Mr Right All Along

‘Honour?’ she snarled. ‘You call this sham wedding honourable? It is deceit.’

‘There is no deceit,’ he argued hotly. ‘We will be married for real. What is it that you want from me?’ he exploded, pushing her away from him so he could think. ‘I am doing what’s right. I am being reasonable. You want me to tie you up in chains and drag you to the altar? Would that make you feel better in some warped way? You want me to play lord and master?’

But Stella didn’t walk away as he’d expected her to. No, she stepped right back into his personal space.

‘Play? You are dragging me to the altar.’

‘You do not want this marriage. Fine. Nor do I. But we must do what is right and best for the baby, for the royal family—an institution far bigger and more important than us two individuals. That is the reality. Accept it. Be the mother you want to be here, in San Felipe.’ He stopped and dragged in a breath, frustrated as hell. ‘And when we are alone I will not take that which you do not want to give. That which you do not want.’

She tempted him to the point of madness, but he was more of a man than that.

‘I know you wouldn’t.’

She took the wind out of his sails. For a half-second he just stared. But a need for more of her honesty burned through any reticence he had left.

‘But you want me. Don’t try to deny it.’ He spoke through clenched teeth. ‘Don’t lie to me.’ There was nothing he hated more than that.

‘I didn’t.’ Stormily she glared back up at him. ‘I won’t.’

The sulky, sultry words tore through the last of his control. He put his hand on her back and pulled her close until she was pressed tightly against him. ‘So, in your version of the future, what would you see us doing about this?’

There was no hiding his desire, and hers was equally obvious. She might have put her hands on his chest to hold him at a small distance, but her fingers spread and stroked, as if she couldn’t resist touching what she could of him. Her body shivered on impact against his, before softening to accommodate and mould to him. Her erect nipples were beautiful beacons, calling for his attention; so was her reddened, pouting mouth.

But she hesitated before answering. ‘There’s no reason why we can’t indulge for a while.’

She licked her lips, but despite the cool breathiness with which she spoke there was no hiding the hint of anxiety in her huge eyes.

He ought to laugh. Instead he was infuriated.

She would try to act the coquette? This woman had avoided physical pleasure for so long and now she was acting as if she was hard enough to cope with that game? Did she intend to acquiesce to a series of meaningless temporary affairs after screwing around with him for a while?

He would never treat her as a disposable sex partner who’d happened to get pregnant. Never let anyone else. The playgirls of minor princes in Europe were often passed from one wealthy lover to the next like possessions—the toys du jour. It wasn’t a scene he had any part of, for all his carefree reputation. The thought of any of those men laying a finger on her scalded his flesh.

Nor would he let the press hound her. Already they reported endlessly on any possible affair of his. Her private life would be up for public speculation, gossip and innuendo. Without palace protection—and control—she might succumb to the need to feed the machine. She might be tempted to sell her story.

Never happening.

She needed the protection of his ring. So did the child. And he would ensure they had it, so that when this ended she would have the dignity and respect of having been his wife. She would have honour, a permanent position. He would ensure the blame for the break-up would be his burden alone.

And she’d admitted her attraction to him. Satisfaction scoured his anger. Rampant sexual anticipation reared. He ached for her surrender to his kiss, to his wishes, to her own pleasure.

Rough desire drew him to mutter in her ear. ‘Your body has known no other but mine. Your body craves mine. And the baby it carries is mine,’ he said rawly, his reason lost. ‘You are mine.’

‘I am not a thing to be owned...’ A shaken whisper, and then her face lifted—unbearably, kissably close to his.

‘No, you are a woman to be treasured. Respected.’

‘I am a soldier,’ she corrected through gritted teeth.

‘You are determined to fight?’ Adrenalin primed his muscles. A bed was the best battleground for them.

‘I’m not that immature. But it is my job to protect. Defend.’

‘What is it that’s so in need of protection? What defence is required when you know I only want what’s best for this baby? When you know I will move heaven and earth to ensure it is safe? Perhaps it is not the child you are protecting. Perhaps it is yourself.’

Her vividly blue eyes widened. ‘I’m not afraid of you.’

