The Mistress That Tamed De Santis

Crossing his arms, he continued to regard her, making her feel uncharacteristically vulnerable. His complete attention wasn’t like any ordinary audience of thousands. His scrutiny was way more intense.

‘I’ve seen it all, every artifice, every attempt to attract me,’ he muttered. ‘It won’t work.’

‘Because we’re all out to entrap you?’ she asked, shocked at his direct approach. ‘You think I’m trying to use my feminine wiles to draw you in? Because you’re the biggest prize?’

‘Aren’t you?’ he answered, cocking his head. ‘Or are you just trying to provoke me? You want to win a reaction from “the Ice Prince”,’ he mocked. ‘Because you’re all about getting the reaction.’

She drew breath at the accuracy of his hit.

‘I’ve had every kind of play,’ he continued with a quietness that belied the edge to his words. ‘The sympathy, simpering agreement and the bitchy comebacks of the treat-me-mean kind...there’s nothing I haven’t seen or heard, so don’t bother.’

Anger rushed along her veins, scalding her skin. ‘You think I want you anywhere near me?’

His lips twisted in a coolly mocking look and he didn’t bother to answer.

‘You’re unbelievably arrogant,’ she said.

‘You think?’

Yes, she did. But swirling beneath the frost-covered atmosphere was elemental attraction at its most basic. He was appallingly attractive—her body yearned to get closer to his. And when he didn’t back away from her challenge?

Primitive instinct could be a powerful thing. But she had more of a brain than that. So her basic instinct could go bury itself back in the cave it had been dwelling in for the last three years.

‘I have no desire to attract you,’ she declared passionately. Totally meaning every word. ‘This isn’t some ploy with which I hope to gain your grace or favour or sexual interest. You do not interest me in the least.’

‘You interest me,’ he said softly, slicing the ground from under her.

Sensual awareness feathered over her skin.

‘Why San Felipe?’ He stepped closer. ‘Why now?’

Her heart stopped beating as she looked up into his blue eyes. For a second he actually looked human—as if he actually cared. And for a second she longed to open up and just be honest.

But as if she could ever tell him. When he’d so arrogantly assumed she wanted to land herself a princely lover? When he chose to listen to the father who’d always refused to recognise her?

He’d be just another man who denied her.

She wanted him to leave but she couldn’t tear her gaze from his. She’d thought she could handle anything. But she wasn’t sure she could handle him.

He reached out as if to take her hand. ‘Why now, Bella?’

Abruptly she turned to avoid his touch.

‘Careful—’

His warning came too late. As she whirled to escape her weak ankle went and she stumbled, catching her thigh on the corner of her desk.

* * *

Antonio winced at the grimace of pain on Bella’s face as she grabbed the desk to stop herself falling down. She’d gashed her leg, just above her knee. As he looked close he saw a long, jagged scar running in a wonky line up her shin.

She paled, her lips pressed together to mute any sound of pain.

It had been so long since he’d had any kind of physical comfort. Or offered any. He’d almost forgotten how. ‘Bella?’

‘It’s fine.’ She straightened and drew in a deep breath.

‘I’m sure,’ he replied, but he knew it wasn’t.

‘Wouldn’t want you thinking this was another ploy.’

‘It is my fault you fell,’ he said stiffly, his hands at his side, wanting to help her yet feeling oddly impotent.

‘You feel responsible? Rest easy, I won’t sue you.’ Her lips compressed. ‘It’s no more damaged than it already was.’

‘It still needs dressing.’ Blood was already oozing from the small wound. ‘You have a first-aid kit?’

‘Of course.’ She didn’t move.

He sighed at her reluctance. ‘I need to see it. Or I’ll revoke your operating licence.’

She gritted her teeth and limped behind her desk. His irritation smouldered. She really didn’t want him to help. Was that because he’d really offended her or because he’d struck too close to the mark?

She had been trying to get a rise out of him, but she hadn’t meant the vampish ‘on her knees’ offer—not when she’d jumped to get away from him.

She clutched the small container but he held out his hand. Sending him a death look, she passed it to him. Antonio bit back the smile of satisfaction and opened the lid.

‘Lean on the desk,’ he told her.

‘This isn’t necessary.’

He wasn’t used to repeating instructions. He glanced up and her stormy expression clashed with his. ‘Lean on the desk.’

