My Forbidden Royal Fling Read online

  Uncle Richard had grown up without expectations and therefore he’d never striven to meet them. And, worse, he had everything he could ever want in life, so even the basic pleasure of aspiring to achievement had been denied him. What could he do that would make a difference to anyone?

  His gambling addiction had grabbed hold of him before anyone had known—the amount of money he’d lost eye-watering. I wake with my uncle in my mind and the sting of tears in my eyes, a sense of betrayal tightening around my chest.

  How can I be making this deal? How can I be sleeping with the man who wants to bring a casino to my country?

  It takes me a second to realise that I didn’t wake up by chance. There is knocking at the door. I push the covers back, my heart racing in the hope it’s Santiago. I wrap a silken robe around my body—yes, I slept naked—and pull the door inward.

  A hotel staff member stands there, one of my guards at his side.

  ‘Room service,’ he offers in accented Spanish.

  ‘Oh.’ I take a step back, gesturing towards the marble-topped dining table. ‘Thank you.’

  It takes him a moment to wheel the trolley into position, placing it beside the table, then unstacking plate after plate of food, each covered in a golden lid. My attention drifts to the sunlit vista beyond the window, the sheer size of Barcelona fascinating me and giving me a desire to explore. In the distance, the sea glistens with shades of turquoise and aqua, so beautiful, particularly on a clear, sunny day like this. Impatience bursts through me. Impatience to be alone and free.

  It’s the first time in my life I’ve felt like this.

  I nod as the waiter leaves, waiting until the door is closed to begin lifting lids off the platters. Fruit, Danish pastries, and an omelette filled with smoked salmon and drizzled with hollandaise sauce, as well as hash browns and sausages. It’s too much food. There are two plates left to uncover. I pull the lid off one, frowning as I reach for what’s beneath. Definitely not food. My fingers run over something soft and brown. Closer inspection reveals a chic wig. Beneath it is a brightly coloured scrap of fabric—a bikini.

  Heat flushes my cheeks as I open the final lid to find a note from Santiago.

  Meet me at the marina at midday. Wear the disguise. Bring the swimmers.

  I stare at the bikini with a thudding heart. It’s turquoise in colour and, so far as bikinis go, not too revealing. But the idea of wearing something like this...

  I quickly shove it back onto the plate and replace the lid. I’m ravenous after last night—we ate only oysters and expended a lot of energy—and eat my way through the fruit and omelette, sipping orange juice and coffee, before tackling a Danish for good measure.

  When I travel on official trips, my schedule is usually packed from morning to night. What a strange and pleasurable change this makes. I have nothing on the horizon, the day is my own. Or perhaps it’s Santiago’s...

  Once more my eyes find the sea and something like excitement lifts my heart. For three days, I’ve escaped my normal life—no press, no intrusions, no pressure. I can do what I want, so long as no one finds out...

  The car brings me to the biggest boat in the marina—naturally—a white yacht the size of several houses with tinted windows and several decks. I stare up at it from the back seat of the limousine, conscious of the wig hanging tight around my ears and the Lycra of the bikini against my skin. Naturally I’m wearing more than just the bikini—in fact, to the outside world, I look demure and business-like in a pair of cream trousers and a simple lime-green shirt tucked in at the waist. My shoes are flat, but definitely not boat shoes: in my defence, I didn’t anticipate yachting as part of the trip.

  My security agents scan the boat from the nearby dock and a moment later are met by members of Santiago’s staff. I watch in amusement as they enter into discussion. For a moment it looks a little heated, so I step out of the car while they’re distracted, approaching from behind.

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  One of my guards turns to face me, his features showing consternation. ‘No, ma’am. It’s just a matter of logistics.’

  Santiago’s staff member speaks over the top of him. ‘Mr del Almodovár values his privacy and has requested your company. Alone.’

