His Thirty-Day Fiancée

by Catherine Mann

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “Yes?”

  Or perhaps she meant Yes!

  “Is something wrong? You seem upset.”

  How had this gone from his concerns to hers? Was he avoiding the subject because he didn’t trust her? She decided to follow his lead for now and circle back around to discussing Enrique later.

  “I’m just worried about Jennifer.” She stared back at the fire. “And what will happen if the press decides to write something about her. I have to admit, it’s more complicated than I expected, being on the other side of the camera lens.”

  His angular face hardened with determination. “No one will get past my security people to your sister. I promise.”

  If only it could be that simple. Nothing was simple about the achy longing inside her. “You and I both know I can’t count on your protection long-term.”

  “After you publish those wedding photos, you’ll be able to afford to hire your own security team.”

  No wonder he didn’t trust her. She’d been chasing him down for photos from the start with no thought to the implications for his family. And now her family, as well. She was responsible for putting Jennifer in the crosshairs. Her emotions raw, Kate shivered.

  His arms slid around her. “Do you need a robe?”

  The cedar scent of his aftershave wrapped around her as temptingly as his hold.

  “Is the shirt that ugly?” She looked back at him, attempting to make light, tough to do when she wanted to bury her face in his neck and inhale, taste, take.

  “You look beautiful in whatever you wear.” He eyed her with the same onyx heat she’d seen during their elevator make-out moment. “I was only worried you might be cold.”

  “I’m, uh, plenty warm, right now, thank you.”

  His eyes flamed hotter. The barely banked craving spread throughout her. She couldn’t hold back the flood of desire and she swayed toward him. Duarte’s arms banded around her in a flash, hauling her toward him.

  She met him halfway. Her arms looped around his neck, she opened her mouth and herself to him, to this moment. She couldn’t remember when she’d been so attracted to someone so fast, but then nothing about this situation with Duarte qualified as normal.

  The warm sweep of his tongue searched her mouth as he engaged her senses. He gathered up her hair in his hands, his fingers combing, massaging, seducing. She pressed closer, his pants against her bare legs a tempting abrasion that left her aching for closer contact. She stroked her bare foot upward, just under the pants hem along his ankle. Hunger gnawed at her insides.

  Without breaking contact, he yanked at his loose tux tie and tossed it aside, leaving no doubts where they were headed. Her life was such a mess on so many levels, she couldn’t bring herself to say no to this, to taking a few hours of stolen pleasure.

  Her fingers crawled down the fastenings, sending studs and cuff links showering onto the floor like her hairpins in the elevator. She tore at his shirt. Finesse gave way to frenzy in her need to verify her memories of him undressing that first night. He took his hands from her long enough to flick aside the starched white cotton in a white flag of mutual surrender.

  She peeled off his undershirt, bunching warm cotton in her hands and revealing his hard muscled chest. The chandelier hanging from a ceiling medallion cast a mellow glow over his chest. He didn’t need special photographer’s lighting to make his bronzed body look good.

  Duarte was a honed, toned man.

  Kate swayed into him. Her stolen glance when he’d undressed had let loose butterflies in her stomach. Being able to look her fill fast-tracked those butterflies through her veins.

  And his body called to her touch as much as it lured her eyes.

  Entranced, she tapped down his chest in a rainfall path. Every light contact with the swirls of dark hair electrified the pads of her fingers. Pausing, she traced the small oval birthmark above his navel, an almost imperceptible darkening. Seeing it, learning the nuances of him, deepened the intimacy.

  Her fingers fell to his pants.

  Duarte covered her hands with his, stopping her for the moment. “We can stop this, if you wish. I don’t want any question about why we’re together if we take this the rest of the way. This has nothing to do with your job or my family.”

  Pulling her face back, she stared into his eyes. “No threat of charging me with breaking and entering?”

  Even as she jokingly asked him, she knew in her heart he never would have pursued that angle. If he’d wanted to go that route, he would have done so at the start. Somehow, this attraction between them had caught him unaware, too.

  He winced. “I want to sleep with you, no mistake about it.” The hard length of him pressing against her stomach proved that quite well. “Now that it appears you’re in agreement, I need to be sure you’re here of your own free will. You have enough information and pictures to set yourself up for life. There’s the door.”

  She could walk now. He was right. Except her life would never return to normal, not after the past few days. Leaving now versus in the morning or three weeks from now wouldn’t make any difference for Jennifer.

  But having tonight with Duarte felt like everything to Kate. “I’m a little underdressed to leave, don’t you think?”

  His hot gaze tracked over her, cataloguing every exposed inch and rousing a fiery response in its wake.

  Bringing their clasped hands up between them, he kissed her wrists. “I’m serious, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “It’s tough to miss.” She met and held his intense eyes. “Although in case you didn’t know it, I’m serious, too.”

  “When did you figure out I was never going to turn over that tape to anyone?”

  “A few minutes ago.” Hearing Harold’s threat against Jennifer, Kate realized what real evil sounded like. Duarte was tough, but he wasn’t malicious. If he’d wanted to prosecute her, he would have done so up-front from the start.

