Royal Holiday Bride

by Brenda Harlen

  It wasn’t that she refused to believe it so much as she couldn’t believe it. She knew she wasn’t his type. She wasn’t as beautiful or sexy or sophisticated as the women he usually dated, which was why she’d assumed his interest was predicated upon her title and nationality, and his belief—albeit mistaken—that she was an innocent.

  “Why are you so intent on denying what’s between us?”

  His hands stroked up her arms, his fingertips following the ridge of her collarbone, then dipping to trace the deep V of her jacket. Heat swept through her body, making her heart pound and her body yearn, making her nipples ache for the touch of his hands. A soft sigh escaped through parted lips.

  “We would be good together, Marissa. I have no doubts at all about that.”

  “I’m not going to fall into your bed,” she told him.

  “I’d be happy to carry you.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not the type of woman to be swept away by promises or passion.”

  “I don’t think you know what type of woman you really are,” he countered.

  “But I’ll bet you could show me,” she said drily.

  “I’d prefer for us to figure it out together.” His voice was as tantalizing as his hands. “I want to watch your face when I touch you, to watch the hesitation in your eyes change to awareness and desire. I want to hear your breath catch and feel your muscles quiver. I want to kiss you, long and slow and deep.”

  He was seducing her with nothing more than his words, without even touching her. And if her body had felt hot and tingly before, that was nothing compared to what she was feeling now.

  She had to moisten her lips before she could speak, but when she managed to respond, she was pleased to note that her voice was level, giving no hint of the desire churning in her veins. “You want a lot of things,” she noted. “And if you got them, I’m sure you’d be disappointed.”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t be,” he said. “And neither would you.”

  Though her experience was extremely limited, the intensity of her physical response to him warned that it wasn’t an idle promise. And she knew that if he touched her again right now, she would melt into a puddle at his feet.

  But he didn’t.

  Because Dante was afraid that if he touched her now, he wouldn’t be able to stop. And as much as he wanted her—and believed she wanted him, too—he could tell she wasn’t ready to take their relationship to the next step.

  So instead he only said, “Take a walk with me.”

  “Is that a personal request or a royal command?”

  He grinned at the pique in her tone. “Whatever will get you to say yes.”

  He led her to the stone gazebo at the top of the hill. From there, they could see the ocean. He breathed deeply, inhaling the familiar tang of salty air that he always missed when he was away from home. But beneath the scent of the ocean, he caught a hint of Marissa’s perfume, and he noticed that the breeze had caught a few more strands of her hair and tugged them free of the loose knot at the back of her head.

  He gestured for her to sit, and she lowered herself onto the edge of a bench, crossing her feet at the ankles and folding her hands in her lap. Her pale yellow skirt and boxy jacket were unappealing, but there was an inexplicable something about Marissa that drew him. And he suspected that if he ever got her out of those boring clothes, he would find the Tesorian princess wasn’t nearly as dull as she wanted everyone to believe, that the carefully cultivated image was nothing more than a facade, and that beneath the cool and prim shell beat a warm and passionate heart.

  He sat beside her and picked up the thread of their earlier conversation. “There is a powerful chemistry between us, Your Highness. An undeniable attraction that I believe could provide a solid foundation for marriage.”

  “I thought you’d given up on the idea of marrying me.”

  “A king doesn’t surrender at the first sign of opposition,” he told her.

  “I thought you were searching for a bride, not outlining a military campaign.”

  “Apparently both require careful and strategic planning in order to overcome the enemy’s opposition.”

  Her lips curved, just a little. “Am I the enemy?”

  “No,” he denied. “But you need to understand that I’m not the enemy, either. I didn’t write the law that gives your mother the authority to choose your husband, Marissa.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “And I don’t blame you for feeling trapped.”

  Which was exactly how Marissa felt.

  Trapped between the proverbial rock and hard place.

  But since her mind was churning out idioms, wasn’t it better to be trapped with the devil she knew? Maybe she didn’t know Dante Romero very well, but she at least had an idea of what he wanted from her. If she didn’t marry the king of Ardena, there was still the possibility—more likely the inevitability—that Elena would simply choose a different husband for her daughter. Maybe even the Duke of Bellemoro.

  Of course, that possibility was what had driven Marisa to take such drastic action the night of the ball. At the time, she’d been confident that she was doing the right thing. In retrospect, she had to accept that giving her virginity to a stranger rather than having it taken by the duke hadn’t been such a brilliant scheme since it meant she was no longer suitable to marry the one suitor she might not have objected to marrying.

  But the truth was that even if she decided to marry Dante—disregarding for a moment the fact that she was no longer “pure of virtue” and therefore probably unsuitable to be the king’s bride—it wouldn’t really be her choice. If it was up to Marissa, she wouldn’t be choosing to get married at this point in her life. She would wait until she’d fallen in love—and until the man she loved had fallen in love with her, too. Unfortunately, since the Princess Royal had decided to seek a husband for her daughter, Marissa’s only choice was whether to accept her mother’s decision willingly or not.

