The Prince & the Mommy

by Mindy Neff

  Like a hypnotic suggestion, her muscles relaxed, her mind opened. Her senses came alive as she reached out and unfastened the buttons of his shirt, touched the dark hair that covered his chest. The skin beneath was firm and nicely muscled, testament to his physical life-style. He was a man who lived on the edge of danger.

  And that’s exactly how she felt right now. On the edge of danger, stepping into the unknown. But a bayou filled with alligators couldn’t have stopped her.

  Antonio stood still as Chelsa’s hands explored him, tentatively at first, then with anticipation and unfeigned pleasure. Her utter concentration tested his control.

  He’d had women intent on tearing his clothes off and engaging in hot sex, but even with the most avid, the underlying expectation was still there—that he be the one to perform, to show them a good time. It was a part of his life he’d accepted, expected, rarely giving it much thought.

  Now here was this tiny woman, a mother of two, wounded emotionally, yet with a core of steel, openly displaying the pleasure she found in simply touching him.

  The flush of sensuality on her cheeks and the heaviness of desire in her blue eyes radiated an honesty and genuineness that humbled him. It lent weight to their intimacy, made it important, engaged him in a way he hadn’t felt before.

  This wasn’t recreational sex. This was something more...more than curiosity and satisfaction. And even though that revelation scared him, it made him determined to make it right, to give her as much pleasure as was in his capacity to give. Not because his touted reputation dictated it, but because he wanted to, needed to with a desperation that bordered on pain.

  His hands wrapped around her hip bones, drawing her body flush against his, letting her feel the strength of his arousal, his urgency. When she sucked in a breath, he nearly lost his tenuous hold on control.

  Although she was a woman who had “commitment” stamped all over her, he told himself he wasn’t playing with her heart, that making love with her would be special, beautiful and would not bring about hurt.

  Still his conscience reared—his sense of fair play. She’d suffered enough hurt in her life. He would cut off his arm before he’d add to it.

  “I find I must exercise some gallantry, querida.”

  “Oh, please don’t.”

  He nearly smiled at the entreaty in her voice. “I am a flighty sort...not a good bet sometimes. Are you certain this is what you want?”

  Chelsa felt an instant stinging around her heart, but the racing desire washed it away, soothed. He was telling her she couldn’t keep him, couldn’t hold him beyond the moment.

  Bittersweet love, she thought again. But this was the fairy tale, the fantasy, and she was going into it with her eyes wide open.

  “I’m sure. You’re not taking anything that I don’t want to give.”

  His eyes closed, his brow resting against hers. “Thank you.”

  Out of nowhere, a bubble of mirth surfaced. “Give it a few minutes before you thank me.”

  He jerked, his dark brows slamming down at her laughter, especially in the midst of the seriousness. Then his smile blossomed, his teeth startling white against the darker hue of his skin.

  “Shame on you, querida. It will take me much longer than a few minutes to make love to you.”

  “Big talk,” she taunted, glad that the touchy moment had passed.

  He made a playful growl deep in his throat. “You would challenge me, bella?”

  “Us,” she whispered. “I want you, Tony.”

  He cupped her face, threaded his fingers through her wildly curly blond hair. He was shaking. So much for playboy confidence. He’d blown it the moment he’d laid eyes on this woman.

  And that was something he was determined to remedy. Chelsa Lawrence was a woman made to be pleasured. He would make this a night to remember, give her all he had to give.

  His mouth settled over hers, coaxing, asking for surrender.

  Chelsa could have told him she’d surrendered long ago. But she let him lead. “Should we turn out the lights?” she asked against his lips.

  “No. I want to see you. I do not want to miss any part of you.”

  “But the windows—”

  “We are three stories up. The position of the bed makes seeing in impossible.”

  All thoughts of anyone spying on them fled as his lips traced her jaw, her neck, the ultrasensitive spot just behind her ear.

  He eased the strap of her dress off her shoulder, pushed the material to her waist.

