My Forbidden Royal Fling

by Clare Connelly

  ‘Forget it,’ I say, my voice wobbling with tears. ‘Just go.’

  ‘Is that what you want?’ he demands quietly.

  I stare at him, frustration slicing me. It’s not. But what I want isn’t possible. I look around me, as if to reinforce that. I’m surrounded by ceremony. This room is one of the oldest parts of the palace. Gold wall panels meet double-height ceilings, crystal chandeliers run in a line down the centre and, at the end of the room, there’s a wall of mirrors. The floor is a shining parquetry.

  It’s a physical reminder of who I am and what I owe my country. Across the corridor is the throne room; he would have walked past it before coming in here. Two golden thrones sit side by side, as they have done for hundreds of years, awaiting occupants.

  ‘Or do you want this?’ he asks, purposefully laying the contract back down and rounding the table slowly, giving me time to realise his intention and to stop him if I wish to.

  But I don’t. Despite the impropriety and impossibility of Santiago I am stationary. Waiting, wanting, needing...

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  MY BREATH BURNS from my lungs. I stand, waiting, my whole body on alert as he draws me into his arms and kisses me in one motion. His lips press hard against mine, his tongue an invasion, a reminder of his dominance and my surrender. And yet it is also his own surrender. I feel his body’s acquiescence to mine, a reminder that there is something bigger than us, something neither can control, overpowering us both.

  I groan into his mouth, my arms lifting and wrapping around his neck, my body cleaved to his as I kiss him back harder, hungrier, whimpering with desperation.

  He takes a step forward, pinning me against the wall beside the window before lifting me, wrapping my legs around his waist so I feel the force of his arousal against my sex, and I cry out with a visceral, overpowering need.

  ‘Please, Santiago!’ I cry, not caring that we’re here in this ancient room, not caring for anything right now but coming home again—and, yes, that’s exactly what it feels like when we’re together. His response is a guttural noise echoed into my throat and then he’s pulling me from the wall, surrendering us both to the floor, his hands removing my pants as he pushes up my skirt. My own hands loosen his button and zipper, pushing down his waistband so I can feel his buttocks in the palm of my hand.

  Even then, when passion has overtaken me so that I can’t think straight, he pauses to provide protection, sheathing himself before driving his length into me so that I cry out, and would have done so longer and louder had he not kissed me, swallowing my noises, muffling my cries with his mouth as his body pleasured mine over and over; driving me to the edge of sanity and then beyond it, before dragging me back to start all over again.

  My nails run over the soft fabric of his shirt then dig into his bottom until his own body is racked with pleasure. Finally, his weight collapses on top of me, our breathing rushed, the room a silent witness to something so powerful it shakes me to the core.

  I don’t know how long we lie there—time seems to have bent beyond recognition—but he stands eventually, turning his back on me as he zips up his trousers. Belatedly, I do the same, shifting and straightening my skirt at the same time. I can’t see my panties. It takes me a second to realise he’s holding them. My heart lurches.

  It was an act of passion but it wasn’t like what we shared in Spain. I feel further from him than I did before. I have to understand why.

  ‘Have I done something to offend you?’ I ask quietly, moving to him and putting my hand on his chest. His heart thuds, rhythmically but hard.

  ‘No.’

  I close my eyes. ‘I don’t understand. How can you go from making love to me to speaking like this again? I don’t get it.’

  ‘There is something I’ve been wondering,’ he says after a beat, his tone cool.

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘Did you kiss him?’

  I frown, not understanding what—or who—he’s talking about. ‘Did you make love with him? Do you feel more for him now than you have previously?’ He speaks calmly but there are dark emotions in the depths of his eyes and my pulse fires into overdrive. ‘Do you have any idea how I have been tormented by that?’

  It’s almost conversational, and yet his words stir something deep in my soul. ‘That photograph of you and your fiancé was in every newspaper,’ he murmurs. ‘It was easy to imagine that he’d taken you to bed. And all I could think about was undoing that—coming here and making you mine again, making you beg for me, erasing any memory of him from your mind, erasing his touch from your body.’

