Temporarily His Princess

by Olivia Gates

  “They’ve committed too many crimes. It’s only a matter of time before someone finds out what I have. Marry me and I’ll do everything in my power to wipe their trail clean.”

  “That’s just another roundabout blackmail.”

  “Actually, it’s the opposite. Before, I said I’d hurt them if you say no. Now I’m saying I’ll help them if you say yes.”

  Her head spun, her thoughts tangling like a ball of twine after a wicked cat had gotten to it. He was the feline to her own cornered mouse.

  “I don’t see how that’s different. And even if I say yes…”

  He caught her hands, pressed them into the heat of his steel muscles. “Say it, Gloria mia. Give me your consent.”

  “Even if I do…”

  “Do it. Say you’ll be my bride.”

  She squirmed away from his intensity. “Okay, okay, yes. Dude, you’re pushy.”

  He huffed mockingly. “Such eagerness. Such graciousness.”

  “If you think I owe you either, you’re out of your zillion-IQ mind. And this doesn’t mean anything’s changed. Or that’s it’s not still under duress. It certainly doesn’t mean I consent to going to Castaldini now.”

  He sat back, all tension leaving his body, a look of gratification sweeping across his breathtaking face. “Give me one reason why you’re so against going.”

  She had to blink to clear the glaze of hypnosis from her eyes. “I can give you a volume as thick as your prenup.”

  “One incontestable reason should suffice. And ‘because I don’t want to’ doesn’t count.”

  “Of course what I want doesn’t count. You made that clear.”

  His pout made her want to drag him down and sink her teeth into those lips that had just reinjected his addiction into her system. “I made it clear that I changed my mind, about many things. Be flexible and change yours.”

  “I don’t owe you any flexibility, either. I let you steamroll me by letting me think this was going to be a short trip inside my country. I didn’t sign on to leave it.”

  “As my bride, you will leave it. Though not forever.”

  “Yeah, only for a one-year term. But I get to choose when that will begin.”

  “I meant you’d always be free to return, to go anywhere. This time, you can go back to New York tomorrow if you wish.”

  “I don’t want to leave New York in the first place. I can’t just hop to another country!”

  “Why not? You do that all the time in your work.”

  “Well, this isn’t work. And speaking of work, I can’t drop everything with no notice.”

  “You’re on vacation, remember?”

  “I have other things to do besides work.”

  “Like what?” He met her fury with utmost serenity.

  “Okay, I changed my mind, too. You’re not a bulldozer. You’re an ocean. You’d erode mountains. No, a tsunami. You uproot everything, subside only with everything submerged under your control.”

  He chuckled. “As much as I enjoy having you dissect and detail my vices, food is becoming a pressing issue. I had the chef prepare favorite dishes from Castaldini for you to sample.”

  Her hands itched to tweak that dimpled cheek, hard. “Don’t change the subject.”

  Ignoring her, he undid his seat belt, then leaned into her, undoing hers. “You really shouldn’t risk me getting any hungrier—in every way.”

  Her gaze slid to the evidence of one hunger and…whoa.

  She tore her gaze up, only to slam into his watchful, knowing, enticing one. Gasping with the need to explore him, she said, “Even in food you’re giving me no choice.”

  He separated from her lingeringly, pushing buttons in a panel by the couch. It was still only when he stood up that she realized they were cruising steadily.

  “I am. My choice is to feast on you and to hell with food. I’m giving you the choice to avoid what you really want by choosing food, for now.”

  She bit back a retort. It would be silly to deny his assessment, when only the pilot’s announcement had saved her from being wrapped around him naked right now, begging for—and taking—everything.

  Exasperated with both of them, she ignored his inviting hand to rise and walk to where he indicated. Behind a screen of gorgeous lacelike woodwork at the far end of the lounge by the closed quarters was a stunning table-for-two setup.

