by Mindy Neff
“Acceptable, uh...good.”
“Yep.” She smacked her lips together, and Emily, obviously trying for more decorum than her sister, rolled her eyes. “’Cept water baby frogs are cute, too,” Sophie said. “So you could be cute even if you was still a frog.”
“Thank you, I think.” The prince arched a dark brow, looking from Chelsa to Antonio, seeking clarification.
Antonio grinned. “The water babies are characters in the children’s books Chelsa writes.”
“Ah, I see.” Joseph stood and at last shook his brother’s hand, clapping Antonio on the shoulder in affection. “It’s good to have you home, Tony. I suspected you would return in time for the Barcelona Grand Prix.”
“I’ve declined to race this season.”
A hush fell over the great hall as everyone turned to stare at Antonio as though he’d grown another head...or lost his ever-loving mind. Chelsa wasn’t sure what was going on. Especially when they each glanced at her as though she was privy to the secret... or responsible.
Raquel stepped closer to Chelsa and quietly offered clarification. “Tony never misses a race or an opportunity for danger.”
“Then why is he now?”
Raquel’s auburn brows lifted. “If I were a betting woman, I would wager it has something to do with you.”
Chelsa wanted to object. They were merely acquaintances; he was a friend offering a haven. He wouldn’t change his life-style because of her.
Other than Raquel’s softly spoken words and the speculative looks the royal family gave her, the moment passed. They were acting awfully smug, though, as if she’d accomplished some incredible feat.
Briana stepped forward and Raquel cooed over the baby. “Oh, he has grown since I last saw him.”
“You saw him yesterday,” Bri commented dryly.
“And he has changed,” Raquel insisted. “Babies are my business. I should know.”
“I suppose you’ve got another idea for a photograph?”
“Naturally.”
Briana laughed. “King Marcos isn’t keen on naked pictures of Joseph’s royal successor.”
“Ah, but Isabel loves them, and we all know who actually rules this kingdom.”
The women chuckled and Chelsa watched in speculation. She knew the story of Raquel’s betrothal to Joseph. It surprised her that given the history, the two women were so obviously close.
Chelsa had kept her hands folded for as long as she could, but the urge to reach out and stroke the precious infant’s downy cheek got the better of her.
“He’s beautiful, Briana.”
“Thanks. Would you like to hold him?”
“I’d love to.” She accepted the soft bundle, adjusting the blanket to get a better look. Her own babies were too big to be cradled this way. Oh, they cuddled, but there was something about the touch of a baby’s sweet hand, the feel of their weight in your arms, the total dependence. It tugged at her heart and clear through to her womb.
Unbidden, she imagined holding Antonio’s baby, their baby.
The thought winged out of nowhere, startling her. A dangerous yearning.
She looked up and caught him watching her. His expression was unreadable. He still held the squirming cat. Cole and Joseph had shut the dog in the parlor. The three men were in a discussion. Probably about her.
Antonio broke away from the group and walked toward her.
Feeling as though her thoughts were printed on her forehead, she handed the baby back to Briana, feeling empty and at sea.
What in the world was the matter with her?
Before he could reach her, Emily stopped him.
“Can I take Señor Gatito now?”
“Yes, I believe he will conduct himself in a more befitting manner now that the dog has been banished to the other room.”
“Is Irish sad?” Sophie asked.
“Certainly not.” He lowered his voice to a conspiring whisper. “There are many wonderful things in the parlor to chew. He is probably having a grand time.”
Briana sucked in a breath, having overheard. “Criminy! Joseph, get the dog before he finishes off that damask chair!”
Joseph took off like a servant instead of a royal prince.
Antonio laughed, then sobered when the queen shot him a long-suffering look of censure.
“I ought to make you reupholster that chair,” Isabel said, her smooth features twitching on the verge of a smile.
“Me! It’s Joseph’s dog. Let him get his royal hands dirty. It’ll do him some good.”
“You are an impertinent son. Come, niñas,” Isabel said to Sophie and Emily. “Let us go to the kitchens and request a dish of milk for your Señor Gatito. Cook has baked wonderful pastries, and we shall be terribly mannerless and snitch a few.”
The kids thought this sounded like a wonderful adventure, and each slipped a hand into the queen’s. Cole, Raquel and Briana headed for the parlor to rescue Joseph—or the dog, most likely.
Antonio watched them go, his main attention focused on the queen. His regal mother knew all the dictates of protocol and employed them often enough, but in her home—and around children—she was as soft as a marshmallow.
She was the one woman above all others that he admired.
The palace had been turned upside down by children, an infant, a mutt of questionable lineage and a stray cat, yet his mother took it all in stride as though the grand palace was used to chaotic interludes.
The regal queen was smugly in her element—though she wouldn’t admit it openly. And he’d seen that soft look on her face, knew she was already eyeing Chelsa’s two little cherubs as potential grandchildren.
A strange shiver went through him. What the hell had possessed him to announce that he wouldn’t be racing in the Grand Prix? He’d made the decision without thought. And now the family was writhing with speculation, reading more into the decision than was there, reading more into Chelsa’s presence, his bringing her here.
