Pursued (The Diamond Tycoons 2) (16 page)

“That will never happen to him,” he assured her. “We’ll never
let
that happen to him. He will know every day of his life that he is loved. And so will you, if you’ll trust me. If you’ll let me love you. I’m not saying I won’t make mistakes, as I’m pretty new to this serious-relationship thing, too. But I promise you, Desi, that if you let me, I will love you forever. I will be there when you wake up and I will be there when you fall asleep and I will be there all the times you need me in between.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know it, Desi.”

Another sob racked her body and she covered her mouth to silence the sound. “Don’t say that,” she said when she could speak again. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“I never say things I don’t mean.” He got in her face then, circled her upper arms with his hands and waited until she looked up at him. Until she looked him in the eye. “I love you,” he told her. “I will love you tomorrow. I will love you next year. I will love you in twenty years if you’ll let me. I will—”

She stopped him with a kiss, one that stole his breath and most of the brain cells in his head. Which was why, when she finally pulled back, all he could do was stare at her dumbly.

“You should be careful what you promise,” she told him when they both finally caught their breath.

“I’m always careful with my promises,” he answered. “Because I never break them.”

“I know.” She pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I almost never make promises, either, because I don’t believe in breaking them. But I’ll make a promise to you, if you’ll let me.”

Let her? He nodded eagerly. Too eagerly if her muffled laugh was anything to go by. But he couldn’t help it. He’d die to hear her tell him that she loved him. That she wanted him to be a part of her and the baby’s lives.

“Then it’s my turn to make a promise. And I promise you, Nic Durand, that I will love you for as long as I live. I will live with you in that great big house of yours by the ocean. I will laugh with you. I will raise children with you. And I will love you until I die.”

Tears bloomed in his eyes, too, but when he reached for her, she held up a hand to stop him. “I’m not done yet.”

She’d already told him everything he wanted to hear, so much more than he had imagined her conceding when he’d climbed in that helicopter to chase after her. But he just nodded, and waited for whatever else she had to say.

“Not only all of that, but I also promise to never, ever,
ever
write another article about you or your brother or your company as long as we both shall live.”

He laughed then, because how could he not? He was getting everything he’d ever wanted, and all he had to do was fall in love with the most wonderful woman in the world. He kind of felt as if he’d cheated the system, and won. It was a beautiful feeling, one he would cherish for the rest of his life.

And as he swept her into his arms and carried her the twenty-two steps necessary to take her through the living room and into the bedroom, he did ask her for one more thing. A new couch.

He counted it as a sign that she loved him that she laughed only a little…and gave in with only a very little struggle.

* * * * *

If you loved Nic’s story, pick up his brother Marc’s tale:
CLAIMED
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HAVING HER BOSS’S BABY
by
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THIRTY DAYS TO WIN HIS WIFE
by Andrea Laurence
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SECOND CHANCE WITH THE BILLIONAIRE
by
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A ROYAL TEMPTATION
by Charlene Sands.

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A Royal Temptation

by Charlene Sands

One

J
uan
Carlos Salazar II stood at the altar in Saint Lucia’s Cathedral, holding his
head high as he accepted the responsibility and honor of being crowned King
Montoro of Alma. In a dreamlike state he went through the motions that would
bring the monarchy back to what it had once been decades ago. He’d been orphaned
at a young age and taken in by his uncle. Since then, he’d lived a life filled
with determination and dignity. He’d always known great things would come to him
if he worked hard and kept his focus. But king? Never in his life would he have
guessed his own true destiny.

With the golden orb and blessed scepter in his hands, he saw
the austere ceremony in the cathedral was coming to a close. Prime Minister
Rivera had given a speech full of renewed hope for the country, the small set of
islands off the coast of Spain that had been ravaged by the now overthrown
dictatorship of the Tantaberras. Seventy years of oppression overturned by loyal
citizens, who looked to Juan Carlos for the reinstatement of a monarchy that
would capture their hearts and minds.

Archbishop Santiago placed the royal robe over Juan Carlos’s
shoulders. As he took his seat on the throne, the archbishop set the jeweled
crown of Alma upon his head. All of the tradition, ritual and protocol of the
coronation had been observed, and he was now King Montoro of Alma, the true heir
to the throne. He spoke an oath and vowed to be much more than a figurehead as
he promised to restore order and hope to the country.

It was a monumental time in Alma’s history and he was happy to
have the support of his cousins, Gabriel, Rafe and Bella. They were smiling and
nodding their approval from their seats, Bella with tears in her eyes. They’d
all lived and thrived in the United States before this, and forgive him, but
heaven knew Rafe and Gabriel, who were once thought to be first in line to the
throne but had been disqualified for separate and unique reasons, were not cut
out for the rigors and sacrifice of royal life. They were only too glad to see
Juan Carlos accept the position of sovereign.

