Prince's Son Of Scandal

Patrizia was a longtime acquaintance. Xavier was not as sorry as he had implied when he had sent his condolences. He was in need of a titled wife. His grandmother wanted him married so she could step down. Patrizia was infinitely suitable.

He had asked that his grandmother be made aware of the broken engagement. It was an acknowledgement of his responsibility toward her, their bloodline and the crown. Loath as he was to marry, he preferred to spearhead such actions himself, rather than wait for her to issue orders. She might be the one person on this earth with the power to govern his actions, but he didn’t have to encourage it. He was confident she would approve and God knew she would let him know if she didn’t.

“Is it heavy?” his final sown oat asked of his sash. The levelness in her tone told him she didn’t mean physically, proving she was even more perceptive than he’d imagined.

Compassion was not something he looked for in anyone, though, least of all his temporary companions. There was no room for any weakness in his life. No one saw him flinch. No one was privy to his bitterness at the hand life had dealt him.

It was a wasted emotion to feel.

So he ignored the chance she might understand him in a way no one else ever had and held her chair. “Nothing could weigh me down while I’m in your beguiling company, bella.”

She froze and looked over her shoulder. “Why did you call me that?”

“It’s an endearment. Elazar’s official language is an Italian dialect, though French and German are commonly spoken along with English.” He adjusted her chair as she sank into it then leaned down to speak against her hair where it fell in loose waves against her nape. “Why? Don’t you like it?”

Tiny bumps lifted on her skin in a shiver of reaction. Her nipples tightened into peaks against the silk that draped over them, making him smile. She liked it.

Awash in more sexual anticipation than he’d felt in a while, perhaps ever, he seated himself, pleased he would end his bachelorhood with such a terrific bang.

* * *

Trella was a natural extrovert. The chatter and color around her, the voices and music and attention, was like standing in the sunshine after years in an oubliette.

But to have this man glance at her with that admiring look on his face as he seated himself next to her was a deliciously sweet accompaniment. He was clearly an accomplished seducer, wearing charm and entitlement as comfortably as his sash, but she was excited to be singled out by him all the same. It was the flirtation she had yearned for.

“What brings you to Paris?” he asked.

Although, if she was going to do this, she wasn’t settling for plain vanilla.

“Surely you can do better than asking what a nice girl like me is doing in a place like this?”

“Let me consult my app.” He glanced at an imaginary phone. “How about... What sign are you?” He affected sincere interest.

Her mouth twitched. “Gemini. Twins. Obviously. You?”

“No idea. August sixth.”

“Leo. The lion. King of the jungle.”

“Obviously,” he said, with a self-deprecating tilt of the corner of his mouth.

She bit back a smile, intrigued by his position, but only because she knew what it was to be in the spotlight. He’d glossed over her query about the weight of his crown, but surely he wearied of attention and responsibility.

“You take horoscopes seriously?” he asked, nodding at a server who offered them champagne.

“Not as a belief system, but I used it as inspiration for a collection a few years ago. We used it,” she amended quickly, clearing her throat over the white lie and sliding her gaze to ensure the people searching for their seats hadn’t overheard her. It was well known in fashion circles that Trella had designed that particular line.

“How?” He seemed genuinely curious. “The patterns in the fabric?”

“Not that literal. More how the nature of each sign is perceived. They fall into different qualities, like fixed or mutable, and elements, like air and fire. There’s a lot to play with. I work better with deadlines so I approached one sign a month. It was an interesting exercise.” She leaned closer, wrinkling her nose. “Also a terrific marketing hook.”

The corners of his mouth deepened. “Beauty and brains. Always an irresistible combination.”

This prince, causing her heart to thud-thud under a simple compliment, should have sent her running. She had learned healthy caution from her childhood, but even though most men put her on edge, this one filled her with a giddy lack of fear. It was like breaking out of a shell. Like discovering she had the ability to fly.

She definitely wanted more time with him before this evening ended.

