‘Stella?’ Eduardo prompted, and felt her shiver alongside him.
But she shook her head.
‘Good.’ The doctor smiled. ‘I’m sure you would like privacy to celebrate, so I will leave you with some information for you to read together at your leisure.’
A pamphlet didn’t seem much for something so important. ‘Shouldn’t you do more tests?’
‘I will arrange a scan to be done on the mainland next week,’ Dr Russo answered. ‘For now I’m confident that Stella can continue with her normal routine.’
Something flashed in her eyes. She knew she was never doing her ‘normal routine’ again. Eduardo knew that her dismissal from the army rankled, but it was convenient.
‘You may, of course, also continue normal sexual relations,’ the doctor added as he closed up his briefcase.
Eduardo felt her fist clench again—in revulsion? Was she afraid of him? Was that why she’d run away that day? Why she’d looked so terrified at the pregnancy result?
He gritted his teeth and maintained his smile. ‘Thank you, Doctor. I will be in touch.’
The doctor lifted his bag and his smile grew impossibly wider. ‘Congratulations. This is a wonderful thing for San Felipe. The bells will be ringing loudly in a few months’ time.’
Indeed they would. But first Eduardo had to ensure the legitimacy of the next royal heir.
He released Stella’s hand to escort the doctor to the door, closing it firmly after the man. Then he turned and leaned back against it, waiting for her next move.
‘I’m not marrying you,’ she said firmly, rising from the chair to stand in the centre of the room.
‘No?’ He lifted away from the door and walked towards her. He was pleased to see her trembling had ceased. ‘Tell me your plan.’
She stared up at him, not stepping back even when he stepped too close. Her serious eyes were fixed on his. Both her hands had fisted now. By sheer force of will he kept his own hands at his sides, not lifting his fingers to rub at the skin she’d marked that day on the beach. And as he looked down at her defiant stance the desire that had felled him that day returned in full force.
Even for him it had been shocking. He was known for his adrenalin addiction—his spontaneous decisions and risk-taking. In truth his risks were never that great, because he was too constrained by responsibility, but to have taken a woman he’d only just met...to have seduced her within minutes in broad daylight...? He’d not done that even in his most hedonistic university days.
She’d looked so stormy—strong and sensual. She’d waded into those waves without so much as a glance around or a second’s hesitation as the cool water had hit her. She’d been every inch the fighter then. And she looked it now.
He didn’t want children at this time in his life. Definitely didn’t want a wedding. But he’d step up. Because there was an underlying benefit for someone even more important.
‘Your plan, Stella?’ he prompted, irritably ignoring the urge to haul her against him and kiss her into compliance.
She didn’t answer.
‘Why didn’t you come to me?’ he asked. Was she afraid of him? Or was it just the usual—no one thought Prince Eduardo could be capable in a crisis.
‘I didn’t know,’ she said, as if choking on the words.
He wanted to believe her, and almost did. He even felt a twinge of sympathy. But he damped it down. People lied. People withheld information. She already had. This would never have happened had she been honest in the first place. But she’d hidden her identity for reasons he had yet to work out, and the fact that she had given her virginity to him so quickly was utterly unfathomable.
‘Where were you going to go?’ he asked, wanting to see whether she’d offer even a scrap more information.
‘I don’t know. Anywhere.’
Anywhere but to him. That was clear. And she wasn’t willing to talk about it. Why was she so secretive? And why did he still want her so acutely?
He clamped his teeth together, angered by the searing betrayal of his body. She was just another woman, wasn’t she? Hadn’t he had plenty? But he hadn’t slept with another woman in the weeks since that afternoon. Maybe that was why he was feeling the edge now.
He knew it wasn’t.
‘You have no choice, Stella,’ he said harshly. This situation would be defused, because there could only be duty now. ‘And nor do I. We must make the best of this situation. We must do the right thing.’
She stared at him, and he knew she was desperately thinking up alternatives. ‘I cannot stay here.’
‘You can. And you will.’
He didn’t like the look that now entered her eyes. It echoed the way she’d looked at the result of that pregnancy test. Terrified.
‘Think of it as a mission.’ He softened, trying to speak in language she understood to reassure her. ‘Like a tour of duty. It doesn’t need to be for ever.’
And it didn’t. While not ideal or desirable, a divorce within the royal family was something that could be weathered. An illegitimate heir, however, was not.
She stiffened at his words, the spark in her eye reigniting, but she paused before answering, ‘I understand.’
He’d angered her, but at least that vitality had returned to her expression. His skin tightened and his blood heated.
‘But now I’ve had a chance to think,’ she said slowly, ‘it seems obvious to me that we don’t need to do this at all. Your brother is the Crown Prince. He makes the laws. So he can simply change the law to recognise the child as your heir. There is no need for us to marry for the baby to have its birthright.’
Anger flared. Would she deny his child? Would she defy him? And she dared suggest he ask his brother to fix up this mess? Never would he do that.
‘My baby will have nothing less than she or he deserves. Nothing less than the very best.’ He placed his hands on her fine-boned shoulders and spoke right into her face. ‘I repeat. We will be married here tomorrow. Whether you like it or not, it is what will happen.’
