The Crown Prince's Bride

by Donna Alward

  “I know. I just . . . one kiss. Just one to get me through until we get upstairs to some privacy.”

  Whoosh. The flames she’d tried to keep banked throughout the evening flared to life. He murmured something in Spanish, but she couldn’t make it out because he was pulling her close at the same time, pressing his mouth to hers. She opened her lips to him, inviting him in.

  “Mmmm.” His lips vibrated with the sound, and desire rushed through her limbs to her core. Even though she was in heels, he was taller than she, and she stood a little more on tiptoe to nibble at his mouth. Her wrap slipped off her arm and dangled to the grass, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was to taste him, to feel the urgency pounding between them.

  He pulled away, breathing hard, his lips slightly swollen. “You were right. This isn’t wise. One kiss isn’t going to satisfy me and I’m not into public displays of . . . well.” He cupped her jaw. “There are stolen kisses and then there’s playing with fire.”

  “I know,” she replied. “I knew it would be like this. I knew—”

  He cut her off with another searing kiss, then tugged on her hand. “Stephani, I know you said you wanted to be ready, so I’m going to ask you and I want you to be honest with me.”

  Her heart clubbed so hard against her ribs she could hear it in her ears.

  “Will you come to my suite tonight? Stay with me?”

  She nodded dumbly, her chin bobbing up and down. He reached over and snagged the end of her shawl, tucking it back up over her shoulder.

  “Okay, then,” he said, letting out a huge breath. “Okay.”

  She got the feeling he was trying to measure his steps so that they didn’t appear to hurry, but they were failing miserably. Her sandals tripped over the stones as if she were dancing, and once inside they headed straight for the elevator bank. They rode up alone, and Stephani had the crazy urge to kiss him while the doors were shut, but she also knew there were probably cameras feeding through to a security room somewhere. She also knew that guaranteed privacy was rarely ever really guaranteed.

  The doors opened with a subtle ding.

  Before they ever got to their hallway, Raoul was fishing in his pocket for his key card. She stood back while he inserted it in the slot, then waited as he swung open the door and pulled her inside.

  The door shut with a definitive click, Raoul tossed the key card on a nearby chair, and then pressed her against the closed door as he kissed her thoroughly.

  Never in her life had she been kissed this way. Not even the other night when they’d made out on her sofa. This was desperation and desire and naked need, and she gave herself over to it. Her shawl slipped to the floor in a puddle of ivory silk. Raoul plunged his hands into her hair, scattering pins and tearing the petals on the fragile hibiscus blossom. When his mouth glided up her neck, her eyes slammed shut and she half gasped, half moaned with delight.

  He put his hands in hers, then pinned them against the door as he deliberately devoured her mouth.

  She wilted, succumbing completely to the pleasure rushing through her body. She pulled her hands away from his, then pushed his jacket off his shoulders. “Need to touch you, too,” she rasped, ripping his shirttails out of his trousers. He reached behind her, between her and the door, and found the little hasp of her zipper. It slid down, down, down to the hollow of her spine, until his hand slipped just inside and touched the indentation just above her tailbone.

  The time had passed for modesty or even restraint. Now there was only room for honesty, and Stephani took a step away from the door, slipped the dress from her shoulders, and let it drop to the floor.

  Raoul’s breath came out in a rush. “Dios mío,” he breathed. “You’re beautiful.”

  She’d kept her underwear simple but pretty for the evening—a bra and panty set in ivory satin. It wasn’t just that he said she was beautiful, she felt beautiful. She still wore the sandals on her feet, and she took a few steps toward Raoul until she could reach the buttons on his shirt. One by one she slipped them through the holes.

  “You’re sure?” she asked quietly. She didn’t want to keep going if he had reservations of any sort. “I know it’s the first time since . . .”

  She couldn’t finish the sentence. Truth was, she couldn’t know for certain if it was his first time since Ceci’s death or not. She only assumed because of the man he was. He wasn’t the type to have casual sex. Particularly not when he was nursing a broken heart.

