Princess From the Shadows. Maisey Yates

I had some work to see to.”

      “Great.”

      “You?”

      “Luca seems settled in. I don’t know if he really understands that we’re staying here. But then, I guess that makes two of us.”

      “Three,” he said, walking ahead of her, taking the stairs two at a time. She followed as quickly as her kitten heels would allow.

      “You don’t feel at home here?”

      He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at the painted ceiling. “I never have.”

      “You could … redecorate.”

      A short laugh escaped his lips and he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks. “That’s almost like suggesting I paint over the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling. I mean, not quite, but as far as Santa Christobel and our history is concerned, it is.”

      “Well, that would be a bad idea then.”

      “Very likely.”

      He paused and turned to her, placing his hand on her lower back. She felt the heat of his touch blaze through her, like fire had ignited in her bloodstream, moving through her like a reckless spark on dry tinder.

      Was she so desperate for a man’s touch that such a simple thing could turn her on so quickly? Well, clearly she was. A man she didn’t even know, a man she wasn’t sure she liked. She truly was no better now than she’d been six years ago. It was still there, that reckless passion. The one she’d worked so hard to shove down deep, to lock away forever. It was a sobering, gutting realization.

      “This way,” he said, unaware of the turmoil his hand on her back had caused.

      She kept her shoulders straight, tried to keep it so his hand only touched the fabric of her dress and didn’t press it down so that it came into contact with her back again. Because that had been far too disturbing.

      The dining room was as opulent and formal as the rest of the house, the sprawling ceiling mural continuing through, with scenes of a massive feast painted just above the long, expansive table.

      “Cozy,” she said.

      That earned a laugh from Rodriguez. “Isn’t it? Perfect for an intimate dinner for two. Plus twenty.”

      “The palace in Santina is a bit like that. It’s daunting. Luca … he’s not used to this.”

      “Why did you take him away from Santina?”

      “The press,” she said, her voice soft.

      He pulled a chair out for her and she sat, touching the golden fork that was set beside an ornate dinner plate.

      “It was bad for you?” Rodriguez took his seat opposite her.

      She looked nice tonight, pretty even. She dressed too plainly for his taste, her hair too well ordered and smooth for his liking. But she was attractive, more than he’d given her credit for the first time he’d seen her.

      She looked up, her green eyes hard. “I have the only illegitimate child in the entire Santina family. Going back generations.”

      An incredulous laugh escaped him. “That anyone has ever owned up to. Do you honestly think there haven’t been others?”

      “My father said …”

      “I’m sure there are descendants of Santina bastards all over Europe. It’s the nature of things.”

      She gritted her teeth, her eyes suddenly bright with rage. “My son is not a bastard.”

      “That isn’t what I meant.”

      “Pick your words a bit more carefully then.”

      She had teeth. And claws. Neither of which he’d seen in the interaction with her father. However, when it came to the boy, she was fierce. Good. It would make her a good mother for his heir. Protective. Strong. Something that had certainly been lacking in his life.

      She would be a good queen too. While he found her a bit plain, it would suit her position. She had that regal quality to her. He preferred a sex-on-legs quality when it came to his bed partners, but a wife needed something else entirely. And Carlotta had that something else.

      He hadn’t fully appreciated it until that moment.

      “Noted, princesa.”

      “Anyway,” she said, looking back down at her empty plate. “That’s why I’ve been in Italy. It’s simpler there. I came back for the engagement party. A chance to see someone else mess up.”

      “You think your brother is making a mistake?”

      “In my father’s eyes he is. It’s petty. But … I don’t like being the bad one.”

      “I’ve never minded bad girls.” He watched her eyes round with shock, and he also saw a spark of interest flash in those green depths. Perhaps his bride-to-be wasn’t quite as plain as he had imagined.

      Maybe there was more beneath that prim and proper exterior.

      It was certainly a fascinating thought. One that caused a flash fire of arousal to roar through his blood. Six months without sex. Dios, that was a long time. The longest he’d gone since he was sixteen and he’d found out that life came with some very lush and interesting perks.

      Women were just another of the many reasons he didn’t mourn the loss of his childhood. Giving women pleasure, taking his pleasure with them, had provided him with moments of total release. Oblivion. He had always treasured those moments.

      “No, you haven’t, according to your tabloid reputation,” she said. “Which reminds me, and I’m sorry to bring it up just before dinner, do you have a clean bill of health? I mean, have you had a recent physical? Because from what I’ve read, you’ve been around.”

      “Not wrong of you to bring it up,” he said, ignoring the unfamiliar prickle of shame. “Being safe is important. And I always am. And it so happens, I have a doctor’s report for you.”

      “I … That’s more than I expected.”

      “It’s reality. I’ve never denied living a certain lifestyle, but I’m careful, and I make sure to protect my lovers. As I will make sure to protect you.”

      Carlotta felt her body getting hot again. She felt the need to remind herself that she’d done the swept-off-her-feet-and-into-bed-with-a-stranger thing before. And while it had been a glowing, heady few weeks, it had been a cold and stark reality when she’d woken up to the truth about the man she’d given her virginity to. The man who’d left her pregnant and alone.

      Well, whether he’d left or not, she would have kicked him to the curb once she learned the truth. He’d just saved her the trouble. And the truth had kept her from tracking him down.

      A little sliver of flame wound its way through her body as she studied Rodriguez. She took a deep breath, hoping that might help extinguish it. That she would be able to maintain control over herself.

      It was proving to be more difficult than it should.

      “And how will you be certain of your health if you’re … if you’re taking other lovers?” She swallowed. “Don’t make a fool of me. If you sleep around, I want to know. Don’t ever lie to me.”

      She supposed in a way, she would deserve a cheating husband. Poetic justice in many ways. She would be the one at home with the children, wondering how her husband’s business trip was going while he was really wining, dining and bedding another woman.

      She nearly gagged.

      “Just don’t lie,” she said again. That was the part she couldn’t stand. The lies. Being manipulated into believing a man was someone he wasn’t. Falling in love with the facade.

      He looked at her, his dark eyes