The Secret That Shocked De Santis

by Natalie Anderson

  The flush built in her cheeks as she grasped hold of the small packet and suddenly balked. ‘That is...if you want...?’

  ‘If I want?’ The short, tense laugh sounded torn from his throat. ‘You have no idea how much I want.’

  She gazed at him. ‘Then show me.’

  He stood. Slowly he undid his trousers, spreading them to slide them down his hewn legs. Her jaw dropped as he revealed himself to her. He was beautiful. Muscled, yet lean, his skin glistening and golden. And his erection...

  She swallowed as he tore open the small packet and rolled the condom down his impressive length. The pirate Prince was so much more than she could ever have imagined.

  That this was happening at all was crazy. But to stop it, to say anything, would be crazier still.

  The hot sun beat down on her. The silk of his spread tuxedo jacket was soft beneath her. But all she could really sense was him.

  He lowered himself over her, encompassing her world. ‘You’re ready?’

  She nodded wordlessly.

  He gazed into her eyes for a moment and then bent to kiss her mouth, then the taut tip of each breast. Then he licked her core once more.

  She moaned, and tugged him to come back over her. It wasn’t enough now.

  ‘Spread wider,’ he ordered harshly. ‘You are small and I am...not.’

  He pressed his wide palm against her inner thigh, pushing her legs further apart. He slicked his fingers through her wet heat. She hovered in a whirling mess of anticipation and need.

  Then he rose right above her, settling into position, and thrust.

  Stella sucked in a shocked breath. An incredible feeling of fullness engulfed her. He was so big, so heavy. She frowned, fighting the drowning sensation, crinkling her eyes to stop the smart of tears.

  ‘Relax,’ he murmured, pushing forward again. But then he suddenly stilled. ‘Stella...?’

  For a moment she couldn’t answer. She was still breathing through the overwhelming feelings, riding out the pleasure-pain that threatened to consume her consciousness.

  Oh, man. He was so very much. But at the same time she wanted more.

  The whispered need spread like a vine within her, trailing hot spears of desire and sensation through her limbs. Into her soul.

  ‘Stella.’

  It wasn’t a husky, swiftly murmured endearment—the kind temporary appreciative lovers spent like small change. This was a warning.

  She felt his furious tension building.

  Instinct told her he was about to pull away, but she was a fighter, and she was not having this end this way. Driven by an instinct she didn’t really understand, she curled her legs around his hips, using every well-toned muscle she had within her to hold him to her and lock him in tight.

  His rough groan echoed in her soul.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ she ordered, in low tones every bit as furious as his. ‘I want it. More. I want better.’

  She deserved better. For once she was having what she wanted, and she wanted only the good bits. She wanted to crest that wave again, the way she had only minutes ago. He could help her.

  ‘Show me how to ride.’

  And then she remembered his instruction—to kiss it better.

  The confusion and disbelief in his eyes didn’t fade, and she couldn’t bear to see a glimpse of hurt there too. Even though she’d given him her body, she’d held back something vital. That bothered him, and she was sorry. She’d kiss it better.

  She curled her fingers into his thick hair and pushed on the back of his head, straining upwards so that her mouth met his.

  It was the worst kiss ever. She banged his teeth and bit her own lip in the process. But she didn’t stop. She refused to. And slowly her clumsy attempt grew into something more sensual, more skilful. Sexier.

  His lips softened, his mouth opened. He let her in.

  She made the most of it—tasting him, teasing with her tongue the way he’d done to her. Heat slicked her body again and she grew restless. The pain subsided. Now she only ached for him to move.

  He tore his lips from hers and looked into her eyes for a long, silent moment.

  ‘Please,’ she whispered.

  Finally his hesitation went up in smoke and determination exploded within him. He kissed her again. Holding the rest of himself still, he plundered her mouth. Then he moved fractionally lower, bracing and bending to kiss her puckered nipple. He scraped the sensitive nub with his teeth. An arrow of pleasure shot to her sex, making her slick. And at last he moved. A slow, gentle, rolling motion of his hips. Easily, his big body slipped slightly further inside hers.