‘No? Are you not a little afraid of this?’ He slid his hand over the curve of her butt and around her beautiful long thighs, slipped his fingers up in between them. Even through the old denim he could feel the heat of her. ‘Is that what all this bluster is about? You said yes to me, but was it too intense that day on the beach? Did sweet, virginal Stella get more than she bargained for?’ Ordinarily he’d offer a smile with this teasing, but he was too hard, too serious, because he feared this was the truth. ‘Is that why you ran away?’

Her beautiful mouth parted. Her shadowed eyes locked on his. ‘I’d had what I wanted,’ she said. ‘All that I wanted. So I left.’

‘All you wanted?’ He shook his head. He really didn’t think so. Not when he could feel her so tense with need in his arms now.

‘Sex has consequences,’ she whispered.

‘Not just physical,’ he agreed softly. ‘Not just the baby.’ He sighed. ‘You were very inexperienced.’

Hot emotion flashed in her eyes. ‘That doesn’t make me an idiot. Or a coward.’ She tossed her head and inched her feet apart, inviting him to stroke her even more intimately. ‘Take me now and see how scared I am.’

The thin threads of his self-control started to snap.

He’d swum length after length to take the edge off the desire that had dominated him since he’d clapped eyes on her again. Maybe he shouldn’t have left her alone. Maybe she needed something else.

He skimmed his fingers higher, stroked harder. He smiled, almost purring at her sigh, at the rotation of her hips that gave her away completely.

‘If I were to kiss you there now—’ his voice roughened ‘—I think I would find you wetter than you were in that shower.’

He was pushing too close to his own limits. To hers. But he couldn’t resist. He had to touch her. He’d give anything for a taste. He watched her through hooded lids, seeing her lips part in invitation, hearing her breathing quicken to match her small movements as he stroked her.

‘Don’t...’ she said brokenly. ‘Stop.’

Eduardo momentarily closed his eyes, breathing in her delicate scent as her words echoed in his head. Just two words, yet their meaning could be read in two—polar opposite—ways. He had to err on the side of caution.

So he stopped.

Her groan—and the look of pure chagrin in her eyes—told him he’d made the wrong choice. But it was the right one for now.

‘Poor Stella.’ He put his hands on her shoulders for a second, to ensure she had her balance. ‘It has been a tough day.’

She gasped. ‘I hate you.’

He half laughed. That comeback was so weak, and it told him so much he was unable to resist rubbing his hand down her back again. So lithe and warm and willing, and everything he wanted. ‘Hate away. You still want me.’

He was dying of want for her.

‘You’re going to hate being married to me.’ Her breathing hitched again.

But he was going to love giving her a wedding night she’d never forget.

By signing those confidentiality clauses and the prenup contract she’d acquiesced to the control he needed. He’d reward her. He’d indulge every sensual fantasy with her like this—moving and moaning, her body hot, her eyes hungry. So hungry she hurt. He’d help her understand the pleasure of this kind of passion and then it could burn itself out within the safety of their marriage. Ultimately their child would be cared for. Their futures would be assured.

His plan was perfect.

‘You will have me,’ he promised huskily, drawing on all his self-control so he was able to step back. ‘Once we are married.’

Stella stifled another embarrassing moan of disappointment as Eduardo gently pulled his hand away from the small of her back. Her heart beat wildly...her body felt jumpy. So easily he had seduced her into agreeing—again. So easily he had won. So easily he could have her stupidly weak body.

‘But not before then, Stella.’

He knew how much she wanted his touch, knew he could wield the power of it over her. That he could control his own desire for her was alarming. He totally had the upper hand. All the fight fell from her. All that was left was an unbearably empty ache. She might almost cry. But Stella never cried.

‘I’m going to bed,’ she mumbled.

‘Not yet.’

She shook her head. ‘You can’t keep ordering me around. I won’t do what you say. I’m not your servant. Not your soldier. I’m Stella. Your equal.’

He stepped back and held out his hand, that roguish smile curving his lips. ‘Please.’

Eduardo the ‘Fun in San Felipe’ poster boy was back. Charming, slightly wicked, irresistible.

Finally she realised. He used it to get his own way—knew he could seduce her into saying yes to anything. So perhaps the best strategy was for her to let him think he was getting his way and work on her resistance from inside the marriage. It was only a temporary thing anyway, wasn’t it? Maybe if she played it right she’d be able to convince him to let her and the child live in some nice house on one of the smaller islands after they divorced. If she was agreeable now—

‘Stella.’

