The Royal House Of Karedes: Two Kingdoms

“Let me tell you my wonderful news,” she said quickly, breaking into her mother’s endless praise for Angela. “That commission? The one to design the birthday jewels for Queen Tia of Aristo? Well, I’ve landed it.”

She waited, although she really didn’t know what she was waiting for. She knew better than to think her mother would shriek with joy and say, I’m so proud of you, mia bella, or even, That’s wonderful news. But she didn’t really expect Luz to say, “You?” as if such a thing were impossible.

“You lost the competition. You were not good enough to win it.”

Maria winced. “Yes. Well—well, things changed. There was a problem with the winner and so—”

“Ah.” Her mother’s sigh spoke volumes. “Well, no matter how you came by it, it is an opportunity. Be sure you do nothing to ruin it.”

Maria felt like weeping, which was ridiculous. Why should tonight be different than the past twenty-eight years?

What made it even worse was that Alex had not taken his eyes from her. It was infuriating. His Royal Highness was a Royal Boor when it came to manners. Didn’t he know enough to walk away when someone was having a private conversation?

“One of the things your cousin Angela has always done is to make the most of her chances.”

“Yes. I know.” Maria cleared her throat. “It’s late. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Another deep sigh came over the phone. “God willing I will be here tomorrow. And please, Maria, do not waste time telling me the doctors say my health is excellent. What do doctors know?”

There was no point in answering. That road, well-traveled over the decades, led nowhere.

“Good night,” Maria said, “I love—”

Too late. Luz had already disconnected. Maria put down the phone and swallowed hard. The Prince of Arrogance hadn’t moved; he was still standing right next to her. She drew a long breath, let it out as slowly as she could, then turned to face him.

“Wasn’t he interested in your charming declaration of affection?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your lover. Joaquin. I had the impression he ended the call rather abruptly. Didn’t your news please him?”

“That wasn’t—” She bit her lip. Would having a lover, however imaginary, offer her some protection? She needed protection; every instinct told her that. “That wasn’t polite,” she said. “Listening to my conversation.”

He smiled thinly. “And you, Ms. Santos, are the expert on etiquette, are you not?” The smile vanished; he shoved a gold pen at her. “Sign the contract.”

Why did that sound so ominous? “I insist you meet my conditions before I—”

Suddenly, his hands were on her, cupping her shoulders, lifting her to her toes.

“You’re lucky to be getting this commission,” he said coldly. “We both know that. You’re desperate for money—please, don’t waste my time denying it. And you need the prestige that comes with creating a necklace for a queen.” His tone hardened. “Sign the contract, Maria.”

Her lip trembled. She looked away from him and, for a heartbeat, he hated himself.

Was he really reduced to this? Bullying a woman on the skids? A woman whose lover had obviously not said a word to congratulate her on winning this commission?

And why should he give a damn? Maria Santos was nothing to him.

“Sign the papers,” he growled.

She picked up the pen, smoothed out the documents, laid them on the table and scribbled her name where he indicated. He felt a surge of heat sweep through him. But he said nothing, simply took the papers, folded them and tucked them back in his pocket.

“As for conditions… there are others besides the ones I mentioned. There are my conditions,” he said in a softly ominous tone. “And you will meet them.”

His gaze dropped to her lips. She felt her pulse begin to race. Whatever he was about to say was going to turn her world upside down; she could sense it.

“One,” he said, still in that soft voice, “you shall have the studio of your dreams—but on Aristo, not here.”

“Are you insane? I have no intention of—”

“I assume your passport is in order.”

“Of course, but—”

“You will leave with me, tonight.”

“You cannot do this to—”

He bent to her and kissed her. Kissed her as if she belonged to him, his tongue in her mouth, his hands cupping her bottom, lifting her to him, into him, into the heavy thrust of his erection.

“And,” he said thickly, when he finally raised his head, “you will warm my bed until you finish the job.”

