Royally Claimed (7 page)

“Then you should be all set.” She let go of his hand but he stood there expectantly. “What?”

“Aren't you going to kiss it to make it better?”

“Frank…” She started to blush.

“It really hurts.” He put on a pained look.

She doubted it. The antibiotic ointment had a small amount of numbing ingredients in it. “I don't kiss my patients.”

He came closer and she backed up until she was practically sitting in the sink. But this time, she didn't feel panicked or closed in. After all, it was just Frank. “I've been very patient with you, Julia, but I'm not one of your patients.”

“You're rather impatient, Frank.” Just as she said that, their hips touched and she realized how impatient he was. His erection was obvious, even through his jeans, fitting perfectly into the cradle of her hips.

Her eyes widened and he nodded ruefully. “We've waited long enough, Julia. Won't you kiss me and make it all better?”

“Just your hand,” she emphasized.

“For now.” He rotated slightly, rubbing against her. She exhaled shakily. To feel all of that inside her…her fantasy from upstairs came roaring back and her nipples tightened against her thin bra.

But all he was asking for was a little kiss. On his
hand, even. She took his wrist and placed a kiss near his bandage.

“And here.” He wiggled his fingertips.

“What? You're not hurt there.”

“The pain is radiating outward.”

She went along with him and kissed each fingertip, his skin catching a bit on the tender inner skin of her lips. He watched her eagerly, his pupils dilating until his eyes were almost black.

She nipped at his index finger and giving into the desire she'd tried to suppress all day, sucked it into her mouth. He groaned in shock and lust. “Julia…”

She swirled her tongue around his finger, the thick skin scraping along her nerve endings. She imagined doing the same thing to his erection that pressed between them.

He yanked his hand free and pulled her close. Just then, a huge clap of thunder startled them apart and a repetitive thumping noise came from outside. He bit out a Portuguese oath and craned his head toward the kitchen door. “Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back.” He bent down and gave her a fierce, fast kiss before tossing on a rain slicker.

She clutched the countertop, her heart pounding. What had possessed her to be so bold? She hadn't made up her mind to make love with Frank—had she?

Julia slumped onto a stool. Maybe she had. She'd seen the clouds coming from the west, had seen the waves starting to rise as they'd boated to Frank's island. Her psychology class wasn't much more than a distant memory, but even she could remember the pesky subconscious part of the mind that knew a person's hidden
wishes and cheerfully shoved her along toward attaining them.

Stupid Freud. Stupid subconscious. She'd known the weather would likely go bad and she'd be stranded on the island in the middle of a storm.

How very gothic of her. All she had to do was run screaming into the night with the Duke of Aguas Santas chasing her and they'd be reenacting one of those novels her mother had devoured when Julia was a kid. Except Julia had never grown up to be as buxom as those heroines.

On the other hand, Frank apparently still thought she was fine in the buxom department. And she was pretty sure he had absolutely no interest in running around his island in a thunderstorm in the dark, given how he'd cursed before going outside to fix whatever was thumping.

He was obviously interested in staying indoors with a nice fire, a bottle of wine and a heaping helping of soft bedding.

Her eyes strayed to the pile of blankets. It did make sense to stay downstairs since their only heat source was the fireplace.

She snorted. Oh, yes, that wouldn't be their only heat source.

The lights went off and a dark figure stood in the door, silhouetted by lightning. Julia let out a piercing shriek that surprised even herself.

“
Ay, caramba!
Julia?”

“Frank?”

“Who else would it be?” He came into the kitchen and she shrunk back until she could see his face lit up by the next lightning bolt.

“Oh. Hi, Frank.”

“Hi, Frank?” he echoed. “You scared the life out of me.
Meu Deus,
oh, my God. My heart is pounding.”

“Good thing we have the defibrillator.”

“Very funny.” He shucked his jacket and hung it up on a hook near the door. “As I was planning to tell you before we started our little horror movie reenactment—”

Julia couldn't help giggling.

