My Forbidden Royal Fling

by Clare Connelly

  He presses a finger to my lips then steps back, separating from me with apparent ease. He is not flustered. He is not breathing as though he’s just run a marathon. He looks at me with a steadiness I envy.

  ‘This is business. You have concerns about the development? So come and see what I do. Come and experience my casino and hotel. Eat at my world-class restaurants. See for yourself what I am proposing to build here.’

  I bite down on my lip, because his suggestion actually makes a lot of sense. But it would involve being in Spain with Santiago and that kiss definitely complicates things.

  ‘I—have to think about it,’ I say, not quite meeting his eyes.

  ‘Then think.’ He shrugs his shoulders with nonchalant ease. ‘And let me know.’ He paces towards one of the occasional tables, withdraws his wallet and leaves a card on the surface before striding towards the door. I stare at him, frowning. Is that it?

  I don’t want him to leave. I want...

  But what I want is impossible. Or at least highly inadvisable. I need him to go so that I can start to think straight.

  I hold my breath, waiting for him to turn and say something to me, to reassure me, placate me or even to walk back and kiss me all over again, but Santiago is done. He draws the door inwards and leaves the room without a backward glance.

  My heart is thumping so hard I genuinely worry it could crack my ribs into tiny shards of bone.

  * * *

  ‘And? How did it go?’

  I look at Claudia with a furrowed brow. Where to begin?

  Claudia is my senior advisor. I’ve known her since I was a teenager. She’s ten years older than me almost to the day, which as a teenager made her seem quite grown-up, but as I’ve reached my mid-twenties I think of her almost as my contemporary.

  Though our life experiences are quite dramatically different. Whereas I am sheltered and, I freely admit, naïve, Claudia is worldly and sophisticated. She takes two months’ holiday every year and goes back-packing all over the world, far off the beaten track. She is fearless and courageous, determined to see every pocket of the earth. A month ago she got back from Nepal and her stories of hikes and cuisine have been feathering my soul ever since.

  ‘It was fine.’ I reach for a glass of water, taking a long sip, my throat burning at the lie.

  ‘Oh? I’m surprised.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he’s renowned for being difficult. I would have thought you’d butt heads a bit, particularly given your reservations.’

  I look at her for several seconds and then sigh. ‘We did butt heads.’ Unconsciously, I lift my fingertips to my lips and, despite the fact he left the palace hours ago, they tingle at my touch. My body feels half-electric. I don’t know when or how I’ll ever feel normal again.

  ‘And yet you resolved it?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  Claudia frowns. ‘I thought the contracts were to be signed today?’

  ‘No.’ I toy with my fingers. Am I letting my people down by stalling? The boost to our economy from this project would be tremendous, not to mention the flow-on effects for the tourism industry. The whole riverbank precinct would be revitalised by this development.

  It’s just not the kind of revitalisation I want.

  I understand the economic benefits of his development, but whenever I think of my parents I shudder. This would be an enormous betrayal of their memories, and the promise I made myself right after they died. My mother used to tell me there was no blueprint for being a crown princess, but she’s wrong. I have a blueprint—my parents’ actions—and I want to adhere to it. But turning away Santiago when his development shows such promise for our economy? Guilt and indecision gnaw at my gut.

  ‘So when?’

  I lift my shoulders, then turn to Claudia.

  ‘What are you not telling me?’

  Too much. Yet, although I have a habit of being completely honest with Claudia, I clam up now. What happened between Santiago and me is something I need to make sense of in my own time and in my own way. I can’t discuss it.

  ‘I might have spoken too frankly with him,’ I say quietly. ‘I was quite forceful in my objections.’

  ‘To the project?’

  Heat marks my cheeks.

  ‘Oh, Your Highness...’ She shakes her head, her green eyes sparkling. ‘Don’t tell me you called the incredibly wealthy Spanish tycoon some unkind names?’

  I grimace.

  ‘I can imagine his ego wouldn’t have liked that. Particularly when he’s used to women tripping over themselves to fall at his feet.’

  I grab onto that, my breath uneven. ‘Do you think he’s really such a...?’ I search for the right word.

  ‘Oh, yes. A total man-whore,’ she supplies with an impish grin. ‘I think he’s every bit as bad as the press says, and then some. Trust me, I’ve known men like him before.’ She wiggles her brows. ‘And, while they’re fun to spend time with, you definitely can’t trust them as far as you might wish to throw them.’

  I am not a jealous person but, illogically, I feel the blade of that emotion cutting through me.

  ‘I don’t think he’s ever had a relationship that’s lasted longer than one night. Probably more than one hour.’ She winks, no idea how those words are tightening something in my chest. It’s so stupid of me to feel like this. All those romance novels have predisposed me to ideas that make no sense. Besides, in less than a year’s time my own engagement will be announced—to the man my parents dearly wanted me to marry. Never mind that I’ve met him only a handful of times and feel nothing for him whatsoever. That doesn’t change the fact I have no business fantasising about Santiago, or being jealous of his sleazy flings.

  Except...the way he kissed me is all I can think of. I don’t care that he goes through women faster than most men do underwear. I liked the way it felt to be kissed, the way it felt to be touched, the way it felt to be spoken to as an equal.

