The Prince's Mistress
by Sandra Marton
Mills & Boon® are delighted, and excited, to bring you a brand new continuity! The Royal House of Karedes features an eminent royal family, torn apart by pride and a lust for power, reunited by purity and passion…
We invite you to step into the world of Karedes with this exclusive short story by Sandra Marton, then be sure to click on ‘Special Releases’ in our series links above and find the fabulous volumes of The Royal House of Karedes – there are eight in all to collect!
Billionaire Nick Karrier enjoys a life of carefree luxury in
Duty demands that Nicolas also take a wife—a well—born woman hand-selected by the Council of Ministers to be his perfect queen. But before resigning himself to a loveless marriage and a life of passionless nights, “Nick” decides seducing a beautiful woman into his bed is the perfect way to spend his last days of freedom. And Chloe Sutton—an aspiring model with obvious contempt for playboys like Nick-presents just enough of a challenge to make the seduction interesting....
Chapter One
Nick Karrier had been at the charity ball for only half an hour but he was more than ready to leave.
Events like this were painfully predictable. Flat champagne, unidentifiable food, too much bling..and too many women competing for his attention.
Prince Nicolas of Karas was ready to say goodbye to the whole thing, too. But then, Nick the billionaire and Nicolas the soon-to-be king of Karas were the same man.
It was a tightly guarded secret, known only by his father the king and the Council of Ministers. For the past six months, Nicolas had been living in
His homeland was an island kingdom in the
Nicolas knew the importance of duty. He had agreed, but with a price: half a year of anonymity far from Karas. “A king cannot think of his own needs,” his father had said, when Nicolas told him he was taking this time alone.
“I am not yet king, father,” Nicolas had replied with quiet determination. “I am still a prince, free to make my own choices, and I am simply informing you and the Council of my plans.”
The king’s stern face had softened. “You have the spirit our people require, my son,” he’d said, “but you must be king by the time your aunt, Queen Tia Karedes of Aristo, celebrates her sixtieth birthday. It will be a huge event, viewed by the entire world, and you should attend as Karas’s new king.”
So Nicolas became Nick, moved to a
Two weeks more, and Nicolas’s would end. And tonight, he’d realized he was ready for that to happen. Maybe there was truth in the old saying that there could be too much of a good thing.
Nicolas raised his glass, caught the overly-sweet smell of cheap champagne, changed his mind about drinking any more of it and surreptitiously eyed his watch. Tonight’s cause—Save the Pelicans, Save the Penguins, Save Something or Other—was a good one but for the most part, events like this were not. He had the damnedest desire to grab the mike and ask if anyone here had ever considered staying home and just sending a check. Or, even better, volunteering. He’d helped build houses for the poor in an outlying
Grabbing that microphone might not be a bad idea...
Hell.
A waiter sidled by. Nick exchanged his flute of flat champagne for what turned out to be an apple martini. He shuddered, got rid of it and decided it was time to leave. Really leave, maybe move up his return to Karas by a few days. It was time.
Yes, there were things he’d miss. Anonymity.
Solitude. The right to be with a woman solely because she wanted him- but then, there was never any guarantee of that, not when you had a lot of money.
From now on, at least, trying to figure out a woman’s motives would not be a problem.
The Council would find him a wife.
She would be of royal blood or, at the least, well-bred. She would be from his part of the world, Karatian or Aristan but not Calistan. Karas maintained a polite relationship with the sheikhs of Calista but their culture was too different from that of Karas. She would be attractive— he would demand that much—but other than that, royal marriages were about duty. Not love, not passion, not heat and sex and challenge...
It was definitely time to get out of here, out of
“Have you purchased your raffle tickets yet?”
The voice was female and no-nonsense. It reminded him of the icy governesses of his childhood, and he reached for his wallet without bothering to look up.
“How much?” he said, his tone bored and brusque.
“A thousand dollars each.”
“Fine. I’ll take five.”
“Five?” Her voice dripped disdain. “Only five, given your reputation for squandering your money?”
That did make him look up and—surprise, surprise—the woman looked nothing like any governess he’d ever known. Not with that long, lush body, that sexy tumble of gold curls, that spectacular face and those enormous, coffee-colored eyes. She was looking at him with something close to contempt.
She was beautiful. And unless she was putting on a damned good act, she didn’t seem the least impressed by him.
Seducing her into his bed might be the perfect way to say goodbye to his six months of freedom.
Chapter Two
Chloe saw the sudden flare of interest in Nick Karrier’s eyes and wanted to take back her words, but it was too late.
