Something tore wide open inside Damaso. Cold rage drenched him as his fists tightened.
‘Sir, really, if you come with me I’ll just—’
‘Not now.’ His voice was low, almost inaudible, but it had the quality of an animal growl. The usher jumped back and heads whipped round.
‘Damaso?’ Marisa’s eyes were wide and wondering.
She’d forgotten to remove her hand from Prince Charming’s sleeve and Damaso felt a wave of roiling fury rise up inside him.
* * *
Marisa stared up at the man blocking the aisle. Despite his formal clothes, his perfectly cut hair and clean-shaven face, there was something untamed about him.
Emotion leapt. A thrill of excitement, of pure delight that Damaso was here.
‘How did you get here?’ Cyrill wouldn’t have invited the father of her unborn child.
‘Does it matter?’ Damaso shrugged off a couple of ushers who were trying to lead him away. He looked broad and bold and impossibly dangerous, like a big jungle cat caged with a bunch of tabbies.
Silently she shook her head. No, it didn’t matter. All she cared about was the fact he was here. Her heart tilted and beat faster.
He held out his arm, palm up. ‘Come on.’
Marisa stared. ‘But the coronation! It’s due to begin in a couple of minutes.’
‘I’m not here for the coronation. I’m here for you.’
Her pulse fluttered high in her throat at the command and possessiveness in his voice. She prized her independence but his proprietorial attitude spoke to a primitive yearning within.
Behind her, women leaned close, fanning themselves.
‘Marisa?’ Alex spoke beside her. ‘Do you want me to deal with this?’
Before she could answer, Damaso stepped close, shoving aside an empty chair into the path of a uniformed man who’d reached to restrain him.
‘Marisa can speak for herself. She doesn’t need you.’ She’d never heard Damaso sound so threatening. His eyes flashed pure heat and there was violence in his expression.
‘Damaso. Please.’
‘Please what? Go away?’ Those hot eyes turned to her, scorching her skin and sending delicious chills rippling through her tummy. ‘Not a chance, querida. You don’t get rid of me so easily.’
‘It’s not a matter of getting rid—’
‘We need to talk, Marisa, now.’
‘After the ceremony.’ She gestured to the fallen chair. ‘I’m sure we could arrange for you...’
Damaso’s eyes cut to Alex and his look was downright ugly. ‘If you think I’m leaving you with him...’ He shook his head. ‘I know you don’t want to be here, Marisa. Don’t let them force you.’
Marisa frowned, trying to make sense of his attitude. Then Alex surged to his feet and so did Marisa, arm out to separate him from Damaso.
‘Stop this now,’ she hissed. ‘You’re making a scene, both of you. Everyone’s watching.’ Yet part of her revelled in Damaso’s single-mindedness.
‘Are you coming with me?’ His accent was thicker, enticing, like rich coffee laced with rum. It slid along her senses, beckoning.
‘Damaso, I don’t know what this is about but I—’
A swoop of movement caught the rest of the sentence in her throat. Next thing Marisa knew, she was in Damaso’s arms, held high against his chest. On her peripheral vision, she saw a television camera turn to focus on them. A babble of sound erupted.
‘Marisa.’ Low, urgent, Alex’s voice reached her. She turned her head and saw him just inches away, scowling, as if about to tackle Damaso. He had no idea she’d rather be in Damaso’s arms than anywhere. She groped for Alex’s hand, squeezing it quickly.
‘It’s okay, really,’ she whispered. ‘I’m fine.’ And then his hand slipped from hers as Damaso swung round, stalking through the protesting crowd to turn back up the long aisle.
Perhaps the tabloids were right—she was lost to all propriety. Rather than being outraged by Damaso’s scandalous behaviour, Marisa found herself thrilled at his masculine display of ownership. Hope rose.
He must care for her.
No man would behave so outrageously unless he cared. She was sure that was jealousy she’d seen glinting in the basilisk stare he’d given Alex.
‘You could just have phoned,’ she murmured, snuggling closer to his solid chest.
His firm stride faltered and he looked down at her. ‘Your phone was off.’ A ferocious scowl marred his brow and beneath it his eyes were shadowed by something that looked like doubt. ‘You didn’t tell me you were coming.’