“No!” She shook her head as if to emphasize her refusal. “No,” she said again, her voice high and wild, “I’ll never—”

“You will, or I’ll do what I should have done when you left my bed the first time. I’ll tell the queen about our little adventure. I’ll tell her you’re not worthy of designing her gift or of working in proximity to her. And then you can stay in this loft and forever live with the knowledge that you failed at the one thing that could have changed your life.”

Maria wanted to weep but she knew damned well her tears would have made him not just the victor but the conqueror. Instead, she forced herself to meet his gaze without flinching.

“Is this how you get your women, Your Highness? Through blackmail?”

His eyes flashed a warning. She tried to pull away but his mouth swooped down to hers; his hands swept into her hair, holding her captive to his merciless kiss until, at last, a sweet moan whispered from her throat.

Despite her fury and her hatred, it was happening again.

The hot spiral of desire she’d felt that night all those weeks ago. The sudden swift race of her heart. All those amazing, incredible feelings she’d never known before were sweeping her away.

She was dizzy in his arms, dizzy from the taste of him, the scent, the feel of his hand, now in her hair, his fingers cupping her scalp. He gathered her even closer. The hard press of his arousal dug into her belly.

Oh God. She wanted him, wanted him, wanted him…

Maria wound her arms around Alex’s neck and kissed him back.

CHAPTER FOUR

SHE was on fire.

It had been like this that night on Aristo.

Alex had kissed her, and it had been like touching a match to tinder.

Until then, she’d always thought descriptions like that were clichés, the stuff of novels and movies, but Alex had taken her in his arms and taught her that a man’s touch could change everything you knew, everything you believed, forever.

One kiss. One warm mingling of breath. One caress of lips and tongues and you were transformed, became someone else.

Someone you didn’t know, didn’t understand.

Didn’t respect.

Her eyes flew open. She slammed her hands against Alex’s broad chest. He made a sound that was almost a growl and gathered her closer. Her struggles increased.

“Alex! Damn you, let me go.”

For a moment, her words didn’t penetrate. He was lost in the taste of Maria, the feel of her soft body against his. But her hands became small fists, hammering at his shoulders. The message was clear. A moment’s tease, just enough to drive him half out of his mind…

It wasn’t going to work.

He opened his eyes and let go of her.

“Pack your things.”

His voice was low and rough, his muscles taut with anger and frustration. She had a way of getting to him and he didn’t like it. It was not something he was accustomed to.

“That’s it?” Her voice shook with indignation. “You walk in here, announce that I’m going to—to be your sex slave—”

“My mistress,” he said, mentally cursing himself. How had she reduced him to this?

“You think that makes it better? You cannot walk in here, manhandle me and expect—expect—”

“Is that what you call it when you turn soft and hot in a man’s arms and all but beg him to take you?”

Her face colored. “Get out!”

“Try singing a different tune, agapimeni. The one about being a shocked virgin is getting tiresome.”

“Is there something about ‘get out’ you don’t understand?”

“And what of the contract you just signed, Maria? Shall I take that to court and have a judge deal with it?”

“Don’t threaten me!”

“It’s not a threat, it’s a warning. You’ve committed to creating the queen’s birthday gift, to be completed by twenty-eight February and subject to my approval.”

“Your approval?”

“Indeed,” he said coldly. “Perhaps you should have read the contract more thoroughly.”

Maria wanted to laugh. Or cry. Either seemed appropriate. A minute ago, Alex had been kissing her passionately. Now, he was talking to her as if he were a prosecutor and she a balky witness.

Did he think he could use sex to control her? Or maybe he thought he could bully her. Big mistake! She’d grown up on the streets of the Bronx. What was royal arrogance compared to Bronx attitude?

“Contracts,” she said, just as coldly, “are made to be broken.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Did you lift that line from some trendy legal show?”

She flushed. Close enough. She’d taken it from an article about how a hotshot movie star had gotten away with walking out on a film.

“And you’re right,” he said, taking the contract from his pocket, flipping to a page and holding it out. “Some are. This one is not. Take a look at paragraph three.”

Why did doing as he’d suggested smack of defeat? Was it his smug tone, or was it the instinctive knowledge that what she’d find in that paragraph would not be good? She snatched the contract from his hand, read the pertinent sentences… and felt a shock of disbelief flash through every nerve in her body.