Why had she said something so foolish? You didn’t challenge a man like him, not unless you wanted to do battle, and all she wanted was to get rid of these silly tickets and go home.
Did the rich really think tossing money at problems was the same as actually doing something to solve them?
She knew the answer. She worked for her living now, knew what it was to try to make ends meet, but she’d grown up rich. Her father had been wealthy before gambling most of his money away. He was a Calistan sheikh, not that she ever told that to anyone. She had, once, when she first went to
“A sheikh?” the other girls had shrieked and bombarded her with ridiculous questions about camels and deserts and tents.
So, yes. She knew how the rich operated, how useless and self-indulgent they could be, which meant she knew all she needed to know about the infamous Nick Karrier. She’d only left
What more was there to know?
The ballroom was full of Nick Karrier-types tonight. Okay, perhaps not as ruggedly handsome, but just as useless. Raffle tickets in hand, she’d approached the ones on her list politely. Those with wives or mistresses at their sides had tried to seem interested only in the raffle, though two slid business cards into her hand along with their money. The ones who were alone hadn’t bothered to be subtle.
“I’ll buy half a dozen,” one especially obnoxious jerk had leered, “but there’s a price.”
Chloe had steamed but she’d simply walked away. Then why had she lost her cool with Nick Karrier?
His eyes—a pale gray—slid from her face and over the rest of her, all the way to her feet and the silver stilettos the designer had insisted on. As much as she abhorred this sort of thing, as an aspiring model she couldn’t argue with the chance to work a benefit for a good cause while also getting some much-needed
“It is a father’s right to choose his daughter’s husband,” he’d said, when she’d balked. According to strict Calistan custom, she supposed it was. It was how her mother had married, and her grandmother, and all the women in the Sharif family.
Would nobody admit the practice was barbaric? Worse, she knew in her heart that he wanted to marry her to someone with money so he could recover some of his own lost fortune.
She’d put her father off for two years. Then she’d fled to
She became a model, but she wasn’t happy. It was a frivolous occupation and perhaps because she saw it that way, she was still struggling for jobs. Plus, she knew she’d hurt her father, and he was not getting any younger. Her favorite aunt had called her just last week to remind her of that.
And so she had reached a decision. She would face the duty that awaited her, a proper marriage to a man who would meet with her father’s approval. There was to be a big celebration in the neighboring
Chloe had written her father to say she would return home in time for the event, and that she would finally agree to marry a man who met with his approval. Meaning, she knew, someone rich and probably old and ugly and horrible....
“Did you intend to sell those tickets or hoard them?”
Chloe blinked. Nick Karrier was watching her, looking amused enough to be annoying. She drew herself up. “Sorry,” she said in a voice that made it clear she wasn’t sorry at all. “How many tickets did you—”
“I said five. And then you said I squandered my money. I’m wondering how you could possibly know that?”
How, indeed? She wasn’t about to admit the other girls had talked about his cars, his penthouse, his partying.
“I meant that it’s good to give money to a worthwhile cause.”
“Save the Pelicans is a worthwhile cause?”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed.
“You have a great laugh, Miss...?”
He smiled. Ridiculous that between the smile and the compliment, she felt her knees go week.
“Sutton,” she said briskly, using the name she’d adopted since leaving Calista. “And how many tickets do you want?”
“How many did you want to sell?”
“All of them, naturally, but I can’t possibly do that if I waste time—”
“Ah. The truth, at last. Talking to me is a waste of time.”
God, she kept digging herself deeper! “I didn’t mean—”
“I’ll take them all.”
“I don’t think you understand, Mr. Karrier. I have, easily, fifty tickets left.”
“Fine,” he said, taking out his checkbook.
“You’re going to buy them all? At a thousand dollars each?”
Nick Karrier flashed her another of those sexy smiles, wrote a check and held it out. Okay. Perhaps she had misjudged—
“But there’s a price,” he said softly, and she snatched back her hand.
“Yes,” she said coldly, “I’m sure there is. Unfortunately, you can take your ‘price’ and—”
“Ah, Chloe!” The chairwoman bore down on them, smiling like a barracuda. “My dear, you still have tickets left!”
“Wrong,” Nick said pleasantly.
He plucked the raffle tickets from Chloe’s hand and gave his check to the chairwoman, who gasped with delight.
“How lovely! You bought them all!”
“Chloe offered to have supper with me if I did,” Nick said blandly. “How could I turn her down when spending money on a good cause is far better than squandering it? Isn’t that right, Chloe?”
Chloe opened her mouth but nothing came out.
She was trapped.
