My Forbidden Royal Fling Page 5

  I nod. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Good. Then he can follow behind.’

  He puts an arm on my elbow, guiding me from the crowd. I stop walking, perfectly aware that if it looks like I’m being abducted my cover will be blown in about seventeen seconds. I turn around and sure enough see my guards running towards me, one with his hand reaching for his gun.

  I shake my head quickly. When they’re close enough to hear, I say, ‘This is Mr del Almodovár, my...host. I’m going to travel with him.’

  ‘But Your Highness...’

  Our earlier compromise about using my title is forgotten.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I assure Alex. ‘I trust him.’

  They don’t like it, but this whole trip is unorthodox enough that they grudgingly nod.

  ‘We’ll drive behind you. Where are you parked?’

  He gives them directions then begins to propel me from the airport once more, and this time I let him. His fingers press into the small of my back, his touch insistent and strong.

  We’re crowded by others in the lift and he stands close to me, his body behind mine, his warmth enveloping me, his fragrance unmistakable. I breathe in, grateful for the anonymity of being able to close my eyes and cope with his nearness, for those few vital seconds to pull myself together before the doors ping open and his deep voice says, ‘Perdóname’, causing people to separate and make way for us.

  I’m used to a degree of subservience wherever I go. People ‘obey’ me—I hate that term but I can’t think of any other way to describe it. But the responsiveness here is all down to Santiago. Whether he’s recognised as one of the country’s wealthiest men, or simply exudes that air of authority wherever he goes, I see the way his words are taken as a command. Even my security agents were quick to fall in with his suggestion.

  His car, naturally, is sleek and black, a beautiful sports car with heavily tinted windows, a golden badge I don’t recognise on the bonnet. The headlights flash as we approach. He surprises me with his manners as he comes to the passenger door and opens it for me. When I move to step inside, he puts a hand on my arm. Every part of me goes haywire.

  ‘I’m glad you came.’

  My stomach twists. I stare at him, right back to where I was a week ago, torn between what I want and what I know I must do, how I know I must act.

  My smile is tight, my body hot. ‘It’s a good opportunity to appraise your casino. Thank you for suggesting it.’

  The suggestion of a smile plays on his lips. I feel his cynicism and slip into the car before I can say something else, drawing the seat belt into place.

  He rounds his side, flaring the engine to life a moment after taking a seat. The car instantly feels smaller, his presence overpowering. I am conscious of the strain of his trousers across his thighs, his hyper-masculine fragrance, his capable hands on the wheel. He tilts me a sidelong glance, then checks his rear-view mirror. A car is approaching, black with windows tinted just as dark as these.

  ‘Your staff?’

  I flick a glance in the mirror as Alex puts down the driver window so I can identify his face. I nod. Santiago puts the car into reverse and backs out in one swift, easy motion, then accelerates forward. With every rev, I feel the car’s power beneath me, thrilling and raw, just like Santiago. His hands shift the gear stick as he drives, so my eyes are drawn to his fingers, tanned and confident, and his leanly muscled forearms. At the bottom of the car park, he presses a button and the driver window lowers, allowing him to tap his phone to the boom gate. It opens in response, but he waits on the other side, conscious of the security agents, allowing them time to come through behind us before he accelerates into traffic.

  I’ve been to Spain before, but there’s something about being here like this—incognito, no official schedule of visits, no state engagements, undercover and unknown—that makes the whole outlook glisten with magic. The buildings are at first industrial, but as we draw nearer to the centre I see the hallmarks of this famed city. Baroque buildings in various states of repair are juxtaposed with modern constructions and Renaissance churches remain, their stone features beautiful, the perfect contrast to the Gaudi and Gaudi-influenced buildings we zip past in the city centre.

  We drive through a restaurant precinct, the buildings close together, with red awnings and flower pots adding bursts of colour. The street is paved and narrow, so Santiago slows down, and I glimpse tables all set to face the street, the umbrellas dotted around to ward off the sun. Diners are dressed with casual elegance, and suddenly I long to be amongst them, eating tapas and drinking wine, making conversation with like-minded friends. A pang of longing assails me for the type of simple friendships most people take for granted.