She took his hand and he led her back along the terrace and then into the library. Her pulse skipped again at that simplest of touches. While she was relieved he’d wrapped the towel around his waist, it sat too snug and low on his hips, revealing his rock-hard, ridged abs. She forced her eyes front.

A sleek black case was on the desk. Eduardo pressed his thumb on the edge of it and Stella heard electronic beeping, then the unmistakable sounds of locks sliding open.

‘How very spy movie,’ Stella muttered.

But when he lifted the lid and pulled away the black velvet cloth covering the contents she couldn’t hold back her gasp.

Jewels. Necklaces. Tiaras. Rings.

‘No.’ She blinked rapidly, her decision to be agreeable zapped by the gleaming brilliance of so many precious stones and the subtle meaning they represented.

Eduardo was looking at her with a quizzical expression. ‘My bride must wear—’

‘I can’t wear any of these,’ she interrupted. She never wore jewellery. She didn’t even have her ears pierced. She didn’t fancy having it used against her in combat. ‘What do you do? Keep a selection on hand for all your mistresses?’

He sent her a sideways look. ‘I don’t have mistresses.’

‘Not while we are married,’ she snapped back.

‘You think you need to tell me that?’ He actually laughed.

‘You had sex with me within ten seconds of talking to me,’ she reminded him.

‘And you had sex with me within ten seconds of talking to me. So the same rule applies to you,’ he answered mildly. ‘I already know I am going to have to work extremely hard to keep you sated.’

Bereft of words, she could only glare at him. He turned away, his lips twitching.

‘These are not trinkets tossed to temporary lovers to placate them,’ he explained quietly. ‘These are royal jewels. Gifts from centuries past, kept within the family vaults and treasured for their personal value as much as for their supposed price. Which will you wear tomorrow?’

‘None.’ She couldn’t possibly pick any of them. She didn’t want to be adorned, to be reduced to a decoration. That hadn’t ever been a role of her choosing.

‘You do not even want to see them?’ A hint of steel underpinned the question.

‘No. I don’t wear jewellery.’ If she did she’d feel even more like a fake.

‘If you will not choose I will choose for you.’

‘They’re all amazing,’ she said, trying to pull together some politeness. ‘But I don’t want to wear any of them.’

‘My bride will wear what is appropriate and what is expected.’ She felt his gaze hard on her. ‘I will send my selection to you in the morning. If you are not wearing them I’ll put them on you myself.’

It was a threat. A promise.

‘Why do you want me all dolled up?’ she asked, not understanding him at all. ‘What’s the point? This is an elopement, right? No one is going to see me anyway.’

‘I am going to see you.’

That edge in his voice sliced, letting the lust within her stream out. Like smoke in a jar it swirled, constantly seeking escape—release.

‘I’m going to see all of you,’ he promised.

She knew he wanted to see only her body. He wasn’t interested in her soul.

And wasn’t that okay? She wasn’t interested in his either. She refused to be.

‘Then fine—whatever you want.’ She stepped back. ‘Send it to my room and I will wear it.’

‘So you are not going to jilt me?’ His lips twitched again, but there was seriousness in his eyes.

‘I’ll be there,’ she replied.

What choice did she have? She would marry Eduardo because he was right. He could give this child so much that she couldn’t. Together, they would give this child the best chance possible.

She’d stay fit. She’d survive the birth. And she’d tell her baby every single day how much she loved it. History was not repeating itself.

She’d marry a man who didn’t love her. She’d make that sacrifice because already she loved her baby. And she would do whatever was necessary to protect and defend not just its physical safety, but its emotional safety too. She’d give her baby everything she hadn’t had.

But at the same time she had to keep her heart safe. She had to rid herself of this physical infatuation as quickly as she could.

She walked out of the room without glancing back at him. ‘See you at the altar, Eduardo.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

AT FIVE-THIRTY THE next morning Stella rose and laced up her trainers. Despite almost zero sleep, she was so full of energy she needed to burn it off—hard and fast. She saw no one as she ran the gravel track looping the small island, but she knew her action wasn’t unseen.