Failure of the party of the first part to complete the agreed-upon commission and/or to fulfill the additional duties required of her in their entirety …

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“Ah,” he said, his voice a low purr, “I can see that you really didn’t read this before you signed it. A bad decision, I’m afraid.”

“That’s insane! You cannot contract for—for a mistress …”

“Keep reading,” he said softly.

Did she have a choice? Her gaze dropped to the contract.

Such failure shall result in forfeiture of all goods and services already provided and repayment for same.

“What goods and services?” She looked up and flashed a triumphant smile. “You haven’t provided any.”

“Have you forgotten you’re flying to Aristo with me? Did you think I wouldn’t provide you with a workshop and tools?” He jerked his chin toward the contract. “There’s more.”

Finally, in the event of forfeiture, an additional penalty to be paid by Maria Santos in the amount of …

The typed-in number had so many zeroes it made her laugh. Alex’s eyes narrowed.

“I assure you, this is not meant for your amusement.”

No. Of course not, but what else could she do when the penalty for walking away was easily ten times the value of everything she owned?

“You must know I can’t afford anything even close to that!”

He shrugged. “I know only what is in the agreement you just signed.”

He sounded as removed as if they were discussing when the snow might stop. It not only killed her hysterical laughter, it killed any hope she’d had that this was a joke.

“But—but I’d lose everything. This loft. My clients. The people I deal with would suffer, the ones who subcontract to me. And Joaquin, who’s been with me from the start—”

“Your lover’s welfare is not my concern.”

“Joaquin is not my lover.” Maria flung the contract at his feet. “He works for me.”

He bent and picked it up, smoothing the pages, his expression blank.

“It doesn’t matter one way or the other. My only concern is this contract. Are you going to abide by it or not?

She stared at him, hating him, hating herself even more. How could she have slept with him that night? Better still, how could she have returned his kisses just now? Was she truly, pathetically her mother’s daughter?

She wanted to curse him. To pummel those broad shoulders with her fists, but what would that change? Nothing, she thought bitterly, nothing at all.

“This is usury!”

He grinned. Such a ruggedly beautiful face, she thought wildly, made even sexier by that quick devil’s smile.

“An impressive legal term,” he said. “But incorrect. The penalty to which you’ve agreed has nothing to do with a loan.”

“Damn it,” she exploded, “do not play word games with me! I know what usury means. And I know what this contract is.

Unconscionable. Immoral. Cruel and mean-spirited and—”

“And enforceable.”

“You cannot coerce a woman into—what was your phrase? Into warming your bed!”

Suddenly, he was standing much too close. She stumbled back but his big hands were already framing her face and lifting it to him.

“There’s not a word that even hints of coercion in that contract,” he said softly. “You signed it of your own free will.”

“How can you do this?” she said shakily. “Don’t you have any scruples?”

He laughed softly. “An interesting question, coming from you.” His smile faded; his gaze dropped to her lips. “One month, agapi mou. That’s all it will be. One month of being in my bed. Of spending the nights with me deep inside you.” His lips twitched, as if he’d made a joke, but his eyes were so dark they seemed bottomless. “I can endure it, if you can.”

His words made her blush. How could he joke about the devil’s bargain he was forcing on her?

“I hate you,” Maria snapped.

Alex grinned. “Hate me all you like, sweetheart. It’s not your heart I’m after.”

No, she thought, no, it wasn’t. And that was fine because her heart would never be part of this arrangement.

“Understand something, Your Highness,” she said, searching for and finding a way to salvage one tiny bit of pride. “Being in your bed is one thing. Participating in what happens there is not something you can ever expect.”

His teeth flashed in a quick smile. “A challenge?”

“A statement of fact.”

“A challenge,” he said flatly. “One I am happy to accept.”

He bent his head, brushed his lips over hers. His mouth moved against hers again and again in the lightest of kisses. She wanted to lean into him. Wanted to close her eyes, part her lips, clasp his head and bring it down closer to hers…

I feel nothing, she told herself.