  He smiled tenderly at her. “Are you asking for consent, Stephani?”

  “I guess I am.”

  “Then I’ll answer. I’m sure. I’m sure that I want to do this, and I’m sure because it’s with you, and I know I’m safe. I trust you, more than anyone in the world. I want you so much I ache with it. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  The urgency was now mixed with an emotion she found hard to define. There was a gravity now, a depth that terrified her and made her incredibly happy all at once.

  “More than you know,” she whispered, as she moved into his arms.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Raoul twisted in the sheets and realized he was alone.

  A little slip of paper was folded on the pillow where Steph had laid her head. He picked it up, unfolded it, and read the words.

  Raoul, I woke up early and thought it would be best if I went back to my room so I wasn’t seen leaving yours. Want to come over for breakfast?

  He flopped onto his back, still holding the note. She was right, but he hated that they had to sneak around. It was better than trying to keep things secret at the palace, but not much. The paparazzi popped up at any moment, as he knew all too well.

  But waking up alone . . . he wasn’t sure if he was let down or relieved. At least now he had some time to sort through his thoughts.

  In the moment, it had been incredible. Steph was beautiful, responsive, sexy as hell. There’d been a connection between them, too, that went beyond satisfying physical needs. But was it love? He wasn’t sure. He’d only ever really been in love once in his life, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever find that grand kind of passion again.

  Did he want to? He thought he did. Then why was there this hesitation every time he considered being in a public relationship?

  The bedside clock said it was nearly eight, so he got up and showered and dressed in tan trousers and a blue shirt and tie. No jacket today; yesterday had been far too hot, and he and Stephani were going to be sitting in a conference room for most of the day, working through numbers. He wanted to go back to Marazur armed not only with impressions but also hard data. But first, breakfast. He needed to see Steph, get an idea of where her head was at. Last night had showed him that he wanted to pursue something with her. But perhaps he wasn’t ready to make a relationship public. There was nothing wrong with taking it slowly, was there?

  She answered the door, already dressed in dove-gray trousers, a navy silk sleeveless top, and gray shoes. Perfect attire for his assistant, right down to the tidy bun keeping her hair scraped back from her face. She looked businesslike and capable, but a smile curved her lips, so he ignored his awkward nerves and stepped inside.

  “I’m sorry, Raoul. I’ve already eaten. Our meetings start at nine thirty, and I didn’t want to be running late or risk getting food on my outfit.” She gestured to the room service cart. “But there’s plenty. Do you want me to fix you a plate?”

  “I can fix my own,” he replied, keeping his voice easy but feeling inexplicably grumpy.

  “I’ll pour you a coffee, then,” she offered, and moved to the silver pot on the cart.

  He took a small plate and added a pastry, smoked salmon, yogurt, and fruit. When he sat at the table, she placed his coffee in front of him, then returned with a glass of orange juice. As she moved away, her hand grazed his shoulder in an intimate gesture. It should have made him feel better, but it annoyed him further.

  He looked over his shoulder. “It was strange waking up and finding you gone this morning.”


  Her cheeks colored. “I woke up early and thought about it for a good half hour before I got out of bed.” She poured another cup of coffee and added cream before coming back to the table and sitting across from him. “I just kept thinking, what if I ran into housekeeping or someone in the hall if I stayed? It’s one thing to have dinner in the restaurant, but something else entirely sneaking out of a bedroom wearing the same clothing as the night before.”

  He nodded, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed. “My head knows you’re right. It just . . . God, I don’t know.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Feels cheap?”

  He met her gaze evenly. “Never. Secretive, sure. But never cheap, Steph. There’s more between us than that.”

  She nodded, took a healthy gulp of coffee. “And we should probably talk about that, but not now. We’re due downstairs in fifteen minutes, and you need food to get through this morning’s schedule. Our lunch isn’t scheduled until nearly two.”

