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  He offered his hand, not because he felt compelled by social custom but in order to force the other man to release his hold on Gabriella, as he finally did.

  “It’s a pleasure,” Rafe said, although the look in his eyes warned that it was anything but.

  “You’re American,” Cameron noted, immediately picking up on the accent.

  “That’s right,” Rafe agreed.

  “New York?” he guessed.

  The other man nodded. “Although I seem to spend more time traveling than I do at home these days.”

  “Rafe’s in international banking,” Gabriella explained.

  “Is that why you’re in Tesoro del Mar?” Cameron asked him.

  “That’s the reason I first visited Tesoro del Mar almost two years ago,” Rafe told him, then shifted his gaze to Gabriella. “But not the reason I keep coming back.”

  The flush in Gabriella’s cheeks deepened. “Cameron and I have some things—business—to discuss.”

  “Then I’ll leave you to your…business,” Rafe said, taking a step back. “And I’ll look forward to seeing you at seven.” She nodded.

  “Busy day for you today,” Cameron mused, as the other man walked away.

  “You picked the date and time for this meeting,” she reminded him.

  “I guess I did,” he agreed. “I didn’t realize your boyfriend would still be in town.”

  “Would it have made a difference if you did?” she challenged.

  “No,” he admitted, and began heading toward the park.

  Gabriella fell into step beside him. When they found a vacant picnic table in the shade, he spread a couple of paper napkins on top before setting out their food. She opened her iced tea, took a long swallow.

  Cameron took a bite of his sandwich, although his appetite had diminished. “How serious is it?”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “You and Rafe,” he clarified. “How serious is it?”

  “Is that why you wanted to see me today—to talk about my relationship with Rafe?”

  Actually, that was the absolute last thing he wanted to talk about. “No—I wanted to talk about what you’re planning for Sierra’s birthday.”

  Every muscle in Gabriella’s body went completely still. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s June fifteenth next week,” he pointed out to her. “I just assumed you’d be having a party for the big occasion.”

  Her cheeks paled, but her gaze never wavered. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  He nodded. “A girl’s sixteenth birthday is a special occasion.” Then, when Gabriella remained silent, he pressed on. “It is her sixteenth birthday, isn’t it?”

  “Obviously you already know the answer to that question.”

  “Birth registrations are a matter of public record,” he reminded her.

  “Her age doesn’t prove anything,” she said.

  “No,” he agreed. “But I imagine a DNA test would prove plenty.”

  She wrapped up her untouched sandwich, her appetite obviously gone. “Do you really want to subject yourself to the sort of scandal that would entail?”

  “Maybe the better question is: do you want to subject Sierra to that sort of scandal?” he challenged. “Because I’m not the one denying that she’s my daughter.”

  She rose to her feet, facing him across the table. “You have no right—”

  “I think the courts would agree that I have plenty of rights,” he assured her.

  Her eyes filled with tears. “You bastard.”

  “Actually, my parents were legally married when I was conceived.”

  “Which just goes to prove that having both a father and a mother isn’t a guarantee of anything,” she snapped.

  “You never did pull your punches,” he mused.

  She stormed away. He abandoned the remnants of their lunch to follow her into a stand of trees.

  “What do you want from me?”

  He wasn’t sure there was a simple answer to that question, so he only said, “I want a chance to know my child.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s my child.”

  Gabriella didn’t waste any more breath trying to deny it. When she spoke again, it was only to say, “She doesn’t know you’re her father.”

  “Maybe it’s time that she did,” he told her.

  Her gaze flew to his—her dark eyes filled with anger and frustration. “What gives you the right, after sixteen years, to make that decision?”

  “How about the fact that, for sixteen years, I didn’t know I had a child?”

  “You didn’t want to know,” she reminded him.

  He couldn’t deny that was true, at least in the beginning. But the situation was different now, and he had no intention of continuing to deny his relationship to Sierra. “When is her party?”

  “You’re not invited.”

  “That wasn’t what I asked,” he said mildly.

  She huffed out a breath. “Saturday night. Eight o’clock. And you’re not invited.”

  “Where?”

  “Cameron—”

  “At your house,” he guessed.

  “Yes,” she admitted. “It’s a surprise and you’re not invited.”

  “Do you really think you can keep me away?”

  “I think you should be able to see the potential for disaster if you show up. It only took Sierra a few minutes to figure out who you are and once her friends realize you’re royalty, well, there will be pictures of you all over the internet before the birthday candles are even lit.”

  “I might be more inclined to appreciate your concern if you weren’t responsible for so much of my bad press of late.”

  “Honestly, I don’t care what kind of photos or videos the kids snap of you. I do care how your presence at the party might impact Sierra. What possible explanation could you give for being there?”

  “Other than the truth, you mean?”

  She glared at him. “Other than that.”

  “I’ll be your date,” he suddenly decided.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I’m sure you could accept that more easily than explaining to all of the guests that I’m the birthday girl’s father.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “And how am I supposed to explain to my daughter that I’m dating someone other than my fiancé?”