A woman seated several rows behind his cousins caught his
attention. Deep cerulean-blue eyes, clear and large, stood out against her
porcelain face and white-blond hair. She reminded him of a snow queen from a
fairy tale in his youth. And as he was ushered down the aisle after the
coronation their gazes locked for an instant and her one eyelid closed in a
wink. Was it for him? His lips immediately quirked up at the notion and he
forced the smile from his expression. Still, his heart did a little tumble as it
had been doing all day, but this time it was the woman, and not the ceremony,
that had caused the commotion.

The next hour passed, again in dreamlike wonder, as he was
escorted out of the cathedral by Alma’s finest royal guards, to be met with
unrestrained jubilation all along the parade route. He sat atop a convertible
car and waved with gloved hands, as they made their way toward the palace. And
there, on the top steps of Alma’s regal old-world palace, Juan Carlos began his
first speech as king.

“Citizens of Alma, as your new king, I promise to honor the
sovereignty of our nation, to always put the country first and to work alongside
our parliament to restore our democracy. It is a vow I take with an open but
steady heart and a determination to see that our freedoms are never threatened
again.”

Cheers went up. “Viva Juan Carlos!”

Juan Carlos waited until the crowd calmed to finish a speech
that was interrupted three more times by applause.

He left the palace steps energized, instilled with the very
same hope he saw in the eyes of his fellow countrymen. He was a foreigner, by
all rights, an American, and yet, they’d accepted him and looked to him to help
establish a newer, brighter Alma.

He would not let them down.

As austere as his day was, he took a moment to reflect on the
coronation and picture the beautiful woman in the light blue chiffon gown, her
eyes as vibrant as deep ocean waters. He’d searched for her during the
procession, the parade and the speech that followed, only to be
disappointed.

She’d been a diversion from the gravity of the day.

Winking at him had brought a smile to his lips.

Who was she?

And would she have his children?

* * *

“Do I need to call you Your Highness?” his cousin Rafe asked as
he pumped Juan Carlos’s hand. They stood off to the side in the palace’s grand
ballroom. The coronation gala was well underway and the orchestra played lively
tunes. An array of fresh flowers decorated the arched entryways, aisles and
tables.

“You mean, as opposed to Squirt, Idiot and Bonehead like when
we were kids?”

“Hey, I wasn’t that bad.”

“You were a year older and that gave you bullying rights.”

“Okay, guilty as charged. But now you can have me hung by the
neck until dead.”

“I could’ve done that to you back then, too.”

“Ha, funny.”

“Call me Juan Carlos or cuz, just like you do now. Your
Highness comes into play only on formal occasions or royal business.”

All amusement on his cousin’s face disappeared. “Seriously,
Juan Carlos, congratulations. The family is proud of you. You’re the only one of
the lot who was cut out for this. You are honoring our aunt Isabella’s final
wishes by restoring the monarchy.”

Juan Carlos came to the throne quite by accident, after Bella
discovered a secret cache of letters that revealed Rafe, Gabriel and Bella’s
late grandfather, Raphael Montoro II, was illegitimate and not the true heir to
the throne. As such, neither of Juan Carlos’s cousins would have been the
rightful king. The former queen’s indiscretion had been kept hidden all these
years until her great-grandchildren had uncovered it.

“Thank you, cousin. I’ve thought about my grandmother these
past few weeks and I think she would approve. It means a great deal to me.” He
sighed. “I hope to make a diff—” He caught a glimpse of a woman in blue and
craned his neck to get a better look.

It was her. She was attending the gala. Only dignitaries,
friends and family members along with the royal photographers and journalists
had been invited to the party, two hundred strong.

“Hey,” Rafe asked. “What are you stretching your neck to
see?”

“She’s here,” he muttered, without shifting his gaze. She was
standing near an archway leading to the foyer, looking to make an escape.

“Juan Carlos?”

“Oh, uh, I saw a woman at the coronation and I haven’t stopped
thinking about her.”

“This I’ve got to see. Any woman who can take your mind off a
day as big as this has got to be something special. Where is she?”

“I’m not going to point. Just look for the most beautiful woman
in the room and you’ll find her.”

“Emily is right there, talking to Bella.”

“Spoken like a besotted newlywed. Okay, yes, Emily is gorgeous,
now find a woman in blue who is not your wife.”

“If you’d agreed to a formal receiving line, you’d have met her
already.”

He hadn’t wanted a stiff, awkward line of people congratulating
him. He’d make his way over to his guests and speak with them during the course
of the evening. He’d vowed to be a king
of
the people and
for
the people and that started right now. “Do you see her?”

“Ah, I do see her now. Very blonde, nice body, great eyes.”

“That’s her. Do you know who she is?”

“No, but apparently she knows Alex and Maria Ramon. They just
walked up to her and they appear friendly.”

“Well, then, I think it’s time I spoke with Alma’s deputy prime
minister of commerce and his wife, don’t you?”

Juan Carlos moved swiftly across the ballroom and as he
approached, Alex spotted him and smiled. “Your Highness.” Juan Carlos nodded. It
would take some time getting used to that greeting.

Maria, not one to stand on ceremony, hugged his neck. She and
Alex had just married and postponed their honeymoon to attend the coronation.
“I’m happy to see this day, Your Highness. You are just what Alma needs.”