  She moaned. She wanted more.

  To really ride.

  But still he moved slowly. He teased a hand between them, rubbing around her most sensitive spot with torturously gentle fingers—just enough to make her scream. She was so close. So insanely close. But as he pleasured her, the desire to please him sank deeper within her. She wanted to know that he felt this magic to the degree she did.

  She cupped his jaw. ‘Eduardo.’

  No matter that he hadn’t given her leave to address him by his Christian name. No matter that he was a prince and she a nobody. In this moment there was nothing but naked joy. No past, no promises. Nothing but now.

  She groaned. ‘Please.’

  She wanted him to move faster again, as he had before, when he’d been clothed and rocking against her. She spread her hands wide on his butt, squeezing the tight muscles, feeling the bunched strength of him slowly pumping into her.

  It was so carnal. So delightful. Utterly unlike anything she’d known. And utterly addictive.

  She didn’t want it to end. Yet she wanted something more so badly. She wanted him to feel this completion with her.

  She moaned in frustration as he kept the pace infuriatingly yet tantalisingly slow. She could no longer form words, no longer think. She could only moan and strive to kiss him more.

  Finally he moved faster. His thrusts became rougher. He cupped her buttocks with both his hands now, holding her so he could grind into her as deep as he could drive himself. The hold plastered him against her, sealing them tight together.

  She loved it. She met his thrusts with hers, over and over, their bodies wet with sweat now rather than sea water. Her fingers curled, clawing into his skin.

  ‘Look at me,’ he ordered harshly through tightly clenched teeth.

  She already was. She couldn’t look away. She’d never been able to look away.

  His eyes bored into hers, their blue irises obliterated by passion-inflamed pupils. Only then her vision swam as her orgasm finally slammed into her like a wave sweeping over a rudderless yacht. She was capsized into a tumultuous sea of sensation.

  His expression tightened almost to pain as he worked to hold his own release at bay. Instinctively she understood that he wanted to make her succumb once more before he did. But all she wanted was to feel his unrestrained passion. Somehow she had to summon it.

  As her orgasm ebbed and feelings of bliss stole into every cell she fought harder, her fingers bruising, her mouth sucking, her tongue licking. She sought to touch him all over, to pull him over the edge with her. She poured every ounce of power she had into the passion she felt. Into somehow showing him what she wanted. And needed.

  That was when she finally felt his massive body shaking—when his roar reverberated into her mouth as he gave in to it and released his hold on himself. His final thrusts came in a torrent of fury and lust. His satisfaction spurted. He shouted loud and rough, and sent her tumbling into the velvety hot darkness again.

  He rested for only a moment. His breath blew hot and quick on her neck. Then his biceps bunched as he braced and pulled free of her embrace.

  Suddenly empty and cold, she remained prone on the sand and
shielded her eyes with her arm. She didn’t want to answer the questions she knew he was going to throw at her.

  But he didn’t savage her. There was only silence.

  Eventually she lowered her hand, forcing herself to look at him.

  He was watching her face intently, and then ever so slowly he gazed down her body. The expression in his eyes was bleak and forbidding. She sat up, but it was too late to hide. The smear of rust-coloured blood on her thigh was incontrovertible evidence. But he already knew the truth.

  ‘Why?’ he asked harshly.

  She had no answer she could give him.

  ‘You should have told me.’

  ‘I didn’t think it was important.’

  ‘You did not act like a virgin,’ he said icily.

  ‘How is a virgin supposed to act?’ she asked, every bit as frozen.

  Shouldn’t she have enjoyed it? Shouldn’t she have pushed for all that she had? But she had enjoyed it. She’d been unrestrained, unfettered in her actions. And untutored.

