Royal Scandals: Scandal With A Prince Part 8

"She's leaving the beach in an hour to go to dinner," Megan said as she clicked off the phone and flipped over to face him. "Won't be back until after eight. She'll call when they leave the restaurant."

"Perfect." He punctuated the word by pulling her body back on top of his. He groaned with satisfaction as the curves of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed against his chest, then swooped her hair out of the way so he could see her smile. "Because I desperately want to make love to you again."

"Already?"

"I did promise hours."

"You did." An enticing blush crept across her cheeks. "And I don't plan on answering the phone again."

"Then it's a promise I intend to keep." Hours wouldn't be enough. He had zero desire to untangle himself from her sheets, let alone from her, for days, weeks, months. He s.h.i.+fted so she could feel his c.o.c.k against her thigh, watching her eyes as he did so, then raised his head and paused a breath's distance from her full, luscious lips.

"With your kind permission, of course," he ground out, eliciting a low moan of antic.i.p.ation from Megan. Her eyes drifted closed as he completed the journey to meet her mouth with his own.

He took his time, deliberately, pa.s.sionately, exploring every inch of her lavish body, memorizing each curve as he reveled in the silken texture of her skin. Finally, when he could take no more, he lifted her by the waist and seated her inch by inch, nearly coming undone as he watched the smoky desire filling her eyes transform to an all-out inferno. He made love to her again, guiding her movements as she rode him cautiously at first, as if testing his reaction, then with increasing abandon. The euphoria on her face as she spasmed around him, her head falling back as she cried out his name, brought him to the most explosive release of his life. Her fingers dug into his hypersensitized thighs. He covered her hands with his own to hold her in place, then closed his eyes as shudders wracked his body and his heart pounded in his ears.

This was the sin the biblical scholars wrote about, the tsunami of emotion and physical ecstasy they claimed could down a man. Well, he could be taken down. Blissfully. Everything in his being told him this was his destiny.

He could kick himself for letting Megan go the first time, for allowing himself to believe a life with Ariana was the proper course of action. How stupid he'd been. How malleable. His parents had known exactly what he'd do when they'd set him up with her.

At least the experience taught him to rely on his own gut instinct rather than bow to pressure from others, people who believed there was a right and a wrong choice for a prince in everything, even in the most personal of decisions.

A soft sigh escaped Megan's lips as she collapsed into him, spent. He savored her pulse pounding against his chest, thick and fast, then gradually slowing as she caught her breath. A few minutes later, he half-lifted, half-rolled her to his side and pulled her to spoon against him, which drew a long, soulful exhalation from her. Nuzzling her shoulder, he said, "That wasn't the sound of regret, I hope."

She threaded her fingers through his and squeezed. "No woman in her right mind-or body-would regret that."

"Good." They lay coc.o.o.ned in her bed, neither willing to move. He relished the way her body melded to his and the cool glide of the sheets over their heated, intertwined limbs, and daydreamed about staying here forever, listening to her breathe, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair. Making love to her over and over, as long as his body could hold out.

It was vastly different than the last time he'd made love to her, yet in many ways their connection was the same. Improved, perhaps. They'd seen more of life's ups and downs and become stronger individuals as a result. From what he'd witnessed this weekend, she had more grit than any ten people. Just as adversity taught him to become his own man, it had taught her to become her own woman. What was it he'd thought when he'd first spoken to her in the bar?

Iron core. That was it. Megan possessed an iron core. But it existed in conjunction with a loving heart, the same one he'd seen when she worked with dest.i.tute families in Venezuela. It was evident in the way she looked at Anna or talked about the people with whom she lived and worked at the hotel, and even in the personal touches she'd added to her suite. The smart businesswoman who helped transform an outdated Barcelona hotel into a robust, thriving destination for social and business events was no different than the woman he'd seen joking with children as she'd taught them the basics of food and water safety.

A man would be lucky to have a woman like Megan in his life.

"I hope you didn't regret our time in Venezuela," he whispered, thinking back to their last night together. There'd been no soft sheets, no pillows, no time to luxuriate in their encounter afterward.

"No. Not for a second."

"Even when you learned you were pregnant?" It was a difficult question, but one he needed to ask.

