Royal Holiday Bride. Brenda HarlenЧитать онлайн книгу.
gasped and shuddered, but didn’t pull away. He eased his lips from hers and skimmed them along her jaw, down her throat, over the curve of her collarbone. The soft, sexy noises that sounded in her throat made his blood pound and his body ache.
Maybe this was crazy. It was certainly beyond scandalous. Anyone could wander out from the ballroom as easily as they had done, but he didn’t care. He experienced a heady sense of freedom that he’d never known before, trusting that even if someone did venture out onto the balcony, they wouldn’t catch the king of Ardena in a compromising position. Because he wasn’t the king of Ardena right now—he was Jupiter, and making love with Juno seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
He tore his mouth from hers and drew in a deep, shuddering breath to say, “Come upstairs with me.”
It was a plea as much as a demand, and there was only one answer Marissa wanted to give. She would follow him to the ends of the earth if he would keep doing what he’d been doing, if he could make those exquisite sensations ricocheting through her body never stop. But even with lust clouding her mind, something in his words gave her pause.
She’d been on the verge of saying “yes.” She’d been on the verge of letting him take her right there on the balcony. Because she’d thought he was an anonymous stranger. But he hadn’t said come home with me or come back to my hotel. He’d said come upstairs with me. And if he was staying at the palace, he had to have some kind of connection to the prince regent.
She drew back, tried to catch her breath and focus her thoughts. “You have a room … here at the palace?”
He hesitated, as if only now understanding the implications of his words. But then he said, “I’m visiting with a friend who is well acquainted with the minister of foreign affairs. He arranged for our accommodations.”
It was a logical explanation and not one that would concern most women. Of course, most other women weren’t closely related to the minister of foreign affairs.
She exhaled slowly, reconsidering his invitation. But if the connection to her brother was only through a friend of his, then this … interlude, she decided for lack of a better term, could remain anonymous. Which meant that his revelation didn’t require her to abort her plan. At least not yet.
“That seems rather convenient,” she said lightly.
He brushed his lips against hers again. “Or maybe it’s destiny.”
She smiled and splayed her palms on his breastplate. She could feel the ridges of the storm-cloud design beneath her fingertips, but what she wanted to feel was the warmth of his bare flesh. She wanted to explore every inch of him, with her hands and her lips. It was a shockingly bold desire for a woman with zero sexual experience, and a desire that she didn’t want to deny any longer.
For the first time in her life, she wanted a man without hesitation. Maybe it was foolish, maybe it was irrefutable proof that she had set upon a desperate course, but it was true. She wanted to be with this man. She wanted him to kiss her again, she wanted to feel his lips on hers, his hands on her body, his naked flesh against hers.
She whispered against his lips, “Lead the way.”
Chapter Two
As they made their way through the maze of hallways to the third floor of the north wing, Marissa’s apprehension increased.
Could she do this? Could she really make love with a stranger? She wanted to—and not just because she was determined to finally lose her virginity, but because she wanted this man as she’d never wanted anyone before. Because he’d made her feel things she’d never felt before.
But what if she got scared? What if she stepped into his room and he pressed her up against the wall and shoved his tongue down her throat and—
She jolted when he took her hand.
Behind the gold mask that covered half of his face, his gaze was hot and intense, but when he spoke, his voice was carefully neutral. “If this isn’t what you want—”
“No,” she interrupted quickly, shoving aside the unpleasant memory of the Duke of Bellemoro. “It is.”
“Good,” he said, and slipped his arms around her waist to draw her close. He lowered his head and kissed her again.
He truly was an exceptional kisser, teasing her lips, coaxing her response. As their tongues danced and mated, she felt as if she could be content to continue kissing him forever. But contentment quickly gave way to desire, and desire to need.
“Maybe we should take this inside,” he suggested against her lips.
She hadn’t even realized they were still in the hall. What was it about this man that he could make her lose all concept of time and place? And not even care that she’d done so?
He kept one arm around her as he slipped the old-fashioned key into the lock and pushed open the door, and he was kissing her again when he steered her inside.
She was too busy enjoying the sensation of his hands on her body to wonder how he’d scored the corner suite that was usually reserved for state visitors of the highest rank. Too preoccupied to appreciate that the thick rug on the floor of the formal sitting room was an antique Savonnerie, or that the mullioned windows were draped with heavy velvet curtains. But she did notice the massive Chippendale four-poster bed with its pale blue silk cover and mountain of pillows when he steered her into the bedroom.
“One moment,” he said, and released her long enough to light the trio of candles on the rosewood bedside table.
“I wouldn’t have taken you for a romantic,” she admitted.
“There are times when romantic gestures are called for.” He took her hand again, brought it to his lips. “I would say this is one of them.”
“You’ve already succeeded in luring me to your room,” she reminded him.
“So I have.” His quick grin was sexy and satisfied as he drew her into his arms again. “And now that I have you here … how about some champagne?”
She blinked. “Champagne?”
“Sure, I could call downstairs and ask them to send up a bottle—or we could get something to eat, if you’re hungry.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want anything but you.”
“And here I was trying to show some self-restraint.”
“Why?”
“Because if I didn’t, we’d already be naked and in the middle of that big bed right now.”
“I want to see you naked,” she said and reached for the hooks that held his breastplate in place. It was heavier than she’d expected, and it nearly slipped out of her grasp before he took the armor from her and set it aside.
“Same goes.” He unfastened the braided gold rope at her waist, let it fall to the floor, then turned his attention to the twisted fabric at her shoulder. As he worked the knot, his fingertips brushed her bare skin and yearning flooded through her.
When the fastening was untied, the silky gown slid down the length of her body to pool at her feet so that she stood before him in only her mask, lacy sapphire bra, matching bikini panties and the gold-colored sandals.
His gaze skimmed over her, from her shoulders to her toes and back again, slowly, hungrily. “You’re even more beautiful than I anticipated.”
“And you’re still mostly dressed,” she noted.
He unclipped his leg guards, kicked off his sandals and tugged the tunic over his head. As she watched him strip away the various pieces of his costume, she couldn’t help but think that he looked even more like a god without the period enhancements.
His skin was darkly tanned—apparently all over—and stretched taut over glorious muscles. His