And wished to God it were true.

What in the name of Chronos was she doing? Was she packing everything she owned? Jeans. T-shirts. Sweaters. Sneakers and sandals and, hell, another pair of jeans.

Alex looked at his watch, scowled and shook his wrist. Was the damned thing working? Impossible that only five minutes had passed since she’d first turned on her heel, marched away from him and dragged a suitcase from a corner of the loft.

The loft. Her loft. His lip all but curled. He’d been in Manhattan lofts before. Soaring ceilings. Enormous windows. Brick walls and polished wood floors. Furniture from Scandinavia that made the most of all that open space.

Maria’s loft lacked only whatever machines had once been installed here. Raw space, New York realtors called it, and made it sound as if that was a good thing—which, he supposed, it was if you intended to transform it into something habitable.

This was not habitable.

The floor was wood but the finish had long since worn away. The walls were brick. Not warm brick, just brick. Old, dark, depressing. The ceiling soared, all right. It soared straight up to an intimidating tangle of pipes and electrical lines.

As for furniture… there were a couple of work tables. Some cabinets and benches. Boxes. More boxes. And, in this end of the room, farthest from the entry door, a screen that he assumed concealed the bathroom, or what passed for a bathroom, and in front of that, a bed.

Maria’s bed.

Neatly made. Simple. Almost convent-like in appearance…

A double bed.

Alex’s jaw tightened.

His own bed—his beds, considering the number of homes he owned—his beds were always king-sized. A bachelor’s necessity, his brothers called them. Plenty of room for a man and a woman and hours of hot sex.

But a double bed might have advantages.

There’d be little space in which to sprawl while the lovers in Maria’s bed took some needed rest. They would have to sleep on their sides, spoon fashion, she with her backside tucked into his groin, her spill of wild, sexy curls tucked beneath his chin. He would wake during the night, feel the heat of her against him and his sex would engorge, fill with heat, throb as he shifted his weight, as she backed up to him, as she awoke and drowsily whispered his name while he sought her moist entrance, while he pistoned within her until she cried out…

Skata!

He was watching Maria pack and turning himself on.

How could she have that much power over him? He didn’t like it, not one bit. Men were the ones who held power and if that marked him as old-fashioned, so be it.

He had surely made the right move. Taking her to his bed as often as he wished would purge her from his system. And no matter what she said, she would not be unwilling for long. She could talk about not wanting him all she liked but when he touched her, all that staunch denial fled. To hell with the fact that she despised him. He felt the same about her. What he’d told her was true enough.

Sex had nothing to do with emotion.

As for her threat not to react in his bed… A lie. A magnificent lie. He knew a thousand ways to make her react. His mouth at her breasts. Between her thighs. On her clitoris…

“Damn it,” he growled, and strode toward the bed on which her suitcase stood open. “That’s enough!”

She swung toward him. “What?”

“Perhaps you have forgotten what my country is like,” he said through his teeth. “It is not the wilderness. We have shops.”

The understatement of the year, Maria thought. Ellos had all the shops that made Fifth Avenue paradise and dozens more. Unfortunately, it had the prices to go with them. She wouldn’t have the money to step through those doors until she completed this commission. One new outfit, she’d been in debt for life.

Not that that was a possibility. The outfit she’d worn today had pretty much melted her credit card.

“Excuse me,” she said with enough sugar in the words to cause diabetic coma, “but I’m not done.”

“You are done,” he said grimly. “You’ve packed enough for ten women.”

What she’d done was pack enough for one woman who had no idea what the weather was like halfway around the world this time of year. Yes, she could ask him, but that would be a show of weakness. Stupid, perhaps, but that was the way she felt.

So she’d taken jeans. T-shirts. Sandals. Hiking boots. Sweaters. She’d considered something dressy, but what for? She would not be going out in the evenings.

She would be going to the prince’s bed.

She stared at him as he closed the suitcase. She hated him as a woman; as an artist, she couldn’t help but admire him. Well, no. Not him. Not Alexandros Karedes. What she admired was his long, leanly muscled body. His wide shoulders and broad chest. Narrow hips and long legs. The black-as-midnight hair, the dark eyes, the face that Praxiteles might have chiseled from the finest marble.

