Princess's Nine-Month Secret. Кейт Хьюит

‘Why wouldn’t I?’

      ‘I don’t want you drunk when I make love to you.’

      Everything inside her trembled, her internal organs reduced to a plateful of jelly. ‘Who says you’re going to—to make love to me?’ Halina demanded with far more bravado than actual courage. An image slid through her mind like a sensuous snake—body entwined with body, candlelight gleaming off satin sheets—and a current of desire zinged through her, twanging all her senses, every nerve.

      ‘I do,’ Rico replied baldly as he retrieved a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver ice-bucket by a pair of white leather sofas. ‘Why else would you have come up here with me?’

      Nerves clamoured in her belly. Was she in over her head? The answer was obvious—of course she was. Yet she didn’t want to leave. Not so soon, not yet. ‘For the champagne, of course,’ Halina quipped as she strolled through the sweeping living area of the suite towards the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Eternal City, its ancient, crumbling buildings now awash with moonlight.

      ‘At least on that I can oblige.’ With a satisfying pop he pulled the cork from the bottle and then filled two glasses right to the brim before handing one to Halina. She took a sip, relishing the crisp taste of bubbles on her tongue, and definitely needing the Dutch courage. What now?

      ‘You really shouldn’t be quite so arrogant,’ she said as she lowered the glass. Her palms were slick and her heart thudded but she managed to hold his sardonic gaze. Just.

      ‘Oh? Why shouldn’t I?’

      His utter, unapologetic confidence stunned her. She admired it too, because although she knew she could seem confident to her school friends or sisters, playing to familiar crowds with her trademark drama and humour, when it came to the real world she had nothing on this man. Nothing at all.

      ‘It’s not a particularly appealing trait,’ she said at last.

      ‘I disagree.’

      His self-assurance was like a brick wall, high and wide, impossible to cross or find a chink in. Still, for some perverse reason, she tried. ‘So you think it’s an asset? Being so ridiculously self-assured?’

      He shrugged, as if the answer was so apparent the question should not have even been asked. ‘Of course.’

      ‘Why? How?’

      ‘Because there is a basis for it. I am the way I am because I know what I’m doing and, more importantly, I know what I want and I go after it.’ His eyes flashed, a glint of silver like moonlight flashing off the blade of a knife. ‘And do you know what I want right now, Lina?’

      She swallowed. Hard. Excitement licked along her veins like the most dangerous fire. ‘What?’

      ‘You.’

      Before she could form the words for a semi-coherent reply he’d crossed the room, swallowing up the space in a couple of strides, and plucked the champagne flute from her nerveless fingers. She opened her mouth to protest—she hadn’t finished her drink—but then his hands were on his shoulders, warm and so very sure, and he was kissing her.

      Her very first kiss, and it felt like diving head-first into ice-cold water, a shock to her entire system. She stiffened underneath the onslaught of his persuasive mouth, the sudden intimacy of it, even as heat exploded in her centre and stars shot from behind her eyes. Her knees buckled and she felt Rico smile against her mouth as he gauged her obvious and overwhelming response to him.

      She clutched at the slippery, satiny lapels of his tuxedo jacket, lost in the sensation of his mouth on hers. Were all kisses like this? Did you always feel as if you were drowning, caught up in a whirlpool of pleasure, every sense singing? She’d never experienced anything like it, and all she knew was that she wanted more. Much more.

      Her mouth opened under his and she stood on her tiptoes, straining to reach more of him. Feel more of him. Her breasts pressed against his chest and created even more arrows of sensations sizzling through her, making her whole being burn.

      Rico slid his hands from her shoulders to her waist, anchoring her against him so her hips nudged his and she felt the hard throb of his arousal against her, shocking her to her core and thrilling her too. Even she, in her innocence, knew what that was. As much as it thrilled her, it also made a ripple of terror go through her. What was she doing? And did she want to stop?

      Rico spread his fingers across her hip, each lean digit creating a burn even through her dress as if he were branding her by his touch. She was so achingly conscious of every part of him, from the hard planes of his chest and thighs to the sure movement of his mouth and the delightful press of his hands. He was everywhere on her, yet she still wanted more, a delicious and insistent ache of need starting at her centre and spreading outwards, right to her fingertips.

      She felt so much, she was afraid she might combust, burst into flames right in front of him. How did people experience this and live?

      Then, quite suddenly, Rico tore his mouth from hers and took a step away, raking his hands through his hair before dropping them to his sides. Colour blazed along his blade-like cheekbones and his breathing was ragged. He was, it seemed, as affected as she was, or almost, and that was an incredible thought.

      Halina’s knees wobbled and she grabbed onto a nearby table to steady herself. She felt the absence of him like a physical thing, everything in her all at once turning empty, cold and aching. For a little while she’d felt so gloriously alive. She couldn’t let it end so quickly. She couldn’t let it end at all.

      Because she knew then, no matter how inexperienced and nervous she was, she wanted more. Needed it. She wasn’t done with Rico...and she prayed he wasn’t done with her.

      * * *

      Rico gazed at Lina thoughtfully, trying to ignore the hectic thud of his own heart. He’d been far more affected by her clumsy kisses than he liked to admit, even to himself. Even in love-making, in the highest heights of his pleasure, he kept his control. To lose it would be another form of weakness, one he despised. He would not be a slave to any emotion, whether it was love or its poorer but equally powerful cousin, lust. He’d decided that a long time ago, when he’d watched someone walk away from him and felt his heart break. Never again. Never again would he allow someone to break something inside him. He wouldn’t even allow himself to be affected...at all. Never would he give in to the weakest emotion of them all, the torment of love.

      And as for Lina... He let his gaze sweep over her, noting her flushed cheeks and swollen lips, her ink-dark, wavy hair falling in tumbling waves over her shoulders. Her breath shuddered through her, and artlessly she pressed one hand to her pounding heart. She was just as affected as he was, and she wasn’t even trying to hide it. He didn’t think it had even occurred to her to hide it, to hide anything, and that made her very different from the women he usually bedded.

      Those women were beautiful and hard in a sharply glittering way, as determined to get his money as much as they were eager to get into his bed. He gave them pleasure, of that he was certain, but they didn’t respond as Lina just had—trembling and eager, unrestrained and artless, seeming to crave him just for him...which was an intoxicant in and of itself.

      ‘What is it?’ she asked, her voice a breathy whisper. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

      ‘How am I looking at you?’

      ‘As if I’m a puzzle you’re trying to solve.’

      He laughed; he couldn’t help himself. She was absolutely right and he wasn’t used to that kind of perception, especially from a potential bed partner. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That is how I’m looking at you. You intrigue me, Lina.’ More than she should. He didn’t want to be interested in the women he bedded, beyond their capabilities in that particular department.

      Yet something about Lina, her utterly unrestrained response, made him pause. And then wonder. Because, he realised, she seemed the one thing he felt he’d never been, at least not since he’d