The Spaniard's Pregnant Bride. Maisey Yates

pressing them up against his chest, parting the buttons on his shirt. She sucked in a harsh breath, her fingers making contact with his skin for the first time as she traced his hard muscles, the heat of his skin shocking, so sexy she thought she might collapse onto the floor. A crumpled bit of Allegra. And she couldn’t have that. Because then, he would probably figure out her inexperience, and he would very likely leave her standing there unsatisfied.

      He was too perfect for words, a temptation she didn’t want to turn away from. She leaned in, kissing his neck. His lips might be covered by the mask, but hers weren’t. The touch of her skin against his left behind a smudge of red, and a bit of white from all the paint on her face. She didn’t care. She liked it. She wanted to leave him marked by this, because God knew she would be.

      She moved her exploration down, to his hard chest. His muscles and the crisp hair on his skin were completely new sensations for her. Touching him like this sent an arrow of desire down low in her stomach.

      It didn’t take him long to continue on in what she’d started. He moved his hands down to the closure of his slacks, and pressed her more firmly against the wall. His body was flush against hers, his hot, hard arousal seated firmly against where she was wet and ready for him.

      He flexed his hips, his hardness pressing into her softness. A wave of pleasure rolled over her and she let her head fall back as a small moan escaped her lips.

      He moved his hand, lifting her thigh and curving her leg around his hip, before shifting his stance and thrusting deep inside her. This time, when she cried out it was in pain.

      She had known that losing her virginity would hurt, but she hadn’t realized it would be quite this painful.

      Her partner didn’t seem to notice that the tenor of her voice had changed, because he withdrew slowly, before pressing back. This time, it didn’t hurt quite as badly. And with each subsequent thrust, it hurt less and less, until gradually the pleasure returned. Until that sharp, tearing pain transformed into a deep gnawing ache.

      It grew, spread outward, pressed deeper, blooming into hot, frantic pleasure. She began to rock against him, grabbing hold of his shoulders, burying her face in the crook of his neck as her climax overtook her completely. She pressed her lips against his skin as her orgasm washed over her. A never-ending assault that left her spent, breathless.

      Then, on a growl, he thrust inside her one last time, bracing himself against the wall as he found his own release.

      For a moment, the world seemed to spin around them. She was dizzy with pleasure, with desire. And she felt...connected to this man. To this man she didn’t know at all.

      He withdrew from her body, taking a step back. He began to button his shirt, doing his pants up again, his mask still firmly in place. He was as dark and mysterious as he had been from the first moment she’d laid eyes on him. And, were it not for the smear of red and white on his neck, she would never have known he’d been touched.

      But the evidence was there. If the electric sensation coursing through her body and the throbbing ache between her thighs weren’t evidence enough, then that would serve.

      He looked at her for a moment, then he tugged his gloves more firmly in place, and turned, walking away from her, back toward the ballroom.

      Leaving her alone.

      Leaving Allegra Valenti, who had never done anything but quietly protest her position in life, who had certainly never made a move toward actual rebellion, standing there, having just lost her virginity to a stranger.

      Without protection. Without thought for the future, or...anything at all.

      Her excitement morphed into horror, into fear.

      As she watched him disappear from view, she didn’t know whether to be heartbroken or relieved over the fact that she would never see him again.

       CHAPTER TWO

      ALLEGRA WAS CONVINCED that things could not possibly get worse than they already were. It didn’t matter how many times she had wished over the past few weeks that her period would come. It refused to come. It did not matter how fervently she prayed that there would only be one pink line on the test that she took at home that morning. There were two.

      It did not matter that she was engaged to be married to a prince and that she was supposed to give birth to his royal heirs. Because he was not the man she had slept with. No, she had slept with only one man, and she had no idea who he was.

      She had gone over a great many options in her mind since making the unsettling discovery that morning. The first being that she could quickly fly to wherever her fiancé was and seduce him.

      There were several reasons that wouldn’t work, not the least of which being that she couldn’t spend her entire life lying to a man about the paternity of his child. Also, Raphael wasn’t stupid. He was a prince, and he required an heir. An heir who was his by blood. That meant that he would undoubtedly be doing paternity tests to establish whether or not the child was actually his. And, since Allegra knew it wasn’t, there was really no point at all in considering that kind of subterfuge. But she had. For a moment. Only because the alternative was going to blow her life wide apart.

      Ultimately, she had decided on blowing her life apart. Because there really was no other option. And so, she was here at her brother’s office in Rome, ready to confess all to the one person who might not kill her where she stood.

      Though, before she actually engaged in confession she thought she might try a soft introduction.

      “Did you enjoy the party?” she asked.

      Renzo looked up from his work, one dark brow raised. “Which party?”

      “Right. I forgot. You go to a lot of parties. The one that you took me to.”

      “It was very good. What little I stayed for.”

      “You were there for a while.” She tapped the top of the desk with her fingertip, carefully not looking directly at Renzo.

      “Yes,” he said, pushing his chair away from his desk and moving into a standing position. “Why are you questioning me? Is there some kind of unflattering tabloid story? Photographs?”

      “Could there be?” she asked.

      “I am me, Allegra. It is always a possibility.”

      “I suppose that’s true.” It occurred to her that she may very well end up as a tabloid spectacle too. All these years of behaving, of fantasizing about misbehaving, but never stepping out of line, and she had potentially created the biggest scandal of all.

      “You have something to ask me. Do it. And you can be on your way. You can shop. I imagine that’s why you’re actually in Rome.”

      He could imagine it all he wanted, it didn’t make it true. She was here to speak to him, because she had to find out what he knew about the masked man at the party in Venice.

      “You know almost everyone important,” she said. She knew in her gut that the man she had been with was important. He had that air of authority about him. That sort of personality that commanded the attention of everyone in the room.

      “Almost everyone,” he said dryly. “Presidents. Kings. Why do you bring that up?”

      “Because I... I just was curious. There was a man at the party.”

      “You should not be inquiring about men, Allegra,” he said, his tone warning. “Especially since I believe you are already engaged.”

      “Sure. Technically. But I’m just curious about this one.”

      “And that is enough for me to know that if I tell you anything our father may well separate my head from my body.”

      “You don’t care about that,” she said. “I know you don’t. You don’t