The Prince's Ultimate Deception
“Yes, it was hard, and no, we didn’t know about the baby.” It had infuriated him at the time that many had been more concerned with the loss of a potential heir to the throne than the loss of his wife, his friend, his gentle Giselle. Only recently had his anger subsided enough for him to agree to another marriage. If his sisters had produced sons instead of daughters, he probably never would have.
They finished the meal in silence. He waited until Madeline pushed her plate aside before asking, “You do not wish for another affaire de coeur or the American dream of a house with a white picket fence and two-point-something children?”
She straightened and put her hands in her lap. “No. I’m over my urge to procreate. It’s time to focus on me. My wants. My needs. My career. I don’t need a man to complete me. And I don’t need marriage to find passion.”
Passion. Arousal pulsed through him. “You can be happy with brief liaisons? Without love?”
“Absolutely. In fact, I prefer it that way. If I want to take a promotion, a trip or stay out late with my friends, then I don’t have to worry about anyone’s ego getting bent. So, Damon…” Her fingertips touched his on the table. “What you said on the beach about your control…? Losing it with me would not be a problem.”
He inhaled sharply. Her meaning couldn’t be clearer. She wanted a lover. And he would be more than happy to oblige. The question was should he reveal his identity beforehand, or since she wanted nothing more than a brief affair, did he have to reveal anything at all? Did he have to ruin this camaraderie? For he knew with absolute certainty that the knowledge would change their relationship.
He stood and dropped a handful of bills on the table.
Her hand caught his and the need to yank her into his arms surged through him. “You paid for the taxi. Shouldn’t I get this?”
“No.” He pulled back her chair. She rose and turned, but Dominic didn’t back away. Her breasts brushed his chest. His palm curved over her waist. “I know of a back entrance to the hotel.”
Her quick gasp filled his ears and temptation expanded her pupils. “What about your other appointment?”
His gaze dropped from her emerald eyes to her mouth. “Nothing is more important at the moment than tasting you.”
Her tongue swiped quickly over her bottom lip and he barely contained a groan. “We could go to your place.”
Again the lie complicated matters. He shook his head. “I share with another man.”
She grimaced. “And I’m sharing a suite with the bride-to-be and two other bridesmaids. I have my own bedroom, but I wouldn’t feel right taking a man to my room.”
And he had to avoid her celebrity-watching friend. He clenched his teeth to dam a frustrated growl and laced his fingers through hers. He led her outside the restaurant, passing by Ian on a nearby bench. Dominic scanned the area, for there was one thing that couldn’t wait. A narrow flower-lined alleyway beckoned. Dominic ducked in, pulled Madeline behind a potted olive tree and into his arms.
“Wha—”
His mouth stole the word from her soft lips. Desire, instantaneous and incendiary, raced through his bloodstream at the first taste of her mouth. He sought her tongue, stroked, entwined and suckled. Madeline’s arms encircled his waist, pressing her lithe body flush against his.
Her flowers and lemon scent filled his nostrils and her warmth seeped deep inside him. He tangled the fingers of one hand in her silky curls, caressed the curve of her hips with the other and pressed the driving need in his groin against her stomach.
A horn sounded in the street, reminding him of where they were and the omnipresent possibility of paparazzi. Except for a few insane months, he’d spent a lifetime carefully avoiding the press, and yet Madeline made him forget. Reluctantly, he lifted his head.
Madeline opened dazed eyes and blinked her long, dark lashes. Her lips gleamed damp and inviting as she gazed up at him. “That was worth waiting for.”
For the first time in ages Dominic felt like a man instead of a dynasty on legs or an animal expected to breed on command. “I will arrange privacy for our next outing.”
Three
Pain burned Madeline’s throat Thursday morning, but she’d be damned if she’d let Candace know it. She gritted her teeth into a bright smile.
Watching the couturière fuss and flutter around her petite blond friend reminded Madeline of the wedding dress her mother and aunts had sewn for her. The trio had dedicated a year to creating a gorgeous gown and veil with intricate seed pearl beading and hand-tatted lace. Neither would ever be worn.
It should have been a clue that Madeline’s engagement was doomed when her dream dress included a full cathedral train, and yet Mike had claimed he wanted an informal backyard wedding, or better yet, a Vegas quickie—if she’d pay for the trip. Her fiancé had been loaded, and yet he’d been a total miser.
She shook off the memories and widened her smile. “You look gorgeous, Candace. That dress couldn’t be more perfect if it had been custom-made for you.”
