The Disgraced Princess (6 page)

Perhaps he sensed her in voluntary fear. His kiss was tender and gentle, only deepening when he felt the wildfire response she could no longer control.

And by the time his mouth found the pleading tip of her breast she was again on fire for him, writhing restlessly as he showed her just how responsive her breasts were to his caress.

When eventually he said in a thickened, harsh voice, ‘Not here, I think,' she stared at him in bewilderment, her eyes huge and dark in her face.

His smile hard and savage, an elemental claim of possession, he eased her off him before getting to his feet and picking her up.

‘You're just the right size for this,' he said, and snatched another kiss before striding across the room.

Dazedly Rosie registered that the room he took her to was his bedroom. Eyes fixed on Gerd's hard-hewn face, she felt the cool kiss of sheets on her bare back.

He bent to remove her sandals, his fingers stroking up her leg. Rosie's breath locked in her throat.

But he straightened, and efficiently stripped off the rest of his clothes. Instinctively Rosie's lashes fluttered down. It took all of her will power to force them up again; this might be the only time she had with him, and she wanted to see, wanted to know…

Storing up memories is dangerous, the last sensible part of her brain told her. Resolutely, she dismissed the bleak prophecy, allowing her gaze to linger.

Because Gerd was magnificently male, enough to dazzle any woman, tall and powerfully muscled, the dim light from the other room glossing his bronze skin to reveal more than the darkness hid. Without volition she held out her hand.

He took it, but didn't obey her silent plea. Instead, he said, ‘Who am I?'

A frown pleated her brows. ‘You know who you are,' she said uncertainly.

‘Then call me by my name.'

‘Gerd,' she said unevenly.

‘Is that all?'

She didn't know what he wanted from her, but she said huskily, ‘Gerd is all that interests me. Your surname comes from the past; Gerd is now.'

He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed the palm, then let his teeth graze the mount of Venus beneath her
thumb. ‘Rosemary,' he said, making her name an act of possession.

The tiny caress was more erotic than any previous kiss; her lithe body twisted of its own accord and on a low, dark laugh he came down beside her and gathered her into his arms and pinned her against his lean, powerful body and kissed her breath—and every thought—out of existence.

But even then he let her go and turned away. ‘Just a moment,' he said quietly.

Hot-cheeked, she realised what he was doing. It was a measure of the enchantment he'd cast over her that she'd forgotten completely about the possibility of pregnancy!

And when he turned back everything was all right again, because this was Gerd, and she wanted him beyond—oh, beyond hope, beyond fear, almost be yond desire.

He wooed her with kisses and caresses, and a knowledge that could only be the result, she'd realise later, of vast experience. So lost in her wild response that she didn't care, Rosie forgot her total lack of experience and followed his lead, caressing him as he did her, until finally her body twisted against him, hips thrusting as she sought something else—something more than this exquisite, desperate pleasure.

Voice gravelly and raw, he said, ‘Time?'

‘Yes,' she whispered, ‘oh, yes, please…'

But he didn't immediately move over her; instead he stroked her skin from her throat to the juncture of her legs, his skilled, questing fingers firing her anticipation into a fever.

Only then did he take her, thrusting past the fragile barrier and claiming her in that most primal of all embraces.

Gasping with the shock, Rosie clamped muscles she hadn't known she possessed.

Gerd froze, his eyes glittering, his chest lifting while he fought for air. ‘What the
hell
?'

Her hips jerked upwards. It was so near, so close—yet not close enough. She slid importunate hands across his sleek back, pulling him down so that she could move frantically against him.

Although she could feel his resistance it didn't last; almost immediately he responded, his big body fiercely attuned to hers as he sent her further and further along the path towards an elusive goal that retreated and advanced in slow, erotic waves.

A delirious yearning gripped her with silken talons, until at last the sensation became so intense she gave a gasping sob as it over whelmed her, hurtling her beyond some in visible border into another dimension where all that counted was the perfect ecstasy that surged through her.

Almost immediately Gerd too found that place and yielded to its untamed rapture, head flung back, body taut with barely controlled energy until repletion overtook him.

Dazed by exhausted pleasure, Rosie looped her arms around him, pretending, oh, pretending such
foolish
things as their breaths harmonised and slowly, slowly they coasted down that long slope to reality.

Gerd turned on his side and hooked his finger under
her chin, tilting her face so that he could scan it, raptor's eyes metallic, like frozen fire.

He said something—from its tone, an oath—in Carathian, and as her eyes widened rasped in English, ‘Damn it, why didn't you tell me?'