“Thank you, Maria.”

As he made eye contact with the blonde woman, it felt as if
something quick and sharp had pierced his body. Her eyes were large, shaped like
perfect twin almonds, the sparkle in them as bright as any star. Mesmerized, he
couldn’t look away.

“And please, let me introduce you to Portia Lindstrom, Princess
of Samforstand.”

Princess?

She
could
have his children.

Juan Carlos offered her his hand and at the touch of her
delicate palm, he once again felt that quick, sharp sensation. “Nice to meet
you, Princess. I’m glad you could make the coronation. It’s a good day for Alma,
I hope.”

“I’m sure it will be, Your Majesty. And please, call me
Portia.”

“I will,” he said. “If you call me Juan Carlos.”

A pink cast tinged her porcelain skin. “I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because, you’re the king.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret. Up until a few months ago, I was
living in Miami and running a rather large business conglomerate. I’m afraid I
still have American ties and king is not in their vocabulary, unless we’re
talking about Elvis.”

She smiled. “I live in America, too. I’m on the west coast
right now. My family was from a tiny country near Scandinavia.”

“Well, then, we have a lot in common. As you can see, Alma is
not a large country, either.”

Maria and Alex exchanged looks and excused themselves. He’d
forgotten they were there. It was rude of him. But now, he was alone with
Portia.

“You are a curiosity. You won’t call me Juan Carlos, but yet
you wink at me just as I am crowned king.”

* * *

Portia froze. Surely the king didn’t believe she’d actually
winked at him. It was that darn nervous twitch of hers. It would have to happen
at the exact moment she’d first made eye contact with him. She should be immune
to royalty—she’d met enough princes and princesses in her twenty-eight years—but
Juan Carlos Salazar seemed different, strikingly handsome and down to earth.
Before she could explain about the wink, the orchestra began playing a lovely
Latin waltz.

He bowed in old world fashion. “Princess Portia, I’d be honored
if you danced with me.”

“I’m afraid I don’t waltz.”

“Neither do I,” he replied. “We can wing it and set a new
trend.”

She chuckled. He didn’t act like the stuffed-shirt royals she’d
met in the past, and when he took her hand and led her to the unoccupied dance
floor, she didn’t protest. He was a better dancer than he let on, and she glided
across the floor with him, fully aware every set of eyes in the room were on
them.

“We’re the only ones out here,” she whispered.

He grinned, flashing white teeth against golden-brown skin. He
was tall and dashing and at the moment, charming her silly by staring into her
eyes as if she was the only person who existed in the world. It was quite
flattering.

“Don’t worry. Other guests will join in after the king’s first
dance. It’s tradition.”

“Then I should be honored you picked me.”

“After that wink, how could I not pick you?” He held her
possessively and spoke with authority, as if he’d been king all of his life.

“It was a twitch. I had something in my eye.”

“I choose to believe it was a wink.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

He smiled again and moved her across the dance floor as if she
were light as air.

When the dance ended, he didn’t release her hand. “Will you
take a walk with me?”

“You want to leave your own gala?”

He shrugged and didn’t appear worried. “It’s been a long,
monumental day. I could use a little break.”

Portia couldn’t very well say no. And getting some fresh air
did sound good. Because of her title, she’d been invited to the gala, and to
refuse such a high honor would’ve been unheard of. Her mother and father’s
greatest wish, as her grandmother told it, was for her to remain true to her
royal bloodlines, even while having a career and life of her own. So she juggled
her time accordingly, to honor her deceased parents’ wishes. She hadn’t had
enough time with them, but she’d hoped to make them proud. “Well, then, yes.
I’ll walk with you.”

They strode off the dance floor in silence. His hand pressed to
her back, he guided her toward a small back door and they ducked out to a
deserted foyer. “There are private gardens just outside where we can sit.”

He opened a door she was sure only royals were privy to, and a
gust of cool autumn air hit her. Without a second’s hesitation, Juan Carlos
removed his tuxedo jacket and placed it around her shoulders. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” She tugged the lapels closed and kept her
hands there, away from the king’s tempting grasp. His dark eyes were on her
every move, and when he touched her, her pulse raced in a way it hadn’t in a
very long time.

He led her to grounds surrounded by lattices covered with
vines. “Would you like to sit down?”

“Okay.”

She sat on a delicately woven rattan love seat and he lowered
down beside her, his six-foot presence looming large next to her. Aware of the
solid breadth of his shoulders and the scent of his skin, she found the new king
of Alma a little too appealing. “It’s nice here. Quiet,” she said. “You must be
exhausted.”

“Yes, but invigorated, too. If that makes any sense to
you.”

“It does. When I’m researching a piece of art for a client, I
might work sixteen-hour days, but I always get excited when I locate it.” His
brows came together as if he were puzzled. “I’m an art advisor,” she explained.
“I help collectors build their collections.”

“Impressive. And do you work in your country?”

“I’m based out of Los Angeles and New York. I don’t spend any
time in Samforstand.”