Chapter Three
A long, black limo was waiting at the curb. No surprise there, Chloe thought coldly. Men like Nick Karrier didn’t care if they kept their servants waiting half the night while they enjoyed themselves. Oh yes, she definitely knew his type!
But men like him didn’t signal their drivers to stay put while they opened doors themselves. Karrier did. Well, so what? He was still arrogant enough to keep a man waiting at his beck and call and—
“Your sister’s flight get off on time?”
Chloe swung toward him, thinking he was talking to her. No. He was talking to his driver as they pulled away from the curb.
“On the button, Mr. Karrier.”
“Great. I figured that when I saw you at the curb already.”
Chloe scowled. All right. Maybe he wasn’t as easily defined as most men of his class. That didn’t make him a good guy—and when he flashed her another of those knee-buckling smiles, she knew she was right. Here it was, the “Let’s go up to my place” routine.
“Do you like Italian food?”
“Don’t tell me,” she said sweetly, “your cook just happened to leave a freshly made ragu in your fridge.”
“I have a housekeeper, not a cook, and if she left me a ragu, I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”
He was good at making her feel foolish, but that wasn’t going to continue. She was a grown woman, educated and worldly. She had his number.
“I am not,” she said, switching instantly from supersweet to cold-as-ice, “in the least bit hungry.”
His sigh was deep and, she knew, as exaggerated as her response. She was starved; dinner had been a bottle of water and ten almonds. She was on a low-carb diet, desperate to drop five pounds. American designers liked their models thin. As for Italian food...she adored it. Not that he needed that bit of information. “Giovanni’s,” he told his driver. Chloe got another smile. “You can keep me company while I eat. I’m hungry as a bear.”
“Too busy having fun tonight to try the buffet?”
“Too smart to eat anything that doesn’t look like food. And I hate to disappoint you, but nothing about tonight was fun.”
Maybe the smartest thing was to keep her mouth shut and just survive Giovanni’s, which would, of course, be on a bit of prime real estate, elegant, overpriced and overstaffed.
Wrong again. Giovanni’s was downtown in Little Italy and the owner greeted Nick Karrier like a long-lost friend. There was some pleasant chatter and the surprise of realizing Karrier spoke Italian. So did she, of course, but she kept her expression blank as they were led to a candlelit table in a garden. Wind chimes sighed in the breath of a soft breeze.
Nick Karrier drew out her chair. His hands brushed her bare shoulders; she felt the touch whisper through her blood and she pulled back, heart racing. What was wrong with her tonight?
“Great place, isn’t it? You’d never think you were in the city.”
You wouldn’t, but why tell him that? Chloe sat stiffly while he ordered. Soon the table held a straw-wrapped bottle of Chianti, a basket of crusty bread, a huge platter of antipasto.
“Sure you won’t have anything?” he asked politely.
“Positive.” She looked pointedly at her watch, then at him as he poured two glasses of wine. “I told you, I am not—”
“Hungry. But you might be thirsty.” He drank some of the wine. “Very nice, not that glop they served at the Save the Whosis thing.”
“No one was Saving the Whosis.”
“No one was saving anything. They were just making themselves feel good.” He bit into a chunk of bread. “Incredible. Giovanni’s wife does all the baking.”
Chloe watched as he ate the bread, ate some cheese, ate a cherry tomato. To her horror, her stomach snarled. He looked at her, eyebrows raised, and she hissed with anger, snatched a piece of bread and stuffed it into her mouth.
Giovanni bustled up, pushing a serving cart. Chloe looked at it and shook her head.
“No,” she said, “I can’t.”
Giovanni all but slapped a hand to his heart. “The signorina does not want to try my Celeste’s cooking?”
“It isn’t that. It’s.... All right. But just a little....”
She meant it. There was her diet, and there was the arrogance of the man who thought he could coerce her into enjoying the evening.
But the food was amazing. And Nick Karrier was—well, he wasn’t exactly the way she’d imagined. He was relaxed, he was charming...and funny. How could she not laugh at his stories of other Save the Whosis parties? He was attentive, too, asking her questions about her work, laughing when she told him about the time she’d had to stagger down a runway with her feet crammed into shoes that were two sizes too small.
And then there was the way she felt when she reached for something and he did, too, and their hands accidentally brushed....
Suddenly, music filled the little garden. Not some syrupy rendition of “O Solo Mio” but the sultry voice of Norah Jones, singing plaintively of the pain of love lost.
“Giovanni knows Norah Jones is one of my favorites,” Nick said, and all at once Chloe knew, with terrifying certainty, that she might have misjudged this man. He rose to his feet, held out his hand. “Will you dance with me?”