  She kissed him once, hard, before pulling back. “No more talking about anything outside the two of us in this suite. I need to be with you tonight, just you and me together in a way that has nothing to do with your last name or any contacts I may have. This is completely private.”

  “Then there’s only one last thing to settle.” His hands stroked down her sides until he cupped her hips. “Your bed or mine?”

  She considered the question for a second before deciding. “I don’t want to engage some power play. Let’s meet here, on somewhat neutral ground.”

  Aside from the fact that they were in his hotel, the symbolism of not choosing one bed over the other still worked for her. She waited for his verdict.

  “I’m good with that.” He burrowed his hands under her T-shirt, whipping it up and off until she wore nothing but the champagne-colored satin strapless bra and matching panties.

  The yellow diamond and filigree gold earrings teased her shoulders.

  Like the sweep of Duarte’s appreciative gaze. And for some wonderful reason, this hot-as-hell prince was every bit as turned on looking at her as she was looking at him.

  She reached, half believing she’d fallen asleep back in her room and was dreaming. Beyond that, what if she’d somehow imagined the magnetic shimmer while kissing him in the elevator?

  Her fingers connected with his chest and—crackle. A tingle radiated up her arm. This was real. He was real. And tonight was theirs.

  This time when she reached for the fastening on his pants, he didn’t stop her. His opening zipper echoed in the room along with the pop, pop of sparks in the fireplace. He toed off his shoes and socks as she caressed his pants down.

  His hands made fast work of her bra and panties. “And now we’re both wearing nothing.”

  He guided her toward him and pressed bare flesh to flesh. They tumbled back onto the sofa in a tangle of arms and legs. She nipped along his strong jaw, the brocade rough against her back, his touch gentle along her sides then away.

  Following his hand, she saw h
im reach into the end table and come back with a condom. Thank goodness at least one of them was thinking clearly enough to take care of birth control. A momentary flash of fear swept through her at how much he affected her.

  Then all thoughts scattered.

  The thick pressure of him between her legs, poised and ready, almost sent her over the edge then and there. Her breath hitched as she worked to regain control. He thrust deep and full, holding while she adjusted to the newness of him, of them linked. She arched into the sensation, taking him farther inside her. Fingernails sinking deep half moons into his shoulders, she held on to the moment, held back release.

  He kept his weight off her with one hand on the back of the couch, the other tucked under her. She rolled her hips under his and he took the cue, resuming the dance they’d started earlier, first in the ballroom, then in the elevator and now taking it to the ultimate level they’d both been craving.

  Cedar and musk scented the air, and she buried her face deeper into his shoulder to breathe in the erotic blend. He kissed, nipped and laved his way up to her earlobe, his late-day beard rasping against her jaw. Her every nerve tingled with the memory of that first night in Martha’s Vineyard when he’d stroked up her neck. She should have known then she wouldn’t hold out long against the temptation to experience all of him.

  Control shaky, she wrapped her legs around his waist and writhed harder, faster. Her knee bumped against the back of the sofa, unsettling their balance. She flung out her arms, desperate to hold on to to him, hold on to the moment.

  “I’ve got you,” he growled in her ear as they rolled from the brocade couch.

  He twisted so his back hit the floor, cushioning her fall. He caught her gasp of surprise and thrust inside her. Her hair streamed over him as she straddled his hips, rug bristly under her knees. He cupped her bottom, guiding her until she recaptured their rhythm.

  Were his hands shaking ever so slightly? She looked closer and saw tendons straining in his neck with restraint.

  She braced herself, palms against his chest. Delicious tremors rippled up her arms as his muscles twitched and flexed with her caresses. His hands slid around and over her again. He cradled her breasts, teasing and plucking her to tightened peaks that pulled the tension tighter throughout.

  Her head lolled and her spine bowed forward. Each thrust of his hips sent her hair teasing along her back. In a distant part of her mind, she heard his husky words detailing all the times he’d watched and wanted her. She tried to answer, truly did, but her answer came out in half-formed phrases until she gave up talking and just moved.

  He traced her ribs, working his way down to her waist, over her stomach. Lower. He slid two fingers between them, slickening her taut bundle of aching nerves. She doubted she needed the help to finish, but enjoyed his talented touch all the same.

  Carefully, precisely, he circled his thumb with the perfect pressure, taking her so close then easing back, only to nudge her closer.

  She gasped out and didn’t care how loud. She simply rode the pulsations rocking through her. He gripped her hips again, his hold firmer as he thrust a final time. His completion echoed with hers, sending a second round of lights sparking behind her eyelids and cascading around her until she went limp in the aftermath.

  Sagging on top of him, she sealed their sweat-slicked bodies skin to skin. His hands stroked over her hair, his chest pumping beneath hers. She should move and she would, as soon as her arms and legs worked again.

  She gazed at him in the half light, her eyes taking in the strong features of his noble lineage. God, even here in his arms she couldn’t escape reminders of his heritage, his wealth. She was in so far over her head.

  Being with him was different in a way she feared she could never recapture again. Would the rest of her life be spent as a second-best shadow?

