Romancing the Crown Series
Page 41
"Is it tender?"
She wanted to lie and say no, wanted him to continue until it felt so good she cried with it, but she couldn't help but wince a time or two. "Just a bit," she admitted. "But you can make me forget. You did before."
Sadly for her, he withdrew his hand and wrapped his arms around her. "Let's take our time, Annie. We'll see how you feel in the morning, okay?"
* * *
How she felt in the morning was fine, a bit sore but brimming with energy. She awakened before the sun had cleared the eastern horizon and found herself relegated to the smallest portion of the queen-size bed, with Tyler snuggled close behind her, his arm firmly around her waist. She simply lay there for a time, listening to the steady sound of his breathing, wondering if there was anything she might do to influence his feelings for her. Was there some sensual secret to use in bed, or some little hint for outside bed, that might sway him toward an emotional commitment to her?
She rather doubted it, else some enterprising and wise woman would have already packaged it for sale and made a fortune. She would have to win Tyler's affection on her own, and risk heartache if she failed.
The mere thought turned her morning blue.
Slipping from the bed, she completed her morning routine, including a hasty shower, then went downstairs. A few logs on the smoldering coals brought the fire back to life, and the temperature on the lower level began to rise accordingly. In the kitchen she loaded the previous evening's dishes into the dishwasher, as she'd watched Tyler do every day for a week, then measured out soap from the box under the sink, started the machine and congratulated herself when neither excess water nor suds poured out. Next she made herself a cup of gourmet instant cocoa, tossed in a few tiny marshmallows, then carried it into the living room to sip in front of the crackling fire.
It was truly ironic that a mere week and a half ago, she'd fed her sister a story about how she and Tyler wanted a chance to develop this relationship between them when no such relationship had existed. And now … now she was worried about broken hearts and being pregnant—or, rather, not being pregnant. She would be delighted to discover in a few weeks' time that she carried his babe, regardless of whether he demanded to marry her—which, of course, he would. He was that kind of man. Responsible. Driven by duty.
But, God help her, she didn't want to be his duty. She wanted to be his love, his life, his wife.
But, given no other choice, she might settle for duty.
She became aware of him an instant before the stair near the bottom creaked under his weight, but she didn't turn, needing the few additional seconds to clear the melancholy from her expression. He stopped behind the couch, bent and kissed her forehead, then slid his hand from her shoulder inside her robe and gave her breast a fleeting caress. She tilted her head back so she could smile at him, then, utterly shameless, she loosened the belt on her robe and exposed her breast to more of his teasing touches.
"You certainly know how to get a man's blood pumping," he murmured, bending lower to kiss her nipple, then holding her head for a deep, hungry, upside-down kiss. "Did you sleep well?"
"Incredibly so."
"Me, too. Want to wear me out again?"
"Close the blinds and have your way with me, or teach me to have my way with you."
His green gaze glittered wickedly as he secured the blinds on the front and side windows, then approached the couch. Already, his arousal tented his boxer shorts, and already she felt the moisture collecting between her thighs in anticipation of feeling him there.
As shameless as she, he removed his boxers, then sat naked on the couch, lifting her onto his lap and giving her another long, lazy kiss. It took him less than a moment to discover that she was utterly naked under the robe, and his response was quite gratifying.
After they kissed and petted and fondled for a time, she shrugged out of the heavy terry robe and thrust her hips against his. "Come inside me, tesoro mio." My darling.
"The condoms are upstairs. Let me go—"
Bracing her hands on the back of the sofa, she refused to be set aside. "Forget the condoms."
"But—"
"I want you, Tyler. I want to feel you. All of you."
"And if you get pregnant?"
With or without him in her life, she would be deliriously happy. She'd always intended to be a mother, and to be mother to his child would be the second best possible future. Best, of course, would be raising his children together with him as husband and wife. Family. "Ah, can you imagine the child with your dedication and arrogance and my stubbornness and determination?"
"God help anyone who crosses him," he said with a laugh.
