His Royal Love-Child (5 page)

When she’d finally stopped wearing it, she had been afraid her body would change back, that her spine would curve once again and that the female curves she saw in the mirror would disappear now that their plastic encasement was gone. She’d been twenty-one before she’d finally decided her body really was hers again.

And even
then, she often saw the brace when she looked in the mirror, rather than the actual woman looking back at her.

She shrugged. “Everyone has pain in their lives, Marcello. I’m no different, but it doesn’t matter. I didn’t ask you about Bianca to hurt you.”

He touched her hand—nothing sexy, just a small brushing of their fingers—but her entire body felt like it had been electrified. “You did not. You never dig for juicy details or push me to bare my emotions. I appreciate that.”

She laughed. “You would. The only person I know who is more private about their feelings than
myself
, is you.”

“I would not have guessed you were such a private person at first.”

“Protective persona.
Most of us have them.”

“Not my brothers. What you see is what you get with them.”

“Are you sure about that? I bet even your father has an image he allows the rest of the world to see that protects the man behind his skin…the man who isn’t a king.”

“There, I know you are wrong. King
Vincente
is exactly as he appears to be.
A sovereign to the marrow of his bones.”

“Or he’s just very adept at hiding any
weakness,
even from the people he loves the most.”

“Trust
me,
his weaknesses are in no way hidden.”

She had a hard time believing the son could be so very different from the father, but she didn’t know either well enough to argue the point.
“Whatever you say.”

“I say that I am very appreciative that you chose to cook for me.”

She smiled and led him to the small dining room, where she’d set the table with candles and her best dishes.

“It looks like a scene set for seduction.”

“Maybe it is,” she joked.

He turned to face her and put his hand on her face, the warm fingers sending more tingles of sensation zinging through her body. “I would not mind.”

“I was only kidding.”

“I am not.”

“Um…maybe you had better sit down.”

He sat and he said nothing more, but he kept giving her looks throughout dinner that were as effective as any caress.

Afterward, they took dessert, a homemade lemon sorbet, into the living room.

He pulled her to the sofa beside him, their hips touching. “Dinner was fantastic. Thank you,
cara
.”

“You…you’re welcome.”

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

“I…”

“Do you mind?”

“No.” This was what she had wanted when she invited him to stay in for dinner, but when it came to the sticking point, she was nervous.

What if he found her as big a dud as Ray had done?

Marcello followed through on his promise to kiss her with a thoroughness that had her clinging to his shoulders while desire pooled low in her belly. He tasted like the lemon sorbet and sexy, delectable male. It was so different
than
when Ray had kissed her. With Marcello, she just wanted more and more and more.
And
he gave it to her, exploring her mouth with his tongue and letting her return the favor.

Finally he ended the kiss with a series of gentle pecks on her swollen lips. He lifted his head. “That went well,
cara
.
I think we should do it again.”

She nodded, incapable of speech.

Then he put his hands on her waist and brushed his thumbs up and down over her rib cage. “But this time, I want you sitting on my lap.”

He couldn’t know it, but that kind of touch was incredibly foreign to her. She’d developed habits as a child that kept people at a distance physically. Unconsciously she’d avoided Ray’s touch as well.
And
when they did neck, he’d had a tendency to go straight for certain body parts. She hadn’t enjoyed his caresses all that much and had assumed it was because she just wasn’t very sexual. She now realized she’d been absolutely, terribly…no,
wonderfully
wrong.

Because she was reacting to Marcello’s touch like a woman who had been in a desert her whole life and was just now stumbling on the Lake Erie of sensation.
And
in many ways, it was true.

Ray had not had the water she needed, but she felt drenched by emotions from Marcello’s touch.

She scooted into his lap, loving the feel of his hard thighs below her. His hands moved around to caress her back with an erotic sweeping motion that made her tremble.

“You’re very good at this.”

He laughed and pressed his lips to hers again.

His hands moved all over her body in gentle, brushing strokes that made her feel like he was trying to see her with his hands. It was amazing and she grew scorching hot as her breasts swelled inside her lacy bra cups and the place between her legs grew damp and achingly swollen.

He stopped kissing her. “Don’t you want to touch me?”

“Huh…what?” she asked, dazed by the deep, dark cravings rolling through her.

“Your hands are clenched at your sides.”

“Oh, I don’t mean them to be.”
And
to prove she meant what she said, she splayed her fingers across his chest.

Heat emanated from him to her fingertips, even through his clothes. “I want to feel your skin.”

“Then do it. I am not going to turn down any way you want to touch me,
Danette
.”

There was something important in that reassurance, but she couldn’t work it out in her head right now.

She unbuttoned his shirt with shaking hands and touched him with those same trembling fingers. She’d never felt this way touching Ray,
like
she was on a very important journey of discovery.
One that would kill her if she didn’t take it.

She explored Marcello’s chest with total concentration given to every nuance of feeling, every detail of his masculine build her fingertips encountered. His muscles made ridges under his bronzed skin. The dark, curling hair that covered his chest and disappeared in an enticing V into his pants was surprisingly soft to the touch. Shouldn’t male hair be coarse and, well…
manly
?
But
it felt so sexy, so incredible…and the skin beneath it was so warm. It was like touching heated satin.

She traced each ridge and she pressed her fingertip into his belly button while her thumb brushed the hair-roughened skin below it.

He groaned. “
Cara
, you are playing with fire there.”

He
was
fire…all elemental heat. Everything a man should be for a woman.

Her hands swept up his torso, stopping at his rigid male nipples. “You are so different from me,” she breathed.