She knew the right answer was no, but maybe there were no right answers tonight. She took his hand, went into his arms and when he gathered her to him, she felt her heartbeat stutter.
His lips were against her temple. Hers were against his throat. After a while they were swaying, not dancing, and when Chloe looked up, Nicolas did the only thing he could.
He kissed her.
Chapter Four
What had become of easy flirtation? Of the challenge of making Chloe Sutton respond?
He’d met the challenge, except he suddenly realized that wasn’t what mattered. This was what counted. The shocked intake of her breath. The softness of her lips. This, only this, was reality.
“Nick,” she said unsteadily. “Nick, I don’t—”
He framed her face with his hands, changed the angle of the kiss, parted her lips with his so he could dip deeper into the honeyed sweetness of her mouth. She held back and then she moaned softly and leaned into him.
The feel of her body against his almost drove him to his knees.
“Chloe,” he whispered, and gathered her closer, one hand in the silken spill of her hair, the other at the base of her spine. She rose on her toes, wound her slender arms around his neck and he slid his hands down her back, cupped her bottom and lifted her into him. He had turned rock-hard and she caught her breath again and he knew she’d felt his aroused sex against her belly.
Her scent was dizzying. And when she moved against him, that long, lush body soft and warm against his, he groaned. He was hanging on to his self-control by a thread and despite all his experiences with women, that had never happened before.
He had too much to lose.
But the need to take this woman was hot and fierce. He whispered her name, took his kisses deeper and deeper. They were alone in the little garden but it was still a public place. Someone could come along at any second.
The thing was, he didn’t give a damn. All he could think of was making love to a stranger named Chloe.
Mouths fused, they moved farther into the shadows.
Nicolas wanted more. Wanted her naked beneath him, her legs wrapped around his hips, her body lifting to his, her silken heat taking him deep, deep, deep...
Her hands were under his jacket, under his shirt. Nicolas groaned, kissed her throat, the slope of her breast. He closed his mouth around her nipple, erect and pebble-hard through the silk fabric of her dress and when she gasped, he bunched her skirt in his hands, shoved it up and up, cupped her hips and moved against her.
Now, he thought, yes, now...
An errant breeze caught the wind chimes, sent them into a wild clatter that drowned the soft music still pouring from the speakers set in the trees. Chloe jerked in his arms, as if the sound had woken her from a dream.
“No,” she said, her voice filled with panic, and when he caught her face to keep her from tearing her mouth from his, she slapped her hands against his shoulders. “No,” she said again, and Nicolas drew a shuddering breath, lowered his head and leaned his forehead against hers.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I shouldn’t have—”
“It isn’t your fault. I should not have come with you.” Her voice, her body, shook. “I should not have let this happen, Nick.”
“Nicolas,” he said, because, somehow, hearing his real name on her lips seemed important. “Call me Nicolas.”
“Nicolas. We—we can’t—”
He raised her face to his, silenced her with a kiss. “Don’t say that.”
“But it’s the truth. We mustn’t—”
“Do you believe in fate, Chloe?”
“I believe in right and wrong.” She swallowed hard. “And this—this is wrong.”
“The hell it is! I want to make love with you. You want that, too. No, don’t shake your head, don’t lie to me or to yourself.” He bent down a little, enough so their eyes met. “All that nonsense at the party, in the car... We were only putting off the inevitable.”
A tremor went through her. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “God, what am I doing?”
He thought of a dozen answers, the clever lies men offered to women in the name of seduction, but something told him that this woman, this moment, deserved the truth.
“Hell,” he said with a little laugh, “I don’t know what either of us is doing. The only thing I’m sure of is that we shouldn’t turn away from this.”
Chloe ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip.
“Nothing can come of it, Nicolas. Do you understand?”
“Yes. I know that.” He lifted her face, swept the dampness of tears from her lashes with his thumbs. “I also know that I don’t want to let you walk away tonight.”
Chloe didn’t want that, either, but how could she do this? Nicolas Karrier was a stranger. She would never see him again she was going home, to marry a man of her father’s choosing. The letter she’d sent her father spelled it all out.
“No,” she said desperately. “You don’t understand! I have—I have obligations...”
“As do I,” he said gruffly. “Maybe that’s why tonight, the only obligation that matters is the one we have to each other.”
Chloe touched her finger to his beautiful, chiseled lips. She knew what lay ahead, a lifetime of obedience and duty....
A lifetime of passionless nights.
“Chloe.” His lips brushed lightly over hers. “Chloe, come home with me.”
