the dance floor with the most beautiful woman here.”
“There’s that glib tongue again,” she noted.
He maneuvered her into the shadows. “Do you believe in destiny?”
“I believe we make our own destiny,” she said, and reminded herself that this was the destiny she had chosen. To take control of her life and her future.
“And I believe our paths were meant to cross tonight.”
She wanted to think that he sounded sincere, but even if it was nothing more than a well-worn line, even if he was just looking for a quick hookup, wasn’t that what she wanted, too? Wasn’t that what she needed to prove that she was capable of controlling her own destiny?
“And now that our paths have crossed,” she said, “where do we go from here?”
Dante wasn’t entirely sure how to answer her question, except that he knew he wasn’t going to walk away from the lovely goddess. Not just yet.
He knew nothing about her and she knew nothing about him, and maybe the anonymity was part of the attraction. He’d been born in a castle and raised from the cradle to understand that he would rule his country one day. It was a birthright that carried with it tremendous responsibility—and relentless public scrutiny. Everything he did was fodder for the tabloids. Every decision he made was documented and analyzed. Every woman he dated was subjected to background checks and media attention.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, he wasn’t a royal representative of Ardena. It was as if he’d completely shed that identity when he’d donned the costume of the Roman god. And then he’d spotted his goddess.
He didn’t know if he believed in destiny, but he did believe that she’d felt that same instantaneous tug of attraction he’d experienced when their eyes met across the room. And he hoped they would have a chance to explore that attraction.
So he replied to her question with one of his own. “Where do you want to go?”
She tilted her head, studying him with steady green eyes as she considered her response. “Are you married?”
“No.” His response was quick, vehement.
Her lips twitched, as if she was trying not to smile. “Engaged?”
“No,” he said again. “There’s no one.”
She continued to hold his gaze as she finished off her champagne. When the glass was empty, he set it aside and took her hands in his, noting the absence of any rings on the third finger of her left hand. “How about you? Boyfriend? Lover?”
She shook her head and her earrings glinted in the moonlight. “Completely unattached,” she assured him.
“I’m very glad to hear that,” he said, and lowered his head to kiss her.
Her lips were as soft as he’d suspected, and sweetly yielding. And the flavor of her lips buzzed through his veins, more potent than the champagne he’d drunk and more addictive than anything he’d ever tasted.
She neither pulled away nor moved closer, and he sensed a certain amount of both caution and curiosity in her response. He couldn’t blame her for being wary—he was a stranger and they were alone in the shadows—but he didn’t want her to be afraid. So he held his escalating desire firmly in check and forced himself to move slowly.
He touched his tongue tentatively to the seam of her lips, once, twice. The second time, her lips parted for him. When he dipped inside, she brushed his tongue with her own.
He wanted to pull her into his arms, to hold her tight against his body. He wanted to feel the soft press of her breasts against his chest, to let her feel the hard proof of his desire for her. He knew what he wanted—he wanted her. But he sensed that she was still undecided, and he was more than happy to take whatever time was needed to convince her that she wanted him, too.
Thankfully, she seemed willing to be convinced. When he released her hands and inched closer to her, she didn’t protest. When he slid his hands from her waist to her breasts, she only sighed and pressed closer to him. It was all the encouragement he needed. The fabric of her costume was almost gossamer thin, and he could clearly