“You think?” Her friend smoothed her hands over the silk douppioni skirt beneath a hand-beaded bodice and twisted this way and that to see her reflection in the three-way mirror. “I’m not showing?”
Another twinge of regret pinched Madeline’s heart. If she’d stuck with her plan, she probably would have had several babies by now. But since Mike couldn’t keep his pants zipped most likely they would have been divorced and playing tug-of-war with innocent children. Not a pretty picture. She ought to know. Her parents’ divorce when Madeline was ten had been rough.
Breaking up with Mike had been for the best, and luckily his paranoia over the two percent failure rate of the Pill had led him to use condoms as a backup every single time. Otherwise, there was no telling what the two-timing louse would have brought home from his extramural adventures.
Candace’s expectant expression dragged Madeline back to the present. “Candace, no one will know you’re pregnant unless you tell them. The empire waist covers everything—not that there’s anything to hide yet. You’re only eight weeks along.”
Candace had confided her pregnancy to Madeline and sworn her to secrecy before they’d left North Carolina. She’d wanted Madeline’s medical assurance in addition to her obstetrician’s that traveling in her first trimester wouldn’t endanger the baby.
“Okay, this is the dress. Je voudrais acheter cette robe,” Candace told the seamstress.
The seamstress rattled off a quick stream of French while she unfastened the long line of silk-covered buttons down Candace’s spine, and Candace replied in the same language. Madeline didn’t have a clue what either of them said. She should have borrowed those French lesson CDs her suitemate Stacy had used.
The heavy fabric swished over her friend’s head. With the dress draped over her arms, the seamstress departed. Candace quickly pulled on her street clothes, crossed the dressing room to Madeline’s side and took her hands. “You had a lucky escape. You know that, right?”
Madeline winced. She should have known her friend would see through her fake merriment. They’d been through a lot together in the past twelve years: college, their engagements to Mike and Vincent and the deaths of Madeline’s father and Candace’s brother. “I know, and trust me, I am not missing that two-timing dud.”
“But the wedding preparations are hard for you.” It was a statement, not a question. “I’m sorry. But I couldn’t do this without you, Madeline.”
“I love seeing you this happy.”
“Your turn will come.” Candace squeezed her fingers and released her.
Not as long as I have a functioning brain cell. God forbid I ever go through that again. “This month is all about you.”
“When will the rest of us get to meet your gorgeous guide?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll have to ask. I won’t see him again until Saturday.” Two days. It seemed like an aeon.
After kissing her into a stupor yesterday Damon had put her in a cab with the promise of passion to come. If that kiss was a sample of what she could expect, then it would be passion unlike any she’d ever experienced. She couldn’t remember Mike’s embrace ever making her forget where she was.
Last night after dinner with Candace at the world-renowned Hôtel Hermitage she’d returned to the suite and found a message from Damon telling her he had arranged a sailboat for the weekend. He’d found a place for them to be alone. Her mouth dried, her palms moistened and her pulse bounded like a jackrabbit. She felt wild, reckless and free. A first for her.
“Maybe Damon will sweep you off your feet, and we’ll have a double wedding in three weeks,” Candace interrupted Madeline’s illicit thoughts.
Madeline groaned. “Don’t start your matchmaking here. It’s bad enough that I suffer through your blind date matchups at home. Besides, I’d never be stupid enough to marry a guy I’d known such a short time.”
She hitched her purse over her shoulder and opened the door, hoping Candace would leave the topic behind in the dressing room of the chic boutique.
Candace followed her out. “That’s just it. When you love someone you don’t want to wait. The only reason I waited to marry Vincent was because he insisted on being able to put the wedding ring on my finger himself. The day he reached that point in his physical therapy we set the date.”
Which reminded Madeline of the crazy year her friend had had. Vincent had been severely burned along the right side of his body just over a year ago in a freak pit accident at the local race track. Madeline had treated him in the E.R. when he’d first arrived at the hospital and then Candace had been his nurse throughout his months-long stay in the burn unit. Before he’d been released the two had fallen head over heels in love.
Madeline had to give Vincent credit. He’d tried to convince Candace she deserved a man who wouldn’t be scarred for life, but Candace didn’t care about his scars. Love truly was blind.
A fact you know all too well.
Candace handed her credit card to the clerk and then turned back to Madeline. “The fact that you dated Mike for almost a year before you became engaged and you didn’t push him to set a date for six years tells me you weren’t in a rush to tie yourself to him till death do you part.”
Good point. She hated it when others saw something that should have been obvious to her. “When did you become a shrink? I thought you were a nurse.”