  She got up from the table and took her half-empty coffee cup to the cart. Then, as he hurried through the selection of grapes and berries, she stuffed files into her slim case.

  He admired her so much. As wonderful as Ceci had been, her forte had been charitable events, being the face of the monarchy, capturing the admiration of the people. It had been important and she’d been good at it. He’d loved the way she’d embraced his people and they’d embraced her in return. But Steph . . . she was smart and efficient, calm and collected in a crisis, and he knew she was the one who really kept the business interests of the Navarro family in line. Perhaps he hadn’t appreciated her enough over the years.

  He wiped his lips with his napkin and then pushed the plate aside, washed everything down with two big swallows of coffee, drank the juice, and stood.

  “I guess we should get going, then,” he said, rolling his neck.

  They went to the conference room and found the team already assembled. Meetings went late, finishing around two thirty; they grabbed a quick lunch and then went on a drive up the coast. Marco did the honors, while a guide showed them the different four and five star resorts along the stretch between their hotel and Monaco.

  Raoul remembered mentioning taking Stephani there on their flight from Marazur, but they had a full itinerary for the rest of the week. As they wandered through the grounds of a resort even grander than the one where they were staying, Raoul wondered if they might extend their visit by a day or two, and zip away for some fun.

  And so it went for two more days. A jam-packed schedule meant no time to talk during the day, and when they were finally alone at night, he couldn’t bring himself to bring up the subject of their relationship. Instead, they made the most of the stolen hours, either in his suite or hers. He did a video call with the children one evening before dinner, and when he might have had a few free hours during an afternoon, he ended up on the phone with Sofia and then Diego, leaving instructions for issues left hanging at home.

  On their second-to-last morning, Stephani remained asleep until the sun was up. He, on the other hand, had awakened several minutes before. Maybe he should have woken her, let her slip back to her room before the hotel was up and bustling. Then again, their floor was quiet. The chances of her running into anyone were slim at best.

  Besides, it was the first morning he’d awakened with her tucked in his arms, and he wasn’t sure what to do about the feelings rushing through him.

  It was different than other mornings. She was in his bed, in his embrace, in his life. Tomorrow they would fly back to Marazur, and they had to figure out what to do about their relationship.

  Despite how close he felt to her, he realized he wasn’t prepared for his personal life to be dragged through the press. Hell, last year a single picture that wasn’t even incriminating showed up in the rags and he’d had to endure website headlines like “A new mother for the prince and princess?” Or his personal favorite, “See ya, Ceci.” That had been in huge block letters in a particularly scurrilous rag out of England.

  The photo had been deliberately misleading. It had been of him and Rose in the garden on his birthday, when Rose and Diego were just finding their way to each other. It had also caused further trust issues, since Diego’s assistant had been the one to take the picture from inside the palace, and then sell it. The last thing he wanted was private pictures splashed on a tabloid. The press had a way of making the most innocent of situations appear sordid, and he had the children to consider.

  So a public relationship was out. What about personal? Did he want to bring the family into the loop?

  He thought of Diego, Rose, his father, the children . . . Ah, that stopped him up every time. They loved Stephani, but he’d seen Emilia’s face at the wedding, when Steph had recognized the pearls. She was not ready for another mother, and neither was Max. His son still had nightmares about the accident. How could Raoul truly move forward when his children still needed help?

  And that brought him back around to his original worry. The last breach had been from within his staff. As much as he wanted to trust the people inside the palace, there was always a chance that if he told the family, it would get out into the world at large.

  Goddamn his life anyway. Normal people didn’t have to deal with this stuff.

  Stephani stirred in his arms, and he looked down at her face. Her dark hair was a tangle over her shoulder, and her lashes lay on her cheeks as she slept. They twitched a little, as if she were on her way to waking. Tenderness swept through him, and a protectiveness that was unexpected cramped his chest. She deserved better. She deserved someone who could give themselves unreservedly. Someone not bound by protocol, someone who didn’t have to worry about their smallest misstep being in the papers. She deserved . . . babies, and he was thirty-seven. He’d been there and done that already.