Rosie couldn't think of anything sensible to say. How could she have been so, so
abandoned
, so lost in his arms she'd neglected the one thing her mother had impressed on her—to make sure there would be no possibility of a child?

After several moments of taut silence he asked coldly, ‘Are you using any sort of protection at all?'

She refused to lie. ‘No, and I didn't need to, did I? You did.'

‘I might not have,' he ground out. ‘What would you have done, then?'

‘OK, so I behaved like an idiot,' she said, her lovely glow dissipating into desolation under the icy onslaught of his anger. ‘Probably because I was certain you'd be more careful.'

He swore again and let her go as though she disgusted him. ‘And why didn't you tell me you were a virgin?'

Sick at heart, Rosie angled her chin away from him. It took every ounce of courage she possessed to say in a steady voice, ‘It wasn't important.'

For some reason that made him even more angry. ‘Not
important
?' he snarled. ‘Of course it was important; if you didn't think so you'd have leapt into bed with any one of the men you've been connected to.'

Again there didn't seem to be an answer. To tell him the truth—that if she couldn't have him she wanted nobody—was out of the question, so she shrugged. ‘For
heaven's sake, it's not an issue. I've always done what I thought was right for me.'

He leaned back against the pillows. Rosie glanced sideways, saw his arrogant profile silhouetted against the light from the open door, and in spite of everything her pulse started to quicken again; he looked magnificent, big and handsome and furious.

Hastily she turned her face away again.

He enquired icily, ‘How could making love with me be right for you?'

‘I don't know,' she said without thinking, and because that made her seem a complete fool she went on quickly, ‘Oh, stop being so—so
macho
about this. I just didn't think it was necessary to tell you.' Colour heated her skin and she finished in a smoky voice, ‘Besides, I wasn't thinking clearly at all—not after that first kiss, anyway.'

His eyes narrowed. ‘I'm delighted to hear that,' he said with chilling courtesy. ‘But condoms are not foolproof.'

Well, of course that was what he was worried about. What else?

A sense of self-preservation forced her to hide her bleakness with an airy tone. ‘I can easily see a doctor and get protection. But if you want to call things off, I'll understand.'

After all, he'd thought he'd be embarking on an affair with a woman of experience. Possibly he found her caresses incredibly gauche and dull.

Her words were followed by an edged silence before he turned his head and surveyed the length of her body. Rosie's skin prickled at that slow, almost insulting
scrutiny, but deep inside her a humiliating heat began to smoulder into life.

‘No,' he said silkily. ‘We made a deal, remember? That we'd see where this goes.'

‘I—yes, but you thought you were dealing with someone who knew what she was doing. Your reaction tells me you're not happy—'

‘Only because you didn't tell me,' he interrupted, running a deliberate finger around the ivory curve of one breast, the light, tantalising caress tightening her skin and stirring a swift, heated response. ‘If you had I'd have been more gentle.'

On a swift indrawn breath she whispered, ‘I didn't need gentle. Are you sure you don't mind?'

‘Mind?' he said deeply. ‘I was just startled. And delighted. Why should I complain about your charming lack of experience? As I said before, you're every man's dream. No responsibility, and the pleasure of trans forming that sensuous innocence of yours into knowledge. I'm holding you to our deal.'

Something about him made her move uneasily even as her heartbeat began to race. On an indrawn breath, she muttered, ‘Only if you're sure?'

The words strangled in her throat when he bent his black head to trace with his mouth the path his finger had taken.

Against her skin he said, ‘I'm very sure. It will be my pleasure to teach you.'

That uneasy feeling deepened until he lifted his head and said blandly, ‘But not tonight. You'll probably be too tender.'

Rosie opened her mouth to protest, only to be surprised by a yawn.

With an ironic smile Gerd got up and gently pulled her to her feet. ‘Besides,' he said, ‘there are things to be discussed, and tonight is obviously not the time to do that. When you're dressed I'll take you to your room.'

Scrambling into her clothes, Rosie tried very hard to emulate his casual acceptance of the situation. But when he left her at her door, his kiss started off chastely, only to trans form within seconds into something much more potent.

However, he lifted his head and stepped back, his expression giving nothing away. Rosie looked mutely at him, so awash with longing she couldn't summon any words.

‘Goodnight,' he said evenly, and left her.

Half an hour later, her evening regime completed, Rosie lay in the big bed and tried to make sense of what had happened. He'd probably thought she'd slept with dozens of men, she thought acidly, before a second, more bewildering thought occurred to her.

Uneasily she turned and punched the pillow. Things—her life—had changed so fundamentally she didn't know how to cope.