He choked out a laugh. “You talk like you’ve never touched a man before.”

“I haven’t. Not like this.”

His hands froze in the act of pushing her top up to expose her skin to his heated gaze.

“What are you saying?
Tesoro
, you cannot be a virgin. I do not believe it.”

She stared at him, and then blinked, trying to make sense of his shock.
“Why not?
I told you that Ray was not my lover.”

“But surely there have been other men.”

“No.”

“But American girls date in high school and college. Everyone knows this to be true.”

“This one didn’t.” The passion clouding her brain began to fade. “I never had a boyfriend.”

“Why not?
Were your parents too protective?”

“You could say that.”
And
she hadn’t wanted to date, either. She didn’t like explaining about the brace and no way would she have let a boy touch her and touch it. She couldn’t stand being so exposed.

Marcello moved back from her, gently removing her hands from his body. “This is not right. I thought you were a woman of experience. I cannot take your innocence.”

No, he couldn’t mean it. This wasn’t some Victorian tragedy. She was a modern woman, and perhaps waiting for marriage was something she’d thought at one time she would do, but she didn’t feel that way right now. She didn’t want any other man to be her first.

Only this one.

“But I can
give
it to you.”

“I am not looking for marriage here. I do not want a long-term relationship.”

“I’m not looking for marriage, either.” She’d missed out on so much, the dating, the furtive moments of passion teenagers share, the love affairs in college. “I want to experience it all with you, Marcello. I trust you.”

“But you are a virgin. You should wait until you get married.”

“I want you to be my first man. I’ve never felt this kind of desire before and I’m afraid I’ll never feel this way again. I sure didn’t with Ray.”

“He was a creep.”

“Yes, but you’re not. I know you won’t hurt me…I know you can make it special my first time.”

“You know this, huh?”

“You may not be the playboy the media paints you, but you’re experienced enough to know what you’re doing. You make me crazy just being with you.” She didn’t want to beg, but she was close. “If you want me, too…at least a little…I want you to be my first lover.”

“I want you a great deal more than a little,” he growled, his eyes shooting blue flame at her. The hottest kind of flame and she felt singed to the depths of her soul.

“I’m glad, Marcello, because I want you a lot, too.”

“Our relationship remains strictly private. I will not allow the media into my personal life, which means others cannot know about us, either.”

“I don’t have a problem with that.”

Danette
abruptly returned to the present. She
hadn’t
had a problem with the secrecy then…. but this was now and she did have a problem with it.
A big problem.
She just wasn’t sure what she could do about it.

If anything.

She loved him and that love demanded a role in his life that stretched beyond a secret affair. Maybe if she told him her feelings he would acknowledge his own and they could move to the next step in their relationship.

It wasn’t that she thought he lacked confidence. If he knew he loved her, he would say so, but his heart was locked up tight behind the wall he’d built after Bianca’s death.
Danette
had managed to knock out chinks here and there, evidenced by the fact that their relationship had lasted so long and how much time they spent together doing stuff besides making love.

While he refused to tell her how many women had come before her, he had let slip that none of them had lasted beyond a very brief liaison. He had been with her for six months and made no indications he was even thinking about moving on.

There was also the fact that he frequently made love to her without protection. He’d done so again the night before.

The first time it had happened, she’d been shocked by her response. Since she had decided as a teenager not to have children and risk passing on her spinal deformity, she should have been really upset by his lapse.
But
her first reaction to the realization he’d forgotten the condom had not been dismay. Far from it: she’d had a piercingly sweet image of a little boy with her eyes and Marcello’s smile.

She had experienced a craving for that child that was so
great,
it had been a physical pain in her chest.

Nevertheless, she’d brought up the option of her going on the pill, but Marcello had been adamant it was not necessary. He knew from one of the many discussions they had on every topic under the sun that she had some family history of breast cancer, and therefore concerned about the possible increased risk from long-term use of the pill.

She’d agreed to allow him to continue to be responsible for the birth control and had not raised the issue again the next time he forgot. Instead she’d researched the probability of passing her severe idiomatic juvenile scoliosis onto her children. She’d discovered that, far from what she’d feared, there was actually no known genetic predisposition for what had happened to her.

She couldn’t dismiss the very real fact that her mother had been afflicted with a less severe case. Even so, she’d all but convinced herself it was a risk worth taking. She refused to allow
her childhood disease and what it represented to stand between her and Marcello
.

Right now, she had to weigh the fact that he talked
like
the future was uncertain for them against the fact that he forgot to use birth control almost as often as he remembered. No man took that many risks with pregnancy when he hated the idea of spending his future with the woman involved.

Marcello wasn’t the irresponsible kind. If she got pregnant, she knew he’d want to marry her. He had a strong sense of moral and family responsibility. Both of which would require that his child not be born illegitimate. In turn, that
must
mean he was considering a future with her, even if he was leery about admitting it to her, or even to himself.

It might be a subconscious thing on his part, but his actions spoke loud and clear about where he was at with her emotionally. At least she hoped they did. No amount of wishful surmising on her part could replace hearing the words from his lips.

His wife’s death had devastated him. She’d quickly realized that he didn’t want to risk that kind of pain again, but she could have told him that love did not respect the fear of being hurt.

Just look at her. She had come to Italy licking her wounds. She’d been grateful for the job that Angelo had gotten her so that she could get away from her memories.
And
she’d been convinced that the last thing she would allow herself to do was to get embroiled in another relationship. Only, that was exactly what she had done and she’d gotten in deeper with Marcello after two weeks than she had in months with Ray.