  ‘A sigh?’

  I spin to face Santiago, a frown pulling at the corner of my mouth. ‘Excuse me?’

  He turns to look at me and my breath catches in my throat. His eyes are as golden as the Barcelona sunshine today, framed by thick, dark lashes. Those freckles on the bridge of his nose draw my attention.

  ‘You sighed.’

  ‘Oh.’ I swallow. ‘It’s just—this looks so lovely.’

  His eyes shift beyond me to the tables strewn with afternoon diners.

  ‘We can come here for dinner.’

  My spine jolts with warmth. It’s not a dinner invitation. It’s so much more intimate than that. It’s a presupposition that we’ll share a meal.

  ‘I came to assess the casino,’ I remind him primly, already forgetting that this is also, in part, a chance for me to kick up my heels—discreetly, of course. ‘Dinner on the streets of Barcelona, while charming under different circumstances, is unnecessary.’

  His eyes hold mine for a moment longer and then, with a slight smile, he turns back and continues driving. The world beyond the car has lost its ability to hold my attention. All my focus is now on Santiago.

  ‘Is there something in your royal rule book that precludes fun?’

  Despite the question, I smile. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, there’s no such thing as royal rule book.’

  ‘Isn’t there?’

  The question is insightful. I sigh again, a soft exhalation of breath this time. ‘There are...conventions and expectations,’ I murmur. I don’t explain to him that my life is guided by the expectations of my parents; he’d probably mock the sentiment, and I don’t think I could bear that.

  ‘And these rules mean you cannot come for dinner with me at a restaurant like this?’

  ‘I wasn’t planning on having dinner with you at all, actually.’

  His laugh is a throaty sound.

  ‘Why is that funny?’

  ‘Because you are determined to act as though you don’t want to spend time with me when we both know that is not true.’

  And his hand shifts off the gear stick and towards my knee, grazing my skirt lightly so I startle, my veins immediately rushing with lava.

  ‘I was warned about your arrogance,’ I mutter, hoping I sound dismissive.

  Another gruff laugh, a bark of noise. ‘I’m sure you were.’

  He shifts gear and my gaze flickers lower.

  ‘You have a tattoo.’ I change the subject without really meaning to. He’s unnerved me by being so breathtakingly honest—and beautiful. ‘Two of them.’

  ‘I have more than two.’ The look he shoots me is pure sensual invitation. My heart stammers.

  ‘Santiago...’ It’s a breathless complaint. ‘Listen to me. What happened between us the other day...’

  ‘When we kissed?’ he prompts, once again tilting his face to mine, a knowing look in his eyes.

  ‘Right.’ I brush it away but my lips tingle and my soul aches. ‘It was a mistake.’

  ‘Oh?’ He hits the indicator then turns the car off the road, taking us towards the beach. The water shimmers like diamonds in the distance, the sun bouncing off it. He
skilfully navigates a narrow one-way street then takes us across a busy road, turning one corner and then another, checking the rear-view mirror to be sure my detail is following.

  ‘Definitely,’ I murmur, toying with my fingers in my lap.

  ‘You don’t like to be kissed?’

  I briefly imagine how he’d react if I told him that that was the first time I’d ever been kissed.

  ‘It’s not appropriate for you to kiss me.’

  The only sign he’s heard is that his knuckles briefly turn white as he grips the steering wheel more tightly, before sliding the car down a ramp towards an undercover car park. I notice a steel-and-glass monolith above us and my mind immediately fills in the gaps—it’s his casino, the building he had designed and constructed some ten years ago when, at twenty-one, he was a self-made billionaire and already the envy of Europe.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because.’

  ‘That’s not an answer.’