“What's so funny?” He came closer, flipping the wet hair out of his eyes.

“While you were out, I was thinking that we were reenacting a gothic novel.”

“Eh?”

“Dark, stormy nights, vulnerable maidens being chased by the lord of the manor.”

“That does sound more fun than my idea,” he admitted. “What does the lord of the manor do to the vulnerable maiden when he catches her?”

“Frank!” She was happy he couldn't see her blushing.

He sighed. “Well, if you've ruled out the chase scene, let's light some candles.” He pulled out some matches from next to the fireplace and lit several candles as well as a lantern. With the additional light, she saw it wasn't just his hair that was wet.

“That raincoat didn't do you much good—you're wet down to the skin.”

He shrugged. “The door on the outbuilding blew open and broke a pane of glass when it hit. I was standing right under the gutter overflow trying to fix the latch and the water ran down my back. I'll dry out soon, especially once I get this fire going.” He knelt at the
hearth and patiently coaxed the kindling and smaller logs to full flame.

“That looks great. Now will you go change?”

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled, snagging a lantern to take upstairs. “Don't go anywhere. I don't feel like chasing you across the yard, however literary it would be.”

He went upstairs and she frantically patted her hair down, but the humidity was wreaking its vengeance on her for daring to try to straighten it. She gave up and finger-curled a few strands around her face.

And anyway, they were using candles and firelight, and didn't every woman look better in that light? She looked down at her ruffled blouse, which was as droopy as her hair was puffy.

Was she keeping it on or taking it off? She realized Frank hadn't brought her to his island specifically for making love, but it seemed as if the opportunity was presenting itself.

He reappeared in the doorway from the hall. She nearly swallowed her tongue at the sight. He wore old gray sweatpants riding low on his hips, a white towel slung around his neck—and nothing else. The firelight turned his skin to molten gold, the dark hair on his chest narrowing into a delicious line pointing south. All that separated her from him was a tug of the elastic. She had the sneaking suspicion he was flying solo underneath his pants, so to speak.

“Are you comfortable now?” she managed, reaching for her glass of wine to moisten her mouth.

“No, I am not, Julia.” As she stared at him, his waistband started to shift and pull with his arousal, making it very obvious how she affected him. Her jaw fell.

She dragged her gaze up to his face.

He shrugged ruefully. “I cannot help it. I could put on different clothing to hide my desire for you, but we would both know the truth. I am not ashamed that I want you, and I believe you want me, as well.”

Her jaw dropped the rest of the way at his blunt speaking. “I…uh, well, uh…” She couldn't stop sneaking looks at his perfectly sculpted body. His body that was walking toward her. No, make that stalking toward her.

“You feel it, too, don't you? Even stronger than before.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Then I am yours tonight.” He tossed the towel aside. “Do with me what you will.” He stopped in front of her, heat and maleness radiating off him.

But that was all he did, despite how his pants were buckling under the strain. She understood that the choice was entirely hers. Yes, she was stranded on his island and totally under his physical control. He could do anything he wanted to her and she would be helpless to resist. Helpless to resist his touch, his mouth, his seduction. She let out a little groan at the images that conjured up. Maybe her fantasy of being chased and captured wasn't just an idle one.

But she understood why he was making her decide. He had always left the choice up to her. Even when he should have chased after her.

Julia didn't want any more lost opportunities. She reached out to touch his cheek. “I want you, too, Franco.”

He closed his eyes in what looked almost like relief. He cupped her wrist and nuzzled her palm. “Then what are we waiting for?”

He sat on the leather couch and guided her to sit on his lap. He was full and hard against her bottom, but contented himself with kissing her cheek and jaw. “So soft, so smooth.” He rested his forehead on hers. “Julia, it's been so long.”

She put her finger on his lips. “Let's leave the past in the past. Tonight, everything is new.
We
are new.”

“Agreed.” She thought she saw relief in his eyes. He didn't want to get into the mess they'd made in the past any more than she did.

