Royal Holiday Bride

by Brenda Harlen

  “Dante…”

  “Yes?”

  “Get out!”

  Marissa sank onto the edge of the mattress when he was gone, her heart pounding, her knees weak. She might have succeeded in banishing Dante from her room, but cooling the heat in her veins proved to be a much more challenging task.

  With a groan of purely sexual frustration, she yanked the T-shirt over her head, shoved her arms in the sleeves of the sweater and slapped the ball cap on top of her head.

  She didn’t feel any better when she was done, but at least she was dressed.

  He hadn’t made a move toward her. He’d just stood in the doorway, more than three feet away. But she’d felt the hunger in his gaze as it raked over her—as tangible as a caress. All it had taken was a look, and everything inside of her had trembled. With awareness. Desire. Need.

  It made her wonder what might have happened if he’d actually touched her—just the lightest touch of his fingertips on her skin. Or kissed her—the barest brush of his mouth against hers. No doubt her body would have gone up in flames.

  And no way would she be alone on this big, soft bed right now.

  Chapter Eleven

  Marissa laughed when she saw the beat-up old Volkswagen parked in the underground garage. “We’re going out in that?”

  “This was my very first car,” Dante told her. “And the only one in the garage guaranteed to attract no attention from the paparazzi.”

  “I can’t imagine why.”

  “But as further insurance that we won’t be followed, Thomas just drove through the front gates, headed toward the art gallery. It’s a popular tourist destination and the type of cultural experience a visiting princess would certainly enjoy.”

  “I take it we’re not going to the art gallery.”

  “No, we’re not,” he confirmed.

  But he didn’t tell her where they were going.

  It was only because she was watching the scenery outside of the window and noticed the recurring signs that she realized he was taking her to Messini National Park.

  When she decided to make the trip to Ardena, she’d done some research on the country and had been fascinated by the descriptions of the rocky terrain and the abundance of flora and fauna that existed there.

  “We are going to commune with nature,” he finally said as he pulled into a completely empty parking lot.

  “Hiking the gorge,” she guessed. She glanced down at the tennis shoes on her feet with some trepidation.

  “It’s more of a walk than a hike,” he told her, seeming to anticipate her concern. “Other than the first half a kilometer, which is steep, the rest is relatively flat and fairly easy to navigate, so your footwear should be fine.”

  “How long is this walk?” she wondered.

  “It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours, to go through and back again. Maybe less, since we shouldn’t have any crowds to contend with.”

  “I thought I read that this was a popular sightseeing destination. Did you issue some kind of royal decree to get rid of all the tourists?”

  “I wish that was an option,” he said. “But the truth is, it’s only ever really busy during the height of tourist season—between early June and late September,” he told her. “Which is why I’ve always preferred to come early in the spring or late in the fall. Not just to avoid the crowds of visitors scaring away the wildlife, but because the temperature is more moderate.”

  He opened the hatchback and pulled out a backpack. “Water, power bars, blanket, flashlight, first-aid kit,” he explained. “Just in case.”

  There was only one other vehicle near the start of the trail, so Marissa figured it was a safe bet that they had eluded the paparazzi and let herself relax and enjoy the fresh air and stunning view. He was right about the beginning of the trail—it was steep and comprised mostly of loose rocks, causing her to almost lose her footing once or twice. The first time, Dante grabbed her elbow to steady her. After the second time, he took her hand. And even when the trail leveled out, he kept hold of it.

  Their conversation was mostly casual and sporadic, and Marissa found she genuinely enjoyed just being with him, walking along and holding his hand. After an hour, they were almost at the end of the gorge, so Dante suggested they pause to catch their breath. He shrugged the backpack off of his shoulder and took out two bottles of water, passing one to her.

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s incredible,” she said, and meant it.

  He smiled. “I thought you would like it out here.”

  “I didn’t realize you would,” she admitted. “You don’t strike me as the outdoorsy type.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because you look really good in a suit.”

  He grinned. “You think so?”

  “As if you haven’t been told that a thousand times before,” she remarked drily.

  “But never by you.”

  “I didn’t figure your ego needed the stroking.” A glimpse of movement caught the corner of her eye and her breath stalled.

  “Maybe not my ego,” he was saying, “but—”

  She reached out and grabbed his arm.

  “That’s not actually the body part I was thinking about, either.”

  She glared at him and dropped her voice to a whisper. “What is that?”

  He followed the direction of her finger, smiling when he saw what she was pointing at. “A wild goat.”

  Her hand dropped from his arm. “Those horns are huge.”

  “You can tell his age by the number of knobs that run up the length of the horn,” he explained. “If you want to get close enough.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  He chuckled. “It’s not likely he’d let you get that close, anyway.”

  Marissa kept her eyes on the goat—partly because she was fascinated by it but mostly to ensure it maintained a safe distance—until it scampered away.

  “This is one of the greatest perks of my job,” he said to her.

  “Wild goats?”