  The cramp turned into an uneasy tumbling in his stomach. Was he really thinking of ending something this good? He thought back to the night before. They’d had a quiet dinner, then had finally taken that moonlight stroll on the beach. Everything had felt so perfect. But maybe that had been his miscalculation. This week had been a fantasy. What waited for them back in Marazur was reality.

  She stirred again. “Good morning,” she murmured, curling into his shoulder.

  His heart ached. He couldn’t make this decision now. It would have to be when they got back to Marazur, back to reality, and he could put everything into context. They had twenty-four hours to spend together, so he would put aside his misgivings and enjoy it.

  “Good morning,” he replied softly. “You didn’t make it back to your room this time.”

  She turned her head and smiled up at him sweetly. “I guess I got too comfortable. Or . . . you wore me out.”

  It would be so easy to pretend they could stay like this forever. But they couldn’t, and that little fact kept hammering at his brain. He’d thought this week was to decide if they wanted to pursue something, but it hadn’t quite worked out that way. Instead he’d realized what he was ready for . . . and what he wasn’t.

  “Raoul?” She braced up on an elbow. “What’s wrong? It’s like you’re a million miles away.”

  He tried to smile. “Not a million. Maybe just in the hundreds. We go home in the morning.”

  Her smile faded. “I know. It’s been a lovely week.” She sighed. “But, we can’t expect it to be like this forever.”

  “Real life has a way of intruding,” he agreed. “But we do have today. Our schedule’s a bit lighter, as well. What do you say to finishing up this morning, then taking a side trip? We’ll go to Monte Carlo. Try our luck at the tables. Leave work behind.”

  He was surprised when Stephani sat up in the bed, gathering the sheet around her. He thought she’d be happy about some off-the-clock time, but the pucker in her eyebrows said not so much.

  “Raoul, that would be lovely, but don’t you think we should talk about what happens next? We’ve put it off all week, and it was easier to leave it alone and enjoy o
urselves.” She put her hand on his arm. “And I have. Oh, I have. It’s been magical. But we’ve avoided talking about the big things. I don’t think we can do that any longer.”

  “We can’t leave it until tomorrow?”

  The pucker in her brows deepened. “The only reason to put it off is if you’re going to say something I don’t want to hear. And if that’s the case, I’d rather hear it now, before I . . . before we . . .”

  His stomach churned and he struggled to find the right words. “Stephani, this last week . . .” He paused, looked down, then back up again, meeting her troubled gaze. “It’s been incredible. I’ve sat in meeting rooms with you and marveled at how smart and intuitive you are. Watched you interact with people and caught myself smiling when you smile at them. I can talk to you more than anyone else I know, and being your lover . . .” He reached for her hand. “Holding you in my arms has been the most unexpected, incredible gift. Do you blame me for wanting to pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist for just a little longer?”

  Her frown had softened, but the worried expression still darkened her eyes. “It’s been amazing for me too, Raoul. I can’t begin to tell you how much.”

  He leaned over and kissed her gently, then pressed his forehead against hers. What would happen if he threw caution to the wind and just went for it? The very idea terrified him. It simply was not his way. For a week, maybe. But as a long-term strategy, it sucked.

  “I sense a ‘but’ coming,” she said quietly.

  He took a breath.

  And was interrupted by his phone ringing. The ring tone was a special one, reserved for one number only: the secure line inside the palace.

  He reached for his phone and answered.

  When he hung up again, he felt as if the strength had left his body.

  “It’s my father,” he said sharply. “He’s suffered a heart attack.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Stephani sat stiffly in the limousine that carried them from the airport to the palace. Worry for Alexander tightened her chest, and frustration with Raoul was giving her a headache. She wished he would just talk to her, tell her what he was feeling. Instead he’d closed himself off, his face locked in a grim expression she recognized.