She smiled, shifted her hips, and rubbed against him. "Please come inside me now, Tyler, and teach me to be wicked with you."
He positioned himself, lifted her hips and ever so slowly lowered her, filling her, stretching her, sending a flood of heat and need racing through her. When she'd taken all of him, she flexed the muscles deep in her belly, tightening them around him, and made him turn pale and swear with great imagination. She liked the response.
He showed her how to move her hips, to thrust, then withdraw, then take him even deeper again, and she learned how to create friction and pressure, to ease it, then double it. "So lovemaking is all about power," she murmured, bracing her palms on his broad shoulders.
"About shared power," he replied in a ragged voice. "Right now you're … ah, jeez, Annie, you're killing me … but as easily as you can make me beg, I can make you weep."
"I would like that," she whispered, bending to drag her tongue across his nipple. "After I make you beg, you can make me weep with sheer pleasure."
And she did.
And so did he.
Chapter 10
U rsula Chambers hated snow, she hated cold, and she most emphatically, absolutely, undeniably hated winter!
That made clear, she maneuvered her sister's pickup truck through the ranch gate and over bumps that might have been a cattle guard or could have been the frozen carcasses of every man who'd ever let her down, for all she cared. She was tired of fighting the beat-up old Ford on frozen roads all the way from town, of dealing with her pathetic whiny sister, of waiting impatiently for her ticket to paradise to arrive so she could get out of this miserable existence. The images of the wonderful life that awaited her in a Mediterranean kingdom were the only thing keeping her going through these awful months of waiting.
For a moment, she closed her eyes, tilted her face to the Sunday afternoon sun and imagined herself living in the royal palace, the doting aunt to the future king of Montebello. There would be servants at her beck and call, and handsome, wealthy men lining up at her door, preening and pleading for just a bit of her attention. She would open People and In Style to find her own beautiful self smiling up regally, happily from the glossy pages, and she would be the desire of men, and the envy of women, everywhere.
Her every wish would come true.
And all she had to do was see that her sister's every wish died … along with Jessica herself.
The all-too-familiar slide of the wheels made Ursula's eyes jerk open, and she filled the frigid air with curses. The damn sun offered glare but no heat, and the landscape around her was as far from paradise as a place could be. Once she was installed in the palace, she would jet around the world with her myriad admirers—and, soon enough, her rich-as-sin infatuated husband—but she would never return to Shady Rock, Colorado, or this damn ranch. If anyone ever tried to make her come back, she would press one hand to her forehead, cry prettily and rouse such sympathy, they would never make that mistake again.
By the time the ranch house came into sight, her fingers were numb from gripping the steering wheel, her butt was aching from the inadequate padding in the seat, and she was going to need hours in front of a roaring fire to chase the chill from her bones. She couldn't believe her idiot sister considered this piece of crap adequate transportation. It used motor oil the way an aging movie st
ar used Oil of Olay, it was uncomfortable as all hell, it didn't have air conditioning for Colorado's hot summers and not much heat for the damn cold winters. When the baby was born and Jessica was dealt with, Ursula wasn't even going to bother to sell the junk heap. She intended to just leave it where it sat, a rusting monument to her sister's lunacy.
She slid to a stop near the back door, grabbed her bag and hurried inside. The house was dark and dreary, and opening the curtains did little to help. In her opinion—the only one that counted, after all—it was cramped, plain and no more suitable than her dump of an apartment in town. In New York she'd had such a lovely place, with soaring windows, exposed brick, an expansive floor plan and just a few homey touches to warm up the cool, minimalist effect. Granted, she hadn't paid for it, but why should she have? Gardner had gotten plenty from her in return. For a time she'd thought she had given him the best years of her life.