On impulse, she motioned for her guard, who was actually one of Gili’s, and quietly gave him an instruction about the silent auction. He melted away.

Was she being too forward? Reckless?

Their table filled up, forcing her to wait to find out. Dinner passed in a blur of neutral conversation. Someone asked the Prince about his country’s foray into green energy. She vaguely recalled his mountain kingdom between Italy and Austria had been accused of providing a tax haven during the world wars. Elazar sounded very modern and self-sufficient now. He spoke about exporting hydropower, since rivers and streams were one of their few natural resources. There was also a decade of investing in education, attracting engineering and technology start-ups, solar and wind power.

Her inner businesswoman should have been taking mental notes, but she was mesmerized by his casual command over his audience and subtly seduced with how close his sleeve came to touching her arm. Beneath the table, she imagined she could feel the heat from his thigh mere inches from her own. All she could think about was dancing with him.

Dancing. Tears pressed the backs of her eyes. She ached for that simple pleasure.

This adolescent reaction was ridiculous, but she let it happen. Embraced it. This is what she should have been doing at twenty, not hand-sewing sequins on mini-dresses for other young women to wear to exclusive clubs, killing hours with concentrated work so she could get through one day, one more hour, without a breakdown or the drugs that were supposed to prevent them.

Then Prince Xavier turned his terrifically handsome face toward her, bathing her in the light of his regard. “You must travel a great deal for your work? What drew you to fashion?”

He had given each of the others a moment in his attentive sunlight. Now it was her turn. He must engage in small talk with a thousand people a day, at ribbon cuttings and children’s hospitals, but she would have sworn on her life the tension around his eyes eased as he met her gaze. He’d been doing his duty, impatiently waiting to get back to her. She felt delirious even as she prevaricated her way through her reply.

“Both of us are quite creative.” Gili more so. She was the artist who designed out of love and ran the business out of necessity. Trella was the ambitious one, determined to turn a healthy profit. Practicality, not passion, had driven her into making her own clothes, because she couldn’t bear being judged by trolls for merely buying something, let alone how it looked on her.

“We had some start-up help from our brothers but surprised them and ourselves with our success.” Another fib. She wouldn’t have rested until they were making buckets of money. She was competitive and driven by an I’ll-show-you desire for revenge against those who had thrown shade.

“It can’t be an easy field. I’m sure your success is due to hard work as much as anything else.”

He was trying to get her into bed. She knew that with the brains he’d said he admired, but his flattery worked. She was ridiculously affected by his compliment. She wanted to say “It was a ton of work. Thank you for noticing.” Gili was the face of Maison des Jumeaux, which meant she received the bulk of the credit—not that she didn’t deserve a lot, but Trella worked just as hard and was not a naturally humble person. Hearing his praise went into her like a transfusion, tipping her further under his spell.

Their hostess moved to the podium to make a short speech, thanked the guests for their donations then announced the winners for the auction items. Trella grew increasingly self-conscious as the moments ticked down, certain she had truly lost her mind this time. Maybe she should leave before—

“Finally, our most coveted prize, a dance with the Prince of Elazar, has been won by... Angelique Sauveterre!”

The applause was polite, the knives in her back proverbial, but she felt them. She privately smirked, then blushed as Xavier showed no surprise. Was he so sure of her?

“I’m flattered.”

“You should be. I promised to double the next highest bid. You had better dance well enough to be worth it.”

“I do,” he assured her, rising to help with her chair, doing that erotic thing of speaking against her hair so tingles raced all over her skin. “For that sort of generosity, bella, I’ll give you the whole night.”

Oh, he was good. Lightheadedness accosted her every time he called her bella, the same nickname her family called her. Her pulse pounded so hard she thought it would bruise her throat, but it fed the thrilling excitement washing over her. He made her feel so alluring. Sexy.

He made her feel as though he wanted her.

That was beyond captivating. She had spent a lot of dark nights telling herself how flawed she was, how she didn’t want men anyway, so she didn’t care if they didn’t want her. She did want, though. She wanted to feel normal and alive. Happy and desirable.

