by Virna DePaul
She smiled, pretty white teeth gleaming in the light. “Exactly. Because you already get enough attention as it is, so maybe it’s good to bring it down a notch every so often.”
Whoa, she definitely had a feisty side to her, but even that was cloaked in sweetness. Besides, what did she know about getting attention? Was there more to her, after all? Maybe that dude really was her bodyguard.
“Maybe you’re right.”
“I know I’m right.” She smiled.
He couldn’t help himself and put his hand on her knee, leaning closer, feeling the warmth emanating from her body, hearing the slight catch of breath from her lips. Again she responded with surprised innocence. Did she not realize how beautiful she was or that he wanted her? Kyle had been with plenty of beautiful women, but they’d always been well aware of their looks and had used them to their advantage. Bella, though, had no idea how she affected him. She probably had no idea how she affected any man around her either.
At the thought of another man touching her, his gut clenched. Part of him—a primitive part—had somehow already claimed her as his. Mine to touch, mine to kiss, his caveman brain chanted.
Slow down, dude. You just met her, the other, more logical part, admonished.
Still, he went on with his usual charming talk, “But why shouldn’t I have a big head? I’m handsome and famous. The best combination, right?” Maybe he was doing it to test her, to see just how different she could be.
Bella laughed. “You’re very certain of yourself, Kyle, but fame can be lonely. You’re never alone, but sometimes you can be within a sea of people and feel so lonely, your heart breaks.” Her tone was wistful. Was she speculating? Or did she know the pitfalls of fame from experience? She looked back at him. “Do you know what I mean?”
Yes, perfectly, he thought.
Kyle had enjoyed his fame and fortune, but with it had come bitter lessons too. He had to be careful who to trust, who to talk to, who to date. He couldn’t reveal too much about himself or his family without worrying that someone would use it against him in the press. He had to be careful that any woman he slept with wouldn’t get angry when he broke things off—and he always broke things off. Last thing he needed was some chick granting the media a tell-all interview as sweet revenge.
He pushed away the raw emotions her words had exposed—he couldn’t think about being lonely right now. “Are you saying you’re lonely, Duchess? Because I can take care of that, you know.” He squeezed her leg, caressing the taut muscle of her thigh.
She didn’t move away from his touch. It was like she was testing him too but had also felt the depths of what loneliness could do. “Oh, you can? How would you propose doing so?” She leaned back against the sofa, her small breasts rising and falling with each sigh.
He raked her with his gaze, watching as a pretty blush rose into her cheeks. With that accent straight out of Windsor Castle, she should’ve sat on the couch like a queen, her back stiff straight, but instead, she relaxed, as though convincing herself this was just a game and she should have a good time, because life was too short.
Such perfectly manicured nails. Not a hair out of place. Despite that sexy-as-fuck tank top and shorts, she somehow managed to wear them with an elegance Kyle had never witnessed before.
He pressed his thumb into her thigh with small circular motions. “Let’s see…I’d start by telling you how happy I am that you came to me…”
“And then?” She watched him with careful eyes.
“And then, I’d lean in…” He leaned toward her, breathing in her scent. “And tell you how fucking beautiful you are…”
“Such language,” she said with a wry grin, not displeased in the slightest.
“I haven’t even gotten started, Duchess.” He leaned against the sofa back, turning to her, touching her hair. She closed her eyes, letting out a small sigh. “And then, I’d make you tremble. I’d stroke your luscious body, that tight ass, these legs, until you begged me to take you.”
Bella was breathing a little faster now, exactly where he wanted her. Her blush had spread across her chest. She smelled like sweet things should smell—like jasmine and honey—and he so wanted to taste her right this minute. He wanted to bottle up her scent and take it with him everywhere he went.
“Mr. Young, do you always speak to women you’ve just met in this way?” she questioned, her voice breathy, husky. Her emerald eyes gazed at him through sexy slits.
“Only to women who blow my mind, I assure you.”