Now she knew, like the saying said, the best was yet to come. She'd told Jessica she would make certain the hands were taking care of everything on the ranch. After kicking the furnace up to the tropical zone, she went to the kitchen and gazed out the window over the sink. The outbuildings—barn, sheds, cabins and bunkhouse—stood not too distant, snow coating their roofs: like frosting on a gingerbread house. A few shaggy horses were in the corral, but there were no signs of the rest of the horses, the cattle or the hands. They were probably cozied up in their houses, watching TV and storing fat for the rest of the winter. While the boss was away, the hands would play…
All right, everything looked okay, she thought dismissively. Turning away from the window, she wandered down the hall toward the living room, turning on lights as she went, then stopped when she reached the mirror near the front door. Never one to pass up an opportunity, she tilted her head this way, then that, critically inspecting her reflection. After a long, intense study, she smiled. As usual, she was perfect
Her hair was perfectly coiffed, her makeup perfectly applied. Her skin was as smooth as daily pampering and regular chemical peels could accomplish, her teeth bleached to a blinding white, her lips improved upon—though only slight improvement had been needed—with an injection of collagen. Her cheekbones were strikingly high, the look in her eyes astonishingly innocent, when she wanted it to be, and her mousy hair had been lightened to the absolutely perfect shade of honeyed blond.
She was beautiful.
And she would look even more beautiful on the arm of a powerful and wealthy duke, prince or king. Queen Ursula, she thought dreamily, and imagined herself accepting curtsies and bows from all her loyal subjects. They would love her dearly, and she would bask daily in their adoration. She might even—
A knock at the door startled her from her reverie, rousing her irritation. It had better not be one of those dreary little ranch hands of Jessica's, come to intrude on her plans. If it was, she would fire him on the spot.
She unfastened the locks and jerked open the door, then stared. This was no lowly ranch hand. The man on the porch stood about six feet tall, and he had raven hair, dark eyes and a cleft chin. That alone was enough to make her weak in the knees. On top of that, the whole package came together incredibly nicely. He was breathtakingly handsome, and the first thought to pop into her mind was what beautiful children they could create together … if she were the type to sacrifice her figure merely for a brat.
He was dressed mostly in black—boots, slacks, coat, gloves—with a dove gray scarf around his neck. His jacket was unzipped enough to reveal a gray and black patterned sweater underneath, and he looked as if he didn't even notice the dropping temperatures. She knew without touching that the garments were of top quality, without seeing labels that they'd borne price tags exceeding her annual clothing budget.
Handsome, well-dressed and presumably well off. The man of her dreams.
She arranged herself in a more welcoming position, grateful hat she'd bypassed the jeans she normally would have worn for a trip to the ranch in favor of mint-green slacks and a sweater in mint green, pale peach and the softest of lavenders. With her honeyed blond hair and her porcelain-fair skin, she knew she looked soft, sweet and good enough to eat—a treat any day, no matter what the temperature.
"Can I help you?" she asked, settling for a demure tone.
"I hope so. I was told I could find lodging for the night—a bed-and-breakfast, I believe—but I seem to have taken a wrong turn somewhere." His voice was elegant, cultured, touched with a bit of an accent and slid over her like raw silk. Oh, yes, he could definitely be the man of her dreams.
Depending on whose side he was on. There was no denying that his accent, faint as it was, was very much the same as Prince Lucas's, and he certainly had the coloring she associated with the Mediterranean region, as well as the bearing she associated with royalty. She didn't believe she could be fortunate enough to find an honest-to-God royal on her doorstep, but someone with ties to the royal family just might be good enough.
Someone who could help fulfill her goals would be perfect.
"Apparently you did." She glanced at the sun, sinking lower on the horizon. "Come in, please, and I'll see if I can help you find your way."
Once inside, he removed his coat and scarf, and she hung them on the quaint coat tree in the corner behind the door, then led him into the living room. She wished she'd had advance notice so she could have turned on lights, built a fire, lit some candles and generally made the place more appealing, but her visitor hardly seemed to notice. Instead, he stopped in the middle of the room and watched her with a warm, appreciative look that notched up her body heat ten degrees or so.
"I'm Ursula Chambers. And you are…?"
"Pardon my lack of manners. I have no excuse except that your beauty took me by surprise. Desmond Caruso."