Sure enough, when she got back Eduardo was waiting at the top of the stone stairs, looking annoyingly cool in black trousers and a white shirt.

‘Isn’t it bad luck to see me before the ceremony?’ she asked, as breathless as if she’d run round the track ten times, not two.

‘The new day has scarcely started. I do not think this counts.’ He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. ‘What are you doing?’

‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ she mocked. ‘Did you think I was trying to run away? I have many talents, but walking on water isn’t one of them.’

‘After your reckless rock-climbing escape that day at Cala de Piratas, I wouldn’t put it past you to try and swim to the mainland.’

‘I know about the rip between those two islands.’

‘But you like to take risks more than you’re willing to admit?’ he countered, his expression amused.

‘Not stupid ones. I know my own strength.’

‘And you must also know that my security detail is watching every centimetre of this island’s perimeter. No one arrives. Or leaves.’

‘That’s a threat?’

‘No, that’s just the way it is.’ He shrugged.

‘Always?’ Were his moments always so closely monitored? Even when he was on ‘holiday’?

‘Yes.’ His frown deepened as he watched her struggle to regulate her breathing. ‘It can’t be healthy for the baby for you to be working out to such an extreme level.’

‘This isn’t extreme.’ She stiffened defensively. ‘Get your doctor back if you don’t believe me.’ She needed to see that doctor again, to talk through her history properly. Privately.

‘I will. You might not obey orders from me, but you will listen to him. Agreed?’

‘Of course.’ She climbed to the top of the stairs and stood directly in front of him, but he didn’t move to let her pass.

He brushed the side of her face with the back of his fingers. ‘Did you sleep at all?’

The bed had been enormous, clad in luxury linen, soft and decadent—nothing like the narrow, hard beds at the barracks. It hadn’t been built for one person to sleep in.

‘I can’t think why I didn’t,’ she answered acerbically, fighting the way she was drawn to him. ‘Maybe it was the life-changing revelations of yesterday that had me all antsy.’

‘Maybe,’ he murmured. ‘But maybe it was something else altogether.’

She glared up at him, provoked. ‘You think you’re irresistible?’

‘Past form would indicate that you like what I do to you.’ He was charming again. Impulsive. Teasing. But he didn’t touch her again. Instead he glanced at the platinum watch on his wrist. ‘You had better run now—so you can get ready for our wedding.’

‘I’m not the kind of woman who takes two hours to get dressed.’ She folded her arms and sent him a surly look. ‘Why is the ceremony so early?’

‘So our wedding night can last as long as possible.’ He laughed wickedly. ‘Why did you think?’

‘You’re impossible.’ And alarmingly irresistible.

‘Actually, I think you’ll find I’m very easy to please.’ He nodded over her shoulder and she turned to see that the sea and sky were painted rose-gold as the sun started its slow ascent. ‘It’s a beautiful day to get married,’ he said softly.

It was a beautiful day. Yet suddenly she was terrified. She was out of her depth.

‘Say yes.’ That brightness in his eyes hardened.

He knew. He’d said it last night...more than he’d bargained for. Not the baby, but the maelstrom of emotion he aroused in her. Even now lust curled through her unruly body, tightening her muscles with anticipation.

‘I won’t obey your every dictate.’ Somehow she needed to keep this desire within her control.

His smile lit up.

‘That wasn’t a challenge,’ she added, far too late. Flames of anticipation licked.

‘We both know it was.’ But he stepped back and turned towards the palace. ‘I’ll see you when the sun has fully risen.’

When she got to her room Giulia was waiting there, beautifully dressed in a soft blue suit.

‘You’re back,’ she said crisply. ‘I have the dress finished and pressed. And Prince Eduardo has sent this.’

Stella walked towards the velvet envelope Giulia had placed on the dresser. Pulse skidding, she opened it and drew a soft breath. It wasn’t the blinding, million diamonds showpiece she’d expected. This was a huge single sapphire pendant, simply set on a beautiful platinum twist. There was stunning fire in its depths.

‘Oh...’

Stella turned at the whisper. Giulia was staring at the stone. ‘You know it?’ Stella asked.

‘Midnight’s Passion.’ Giulia nodded. ‘One of the most famous in the royal collection. It has a very romantic history attached to it.’ Giulia glanced at her speculatively. ‘Perfect for an elopement.’