He’d promised himself he’d see Chelsa through her dilemma. That was all there was to it. Nothing deeper.
So why had his heart turned over when he’d looked up and seen her with Briana’s son in her arms? Why had he immediately flashed on an image of her holding his baby? The thought had stunned him right down to his toes. He’d never courted fatherhood. He liked kids, was more than happy to play with them, admire them. But the responsibility of having some of his own and being tied down? Never.
Another niggling thought popped up as his mother and Chelsa’s children disappeared around the corner. What was that line about never say never?
¡Dios! He was getting entirely too introspective.
He looked back at Chelsa, noticing that she looked uneasy now that her children were out of her sight.
“My mother will take good care of them. You will have no worries while at the palace. The grounds as well as the interior are monitored twenty-four hours a day. You and the girls will be safe to move about—even outdoors—whenever you like.”
“I wasn’t worrying. I was thinking how surprised I am by your family. I expected more formality—present company excepted,” she said with an impish grin. “They’re all so...so down-to-earth.”
“It has not always been this way. Joseph’s marriage to Briana has created the biggest changes. She is forever insisting that she wouldn’t know how to be fancy if she tried.”
“I like her. She’s very warm, easy. Everyone here is.”
“Ah, but you have not met my father.” He grinned when her eyes widened. “Do not look so terrified. There is another area where Bri’s presence has engendered change. She has brought joy and laughter into Joseph’s life, and her exuberant personality has infused the palace with a casualness that is refreshing. The journalist loves to write about the American princess and her fairy-tale marriage.” The minute he said the words, he regretted them. Shadows returned to Chelsa’s lake-blue eyes.
“I shouldn’t have let you talk me into coming here. Sooner or later the me
dia will speculate on who I am.”
He put his hand on her shoulder, kneaded the tense muscles. “Don’t do this, querida.”
She shook her head. “I don’t belong here. The skeletons are bound to come out of my closet. As much as you tell me otherwise, it’s only a matter of time before they learn my name. Cole said there were people here in Valldoria who were also fleeced by Rick. What if it causes some sort of mutiny or something? Your house’ll get egged—”
“Chelsa.”
“The kids will be shunned and not understand why—”
“Chelsa.”
“I can’t pay them back, even if I wanted to. I don’t know who or how much, or—”
He stopped her rambling in the surest way he knew. With his lips against hers. He felt her surprise, her absolute stillness, then her softening. This is what he wanted, her surrender.
Wanted it bad.
But they were in the middle of the grand hallway. Granted, everyone had dispersed, but the moment of privacy wouldn’t last.
And he’d created enough speculation as it was.
He eased the pressure of his lips, contented himself with a soft kiss against her brow, then stepped back.
Her eyes were heavy, stunned, her mouth open. It took every bit of his control not to taste again.
Like the shadow of the sun passing before a cloud, her eyes cleared, filled with questions. Her gazed darted around the foyer, a hint of embarrassment there.
Then she smiled sheepishly. “Well, I guess I got a little melodramatic.”
He grinned. “A little. But on you it sits beautifully.”
She snorted and shoved her riotous curls off her face. “Flatterer. If I promise to exercise some dignity, will you give me a tour of the house?”
“Certainly. However, I will forgive you a lapse in dignity when we tour the sleeping quarters. In fact—”
“Antonio,” she warned.
“I cannot help it. I have a reputation to uphold.”
She whacked him on the arm. “I think that reputation you hide behind is a big sham.”
Something inside him clicked and gave way. He couldn’t put a name to it, but the experience was happening way too often for his playboy, carefree peace of mind.
Still, he could no more stop his next words than he could stop the tide of the sea. He tipped her chin up, held her gaze. “Reputation aside, I want you, Chelsa Lawrence.”
Her chest rose on an indrawn breath, making him ache to lower his hand a bit, to touch her there. Beneath the thin cotton, she was naked from the waist up. He wondered if this woman even owned a bra. And hoped to God she didn’t.
He saw the fine tremor in her hands as she clasped them together and stepped back, looking everywhere but at him.
“Did...uh, did you say there’s two hundred rooms here?”
“Two hundred and forty-four at last count.”
“Maybe we could stick with the ground floor and leave the, uh, the bedrooms for another time.”
Her flustered stammering charmed him. Hell, everything about this woman charmed him. “Cluck, cluck.”
Her shoulders squared. “I am not a chicken. I just have better sense than to get tangled up with the likes of you.”
“Ah, bella, you wound me.” Dramatically, he placed a hand over his heart. There was no insult behind her words. She was merely stalling. And they both knew it.
They both knew that the chemistry between them was growing too strong to be ignored.
“Now look who’s getting melodramatic. Move it, Prince, and don’t spare the details. I like a little history mixed in with my tour.”
He urged her forward. “Now I am feeling the light of challenge. Although history was never my strong suit, I should not like you to find me lacking as a guide.”
When her gazed slammed into his, he knew her thoughts were right along with his, picturing images of an entirely different guidance. A sensual guidance.
She’d had a good point. It would be best all around to leave the bedrooms for another day. He had plenty of control. But a man could only take so much.