She flung her head back and glared up at him. ‘You can’t make me.’
‘No?’ He laughed at the challenge, and the urge to bait her was irresistible. ‘You are a soldier. You are trained to do as you are told.’
Her nostrils flared. ‘I will not obey you. You are not my superior officer. And I’m no longer a soldier.’
‘You’re a born soldier,’ he said. ‘And I am a prince of the realm.’
‘But not the Crown Prince.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘You’re not the supreme commanding officer. You’re not the monarch who passes the laws of the land. You are nothing but a mere man to me.’
His lips curled as satisfaction rushed and adrenalin surged, sharpening every one of his muscles. This challenge and fearless fighting vitality was what he’d liked about her. She was no prince-adoring sycophant.
‘A man that you wanted. That you had. That you’re now stuck with. For better or for worse,’ he mocked, but he meant it. ‘And you will do as I say tomorrow. You’ll find you have very little choice in the matter.’
‘There are always choices.’ Her chin stayed high, her expression determined.
And she had made hers. She’d turned her back on him and climbed away. At the time he’d only been able to watch, angered beyond belief and yet frankly marvelling at her agility.
Then he’d waited to see what the ramifications would be. He’d ordered a trusted ally to keep an eye on her, because as much as he wanted to move on he couldn’t until he understood why she’d done what she had. He needed to ascertain whether she would sell her story or try to seize some other opportunity that he couldn’t foresee. But there’d been only silence. Until that call today from his aide—detailing the worst consequence ever.
‘Some choices are wiser than others,’ he said r
uefully. ‘Do not make this harder than it needs to be. There is no point banging your head against this particular brick wall. You’re only going to bruise yourself.’
He leaned closer, so close to the tense, sulky mouth that he knew was actually soft and hungry. The mouth he wanted more than was rational. The mouth he would not let himself taste again until she acquiesced to everything.
Until he was certain she really wanted him again.
Because she was an enigma, this woman who’d given so much and yet held so much back. He did not trust her. But he wanted her. Her quickened breathing fanned his smouldering desire and the spark in her eyes ignited it.
‘If you insist on doing so,’ he murmured huskily, ‘I will kiss your bruises better.’
Stella sucked in a shocked breath. Silenced. He remembered their stupid banter that afternoon on the beach? How could he make a joke at a time that was so terrible? He couldn’t be taking this seriously.
Yet his words and his expression sent heat licking along her veins. Sweetness rushed south to where it would be needed if her body was to take his again. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t take her eyes off him.
His slight, set smile now faded. He was staring back—at her mouth. She yearned to lick her lips but knew it was her body attempting to send a blatant signal to pull him nearer, and she was resisting that instinct this time. She was not giving in to it again. That basic, carnal instinct had succeeded in what it had wanted. Procreation. The drive to mate and create new life. There was no need for her body to want his again.
Oh, but there was pleasure, her reawakened inner wanton whispered. There was all the pleasure he could give her with his lips, tongue, hands and—
‘I suggest you freshen up and then have some lunch,’ he said brusquely, stepping away from her in a quick, leashed movement. ‘We have many plans to make and you’ll need to be able to concentrate.’
‘Plans?’ she choked, determined to bite back the desire that he so easily conjured from her.
Because he didn’t want this any more than she did.
‘Yes.’ He turned and gave her thin tee shirt and clinging pants a coolly ironic once-over. ‘You’ll need to choose your wedding dress.’
CHAPTER THREE
WEDDING DRESS?
Surely he was joking—trying to provoke. Stella refused to rise to his bait. She lost control of herself around him, and if she was going to negotiate a way out of this and stay cool-headed, clinical tactics were required.
‘You have a room ready for me?’ She locked her wobbly knees. She’d show no more weakness.
‘Of course.’ He walked towards the door. ‘This way.’
Stella made a mental map as he escorted her down the long corridor and up a grand staircase. The palace had looked moderately sized from the air, but it turned out it was more of a Tardis—corridors, rooms, doors in all directions.
‘Your suite is next to mine,’ he informed her. ‘You can find your way back to the library when you’re ready?’
‘Of course,’ she muttered.
‘There are fresh clothes in the wardrobe. You may choose anything you like.’
She sent him an appalled look. Did he always keep a stash of women’s clothing on his island? His wicked look dared her, but she wasn’t going to bite. Yet.
‘Thank you.’ She walked into the room, closing the door behind her with a firm click.
Like the rest of the palace, the room was large and beautifully decorated—muted colours, soft, plush furnishings—and cool and comforting. She turned her back on the large bed and opened the door to a private bathroom and leaned against it in relief. Sleek, luxurious immaculate—all white marble and edged in gleaming lapis lazuli. Of course.
She eyed the enormous claw-footed bath, but then spotted the large glass shower stall. Several shower heads were strategically placed to blast water from all angles. Sheer heaven.