  “I’m not expecting an answer right now,” he told her. “I just want you to consider the possibilities. And while I’m not unaware of what you would be giving up if you were to leave Tesoro del Mar to make a life with me here, I’m confident that the trade-offs would make it worth your while.”

  “Such as?”

  “No longer being subjected to your mother’s arbitrary exercise of power.”

  On the surface, that sounded tempting, but she said, “Instead, I would be subjected to yours.”

  He shook his head. “Equal partners, Marissa. That’s what I’m offering you. As my wife, you would be queen, and as the queen of Ardena you would have the opportunity and freedom to pursue your own interests. You could even continue the work you were doing at PACH in the soon-to-be-expanded pediatric wing at Mercy.”

  He had to know that she would be tempted by this offer. The work she’d done at the hospital in Port Augustine had been incredibly fulfilling and rewarding.

  “And, at the end of the day,” he continued, “when you’d finished taking care of everyone else’s babies, you could come home to your own.”

  Her eyes lifted to his. “When you embark on a military campaign, you take the big guns, don’t you?”

  “The key to a successful negotiation is to know what the other party wants,” he told her.

  “What do you want?”

  “I told you—a queen for Ardena, a wife to share my life, a mother for my children.” He smiled as his gaze skimmed over her. “And the pleasure of taking the woman who is my wife and the mother of my children to bed every night.”

  She was undeniably tempted by his offer. And tempted by the tantalizing thought of making love with him. She couldn’t help but wonder what kind of lover he would be, if he could make her feel the way she’d felt when she was with Jupiter—

  She banished the thought to the back of her mind. She couldn’t think about him now, she wouldn’t let herself consider that the most incredible night of her life might have been the biggest mista
ke she’d ever made.

  “That’s a lot to consider.”

  He shifted closer to her, so that his thigh pressed against hers. “Or you could trust what’s in your heart and take a leap of faith.”

  “I trust my heart.” She rose to her feet, needing to put some distance between them. “I don’t trust your motives.”

  He followed her to the other side of the gazebo. “I’ve been completely honest about what I want.”

  She studied him for a minute. “Okay, but I want you to be honest about something else.”

  “Anything,” he said automatically.

  “Why did money intended for the hospital end up in the defense fund?”

  He wasn’t so quick to respond to that question. And when he finally did, his answer didn’t make a lot of sense to Marissa.

  “Because in 1982 there was a very real threat of invasion by a Greek drug cartel that wanted control of the underwater caves on the northern shores of the island.”

  “You would have been a child in 1982.”

  He just nodded.

  “It wasn’t your signature on the budget,” she realized. “It was your father’s.”

  He didn’t confirm or deny it. He only said, “My father had already stepped down.”

  But Marissa wasn’t fooled, and she found herself wondering what kind of man would willingly subject himself to the criticism and ridicule of his people in order to protect and preserve the reputation of his father. The answer was suddenly as clear as it was simple: a man whose love for his family was as steadfast as his loyalty to them. And she suspected that any woman lucky enough to win Dante’s heart would experience the same unwavering affection and devotion.

  She just didn’t know if that woman could ever be her.

  Chapter Ten

  Marissa didn’t believe that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, but she did believe that the way to a benefactor’s wallet was. In her experience, the rich were always more generous after they’d been well fed, and one of the first things she’d done when she met with the catering company in charge of the meal for the Dinner, Dance and Auction was to reconfigure the menu. If this event was to garner special attention, she argued, it needed to offer something a little more special than the typical rubber-chicken plate.

  The caterers grumbled about clients wanting changes made at the eleventh hour, and insisted that her “special” menu would require “special” payment. Marissa slapped down a quote from a competitor, which outlined exactly what she wanted for the meal at a cost commensurate with what the committee had agreed to pay for the original.

  But she understood that successful negotiations required give-and-take on both sides, and while she refused to pay anything more than the contract price, she did offer to include the revised menu in the auction program, with the catering company’s logo and contact information. The benefit was obvious: impress the guests with the meal, and the referral business from the high-end clientele was potentially unlimited.

  So the guests who attended the event in the Grand Ballroom of the Castalia Hotel in downtown Saint Georgios were presented with baskets of artisan breads instead of dinner rolls, served tomato and bocconcini salad rather than mixed greens, and offered their choice of succulent Chateaubriand with roasted red potatoes and glazed baby carrots or grilled sea bass with wild rice and peppers and mushrooms.

  Throughout the meal, diners were encouraged to browse the auction tables and make an offer on favorite items, and Marissa was pleased to note that the bidding had become quite competitive even before dessert—a delectable walnut-date torte—was served. And by nine o’clock, she was certain that the Third Annual Dinner, Dance and Auction to benefit Mercy Medical Center was going to be an unqualified success.

  If she’d been nervous about anything aside from the revenues generated by the event, it was the seating plan. She was attending the auction as the king’s guest, and she knew that a lot of eyes would be focused on their table throughout the evening. Thankfully, all of Dante’s family was in attendance, as well, and since Van had invited a fellow professor from the university and Francesca was accompanied by her on-again, off-again boyfriend of the past three years, their table of ten was filled with people she could trust not to spend the entire meal staring at her and Dante.