  My lips twitch in amusement, even when I know I should be annoyed. After all, I’ve told him I don’t want to draw attention to what we’re doing, and that includes amongst my staff. Nonetheless, you can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs and, given the level of intrusion in my life, I was probably living in a fantasy world to think I could keep things completely secret.

  ‘I trust Mr del Almodovár,’ I say firmly, surprised to realise that it’s true. I do trust him. ‘Go back to the hotel and wait for me there.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I mean it,’ I say, but gently now, smiling to soften my command. After all, I rarely give such edicts. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  It clearly doesn’t satisfy either of them, but they take a step back, signalling tacit agreement, and I expel the breath I was holding.

  A moment later, I’m walking up the gang plank of the yacht, with no idea if that’s actually what it’s called, my pulse running away with me at the prospect of seeing Santiago again. Excitement bursts through me.

  His own staff stays on the marina.

  ‘Hello?’ I call, smiling despite the fact he hasn’t appeared.

  The boat begins to move and I reach out, putting my hand on the railing to steady myself, my smile growing wider as I step away from the edge look for the steering wheel. Is that even what it’s called on a yacht?

  Santiago is standing at the front of the boat, wearing only a pair of shorts, low-slung to reveal his toned, tanned waist, his shapely legs and strong shoulders.

  Desire rushed through me.

  ‘Is this a kidnapping?’ I ask as I approach him from behind.

  He casts a glance over his shoulder, his eyes locking to mine so my smile drops, the sheer heat in his look almost knocking me sideways. ‘Definitely.’

  A frisson of need runs through me. The idea of being this man’s captive is unexpectedly appealing.

  He deftly manoeuvres the yacht from the marina with the ease of a man who does this regularly and, once through the barrier, he sets the control in position and turns to me properly. His fingers lift, catching a hint of my dark wig, brushing it between his forefinger and thumb.

  ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘I thought I would.’ He lifts it from my head, nodding approval at the reappearance of my blonde hair. ‘But this is better.’

  My heart skips a beat.

  ‘How did you sleep?’

  ‘Like a log.’

  ‘And naked?’

  Heat bursts through me. I don’t answer.

  ‘I imagined you naked.’ He turns back to the controls, steering the boat, with no idea what his throwaway comment does to my equilibrium. I’m knocked completely sideways.

  ‘How was your meeting?’ My voice is gravelled and uneven. I come to stand to his right, staring ahead rather than looking directly at him.

  ‘Last night?’ I prompt when he doesn’t answer.

  ‘Fine.’

  Out of nowhere, a blade of jealousy assails me, as the unpleasant thought occurs to me that he’d left me to meet another woman. Memories of the phone call where a woman’s voice had been audible in the background make my breath feel hot in my lungs. My envy is based on nothing but fear—I don’t know Santiago that well but I somehow trust that he’s not the kind of man who would go from making love to me to being with another woman all in the same night.

  I move away from him on the pretence of exploring, moving across the deck and then along a railing, ducking into the main cabin and marvelling at the space—it looks like a state-of-the-art hotel, all glossy white with plush décor, sofas and an enormous television.

/>   I’m aware that we’ve stopped moving and a glance through the windows shows only ocean and, in the distance, a stunning view of the city. There are no other boats that I can see, and we’re far from the land—far enough to render the buildings miniature.

  ‘There you are.’ He pulls me into his arms, kissing me hard and fast, as though he’s been aching to do this all his life.

  My head spins. ‘Hi.’ The word is just a breath in my mouth.

  ‘I’m glad you came.’

  ‘Well, as it turns out, I didn’t have anything else to do,’ I tease.

  His laugh is a rumble. ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘After that breakfast? I don’t know if I’ll ever eat again.’

  ‘I’m glad you have energy.’ His eyes spark with mine, his meaning clear, and I laugh—but there’s an undercurrent of need pulling at me, drawing me to him, so I ache for him to kiss me again.

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘Drifting in the Balearic sea.’

  I breathe in the salty air, letting it touch my throat. That sense of freedom is back, taunting and tempting me. Freedom is an illusion for me, but for the next little while I can pretend.