  “Being the boss,” he amended. “And being able to sneak out early on a Friday afternoon to spend a few hours in the company of a beautiful woman.”

  Though her cheeks warmed with pleasure at the compliment, she knew it was a line he’d probably spoken to a lot of women before her. “Well, you are the expert on women.”

  He gave her a reproachful look as he reached for her hand again. “How are we ever going to make plans for our future if you keep throwing the past in my face?”

  “Is it the past?”

  “Absolutely,” he assured her. “The citizens of Ardena might tolerate a playboy prince but they would never approve of a philandering king.”

  “But if that king is seen in the company of the ‘Prim Princess,’ it would go a long way toward restoring his approval rating, wouldn’t it?”

  “I’ve never understood that nickname,” he said. “Now that I’ve seen your underwear, I understand it even less. And I find it curious that a woman whose wardrobe is so deliberately bland would favor lingerie that is anything but.”

  “If you must know, I’m usually a white-cotton kind of girl,” she said, her cheeks a bit flushed. “But that set was on sale the last time I was in London.”

  “I think you’re lying.”

  “Fifty percent off,” she said.

  “I meant about the white cotton.”

  Maybe she was lying, but it was a little unnerving that he could read her so easily. She blew out a frustrated breath. “Could we forget about my underwear for five minutes?”

  He grinned. “Absolutely not.”

  She used her free hand to smack him in the chest.

  “Assaulting the king is a capital offense,” he warned.

  “Ardena doesn’t have capital punishment.”

  “I could change that.”

  “But you wouldn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because you have too much respect for your people to wield
your power arbitrarily.”

  “That’s quite the vote of confidence from someone who’s only known me a few weeks.”

  “You’re right,” she acknowledged. “But I haven’t seen any evidence that would contradict it.”

  “I threatened to fire the chef this morning because he gave me turkey bacon instead of regular bacon with my eggs.”

  “It’s not really a threat if the person on the receiving end knows there’s no possibility of follow-through.”

  “Why are you so sure that I wouldn’t fire him?”

  “Because he’s been cooking your eggs since the days when you ate them soft-boiled with toasted soldiers.”

  He scowled. “How do you know this stuff?”

  She smiled. “I talk to people.”

  “You mean you use your charm to wheedle secrets out of people.”

  “I hardly think your breakfast menu is a matter of national security.”

  “Maybe not,” he allowed. “But do you draw a line in your questioning? Is anything off-limits?”

  “For now, that will remain my secret.”

  “Do you have many secrets, Your Highness?”

  “Not many,” she denied. “Although there is something… I don’t know if it’s really a secret so much as something you should know.”

  “What’s that?”

  She stopped and turned so that she was facing him. She worried that it might be a mistake to tell him the truth, but knew it was a bigger mistake not to. She couldn’t continue with this charade, allowing the king to think they might have a future together. So she blurted out. “I’m not a virgin.”

  He seemed to mull over her statement for a minute, then he nodded and resumed walking. “Neither am I.”

  She fell into step beside him again. “I can’t say I’m absolutely shocked by that revelation.”

  “Did you think I would be shocked by yours?”

  “I thought you probably had certain expectations.”

  “Because a king is expected to marry a woman of noble birth and pure virtue?”

  She nodded.

  “Expectations have changed since that law was written in the eighteenth century,” he told her.

  “It really doesn’t matter to you?”

  “It would be hypocritical of me if it did,” he said. “Although I do have one question.”

  She looked up at him.

  “Why are we having this conversation here and now?”

  “I figured the middle of the gorge was a safer venue than in my bedroom when I was only half-dressed.”

  His eyes darkened; his lips curved. “Good point. Because if I’d known then what I know now, we might not have left the palace.”

  She didn’t doubt that was a distinct possibility, and part of the reason that she’d felt compelled to make her confession. Because as much as she wanted to experience making love with Dante, she was also terrified of that experience. He’d been with a lot of women, women undoubtedly much more knowledgeable and skilled in the bedroom than she, and if and when they did take that next step, she wanted to ensure that his expectations weren’t too high.

  “I’m not a virgin,” she said again. “But I don’t have a lot of sexual experience, and—”

  “I don’t need to hear about your past lovers.”

  “Lover—singular.” She felt her cheeks flush as she made the confession. “There’s only been one.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Because when we make love, you won’t think about anyone but me, and you won’t remember anyone’s touch but mine.”

  His tone was filled with arrogance, his eyes dark with promise, and Marissa wanted him to prove those words more than she’d ever wanted anything. But as much as her body yearned, her heart was wary.

  When she’d been with Jupiter, she hadn’t known enough about what to expect to worry. She hadn’t realized that sharing herself with a man could be such an incredible experience. She certainly hadn’t expected to feel a real and deep connection when their bodies were joined together. Or a profound sense of loss when she slipped away from his room. He’d been a stranger to her, a man whose face she hadn’t seen and whose name she didn’t know, and still, in the few hours that they’d been together, he’d somehow managed to steal a little piece of her heart.

