Best of Desire. Оливия Гейтс

the closed over pierced earlobe were parts of an everyman past that seduced her as fully as his caresses.

      “Your name isn’t even Tony Castillo.” Oh God. She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, suddenly nauseated because she didn’t even know the name of the guy she’d been sleeping with.

      “Technically, it could be.”

      Shannon slammed her fists against the leather seat instead of reaching for him as she ached to do. “I’m not interested in technically. Actually, I’m not interested in people who lie to me. Can I even trust that you’re really thirty-two years old?”

      “It isn’t just my decision to share specific details. I have other family members to consider. But if it’s any consolation, I really am thirty-two. Are you really twenty-nine?”

      “I’m not in a joking mood.” Shivering, she thumbed her bare ring finger where once a three-carat diamond had rested. After Nolan’s funeral, she’d taken it off and sold it along with everything else to pay off the mountain of debt. “I should have known you were too good to be true.”

      “Why do you say that?”

      “Who makes millions by thirty-two?”

      He cocked an arrogant eyebrow. “Did you just call me a moocher?”

      “Well, excuse me if that was rude, but I’m not exactly at my best tonight.”

      His arms bulged beneath his Italian suit—she’d had to look up the exclusive Garaceni label after she’d seen the coat hanging on his bedpost.

      Tony looked even more amazing out of the clothes, his tanned and muscled body eclipsing any high-end wardrobe. And the smiles he brought to her life, his uninhibited laughter were just what she needed most.

      How quiet her world had been without him this week. “Sorry to have hurt your feelings, pal. Or should I say, Your Majesty? Since according to some of those stories I’m ‘His Majesty’s mistress.’”

      “Actually, it would be ‘Your Highness.’” His signature smile tipped his mouth, but with a bitter edge. “Majesty is for the king.”

      How could he be so flippant? “Actually, you can take your title and stuff it where the sun—”

      “I get the picture.” He guided the Escalade over the Galveston Island Causeway, waves moving darkly below. “You’ll need time to calm down so we can discuss how to handle this.”

      “You don’t understand. There’s no calming down. You lied to me on a fundamental level. Once we made l—” she stumbled over the next word, images of him moving over her, inside her, stealing her words and breath until her stomach churned as fast as the waters below “—after we went to bed together, you should have told me. Unless the sex didn’t mean anything special to you. I guess if you had to tell every woman you slept with, there would be no secret.”

      “Stop!” He sliced the air with his hand. His gleaming Patek Philippe watch contrasted with scarred knuckles, from his sailing days he’d once told her. “That’s not true and not the point here. You were safer not knowing.”

      “Oh, it’s for my own good.” She wrapped her arms around herself, a shield from the hurt.

      “How much do you know about my family’s history?”

      She bit back the urge to snap at him. Curiosity reined in her temper. “Not much. Just that there was a king of some small country near Spain, I think, before he was overthrown in a coup. His family has been hiding out to avoid the paparazzi hoopla.”

      “Hoopla? This might suck, but that’s the least of my worries. There are people out there who tried to kill my family and succeeded in murdering my mother. There are people who stand to gain a lot in the way of money and power if the Medinas are wiped off the planet.”

      Her heart ached for all he had lost. Even now, she wanted to press her mouth to his and forget this whole insane mess. To grasp that shimmering connection she’d discovered with him the first time they’d made love in a frenzied tangle at his Galveston Bay mansion.

      “Well, believe it, Shannon. There’s a big bad world outside your corner of Texas. Right now, some of the worst will start focusing on me, my family and anyone who’s close to us. Whether you like it or not, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you and Kolby protected.”

      Her son’s safety? Perspiration froze on her forehead, chilling her deeper. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Of course she’d barely wrapped her brain around Tony…Antonio. “Drive faster. Get me home now.”

      “I completely agree. I’ve already sent bodyguards ahead of us.”

      Bodyguards?

      “When?” She’d barely been able to think, much less act. What kind of mother was she not to have considered the impact on Kolby? And what kind of man kept bodyguards on speed dial?

      “I texted my people while we were leaving through the kitchen.”

      Of course he had people. The man was not merely the billionaire shipping magnate she’d assumed, he was also the bearer of a surname generations old and a background of privilege she couldn’t begin to fathom.

      “I was so distracted I didn’t even notice,” Shannon whispered, sinking into her seat. She wasn’t even safe in her own neighborhood anymore.

      She couldn’t wish this away any longer. “You really are this Medina guy. You’re really from some deposed royal family.”

      His chin tipped with unmistakable regality. “My name is Antonio Medina. I was born in San Rinaldo, third son of King Enrique and Queen Beatriz.”

      Her heart drumming in her ears, panic squeezed harder at her rib cage. How could she have foreseen this when she met him five months ago at the restaurant, bringing his supper back to the owner’s poker game? Tony had ordered a shrimp po’boy sandwich and a glass of sweet tea.

      Poor Boy? How ironic was that?

      “This is too weird.” And scary.

      The whole surreal mess left her too numb to hurt anymore. That would return later, for sure. Her hands shook as she tapped her glasses straight.

      She had to stay focused now. “Stuff like this happens in movies or a hundred years ago.”

      “Or in my life. Now in yours, too.”

      “Nuh-uh. You and I?” She waggled her hand back and forth between them. “We’re history.”

      He paused at a stop sign, turning to face her fully for the first time since he’d gripped her shoulders at the restaurant. His coal black eyes heated over her, a bold man of uninhibited emotions. “That fast, you’re ready to call an end to what we’ve shared?”

      Her heart picked up speed from just the caress of his eyes, the memory of his hands stroking her. She tried to answer but her mouth had gone dry. He skimmed those scarred knuckles down her arm until his hand rested on hers. Such a simple gesture, nothing overtly erotic, but her whole body hummed with awareness and want.

      Right here in the middle of the street, in the middle of an upside down situation, her body betrayed her as surely as he had.

      Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. She had to be tough. “I already ended things between us last weekend.”

      “That was a fight, not a breakup.” His big hand splayed over hers, eclipsing her with heat.

      “Semantics. Not that it matters.” She pulled herself away from him until her spine met the door, not nearly far enough. “I can’t be with you anymore.”

      “That’s too damn bad, because we’re going to be spending a lot of time together after we pick up your son. There’s no way you can stay in your apartment tonight.”

      “There’s no way I can stay with you.”

      “You can’t