Marisa frowned and lifted her hand to his face. His skin was tight and hot.
‘I thought you’d follow me if I told you.’
His nostrils flared and his jaw set as he looked away and started moving again, shouldering his way through the clustering crowd. ‘You wanted to be alone to meet the man your uncle has arranged for you to marry.’
‘You know about that?’ To her amazement, she still had the capacity to feel shock.
‘Isn’t that why you came? To get engaged to some pretty-boy aristocrat who doesn’t give a damn who you really are? Who doesn’t even care you’re carrying another man’s baby?’
Marisa heard the gasps around them but only had eyes for Damaso. What she read in his face outweighed any annoyance she might have felt for his careless words. She read pain. The sort of pain that tore at the heart and shredded pride.
She should know. She’d seen the symptoms in her own face when she’d faced a future loving a man who cared only for their baby.
How it hurt to see Damaso suffering too.
His big body hummed with tension. His jaw was set so hard she wondered how he’d ever unclench it.
‘I won’t let you do it. He’s not the man for you, Marisa.’
‘I know.’ Her voice was so soft she thought at first he hadn’t heard. Then he juddered to a halt, his head jerking round. The intensity of that midnight gaze transfixed her.
‘You know?’ His voice was muted roar. She’d never seen a man so close to the edge. Her heart clenched. Could it be true? Could the miracle she’d hoped for have happened?
‘I’m not here to choose a fiancé.’ She planted her palm on Damaso’s chest, feeling the racing rhythm of his heart. ‘I’m here because I’m a princess of Bengaria. I have a right to be at the coronation, as well as a duty. This is my country, even if I don’t plan to live here full-time.’
‘Where do you plan to live?’ His low voice was barely audible, yet the echo of it rolled across her flesh, raising shivery goose bumps.
‘Brazil looks nice.’
Marisa felt the jolt of shock hit him. His hands tightened as his head lowered to hers.
Dimly she was aware of a distant camera flash.
‘You’re not trying to leaving me then?’
She shook her head, her throat closing, as for the first time she saw right to his soul. Longing, pain and determination were there, plain for her to see.
‘You’ll marry me.’ It was a statement, not a question, but Marisa nodded.
‘Why?’
The question floored her. From the first, he’d been the one demanding marriage. Had he changed his mind? Her stomach swooped. ‘I could ask you the same thing,’ she whispered.
‘Why do I want to marry you?’
She nodded again, aware that this wasn’t the best place for this conversation. But nothing, not protocol or natural disaster, would have stopped her now. She had to know.
A slow movement started at the corner of his mouth, pulling it up in a crooked smile that grew till it carved a dimple down one cheek and broadened into a grin. It transformed Damaso’s face from hard and determined to charismatically sexy. Marisa’s heart missed a beat.
‘Because I want to spend the rest of my days with you.’ He lifted her in his arms till his words were an invisible caress on her parted lips. His dark gaze locked with hers, promising a gift far more precious than any regal entitleme
nt. ‘Because I love you.’
She blinked but still couldn’t take it in. ‘Say that again.’
This time Damaso lifted his head and when he spoke his words rang through the crowded cathedral for all to hear. ‘I love you, Marisa, with all my heart and soul. I want to be your husband, because there’s no woman in the world more perfect for me than you.’
He loved her?
Marisa felt the hot glaze of tears film her eyes as emotion welled from deep within. A sob rose, turning into a hiccup of desperate happiness. Never in her life had she felt like this.
‘Now, meu anjo, tell my why you want to marry me.’ His gaze dropped to her belly and she knew he was thinking of their child.
She shook her head. That wasn’t the reason.
‘Because I love you too, Damaso. I love you from the bottom of my heart and I couldn’t bear to be with anyone else.’
Beyond them the sophisticated crowd went wild.
‘I’ve been in love with you so long,’ she whispered, drawing him closer, her words for his ears only. ‘It feels like I’ve only come alive since I’ve been with you.’
Finally Damaso spoke, his voice uneven, his eyes glittering. ‘Do you really want to stay for the ceremony, since you came all this way?’