She offered her hand, but instead of shaking it, he lifted it to his mouth, leaving the lightest of kisses on her fingertips. A shiver chased down her spine. "I'm so very glad to meet you," she all but purred. "Can I get you some coffee to chase away the chill … or maybe something stronger?"
"I'm not chilled," he replied in a low, smooth voice, "but a drink would be much appreciated. It's been a long day and I could use a little help unwinding."
"Wait here." More than a bit dazed, she headed for the kitchen, and realized that she was no longer chilled, either. One long look from his incredibly dark eyes, one touch of his amazingly sensuous mouth, and she was damn near warm enough to steam.
In the kitchen, she started the coffeemaker, then searched the cabinets for the bottle of rum she'd given Jessica for her last, birthday. Even though her sister wasn't much of a drinker and didn't appreciate that the bottle was the best Gardner's money could buy, naturally she had kept it, just in case it might come in handy someday. Well, someday had arrived.
"You have a charming home," Desmond Caruso said from behind her, startling her as she found the bottle on the top shelf in the pantry.
It was on the tip of her tongue to deny that she would deliberately live in such a rundown place—not that her apartment in town was any better—but just in time she caught herself. "Why, thank you. Personally, I think of it more as … rustic. Primitive. What brings you to Colorado, Mr. Caruso?"
"Please call me Desmond. I'm merely doing some traveling."
"Really?" She knew from the slight narrowing of his gaze that the skepticism that barely colored her response hit its target. "You know, I've never heard of a bed-and-breakfast in this area, and yet strangely enough, you're the third person in recent weeks who's stopped here searching for one."
"Really." He rested one hand on the counter and the other on his hip. He wasn't as tall as she normally liked her men, but he appeared every bit as muscular as any well-oiled Hollywood hunk. She had such a weakness for muscles that she could easily overlook height, or lack of.
"The first two were a couple—a red-haired woman, a man with brown hair and green eyes. And what a coincidence—he spoke with the same accent you have. Said they were newlywed
s, but…" She let a hint of naughty wickedness creep into her voice and her smile. "They didn't act like any newlyweds I'd ever seen."
"And did you help them find their way, too?" he asked silkily.
The coffeemaker gurgled and burped as the last of the water drained out of the reservoir. She drew her attention from him long enough to fill both cups, slid the heavily spiked one to him, then held her own in both hands as she leaned against the counter. "I don't know if I did. Mostly, it seems, we talked about the ranch, my sister and one of her hands—a man named Joe. A drifter. He just wandered in a year or so ago, and wandered off again last month. You'd think newlyweds would be more interested in each other than a no-account stranger, but not those two."
"So this no-account drifter named Joe intrigued them."
"Intrigued," she repeated. "Yes, that's a good way of putting it. They asked a lot of questions about him. Too bad I didn't have a lot of answers to give them." Tilting her head to one side, she studied him a moment, then asked, "Where exactly is this bed-and-breakfast you are looking for? Perhaps I can make a few calls and get directions for you."
"I don't believe that will be necessary. I'm really not the bed-and-breakfast type, I'm afraid."
"No, you don't look it," she agreed. "But you do look the hungry type. Can I persuade you to stay for dinner?" Not that food was what he hungered for. Having a great many yearnings of her own, she prided herself in being able to recognize them in others.
"You're beautiful and you cook, too."
"Not if I can avoid it. But the freezer is well stocked. I'm sure I can find something." Without waiting for a response from him, she opened the freezer and rummaged through its contents. Desmond Caruso, whoever he was, was looking for the prince. She would bet the farm on it—or, in this case, the ranch. But did he want to return Lucas to the bosom of his loving family, or keep him away? That was the important question.
By the time dinner was ready—frozen beef stew heated until bubbling hot—Desmond had begun asking his own questions about Joe, but she coyly avoided answering them. While she carried the dishes, drinks and utensils into the living room, he built a fire, then they settled on the floor in front of the fireplace to eat. It was warm, cozy, and a perfect scene for seduction. Her killer instincts told her it was a toss-up who would make the first move.