  ‘This boat is something else.’

  ‘Surely you’re used to such things?’

  ‘On the contrary, I could never have something so decadent. With taxpayer money? Absolutely not.’

  ‘Says the woman who lives in a palace?’

  ‘That belongs to the people of Marlsdoven,’ I point out.

  His lips quirk as though he doesn’t believe me. ‘And the land I’m going to buy from you?’

  The remark is jarring. I pull away from him a little, a sense of heaviness in my heart assailing me out of nowhere.

  ‘It also belongs to my people,’ I murmur. ‘I’m simply the legal custodian. Which is why I must be very careful with what happens to it.’

  To my relief, he lets the subject drop. ‘Hungry or not, I want to show you something.’

  Curious, I allow his fingers to weave through mine so he can draw me through the yacht into a living area that also has a large kitchen, all gleaming white with high ceilings. He pulls a tray from the bench and walks towards me, gesturing towards it.

  Rows of little chocolates sit waiting for attention.

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘A delicacy. Truffles flavoured with saffron and pistachio.’

  I run my eyes over the pretty platter and, after a moment of hesitation, Santiago lifts one, bringing it to hover at my lips. ‘Allow me.’

  I open my mouth so he can slip the chocolate inside, the flavour exploding in my mouth dwarfed only by the sensual awareness of the man opposite, who keeps his finger pressed to my lip as I finish the confectionery.

  ‘Well?’ His eyes probe mine.

  ‘Delicious. Savoury and sweet at the same time.’

  He nods his approval. ‘They are my favourite.’

  He replaces the tray on the kitchen bench then nods to the deck. ‘Shall we?’

  I blink. ‘Shall we what?’ My temperature is already sky-high.

  His smile shows he understands the direction of my thoughts. ‘Sunbathe, of course.’ His wink is that of the bad boy I know him to be, and yet I fall into step behind him. When he gestures to a row of four sunbeds lined up at the front of the yacht, I take a middle one, relaxing as the sun wraps me in warmth.

  ‘I don’t remember the last time I did this. If ever.’

  ‘Holidayed?’

  I nod. ‘Most of my trips are official, and there’s barely a free moment to relax. I don’t mind—if I’m going to be away from home, I’d rather use the time productively. But I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to simply...exist.’

  He reaches out and laces our fingers together. ‘You’re working now too. Sort of.’

  ‘But let’s not, today.’ I decide on the spur of the moment, looking at him directly. ‘Let’s not talk about the casino or the land. I know we have to, at some point, but it will just ruin things to do so now.’

  His eyes narrow and for a moment I wonder if he’s going to argue but then he shrugs indolently. ‘Very well, querida. If you wish.’

  The sun lances across him, a golden blade that invites my fingers to reach out and touch. Instead, I simply stare, my eyes drinking in the sight of him.

  ‘You must travel often for work?’ he prompts, either unaware of my shameless lusting or choosing not to acknowledge it.

  I swallow past a constricted throat. ‘Not that often, actually.’ My eyes flick to his. ‘Mainly in neighbouring Scandinavian countries, occasionally further afield. I went to Australia two years ago.’

  ‘Did you like it?’

  I nod. ‘Oh, very much. I don’t know if I’ve ever been to a country with such dramatic differences. One day I was in the tropics and the next in wineries shrouded in mist. There’s snow and deserts, beaches filled with white sand and turquoise water—they put me in mind of the Mediterranean. And the people are so friendly.’

  ‘Was it a work trip?’

  ‘Of course.’ I nod. ‘And it was quick. I saw a lot, but my schedule was crammed full, so most of the “seeing” was done through the windows of my limousine.’

  His lips twist for a moment, and again I have a sense that there’s something he’s not saying, but the look is gone again almost immediately.

  ‘What work were you doing?’