Slowly, stiffly, she rested her body back.

‘Thank you,’ he said, ultra-politely.

He knelt at her feet, inwardly grimacing at the irony given her provocative remark only moments ago.

He knew an injury had ended her professional career. In the last decade Antonio had attended the ballet only out of duty but he could appreciate the strength and commitment it would have taken Bella to reach the level she had.

Her body was still incredibly athletic. This close he could smell her light, floral scent. It made him think of summer sun, not endless nights in a darkened dance club. In his mind’s eye he saw her on the floor, bumping and grinding up close to her patrons. He gritted his teeth. Not jealous. And not aroused.

He was not aroused by her.

He wasn’t like all the other red-blooded men in the world. He didn’t have time to be. He didn’t have the right. But just at this moment, he was every inch a mere man.

‘Do you dance your way through all your tasks?’ he asked, trying to distract himself from her sweet scent and delicate skin. He dabbed the blood and prepped a plaster as quickly as he could, not touching any part of her beyond necessary.

‘Is that a serious question?’ she mumbled.

‘Yes.’ Satisfied with how the plaster neatly covered the gash, he glanced up to read her expression. She was sitting unnaturally still—apparently holding her breath.

She met his gaze with those deep green eyes that were now almost liquid. ‘You want to know if I dance while brushing my teeth?’

He inwardly smiled at the image. ‘I bet you brush in time to the music playing in your head.’

Her eyes widened and her smile broke free—her full mouth softened and her eyes sparkled. She looked fresh and beautiful and bright.

Heat flared from flicker to flame, urging him to touch those lush curving lips—

He jerked to his feet and stepped away before he did something colossally stupid.

‘Have you been out drinking?’

He turned at the bitterness in her tone and saw her smile had vanished.

‘I don’t drink,’ he said simply.

‘No vices at all?’ she mocked. ‘No sex, right?’

That speculation was correct. It had been years since he’d had a lover. He was only about duty: to serve his country and to protect his people. All of them—dead and alive. That was his penance.

‘And no drinking,’ she added. ‘I guess that just leaves drugs.’

‘None of those either.’

‘Fast cars?’

He shook his head. ‘The Crown Prince cannot be injured or killed in a car accident. That can’t happen in San Felipe again.’ His parents’ tragedy had cut the nation too deeply.

‘So you’re reduced to watching.’ Storms gathered in her eyes.

‘If you wanted privacy you would have kept your curtains closed,’ he answered abruptly. ‘But you didn’t, because you like to be watched. You’ve made a career out of it.’

Anger flashed in her face. Before she could reply a short melody burst through the charged atmosphere. Then again. And again. His damn cell phone.

‘Are you going to answer that or would you like me to?’ Those temptress tones returned—but so shaky this time.

She was trying to goad him again, using her voice, her eyes, her femininity to bring a man to his knees.

Not this man. He wasn’t that weak.

Yet she knew that already. And that was the twist. She expected him to pull away—she wanted to drive him further back because she didn’t want him too close. Because his nearness bothered her.

That realisation shocked him. His body had already betrayed him. She was so damn beautiful, for the first time in years his desire was stirred.

‘It’s my security team.’ He cleared the frog from his throat and ignored the call.

‘I’m amazed they let you wander the streets alone,’ she said dryly.

‘They know exactly where I am.’

Her eyebrows lifted. ‘You told them you were coming here?’

‘GPS.’ His watch was tracked. It even had a silent emergency alarm button. Very spy film but he’d had to agree to it to get his morning walks alone.

‘Your every movement is accounted for? So you’re like a prisoner on electronic monitoring?’

‘The concept is not dissimilar. They’re concerned because I’ve not returned to the palace by my usual time.’ He pulled the phone from his pocket as it began to ring again. If he didn’t reply to this next call, a security team would be on its way in seconds.

‘A change in the usual routine,’ she drawled. ‘Heaven forbid.’

‘Yet here you are, doing the same warm-up dance routine you’ve been doing for years,’ he answered blandly. ‘We are creatures of habit, just doing what we usually do.’

Like falling back on old defences.

But as he read the message from his security chief he tensed. He double-checked the time on the screen—how had twenty minutes passed so quickly? He crossed the room to glance out of the window. In the space of a few minutes, the world had changed.