She hesitated. Knowing right from wrong should have been simple, but was it really wrong to want this one night?
Nicolas kissed her, drew her close against him and Chloe let him lead her from the garden.
Chapter Five
Nicolas’s car was waiting.
“Home,” he told his driver, and then he pushed a button and the privacy screen slid into place, enclosing them in a dark, private universe.
Nicolas saw doubt glittering in Chloe’s eyes. There was only one way to resolve that doubt. He took her in his arms, drew her into his lap, kissed her eyelids, her throat, her mouth and promised himself he would do nothing more until they were in his bed. But how could he keep from nuzzling aside one thin strap of her dress and nipping the tender skin beneath it? How could he not slip his hand under her skirt? Her skin was hot and silky and when he brushed his fingers lightly over the strip of fabric between her thighs, she moaned into his mouth and shuddered.
He felt his heart shudder, too.
Traffic was light at this hour. The drive uptown was mercifully brief. The ride in his private elevator seemed endless. Take her now, said the urgent beat of his blood, but some still-functional part of his brain reminded him that they had only this night and she deserved everything he could give her. So he held back, kissing her, whispering to her, telling her how beautiful she was, how much he wanted her until, at last, they were in his penthouse.
Soft moonlight poured through the wall of glass in his living room, casting its light on Chloe’s face. Nicolas cupped her shoulders, ran his hands down her arms to her wrists, lifted her hands, brought them to his lips and kissed the palms.
“My beautiful Chloe,” he said softly.
Chloe was trembling. She had never felt like this before, as if time were standing still, as if the very universe was standing still, everything waiting, waiting, for what would happen next.
“Nicolas.” Her voice was unsteady. “I should tell you—”
“You don’t have to say it, sweetheart. I know you don’t do this kind of thing. Meet a man. Go home with him.”
“Yes. But there is more. You should—you should know—”
“I know this,” he said, and kissed her, scooped her into his arms and carried her to his bedroom.
From that instant on, nothing else mattered.
His body kissed hers as he slowly lowered her to her feet. God, the feel of all that hard muscle, his warmth, the steady beat of his heart...
Pleasure swept through her.
This was right, it was a moment torn out of time and space and she would have it to cherish, forever.
Nicolas took off his jacket. His tie. They fell to the floor but his eyes never left hers. Was the next move hers? She took a deep breath, reached behind herself to the zipper at the back of her dress.
He stopped her. “I want to undress you.”
His voice was low and urgent and incredibly sexy. He stepped behind her; when she felt the touch of his hand at her zipper, she angled her head, caught her long hair and swept it aside. He groaned softly and nipped the skin at the nape of her neck.
“Chloe,” he said. Just that, but she had never heard her name spoken that way before. She could feel her bones turning to liquid.
Slowly, he drew the zipper down. The silky fabric was cool against her skin as it dropped to her feet. Nicolas took her hand and she stepped free of it. All she wore now was what the designer had paired with the dress. A pale blue bra. A pale blue thong. Thigh-high sheer stockings. And the sky-high stilettos.
Nicolas turned her toward him and the look on his face made her breath catch.
“Nicolas,” she whispered unsteadily, and he gathered her in his arms, took her mouth with his and she knew, oh she knew that this was what she’d been waiting for. This moment, and this man.
He undressed her with exquisite care. Her bra. Her thong. Touched her with that same care, his hands cupping her breasts, his fingers moving over her nipples and that, only that, made her cry out.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “So beautiful, sweetheart.”
He lifted her into his arms, brought her to the bed and came down on it beside her. She was naked now; he was still dressed. The contrast was shockingly erotic. He explored her with slow deliberation, touching her breasts, kissing them, watching her face as she came alive under the stroke of his hands. He kissed her. Caressed her. Kissed her breasts, her belly...
The golden curls at the apex of her thighs.
Her head fell back against the pillows. A moan broke from her throat.
“What?” he said hoarsely. “Tell me. Do you want more?”
His fingers brushed over her again. Lingered. Chloe whispered his name and arched toward him.
“Tell me,” he insisted. “You, Nicolas,” she sobbed. “I want you.”
He captured her mouth with his and as he did, he parted her woman’s flesh with his fingers. Stroked her, and she shattered into a thousand bits of star-shot crystal.
Her cry, the way her eyes went blind with the release of her passion, almost undid him. Now, he thought, and he kicked off his shoes. Tore off his clothes. Spent a too-long minute sheathing himself in a condom.
“Chloe,” he said fiercely, and then he knelt between her thighs and he entered her, not slowly as he had promised himself he would but on one long, deep, hard thrust. She cried out again and for one endless moment, Nicolas froze.
