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Carlos had twisted her arm to accept this dinner date, the way charming men did. He’d trapped her and then kissed her until every brain cell was lulled into capitulation. God, she’d been looking forward to being alone with him again. That kiss was good. Better than good. It was the best kiss she’d ever had. Not even Travis could kiss like that, and he’d been plenty experienced in that department.
“Sorry, so sorry, Portia.”
She jumped. “Oh!” Juan Carlos entered the room, looking dashing in a dark buttoned-up suit but no tie. Another growl emitted from her stomach, this time not due to hunger.
“Did Alicia explain what happened? It was my fault. This is the first chance I’ve had to—”
“It’s been over ninety minutes,” was all she could think to say.
“I would’ve cancelled with you and sent you home, but this is your last night in Alma. Selfishly, I wanted to see you again.”
Guilt rose like bile in her throat. She remained silent.
He glanced at the feast of food that had been put before her. “You didn’t touch anything Chef prepared. You must be famished.”
“I’m not hungry anymore, Your Majesty.”
His lips pursed in disapproval.
She still couldn’t bring herself to call him by his given name.
“You’ve been so patient. There’s just one more meeting I have to get through. Will you wait?”
She shook her head. “Actually, I think I’d like to go.”
“You’re angry.”
“No, I’m tired and, and...”
“Angry.”
She didn’t respond. “Will you have your driver take me back to the hotel?”
Juan Carlos closed his eyes briefly. “Yes, of course. I just assumed after we kissed, you’d... Never mind. You’re right. I shouldn’t have made you wait.”
A man who admitted when he was wrong? How rare.
“Duty called. I’m afraid it always will.”
That’s how it had worked with Travis. The difference? Travis had been building his own personal dynasty, while Juan Carlos was trying to build one for his country. But that still left Portia with the same end result. She’d never be a top priority and while she liked Juan Carlos, she had vowed, after many disappointments with Travis, to never get herself in that situation again.
With that, she wished Juan Carlos a good evening, assured him she wasn’t angry and put enough distance between them that he couldn’t touch her, couldn’t plant his delicious lips on hers again and make her change her mind.
The beach at Playa del Onda was one of the most stunning Portia had ever visited. Warm sand squeezed between her toes as she sat on a lounge chair, reading a book. This morning she’d gotten up early and taken a long jog along the shoreline, the October sun warming her through and through. She’d met a lovely family of tourists and had breakfast with them at a terrace café that overlooked the Atlantic. But their two little children, aged five and three, reminded her that it would probably be a long time before she was blessed with motherhood.
Often, she thought of having a family. She’d been orphaned at a young age. Aside from her great-aunt Margreta, she had no other family. Her grandmother Joanna had died during Portia’s sophomore year in college. But she had her work and it fulfilled her, and she had good friends. She wasn’t complaining. Yet being here on this beautiful beach was not only relaxing, it was...lonely.
Face it, Portia. How many books can you read this week? How many hot stone spa treatments can you indulge in? How many solo dinners in your room can you enjoy?
It had been three days of torturous relaxation. And it didn’t compute. How odd for her to realize while on a vacation in a beautiful locale that she wasn’t made for inactivity. She liked to keep active, to busy herself with things that mattered. Yesterday, she’d given herself a mental slap. You deserve this vacation, so shut up, sit back and enjoy yourself.
Today, the mental slaps weren’t working. Her relaxation was even more forced. She fidgeted in her chair; the book in her hands no longer held her interest. Sunglasses shading her eyes, she watched others frolicking on the sand, tossing a Frisbee, their laughter drifting over to her, reminding her how lonely she was. How bored.
She wished Jasmine was here. They would’ve had a good time with shopping, spa dates and maybe a nightclub or two.
The Frisbee landed at her feet and a teenage boy trotted over and stopped abruptly, blasting sand onto her legs. “Excuse me,” he said. He reached for the Frisbee slowly, eyeing her legs, then her bikini-clad body. “Want to play with us?” he asked.
He had Spanish good looks, dark hair, bronzed skin and a charming smile. He was sixteen tops, and she would’ve actually considered tossing the Frisbee around with him, if he hadn’t been so blatant about ogling her breasts.
She was saved from refusing, when the concierge from the Villa Delgado approached. “Excuse me, Princess.”
The boy blinked at her title, turned a lovely shade of cherry-blossom pink and bowed, before dashing off. She chuckled under her breath. Her royal status did have some advantages. “Yes,” she said to the concierge, removing her sunglasses.
“You have a phone call at the desk. A woman named Jasmine. She says she works for you. Apparently, she hasn’t been able to reach you on your cell phone.”
“I left my cell in my room,” she replied. She didn’t want to be interrupted in her state of lonely boredom. Now she realized how silly that seemed. “Sorry you had to track me down.”
“Not a problem, Princess Portia.”
“Will you tell her that I’ll call her as soon as I get to my room?”
“My pleasure,” he said.
When he walked off, she gathered up her beach bag, hat and sunglasses and promptly made her way toward the villa. Her suite with its second-floor terrace came into view. It was really quite picturesque, the columns and archways suggesting old-world grace and style. Why couldn’t she like being here more? Why wasn’t she okay with being idle? Maybe things had changed with Jasmine. Maybe her friend would come join her, after all. Her hope in her throat, Portia hiked a little faster to reach her suite of rooms.
Once inside, she set her things down on the dining table and headed for the bedroom, where she was sure she’d left her phone. It was charging on her nightstand. She unhooked the charger, just as she heard a knock at the door.
She belted her cover-up a little tighter and moved to the door. With a gentle tug on the knob, the door opened and she came face to face with Juan Carlos Salazar. The king.
She blinked and a rush of heat rose up her neck. She trembled at the sight of him, the gorgeous, unexpected, surprising sight of him. The phone slipped slightly in her hand and she grabbed at it before it crashed onto the floor.
His eyes were on her, and those dark raised brows made her flush even hotter. With guilt. Piercing disappointment flickered in his eyes. She hadn’t told him the absolute truth when she’d left Del Sol.
“Princess,” he said.
“Your Majesty,” she responded.
His lips twitched. “I see you’ve decided to stay on in Alma, after all.”
“I, uh, yes.” She didn’t owe him an explanation. One heart-robbing kiss didn’t give him that right. “My plans changed.”
“Quite unexpectedly, I assume.”
“Yes,