This didn’t seem like much of an elopement when he had everything planned to perfection—palace, dress, make-up, jewellery, prenup.

‘You must get ready,’ Giulia reminded her quietly.

An hour later Stella stood still while Giulia finished smoothing her dress and assessed her.

‘Si.’ She nodded. ‘You look nice.’

Part of Stella had been hoping for a little more than ‘nice’, but then she had refused Giulia’s offer of a manicure. He’d have to take her as she was. She wasn’t going to change for him. This wedding was only about the baby.

But Giulia had a sly look in her eye. ‘I will do your hair.’

She took the brush before Stella could reply.

‘You refused a tiara?’

‘It didn’t seem right.’ Stella sat in the chair Giulia had set for her.

‘Of course.’ Giulia nodded. ‘I have something else.’

She had a selection of tiny tight rosebuds that mirrored the delicate detail on the edge of Stella’s dress. With nimble fingers Giulia braided Stella’s hair, weaving flowers into it and then leaving part of it loose at the back. Then she carefully settled the veil on her head.

‘You must miss your mother today,’ Giulia said softly.

‘She died a long time ago.’ Stella hardly ever let herself think about her. And she refused to now. She also refused to think of her father.

‘You and the Prince have much in common,’ Giulia said.

No, they really didn’t.

Giulia placed a beautiful linen cloth over Stella’s dress, then came towards her with a make-up brush. ‘Close your eyes.’

‘I don’t usually wear much make-up,’ Stella protested weakly.

‘You don’t need much.’ Giulia nodded. ‘I will only accentuate here and there.’

Instinctively Stella knew she could trust Giulia, and also knew that part of her wanted to surprise Eduardo. He probably expected that she’d stomp up the aisle wearing jeans and a frown. Maybe she could startle him into submission.

‘You’re smiling.’ Giulia sounded pleased as she worked. ‘It suits you.’

Ten minutes later Stella scarcely recognised herself in the mirror. What had Giulia done to make her skin glow like that? And her eyes sparkle?

Giulia handed her a bouquet of roses. ‘I gathered these from the garden this morning.’

Stella breathed in the delicate scent. ‘They’re beautiful. Thank you.’

‘Wishing you health, fertility, happiness.’

A gleam in the older woman’s eye made Stella suspect she knew the truth.

‘Put your shoes on—he’ll be waiting.’

‘Where is he?’ Stella asked as she followed Giulia outside and down a pathway through the intricate formal garden.

‘The family chapel.’

They were having a church wedding? Somehow she’d imagined a quick service with a celebrant in that enormous library, or something.

She followed Giulia to the outer reaches of the magnificent garden. A small stone building was enveloped in greenery. Ancient but lovingly tended roses smothered the masonry, giving it an incredibly romantic look.

‘Wait here a moment,’ Giulia instructed. ‘I will check that everything is ready.’

In other words she’d make sure Eduardo was there.

Stella lifted her bouquet again to breathe in the gorgeous aroma, smiling to herself at the ludicrous thought of the Prince being late—or, even better, getting cold feet and standing her up. But after a short moment Giulia appeared in the doorway and beckoned to her.

The trailing rose vines arched over the doorway, their beauty and perfume drawing her in. Stella stepped over the threshold and smiled sadly at the irony. It was the most beautiful wedding setting she could have imagined—roses and old stone, glimmering gold, flickering candles and velvet. And all for a loveless, temporary pretence.

But then she looked to the front of the chapel, just as Eduardo turned and looked at her, and that low ache in her heart simply dissolved.

Clad in full royal regalia, he stood tall and silent and solemn, looking absolutely like the ‘handsome Prince’ in a lush Hollywood adaptation of a traditional fairy tale—from the slightly long hair to the blue and gold sash across his chest, the highly polished boots to the gleaming ceremonial sword at his side.

The exquisitely decorated chapel faded from her view. All she could do was look, and all she could see was him. His gaze was unwavering. He watched as she hesitated, as she desperately drew a calming breath. Her whole body seemed to be alight with nerves and anticipation. Stupidly, she hoped her appearance pleased him the way his did her.

And then he smiled. It wasn’t a smile she’d seen before—this one was sudden and infectious, and the slightest dimple appeared in his cheek.