It felt as though a balance had shifted, and their lovemaking had somehow given Gerd a power over her he hadn't possessed before.

No, that was foolish. She was the same person; well, almost the same, apart from knowing a lot more about sex than she had only a few hours ago.

And it had been wonderful, she thought dreamily; no matter what happened, she'd always have that.

He'd been masterful and skilled, passionate and fiercely tender, and she'd thrilled to every minute of it…

Smiling, she drifted off to sleep.

And woke the next morning to a slightly achy body and a much more practical frame of mind, half-bewildered yet still excited by what had happened the night before.

She glanced at her watch and gave a muffled yelp. ‘Packing,' she muttered, leaping out of bed.

Most of the morning had disappeared, leaving her with practically no time to pack. She hadn't even thought of it last night, but Gerd hadn't said anything about her staying, so presumably he expected her to leave as planned.

When she'd arrived her luggage had been unpacked by a maid, and she'd been told to ring if she needed anything. She hadn't, and she didn't know whether she should leave a tip, or how such things were organised in the palace.

She should have asked Hani.

It was less stressful to worry about that than face the fact that she had no idea what was going to happen with Gerd. Did he want her to stay? Would he suggest a date for their next meeting?

The past week had shown her that his life was organised well ahead. He hadn't suggested she stay in Carathia, but he'd talked about contraception—surely that meant he intended some sort of ongoing relationship?

A knock on her door whirled her about; she hesitated, then called out, ‘Come in.'

It was Gerd, tall and stern and aloof. ‘Come with me.'

Chilled, she ac companied him into the room she'd been in the previous night. A glance at the big sofa brought a swift bloom of heat to her skin, but that soon vanished when he spoke.

‘I've can celled your flight home.'

S
HEER
astonishment silenced Rosie—but only for a second. ‘You had no right,' she flashed.

Face impassive, Gerd shrugged. ‘Did you want to go back to New Zealand?'

The one question she didn't want to answer. After a deep breath she stated emphatically, ‘That was my decision to make, not yours. I'm not one of your subjects, to be told what to do.'

He shrugged as though her protest meant nothing. ‘It's done now. Last night you spoke of seeing a doctor about contraception. She'll be here in half an hour.' He paused, then said, ‘But if you want to return to New Zealand I'll organise a flight for you—a much more comfortable one than riding cattle class in a jumbo jet.'

He smiled, and her heart twisted, anger draining away under the sensuous impact. Defying its effect, she repeated, ‘But the decision was mine to make, not yours.'

‘Was it the wrong decision?'

‘I…' She took a deep breath and admitted, ‘No.'

His brows shot up, then his expression relaxed. ‘Kelt has called me an arrogant bastard fairly frequently—perhaps he's right. What do
you
want to do?'

Uncertainly she said, ‘I don't know.' Her lips trembled;
startled, she blinked at the hot sting of tears and swallowed hard. ‘Oh, damn!'

She stiffened when Gerd covered the two paces between them, but when he took her in his arms she melted, resting her forehead against his disarmingly broad shoulder.

‘I'm not used to anything like this,' she admitted into his shirt. ‘And you are.'

‘I've told you before, don't believe the gossip columnists,' he said crisply.

‘Even if only half of what's been written is true it means you're a whole lot more experienced than I am,' she pointed out miserably.

He held her away from him, his face closed against her. ‘I have had lovers, yes. Not very many, and none of them have been casual.'

That hurt too; she didn't dare let him see how much. ‘Go on.'

‘I shall not tell you about them—it would be a betrayal of trust. Last night you laid down conditions—conditions I accepted. As long as we are together you do not need to worry about any other women.'

When she said nothing he held her a little further away and scanned her face with astute, penetrating eyes. ‘Do you believe me?'

‘I—yes.' She hesitated, then went on, ‘Yes, of course I believe you. It's just that I don't know anything about
being together
.'

He smiled, and drew her against him again, holding her with wonderful gentleness. ‘Perhaps I should have expected some uncertainty, but it surprises me that the Rosemary who has always been so out spoken and con
fident should show such wariness. So, am I forgiven for assuming that you would prefer to stay here than fly to New Zealand?'

Rosemary suspected that she'd forgive him anything. The thought shocked her; she had a feeling he might ride rough shod over her if she didn't lay down boundaries.

What really alarmed her was that she didn't want to.

‘Rosemary?'

She admitted, ‘Yes, provided it doesn't happen again. And I promise that you won't have to worry about any other men, either.'

His face hardened. ‘So, we understand each other.'