‘I’d rather be with you, Senhor Pires. Take me home.’
Marisa had thought his last smile potent but this one was enough to stop clocks. Two ladies-in-waiting swooned as Damaso tucked her against his heart and strode down the aisle.
* * *
‘And they accuse me of being scandalous! Your behaviour was outrageous.’
Damaso smiled at the lush, lovely woman sitting in the jet’s private lounge, sipping sparkling water.
Marisa was his. Incontrovertibly, absolutely his.
Something smacked him hard in the chest. Relief? Triumph? Joy? He didn’t give a damn what name it went by. It was the best feeling in the world. He felt like he might burst with happiness.
‘Your uncle will get over it,’ he murmured, sitting down beside her, one hand on her thigh. The whisper-thin silk of her dress was warm from her flesh, inviting further exploration.
‘I doubt it. The look on Cyrill’s face when you told him I couldn’t stay for the ceremony because I had another engagement! I thought he was going to have a seizure.’ She shook her head. ‘Upstaging him at his own coronation! Such lack of decorum.’
Marisa looked down as his hand slipped higher up her leg but did nothing to stop him. ‘At least that will have dashed any plans he had to marry me off.’
‘You wouldn’t have been happy with that pretty-boy aristocrat.’ Only he could give her what she needed, for he was the one she loved. He’d never known love. It took some getting used to.
‘Of course not.’ She leaned forward and he was momentarily distracted by a glimpse of delicious cleavage.
‘He didn’t even have the gumption to stop me.’ Satisfied, he ran his fingers lightly up to her hip, feeling her shiver under his touch.
His.
‘You mean Alex?’ Her brow puckered. ‘He’s not the man Cyrill wanted me to marry. He’s a friend.’
‘I thought you didn’t have any friends in Bengaria.’ Despite everything, jealousy stirred. Just how close a friend was this Alex?
She shrugged. ‘Okay, more Stefan’s friend than mine. I haven’t seen him for years. He’s been away. And, no.’ She paused, studying his face. ‘He’s not the man for me.’
‘But I am.’ He intended to make sure she remembered it, and rejoiced in it, every day for the rest of her life.
‘You definitely are.’ She lifted her hand to his cheek and an incredible peace descended as she feathered a touch across his skin. ‘I’m a better person with you, Damaso. I feel...proud of what I’ve done and what I’m doing. Confident about the future. You gave me the strength to face what I’d been running from.’
‘You were strong before you met me, Marisa.’ He’d never known a woman more feisty and independent.
She shook her head. ‘It was only when I saw how you’d faced your past and got on with your life that I realised I’d been a coward, letting Cyrill and the press drive me from my home. That’s why I had to go back. To prove to them, and to myself, that I’m happy with who I am. I mightn’t fit their mould but that doesn’t matter.’
‘You’re perfect just the way you are.’ His hand strayed to her abdomen and the baby bulge that had popped out in the two weeks since he’d seen her. His palm closed protectively over it. His woman. His child.
Marisa shifted, her eyes skimming away from his. She took a swift sip from her glass.
‘What is it?’ Instantly he sensed her discomfort. ‘What’s wrong?’
She lifted one shoulder. ‘Nothing. Everything’s perfect.’
Yet her smile wasn’t quite as radiant as it had been. Damaso tilted her head around till she had no choice but to meet his scrutiny. ‘Something’s bothering you. Tell me.’
One slim shoulder lifted. ‘No, really, I—’
‘Don’t, Marisa. You’ve never lied before. Your honesty is one of the qualities I admire most. Tell me the truth. If there’s anything wrong, we need to work it out together.’
Eyes of bright azure locked with his, her regard so searching it was as if she looked deep into him.
Damaso looked right back. He had no secrets from Marisa.
‘I like that you’re so eager to be a father.’ She paused, giving him time to process the doubt in her voice.
‘But...?’
A flush coloured her cheeks. ‘But...’ She bit her lip, reminding him of the early days on his island estate when she’d refused his offer of marriage. She hadn’t thought a child sufficient reason to marry.