  “Scandalous,” he breathed against her mouth. “Do you have any idea what it does to me to know that you are bare beneath these dresses?”

  “Not totally bare,” she managed to say. “It’s too humid to wear many clothes.”

  “Thank God for uncomfortable weather.”

  He eased her onto the bed, and slowly peeled the dress from her body until she lay there before him, wearing nothing but her panties—a mere swathe of ice-blue lace. Holding her only with his gaze, he undressed, then stood in the pool of lamplight, allowing her to look.

  And oh, she looked. Fully clothed, he excited her, thrilled her, ignited her fantasies. Undressed, he was simply magnificent.

  His gaze was so exclusive, like the softest caress, making her feel cherished, beautiful. She’d never been the total focus of a man’s desire before—not in this way—and the experience was so incredible, she couldn’t put it in words.

  The mattress dipped as he lowered himself beside her. She reached for him, but he stopped her.

  “Relax. Enjoy.”

  “I enjoy by participating.” Where in the world had that come from? She saw his eyes darken, saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. Spurred by his response, she set aside any inhibitions and gave him total honesty. “I’ve never wanted to touch so badly.”

  “Ah, bella, you could easily make me lose control.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  “No. Not bad. But I have many fantasies I wish to explore, to satisfy. And I am thinking it will take all night.”

  “All night?” Dazed by the sensual promise, she simply stared, her heart pounding a cadence that left her dizzy.

  “Absolutely. Indulge me, sweet Chelsa.”

  She was helpless to do anything less when his lips and hands moved over her. He caressed her, kissed her so softly. Touched her in just the right places, anticipated her needs before she even knew what those needs were.

  Cherished. That was the only word she could come up with. Slowly. Thoroughly. Gently. He savored every inch of her body as though tasting an elegantly prepared dish, taking his time.

  She’d half expected a bad boy of the Latin world—rough and arrogant and determined. She learned that he couldn’t be pigeonholed. He gave her the best of both worlds. Yes, there was arrogance, a bold sureness that came with sexual self-confidence. But there was also a tenderness, a reverence that made her want to weep.

  His lips cruised over her breasts, worshiping, while his palm slid low on her belly. White-hot need scorched through her veins, pumping her heart into a frenzy, muddling coherent thoughts. He found points of pleasure she never knew existed, the underside of her breast, her wrist, the inside of her knee.

  Perspiration slicked her skin. Her lungs hurt, felt near to bursting, yet every time she reached for him, tried to hurry, he evaded.

  His lips were firm, slipping over her like rivulets of cool spring rain one moment, then scorching like licking flames the next. Hot and cold. Fire and ice. The contrasting roller coaster of images kept her off balance and at a fever pitch of mind-numbing desire.

  The brush of his hair against her inner thigh sent her hips bucking. And when his mouth pressed against the very core of her, she thought she might actually faint.

  She couldn’t get enough, was certain it was too much. A kaleidoscope of colors burst behind her closed lids. She wanted to scream, to beg.

  “Please...” She gripped his shoulders, urging.

  “Not yet.”

  “
No,” she sobbed, frustration so keen yet so utterly exquisite. “I can’t take—”

  “Yes. There is so much more.”

  More? Dear heaven, he’d taken her right to the edge of madness and over the top. She could not conceive of there being more.

  But he was true to his word, allowing her only a mere moment of respite before taking her right back up where she teetered perilously close to the peak. It was a skill, pure and simple.

  And it made her wild.

  Wild to make him feel this electrifying tempest, to make him lose that rigid, exquisitely thrilling control, to test her feminine power. This was her fantasy night, her moment out of time. She didn’t want to wake up some morning with regrets—regrets that she hadn’t experienced all there was to experience with this fascinating prince whom she would love from afar.

  And it wasn’t fair that he was doing all the giving and she was not giving back as much in return. Regardless of what he’d said, she wanted more participation, needed it, needed to appease as well as be appeased.