And the ache in his body told him he was perilously close to the edge.
* * *
It was close to midnight before Antonio escorted her to the guest room she’d be sleeping in. She’d started to argue that the girls should be sharing a room with her, but the queen had adamantly overruled the suggestions. Emily and Sophie were given the choice of their own separate rooms, or bunking together. They had chosen to be together—because neither was willing to compromise on who got to sleep with Señor Gatito.
Chelsa worried that the residents of the palace would get little sleep, though, because Sophie had sneaked Irish into the room with them. Although the puppy and the cat had declared a wary truce, visions of chaos remained in Chelsa’s mind.
Antonio moved into the room and opened the leaded glass doors that led to the balcony. Watching the shift of his muscles beneath his shirt was causing havoc with Chelsa’s hormones.
They were suddenly alone, and all she could think about was what had nearly happened last night—before Emily’s nightmare had interrupted them.
And even throughout the whirlwind trip to Valldoria, meeting the royal family, touring the palace and dining in the elegant gold room, desire still shimmered. Every time she looked at Antonio, brushed up against him, heard the silky cadence of his Latin accent, a fire ignited in her belly and spread like an out-of-control blaze.
She was hot with anticipation and didn’t quite know what to do with it. Needing to cool off, she stepped out onto the balcony.
The evening breeze smelled sweet, the scent of garden flowers wafting in on the air currents. A full moon rode high in the sky, its glow stealing the sparkle of the stars. Colored lights illuminated the magnificent fountains and water gardens, their myriad hues bathing the palace’s stone walls, making it look like a true fairy-tale castle.
“Is the room to your liking?”
She smiled. “It’s beautiful. I could get spoiled.”
He touched her cheek, sending her heart tripping. “Bueno,” he said softly, gently. “You deserve to be spoiled.”
She looked away, gazing at the lights of the city far in the distance.
“What is it, querida?”
“I can’t help wondering how many families out there were taken in by Rick.” Her hand gripped the iron railing. “What if they find out who I am and picket the palace or something?”
“They would do no such thing. And you are not responsible for your ex-husband’s misdeeds.”
“More than misdeeds.” She shrugged and crossed her arms, the breeze chilling her bare shoulders. “And I feel responsible.”
“That is because you are so good...so genuine.” He turned her to face him, his hands warm as he rubbed her chilled arms. “Magnifico.”
He searched her features as though she were a puzzle. Gentle light spilled from the open bedroom door as elaborate fountains two stories below rained spouts of water, making her think of romance, making her imagine they were the only two people in the midst of a beautifully enchanted garden.
A private paradise where dreams were unlimited.
His brown eyes were impossibly dark, intense, hot enough to take the chill out of the night air. She moistened her lips, feeling the desperate tug of desire, aching to test the dimple in his cheek that remained permanent even when he wasn’t smiling.
His gaze dropped to her mouth and her breath lodged in her throat, held there suspended on the wings of acute anticipation.
“What is it about you, I wonder.” His lips caressed her brow. “One look and I feel I must taste.” A whisper across her lips. “Touch.”
Her heart tried to beat its way out of her chest. This had been brewing between them from the first moment he’d opened his eyes after the shipwreck. And oh, it felt wonderful. He felt wonderful.
“We shouldn’t.” The words were said against his lips, swallowed by his breath. Even still, her hands slipped f
rom his chest, behind his neck, urging, asking, contradicting.
“But we must,” he said in a voice that was raw with need, a need that matched her own.
It was time, she decided. Her love for this man was bittersweet—like so many other things in her life lately. Nothing could come of it.
But for once, for just a little while, she wanted to set aside all thoughts of danger and responsibility, to shut out the world and take something for herself.
Just for herself.
Here, within the guarded palace walls, within the arms of this very special prince, she was safe. And safety went a long way in allowing desire to blossom.
She would look at it like a fairy tale, a moment out of time in a magical place, in a magical world, with an extraordinarily magical man.
Just once, she promised herself. Just once she wanted to be swept away. She wanted to feel. And this man simply made her come alive.
“Yes,” she said. “We must.”
Chapter 11
And indeed she was swept away. The whispered words were barely out of her mouth before he lifted her into his arms and strode into the bedroom, kicking the double doors closed as he went.
A first, Chelsa thought, dazed. No man had ever carried her to bed. It thrilled her, made her giddy. And he accomplished it all without ever breaking contact with her lips.
His innate expertise reminded her of who he was—a reputed playboy prince. Good night, could she measure up?
“You are having second thoughts?” He paused beside the bed and gently lowered her to her feet. Sensuality radiated like a palpable entity as he looked down at her.
She should have known a man like Antonio would be utterly attuned to a woman’s every nuance. She shook her head.
“Then what is it, querida?”
“I’m no virgin, but I’m feeling a lack of experience here.” She tried for a carefree laugh and failed miserably. “Actually, I’m scared silly.”
“As am I.”
The quiet admission stunned her right down to her toes. She searched his features, looking for signs that he was placating her, trying to ease her fears with a lie.
There were none.