“And I blow your mind? But you don’t even know me.”
“I think I know you, Duchess. You’re uptight, but you’re trying to change that. You’re new at this, but you’ve experienced it in your mind on lonely nights more than a few times. How’m I doing so far?”
She clucked her tongue. That sexy tongue. “Perceptive.”
“You must be someone special, because you have a guard following you around, someone who you must’ve intoxicated with those cheap beers, or else he’d be right outside the door…” He whispered in her ear and watched the skin of her arms turn to goose flesh. “Miss Bella, do you think I ask women to meet me alone if I’m not interested in them?”
“I suppose not,” she said. “But you Americans can be so odd at times. Sometimes I’m unsure.” She shifted, and his hand moved from her knee to her calf. Such impossibly smooth skin, the skin of a healthy woman who also had the means to take care of herself.
He laughed softly against her neck. “Like what, Duchess?”
“Like Americans wear shoes inside their homes. In Salasia, that would be considered extremely impolite.”
“Well, we think it’s weird that Europeans eat pizza with a fork and knife.”
“That’s not weird, that’s civilized.”
“What else you got?”
“Your movies—so much violence, but nudity is seen as going too far. In Salasia, we don’t fear nudity.”
He moved back an inch to look at her face and waggled his eyebrows at her. “I like what I’m hearing. Are you saying we should go ahead and strip down right now? Because I’m willing to try the European way. Go, Europe! Europe rocks.”
She laughed and slapped his arm, all the while doing that biting on the lip thing again. So. Fucking. Sexy. “No, that’s not what I meant.”
“Damn. Too bad.” When she laughed again, he took it as a sign and pulled her legs closer so that they rested on his lap. She seemed to relish the fun of it and didn’t retreat in any way. “So, how’s my anti-loneliness plan so far?”
“Pretty good, I must say. Better than your ball playing.” She giggled inwardly.
“Hey!” He dug his fingers into her perfectly trim waist and pinched her lightly. A girl with good comeback game—love it. “Now, I know you’re messing with me. So, tell me, how does a good Salasian girl like you get into American football?”
She sighed, happy to have a moment to breathe from the onslaught of charm he was laying on her. “When I was a young girl, I happened to watch a game on television. I’d never seen anything like it.” Her eyes widened, as excitement laced her voice. “All these men tackling each other like savages.” She laughed. “Fans screaming. People cheering. Don’t get me wrong, Europeans love their football—soccer, I mean—but this was nothing like I’d ever seen. The men were more brusque.” She glanced at him sideways. “Bigger. Brawnier. I had to know more.”
“I see.” Kyle reached out and stroked her upper arm, inching his hand up slowly toward her neck where he slipped it behind her neck. He loved her reaction, as she quivered. For a moment, he could see her nipples peeking through her thin tank top, and he hardened even more.
God, this girl, talking football, pupils dilated and breasts heaving, her body begging him to take her. The perfect storm—paradise.
A phone sounded—not his—and Bella jumped. “Goodness, that scared me.” Once she collected herself slightly, she pulled her cell phone out of her tight jean shorts’ pocket and glanced at it. S
he groaned. “Oh, I have to go.”
Kyle couldn’t help but feel disappointed. He’d at least wanted to kiss her, taste those ruby red lips. But she hopped up and began straightening herself out. Kyle took her hand and spun her back to face him. “Wait. Not yet. I want a parting gift before you go, Duchess.”
Her gaze dropped from his eyes to his mouth, and he saw the slightest bit of tongue through her parted lips. Her breasts rose and fell with her breathing. “Like?” she asked in a low voice.
Kyle traced the blush of color spreading from her cheekbones down to her neck. “A kiss.”
She looked down while she thought about it, then, as if taking action before changing her mind, murmured, “Yes, all right.”
He didn’t wait for her to change her mind. Pulling her in, he wrapped an arm around her waist and cupped her cheek with his right hand, feeling her warm breath across his lips. Her soft breasts pressed against his lower chest.
