Royal Holiday Bride Read online

  She didn’t think his use of the word desires was either inadvertent or inappropriate. She had very specific plans for this night, and while she didn’t think they were particularly grand, she was determined to see them through.

  “You don’t honestly expect me to confess my grandest desires to a stranger on the dance floor, do you?” she challenged.

  “But I’m not a stranger,” he pointed out, leading her away from the crowd as the song ended. “I’m your mythological mate.”

  He plucked two glasses of champagne from the tray of a waiter and passed one to her.

  She murmured her thanks and lifted the glass to her lips to soothe her suddenly parched throat. It was easy to flirt with him on the dance floor when they were surrounded by other dancers. But now, even though there were probably five hundred people in the ballroom, she felt as if they were alone. And the nerves tying knots in her stomach were equal parts anticipation and apprehension.

  She had barely finished half of her champagne when she was approached by a Minotaur. Ballroom protocol dictated that an invitation not be refused, so she let him lead her back to the dance floor. After the Minotaur, she danced with Apollo, then with a senator. Each time she made her way around the dance floor past the table where she’d left Jupiter, she saw him watching her.

  She felt like the belle of the ball and she had a wonderful time dancing and chatting with all of them, more comfortable in her anonymity than she’d ever been as Princess Marissa. But all the while, she was anxious to return to Jupiter.

  “I was beginning to feel neglected,” he said when she finally escaped the dance floor and made her way back to him again.

  “My apologies,” she said sincerely, accepting the fresh glass of champagne he offered.

  “No need to apologize,” he assured her, leading her away from the crowd and onto the balcony. “It’s understandable that every man in attendance would want a turn on the dance floor with the most beautiful woman here.”

  “There’s that glib tongue again,” she noted.

  He maneuvered her into the shadows. “Do you believe in destiny?”

  “I believe we make our own destiny,” she said, and reminded herself that this was the destiny she had chosen. To take control of her life and her future.

  “And I believe our paths were meant to cross tonight.”

  She wanted to think that he sounded sincere, but even if it was nothing more than a well-worn line, even if he was just looking for a quick hookup, wasn’t that what she wanted, too? Wasn’t that what she needed to prove that she was capable of controlling her own destiny?

  “And now that our paths have crossed,” she said, “where do we go from here?”

  Dante wasn’t entirely sure how to answer her question, except that he knew he wasn’t going to walk away from the lovely goddess. Not just yet.

  He knew nothing about her and she knew nothing about him, and maybe the anonymity was part of the attraction. He’d been born in a castle and raised from the cradle to understand that he would rule his country one day. It was a birthright that carried with it tremendous responsibility—and relentless public scrutiny. Everything he did was fodder for the tabloids. Every decision he made was documented and analyzed. Every woman he dated was subjected to background checks and media attention.

  For the first time in as long as he could remember, he wasn’t a royal representative of Ardena. It was as if he’d completely shed that identity when he’d donned the costume of the Roman god. And then he’d spotted his goddess.

  He didn’t know if he believed in destiny, but he did believe that she’d felt that same instantaneous tug of attraction he’d experienced when their eyes met across the room. And he hoped they would have a chance to explore that attraction.

  So he replied to her question with one of his own. “Where do you want to go?”

  She tilted her head, studying him with steady green eyes as she considered her response. “Are you married?”

  “No.” His response was quick, vehement.

  Her lips twitched, as if she was trying not to smile. “Engaged?”

  “No,” he said again. “There’s no one.”

  She continued to hold his gaze as she finished off her champagne. When the glass was empty, he set it aside and took her hands in his, noting the absence of any rings on the third finger of her left hand. “How about you? Boyfriend? Lover?”

  She shook her head and her earrings glinted in the moonlight. “Completely unattached,” she assured him.

  “I’m very glad to hear that,” he said, and lowered his head to kiss her.

  Her lips were as soft as he’d suspected, and sweetly yielding. And the flavor of her lips buzzed through his veins, more potent than the champagne he’d drunk and more addictive than anything he’d ever tasted.

  She neither pulled away nor moved closer, and he sensed a certain amount of both caution and curiosity in her response. He couldn’t blame her for being wary—he was a stranger and they were alone in the shadows—but he didn’t want her to be afraid. So he held his escalating desire firmly in check and forced himself to move slowly.

  He touched his tongue tentatively to the seam of her lips, once, twice. The second time, her lips parted for him. When he dipped inside, she brushed his tongue with her own.

  He wanted to pull her into his arms, to hold her tight against his body. He wanted to feel the soft press of her breasts against his chest, to let her feel the hard proof of his desire for her. He knew what he wanted—he wanted her. But he sensed that she was still undecided, and he was more than happy to take whatever time was needed to convince her that she wanted him, too.

  Thankfully, she seemed willing to be convinced. When he released her hands and inched closer to her, she didn’t protest. When he slid his hands from her waist to her breasts, she only sighed and pressed closer to him. It was all the encouragement he needed. The fabric of her costume was almost gossamer thin, and he could clearly feel the pattern of the lace on her bra. Through the lace, he traced circles around the peaks of her nipples, felt them pucker in response to his touch.