The touch of his hand on the small of her back had a terrific effect on her. The awareness that had been teasing her all evening became a suffusion of deeply sensual lethargy. Dear Lord, was she becoming aroused?

It was what she’d envied her sister for—which was when it struck her what was happening. She and Gili had a twin connection. They didn’t read each other’s thoughts or anything so intrusive, but they picked up hints of the other’s emotions despite whatever physical distance might separate them. The preternatural sense was stronger on Gili’s side. Trella had been so messed up for years, taking anti-depressants to quash anxiety attacks, she hadn’t been as receptive to her sister’s moods.

Lately, however, she’d become more aware, particularly if Gili was restless or having an off day. Tonight, her sister was with a man who truly excited her. She was usually so careful, so rarely selfish, yet she was basking in something that made her incredibly happy.

Her sister’s buoyant heart lightened Trella’s. She was happy for Gili, happy her sister wasn’t weighed down by all the things Trella had put her through. It added another lift of carefree joy to her own evening.

“You dance well yourself,” Xavier said as he spun her in a waltz.

She was too exhilarated to respond. The sparkling ballroom circled around her in a kaleidoscope of colors. His embrace was confident and reassuring, making her feel light as a fairy.

“I feel like Cinderella.” It was too true. She was the smudged sister who had escaped from the attic, wearing borrowed clothing to dance with a prince.

“You look like something out of a fairy tale.” The line of his brow twitched and the corner of his mouth deepened, like he both surprised and disparaged himself for saying. “You’re very beautiful,” he added gruffly.

Gili was the beautiful one. Trella had fought hard to get back to the same weight as her sister, wanting to feel as good as Gili looked. She had let her hair grow out to her sister’s length so she could impersonate her for her dry runs going out in public, but she never thought of herself as beautiful. She too often thought of herself as broken.

Not tonight. She diverted herself away from any thoughts other than how glorious this was. Around and around they went. His thighs brushed hers, his fingers splayed as though trying to touch more of her. She let her fingers trail closer to his collar so she could rest the side of one finger on the hot skin of his neck. It was electrifying. The magnetic sensations grew as he kept her dancing into the second song, tugging her toward an unknown crescendo. When someone tried to cut in, Xavier shrugged him off.

“The privilege of position?” she teased.

“I’ve never seen anyone glow like you. I’m enthralled.” Again, misgiving seemed to flicker like a shadow across his face. He didn’t like admitting to whatever he was feeling, but it added to her own exuberance.

“I feel like... I can’t even describe it. Like it’s Christmas. Like anything is possible.” She brought her gaze down from the chandelier into the turquoise blue of his eyes.

She reminded herself that becoming over-excited could have a rebound effect. She didn’t want to backslide. It would be a long fall from this height.

Then she forgot any sense of caution when he said, “I need to kiss you.” The desire in his words was a sensual squeeze that stole her breath.

A very long time ago, she had been quick to agree to anything that sounded adventurous. A dungeon full of shackles and bars had kept her grounded since then, but somehow, with a few words, this man reached past all the darkness and invited her into the light. To be the impulsive, audacious person she was in her heart.

“Me, too,” she said through sensitized lips. It’s only a kiss.

His sharp gaze moved beyond her. The next thing she knew, he had her off the dance floor, through a small break in the crowd and into an alcove hidden by the giant fronds of a potted plant.

She wasn’t given time to decide whether she’d been too quick to agree. His arm tightened across the small of her back, pulling her in, arching her against the layers of his tuxedo. He was steely beneath his civilized covering. He knew what he wanted. His hot mouth covered hers without hesitation.

For a second, she was terrified. Not of him, but of how she would react. Would she panic?

Then her senses took in the way his mouth fit against hers, moving to part her lips, questing for her response. Something primitive moved in her, shaking her foundations, waking the woman she might have been if her life had been different, drawing her beyond old traumas into a place she barely understood.