  He pauses, allowing his words to sink in. ‘I did not mean to treat you with disrespect, Freja. I was fighting my own instincts—my base, disgusting instincts to claim you as though you are a possession rather than a woman who can make her own choices. Does that make you happier?’

  ‘Nothing about this makes me happy,’ I say quickly, urgently, honestly. ‘I didn’t sleep with you because of Heydar. I slept with you because I wanted to more than anything in the world.’

  His lips form a grim line in his face.

  ‘Are you saying this was just...about ego for you?’ I whisper, pressing a hand to my side, digging my nails into my hip.

  ‘I hate the idea of him touching you.’ He grips the back of a chair until his knuckles show white. ‘I have no right. I know that. But I have been tormented, imagining his hands on your body, your voice calling out his name...’

  I shake my head. ‘You needn’t have worried. I haven’t slept with him.’

  His skin pales beneath his tan.

  ‘I haven’t kissed him,’ I add.

  His eyes lance mine. ‘The photo...’

  ‘Just a glimpse of time. I don’t even remember what we were discussing. Nothing important.’

  He nods slowly, but if I’d expected relief on his features there is none.

  ‘You still intend to marry him?’

  My heart rips apart. God, how I wish things were different. I look around the room, trying to draw strength from my surroundings, but all I feel is weakened by them––weakened, vulnerable and resentful. ‘Yes.’

  He looks away from me, and for a second I feel as though he’s fighting some kind of battle, but when he speaks it’s with his trademark confidence. ‘When?’

  ‘Three months after my coronation.’

  He pins me with his eyes. ‘Be mine, until then.’

  A shiver runs down my spine. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means I want you. Until you’re married, I want you to be mine.’

  Nothing makes sense. I stare at him, trying to think this through, part of me elated and part of me devastated. I can’t explain why I feel either emotion, just that both are overtaking me.

  ‘It just doesn’t... I don’t see how...’ I shake my head with frustration, trying to clarify my thoughts. ‘Spain only worked because it was a secret. Here, in Marlsdoven, I’m surrounded. I can’t pick up where we left off. If someone found out and it got into the press...particularly once my engagement’s announced...’

  His body is stiff. ‘No one will find out.’

  ‘How can you be so sure.’

  He pulls a key out of his pocket, handing it to me. ‘I have an apartment in the city. You can go there any time. There’s an undercover parking garage. No one will ever see you.’

  ‘And then what?’ I ask, numb.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘One day I get married and we simply stop seeing each other?’

  Determination fires his voice. ‘I won’t sleep with another man’s wife.’

  My eyes sweep shut at his ability to speak with such clinical detachment. It’s a skill I seem to lack where this man’s concerned.

  ‘What you’re offering is very tempting.’

  He stares, waiting for me to continue. I turn away, findin
g it impossible to think with him watching me so intently.

  ‘But I can’t do it.’

  It’s as though I’ve been struck by lightning. I understand why his offer is hurting me so much, why it’s leaving me with the sense I have a hole in my heart.

  ‘Because someone might see us together?’ he responds with a dark emotion I can’t interpret.

  ‘No. Yes. Partly.’ I furrow my brow. ‘That would obviously be...less than ideal, and there’s a risk of it happening, despite the fact your apartment has a secure garage.’

  I can feel his condemnation even without turning to face him.

  ‘I know you can’t possibly understand, but the scandal would be disastrous. Particularly if it’s after my engagement has been announced.’

  I hear a puff of air, a sound of derision.

  ‘Like I said, what you’re suggesting is very tempting, and if I were free to do whatever I wanted then I’d probably agree. But I’m not free, Santiago. I’m not free and never will be.’

  ‘You are martyring yourself,’ he accuses coldly.

  ‘Martyring myself? No. I’m serving my people and their needs above my own, as I always have and always will.’