Tonight it was easier to think of him as a sexy Portuguese guy she'd met while on a fun Azores vacation. Kind of like the first time they'd met. Why didn't she have any more sense now? Shouldn't she be the sadder but wiser girl at this point?

But Julia mentally put the brakes on that line of thinking. She might not be any wiser, but tonight would sure make her happier, as evidenced by Frank's clever fingers delicately undoing her buttons.

Her gaze locked with his as he finished opening her blouse and pulled it open. She sat quietly as he pushed it off her shoulders. No hurrying for them tonight.

Frank stroked her cheek and slid his fingers into her hair, gently bringing her mouth to his. She closed her eyes as his lips met hers.

Pure heaven. Tears pricked her eyelids, and she hoped they didn't fall and earn his notice. She took a deep breath and fell into his kiss, warm and tender.

He moved his mouth over hers, nipping and sucking at her lips, kissing her cheeks as he cupped her face. She rested her hands on his shoulders, enjoying the play of muscles under his silky skin. He had definitely gained strength and power since she had last held him in her
arms, but of course, that was to be expected. Eleven years had developed him from a young kid just leaving his teens to a mature, powerful man.

And she had missed all of it. Someone else had witnessed the fulfillment of his manhood. If things had turned out badly for her when she was injured, she never would have seen him again.

He stopped abruptly.

“What?” She opened her eyes hazily and realized he was wiping tears off her face. “Oh, um…” Her throat closed up. “Julia,
amor meu
.” He shook his head. “We do not have to do this if you are not ready.”

The floodgates opened and she buried her face in his neck. He leaned back into the sofa and wrapped his arms around her, murmuring soothing things in Portuguese.

She cried for all the lost years and all the stupid dates she had been on with losers and nice guys whose only problem was that they weren't Francisco Duarte. Cried for all the time she'd spent grieving over losing him and kicking herself for not being brave enough to drive a couple hours to New York to see him.

He sat patiently under her until she ran out of tears, handing her a tissue from a box next to the couch. “Julia, you are breaking my heart.” He was telling the truth; she could hear the pain in his voice. “Tell me, my princess, what makes you cry so?”

She debated what to tell him. “Being here with you is very emotional.”

“Tell me about it,” he murmured, his dark eyes looking a bit wet themselves.

“When I got hurt at work, a patient in the emergency
room was giving us trouble and I got caught in the middle. He shoved me into the countertop and I hit my head—pretty good concussion.”

“A head injury? My God, why didn't you tell me?” He examined her scalp with his fingers and she pointed to the area that had been injured. “Does it still hurt?”

She shook her head. “No more headaches, but I feel almost…raw. Like when you have a healing scar and the skin is new and pink and tender. Concussions can make people moody.”

“Oh, dear.” His mouth pulled into a small smile. “But I know how to help moody women. I have four younger sisters—five if you count Stefania. Would you like some Belgian chocolate?”

She burst out laughing. “Frank, you dope. I had a head injury, not PMS.”

He gave her a bigger grin and she realized that he had succeeded in cheering her up. “You can still have the chocolate.”

But he wouldn't make the next move. It was Julia who needed to start things up again. “Let's have chocolate later, after we work up an appetite.”

“I already have a big appetite,” he murmured seductively, his erection firming under her again.

“Why don't you show me?”

Frank hastily tossed the blankets in front of the fireplace and guided Julia down with him so they knelt face-to-face. She stroked his chest. His fingers quickly undid the catch and peeled her bra away.

“Beautiful.” He cupped her breasts, her plump flesh pale against his strong brown hands. He brushed each nipple until they stood up in tight peaks, then rolled them between his thumbs and forefingers.

She arched into his touch, desperately wanting him to ease the throbbing between her thighs.

But he was determined to take his sweet time, and nuzzled her hair aside to nibble her neck.

“Frank,” she moaned, wrapping her arms around him.

“Mmm.” He nipped at her earlobe. “Don't you like this, my darling Julia?”