Pleasure flooded her, making her stiffen, wary of such a strong reaction, but primal need quickly took over. Her brain might not be able to process what was going on, but her body knew how to respond.

Rather than put the brakes on, her hands went behind his neck. She found herself running her fingers into his short hair, shaping the back of his head as she drew herself up, parting her lips so he could plunder at will.

His arms tightened around her and she thought he made a growling noise. It should have scared her. Male aggression, especially the sexual kind, was something she’d taken pains to avoid.

Strangely, with excitement pulsing through her, she found herself thrilled by his response. She kissed him back with abandon, just as if she knew what she was doing.

Something flashed behind her closed eyes and he abruptly lifted his head.

“That was a camera,” he muttered, fingers digging in near her tailbone as he pressed her close enough to feel the thick shape straining the front of his trousers. “Let’s find some privacy.”

Her analytical mind urged caution, but her old self, her true self, trusted her instincts. She released a breathy, “Let’s.”

CHAPTER TWO

HE DIPPED HIS head to lightly scrape his teeth against her neck, urging against her ear, “You leave first. I’ll follow you upstairs.”

She gasped, mind going blank before a million thoughts rushed in.

“You have a room here? In the hotel?” What had she thought when he had said privacy? Was the idea of being alone with him intriguing or alarming?

“The penthouse, yes.”

“Is it safe?”

“Of course.” Good gracious he was handsome, even when he frowned. His features weren’t too refined. There was just enough toughness in the intensity of his gaze, just enough stubbornness in the square of his jaw to make him look stern and rugged.

As he read her hesitation, his hand cupped the side of her head while his gaze flicked with irritation at the noise around them. “I want you to myself.”

Empathy panged within her. She knew the wear and tear that being in the spotlight took on a person. She instantly wanted to give him the break he needed. He was a sophisticated man. She had nothing to fear from him physically, but was compelled to say, “I have guards. For a reason.”

She was using her sister’s tonight, both to give her own a much-deserved night off as well as to maintain the illusion she was her twin. She should tell him who she was.

“The room is completely secure. More secure than here,” he added, mouth twisting in dismay at their having been photographed. He led her back to their table. “I won’t keep you waiting long.”

Voices of caution crowded into her head, but when would she have a free pass like this again? When would she meet a man who made her feel anything like this? It wasn’t just physical, although that part was so heady she felt drunk, but there was a rarity, too. There were other men in the world who were a safe bet, men vetted by her brothers, but when would she feel this pull? This compulsion to know more about this man?

Before she talked herself out of it, she let her finger press up for the penthouse. It wasn’t that she didn’t have misgivings, or that she ignored them, she overcame them. It was different. It was another small triumph that had her stepping lightly off the elevator onto thickly carpeted floor.

It was easy to spot the Prince’s room. Two guards were stationed outside the door. Her own accompanied her as she approached them.

“Mademoiselle Sauveterre,” one greeted with a respectful nod. “We were notified to expect you.” He stepped inside and invited her guard to sweep the rooms.

Both men behaved with the utmost professionalism, not betraying a hint of judgment about what they must know was a preliminary for seduction.

A smile touched her mouth as she thought about how her brothers would blow their tops if they knew where she was right now, even though they had both been on the Prince’s side of this equation hundreds of times, the hypocrites.

Then she was left alone and she took in the elegant shades of ivory and sage green on the walls and the furnishings. A glass of watered-down Scotch had been abandoned on an end table, ice long melted. She sniffed, then dared a sip, thought about looking at the view, then decided to leave the drapes closed.

The double doors to the bedroom stood open. She stared at the bed, taking another quick sip of liquid courage just as the main door opened. His star power impacted her anew, making her heart skip.

“You made yourself comfortable. Good.”

“This is yours.” She tilted the glass, then set it aside, instantly wishing she’d kept it to keep her hands busy.

“I’ll make you a fresh one. Or, how about champagne?” He moved to the bar. As he peeled the foil from a bottle, the crinkle seemed overly loud.

This was the moment she should have admitted she was Trella.