He died a thousand small deaths as she contemplated her answer.

"I won't lie." She traced a line along his arm with one finger. "I worried about how I'd handle raising a child, especially since I knew she'd be born during my final semester. I wasn't about to drop out of school and risk both our futures. But I never once regretted being with you. Never. It was a wonderful, romantic memory to call upon whenever I faced a tough day."

His chest ached at her words, both with relief that their time together affected her the same way it had him and with the agony of knowing what it must've cost her on a day-to-day basis.

"I won't regret this today," she added, though her voice was thick with concern. "Not unless it somehow harms Anna. If that happens, I'm...well, I don't know what I'd do. I can't-I won't-do anything that hurts her. Do you understand?"

He buried a kiss in her hair. "I'd be an a.s.s not to. Prioritizing Anna is what makes you such a good mother." If only his parents had done the same. They'd been overwhelmed with the needs of a country on the cusp of modernization, and in a sense had been parents to the entire population. Their own children had come second. Perhaps because in a way, the Barrali children needed their parents less than the country did.

It didn't make it easier for him.

He swept a stray curl behind Megan's ear. "I give you my word, here and now, that I will never hurt her. I'll protect her as if I'd raised her from birth, as if I'd known her name before she was born. No matter the price."

She pulled his hand to her lips and kissed the back of his knuckles. "Thank you for saying I'm a good mother. And thank you for your promise. It means more than you know."

He closed his eyes, forcing his breathing to stay steady in light of what he'd pledged. The price of failure might mean losing Megan-and Anna-forever.

A moment later, he said, "You must promise me something in return."

"Oh no. Now I'm in trouble. What promise must I make?" He could feel her light laughter as she s.h.i.+fted in the bed.

"If Anna ever decides to pursue culinary school, I'm paying for it."

She thwapped his leg. "Very funny."

"I'm serious." He caught her hand and held it against him while he took a quick nibble at the spot on her neck he knew made her crazy. "Speaking of which, I'm starving."

"It hasn't been that long since lunch."

"Check your bedside clock. Time flies when you're having fun. And somehow, I've worked up an appet.i.te."

"Somehow." Amus.e.m.e.nt filled her voice as she wriggled to face him. Instantly, he missed the sensation of having his chest to her back and his c.o.c.k nestled against the tight, smooth roundness of her backside. "Want me to order dinner for two?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Won't that raise questions? Given that you live here, I a.s.sume the entire staff knows your habits."

"As Anna so aptly noted, I have a drawer full of menus from the downstairs restaurants. We order dinner for two more often than I'd like to admit."

As if on cue, his stomach rumbled. "In that case, you likely know what tastes good. Order whatever you think I'd enjoy."

"Only if you select the wine."

That he could do. "There's a zinfandel on the first page of the room service menu that happens to be one of my favorites." When she referred to the wine by vintage, he nodded, then eased from the bed and strolled to the bathroom. He paused in the doorway, taking a moment to drink in the sight of her lying naked amongst the crumpled sheets. "Tell them to deliver in an hour."

At her confused frown, he flashed a smile designed to entice. "Join me in the shower in the meantime."

Chapter Twelve.

Precisely sixty minutes later, as Megan wrapped a towel around Stefano's waist and pressed a kiss to his torso to capture a particularly delectable-looking rivulet of water, a knock came at the door.

"This hotel has fantastic service," she commented, letting her fingers fall from the fold she'd created near his hipbone. She loved the slight curve of abdominal muscle right above that spot, having made her appreciation clear while they stood under the shower spray. "That's five-star timing."

"Want me to get it?" Stefano teased, grabbing at the ties to her robe as if to yank it from her body.

She rolled her eyes, then left him in the master bathroom as she strolled through her suite, fluffing her damp hair as she went. She hummed to herself. For the first time in weeks, she felt completely, totally relaxed.

Multiple o.r.g.a.s.ms did that to a girl. Especially when followed by a long, sultry ma.s.sage in a steamy shower. The man certainly knew how to make good use of a retractable showerhead.

She sighed, then leaned against the door to ask the server to leave the food cart in the hallway. As she opened her mouth to speak, the knock came again.

"Room service," a familiar, thickly-accented male voice announced.