  He frowned at that. “You and Rafe are engaged?”

  “Yes,” she told him, but her defiant gaze flickered away.

  “Then why aren’t you wearing his ring?” he demanded.

  She blinked, as if startled by the question. “It’s, uh, it’s a little big, so I’ve decided not to wear it until I’ve had a chance to get it adjusted.”

  “Really?” He considered her explanation for a moment, then shook his head. “If he was serious enough to buy a ring, he’d make sure it was the right size so he could slide it on your finger as soon as you said ‘yes.’”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Or maybe that’s the real reason you’re not wearing it,” he continued. “Because you haven’t said ‘yes.’”

  “My relationship with Rafe isn’t any of your business.”

  “It is when you keep using it as a roadblock between us.”

  “There is no ‘us,’” she said again.

  He hadn’t seen her in more than sixteen years, so her statement was hardly unreasonable. And yet, something about her adamant tone irked him, made him want to prove differently. Unable to think of any words that might convince her, he kissed her instead.

  Chapter Six

  Gabriella had all kinds of reasons for not ever wanting to see Cameron Leandres again, and only one for acceding to his request: Sierra. She’d thought—desperately hoped—that she might convince the prince that he had no reason to believe her daughter was also his. She hadn’t let herself think of her own feelings. Or maybe she hadn’t believed that she could have any feelings for the man who had broken her heart so many years b
efore. But the moment his lips touched hers, she knew that she’d made a very dangerous miscalculation.

  Because in that first whisper-soft brush of his mouth against hers, she was catapulted back in time. It was as if everything she was feeling was new and unfamiliar and all-encompassing. She hadn’t just been a virgin when she’d met Cameron, but an innocent in far more ways than she’d realized—completely unprepared for the depth and breadth of the emotions and desires that he brought to life within her. But she’d been an avid pupil of his experienced seduction, an eager participant in their lovemaking.

  This was only a kiss—and should have been simple enough for Gabriella to resist. But she had never been able to resist Cameron. She’d known from the beginning that a relationship between them could never work out—his family was blue-blood, hers was blue-collar—but she’d somehow got caught up in the romantic fantasy, anyway. She’d let herself hope and dream, and she’d had her heart shattered.

  Afterward, she’d convinced herself that what she’d felt with him hadn’t been all that she’d remembered. That it was only an unfortunate combination of teenage hormones and inexperience that had made her behave so recklessly and impulsively. She’d found some solace in that, and a certain amount of relief that she’d never felt so out-of-control with any other man. Not even the man who’d asked her to marry him.

  But suddenly, hidden in the shadows of the trees, she was feeling it all again. The same desperate, burning need; the same fiery, raging desire. And she was no more prepared for the feelings now than she’d been when she was seventeen. As his lips moved over hers, demanding rather than coaxing now, she responded, giving him all that he wanted, showing him all that she wanted. His fingers tangled in her hair and he tipped her head farther back, deepening the kiss. Her lips parted, their tongues met, desires tangled.

  He nibbled on her bottom lip, murmured some words that her swirling mind couldn’t begin to decipher. Then his hand slid up to her breast, his thumb brushing over the crest, and she whimpered low in her throat.

  She knew this was wrong—being here with him, kissing him, wanting him. But she couldn’t seem to help herself. She couldn’t stop her heart from pounding, her blood from pulsing, or her body from yearning. But she could hate him for it. And she did.

  She pulled away, her eyes burning with tears that she refused to shed. Not for this man. Not ever again.

  He cupped her chin, forced her to meet his gaze. “You’re not going to marry that American.”

  “Whether or not I marry Rafe has nothing to do with you.”

  “If you were really in love with him, you wouldn’t have kissed me back.”

  “Kissing you only proved to me how lucky I am to have Rafe,” she retorted.

  He stepped closer, his gaze dark and foreboding. “You should be careful about throwing his name in my face,” he warned. “Especially when your lips are still warm from mine.”

  She tilted her chin, met his stare evenly. “Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he warned her. “But putting that aside for now, it is you who has a decision to make.”

  “What decision is that?” she asked warily.

  “Whether to uninvite your American friend to Sierra’s birthday party so that I can be your date—or to introduce me to our daughter as her father.”

  Of course, they both knew what her decision would be. She’d spent the better part of sixteen years protecting Sierra from the publicity that would be generated by the truth of her paternity, and she had no intention of subjecting her daughter to the headlines now. “I guess I’ll see you next Saturday at eight.”

  Cameron understood why Gabriella was concerned about the media discovering the truth about Sierra’s paternity. While being a royal entitled one to many perks, the status also came with restrictions—one of which was the inability to talk about personal issues without worry that confessions would end up on the front page of the morning newspaper. Experience had taught Cameron that the only people he could trust to keep his secrets were his family, so when he and Gabriella parted ways after their lunch in the park, he drove toward his brother’s house in the exclusive gated community of Verde Colinas.