  She knew Dante, not just the kind of man he was but the type of king he wanted to be. Over the past few weeks, she’d talked with him and laughed with him. She’d listened to his hopes and dreams and ambitions, and she’d shared her own with him in turn. She’d watched him with his parents and siblings, noting the obvious affection and close bond the family shared. She’d seen him in front of the cameras, smiling easily and charming the crowd as he cut ceremonial ribbons or shook hands with visiting diplomats. And she’d seen him when the cameras were gone, with a furrow between his brows because being a king wasn’t just about photo ops but hard decisions and tough choices.

  During that time, she’d realized one undeniable truth: she didn’t just like him, she was starting to fall in love with him. And she was very much afraid that she wouldn’t be able to make love with him without falling the rest of the way.

  As they made their way back through the gorge, Dante couldn’t stop thinking about Marissa’s revelation.

  Her words had surprised him, partly due to the unexpected timing and bluntness of their delivery, but he wouldn’t have said he was shocked by her confession. Although the Princess Royal had been confident that Marissa was “still innocent,” he hadn’t honestly expected that she was untouched. After all, she was twenty-eight years old and, regardless of the efforts she made to hide it, a beautiful woman.

  But the Princess Royal’s statement hadn’t been inaccurate. Because while Marissa might not be a virgin, she was still, in many ways, an innocent. And it was his awareness of that innocence—conscious or not—that had held his growing desire for her in check over the past few weeks.

  The first time he’d kissed her, he’d sensed the initial hesitation in her response. He’d admittedly moved in fast and realized that she might prefer to take things at a slightly slower pace. Unfortunately, patience wasn’t one of his virtues. When he saw something he wanted, he tended to go after it—and maybe he’d been surprised to realize that he wanted Marissa, but the desire he felt when he was with her was undeniable.

  With her mouth moving so softly and sweetly beneath his, that desire had quickly escalated. He’d deepened the kiss and she’d responded, and the flavor of her passion had shot through his veins like a drug.

  When he’d finally ended the kiss, he’d seen the reflection of his own wants and needs in the depths of those golden eyes. But hovering beyind the edges of her arousal were hints of something that suggested she was just a little bit afraid.

  So he’d ordered himself to take a step back, to give her the time he sensed she needed, to let her set the pace. He’d deliberately kept his touch casual, his flirtation light. And he’d refused to give in to the urge to kiss her again.

  But right now, he really wanted to kiss her again.

  Thankfully, they were now navigating the steeper part of the trail, and that forced him to focus on something other than his desire for the princess.

  “Thank you,” she said as they approached the parking lot. “For breaking me out of the palace for a few hours.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he assured her.

  “I just hope you don’t feel it’s your obligation to keep me entertained while I’m here.”

  He wanted to ask how much longer she planned to stay in Ardena, but he was afraid that if he did, she might get the impression he was anxious for her to go. And nothing could be further from the truth. Instead, he responded teasingly, “Actually, today was about you entertaining me.”

  “In that case, you’re welcome,” she said.

  “And tomorrow, you get to entertain the whole family.”

  She halted in midstep. “What does that mean?”

  He put his hand on the small of her
back, nudging her forward. “It means that my mother has some big meet-the-family dinner planned for tomorrow night.”

  “I’ve met your family,” she reminded him.

  “You met my parents and my siblings. Tomorrow night you’ll meet everyone else.”

  “Who is ‘everyone else’?” she wanted to know.

  “My grandmothers from both sides, my father’s sisters and their husbands and children, my mother’s brother, his wife and their daughter.”

  “Why do I need to meet all of these people?”

  “Because you are Princess Marissa of Tesoro del Mar and as soon as they learned you were visiting, they insisted upon an invitation to the palace to meet you.”

  “What did you tell them about our relationship?” she asked warily, following him back to the car.

  “I didn’t tell them anything,” he assured her. “But I can’t vouch for anything my mother may or may not have said.”

  “I knew coming to Ardena was a bad idea.”

  “It’s dinner with my family, not a press conference.”

  “I’d rather face a crowd of rabid reporters than a table filled with aunts and uncles and cousins assessing my suitability as a potential royal bride.”

  “You could put an end to a lot of their questions by letting me put a ring on your finger.” He tossed the pack into the back, closed it again.

  “I thought you’d given up on that.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Well, it wasn’t really anything you said or did,” she said as he came around to open the passenger door for her. “More like all the things you didn’t say or do.”

  “Such as not kissing you?”

  “That’s one,” she admitted, a hint of pique in her tone.

  If only she knew how difficult it had been to keep his distance from her. To resist the urge to kiss her and do all the other things he wanted to do.

  “And not leaning close—” he shifted so that his body was angled toward her “—so that I could breathe in your scent when I’m talking to you?”

  “I didn’t actually think of that one.” Her voice was a little softer now, huskier.