“Nicolas,” she whispered, and lifted her hips.
It was too much.
He couldn’t hold back, couldn’t stop. He kissed her, moved inside her. She came again, flying into the heart of the universe with him as he took what he had never before taken from a woman. Her virginity.
Chapter Six
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Nicolas’s voice was low and rough. Their eyes met. Chloe felt heat rush into her face and she tried to turn away but he rolled onto his side and gathered her against him.
“You should have told me,” he said softly. “I would have done whatever it took not to hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me. What happened...what we did...it was wonderful.”
His smile was pure male. “Yes. It was. You’ve done me a great honor, sweetheart.”
Her lips curved against his as he kissed her. “I’m glad you think so.” His kisses deepened. Her breathing quickened. He clasped her hands, held them above her head and entered her slowly, so slowly that she thought she might die of pleasure.
“Nicolas,” she whispered.
And then, for a very long time, there was no need for words at all.
***
She slept in his arms the entire night, rising from sleep twice to meet his passion with her own. But when she woke the next morning, she was alone.
What now? What was morning-after protocol?
She had no idea.
All she could think of was leaving as quickly as possible. If she were very lucky, she might not even have to face the stranger with whom she’d spent the night. Not that she was a prude. Not that she’d made a fetish of keeping her virginity. Once upon a time, it had been important in Calistan culture for well-bred young women to remain chaste until marriage, but she knew that had changed in Calista just as it had in the rest of the world.
Still, some part of her had always believed that sex was more than sex, that it was part of love. How could all that have gone by the wayside? She’d lost count of the number of men—handsome, charming men—who’d done their best to try to talk her into bed. Rejecting their advances had been almost pathetically simple.
She had not, even for a moment, wanted any of them.
And then Nicolas came along and the truth was, just as he’d said, this heat, this need had been between them right from the beginning. It didn’t make any sense—and neither did playing at self-analysis when he could return at any minute.
Chloe threw back the covers. Her clothing was scattered; she tried not to think about how it had come off as she collected it. She quickly pulled on the thong, ignored the stockings, jammed her feet into the stilettos...
“Good morning.”
She swung around, automatically crossing her arms over her breasts. Nicolas leaned, hipshot, in the doorway. Her pulse rate went crazy. He was, without question, absolutely gorgeous, his dark hair damp from a recent shower, that long, potently masculine body casually dressed in a long-sleeved black cotton sweater and faded, close-fitting jeans.
He was enough to make her mouth water.
“Did you sleep well?”
“I—yes, thank you, I did.”
“I was afraid I might wake you.”
“No,” she said brightly. “No, you didn’t. I, ah, I never even heard you get up.”
He unfolded himself from the doorway and came toward her, his movements fluid and catlike. “What I meant,” he said huskily, “is that I was afraid I’d want to wake you, if I stayed in that bed a minute longer.” His gaze moved over her with slow deliberation. “You’re a lovely sight first thing in the morning, sweetheart.”
“Nicolas. I don’t—I don’t think—”
He reached for her hands, drew them to her sides. The rest of her clothes tumbled from her suddenly nerveless fingers.
“You’re beautiful,” he said softly.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” His eyes met hers. “Don’t tell you the truth?”
”No. I mean...” She licked her lips. “I don’t really know how to do this. I know how stupid that sounds but—”
His arms went around her, his mouth took hers. At first, she stood stiff within his embrace but then she sighed, her lips softened and clung to his.
“What I told you last night is true, agapi mou. Your innocence is a gift. Don’t apologize for it.”
Chloe blinked. “What did you call me?”
A muscle knotted in his cheek. “It’s just a term of affection.”
“But that was... Do you speak Greek, Nicolas?”
He hesitated, then gave a careless shrug. “Yeah. I do.”
She wanted to tell him she did, too, but then he might ask questions and she wasn’t ready to give answers. The last thing she wanted right now was to talk about her life. Her real life. It would claim her, soon enough.
“Hey.” He cupped her face in his hand. “What happened to that smile?”
Chloe forced one to her lips. “Nothing. I was just thinking... I have to finish getting dressed.”
“What for?”
“Well, because I’m—I'm—”
“Naked.” His voice dropped to a low growl. “Half-naked. And gorgeous.”
His words were pure sex. So was the way he was looking at her. She felt herself turning hot and liquid but she couldn’t let this happen. She’d been swept away last night. The garden, the music, the moon... This was different. It was daytime. People were supposed to think more clearly in the daytime and what she was thinking was that making love again would be wrong.