Outside people were lining the barricaded street, already standing two to three deep. He’d been so engrossed in dealing with Bella he hadn’t heard the crowds gathering.

Swiftly he stepped back. To be seen inside Bella Sanchez’s apartment at this hour of the morning would be unacceptable. But to be seen leaving it even worse. Especially given his unshaven, dishevelled appearance. The world would think he’d had another kind of workout altogether.

His gut burned.

Was this want? It had been so damn long since he’d wanted any woman. Clenching the phone in his fist, he faced her. She’d stilled, listening to the rising clamour outside. Given the way her features had tightened, the realisation the world had woken wasn’t good news for her either.

‘It seems it is your lucky day,’ he muttered, feeling like provoking her the way she had him. ‘I will have to remain here.’

Her eyes widened. ‘For how long?’

Until his team could work out a subtle extraction plan. ‘Until they’ve all gone home.’

‘But that race won’t finish for another six hours!’

Her obvious discomfort gave him a macabre pleasure. That she didn’t want him near echoed his own unwanted feelings.

But he looked at her, outwardly unmoved. ‘What do you suggest we do to pass the time?’

CHAPTER TWO

BELLA STARED. HE was joking, wasn’t he? But Prince Antonio never joked; he looked as straight up serious and remote as ever. Worse, if anything.

‘Why can’t you leave now?’ She still didn’t understand why he was here at all.

He stepped further from the window, looking at his phone as it buzzed again. ‘The crowds outside are already too big.’

‘They love their Crown Prince. They’ll be happy to see you.’ He could do no wrong in his people’s eyes.

‘I’m not prepared for a meet and greet at this point in time.’ He quickly sent a text.

‘Because you’re not in one of your navy suits? The track pants aren’t all bad...’ In the baggy hoodie he looked younger and more approachable than in any of the stills she’d seen. In fact dressed like this he looked alarmingly attractive. ‘A prince at leisure—’

He glanced up and her words died in her throat. It finally dawned on her why he refused to leave.

‘You don’t want them to see you here,’ she said. ‘With me.’

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. She could see it all over his icy expression.

He was loath to be seen anywhere near her. Why? Did he think she could taint him in some way?

That hurt where she was most vulnerable. No one—not her old dance company, not her ex-boyfriend, not even her own father—wanted to claim a personal connection to her. Only those wanting instant Internet fame wanted to be caught near her. And as if that were what he wanted. Like her, Crown Prince Antonio De Santis had been born famous, but he was legitimately so—whereas she?

He steadily held her gaze. That unnerving reserve made her too aware of him, but she refused to let him silence her with little more than a stare. Not now or ever.

‘You think it would damage your reputation to be seen exiting my club at this hour of the morning?’ Her voice shook and she drew in a sharp breath. ‘Maybe it would enhance it.’

He still didn’t answer but his demeanour changed. He might be wearing worn workout gear, but now he looked every inch the powerful ‘Head of State’. Clothes made no difference. Nothing could pierce that princely aura. Bella’s anger flared. He was so protected, whereas she?

‘No one would believe anything “untoward” of you. But me?’ She laughed bitterly. ‘I’m the vixen, right? But surely not even wicked little Bella Sanchez could trap Prince Antonio with her wiles...’

It was what he’d accused her of attempting only moments before. And he was right, it was laughable. Scathing, she stepped closer; her words tumbled unchecked, unthinking.

‘I don’t know why you’re so worried,’ she snarled. ‘You’re untemptable, right? You’re the frigid Prince.’ She took no notice of his sudden frown or the muscle jerking in his jaw; his wordless judgment had unleashed the banked-up bitterness of so many betrayals. ‘Your absolute rejection of any physical intimacy is cowardly.’

Just as hiding here for hours would be cowardly.

And dangerous for her.

‘In what way?’ he asked icily, his words sharply enunciated. ‘Doesn’t it denote self-control?’

Something burned in his eyes now, but she was too hurt to take heed and too hurt to stop herself lashing out. ‘Maybe you’re afraid that once you start, you won’t be able to stop.’

He said nothing. He didn’t need to. His rigidity screamed irritation and arrogance.

‘Everyone loses control some time,’ she taunted. She’d seen it every night since she’d opened the club. People got carried away. Just as she was now. But she didn’t care.

‘Not me,’ he finally countered.