  She hadn’t been able to control her reaction to him. She’d been utterly lost in that flare of desire for him. And she refused to regret it now. She didn’t want him to regret it either. But it seemed he already did.

  Before she could move he picked up her wallet, which she’d tossed to the side in her haste. Before she could think to snatch it from him he’d flicked it open, was reading her identity card.

  The last of the delicious heat that had softened her fled. Dread solidified into a cold ball in the pit of her belly.

  ‘Zambrano... Lieutenant.’ He stood utterly still. ‘No relation of General Zambrano?’ He glanced at her, swiftly taking in her colouring, her features. ‘His daughter,’ he said brusquely.

  He didn’t need to look at her as if she’d done something wrong.

  ‘You should have told me!’ he suddenly shouted. Irate.

  But if she had he’d have stopped. He’d have recognised her surname and refused to continue. If she’d told him she was a virgin he’d have stopped then too. And she hadn’t wanted him to stop. She’d wanted this one thing, this one time, for herself.

  But she hadn’t stopped to consider the consequences—these appalling moments afterwards. And the possible ramifications for her career.

  She hadn’t thought he’d even notice her virgin status. She hadn’t thought it would be so obvious. She led such a physical life she’d not really thought she’d bleed. And she hadn’t thought it would really hurt like that. Nor had she thought it would feel that fantastic.

  ‘Why did you do this?’ He grabbed her arm. ‘I hurt you.’

  The bruise around his eye was livid now—but it was nothing on the anger within his eyes.

  A good soldier knew when to attack, when to stand and defend, and when to retreat. There was only one option for Stella now. She jerked her arm—was surprised when he let her go. Then she turned and struggled to pull her sodden shorts back on. She pulled the tee shirt on too. She didn’t bother with the ugly sports bra and plain panties, or even her shoes.

  ‘What are you doing?’ His voice was lethally quiet now.

  ‘I need to get back to the base.’

  ‘I will escort you there.’

  ‘You will not. You will go...wherever you were going in that.’ She gestured at the sodden sand-splattered suit now in a crumpled heap at his feet.

  He glanced down and swore.

  Stella turned away from him again—from the sight of him standing there tall and naked and filled with burning emotion. A crazy part of her wanted him all over again.

  ‘Lieutenant—’

  ‘No. There’s no need to say anything.’ She hated it that he referred to her by her rank now. ‘No one will ever know about this. You have my word,’ she said quickly, glancing to see his reaction.

  He looked disbelieving.

  ‘I don’t kiss and tell,’ she snapped.

  ‘No, you just like to hit.’ He drew a breath. ‘And you are very good at it.’

  ‘It’s only a bruise. It will fade. There’ll be no scar.’

  But what about for her? She feared she’d just got a wound that would run bone-deep and mark her for life. She couldn’t let it. She had to forget it. Her few minutes of heaven would be buried like a pirate’s treasure, deep in the bottom of her heart and mind. Never to be found again.

  She turned and faced the cliff.

  He grabbed her arm again. ‘You’re not going that way.’

  She shook him off. ‘Watch me.’

  She didn’t know whether he did or not. But being partially dressed while he was still devastatingly naked meant she had the advantage. She ran and pulled herself up the rocks with a speed and nimbleness exacerbated by adrenalin and anger and the remnants of sensual energy.

  When she finally reached the top of the cliff she didn’t stop to turn and look. She just ran back to the base, the need for a fast escape driving her. Before she did something even more stupid like turning back and begging to see him again.

  But he’d called after her.

  ‘Stella? Stella!’

  Even months later she heard him calling. As much as she’d tried to forget him—forget that whole afternoon—when she closed her eyes she always heard his furious demand.

  ‘Stella!’

  She frowned as she heard banging, then an ear-splitting splintering sound. She opened her eyes in time to see the door smashed open. Abruptly she was yanked back from memory into the present. Into the bathroom at the Palacio de Secreto Real. Where she was no longer alone in the shower.