  ‘Serve them, by all means, but it’s the twenty-first century. Find a way to live your own life too.’

  ‘And what does that entail?’ I demand, turning the tables on him. ‘What are you suggesting? What life should I lead? Have an affair with you until you tire of me and move on—exposing me to ridicule and public sympathy as a jilted ex-lover of the great Santiago del Almodovár? Can you imagine what my parents would say?’

  His eyes narrow, his face taut.

  ‘And we both know you will tire of me. Because this is all you’re offering, right?’ I gesture towards the floor we just made love on. ‘Memorable but meaningless sex—secret, shameful assignations and no future?’

  ‘You are the one who’s ashamed,’ he responds quickly, then changes course. ‘Do you want a future with me?’

  My lips part, my brow clammy. I shake my head once, even when my heart is bursting with desperation to say, yes, that’s exactly what I want!

  ‘So what is the problem, then?’ he demands, eyes narrowing.

  I stare across at him, an ache in my chest widening into the worst pain I’ve ever felt.

  ‘You have said many times that you cannot be seen with me, that no one can know about this. I get it. As ridiculous as I think that is, my ego is secure enough to not care. But if you cannot be seen with me, you sure as hell cannot marry me, so don’t act as though you’re holding out for a proposal.’

  ‘I’m not,’ I whisper, even as I think maybe I am. I realise it sounds ludicrous. We’ve known each other such a short amount of time, but none of that matters, because I know him. On every level I know him, and I love him, and I want to spend my life with him. It’s an impossible fantasy.

  ‘But what if I wasn’t going to marry Heydar?’ I push with soft determination. ‘What if I was free to do what I wanted with my life? You still wouldn’t be proposing to me.’

  He drags a hand through his hair, pinning me with the intensity of his gaze. ‘I have never wanted to marry anyone.’

  I bite down on my lower lip to stop myself from reacting.

  ‘And you have to have children. There is no hypothetical to negate the importance of that. Right?’

  ‘Right.’ I clear my throat, the chasm between us widening to an insurmountable distance. ‘Which brings me back to the stupidity of continuing this. It’s just going to lead to one or both of us getting really badly hurt, okay?’

  ‘Hurt how?’

  My heart breaks at that. It shows how little he cares for me that he can’t even grasp what I’m getting at.

  ‘You sleep with a lot of women. I get it. Sex is just sex for you. It means nothing.’

  His brow creases.

  ‘But I’m...not like that. You’ll always be my first and, despite the fact that I know how transient this is, I care about you.’

  He nods slowly, as though only just starting to comprehend. ‘And you’re worried you might fall in love with me?’

  I close my eyes, the truth thick in my throat.

  ‘You won’t, Freja. You’re too smart for that.’

  I make a scoffing noise. ‘Believe me, it’s risky. I have to marry Heydar, and I can’t do that if I’m pining for you. I need a clean break, time to get over you and move on with my life. We had fun in Spain but it needs to stay there.’

  He speaks as though I haven’t spoken. ‘You’re worried about falling in love with me, but I don’t see any risk there. Not when we’re both so honest about what this is and what we want.’

  His calm argument is the breaking of all my resolve. ‘That’s just the thing, Santiago. I’m not being honest with you.’

  He frowns. I suck in a breath, steeling myself to be brave. ‘I’m already in love with you, and if I keep seeing you, sleeping with you, I’m terrified I won’t be strong enough to walk away from you. I’m terrified that I’ll love you so much I’ll turn my back on everything I have to do—and I can’t let that happen, okay? So just...stop arguing and let it go.’

  He stares at me for several seconds, surprise on his face. Whatever hope I’d cherished that he might turn round and say he loves me too dies with every second that passes.

  ‘Freja...’ My name is a groan on his lips. Sadness engulfs me.

  ‘You’re asking me to give up everything that matters to me because your ego’s been hurt by the fact I’m betrothed to another guy. I can’t turn my back on my people and palace because you’re not ready to let me go yet, because you like having sex with me.’