  Away from the table, it was a different story, of course. But Marissa was prepared for that, and since she understood that this curiosity had probably sold a lot of tickets to the event, she tried to be gracious.

  About halfway through the meal, Dr. Nikolas Stamos, chairman of the board of directors of Mercy Foundation, took the podium to welcome everyone and thank them for their generous and ongoing support of the hospital and its programs. Then he spoke briefly about the history of the facility, touched on recent advances in medical science and outlined plans for the future of Mercy. He was passionate and eloquent but, most importantly, he was concise.

  He’d been a little disgruntled when Marissa nixed his suggestion of a PowerPoint presentation outlining the projected costs of the expansion. But whereas she’d strong-armed the caterer, she’d sweet-talked the chairman, gently pointing out that people who had paid to walk through the door should have an opportunity to enjoy their meal without the weight of moral obligation or social responsibility being forced upon them.

  The chairman had been skeptical, but in the end, he’d deferred to her expertise. And when Dr. Stamos had taken his seat again, Marissa and Dante began to work the room.

  This was Marissa’s specialty. She tended to steer away from crowds, but she was good with people in more intimate situations. And she was content to circulate here, taking the time to speak with anyone who wanted a word, happily discussing what she knew about the proposed hospital expansion and politely deflecting inquiries about her relationship with the king.

  Dante stayed close by and proved willing to respond to whatever subjects were directed his way. He was knowledgeable and articulate, and he had a knack for connecting with people. He was charming and sincere. When he asked a question of someone else, he actually listened to the response. And when a question was asked of him, he considered his reply rather than reciting a stock answer.

  He was the king—ruling wasn’t just his responsibility, but his birthright. He didn’t need the approval of anyone in this room, but she realized that he wanted to at least earn their respect. He was showing them that he was accessible, willing to listen to their concerns in order to better respond to them. And Marissa was forced to acknowledge that she’d made a mistake in assuming that the new king wasn’t anything more than his reputation.

  She wasn’t in the habit of making premature judgments about other people. As a princess, she was often subjected to stereotyping, and she should have known better than to accept the king as a particular “type.” Just as she wasn’t as sweet and docile and empty-headed as many believed a princess should be, she should have recognized that Dante wasn’t one-dimensional.

  Of course, he’d done nothing to contradict the media’s image of him. From the moment they’d met, he’d flirted with and teased her relentlessly. But now she knew that the carefree playboy image he’d so carefully cultivated was just an image—the sexy charmer was undoubtedly an aspect of his personality, but it wasn’t the complete definition of the man.

  By the time they’d finished their circuit of the room, the band had started to play and several couples were on the dance floor. She glanced back at the table, looking for Dante’s parents, and noted that the seats they’d occupied at dinner were empty.

  “You’re looking for someone,” Dante guessed.

  “Your dad,” she said. “I promised him a dance.”

  “My parents decided to have an early night.”

  “Oh,” she said, genuinely disappointed.

  “Of course, I’d be happy to take his place,” Dante said to her.

  Her brows lifted. “Haven’t you already done that?”

  “I meant as your dance partner,” he clarif
ied, offering his hand.

  She hesitated.

  “Didn’t the instructors at your finishing school teach you that it’s impolite to decline a gentleman’s request to dance?”

  “They did,” she acknowledged. “I just figured there was enough talk going around about our relationship without giving the crowd more reason to speculate.”

  “They’re speculating already,” he warned. “Wondering why Princess Marissa is refusing the king’s gallant invitation. Doesn’t she know that he’s considered quite the catch—that women around the world are vying for the opportunity to be his queen, and that half of the women in this country would give almost anything for the opportunity to be held in his arms?”

  “That would be the half that haven’t already been in his arms?” she guessed, even as she placed her hand in his.

  “Ouch.”

  But he was smiling as he led her into the waltz, and while Marissa had some reservations about agreeing to this dance, she couldn’t fault his style. He executed the steps smoothly, so that they moved in sync with the other couples. And as they spun around the dance floor, she couldn’t hold back the images that spun through her mind.

  Images of the Mythos Ball and the man she knew only as Jupiter.

  Maybe it wasn’t surprising that the memories would be triggered by this dance. After all, she hadn’t danced with anyone else since she’d danced with Jupiter that night.

  Not that Dante reminded her of Jupiter in any specific way. The king was taller than the god—or maybe it was just that the shoes she was wearing tonight didn’t add a full four inches to her own height. And the king’s chest wasn’t as broad. Of course, he wasn’t wearing a breastplate, either. But there was one real and disturbing similarity, and that was the quivering excitement that originated low in her belly and slowly spread through her body.

  Lust.

  She recognized it now for what it was and saw no reason to romanticize the feeling. The king was an undoubtedly handsome and charismatic man and she was hardly the first woman to have lustful feelings for him. But she was likely the first who had made any effort to resist them.