‘But you’re afraid it’s our baby I want,’ he murmured. ‘Rather than you.’
She opened her mouth to answer but his finger on her lips forestalled her.
‘I love our child already, meu anjo, and I’ll work hard to learn to be a good father.’ He swallowed hard, knowing that would be a bigger challenge than any corporate dealings. ‘But, even if there was no child, even if there could never be a child, I would love you with my whole heart.’
Marisa’s eyes shone brilliantly as she looked up at him. He took the glass from her hand and set it down, then gathered both her hands in his. They trembled. Or perhaps it was he who shook.
‘You are my sun and stars and moon, Marisa. You’ve taught me how to care about more than a balance sheet. That it’s not my corporate empire that defines who I am. It’s who I love.’
He raised her hand and kissed it, revelling in the fresh apple and sunshine scent of her skin, knowing it would always be his favourite perfume.
‘I didn’t know I could love till until you came into my life.’
Her eyes glittered with tears but her smile was the most wonderful thing he’d ever seen.
Damaso dropped to his knees in front of her. ‘Will you be mine? We don’t need to marry if you—’
This time it was Marisa’s finger on his mouth.
‘I’ll marry you, Damaso. I want everyone to know you’re mine.’ Her smile was incandescent. Damaso felt its warmth in every cell of her body. ‘Besides, for a scandalous princess, I have a hankering for respectability, so long as it’s with you.’
‘Ah.’ Damaso rose and lifted her into his arms, turning towards the luxuriously appointed bedroom. ‘That’s a shame. I was rather hoping for a little scandalous behaviour now and then.’
Marisa reached out and with one quick tug undid his bow tie and tossed it over his shoulder. Her smile was pure seduction. ‘I’m sure that could be arranged, Senhor Pires.’
* * * * *
Read on for an extract from CHANGING CONSTANTINOU’S GAME by Jennifer Hayward.
CHAPTER ONE
AS FAR AS luck went, Manhattan-based reporter Isabel Peters had been enjoying more than her fair share of it lately. She’d managed to nab a cute little one-bedroom on the Upper East Side she could actuall
y afford, she’d won a free membership to the local gym, which might actually enable her to keep off the fifteen pounds she’d recently lost, and because she’d been in the right place at the right time, she’d landed a juicy story about the New York mayoral race that was putting her name on the map at the network.
But as she raced through the doors of Sophoros’s London offices, slapped her card down on the mahogany reception desk in front of the immaculately dressed receptionist and blurted out her request to see Leandros Constantinou, the look on the blonde’s face suggested her lucky streak might finally have run out.
“I’m afraid you’ve missed him, Ms. Peters,” the receptionist said in that perfectly accented English that never failed to make Izzie feel totally unworthy. “Mr. Constantinou is already on his way back to the States.”
Damn. The adrenaline that had been rocketing through her ever since her boss had texted her as she was about to board her flight home from Italy this morning and sent her on a wild-goose chase across London came to a screeching, sputtering halt, piling up inside her like a three-car collision. She’d done everything she could to make it here before Sophoros’s billionaire CEO left. But midday traffic hadn’t been on her side. Neither had her poky cab driver, who hadn’t seemed to recognize the urgency of her mission.
She struggled to control the frustration that was no doubt writing its way across her face, reminding herself that this woman could still be useful. “Thank you,” she murmured, wrapping her fingers around the card and sliding it back into her purse. “Would you happen to know which office he’s headed for?”
“You would have to ask his PA that,” the blonde said with a pointed look. “She’s in the New York headquarters. Would you like her number?”
“Thanks, I have it.” Izzie chewed on her bottom lip. “How long ago did he leave?”
“Hours,” the other woman drawled. “So sorry it was a wasted trip.”
Something about the gleam in the gatekeeper’s eyes made Izzie give her a second look. Was the elusive Leandros Constantinou holed up in his office avoiding her? She wouldn’t put it past him from what her boss had said about his magic disappearing acts when it came to the press, but she didn’t have time to flush him out. Her flight back to New York left in exactly three and a half hours, and she intended to be on it.
Damaso Claims His Heir Page 17