  He shakes his head as if to dismiss this. ‘It’s more than that. It’s a connection. There’s chemistry between us, and it’s breath-taking and urgent. That’s why I don’t want to let you go.’ My lips part; dreaded hope returns. ‘But that’s not love. It’s just great sex. If you had more experience, you’d understand that.’

  I flinch, rejecting that with every fibre of my DNA. My voice is roughened by emotion. ‘And maybe if you had a little less experience you’d be less jaded and see what’s standing right in front of you. This is more than just great chemistry.’

  He expels a heavy sigh. ‘If you feel that way, then why fight this? Why not enjoy what we share for a few more months? This is not complicated, Freja.’

  The fact he thinks so is further evidence—as though I need any—of how little he cares for me.

  ‘If I keep sleeping with you it will kill me. Already the idea of never seeing you again is like acid in my gut. The thought of marrying someone else and having them touch me, kiss me, make love to me, is anathema. Don’t you get that?’

  ‘You think I like the idea? Hell, that photo of the two of you together made me want to kill him, and I am not a violent person, Freja.’

  A burst of heat runs the length of my spine. ‘Doesn’t that tell you something?’

  ‘It tells me that I feel possessive of you, that I don’t like sharing. But none of these things is love.’ He drops his head, his forehead pressing to mine.

  ‘And that’s why we have to walk away.’ And I do just that, taking a step back, staring at him from eyes that are smarting with unshed tears.

  ‘Eventually, but not now.’

  ‘It has to be now.’ I press my hand to his chest, feeling the beating of his heart, wishing it were beating for me. ‘I won’t be strong enough later, and you’re not offering me enough. This isn’t enough...’

  ‘What do you want, then?’ he demands, his voice rising.

  ‘I want all of you!’ I roar back, forgetting where I am for a moment. I grind my teeth together. ‘I want you to love me back. I want you to want me in your bed, not just for the next few months, but for the rest of our lives. I want you to beg me not to marry Heydar. I want you
to want me like I want you.’

  His eyes flare wide, his cheeks slashed with dark colour. ‘That’s not possible.’

  ‘Why not?’

  He makes a harsh laughing sound. ‘You’re the one who told me how unsuitable I am for you, how your people would react if they got wind of our affair. Have you changed your mind?’

  I gape at him because he’s right, and I’d forgotten momentarily. ‘I’m not saying it’s straightforward, but if you loved me maybe we could find a way...’

  His eyes glint when they meet mine. I am on tenterhooks.

  ‘If you loved me,’ I whisper, ‘Anything would be possible.’

  He takes a step back, and I am reminded of all the times he pushed me away when we were in Barcelona. I gasp, because I know what’s coming even before he speaks.

  ‘I’m offering a casual relationship. An extension of what we shared in Spain, nothing more. I have no intention of asking you to do anything that would permanently change the course of your life. You’ve decided to marry him. It’s important to you, and I accept that.’

  ‘And that’s it?’ I ask quietly. ‘You really don’t care?’

  He lifts his shoulders in a casual shrug, but every molecule of him reverberates with tension. ‘I disagree with the premise of an arranged marriage...’

  I wave my hand through the air. ‘And that’s it?’ I repeat angrily.

  ‘What more do you want me to say? Do you want me to tell you I don’t love you? That I don’t love anyone? That hearing you say you love me is the absolute last thing I want?’

  I spin away from him, my heart in a thousand pieces. I don’t love you.

  ‘All this time, you’ve accused me of living my life for other people, but at least there’s a purpose to my choices. You push everyone away because you’re terrified of getting close to another soul.’

  ‘I am not afraid.’

  ‘Liar,’ I mutter. ‘You stand there and tell me you don’t love me, but I don’t think you even know how you feel. You’re clinging to a self-protective mechanism you developed decades ago, even when it’s destroying your life.’