  So what is an answer? That I don’t have the freedom to simply kiss any man I find desirable? That I’m supposed to marry some man my parents picked out for me before they died? That I owe my country more than to become one of Santiago’s lovers, a single woman in a long line of women to have graced his bed?

  ‘Let’s just chalk it up to experience and leave it at that.’

  He swings the car into a parking bay right next to the lifts.

  His eyes lock with mine and the air between us thickens, sparking with electricity. I feel as though I’m being sucked into a vortex of awareness, every inch of me reverberating with need.

  Desire sparks like a fever in my blood, propelling me forward, but only by an inch; despite what I’ve just said, I want him to close the gap. My lips part, my breath is held, and my eyes are on his at first, then on his lips, tracing their outline as I remember what it felt like to be held in his hands and ravaged by him.

  ‘You want me to kiss you right now.’

  The words are a statement of fact. I contemplate denying it, but pride won’t let me lie.

  ‘What I want and what I know to be right are two different things.’

  ‘And wanting me isn’t right?’

  I shake my head a little, and somehow end up closer to him, my body almost touching his now. My seat belt strains across my chest but the pleasure of that physical contact is like a placeholder for him. I imagine his hands on my thighs and at my shoulder, and shiver.

  ‘Why not?’

  In the distance, there is the banging of car doors. My security detail. Their approach makes me feel urgency.

  ‘Because,’ I hiss, my heart pounding. ‘You’re you, and I’m me.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘In a year’s time I’m going to be the Queen of Marlsdoven. Even if I wanted to do what you’re suggesting...’ heat rushes my cheeks... ‘I can’t. I’m not at liberty to have meaningless affairs. My people expect more of me.’

  ‘So how do you conduct relationships, then?’ He seems genuinely interested, the look in his eyes speculative rather than sensual.

  I focus on my knees. I wonder what he’d say if I told him the truth. He’d probably be shocked, then bolt out of the car faster than you could say, ‘I don’t sleep with virgins’. The idea has my stomach squeezing—for all that I know a relationship between us is impossible, I don’t want to turn him off completely.

  ‘You don’t know what it’s like,’ I say after a beat. ‘I’m watched everywhere I go. In the palace there are staff, and outside there are citizens who see me, by virtue of my birth right, as “theirs”. There’s an ideal of what a princess should be and all my life I’ve been taught to live up to it.’

  ‘And what happens if you don’t?’

  The question is one I’ve never asked myself. ‘I don’t want to find out.’ My expression feels heavy with regrets. I press my hand on the door handle. ‘Thank you again for coming to get me.’

  His eyes pierce me for several long seconds, but before I can open the door he reaches out, pressing his fingers over my knee. ‘Dinner tonight. In your hotel room.’

  My lips part on a rush of breath. ‘No.’ It’s too intimate.

  He reaches for my chin then, holding my face steady, our eyes latched. There is a plea in my heart, a plea for him to understand how difficult this is for me.

  ‘Sí. Don’t fight when you don’t want to, Princesa.’

  Princesa. The word heats my blood, my eyes sparking with his. His hand drops from my face and regret forms like a brick in my gut.

  ‘I suppose it would give us a chance to go over some details of your development,’ I say with a small lift of my shoulder, not meeting his eyes in case he sees the fib for what it is.

  To his credit, he doesn’t gloat. ‘Tonight, then.’

  A shiver runs down my spine, but not one of fear. No, this is a response of anticipation and warmth, a tingle of excitement at what lies ahead.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WE DIDN’T ARRANGE a precise time for dinner, a fact I’m only cognisant of when eight o’clock comes and goes and there’s still no sign of Santiago. I’ve been waiting for him for almost an hour and I feel frustrated, annoyed and more than a little disappointed.

  To my chagrin, my hotel room reservation was upgraded to the presidential suite despite my insistence that it wasn’t necessary, and the suite is far, far bigger than I could possibly want. Several sumptuous bedrooms, each with their own bathroom, as well as a spacious living room that features a white grand piano, marble tiles and golden curtains framing floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s a fireplace as well, for those wintry nights, though it’s hard to imagine Spain being cool enough to warrant such a thing when the city is as it is now—bathed in the last rays of the summer sun, warm and golden, glowing with a hint of magic.