  ‘Studying their tourism industry. Marlsdoven is very small but very beautiful. We want more people to come and see it for themselves. Sadly, we’re overshadowed by our more well-known neighbours.’

  He nods thoughtfully, his eyes sparking with mine for a moment.

  I sigh, his point, though not spoken, well taken. ‘I suppose you think your casino will attract tourists.’

  ‘Undoubtedly, but we aren’t talking about that today.’

  I turn my attention to the view, the beautiful glistening sea beyond the yacht, the warmth of the sun, the drama of the city in the distance. The famous spires of the Sagrada Familia, Gaudi’s vision, reach towards the sky surrounded by a glow of terracotta, all golden and red. The contrast with the aqua colour of the ocean is almost too beautiful to bear.

  ‘My government is focussing on transport infrastructure,’ I say after a moment. ‘We want to make it easy and cheap to come to Marlsdoven. A high-speed rail line is being designed at the moment, with the hope of bringing visitors directly from Amsterdam.’

  He doesn’t reply, and silence clouds around us, but it’s a content silence, the gentle lapping of waves against the boat lulling me until my breathing slows and my eyes feel heavy.

  ‘Why did you buy into casinos?’

  The question is slumberous, and I don’t look at him.

  ‘You mean the dens of iniquity that make me my fortune?’ he asks with a hint of mockery. I flick my gaze to him and my heart twists painfully in my chest. He is way too handsome. It’s not fair.

  ‘Potayto...potahtoe...’ I say with a lift of my lips.

  ‘You forget, querida. I made my fortune on the stock market. What is that if not a form of gambling?’

  ‘It’s not the same thing.’ Though already I’m aware of my weakness here. I don’t know enough about share trading to speak with authority.

  ‘It is close to it. While there is a little more knowledge at play, mostly it’s about spotting trends, often about following intuition. It’s risky and fortunes can be lost in the blink of an eye. Sound familiar?’

  ‘It’s still different.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say honestly. ‘But it is.’ Thinking about it a little more, I sit up straighter, no longer relaxed enough to drift away on a cloud of sleep. ‘People don’t generally wander into the stock market and throw away their life savings. For one thing, it’s not easy to do—you have
to have an account or a trader who places...bids...or whatever it’s called...on your behalf. When casinos are on every street corner, then every man and his dog can wander into the lobby and spin a roulette wheel.’

  ‘Roulette wheels are not in the lobby, and we are a strictly no-animal establishment,’ he drawls.

  I roll my eyes and, despite the heavy direction of our conversation, find myself smiling at his quick rejoinder. ‘I’m serious. The stock market is intimidating and there are barriers to people partaking. Those barriers mean most people have a level of knowledge before they open an account. A casino has no such barriers.’

  ‘Age isn’t a barrier?’

  ‘So you have to be eighteen to gamble. Big deal.’

  ‘It is my turn to ask a question,’ he says thoughtfully. ‘Why do you hate casinos so much?’

  My eyes fill with light. I swallow quickly, looking away, my family’s secret like a hole in my chest. ‘We’ve discussed that.’

  ‘You’ve told me you disapprove of gambling. But why?’

  ‘Because people lose their savings. It’s damaging.’ My heart is racing. ‘And we said we wouldn’t talk about this.’ I reach out, putting a hand on his knee. ‘Not today.’

  His eyes war with mine, the part of Santiago that wants to win, the ruthless businessman who sniffs out the advantage and mercilessly pushes it home, finding it hard to let the matter drop. But, to my surprise and relief, he does exactly that. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, but he offers one anyway.

  ‘We will not talk about it,’ he says with a clipped nod. ‘But promise me this.’

  I wait, my breath held.

  ‘Come to the casino floor with me tonight. Let me show you what it’s really like.’

  I stiffen at the very idea. ‘I toured your casino yesterday, remember?’

  My voice is unintentionally icy; I hear the tone and inwardly wince.

  His expression is relaxed but I feel the intensity reverberating off him in waves. ‘Did you play any of the games?’