Her Christmas Prince. Catherine MannЧитать онлайн книгу.
aback, and she wasn’t upset. In fact, she belatedly realized she’d expected as much. After her little revelation in the car on the way to the airport that morning, she even found herself looking forward to what the evening might bring.
The royal suite was gorgeous. Nicer, even, than her rooms at the palace.
The walls, carpeting and drapes were all done in varying shades of blue, with touches of white and tan. A set of dark mahogany French doors opened onto a small lanai overlooking the city and the coastline beyond. One of the doors was open, allowing a cool breeze to ruffle the long, diaphanous curtains, bringing in the salty scent of the sea.
“Are you hungry?” Nicolas asked, stepping to a desk that held a thick, black binder of hotel amenities.
She nodded, moving slowly in his direction as she continued to take in her surroundings. She wondered if she should bother unpacking, or simply live out of her overnight bag.
“I’ll have something brought up,” he said, flipping through the room service menu and then calling down to order what sounded like a veritable buffet of appetizers and entrées. Before hanging up, he asked for a bottle of their best wine, and strawberries with fresh whipped cream for dessert.
“We have about thirty minutes before the food arrives.” Loosening his tie and shrugging out of his suit jacket, he draped both over the back of a chair as he crossed the room. “Would you care to change into something a bit more comfortable before it gets here?”
His gaze raked her from head to toe, raising gooseflesh every inch of the way.
She knew when to admit defeat—and when to enjoy a very handsome man who was more than willing to pleasure and worship her, if only for a short while.
“Do you have any special requests?” she asked, slowly removing her watch, and then her earrings. Next she raised a hand to the top button of her blouse, slipping it through its hole.
His eyes followed her actions intently, glittering with longing and sending sparks of awareness through her.
“Naked works for me,” he murmured, his voice gravelly with desire.
She chuckled, feeling a thrill of empowerment swelling in her veins. “Not just yet, I don’t think,” she said, turning on her heel and heading for the bedroom. “I wouldn’t want to shock the waiter when he arrives.”
“If he sees you naked, I could have him killed.”
She laughed again, facing him with her hands on the knobs of the double bedroom doors.
“Let’s not turn this trip into a crime spree just yet. Not if we can help it,” she told him as she swung the doors closed. “I’ll see what I can come up with on my own.”
She stayed in the bedroom until she’d heard the room service waiter deliver dinner and leave again.
Opening one door a crack, she saw Nicolas standing before the round table on one side of the sitting area. It had been set with an array of dishes and stemware.
Stepping the rest of the way into the room, she paused and waited for him to notice her. When he did, his hand froze on the silver serving lid he’d been about to raise, and his gaze zeroed in on her like a heat-seeking missile.
She’d changed into a long black nightgown with spaghetti straps and lace-lined slits running from ankle to midthigh on each side. Her feet were bare, her red-tipped toes peeking out from beneath the hem of the nightie, and she’d combed her hair out to fall in a straight, silky curtain around her shoulders. The look on Nicolas’s face told her how completely he appreciated her efforts.
“It’s not naked, but I hope you approve.”
He swallowed hard. “Very much so. I didn’t think it was possible, but that gown may just be better than full nudity.”
An amused smile tugged at her lips. “I’m glad you said something. Now I know not to take it off, no matter how much you beg.”
“Princes don’t beg,” he informed her, stalking slowly toward her.
“No?” she asked, her mouth going suddenly dry.
“No.”
He was standing in front of her now, close enough to touch, but keeping his arms at his sides. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she had to fight the urge to wiggle nervously.
“What do princes do, then?” she asked, her voice husky with growing pleasure.
Reaching out, he stroked the back of his fingers across her cheek. “It would be better if I showed you.”
“Won’t dinner get cold?”
“Do you care?”
Late that night, Alandra lay in bed, wrapped snugly in Nicolas’s arms. She couldn’t have been more physically comfortable and sated…but her emotions were in an uproar.
She had done the very thing she’d sworn not to—she’d become Nicolas’s lover.
As disturbing as that was, as much as it made her question her own character, it wasn’t what had her teetering on the edge.
She’d realized not an hour before—while Nicolas was kissing her, stroking her and making her sigh—that she was falling in love with him.
She swallowed hard, blinking to keep the moisture collecting at the corners of her eyes from spilling over. Beneath her cheek, Nicolas’s chest rose and fell with his easy breathing.
This was bad. So bad. An affair was one thing. But how was she supposed to leave for home with a smile on her face if her heart was left behind, broken and bleeding?
How was she supposed to pretend that what had passed between them was just a holiday fling, when it had become so much more than that to her?
Nicolas shifted slightly in his sleep, causing her breath to catch. When he didn’t wake up, she relaxed, feeling a bit steadier.
Since she knew she was merely a temporary distraction for him, and that he didn’t share her newfound sentiments in the least, she would simply have to deal with the situation as best she could. Hide her feelings. And then, when the time came, she would walk away.
Closing her eyes, she began to drift off, telling herself to get used to the pain squeezing her heart. It was going to be with her for a long time to come.
They returned to the other side of the island the following morning, Christmas Eve, with many hours to spare before the family’s annual holiday party. Nicolas had made certain Alandra knew she was to attend, though she wasn’t entirely looking forward to it.
Stepping off the plane, they were accosted by a large group of reporters, all snapping pictures and screaming out questions. She had trouble making out the exact words, and Nicolas bustled her into the back of the waiting limousine before she could decipher them.
“What was that about?” she asked breathlessly as the car shifted into gear and headed toward the palace.
He shook his head. “The press probably caught wind of our travels and are trying to see if it’s worthy of front page news.”
The media attention still seemed odd to her, since the trip had been business-related and the palace likely would have already delivered a press release outlining the prince’s plans. But she pushed aside her misgivings and relaxed in the comfortable, stuffed leather seat.
When they arrived at the palace, the queen was waiting for them in the main foyer. Her face was pinched, her mouth set in a flat, angry line. Though she didn’t raise her voice, the disapproval in her tone was clear as glass.
“In the library,” she snapped. “Now.”
Nicolas and Alandra exchanged