  Surprising him with her agility, she slipped from beneath his weight, settled on top of him and waged her own brand of sensual war on his body.

  Antonio was stunned into immobility for the space of two heartbeats. His hands fisted against the sheets as her lips sketched his torso in quick, clever nips. His first instinct was to demand control back, but her intoxicating, single-minded exploration blanked his mind and held him in the grip of a strange and fascinating paralysis.

  Silky strands of hair tickled his thighs. Warm breath teased him. Fire, flashing and incendiary, swept him as her lips and mouth closed over him. For a mind-numbing instant, he thought he’d been transported to another planet, another world, a world of heat and desire and sweet, sweet sin.

  She gave so unselfishly, as she did with every other aspect of her life. He felt as though this were his first time. He hadn’t realized he’d been jaded about sex. Chelsa taught him he had. No woman had ever given so much, so generously, so willingly.

  His brain went numb, blanked for several heartbeats. Urgency built. The unique smell of citrus that was Chelsa’s alone, teased him as her lips and hands tormented him. Forgetting to temper his strength, forgetting his suave moves, he gripped her, rolled her over onto her back and swept her beneath him.

  “Oh.” The word ended on a surprised moan.

  He couldn’t seem to get enough of her touch, her taste. She made him crazy; she made him feel all male and ten feet tall.

  Chelsa was sure she’d died and gone to heaven, and for the life of her, she couldn’t think of why she deserved such an honor. All she could do was feel, yet the feelings were so exquisitely overpowering, she couldn’t define any one singly. He turned her mindless, made her forget everything but the two of them, what they were doing, all heat and sensation.

  Her legs wrapped around him and her nails dug into his back. She might have been shocked at her avidness, but there was no room for shock. Only for sensation. Sweet, fiery sensation.

  And she wanted more.

  Wanted it now.

  “Please.” If he teased her any more, made her wait, she surely wouldn’t survive.

  He seemed to understand, appeared as lost in the moment as she was.

  She felt him press against her, and suddenly she needed to look at him, to watch him, to feel again that exclusiveness, the utter intimacy he telegraphed with a mere gaze.

  She cupped his face, looked into his eyes. With gazes locked, he entered her, slowly, sensually, exquisitely.

  It was the most erotic thing she’d ever experienced.

  The feelings that washed through her at that moment were indescribable. There was love, yes, but there was something more, something she was almost afraid to name.

  For several moments he was still, filling her, watching her. His dark eyes were intense, studying her, yet she couldn’t read his emotion.

  Then the urgency built, like a wave gathering momentum, liquid and powerful, rushing headlong, unstoppable.

  Her breathing came faster now, harder. He captured the meager oxygen with his mouth, swept her into a frenzy with his tongue, with the increased tempo of his thrusts.

  She wanted the sensations to last forever, but it was impossible. She couldn’t fight it. A starburst of brilliant color filled her vision, blinding her. Her body clenched and throbbed, and climaxed in a flash of molten glory.

  An unadulterated, unladylike scream was swallowed as his mouth captured hers. His own moan vibrated through her as his body pulsed and his pleasure peaked, sending Chelsa to another glorious plateau—a plateau she didn’t think she’d ever recover from, nor would she forget.

  * * *

  “Mercy,” Chelsa said when she was sure her voice would work.

  He eased to his side and gathered her close, his fingers idly stroking her damp skin. “Ditto.”

  She smiled against his chest. “Your reputation isn’t overrated.” She felt him stiffen, and raised up enough to glance at him. She could have sworn she saw a flash of pain in his eyes, an emotion that was quickly masked.

  His dimples winked and his voice was low and sexy. “You’re welcome, querida.”

  For some reason she got the impression she’d hurt him, but she didn’t know how, and decided not to pursue it. If he was going to take this moment lightly, so would she.