She backed away in surprise. "Santi?"

"Si."

She crinkled her brow. Why would Santi himself deliver? Was there a staffing issue? A large conference was scheduled to begin in the hotel's new facilities tomorrow afternoon, with many of the partic.i.p.ants arriving tonight; someone should have notified her if they were short waitstaff for room service deliveries.

She double-checked the coverage on her robe before opening the door. The head chef stood behind a rolling cart laden with covered platters, a basket of fresh bread, and two sets of silverware wrapped in perfectly rolled cloth napkins. But it was the sight of two wine gla.s.ses that put her on alert.

"Santi? What brings you here?"

"Your dinner, of course. I wished to tell Anna how much I liked her thank you note for the mandarin cake-she included a drawing of herself and your parents enjoying it-so I decided to make this particular delivery myself."

She pulled at the top of her robe, subtly making it clear she wasn't in a state to receive guests. "That's so kind of you. I'll let her know."

"She is not here?" His voice was so low she barely made out the words. "I saw her leave for the beach with a friend, but I thought she might have returned. This order, it is not for her, is it?"

d.a.m.n. "No."

"I should have known. She despises asparagus, even mine. This is for an adult, yes?" His dark eyebrows lifted. "Could it be a man?"

She shook her head at him. Santi hadn't raised six children without forming definite opinions on their love lives, and more than once he'd told her he considered her his seventh child. In a gentle, chastising tone, she whispered, "I say this with love...you're being nosy."

"Perhaps." His face softened as he rolled the cart into her entry hall, then lingered at her side. "Or perhaps it is simply worry."

"No need. I'm perfectly fine."

His dark gaze flicked toward her living area, then back to her, taking in her robe, wet hair, and makeup-free face. "I make note of what our guests order for room service, especially in the suites. For instance, I know who ordered this same zinfandel last night. And who did not place any food orders today, despite extending his stay. That same man could not tear his eyes from you the entire night of the fireworks celebration."

Against her will, her lower lip twitched. Santi noticed and placed a rea.s.suring hand on her forearm. "Only I know, and I will say nothing. You deserve happiness in your life and I do not mean the kind one derives from a career or children. You deserve a grand romance." He whirled his hands in the air as if tossing a pizza and drew out the last two words. "But this man, he is a Casanova. You know? He plays with women. Be careful."

What would he think if she told him that Casanova wasn't so playful as to pack condoms? Instead, she leaned forward to give the burly man a kiss on the cheek. "You, Santi, are a dear. I promise, I'll be careful. Not that I'm confirming a single one of your crazy a.s.sumptions."

He let out a heavy sigh, as if resigned to watching a headstrong child learn a lesson the hard way. "In that case, I will say no more. Enjoy your meal and your evening."

She peeked under one of the lids. "If this tastes half as good as it smells, I'm in for a treat. Wait...is this other plate chocolate cake? You know I didn't order that."

"Occasional treats are good for the spirit," he said as he let himself out, "as long as you remember that long-term nourishment is more important."

So much for Santi's pledge to say no more.

Stefano joined her at the table a few minutes later. He'd replaced his towel with the hotel robe that she'd left hanging on the back of the bathroom door. The bright white of the robe contrasted sharply with his smooth olive skin and damp hair, making her desire his touch all over again.

Still, the atmosphere in the room seemed different than only moments before, when they'd shared an intimate shower. The spell was broken. Megan's trepidation about having Stefano in her and Anna's lives returned.

d.a.m.ned Santi and his parental warnings.

Stefano must have sensed the change in her, because his mouth formed a grim line as he uncorked the wine, took the seat beside hers, then poured a half-gla.s.s for each of them.

After a few moments of silence, he said, "The call I received earlier was about an appointment I have tomorrow at noon in Sarcaccia. I'm scheduled to meet with the head of our country's transportation department to discuss progress on system upgrades."

A nice dry topic for dinner conversation. "Sounds important. Does this mean you're flying back tonight?"

He swirled the wine in his gla.s.s before taking a sip. "I had a voice mail from my pilot asking the same question. It's a quick flight, so I told him we'll go in the morning."

She wanted to know when he'd return to Barcelona, but knew better than to ask. Instead, she teased, "As long as you're not exhausted from your busy weekend."