  Though everything in the compartment felt like authentic masterpieces, with the distinctive designs of seventeenth-or eighteenth-century Castaldini, the furniture was discreetly mounted on rails embedded in the fuselage. Exquisite, delicately carved, polished mahogany chairs were upholstered in burgundy glossy-on-matte floral-patterned silk. The matching round table was draped in the most intricate beige tape-lace tablecloth she’d ever seen, set over longer burgundy organza, with its pattern echoing the stunning hand-painted china laid out on top. Lit candles, crystal glasses, a vase with a conflagration of burgundy and cream roses, linen napkins, silver cutlery and a dozen other accents—all monogrammed with the royal insignia of Castaldini—completed the breathtaking arrangement.

  She looked up at him as he slid the chair back for her. “I somehow can’t imagine King Ferruccio here.”

  His eyebrows rose as he sat across her. “You mean you still think it’s my jet?”

  It hadn’t occurred to her to doubt that or anything else he’d said. She’d believed his every word, declaration and promise.

  Which was only more proof that fools never, ever learned.

  She sighed. “It’s not that. The rest of the jet is so grand, befitting a king and then some. But this setting is too…”

  “Intimate?” he chimed in when she made a stymied gesture around the dreamily lit space. “Your senses are on the money. This section was designed by Clarissa as her and Ferruccio’s mile-high love nest.”

  Glory’s simmering heat shot up, imagining all the pleasure that could be had here, and feeling she was intruding on someone’s privacy. “You sure he’s okay with you invading it?”

  “He scanned my fingerprint into the controls.”

  “Let me put it this way, then. Are you sure he cleared it with Queen Clarissa?”

  “What I’m sure of is if he didn’t, he’d love to be punished for his unsanctioned actions.”

  Her lips twitched as she imagined the regal figure of King Ferruccio being spanked by his fair queen. “Another D’Agostino with a fetish for female abuse?”

  “Ferruccio would let Clarissa step dance all over him and beg for more. But since she’s part angel, she doesn’t take advantage of his submissive affliction where she’s concerned.”

  His expression softened as he talked about his queen and cousin. Though she’d been a princess first, the previous king’s daughter, not much had been known about Clarissa before she became the illegitimate king’s queen. Ever since their marriage, she’d become one of the most romantic royal figures in history. Glory had heard only great things about her.

  It still twisted her gut to feel Vincenzo’s deep fondness for the woman, to witness evidence that he was capable of such tender affections. What he hadn’t felt for her. What she hadn’t aroused in him.

  Oblivious to her sudden plunge in mood, he smiled. “And speaking of access…”

  He pushed a button on a panel by the huge oval window to his side. The door of the lounge whispered open. In moments, half a dozen waiters dressed in burgundy-and-black uniforms, with the royal emblem embroidered on their chests in gold, walked in a choreographed queue into the dining compartment.

  She smiled back at them as they began arranging their burdens on the table and on the service station a few feet away. Even though domes covered the trays, the aromas struck directly to her vacant-since-she-read-Vincenzo’s-email stomach, making it lament loudly.

  His lips spread at the sound, his beauty supernatural in the candlelight. “Good to know you’ve worked up another appetite.” The word another came out like a caress to her most intimate flesh. He was playing her b
ody like the virtuoso he was. “Bodes well for your being more interested in food than using me for target practice.”

  “I see you failed to acquire harmless tableware. But you like living dangerously, don’t you?” She picked up a fork, gauging its weight and center of gravity as if to estimate a perfect throw. “I mean, silver? Isn’t that deadly to your kind?”

  He sat back in his chair, spreading his great body, as if to let her to take aim wherever she pleased. “If I was the kind you refer to, wouldn’t I be ‘undying’ dangerously?”

  And she realized something terrible.

  She was…enjoying this. This duel of words and wills. She found it exhilarating.

  It shocked her because she’d never experienced anything quite like it. Certainly never with him. She’d once loved him with all her heart, lusted after him until it hurt, but she’d never really enjoyed being with him. Enjoyment necessitated ease, humor, and those and so much more had been missing from his life. He’d been too tense, too intense, in work and in passion. She’d felt only towering yet turbulent emotions while he was around.