  Michael and his wife had lived there happily for thirteen years, and when Samantha died almost two years earlier, Cameron had expected that his brother would want to move out of the home they’d shared together. But Michael had no intention of going anywhere, and only those family and close friends who had known him when Samantha was alive knew how much of a toll her death had taken on him. Their sister, Marissa, had contacted Cameron several times over the past few months, hoping that he would have some advice or insights on how to reach Michael, to make him see that he still had family who cared about him and—most importantly—a daughter who needed him.

  Their efforts had been unsuccessful, but Marissa remained optimistic. “I’m sure he just needs time,” she’d said to Cameron during a recent conversation. “Samantha was such a huge part of his life for so many years—it can’t be easy to get over that kind of loss.”

  Cameron wouldn’t know. He didn’t think he’d ever been all the way in love. In fact, the closest he’d ever come had probably been with Gabriella, and that was too many years ago to even count. Since then, he’d mostly avoided personal entanglements, and—Allegra’s dashed hopes aside—most of the women he dated knew he wasn’t looking for anything serious or long-term.

  He’d had more than a few women claim to be in love with him over the years, but he knew that what they really loved was being with a prince. Too often the words had been followed by a request—“I love you and I miss you so much when you’re gone. Maybe this time I could go to Australia/Bermuda/China with you.” Or a demand—“If you loved me, you would get me tickets to the concert/talk to someone about that parking infraction/buy me that condo at the waterfront.” That was a favorite of his mother’s tricks—playing the affection/demand card to get what she wanted, and it had taught Cameron that everyone wanted something from him.

  Everyone except his sister, he realized, when Marissa answered the door. She was the one person who always gave so much more than she ever asked for. She led him into the kitchen now and immediately began to make a pot of coffee.

  “Michael’s not here?” he guessed.

  She shook her head. “He’s at the office.”

  He heard music coming from the other room, and he peeked around the corner to see his twenty-one-month-old niece spinning in circles to the music.

  “On a Saturday?” he responded to Marissa’s statement about his brother’s whereabouts.

  “He said something about a big project outline he had to finish,” she explained.

  “And you’re here watching Riley again,” he guessed.

  “The nanny only works until six and not at all on weekends, so I’ve been helping out when I can,” she admitted.

  As if on cue, the little girl raced into the room. She halted when she saw Cameron, then smiled shyly before she lifted her arms to her aunt.

  Marissa scooped her up with one arm and an ease that revealed she’d done the same thing countless times before.

  “How often is that?” he asked.

  His sister shifted the child to her other hip, and shifted her gaze away from his.

  “Marissa?” he prompted.

  “I’ve moved into the spare room downstairs,” she admitted.

  “You’ve moved in?”

  She shrugged. “It got me out of Mother’s house.”

  “I’m sure she had something to say about this arrangement,” he noted dryly. The princess royal always had an opinion, especially when it came to her children.

  “I don’t even know if she’s realized I’m gone,” Marissa told him.

  He frowned but didn’t argue her claim. It was a well-known fact that Elena paid scant attention to her only daughter, choosing to focus her energies and ambitions on her two sons. Both he and Michael had disappointed her
in that regard, making Cameron wonder if their mother might have made a mistake in disregarding her daughter’s potential. Except that his sister was too pure of mind and soft of heart to fall in with their mother’s machinations, which was one of the reasons that he’d come to her now. Because she was also too loyal and sweet to judge the brother who had made more mistakes than he cared to admit.

  “She hasn’t come around here in a while,” Marissa continued, rubbing the baby’s back. “I think she’s finally realized that Michael may never forgive her.”

  “For what now?” Cameron asked.

  “For convincing Samantha to get pregnant—in order to ensure the continuation of the Leandres line.”

  And it was as a result of complications that arose during childbirth that Samantha had lost her life.

  “Then, when the baby was born, Mother didn’t want to have anything to do with her.”

  “Because she was a girl,” he guessed, pouring himself a cup of the freshly brewed coffee. She nodded.

  “Then I guess there’s no reason that I should feel compelled to share my news.”

  “What’s your news?”

  “That she has another granddaughter.”

  Marissa gaped at him. “You’re a daddy?”

  He smiled as he nodded. “I can’t imagine her calling me ‘daddy,’ though, considering that she’s almost sixteen years old.”

  His sister sank into a chair. “A teenager.”

  He nodded again.

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “I’m still getting used to the idea myself,” he admitted.

  “You didn’t know?”

  “Not until a few days ago.”

  “Are you…sure?” she asked hesitantly.

  “That she’s mine, you mean?”

  Now it was Marissa’s turn to nod.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. If for no other reason than that Gabriella tried so hard to deny it.”

  “I’m assuming Gabriella is the mother.”

  “She is,” he confirmed. “Gabriella Vasquez.”

  “Oh, this just keeps getting better and better,” Marissa said, amusement evident in her tone. “And it certainly explains why the columnist always seemed to have a chip on her shoulder where you were concerned.”