And he kissed her, a fleeting kiss on her forehead that somehow appeased her more than a passionate one would have, and drew her arm through his as he walked her towards the door.

He said, ‘I have several more days of official and ceremonial engagements, but after that I'm taking a month's holiday at a villa I own on an island off the coast. If you don't mind being by yourself for four days it would be best if you went ahead to the villa.'

Rosie's heart chilled. ‘Why?'

His face was unreadable. ‘If you appear in the media as my latest mistress the paparazzi will be around you like flies.'

Wincing at being so casually described—and at the thought of the media scrum mage that might ensue—she said, ‘I see.'

Gerd said, ‘I remember how you loved staying at the bach at Kiwinui, so you should enjoy the villa.' He smiled
and dropped a swift kiss on her mouth, straightening far too soon. ‘And four days is not very long.'

But they were the longest days in Rosie's life. Oh, the island was a dream—the fabled coast she'd been so sure she'd never see. White houses cupped a small harbour where gaily painted fishing boats puttered in and out. Olives shimmered silver-green on the hillsides, and vines braided the slopes. The salt of the sea mingled with the perfumes of flowers blooming in the gardens.

And the villa—surely a misnomer for such a big house—dreamed away the summer days beneath a sky as blue and potent as the sea that mimicked it.

But Rosie was lonely, racked by an aching emptiness that frightened her. Always before she'd enjoyed her own company; now she spent the days waiting, longing for the call Gerd made every day on the secure telephone.

Not that he murmured love words to her; a smile quirked her lips as she sprayed herself with more sunscreen. She just couldn't imagine Gerd mouthing sweet nothings.

And there was no
love
in their relationship. Reduced to the shameful truth, it was just a mutual itch that had irritated them for years. Now was their chance to sate it.

Once that was done they'd go their separate ways.

Even as an adolescent she'd known that there could never be a future for them. Gerd's life had been mapped out for him from birth; eventually he'd marry a princess of the right age and temperament, and they'd have children to carry on the succession.

He'd made it obvious she was the wrong age, and she'd always known she had the wrong temperament—a
conviction strengthened by watching Hani, with her gracious charm, and Princess Serina, who'd seemed to know everyone and find just the right word for them.

On the third day Rosie leaned back in the hammock and frowned up through the branches of the big tree that shaded it. Tomorrow evening Gerd would come.

‘So you'd better face the facts,' she said aloud. However distasteful they were, she needed to have them clear in her mind before he arrived and scrambled it with his smile, his touch…

They'd have their month and then she'd go back to New Zealand and find herself a job, save like crazy and one day—with any luck in the not-too-distant future—she'd buy her florist's shop.

A faint buzzing lifted her head. Frowning, she scanned the sky, blinking into the sun. A helicopter—coming this way and descending.

Gerd? Today?

Wild excitement pulsed through her, and an overwhelming shyness. She almost fell out of the hammock and stood tensely waiting as the chopper dropped down onto the helipad behind the villa.

It seemed an age before he came striding out of the house, tall and dark and dominating. Her heart drummed feverishly, and she thought,
Oh, you idiot! This is not lust. There's nothing casual about this at all—you're in love with him. Real, now-and-forever love!

How had it happened? Three lonely days shouldn't have altered everything.

Of course it hadn't. She'd been in love with him all along, at least ever since he'd kissed her those long, empty years ago. Even though she hadn't recognised it,
no other man had been able to break through the shield that was her love for Gerd.

The balance of power had shifted even further in his favour. If he ever found out, what would he do?

‘Rosemary.'

Just the one word, but her world brightened into a brilliance she'd never known as he came up to her and bent over her, enclosing her in a hard, almost painful hug.

He didn't kiss her. For long seconds he simply held her against his powerful body, embracing her as though this fierce closeness was something he'd been craving since he last saw her.

‘Miss me?' His voice was rough, almost harsh.

‘Like crazy.' Was that her, that breathless, hopeful tone? Hopeless! Infusing her voice with lazy laughter, she asked, ‘How about you?'

‘Every minute, every second, all day, every night.' It sounded like a vow. ‘Which is why I'm here before time.'

He found her mouth in a kiss so hot and urgent her knees buckled. His arms tightened even further, and he lifted her and sank into the hammock, pulling her on top so that she felt the intimate hardness of him beneath her.

Sensation roared through her, a rich, unfulfilled flood. When they broke the kiss she explored his face with her lips until he groaned and muttered, ‘Stop this right now before I unman myself. Maria is expecting us for lunch in five minutes.'