She turned on the taps and stripped, then stepped into the shower, shivering in delight as the water hit her. Water had rushed over her body that day on the beach too. Cleansing. Cooling. She pressed her palm on her flat belly, still unable to truly believe there was a tiny life within. How could she not have known?
She’d been so busy distracting herself she couldn’t recall when she’d last had her period. She’d deliberately kept a crazy schedule so she’d hardly had any quiet moments when memory could ambush her. But now she leaned against the shower wall and closed her eyes, finally able to surrender. No longer did she have the strength to battle back those memories.
Not now she’d seen him again.
Not when the ramifications of that day were so dramatic.
The floodgates opened and every secretly stored sensation, every muscle memory, every beautiful image burst into her brain. Unstoppable. Overwhelming. Sensations trammelled through her as she relived every minute.
Despite the glorious weather, that day had turned bad just after lunch. She’d been summoned by her commanding officer and informed that there was a peace-keeping crew being sent to a high-conflict area. And she wasn’t going.
‘You’re not the right officer for this mission.’
‘Why not?’
All she’d wanted was one chance to lead a team. She’d prove to them how capable she was. But the chance had never been forthcoming.
‘Do not question the decisions of your superiors,’ he’d answered bluntly. ‘Not this one, Zambrano,’ he had added more kindly. ‘Maybe the next.’
Or maybe not. She’d been certain her father was blocking her progression, but knew she’d never challenge him on it. She’d just work harder, longer...and ultimately she’d win. Because she’d be so absolutely the best he wouldn’t be able to ignore her any more. None of them would.
But frustration had burned at yet another disappointment. What did she have to do to prove her worth and make him see she was as fine a soldier as the men he favoured?
Back in her barracks, her anger had burned hotter. She’d been passed over for so many opportunities. Sure, she’d had a few crumbs thrown her way, but nothing that she’d really wanted, and she was busting her butt every single day.
She hadn’t been able to stick around the base in such a septic mood—she’d needed to get her game face back. So she’d left her room and walked out into the afternoon sun.
While she wasn’t on active duty she was required to be available in case anything came up. But she’d known she’d hear the siren from the bay if there was an emergency. Which there rarely was. And just a short time out wasn’t going to hurt anyone.
The base was situated on a cliff overlooking the sea. To a rock-climber it was a good challenge, because at the bottom of the cliff, hidden by a rocky outcrop, was the Cala de Piratas—a bay accessible from the other side of the beach only at low tide because of the treacherous rocks surrounding it. Tiny, beautiful, dangerous.
Stella had climbed down—out of sight of her superiors, away from everyone.
It was island legend that some of San Felipe’s wealth had come from the pirate ships that had been sunk against the jagged rocks hidden just below the rough waves. That legend was embellished with the whisper that even the royal family had a rogue pirate in their ancestry. Tourists paid handsomely to dive and explore the various wrecks not far from the island’s shores, hoping to find gold.
But they didn’t dive here, the place at the heart of the pirate folklore, because at this bay there was a rip tide that not even the strongest ocean swimmer could conquer. Stella hadn’t intended to swim—only to wash the sweat from her skin and cool the angry heat of her muscles. She’d kicked off her shoes and strode straight in, water splashing her shorts and tee shirt. But as she’d walked forward a large wave had buffeted her and she’d stumbled, almost slipped right under the water.
Strong arms had suddenly banded aroun
d her and pulled her back against a large body of steel. Hard. Forceful. Threatening.
Shocked, she’d jerked her elbow to free her arm and, moving on pure defensive instinct, turned and lashed out. She’d been trained well and her fist had landed true and hard.
She had heard his grunt and her own as visceral pain had zinged up her arm. She’d quickly flicked her fingers, reeling at the impact of bone on bone. But she’d drawn her arm back again, ready to land another.
But the giant who’d grabbed her had reached even more quickly, catching hold of her upper arm and twisting it behind her, pulling her harder, more tightly into his steely body.
‘Stop fighting. I’m not going to hurt you,’ he’d said, in a deep, loud voice right in her ear.
She knew her best plan was to go limp, then move and take him by surprise. But when she let her muscles relax and fell against him he pulled her closer still, locking her into a hold she knew she mightn’t be able to escape.
It seemed he’d been trained too.
‘You have a powerful punch,’ he said.
Her throat clogged, but not with fear. She recognised that voice.
At three in the afternoon Prince Eduardo De Santis was wearing a tuxedo that was now wet to the waist. As the waves ebbed and flowed, the water moulded his trousers to his long, muscled legs and he was moulding her to him. Her wrists were bound in his broad hands and twisted tight behind her back, thrusting her forward so she was pressed flat against his torso. His legs were parted only enough to lock hers together between his.
Because of the motion of the waves battering them she remained standing only because he held her trapped against him. Because of his strength.
Her anger morphed into something far more dangerous. Far more tantalising. Far more foreign.
Stella didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t believe it. But that melting sensation deep inside her was undeniable. She’d had many hand-to-hand training sessions with men. All kinds of scenarios. She’d never become aroused by any.
‘You’re Prince Eduardo,’ she said stupidly.
The Secret That Shocked De Santis Page 4