  Now, this new him was just plain…fun.

  Fun? The man who was more or less kidnapping her and making her marry him temporarily under terrible conditions and for all the wrong reasons while seducing her out of her mind just because he could?

  Yeah. He was doing all that. And was still fun with a capital F. It made everything she felt for him even fiercer.

  Had she caught his masochistic tendencies? Or maybe she was developing Stockholm syndrome after all?

  Again unaware of her turmoil, he pursued their latest topic. “In the interest of not turning to dust if you fling something my way while you attempt to crack open the crab…” He took the fork from her, gathered the rest of her cutlery and placed them on the tray of a retreating waiter.

  Admitting that there was no denying, or fighting, the enjoyment, she decided to go with the flow. As he’d recommended earlier, in what felt like another life.

  She eyed him in derision. “You could have left me the spoon. It poses minimal danger, certainly a lesser one than the mess I’ll make as I slurp soup directly from the bowl and wipe sauce off the plate with my fingers.”

  “Mess away.” Another button had his chair circling the table, bringing him a breath away. “I’ll lick you clean.”

  Leaving her struggling with another bout of arrhythmia, he leaned across her then lifted silver covers bearing Castaldini’s royal insignia in repoussé, uncovering serving plates and bowls simmering over gentle flames. Her salivary glands gushed with the combination of aromas—his and the food’s. He filled a bowl with heavenly smelling soup, garnishing it with dill and croutons. Then he reached across the table for his spoon.

  Dipping it in the steaming depths, he scooped a spoonful then brought it to his lips. Pursing them slowly, sensuously, he blew a cooling breath over the thick creaminess. It rippled, just like the waves of arousal inside her.

  Her nerves reverberated like plucked strings as he drew her to his side, no longer knowing if she felt her heart or his booming inside her rib cage. Then he lifted the spoon to her lips. They opened involuntarily, accepting his offering. She gulped down the delicious, rich liquid, moaning at the taste, at his ministrations. Vincenzo was feeding her.

  Then he was kissing her, plumbing her depths with wrenching possession, as if he’d drink her up, gulping down her moans as they poured from her, growling the fervor of his endearments and enjoyment inside her. “Meravigliosa, deliziosa…”

  Her stomach made another explicit protest.

  He pulled back, his eyes on fire, his smile teasing. “So the flesh is willing, but the stomach is even more so. Will you stop looking so delicious so I can feed you?”

  Unable to do anything but keep her head against his shoulder and her body ensconced in the security and delight of his, she sighed. “So, it’s my doing now?”

  “Everything is your doing, gloriosa mia. Everything.”

  For all the indulgence in which he’d said that, it confused her. For it didn’t feel like a joke. Yet all she could do was surrender to his pampering and marvel at what a difference a few hours could make. She’d started this bent on resisting to the end. Now look at her. Her mind was shutting down, her will raising the white flag. And why not?

  This, whatever this was, wouldn’t last. But she knew that this time. She’d been forewarned, should be forearmed against any pain and disillusion. And it felt so good. The best she’d ever felt. Why not just revel in it?

  Even at the cost of untold damages later? Maybe it couldn’t be survived this time?

  She gazed into his gorgeous eyes, let his spell topple the last pillar of her sanity, and had to face what she’d never wanted to admit. She’d missed him like she would a vital organ. The accumulated longing was only exacerbated by the new appreciation that was taking her over.

  So yes. She’d take this journey with him. At any cost.

  *

  “We’ll be landing in minutes, Principe.”

  The announcement made Glory do a triple take over Vincenzo’s shoulder at the wall clock in the distance.

  It was nine hours since they’d come on board already?

  Time had never flown so imperceptibly. So pleasurably. She hadn’t felt sleepy all through the flight, only deliciously languorous yet energized at once, each passing minute electrified, alive.

  And here they were. Landing in a place she’d never been, and till forty-eight hours ago had thought, for too many reasons, she’d never be. His homeland. A land of vivid legend and unique tradition.