But when Nicolas kissed her, she kissed him back. He said her name, dropped to his knees, curved his calloused hands around her hips. His breath was warm...
She buried her hands in his hair, trembling as he found her with the tip of his tongue and when she cried out, he rose to his feet, swept her into his arms and took her back to bed.
Chapter Seven
They made love. And slept. Made love again but this time, when Chloe curled up in Nicolas’s arms, he kissed the tip of her nose and said it was time to get up.
“Mmm,” Chloe said, and yawned.
“Okay,” he said, “you leave me no choice...”
He scooped her into his arms. She yelped with indignation.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
What he was doing was shockingly obvious. She shrieked as he carried her into the bathroom, stepped into the glass-enclosed shower and turned on the water.
“Nicolas! It’s cold!”
“But effective,” he said, holding her tightly against him.
“I’ll get you for this!”
He gave a low, sexy chuckle. “I certainly hope so.”
She laughed and leaned back in his arms. The water turned warm. It felt glorious, but not as glorious as his embrace. Chloe gave a contented sigh and turned her face up to the spray. “Mmm,” she said. “Nice.”
“Very nice.”
She smiled. He wasn’t talking about the shower—and, after a moment, neither was she.
***
They finally got around to showering. Nicolas got out first, gave her a last kiss and said he’d leave something on the bed for her to wear while he put up the coffee.
Her happiness dimmed a little. Silly, she told herself. She might have come late to sex but she wasn’t an idiot. She knew that other women had surely spent the night here. It was just that the thought of wearing the clothing left behind by one of his other lovers was yet another reminder that all this was a dream.
Wrong.
What he’d left was an enormous terry cloth robe. She snuggled into it, closing her eyes with pleasure when she realized it smelled faintly, tantalizingly of him. She ran her hands through her hair, wild and curly without a diffuser and gel to tame it, and followed her nose to the kitchen where Nicolas handed her a steaming mug.
“Thank you,” Chloe said, and took a long, grateful swallow. She looked up, saw Nicolas watching her intently. “What?”
“I was just wondering...”
“About what?”
“About your plans for the day.”
“Oh.” It was a polite way of reminding her that it was time to get moving. Of course. The morning-after thing. “Well,” she said, putting her mug on the granite counter. “I have a lot to do.”
“Such as?”
“Uh, I have to—to shop. I just moved into my apartment last week and”
“Shop for what?”
For what? For what! “Um, groceries. Coffee. Stuff.” That intent look was still there. It made her uncomfortable. “Does it matter?” she said briskly, and started for the door. “In fact, the sooner I get started...”
His hand closed lightly on her shoulder and turned her toward him.
“Zabar’s has great coffee.”
“Fine. Excellent. I’ll remember th—”
He bent his head and kissed her. It was a kiss that left her breathless, and too confused to be anything but direct.
“Nicolas. I don’t have any idea of what’s going on. First you tell me it’s time to leave and then—”
“I never said that.”
“You did. Well, you didn’t. Not in those words, but—”
“I’ll take you to Zabar’s.”
“What?”
“I said...” He slipped his arms around her, clasped his hands in the small of her back. “We’ll go shopping, if that’s what you want. I thought we’d take a walk in
“Are you asking me to spend the day with you?”
He was. And it surprised him as much as it apparently surprised her. He was not a morning-after guy, much less a day-after guy. The truth was, he wasn’t even the kind who wanted a woman staying the entire night. And yet, falling asleep with Chloe in his arms had seemed the most natural thing in the world. And waking with her there had been, well, it had been okay.
Maybe better than okay.
It had been heaven.
As for wanting her to spend the day with him... His life was about to take a 180-degree turn. Why not do something different before it did? That he’d never even considered spending a day with a woman before was meaningless.
It was meaningless, wasn’t it? Of course it was, and why in hell was he standing here trying to analyze a simple decision half to death?
“Yes,” he said. “That’s exactly what I’m asking you to do.” He smiled. “Will you spend the day with me, agapi mou?”
She wanted to say yes. But how could she? The more time she spent with him, the harder it would be to forget. Not that she wanted to forget. Wasn’t that the reason she’d gone with him last night? So she’d have memories enough for a lifetime?
“Chloe?”
She shut her eyes. Opened them again. Looked up into his face and felt her heart do a stutter step.
“It’s a lovely suggestion. But—”
“But?”
“But I can’t. I can’t possibly. I mean, last night was—”
“Wonderful,” he said, smiling.
“Yes. Oh yes, it was.”
“So was this morning.”
His lips were at her throat, at that place where she was most sensitive. She’d learned that last night, in his arms.