  She gasped and shuddered, but didn’t pull away. He eased his lips from hers and skimmed them along her jaw, down her throat, over the curve of her collarbone. The soft, sexy noises that sounded in her throat made his blood pound and his body ache.

  Maybe this was crazy. It was certainly beyond scandalous. Anyone could wander out from the ballroom as easily as they had done, but he didn’t care. He experienced a heady sense of freedom that he’d never known before, trusting that even if someone did venture out onto the balcony, they wouldn’t catch the king of Ardena in a compromising position. Because he wasn’t the king of Ardena right now—he was Jupiter, and making love with Juno seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

  He tore his mouth from hers and drew in a deep, shuddering breath to say, “Come upstairs with me.”

  It was a plea as much as a demand, and there was only one answer Marissa wanted to give. She would follow him to the ends of the earth if he would keep doing what he’d been doing, if he could make those exquisite sensations ricocheting through her body never stop. But even with lust clouding her mind, something in his words gave her pause.

  She’d been on the verge of saying “yes.” She’d been on the verge of letting him take her right there on the balcony. Because she’d thought he was an anonymous stranger. But he hadn’t said come home with me or come back to my hotel. He’d said come upstairs with me. And if he was staying at the palace, he had to have some kind of connection to the prince regent.

  She drew back, tried to catch her breath and focus her thoughts. “You have a room…here at the palace?”

  He hesitated, as if only now understanding the implications of his words. But then he said, “I’m visiting with a friend who is well acquainted with the minister of foreign affairs. He arranged for our accommodations.”

  It was a logical explanation and not one that would concern most women. Of course, m
ost other women weren’t closely related to the minister of foreign affairs.

  She exhaled slowly, reconsidering his invitation. But if the connection to her brother was only through a friend of his, then this…interlude, she decided for lack of a better term, could remain anonymous. Which meant that his revelation didn’t require her to abort her plan. At least not yet.

  “That seems rather convenient,” she said lightly.

  He brushed his lips against hers again. “Or maybe it’s destiny.”

  She smiled and splayed her palms on his breastplate. She could feel the ridges of the storm-cloud design beneath her fingertips, but what she wanted to feel was the warmth of his bare flesh. She wanted to explore every inch of him, with her hands and her lips. It was a shockingly bold desire for a woman with zero sexual experience, and a desire that she didn’t want to deny any longer.

  For the first time in her life, she wanted a man without hesitation. Maybe it was foolish, maybe it was irrefutable proof that she had set upon a desperate course, but it was true. She wanted to be with this man. She wanted him to kiss her again, she wanted to feel his lips on hers, his hands on her body, his naked flesh against hers.

  She whispered against his lips, “Lead the way.”

  Chapter Two

  As they made their way through the maze of hallways to the third floor of the north wing, Marissa’s apprehension increased.

  Could she do this? Could she really make love with a stranger? She wanted to—and not just because she was determined to finally lose her virginity, but because she wanted this man as she’d never wanted anyone before. Because he’d made her feel things she’d never felt before.

  But what if she got scared? What if she stepped into his room and he pressed her up against the wall and shoved his tongue down her throat and—

  She jolted when he took her hand.

  Behind the gold mask that covered half of his face, his gaze was hot and intense, but when he spoke, his voice was carefully neutral. “If this isn’t what you want—”

  “No,” she interrupted quickly, shoving aside the unpleasant memory of the Duke of Bellemoro. “It is.”

  “Good,” he said, and slipped his arms around her waist to draw her close. He lowered his head and kissed her again.

  He truly was an exceptional kisser, teasing her lips, coaxing her response. As their tongues danced and mated, she felt as if she could be content to continue kissing him forever. But contentment quickly gave way to desire, and desire to need.

  “Maybe we should take this inside,” he suggested against her lips.

  She hadn’t even realized they were still in the hall. What was it about this man that he could make her lose all concept of time and place? And not even care that she’d done so?

  He kept one arm around her as he slipped the old-fashioned key into the lock and pushed open the door, and he was kissing her again when he steered her inside.

  She was too busy enjoying the sensation of his hands on her body to wonder how he’d scored the corner suite that was usually reserved for state visitors of the highest rank. Too preoccupied to appreciate that the thick rug on the floor of the formal sitting room was an antique Savonnerie, or that the mullioned windows were draped with heavy velvet curtains. But she did notice the massive Chippendale four-poster bed with its pale blue silk cover and mountain of pillows when he steered her into the bedroom.

  “One moment,” he said, and released her long enough to light the trio of candles on the rosewood bedside table.

  “I wouldn’t have taken you for a romantic,” she admitted.

  “There are times when romantic gestures are called for.” He took her hand again, brought it to his lips. “I would say this is one of them.”

  “You’ve already succeeded in luring me to your room,” she reminded him.

  “So I have.” His quick grin was sexy and satisfied as he drew her into his arms again. “And now that I have you here…how about some champagne?”

  She blinked. “Champagne?”