He was even more beautiful nude.

She remembered that. The corded muscles in his arms. The ridged abs. The powerful thrust of his penis rising from a cluster of dark curls…

Maria swung away and went to the workshop end of the loft.

Forget that. Block it from her mind. Besides, despite all that about the contract, he couldn’t mean to enforce such a demand. The more she thought about it, the more assured she grew that the sleep-with-me nonsense was just a particularly nasty way of reminding her that she had no standing in his world.

Fine, she thought, plucking a big leather tote from a shelf and sweeping a handful of tools into it, absolutely fine. Let him play his stupid games. One month, that was all, a month of his bullying tactics and then—

Unless she was wrong.

What if he was serious? What if he really expected her to sleep with him? Well, not ‘sleep’. She remembered that one night in his bed. They hadn’t slept at all. He’d taken her over and over, driven her out of her mind each time, made her do things…

No. Her breath caught.

He hadn’t ‘made’ her do anything. She’d wanted to do them, things she’d heard of and read about but never, ever imagined she’d want to do.

And would never do again.

Blindly, she grabbed another handful of tools and dumped them in the tote.

What she’d told him was true. If he insisted on holding her to their devil’s bargain, she would not participate. She would lie in his bed but she would not move. She’d let his hands seek out every shadowed valley. Let him put his mouth on hers. On her breasts. Between her thighs. She’d let him do everything he wanted but she would not react, she would not, would not…

She gasped as Alex grabbed the tote from her, snapped the lock, then hoisted it and her suitcase from the floor.

“We’re leaving.”

“I need the rest of those tools—or maybe you thought I work gold and precious stones with tweezers and a crowbar?”

“Did you not hear me when I said you will have the studio of your dreams?”

“I heard you. I still want my own things. It’s how people are, when they’ve worked at the same job for a while. They want the stuff they’re familiar with, whether it’s a pen or a chisel. I know that’s difficult for you to get your head around, considering that you’ve never had to do a day’s work in your life, so you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

Alex narrowed his eyes. Was that really how she saw him? As a royal dilettante? He thought back to his father’s initial reaction when he’d first approached him about bringing new economic life to Aristo.

“What could you possibly bring to Aristo that I have not?” Aegeus said, with his usual imperialistic charm.

A casino, for one. A new commercial port that specialized in handling enormous cargo ships. A colony of upscale second or third or fourth or even fifth homes for multi-billionaires looking for seclusion on the island’s northeast coast overlooking the Bay of Apollonia. He had even managed to divert some of the super-rich from building in the new resort town of Jaladhar on the island of Calista, which, together with Aristo, had made up the Kingdom of Adamas until they’d been declared separate nations by his grandfather, King Christos, more than three decades ago.

So, no. Oh, no. He had never worked a day in his life. He travelled between his offices in New York and Ellos, he flew to all the major cities of the world, met and negotiated with hard-headed businessmen and heads of state and it was all nothing but a wealthy man’s hobby. Or so this woman thought.

He glared at Maria. At the smug little smile on her lips. Part of him wanted to grab her and shake her.

Part wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she begged for him to do more.

Thank God he wasn’t fool enough to do either. Instead, he jerked his chin in her direction.

“Coat,” he said briskly. “And shoes. Make it quick or I’ll sling you over my shoulder and carry you downstairs just as you are.”

He would do it, too.

Maria knew that.

So she pulled on heavy socks, a pair of bulky boots she’d bought the winter she’d almost—almost—decided to try skiing, stuffed her arms through the sleeves of a warm but ugly vintage parka she’d found at the Hell’s Kitchen flea market, secured her wild mop of hair with a scrunchy and marched to the door.

Let His Mightiness see what kind of bed-warmer he’d bought himself, she thought grimly.

Useless. He didn’t even blink. Instead, he motioned her toward the steps and followed her out of the building. The snow was still coming down but the flakes were big and slow, the kind that normally turned the city into a wonderland.