  My eyes flare wide as I realise that’s a huge part of this. Santiago didn’t revere me, he didn’t ‘ma’am’ me. He ignored all the conventions and spoke to me like any other person, and I loved that.

  ‘He wants me to go to Spain to see his casino in Barcelona.’ I ponder, the idea having more weight with me than I’d allowed him to see.

  ‘It’s not a terrible idea,’ Claudia responds.

  ‘Really? I’d have thought you’d object.’

  ‘Oh, to anyone else I’d say that if you’ve seen one casino you’ve seen them all. But you’ve never been inside a casino before—’

  ‘With good reason,’ I mutter.

  ‘I know you hate the very idea.’ She’s sympathetic. ‘But I don’t think this is a fight you really want to pick; it’s definitely not a fight you’ll win. So why not go and see his hotel and try to talk yourself into feeling good about it all?’

  Except it’s not the casino that’s playing on my mind so much as the way it felt to be kissed by Santiago. In a matter of months, my engagement will be announced, my marriage will take place only a few months after that and then the rest of my life will be lived according to the blueprint my parents set out. I’ve never questioned that fate but, for the first time in my life, I have an insatiable hunger to experience something outside of what’s expected of me.

  My days are always scheduled. Everything in my life is planned. Right down to who I’ll spend my time with. What if this is the last chance I’ll ever get to do something spontaneous and ‘normal’?

  The idea is seductive, almost as seductive as the thought of seeing Santiago again away from all this—the palace that reminds me at every turn of my parents and their legacy.

  ‘I don’t think it would create the right image,’ I point out, almost hoping she’ll contradict me and save me from myself.

  ‘So don’t let anyone know.’

  I roll my ey
es. ‘Yeah, right. I’ll just slip through the airport security unnoticed. Me, my luggage and four security agents.’

  She laughs. ‘The agents don’t have to sit with you. As for being recognised...’ She stalks to my wardrobe and returns a moment later, carrying a baseball cap. ‘Try the time-honoured tradition of dressing in disguise.’

  * * *

  In order to keep the visit low-key, Claudia arranges everything. She alone deals with my diary secretary, booking the flights and accommodation, ensuring my schedule simply states ‘personal trip’.

  I wait until everything’s locked in before I draw Santiago’s card from where I stashed it on my bedside table, dialling his numbers with fingers that aren’t quite steady. As the phone begins to dial, my stomach swoops, so I pace to the window and stare out at the banks of the river, reminding myself this is business. At least, that he doesn’t know this will be a last-ditch and first ever taste of freedom for me. That the idea of escaping from my life for a few days holds an immeasurable appeal. It’s nothing to do with him, really, so much as him being the first man to flirt with me so brazenly, the first man to kiss me with such obvious hunger.

  As soon as he answers, his voice rolls through my body like sensual heat and honey. My knees tremble.

  ‘Del Almodovár.’ His voice is gruff, accent-spiced.

  ‘Santiago.’ I clear my throat. ‘It’s Freja Henriksen. From Marlsdoven.’ I cringe at my own awkwardness.

  A beat passes and then there’s the sound of a door closing. ‘Your Highness.’ His surprise is evident. ‘How are you?’

  My heart turns over at the question—a normal, polite, civil enquiry.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  A woman’s voice interrupts in the background of the call. I cannot make out what she’s saying—t’s too fast, her Spanish fluent, whereas mine is only passable—but I hear enough. It’s a woman, it’s late at night and I can only guess what I’ve interrupted. My heart goes into overdrive, my stomach in knots.

  Claudia’s appraisal of his bedroom antics plays in my mind. I’d be a fool to forget—even for a moment—what he’s all about.

  ‘Perhaps I should call back at a more appropriate time?’

  I wince at my icy tone and can just imagine his smirk in response.

  ‘Why is this not an appropriate time?’

  Of course he’d call me out on this instead of just letting it slide. I expel a sigh. ‘It doesn’t matter. This won’t take long.’

  ‘Go on.’

  My heart thumps. ‘I’ve decided to take you up on your offer.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘To clarify, which offer?’

  I frown. ‘To come and see your casino in Barcelona?’

  A beat passes.

  ‘You do remember suggesting that?’ I prompt.

  ‘Oh, yes, Princess. But there was another offer we discussed that afternoon, if memory serves.’

  Heat spirals through me, and indignation too. Of all the cheek! He really is as bad as Claudia said. To proposition me while he’s with another woman! ‘I don’t remember that,’ I respond with saccharine sweetness. ‘But, rest assured, seeing your casino is all I’m interested in.’

  His laugh is soft. ‘We’ll see.’

  Warning bells chime.

  ‘I’ll have the presidential suite made available.’

  ‘That’s not necessary. My aide’s arranged everything. Oh, And Mr del Almodovár?’ I intentionally use his surname, wanting to undo any expectation he might have that this trip is about more than the casino. ‘My visit is to be of a secret nature. I don’t intend to tip anyone off that I’m coming and I’d appreciate it if you’d do the same.’

  ‘You’re so ashamed to be seen in one of my casinos?’