  “Sure, I could call downstairs and ask them to send up a bottle—or we could get something to eat, if you’re hungry.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want anything but you.”

  “And here I was trying to show some self-restraint.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I didn’t, we’d already be naked and in the middle of that big bed right now.”

  “I want to see you naked,” she said and reached for the hooks that held his breastplate in place. It was heavier than she’d expected, and it nearly slipped out of her grasp before he took the armor from her and set it aside.

  “Same goes.” He unfastened the braided gold rope at her waist, let it fall to the floor, then turned his attention to the twisted fabric at her shoulder. As he worked the knot, his fingertips brushed her bare skin and yearning flooded through her.

  When the fastening was untied, the silky gown slid down the length of her body to pool at her feet so that she stood before him in only her mask, lacy sapphire bra, matching bikini panties and the gold-colored sandals.

  His gaze skimmed over her, from her shoulders to her toes and back again, slowly, hungrily. “You’re even more beautiful than I anticipated.”

  “And you’re still mostly dressed,” she noted.

  He unclipped his leg guards, kicked off his sandals and tugged the tunic over his head. As she watched him strip away the various pieces of his costume, she couldn’t help but think that he looked even more like a god without the period enhancements.

  His skin was darkly tanned—apparently all over—and stretched taut over glorious muscles. His chest was broad and smooth, and she instinctively reached out to lay her palms against the warm flesh. She felt the sizzle spread through her veins and reverberate low in her belly.

  He reached for the tie at the side of her mask, but she turned her head away. Above the top of his, she saw his brows lift.

  “I’m more comfortable being Juno,” she explained.

  His smile was tinged with amusement and desire. “Then you won’t mind if I keep mine on, too?”

  She suspected it was going to be a little awkward, making love while both of them were wearing masks. But she knew it was the only way she would be able to follow through with her plan. She had no objection to removing all of her clothes so long as her face remained covered, because as much as she wanted to be naked with him, she couldn’t risk her identity being exposed.

  “No,” she responded to his question. “In fact, I’d prefer it.”

  “Okay,” he agreed.

  She exhaled slowly as her hands slid downward. Her fingertips traced over the rippling muscles of his abdomen to the top of his fitted briefs, then dipped inside. He groaned when her fingers wrapped around him, and she had a moment of worry when she registered the size and strength of him. He was huge and rock hard, and the thought of his body joining with hers made her shiver with anticipation.

  “You’re going to obliterate what’s left of my self-restraint,” he warned her.

  She tipped her head back to brush her lips against his. “Good.”

  He cupped his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her off the ground in a move that was so quick and unexpected, her breath whooshed out of her lungs. He tumbled her back onto the bed, the full length of his body pressing against hers, and she gasped with shock and pleasure.

  Then his mouth was on hers again, hot and hungry. He wasn’t coaxing so much as demanding now, and she was more than happy to give him what he wanted, what they both needed. She ran her hands over his shoulders, down his arms, relishing the feel of his flesh beneath her fingertips. She arched beneath him, eager for more, for everything. He nibbled on her bottom lip, and she sighed again as pleasure drowned out caution and reason and everything else. She had no thoughts of anything but this man and this moment, no need for anything more. And then she had no thoughts at all as her mind gave way to the bliss of sensation.

  She was everything Dante had ima
gined…and more. Beautiful and passionate and so incredibly responsive. And she was his—if only for this one night.

  He stroked his hands slowly down her torso, a careful study of delectable feminine curves. From the sexy slope of her shoulders…to the lushness of her breasts…to the indent of her waist…the flare of her hips…then down those long, shapely legs to the laces of her sandals.

  He broke the kiss and reluctantly levered himself off of her. Her eyelids flickered, opened, and she propped herself up on her elbows. He touched a fingertip to her lips, to silence any questions or protests. She said nothing, but watched him curiously.

  He tugged on the lace that was tied just below her knee, then slowly unwrapped the cord. His fingers traced lightly over her skin as he unwound it, and he heard the catch of her breath. He took his time removing the first sandal, but when he dropped it to the floor, he still held on to her foot. It was narrow and slender and incredibly sexy. He stroked a finger along the arch and felt her shiver. He lifted her foot higher, kissed her ankle, then let his lips skim up her calf to her knee.

  He repeated the same process with her other sandal, her other leg. Then he propped her feet on the edge of the mattress so that her knees were bent and lowered his head between her thighs to kiss her through the thin barrier of lace. She gasped, as if shocked by the intimacy of his mouth on her. But she made no protest when he slid his hands beneath her buttocks, tilting her hips forward to remove her panties.

  He used his thumbs to part the slick folds that protected her womanly core and flicked his tongue over her. Once. Twice. She sucked in a breath, then let it out in a rush. He teased her mercilessly, alternating quick strokes with slow circles until she was whimpering. Then he teased her some more, relentlessly driving her toward the ultimate pinnacle of pleasure and leisurely easing back again. When he was certain that she could take no more—when her heels were digging into the mattress and her hands were fisted in the covers and her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps—he pushed her over the edge.