  Castaldini.

  She’d been so engrossed in Vincenzo and their newfound affinity she hadn’t once looked outside the window as the pilot had periodically announced the landmarks they were flying over. She was now draped half over Vincenzo, one leg held in a possessive hand over his thighs, her face inches from his as they lay back on a now-reclined couch, gazing at each other, luxuriating in chatting and bickering and just relishing the hell out of each other.

  Giving her thigh a gentle squeeze, he leaned in for another of those barely leashed kisses that had been scrambling her coherence, then withdrew with a regretful sigh. “Though I think some fuses inside me will burn out when I do, I have to take my hands off you. You need to see this. Castaldini from the air is breathtaking.”

  He untangled them and took her with him as he sat up, opening the shutter on the window behind them. He stood behind her as she rose to her knees and bent forward to peer down at his homeland. But she registered nothing but him as he pressed against her, one hand pulling her back into his hardness, the other moving the mass of her hair aside to caress her back and buttocks. All she wanted was to thrust back at him, beg him to end the torment that had been building for hours, years, plunge inside her as she knelt like that, vulnerable, open. She wished he would plummet them into delirium as they descended into his domain and the limited time they’d have together.

  He bent over her until he was covering her back then suckled her earlobe, pouring his seduction right into her brain. “See this, gloriosa mia? This is where I’m going to make you mine again, this land that’s as glorious as you are.”

  Everything inside her throbbed like an inflamed nerve, screaming for his invasion, his domination. “So you took your hands off me, only to substitute them with your whole body.”

  “Don’t tell me, tell your body.” His hand twisted in her hair, harnessing her as he suckled her neck, thrust against her, mimicking the act of possession. “It’s operating mine remotely. It must want to keep my fuses intact, needs them fully functional.” She was way past contesting this. With the way she’d been responding to his every touch, inviting more, she wondered how he hadn’t taken her yet. Or why. He nipped her jaw, which sent another shock wave of need spasming in her core. “Now look.”

  It took moments to focus on the sight beneath her through the crimson haze of arousal. The place where she would come to life again, in his arms,
in his orbit, however briefly.

  And it was as he’d said. Breathtaking. Glorious.

  The island gleamed like a collection of multifaceted jewels in the early afternoon sun. Jade masses of palm and olive trees, ruby and garnet rooftops on amber and moonstone houses, obsidian roads. White-gold beaches surrounded everything and were hugged in turn by the gradations of a turquoise-and-emerald Mediterranean.

  Her chest tightening with elusive longing, she turned amazed eyes to him. “How can you leave this place, and stay away so long?”

  Relief flared in his eyes, as if he’d been worried about her response. As if she could feel anything but wonder at beholding this magnificence.

  “Wait until you see it at ground level.” He turned her around, sat both of them down, buckled them in and brought her hands to his lips with a contemplative sigh. “But you’re right. I was here too little for too many years.”

  “And now you’re taking the UN post, you’re going to be anywhere but here.” And they wouldn’t be here for their year of marriage.

  As if feeling her disappointment, he shook his head. “We’ll come here often and stay as long as possible each time. We can stay for a good while now. Would you like that?”

  Vincenzo was asking her if she’d like to stay? When he hadn’t bothered to ask if she’d like to come in the first place? Was that part of his “put her at ease” campaign?

  If it was, it was succeeding. Spectacularly.

  She melted back, luxuriating in his solicitude, no matter its motives. She hadn’t worked up the courage to take an active part in this seduction, but having him this close made her dizzy with the need to touch and taste him. His skin made her drool, polished as bronze, soft as satin. And it was like that everywhere. She knew. She’d once explored him inch by inch. She couldn’t wait to binge on his flawlessness again.

  But having taken the decision to give in to the insanity, she knew she’d have the mind-blowing pleasure soon. Sighing with the relief of surrender, she looked into his expectant eyes, loving the anxious expectation she saw there.

  “As long as I can get a better toothbrush than the one in the jet’s welcome pack.”