A very real fear sat within that admission—that he would develop his own misgivings. He would either want explanations she didn’t care to give, or he might jump to conclusions that made him averse to being with her. In no scenario did she imagine this exciting, lighthearted atmosphere would continue.

“You’re nervous,” he noted as he popped the cork.

“You’re observant,” she said, compelled to at least confess, “I don’t do this.”

It was true no matter which twin she represented. Gili running away for a weekend with a prince was as out of character as her being here with this one.

“I already guessed that.” He set two glasses as he poured, canting his head to eye her. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”

She choked. “No.”

True again for both twins, but she had to look away, mind skipping off the dark memory like a stone off the water’s surface.

No, that was another reason she was here. Being alone with a man was another snapped link in the chain that bound her to the past. She was really, really proud of herself right now. Even though her proffered excuse of “I’m just out of my comfort zone” was the understatement of the year.

He brought the glasses across the room to her and offered her one. “Saluti.”

“Salud.”

They sipped, gazes locked, unspoken expectations hovering between them. Her throat grew abraded by the bubbles.

“What if I change my mind about being here?” she asked in a soft rasp.

“Then I will be disappointed.” His intent expression didn’t change.

“Angry?”

“Disappointed. Very disappointed, bella.” His gaze acted like wildfire, igniting her blood as he swept it across her cheek and down her throat.

He turned away to set music playing. The notes were low and sultry, matching the thick feeling in her veins, the sensual throb of her pulse.

“Either way, I’m pleased to have you to myself.” He came back to her, steps laconic, touch smooth and confident as he looped his arm around her. “Whether you want to talk or dance or...pass the time in other ways.”

He swayed them into a dance that was really just the press of two bodies. Foreplay. They both still held their champagne flutes. Held gazes.

“I wasn’t in the mood to fight other men for your attention.”

“Was anyone else even trying? I hadn’t noticed.” She batted her lashes.

His mouth tilted. “I like that wit, bella. I find myself regretting we only have tonight.”

She tucked her chin and gave him an admonishing look. “You’re patronizing me again. I don’t need the rules spelled out. I’m not that green.”

“See? Such sharp intelligence is the sort of thing that holds my interest longer than a few hours.”

“Is that how long your liaisons usually last?”

He stopped dancing, arm remaining across her back, but loosely. “That’s probably not a good topic of conversation.”

“I know.” Bubbles tickled her nose as she sipped, trying to wash away a strange bitterness on her tongue. It shouldn’t matter what his past looked like. Whatever man eventually attached himself to her wouldn’t come to her pristine. She couldn’t expect it when she had such a complicated history herself. “I think I’m looking for reasons not to like you so I won’t feel so...”

She frowned. The hand she’d rested on his shoulder slid down to splay on his chest as if she had the right to touch him with such familiarity, but touching him felt very natural. Her fingertips dipped beneath the ribbon of red, sliding the tips of her polished nails beneath it as she ever so slightly lifted it off the crispness of his shirt.

“I’m not a pushover. I’m normally the most contrary person you could imagine. A fighter.” Her family told her that all the time, so why was she letting this happen? Her usual streak of rebellion was absent.

Actually, she realized with a spark of insight, it was directed against the life she’d been leading, pushing her to break free of old restraints. No one was stopping her from spending a night with a man except her. All she had to do was choose to.

“I’m not trying to pressure you. I’m sincere that I wish we had more time to get to know one another, but my life has never allowed for long term relationships.” His hand shifted to splay in a warm brand against her lower back, offering a soothing caress. “For what it’s worth—” He bit the inside of his cheek, seeming to weigh what he was about to say. The shadow moved behind his eyes again, telling her that he was uncomfortable with how revealing his words were. “If you walked out of here right now, I wouldn’t go looking for someone else. You’re the only woman I want to be with tonight.”

“Why?” It came out of her with a pang of disbelief. “Please don’t say it’s because you like the way I look.” She didn’t want him to want Gili. It would break her heart—it really would.