He leaned down to kiss her.
He’d lost count of how many women he’d kissed long ago, so many he couldn’t remember most of their faces. They were all blurred together like some modern painting. Kisses were just the gateway to sex, and sex was just another equally blurry painting in his mind.
But this kiss was different. He didn’t know how. He didn’t know why. But the moment his lips touched hers, it was like he transported to another place, another land. She tasted sweet and luscious, and her lips were pillow soft. His thumb stroked her cheek, and if it hadn’t been for that stupid phone of hers, he would’ve been perfectly happy kissing her all evening. Even if kissing had been all she was willing to give.
Bella must’ve turned the ringer off, because he didn’t hear it anymore. Instead, she laced her arms around his neck and pushed into his body for more. Because she seemed so inexperienced, he tried something other than the usual make-out. He kept his mouth closed, gave her sweet kisses to drive her crazy, and apparently, it worked. Her lips parted and played with his, and he could feel her need growing. Right where he wanted her.
Hopefully, that would ignite her, make her crave him the way he craved her. A low moan escaped her throat, and he felt her hard nipples pushing against his chest. What he wouldn’t give to push her up against a wall and fuck her right then, but he wouldn’t. Bella needed something else entirely different from other women.
“Open for me,” he commanded her.
She opened her mouth for him, and he thrust his tongue inside, mimicking how he’d like to thrust inside her body. Bella moaned through the kiss, and excitement pooled in his groin, his cock so hard it was almost painful. Instinctively, his hand moved from her waist to her ass, and he pressed her body up against his erection. At first, she startled, but after a moment, she began pushing up against him, like a cat wanting to be stroked.
“God, Bella,” he murmured against her mouth. “I want you so bad.”
He kissed her so hard, he might’ve bruised her lips, but she didn’t stop him, even when the phone in her hand vibrated against his back. He didn’t care if she left this room looking like she’d been kissed for hours. He wanted her to remember him. He wanted her to touch her lips and have the memory of him flood her mind.
He wanted her to come looking for him.
But on the next phone call, Kyle stopped kissing her reluctantly. He pulled back and congratulated himself on being strong enough to do so, considering how desperately he wanted to take her right there on the couch.
“I have to go,” she whispered.
“When will I see you again?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Can you at least tell me where you’re staying?”
She rocked back on her heels and bit her lip again. “I…I can’t do that, Kyle.”
“Then maybe you can come to our after party?” he asked. “It’s at a dive bar called Chez Charlie’s in the Bronx. Nobody bothers us there. Nobody would bother you either,” he said, gambling, in case she was famous and he just didn’t recognize her. “The owner doesn’t give a shit if you’re famous or not, and neither do the patrons.”
Bella sighed, as though caught between two worlds—what was expected of her and what she wanted. God, he hoped she said yes. Kyle had never wanted to see another woman again as much as he wanted to see Bella. To touch her, kiss her, hear her speak in that accent again. This wasn’t even about getting her in bed. How had this ride gone from 0 to 60 so quickly?
“Sounds like a great time. But I’m not sure…” She fiddled with her ponytail. He’d disheveled her, and now hairs were pulled out of place.
He smiled, happy he’d knocked her off balance. “Come on, Duchess. You can’t leave me like this. And you don’t want to stay like this either. Right?” He cocked his head and peered into her face.
With that sly smile, she was most definitely the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. He swore that to be true. “I have to go,” she said, letting his hand go gently before turning and walking toward the door.
Damn. That did not go as he’d hoped.
Usually, things went his way. Come to think of it—always, things went his way.
It was only long after she’d closed the door and he’d stood there thinking about what had just happened that Kyle realized something. Not only had he not gotten her last name, but he hadn’t gotten her number, either. In this city of eight million people, all he knew was that the most gorgeous, smart, and witty woman he’d met in a while was named Bella.
She’ll find me, he thought.
And if I promise anything, it’s that we’ll finish what we started.