Candace shrugged. “Nurse. Shrink. Most days they’re one and the same in the burn unit. But I don’t need to be a psychiatrist to know that Mike didn’t treat you well. You deserve a guy who will, Madeline.”
“I’m strictly a love ’em and leave ’em gal from now on.”
“That’s a knee-jerk reaction to the dickhead’s lies. You’ll get over it, Ms. Monogamy. You’re the one whose only lover was a man you thought you were going to marry.”
Madeline’s cheeks flashed hot. She glanced at the couturière. If the woman understood English—and most people in Monaco did apparently—she gave no sign of being interested in their exchange.
Having older parents meant Madeline’s values were from a bygone era, and she’d waited to fall in love before falling into bed. But that was because her father had been a tough, no-nonsense vice squad detective with a habit of scaring off his teenage daughter’s potential suitors and later she’d been too busy with school and a part-time job to have the energy to date.
But she had every intention of sowing the wild oats she’d been hoarding—starting with Damon Rossi. “My inexperience is a circumstance I intend to remedy as soon as possible.”
“I still think there’s more to your instant attraction to Damon than lust. I’ve never known you to get gaga so fast.”
Madeline didn’t reply until the shop door closed behind them. She faced her friend on the sunny sidewalk lined with designer shops and wrought iron lampposts. “Candace, I’m not gaga. I’m horny. And that’s all it is. I have a two-year itch to scratch. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
“Right. It took you ten months to sleep with Mike. You wanted to jump Damon after ten minutes. Listen to your subconscious, Madeline. It’s trying to tell you something.”
“You’re wrong. Completely. Totally. Unequivocally wrong. And I’ll prove it. Just watch.”
She’d live it up in Monaco and then leave in three weeks’ time with her sexual urges satisfied and her heart intact.
This had to be a mistake.
Madeline stopped on a long stretch of sunbaked dock in the Port de Monaco. Over a hundred boats bobbed and swayed around her in neat rows, and because it was Saturday, a number of other boaters were out and about, chatting in a musical chorus of foreign languages. The boats in this line were big. None resembled the small craft she’d expected Damon to rent. She double-checked the slip number on the note the hotel desk attendant had given her. Whoever had taken the message must have misunderstood.
No problem. She slung the strap of her beach bag over her shoulder and started walking. She’d check out slip one-eighteen just in case there was a smaller sailboat tucked behind the big ones. If there wasn’t, she’d return to the hotel and wait for Damon to call with the correct instructions. Surely he’d guess something had gone awry when she didn’t arrive on time?
Sun warmed her skin. Boat parts clanged and creaked beside her and birds cried overhead. A breeze teased tendrils from her braid and molded her skirt and cropped sleeveless top to her body. She’d only made it past a half-dozen yachts when a familiar dark-haired figure in white pants, a loose white shirt and sunglasses stepped onto the planks from a boat about five car lengths long. Her heart and steps faltered. The hotel hadn’t made a mistake. Damon had rented a boat with a cabin. Make that a yacht with a cabin.
And because Candace didn’t have a morning meeting tomorrow, Madeline was free to spend the night if she chose. She moved forward, one step at a time. Her lungs labored as if she’d sprinted from the hotel instead of ridden in the cushy hired car Damon had arranged for her. She’d never had a wildly passionate no-strings-attached affair, but if she boarded the boat, there would be no turning back.
This is what you wanted.
Maybe so, but that didn’t keep her from being nervous. The distance between them seemed to stretch endlessly.
Damon didn’t smile, didn’t move toward her. Hands by his side and legs braced slightly apart, he waited, looking as if he belonged at a yacht club. But then she supposed a good tour guide should fit into his surroundings. He’d said he enjoyed water sports so he probably had the sea legs to handle a gently undulating dock and a boat that probably cost more than her condo.
She reached his side, shoved her sunglasses up onto her head and waited, poised on a knife edge between tension and anticipation. Her reflection in his dark lenses looked back at her, and his cedar and sage scent teased her nose.
She bit her lip and eyed the yacht. “I’m going to hate billing Vincent for this rental. I’ll cover it. If I can afford it.”
“The boat is borrowed. There is no charge.” Damon took her bag. Their fingers touched and sparks swirled up her arm and settled in a smoldering pile in her stomach. His palm spread across the base of her spine, upping her body temperature by what felt like a dozen degrees. “Come aboard, Madeline.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Вы ознакомились с фрагментом книги.
Для бесплатного чтения открыта только часть текста.
Приобретайте полный текст книги у нашего партнера:
Полная версия книги