  She plunked a quick kiss on his shoulder and settled back in his arms. “Isn’t this the point where you reciprocate with proper gratitude?” She couldn’t believe she’d said those words. In trying to keep it light she’d blurted the first thing that came to mind. She was horrified. She’d never in her life asked for a performance rating. And from a prince! Albeit a spare one. “Forget I asked that.”

  “No. I do not believe I will ever forget what we have just shared.” His words were utterly sincere, not a trite, standard line.

  And that’s when she understood the sensitivity beneath the guise of his sexy grin. Antonio was written about in all the gossip columns as a Casanova, a lady’s man, the ultimate lover. Women would be drawn to those images, vying for his attention, hoping to be the one to tame him, to taste the forbidden fruit.

  Just as she had been.

  She tried to tell herself her situation was different, that she was driven by love. But although he might appear devil-may-care, Antonio was a smart man. He knew he was a challenge to women, a trophy at times.

  And by her words, she’d reduced their lovemaking to the same terms. Like scores of other women, she’d fantasized about his touch, his technique. She’d made love with him knowing they had no future.

  In essence, her actions could be construed as treating him as a piece of meat, a sexy, savvy, wealthy stud.

  And the admission made her feel just terrible.

  Not knowing how or what to say, she pressed her lips to his neck, wrapped her arms around his chest, let her heart and body speak silently for her. She held him as though he would disappear before her eyes if she let go.

  She held him as though she loved him. And because she did, because she could never tell him, her eyes stung.

  “Ah, querida, you are safe.” He returned her fierce embrace, misunderstanding.

  It was just as well. “I know,” she whispered past the lump in her throat. “If I let go, though, the world will intrude.”

  “Not for a while longer.” He stroked her hair, pressed his lips to her temple.

  The tenderness nearly undid her. Before she embarrassed herself and fell apart, she changed the subject. “Tell me about your childhood. What it was like growing up in a palace?”

  “Probably not all that different from any other childhood.”

  “Now, that I don’t believe.”

  He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest, vibrating in her own. “Well, we were expected to conduct ourselves with royal manners—at least in public.”

  “But you didn’t?”

  “Rarely.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged and shifted
up in the bed, leaning against the ornately carved, mahogany headboard, resettling her along his side. “I do not spend time analyzing my motives, past or present, but...let me think.” His fingers idly trailed over her arm.

  “Mother was regal, but she wanted Joseph and I to be as normal as possible. Joseph got more attention from the media and the people because by order of birth, he was next in line for king after my father.”

  “Did that bother you?”

  “I wasn’t jealous of him, if that’s what you mean. But...as a child, I did want attention. Childish, I suppose.”

  “No,” she interrupted. “Normal.”

  He smiled. Trust her to understand. She was great with kids, even wrote for them. “Anyway, I had a tendency to show off, and the more dangerous the stunt, the more attention I drew. But something happened. What started out as attention seeking, turned into genuine pleasure. I loved danger, loved walking that fine line on the edge, loved the heady surge of adrenaline. I began to live for each new thrill.”

  “Just listening to the gleeful tone of your voice makes me glad I have girls. I don’t think I’d survive the stuff little boys do.”

  “Shame on you, querida. Girls can live dangerously and do the same thing little boys do.”

  “Okay, I’ll rephrase. I’m glad my girls haven’t displayed a strong bent toward thrill seeking—and don’t you be putting any ideas in their heads.” She added strength to her admonishment by giving his chest a light tweak.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” His lips curved. He loved watching the animation in her face, loved seeing some of the burdens lifted from her shoulders. He was pleased with the decision to move her to the palace. Here, he could see the woman who wrote fanciful stories, the woman who had a bit of a child in her—like him.

  “Now, why don’t I believe you?”

  “I cannot imagine.”

  She gave him a mock-stern look, a look that failed completely since she was buck naked. “Continue.”

  “Where was I...? Ah, yes, thrills.” His fingertips stroked the sides of her breasts, and he almost lost the thread of conversation. “Joseph used to tease me that he could refuse his title and force me into doing my royal duty.”