"No. If anything, I feel rejuvenated." He scooted his chair closer to hers, handing her one of the silverware bundles before removing the domed covers from their dinner plates. He let out a low growl of approval as the scent of freshly-roasted chicken and steamed asparagus filled the room.

"Our head chef, Santi," she explained. "It's one of his specialties. I have no idea what he does to make it smell so divine. Something with lemon and his home-grown basil."

Stefano tapped his chicken once with the tines of his fork as he swallowed his first bite. "This is decadent. Did he also design the menu for the grand reopening celebration? The halibut that night was the best I've eaten. It's not an easy dish to pull off for such a large group."

"He did. Santi's a gem." An inquisitive one, but still a gem.

They spent the rest of the meal discussing Stefano's travels, both personal and professional, and the range of hotels and restaurants he'd had the opportunity to visit. Megan commented on the different management styles of the hotels with which she was familiar, noting when she'd visited some of the same locations. When they finished their meal, she rolled the cart to the outside hallway and rang for pickup while Stefano carried the wine bottle to the coffee table. He made s.p.a.ce for her beside him on the sofa. Once she was settled, he said, "The Grandspire is well-run, top to bottom. I haven't seen a single misstep during my entire stay. You must be proud of what you've accomplished here."

"I am. Though I can't take credit for the food."

He smiled at that, then his expression turned serious. "You mentioned at breakfast yesterday that your work here is nearly complete. When will you start looking for your next position?"

"Soon." She adjusted her robe so she could put her feet on the coffee table. "I haven't had much time to myself the last few weeks with the grand reopening, but I've put out a few feelers. Mostly in the United States, so Anna can see more of my parents. But I'm open to Europe, if the right school is available and the city has frequent flights to the U.S." Of course, with Stefano in Anna's life-for however long-staying in Europe would make visitation easier for him.

If Stefano stayed in her life. True, he'd appeared touched while looking at Anna's pictures on her phone and he'd seemed enchanted by Anna today. He'd said all the right things and acted as if he genuinely wanted to see his daughter again and get to know her better. But how would he feel in a week? In a year? Once he returned to his life in Sarcaccia and reality set in, would he be so anxious to do the hard work of building and maintaining a relations.h.i.+p? It wouldn't be easy to find gaps in his schedule that would allow for discreet visits. Even if he did, would he lose his fascination with his daughter? Children Anna's age could be trying at times, even in the best of circ.u.mstances, and who knew what Anna might be like as a teenager?

Of course...all that left aside whatever was happening between the two of them.

Stefano s.h.i.+fted on the sofa so he could pull Megan's legs across his lap. He smelled of her soap, her shampoo. Yet on his skin, the familiar formulas took on a different quality. More robust. Definitely more s.e.xy. He rested one arm across the back of the sofa while his other hand settled high on her leg. She expected him to flirt, maybe suggest they return to the bedroom in what little time they had left. Instead, his demeanor remained serious.

"Do you mind if I see Anna again? I know I told her I'd visit, but I want you to be comfortable with it."

"No, I don't mind. In fact, I'd like it very much." She put her hand on his arm, keeping the touch firm rather than seductive. "But we'll have to be careful."

"I told you, I won't do anything to hurt her. I keep my commitments."

Like his broken engagement? She exhaled, wondering how that thought popped into her head. It was one more complication in what was already a complicated situation.

"I understand if you're worried I'll make promises to her I can't keep." His fingers flexed against her thigh. "I imagine every parent disappoints their children from time to time, but I'll endeavor not to disappoint mine. If I tell her I'm coming to visit, I'll find a way."

Megan had no doubt he believed every word he said. "I know that's what you want, but my concerns are broader than simply having you show up when you say you will. What happens when friends or relatives learn you're visiting her? Take tonight: If the reception desk sent Julia and Marta up rather than buzzing me first, there would have been some explaining to do. I don't think either of us are prepared for that. Anna definitely isn't."

Santi would raise questions, too, if Stefano appeared in Barcelona again. Worse, if Santi connected the dots and guessed that Stefano fathered Anna, she doubted the chef would be able to keep it to himself. He'd tell his wife, at the very least. From there, who knew where the information might go.