  Eduardo De Santis had been hollering her name here and now—and he was incandescent.

  ‘What the hell have you been doing all this time?’ His chest rose and fell, his muscles bunched from the effort of breaking down the bathroom door.

  He stepped right into the stall and flicked the shower lever with a sharp, vicious movement, shutting off the jets of steaming water. But it was too late. His tee shirt was already wet. So were his jeans.

  Memory melded with the present moment and she was speechless. Melting. Crazy.

  ‘Are you unwell? Did you almost faint again?’ He towered over as he interrogated her. ‘Stella?’

  Dumbfounded, she stared up at him, registering his frown, his concern, his confusion. His fury.

  Once more she was fascinated. He was magnificent. Mesmerising. And so mad with her.

  Suddenly she was furious too. With her situation. With him. With her stupid lust-lost self. And she was too shocked, too ripped open, too angry to do anything but answer with an honest snarl.

  ‘I forgot, okay? I forgot.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘FORGOT WHAT?’ EDUARDO PRESSED his palms hard on the wall either side of her—imprisoning her, uncaring about impropriety. But it was better than grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. He needed to see she was okay and hear her say it.

  Her pale blue eyes widened. Deepened. But she didn’t answer.

  His heart thundered a furious tattoo. His muscles coiled as adrenalin streamed through his veins. He’d pounded that damn bathroom door for ages, imagining her to be unconscious and drowning or worse.

  Reality was no less of an attack on his system.

  Her lithe body was gloriously naked. Droplets of water glistened on every inch of her, as if she’d been dipped in diamonds. Dazzling perfection, her effect on him was akin to sorcery.

  He forgot everything. To breathe. To think. To move.

  The dazed look in her eyes mesmerised him. When he’d parted her thighs with his and pushed into the heart of her scorching heat she’d looked at him like this.

  ‘Stella...’ he muttered.

  Still wordlessly casting her spell, she stared back up at him, a stormy, mouthwatering mix of softness a
nd strength, all feminine sensuality. He fought back the urge to press his lips to hers.

  He’d been unable to forget her energy and demand and passion that day. But afterwards she hadn’t just left. She’d run. The only lover who had. Eduardo was the one to end any liaison—gently but efficiently.

  Tendrils of doubt had wormed in after her determined, hasty departure, bringing a hint of unwanted regret. He’d damn well tried to forget, but she’d lurked in the sea of his sleep, calling like a Siren. He envisaged every intimacy, pleasuring her beyond endurance, hearing her, tasting her, claiming her, over and over again. To his extreme annoyance he’d dreamt of her every single night since that day.

  Filthy, soul-scorching dreams.

  Never had he dreamt of a woman the way he had of her. Yet memory had served him poorly. In reality she was more vibrant, more luminous than any fantasy. The electrifying want within him was intolerable.

  ‘What did you forget?’ he snapped, whipping his vocal cords into action.

  ‘What are you doing in here?’ She tilted her chin.

  Glimmering energy arced, zinging back and forth between them—desire, shock, anger.

  ‘Why didn’t you answer me?’ he countered.

  ‘You didn’t have to break down the door.’ Her cool voice belied the heat in her eyes.

  ‘You didn’t answer me.’ He measured his breathing, refusing to lose control, but temptation burned, stoked by her icy defiance.

  ‘I didn’t hear you.’ Sharper. Hotter.

  His frown deepened. That wasn’t what he’d meant. He still wanted to know what it was she’d forgotten.

  ‘You were worried about me?’ Disbelief sparkled in her eyes.

  ‘Is that such a surprise?’ An hour ago she’d looked pale and scared. She looked neither now. ‘I was bringing you a tray of food.’

  ‘I didn’t ever imagine you in the role of delivery boy,’ she said.

  ‘How did you imagine me?’ He smothered his smile of pleasure at her weak attempt to put him in his place.

  Her eyes flashed.