‘Because you’re a robot?’ she scoffed. ‘You’re just a prince—that doesn’t give you super powers.’

Silence strained for two beats before he broke it with a soft-spoken, hard-hitting whisper. ‘You want me to prove it?’

He didn’t move a muscle, but somehow he made the room smaller. The subtlest change in his tone, the darkening in his eyes put her senses on alert. He’d gone from angered, to something else altogether. Something more dangerous.

Goosebumps rose on her skin, but deep down satisfaction flickered. ‘You don’t have to prove anything to me.’

‘Don’t I? When you’ve taken it upon yourself to judge me so completely?’

‘You’d judged me before you even crossed my threshold,’ she pointed out with relish. ‘And you collude with other people’s judgments when you react with concern about being seen in my company.’

‘You’re mistaken in many ways.’ He frowned. ‘I’m not a robot. And no, I don’t have super powers. But I don’t lose control, Bella.’

He walked closer, until he loomed in front of her. She held her ground and watched. Dared.

‘I can start,’ he promised with wintry imperiousness. ‘And then stop.’

‘Start what?’ she taunted again.

‘You’re Bella Sanchez,’ he murmured. ‘You live for kisses and adoration.’

That stung. Her mother’s reputation had stained her own from the start. Men assumed that as she’d inherited her mother’s figure, she’d have her ‘skills’ too. But her mother had been discarded by every one of her many lovers. Which was partly why Bella was not the lover of anyone bold enough to make a move. And the truth was she was unmoved. Always.

She should shake him off with some glib retort and a smile and make her escape from a situation like this the way she’d done many times before. Or she should tell him exactly where to go and why.

‘What if I don’t want you to kiss me?’ she asked, determinedly standing in place despite the adrenalin rush urging her to run.

‘Don’t you?’ He laughed then. A low, sexy, mocking laugh.

That he’d laughed at all was a shock, but that he laughed like that? She just gazed at him, stunned by this glimpse of someone else altogether—a gorgeous virile man.

His smile disappeared as he neared, but there was still that glimpse of human behind the pale blue. ‘You are beautiful.’

Beneath that clinical assessment she heard huskiness. Heat washed over her, confusing her more.

‘Beauty isn’t everything,’ she pointed out.

Glossy magazines and plastic surgeons would argue otherwise, but Bella knew the truth. Beauty faded. Beauty depended on who was looking. Beauty didn’t count for anything at the end of the day.

‘No,’ he agreed softly.

The atmosphere thickened, building the tension both within her and between them. She wanted to duck and run. She already knew she wouldn’t feel anything if he kissed her. She never felt anything. That was the point. She’d tried but she wasn’t the hedonist the world wanted her to be. In ten seconds it would be obvious who the frigid one was. He’d know her secret. She gritted her teeth, angered by that old humiliation.

‘Go on, then,’ she finally snapped. ‘Try it and see what happens.’

‘Such an invitation,’ he mocked.

‘You’re hardly bounding over with unbridled lust.’

‘I don’t do unbridled lust, remember?’ He regarded her intently. ‘You’re not going to drive me crazy.’

It was almost as if he was challenging himself. Not her.

‘I don’t want to drive anyone crazy,’ she retorted. ‘People ought to take responsibility for their own actions.’

She just wanted to do her own thing. She hadn’t asked to be raised in the glare of paparazzi flashes. Yes, she’d chosen the ballet stage, but it wasn’t supposed to have intruded into her personal life as much. And now she did all that Internet sharing only to build something for the future—funding her escape route.

‘Indeed they should.’ He gripped her waist, his hands not too high or too low or too tight. He didn’t step closer so there was a clear two inches between them. He held her in the position perfect for a formal dance. But they weren’t in a ballroom. They were yards from her tiny bedroom.

Heart thudding, Bella fisted her hands and held them to her stomach, but she couldn’t bring herself to say stop. Instinctively she knew that if she did, he would. But she was curious to see how far perfect Prince Antonio would take this. She kept her eyes open, focusing intently on him. It was a trick she’d learned when amorous dates had moved closer than she’d wanted. Guys didn’t like to think they weren’t wowing a woman with their sensual prowess.

But Antonio kept his eyes open too. As he inclined his head she found herself sinking into their surprising depths—they were such a pale blue, but there was an echo of that smile glinting in the backs of them. That smile was what she really wanted more of.