  And if he made this much of an impact in less than a week, how much more would he change her life if she dared spend the rest of the month with him?

  Eight

  Yellow moon sinking out of sight, Duarte cradled a sleeping Kate to his chest and carried her to his room. They hadn’t spoken after their impulsive tangle. Instead, they’d simply moved closer to the fire for a slower, more thorough exploration. Afterward, she had dozed off in his arms.

  Her legs dangled as he carried her. The simple yarn-and-bead-braided string stayed around her ankle. He’d asked her once why she never took it off. She’d told him Jennifer made it as a good luck charm. He didn’t consider himself the sentimental type, but he couldn’t help but be moved. That she wore the gift even when her sister wouldn’t have known otherwise revealed more about her than anything she’d said or done since they’d been together.

  Elbowing back the covers, he settled her on the carved four-poster bed and pulled the thick comforter over her. He eyed the door. He should check his messages and make plans for a morning flight out to see his father, but his feet stayed put.

  The allure of watching Kate sleep was too strong. He sat on the edge of the bed, his bed. Her hair splayed over the plump pillow, and his hands curved at the memory of silky strands sliding between his fingers.

  He’d gotten what he wanted. They’d slept together. He should be celebrating and moving on. Except from the moment he’d been buried inside her, he’d known. Just once with Kate wouldn’t be enough.

  Already, he throbbed to have her again. The image of her bold and uninhibited over him replayed in his brain. He could watch her all night long.

  Why hadn’t he told her about going to the island when she’d walked in the room? The truth itched up his spine. After their impulsive kiss in the elevator, he’d sensed they were close to acting on the attraction. But he’d needed her to want him as much as he wanted her. He’d offered her a free pass to walk with all her photos and held back telling her about his imminent trip to see his father.

  Now he knew. There was no mistaking her response. And instead of making things easier, his thoughts became more convoluted.

  Kate rolled to her back, arm flung out in groggy abandon. Her lashes fluttered and she stared up at him, her eyes still purple-blue with foggy passion. “What time is it?”

  “Just after four in the morning.”

  “Any further word about your father?” She sat up, sheet clutched to her chest her hair tumbling down her shoulders.

  “Nothing new.” He swallowed hard at the thought of a world without his father’s imposing presence. Time to invite her into a private corner of his life ahead of schedule. “But I’m putting the rest of the trip around the U.S. on hold to see my father first…just in case.”

  “That’s a good idea.” She squeezed his knee lightly. “You don’t want to have regrets from waiting.”

  Resisting the urge to touch her proved impossible. He stroked a silken lock from her shoulder and lingered. As much as he wanted her here, he had to know. “My offer for you to take your pictures and walk away free and clear still stands.”

  Her hand slid from his knee, her eyes wary. “Are you telling me to go?”

  Exhaling hard, he gripped her shoulders. “Hell, no. I want you right where you are. But you need to know that when we leave for the island, your life will be changed forever. Becoming a part of the Medina circle alters the way people treat you, even after you walk away, and not always in a good way.”

  Sheet still clutched to her chest, she studied him before answering. “I have one question.”

  His gut clenched. Could he really follow through on letting her go while the scent of her still clung to his skin? “Okay, then. That would be?”

  “What time do we leave?”

  Relief slammed through him so hard he wondered again how this woman could have crawled under his skin so deeply in such a short time. Not that he intended to turn her away. In fact, he even had an idea of how to make her life at the island easier. “We’ll go in the morning, once the ice storm has cleared.”

  Jet engines whispering softly through the sky, Kate snuggled closer to D
uarte’s chest. Their clothes were scattered about the sleeping cabin in the back of the airplane.

  Ten minutes after takeoff, she’d snapped photos of him, thinking the well-equipped aircraft with both a bedroom and an office would provide an interesting window into the Medina world. But she’d found her photographer’s eye less engaged with his surroundings. Instead she’d increasingly closed in on his face as if she could capture the essence of him just by looking. Too soon, seeing him through the lens hadn’t been enough and they’d reached for each other simultaneously, leaving their seats for the private bedroom. Yes, she was using sex to avoid thinking, and she suspected Duarte was, as well.

  Tension rippled through his lean muscled body, and she could certainly empathize. Life had been spiraling out of control for her since they’d met.

  And now they were winging to some unknown island. Shades covered all the windows so she didn’t know if they were traveling over land or water. Duarte had told her the clothes appropriate for the “warmer climate” would be waiting.

  What a mess she’d made of things. How was she supposed to report on a man she’d slept with? Should she have taken his offer to walk away?

  Her fingers curled around his bare hip, his body now so intimately familiar to her. How much longer could she avoid weightier issues?

  Duarte sketched the furrows in her brow. “What’s bothering you?”

  “Nothing,” she said. She wasn’t ready to let him know how being with him rocked her focus. Better to distract him. “I’ve never made love in a plane before.”

  “Neither have I.” His fingers trailed from her brow to tap her nose. “You look surprised.”

  “Because I am.” She expected this man had done all sorts of things she couldn’t imagine. “I would have thought during all those three-month relationships, you would have joined the mile-high club at some point.”