  There is a kitchen too, and a cursory inspection when I first arrived showed it to be fully stocked with Spanish delicacies. I’m contemplating making myself a little platter of olives and bread when, finally, a heavy knock sounds at the door. I know without looking that it’s him, but ingrained training has me waiting right where I am. A moment later, the door opens and Alex announces Santiago’s arrival. Alex’s expression is impassive yet I can’t help but wonder and worry about what he might make of this turn of events.

  That concern doesn’t last long. The moment Santiago steps into the suite, my mouth goes dry and my mind empties of all considerations that don’t revolve around him.

  He’s wearing a dark suit now, casual in its styling, with a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the throat revealing a hint of dark, curling hair, just like the first day we met. He shrugs out of his jacket as he strides closer to me, discarding it over the back of a chair, revealing shirt sleeves pushed up to show his tanned forearms.

  ‘Hi.’

  I utter the greeting simply to fill the silence. My heart is thumping heavily.

  His only response is to walk towards me, and I can’t help but notice his taut waist as he moves, the shirt fitted to reveal his strength and raw power. I remember the way it felt to be in his arms, and the way his body had been hard and warm. Desire weakens my knees, and my determination.

  I look away, but it doesn’t help; he’s imprinted on my mind. When he’s close enough that his fragrance tickles my nostrils I turn back to face him cautiously. His eyes are heavy on my face, and a spark bursts between us as I meet his gaze.

  ‘How was your afternoon?’

  My afternoon? I have to rally myself to focus. ‘I... Fine.’

  ‘You walked through the gaming floor?’

  I lift my brows. ‘You’re spying on me?’

  ‘You are not the only one with security guards.’

  I frown. ‘You have security?’

  He dips his head. ‘Particularly when I’m at the casino.’

  That makes sense. His net worth is str
atospheric, which must put him at risk. I just can’t imagine anyone targeting Santiago—more fool them.

  ‘And they spied on me?’

  His lips curl in a sardonic smile. ‘Actually, I advised them you were here so that they could ensure your safety.’ A hand lifts, his fingers lightly brushing my cheek, robbing me of breath.

  Danger sirens blare.

  ‘It’s a precaution we take with any high-value guest.’

  My heart twists. I tell myself to step backward, yet stay exactly where I am.

  ‘The point of this trip was to fly beneath the radar.’ My voice is husky. ‘Hence I travelled on a commercial airline, booked an ordinary room...’

  ‘But you are not ordinary, Princesa, no matter how you try to behave. And I do not want the publicity that would result if harm were to befall you in my casino.’

  Disappointment sears me, as well as a sense of foolishness at my own expectations. Of course this wasn’t about me. He was only looking after his business and its reputation. ‘You don’t need to worry about me.’ I belatedly take a step back, needing space.

  He lifts his shoulders. ‘As I said, it’s a precaution we take with any prominent visitor.’

  ‘Nonetheless, it’s not necessary.’

  He shrugs, and I know there’s nothing I can say that will change his mind. ‘They’re discreet. You didn’t notice them today, did you?’

  I hadn’t, but that’s not the point. I can sense the futility in arguing with him, though. Besides, he’s right. If he wants to waste resources having his own security guards trail me around the venue, then that’s his decision.

  ‘Fine.’ I move into the kitchen, tapping my fingers on the bench top. ‘Would you like a drink?’

  The question is curt, my temper at risk of fraying, as it seems to be almost all the time that I’m around Santiago. I can’t explain why I feel so deflated suddenly.

  His face look shows a hint of mocking amusement. ‘I can’t have you waiting on me, Princesa. What would your people say?’

  I turn to the fridge. ‘Contrary to what you might think, I’m perfectly capable of pouring a glass of wine.’