He pressed his lips to hers in the lightest caress, offering less than a heartbeat of touch. But it delivered a lightning flash of heat. Bella froze, teetering on the edge of something unknown, so tempted to tumble over—but he didn’t take her there. He didn’t touch her again.

He remained a breath away but she couldn’t fathom his feelings in his unreadable eyes.

Finally it dawned on her that he had no feelings. He’d been teasing her. He’d intended to give her nothing but that chaste peck all along. Perfectly, bloodlessly executed. Any second now he’d step back and say, ‘I told you so’. He was utterly in control at all times.

Disappointment spilled into that vast, empty space in her chest. She really shouldn’t feel it, she really shouldn’t care, she should concede his victory with laughing grace and push him away.

But she’d felt a glimmer of what might have been—a sliver of heat that had stunned her with its strength.

So she could only stay still, unable to move for thinking—for feeling. His eyes were so damn mesmerising but now she couldn’t bear to look into them any more. Yet when she dropped her gaze, she saw his sensual mouth and his chiselled jaw roughened with morning stubble. He was picture-postcard perfect and it was so unfair because for one millisecond she’d actually wanted—

His fingers tightened, pinching her waist. She looked up in surprise but before she could speak his lips brushed hers again. Another soft, too brief—tantalising—caress. She got the smallest glimpse into his eyes before he bent to her again. His reserve crumbled as intensity flared. Her heart stopped at that flash of emotion.

When he kissed her that third time, he lingered. She lifted her chin, meeting him, her body instinctively yearning for him to stay. She wanted more—a real kiss. She wanted him to release the energy she sensed building within him and ease the need starting to ache within her. She wanted more of the magic she’d tasted in that first swift touch. She wanted more than disillusionment and emptiness and abandonment all over again. She just wanted more.

For the first time in her life, she really wanted it.

He didn’t disappoint her this time. He stayed. He held. He kissed. His lips moved from gentle, to more insistent, to finally demanding. As she acquiesced, parting her mouth, his demands grew greater still. His hands shifted, shaping her curves and then possessively pulling her closer. Her heart struck up again, sprinting to a frantic tempo—in shock. In passion. She wriggled her hands from where they’d been squashed between them and reached up to his shoulders so she could literally hang on as he bent her backwards and kissed her more thoroughly still.

Oh, he kissed her. Her eyes drifted shut as she focused on the pressure of his lips—the teasing pleasure. His kiss lightened and she gripped his shoulders more tightly, afraid he was about to pull away. But he kissed her again and again in a series that mimicked that first—softly stirring desire, building her frustration until she couldn’t control the small moan that escaped. Then he kissed her hard and long again. And he repeated the pattern—unpredictable, maddening. Delicious.

She’d never have expected Prince Antonio to be as playful. Or as skilled. But what did it matter when he made her feel like this?

She moaned in pleasure as he kissed her deeply again. It was as if all the empty places within her were being filled and heated and the sensation was so addictive. There was pure pleasure to be had in his arms. The kind she’d never experienced with anyone else.

Breathless, she wanted to say something, but couldn’t. She didn’t want to break the magic—uncaring of any consequences, of how crazy this had suddenly become. She just wanted to feel it—all of him—all of the gratification she could get. Instinctively she moved, circling her hips. His hand slid, pressing over the curve of her bottom and pulling her harder against the heat of his pelvis. Feeling how aroused he was made her melt all the more into his embrace.

His arms tightened around her but she didn’t resist as he walked her backwards and then pushed her back against the desk. She couldn’t remain standing anyway and she had no desire to stop. She only wanted more. Just here. Now. In this white-hot moment.

He shoved the files behind her to the floor with a sweep of his arm, pushed her back until she lay on the hard wood, and followed her down.

He kissed down the side of her neck, burying his mouth in that sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulders. His hand slid beneath her light pyjama top. The sensation of skin on skin made her arch involuntarily. His hand was heavy, then light, teasing as he traced small circles over her abdomen, up to her ribs, then higher still. She shivered as he neared the hard peak of her breast. He lifted his head from hers, breaking the kiss to look into her eyes. He didn’t look down as he lifted her top to expose her breasts. She felt the cool air, felt her nipples tighten more—until they were almost painful. She licked her dried lips as she waited, splayed on the desk beneath him, until he looked down at her partially naked body.