  ‘In any casino,’ I correct, wondering why I’m being so rude to him. After all, any other business contact would warrant a modicum of respect, yet with Santiago I’m deliberately baiting him.

  And enjoying it.

  And do you like being argued with?

  ‘Fine. I’ll ensure your privacy is respected. A car will meet you at the airport.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary.’

  ‘When do you arrive?’

  For a moment I contemplate not telling him, but that would be somewhat churlish. ‘I’ll have my assistant email some details. But don’t worry about freeing your schedule. I won’t need much of your time. After all, I’m coming to see the casino and not you.’

  Another laugh, deep, short and throaty. ‘I get the picture, Your Highness.’

  My insides roll with unmistakable desire. I know he’s doing it to mock me but the way he keeps using my title is making my pulse go nuts.

  ‘It’s just—not something I want to advertise to my—’

  ‘Your people, I know.’

  Something tightens inside me. He could never understand what it’s like to live like this. The expectations and speculation, the constant fishbowl nature of my life.

  ‘I’ll see you later, then,’ I say, but don’t hang up.

  And, interestingly, neither does he.

  ‘Santiago?’

  Oh, great. Now what am I going to say?

  ‘Sí?’

  Who are you with? The words tingle on the tip of my tongue but I force myself to swallow them away. His social life has nothing to do with me. The kiss we shared was a mistake, an aberration, something I won’t allow to happen again. I can’t let it happen again. There are so many reasons for this man to be off limits to me. Not least because I genuinely, chemistry aside, can’t stand him!

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll see you soon.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IN THE END, I’m able to wangle a trip with only two security agents, and they keep a distance from me, so that as the plane lands in Barcelona and I walk down the steps, sunglasses and baseball cap in place, I feel anonymous and free. So free.

  It’s a warm afternoon and a light breeze lifts off the runway. I smile spontaneously, looking around before being swallowed by the milling passengers all bee-lining for the terminal. I join the crowd, happy to be absorbed by them, thrilled to have been unrecognised so far. The terminal building is air-conditioned. I flash my passport—with a brief moment of discomfort as the customs worker clearly identifies me and bows, but fortunately no one else seems to register his strange response.

  Once through customs, I follow the signs to the baggage hall, taking in every detail of this pedestrian travel experience. Compared to the usual fanfare of my trips, this is low key and low stress. The noises that swirl around me are new—conversation and play, children running, adults scolding. There is none of the muted, carefully managed interaction I generally experience.

  I want to remember every single detail!

  In the baggage hall, I frown, not sure how to find my suitcase, but one of my agents approaches. He’s also dressed casually, to blend in, and I can’t help but grin at the sight of him in jeans and a T-shirt rather than the customary suit.

  ‘This way, Your Highness.’

  ‘Remember, Alex, I’m just Freja for the duration of this trip.’

  He lifts a brow in silent scepticism then gestures with his hand. I walk alongside him but freeze. Standing at the carousel and sticking out like a sore thumb is Santiago del Almodovár.

  I stop walking so abruptly that one of the children who’d been playing around bumps into my legs. I ruffle the child’s hair apologetically then keep walking, my pulse in my throat, my mind in overdrive.

  Santiago was not dressed particularly formally the first time we met, but now far less so, in faded black jeans and a grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the hem untucked. He wears a baseball cap and a pair of aviator sunglasses. With his forearms exposed, I notice th
at he has tattoos. A snake on one arm spirals around and around towards his wrist, where its head appears to be biting the base of his thumb. The other bears a sentence in cursive script. I can’t make out any detail from this distance.

  ‘Would you mind getting my bag, Lars?’

  ‘Of course, madam.’

  ‘Madam’ is a compromise I can live with. I stalk towards Santiago, my stomach doing loop-the-loops.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  He lifts off his aviator glasses. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

  My heart thumps.

  ‘I came to get you.’ He pulls off his hat. ‘I even brought a disguise but I can see you’ve got that covered.’

  I stare at the hat, then him, consternation zipping through me.

  ‘You came to get me?’

  Great. I’ll just parrot everything he says. That won’t make me seem like an idiot at all.

  ‘We’re a six-star hotel, remember? All service.’

  ‘I’m not... But...’

  He lifts a finger to my lips and I’m instantly reminded of the way he kissed me at the palace. Possessively, with ease, as though he had every right. But he doesn’t. I’m not one of his one-night stands.

  I jerk my face away then step backward. ‘Don’t.’

  His eyes glint like onyx in his handsome face.

  ‘I have agents here.’

  ‘And what? You’re threatening to set them on me if I touch you?’ he drawls and, despite everything, I laugh, shaking my head.

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘I know what you meant.’ He leans closer and lowers his voice. ‘You’re fine to kiss me in a room where it’s just the two of us, but not for anyone else to know you find someone like me attractive. Right?’

  ‘I didn’t have you pegged as the insecure type,’ I respond, his accuracy felling me.

  ‘Not insecure. Amused. I cannot imagine living my life with so much concern for what others thought of me.’

  ‘Obviously,’ I respond tautly.

  ‘Your bag?’

  ‘My agent has it.’

  ‘And does he also have the address of the hotel?’