Chapter Three
Arabella stared at the blinking light of the hotel phone, signaling messages she needed to answer. She sighed. A princess never had a day off—even a princess who’d kissed a football star and couldn’t stop thinking about him afterward.
Unwillingly, she’d returned to the Plaza Hotel on the southeast corner of Central Park after Royce had found her. Drunk and irritable that she’d run off, he’d dragged her back to their limo, lecturing about the importance of safety and how a young woman was vulnerable in such a big city, and etc, etc, etc. She’d hardly heard a word. She’d been too busy thinking about Kyle—his touch, his kiss, his laugh—and nothing Royce could say would break that spell.
Now it was late, and the buildings surrounding the vast greenness of Central Park began lighting up in the twilight. Sitting at the window of her Legacy Suite, Arabella ignored the phone and pile of handwritten messages from the coffee table. Normally, her secretary, Bates, would hover over her shoulder, assisting her with everything, but one of her requests regarding this trip to America had been that she’d go alone. Or rather, with only Royce to bother—eh, assist her. No assistants, no maids, no hairdressers, no secretaries. No mothers, no brothers. Her family—especially Mother—had protested, but Arabella could be as stubborn as the best of them.
She stood, stretching and yawning. What to do next? She supposed she could go out for a walk through the park or head to the nearest New York City eatery. Night was falling quickly. It was 8:00 PM, and she tried remembering what Kyle had said about the after party. What time would it start? Probably not until 10:00 or 11:00, she guessed. Excitement bubbled up inside of her at the thought of seeing him again, but how would she manage it? Aside from taking the bust of Carnegie off the coffee table and smacking Royce across the head with it?
How could she get out of his grasp?
Assuming she could even get to the Bronx, wherever that was in relation to Manhattan, what would she allow Kyle to do to her? What was she ready for? Another kiss? Or would she allow him the whole thing, to take her to bed? Assuming she would ever find him again, that is.
She shivered at the thought, and a dopey grin settled on her face.
Suddenly, thinking about sleeping with Kyle, Arabella felt like dancing around the room. Would he be gentle or hard and fast, like his passes? She giggled, deciding right then and there that, not only would she set
out to try and find him tonight, but she’d seduce him as well. What did she have to lose? She’d probably never see him again, and she wanted at least one night of passion to remember.
A night with Kyle Young. Quarterback Kyle Young. Just earlier today, she’d seen him pacing the sidelines and never thought for a moment she’d be sitting here tonight contemplating having sex with him.
Looking in the mirror, she hardly recognized the young woman who stared back. Who was this daring, sensual person? This woman who planned to have a fling with a man she barely knew? And not just any man, but KYLE YOUNG from the Savannah Bootleggers, for Christ’s sake! She laughed so loudly that Royce poked his head from inside the kitchen.
“Your Highness? Everything alright?”
“Just fine, Royce. Sorry.”
“Dinner is served.” His voice echoed through the living room, instantly dampening her excitement. Royce was her only obstacle. Now that he’d sobered up, he was pacing the suite like a panther—a very nosy panther.
Wandering into the dining room, she spotted the table filled with more food than one person could ever begin to eat. Delicately grilled salmon, mussels and clams with garlic sauce, the finest white wine this hotel probably had to offer, and a variety of desserts. A server stood off the side, waiting for her to be seated.
She nodded at him politely. “We can take care of ourselves tonight, thank you.”
The man raised an eyebrow, looked at Royce, then bowed, departing without a word.
Royce sat across from her. Normally, he’d eat on his own, but she’d insisted he eat with her, mostly so she wouldn’t be alone. Now, she wished she hadn’t. She couldn’t very well get him drunk again. Arabella swirled her wine, thinking of a hundred ways to lose one’s bodyguard.
They ate in silence. Royce was still too annoyed at her for getting away from him, and she wasn’t about to explain why. It wasn’t his business. Actually, it was his business, but that wasn’t her fault. She needed a private life, and Mother had to understand that at some point.