Rosie laughed and cuddled against him. ‘You said it would be four days before you could get here.'

He shrugged. ‘As I said, I got away earlier.'

Something in his voice alerted Rosie—a reserve that sent an uneasy quiver along her sensitised nerves. She asked quietly, ‘Is everything OK?'

Stretched along his lean body, she felt an infinitesimal tightening. Concerned, she raised her head so she could look into his eyes.

But they were shuttered against her, although he said smoothly, ‘Everything's fine—and much better now I'm here.'

‘Good,' she said, and scrambled off him, wary once more.

He let her go and got out in a lithe movement, then held the side of the hammock steady as she wriggled free and stood up.

Although the realisation might be newborn, she realised now she'd loved Gerd as long as she could remember—an unrecognised, unwanted love, always there like a steady fire, as much a part of her as her eyes and her voice and her heart.

Gerd didn't love her. OK, so he hadn't actually come out and said so, but he'd been quite straight for ward about the situation, and she—fool that she'd been, unable to recognise her true feelings—had accepted his terms.

She'd even been confident she could deal with the inevitably bitter ending. Dear heaven, she must have been crazy…

She should have taken the coward's way out and run all the way back to New Zealand, but it was too late now.

Hard on that thought came another. He must never know.

It would be dishonourable to do anything else, because he couldn't give her the love she longed for.

She could cope with anything rather than pity.

So she had to make sure he never glimpsed her love; she'd have to monitor every word, every action, to keep him from guessing her secret.

He reached out a lazy hand for her, then let it drop. As they walked into the cool dimness of the villa he said, ‘How have you entertained yourself without me?'

‘I've swum a lot,' she said, forcing a light tone. ‘And I've finished several books. You have a brilliant library here, and Maria assured me I could use it.'

‘Of course. Have you done any exploring of the island?'

‘I went with Maria into the market to buy fish; that was great fun, but apart from that and the swimming I've been disgustingly lazy.'

‘Well-rested?' A glint in his eyes told her what he was insinuating.

Heat swept through her, sweet as honey, potent as wine. ‘Very,' she said, falsely demure.

He laughed and took her hand, threading her fingers through his. ‘We'd better go and eat lunch.' And as they walked into the cool house he added wickedly, ‘First.'

Rosie's laughter was slightly forced, but it did help to ease her tension. All through lunch excitement built within her. The housekeeper had set the meal out on a small side terrace shaded by vines, the bunches of grapes already colouring up. A radiant sky glimmered through the leaves, its cobalt intensity matching the sweep of the sea, and the white sand sparkled.

‘This is a wonderful place,' Rosie murmured as Gerd poured wine for her.

‘It started off as a Roman villa,' Gerd told her, handing
her the glass. ‘When that fell into decay the islanders sensibly used the stone for centuries to build and repair their own houses. Then in Victorian times sea bathing was thought to be health-giving, so one of my ancestors used the foundations to build this house for his delicate wife. And what do you think of our beaches?'

Rosie said blithely, ‘Without conceding that New Zealand beaches—especially those around Kiwinui—can be beaten in any way, I have to admit that these are gorgeous.' Her eyes glinted as she shook her head. ‘Although the island would be vastly improved by a screen of pohutukawa trees behind each beach.'

He laughed. ‘You Kiwis! You're incorrigibly in love with your country.'

‘Did the sea bathing help the delicate wife?'

He served her fish, cooked with sea salt and lemon slices. ‘No, she died young.'

‘That's sad.'

Gerd's smile was touched by cynicism. ‘He mourned her for two years, and then married a robust and enthusiastic German princess who presented him with five healthy children. They all used to come here for their holidays. I believe it was an extremely happy marriage.'

She glanced at his face. Unreadable, as usual. Something tightened inside Rosie, warning her not to go in this direction. She knew what he wanted from her—an uncomplicated affair with no angst, nothing but shared passion. And a clean end to it when the time came.

Well, she could give him all of that.

With a theatrical sigh she attacked her fish. ‘So much for a tragic love affair.'

‘If they wanted to keep their integrity and their throne my ancestors had to be practical.'

Was he warning her not to develop any romantic hopes? She said, ‘I hope the five children enjoyed their holidays here.'

‘There are photographs showing that they did,' he told her.

The meal was superb; Maria used the foods of the island—fish, vegetables, olives and cheese and wine, pine nuts and basil—to produce magnificent, earthy dishes that echoed the Mediterranean.

Rosie watched in awe while Gerdate with a healthy appetite, and was touched by Maria's delight when he demanded some of her yoghurt with honey and peaches at the end of the meal.