Modern Romance November 2016 Books 5-8. Rachael Thomas

opened Catalina’s passport first and was inputting the details on a computer when her eyes suddenly widened and she looked back up at them.

      Catalina leaned forward to speak quietly to her, the girl nodding vigorously in agreement to whatever was being said. A few minutes later she presented them with an old-fashioned key and got to her feet, and Catalina took her hands between both of her own. The girl pointed to a door to their left and sat back down.

      ‘We’re in room eighteen,’ Catalina said, waving goodbye to the awestruck teenager. ‘And we’ve a table booked in the restaurant for thirty minutes.’

      He opened the door, which led into a long, wide corridor. ‘We have only one room?’

      ‘We were lucky to get that.’

      As she replied he caught a trace of her scent.

      He could laugh. Caught a trace of it? She’d disappeared for ten days and her scent had never left him. It had fuelled him.

      Gritting his teeth together, Nathaniel said, ‘Why didn’t she understand me?’

      ‘She only speaks minimal Spanish—this town considers itself Catalan and mostly caters to fellow Catalan tourists. She’s only filling in because the blizzard has brought a swarm of guests in.’

      ‘I didn’t know you could speak Catalan.’

      ‘My mother was Spanish and was raised speaking Spanish and Catalan. She taught Isabella and I Catalan so we could be free with what we said to each other.’

      ‘Your mother was a member of the Spanish royal family, wasn’t she?’

      ‘She was a cousin to the King.’

      ‘Monte Cleure and Spain have strong links, don’t they?’

      ‘Yes. They’re as strong as our links to France, which is good seeing as we’re sandwiched between the pair of them.’

      ‘I can imagine. And I imagine your mother’s upbringing meant she adapted easily to life in the Royal Palace of Monte Cleure.’

      Catalina grimaced in response and came to a stop by the door with a number eighteen on it.

      What secrets would the Queen and her daughters have wanted to share that had necessitated them speaking a language no one else understood?

      But it wouldn’t even have had to have been secrets. From what he knew of the palace, nothing was private.

      He recalled what she’d said about catching a couple making love, and the image of the raven-haired Queen Claudette came to his mind. The way Catalina had spoken, it had sounded as if she’d known the lovers well. Nathaniel had seen the Queen a number of times at school concerts and open days in his younger years, and then at various functions he’d been invited to at the Agon palace, but they had never been introduced.

      His money was good enough to be courted in the hope of investment but he was only just considered good enough to be introduced to a Monte Cleure princess, never mind the Queen. She’d resembled her younger daughter, Isabella, more than Catalina, but had had the same willowy figure, poise and serenity her elder daughter carried so effortlessly.

      No, Queen Claudette was certainly not the kind of woman who would have demeaned herself by making love in a herb garden.

      Queen Claudette hadn’t been a rampant teenager struggling to contain her hormones.

      Not like him, who had once been a hormonal teenager who’d embarked on a tawdry, seedy affair.

      ‘It must have been difficult growing up knowing every wrong move or word would have consequences,’ he said quietly, trying to imagine what it must have been like to grow up as a princess in the House of Fernandez.

      ‘It’s my life,’ she said simply before correcting herself, ‘was my life. I was born into great privilege. My mother never let me forget how privileged it was and I never let myself forget either. And here’s our room.’

      She stuck the key in the lock and turned it.

      The door opened to reveal a surprisingly large room that was as clean and airy as the reception. A carved wooden king-size bed with an enormous fur throw dominated it. The other items of furniture blurred into insignificance.

      He turned to face her.

      Her eyes were already upon him.

      ‘There is only one bed,’ he said, studying her, remembering the way she had trembled when he’d trapped her against the kitchen counter earlier. His body still ached from the remnants of the need that had pulsed through him when he’d run his fingers over her soft cheeks and inhaled the fragrance that could have been designed for his senses alone.

      ‘Do you have a problem with that?’ Her gaze was steady and unflinching.

      Did he have a problem with that? A problem with sleeping with the most beautiful, sexiest woman in the world who had run away from him, taking their unborn child with her? Yes, he would say he had a problem with that.

      At that moment he wanted nothing more than to rip her clothes off, lay her down on the carved bed and plunge deep inside her; to possess her. To make her his.

      All the reasons why he’d kept his distance and his hands to himself before no longer applied. Everything had changed. He didn’t need to protect her any more.

      Hell, she didn’t deserve his protection any more.

      Catalina wanted to make her own choices. If he pulled her into his arms she would respond in the same way she had the first time he’d taken her, with a passion that had caused him to lose control and throw caution to the wind for a few minutes of unprotected pleasure. That he’d kept the sense to withdraw and sheathe himself wasn’t a tick against his name. He’d known the dangers and he’d ignored them, something he had never been remotely tempted to do before that moment that had changed their worlds for ever.

      If he made love to her again there would be no need to sheathe himself. He would be able to feel every minute of it.

      Lust was supposed to be uncomplicated; a mutually satisfying physical exchange. All the loathing swirling in his blood along with his desire for her...

      There was nothing to stop him from acting on all the desires he’d harboured for her for years but which had intensified since their night together... And it was that intensity and its potency that warned him to retreat. Because this felt like a damned sight more than mere lust.

      ‘Do you have a problem with us sharing a bed together?’ he asked in clipped tones, his body tightening painfully as he threw her question back at her.

      Her sultry chocolate gaze didn’t leave his. Her pupils were wide, calling to him like a visible expression of the scent that drove him so wild. She answered with a slow shake of her head.

      Every atom in his body felt charged, straining towards her, fighting his head for control. She was still bundled up in her winter attire, with only the hat removed, but she was sexier than if she’d presented herself to him in a black lace negligee.

      He inhaled deeply through his nose, unable to tear his eyes away from the face he wanted to despise but in reality wanted nothing more than to cup in his hands and bring his lips down on hers.

      Suddenly her hand reached out to rest against his chest. ‘I really am sorry that I stole your money and ran away.’ Something other than desire darkened her eyes.

      The warmth of her skin penetrated his clothes and sank into his bloodstream.

      A contorted smile played on her lips. ‘I know you think you can’t trust me any more but I promise I will never do that to you again. I’m putting my trust in you and I hope one day you can regain your trust in me.’ Now a genuine smile lit up her beautiful face. ‘It’ll be you and me against the Monte Cleure establishment. We’ll be like Bonnie and Clyde.’

      ‘You want to shoot your way to freedom?’ he asked, fighting his own smile as much as he was fighting