“It was. Wonderful. But—”
He kissed her. Tender, teasing kisses that left her longing for more. Chloe sighed and leaned against her lover.
“But?” he said.
“But I can’t go on a picnic wearing what I wore last night,” she said, and that was when she knew she was lost.
Chapter Eight
They had their picnic in Sheep Meadow. Cheese and crusty bread from Bouchon Bakery, and a bottle of chilled white wine from a nearby shop.
And they talked.
About nothing. About everything. Nicolas could not remember ever feeling so at ease with a woman, but then Chloe wasn’t just any woman.
She was telling him a story about a cat she’d had when she was a little girl. Her lovely face, bare of makeup, was flushed and animated. Her hair was glorious, streaming down her back in a profusion of untamed, sun-shot curls. She wore jeans and sandals and a pale pink T-shirt, nothing like the sexy outfit of last night.
And yet she turned him on so completely that he might as well have been a randy sixteen-year-old boy instead of a man of thirty.
They’d taken his car to her apartment, a walk-up flat on
“Chloe,” he’d said in a rough voice, and she’d gone straight into his arms. They’d made love standing up, fast and hard and so hot he’d felt as if they might go up in flames....
It was the sex, he’d told himself after. That was all it was between them.
Except, it wasn’t.
Watching her now, listening to her laughter as she described what had happened when her aunt, who was allergic to cats, and the cat in question met, Nicolas knew that sex was only a part of it.
Chloe was—she was special.
There was no pretense to her. No B.S. She wasn’t trying to impress him the way women always did. Her looks, her conversation, everything about her was honest.
It was a rare commodity in his world—and it killed him that he wasn’t being honest with her, but how could he be? What could he say that wouldn’t destroy the joy of the little time they’d have together? Because he’d have to tell her that, too. That they’d never see each other after this, that he was going back to Karas to accept his responsibilities to his father, his nation, his people.
That he would have to take a wife who would meet with everyone’s approval except his, a woman who would surely be Chloe’s exact opposite, who would be docile and obedient and bred to the world in which he would live.
“Chloe,” he said, so sharply and suddenly that she jumped.
“Yes? Oh. I’m sorry. I’ve been babbling on and on—”
“Let’s go away.”
She stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“Away,” he said impatiently. “From the city.” He took her hands, drew her to him. “Say yes, sweetheart. Please.”
She blinked. People drove up to
“How does that sound?”
Warning bells rang in her head, but what was a drive to the country after spending the night in his bed?
“It sounds lovely,” she said, and he grinned, leaned in and kissed her. Then he took out his cell phone and made a call. She could only hear the last few words, which seemed to be, “Yes, exactly, we’ll be at the airport in an hour.”
He snapped the phone closed, reached for her hand and tugged her to her feet.
“We’ll have to hurry,” he said briskly, “if we want to take off before midafternoon.”
“We’re flying to
Nicolas was busy clearing the debris from their picnic, stuffing it into the shopping bag that had contained the meal.
“Not
“I’m supposed to get on a plane but the destination’s a secret?”
He put his arms around her and kissed her. “Exactly.”
Chloe wiggled free. Such typical male behavior! She’d grown up with it, that “I am in charge” nonsense men believed was theirs by right of gender. American men weren’t as bad as men from her part of the world but, come to think of it, she didn’t know if Nicolas was American. He’d said he spoke Greek, and every now and then, she detected a bit of an accent.
And what did that matter?
They had slept together. That didn’t give him the right to make decisions for her. A man would be doing that, soon enough. The realization hurt and she turned the hurt into anger, which was easier to handle.
“Am I expected to click my heels and salute? Because if you think that’s what I’ll do—”
To her amazement, Nicolas looked contrite.
“You’re right. I should have asked you properly. Sweetheart. Will you come away with me?”
“I did that last night,” she said, the anger giving way to a sudden, wrenching despair. “I can’t keep saying yes to you, Nicolas. I just can’t, because—”
“Because this is crazy. I know it is.” He took a long breath. “Do it anyway, sweetheart. Come with me. Be with me. No questions, no explanations, nothing but you and me and a place where the sky is a brilliant blue, the sun is hot— and we can be alone.”
Tears rose in Chloe’s eyes. Nicolas cursed softly and drew her into his arms.
“Damn it,” he said gruffly, “the last thing I wanted to do was to make you cry.”
“It isn’t you,” she said. “It’s—it’s that I know this is all a dream.”
He wanted to tell her she was wrong but he couldn’t. This was a dream, but until it ended they would make the most of it.
So he held her close, his lips pressed to her hair, and after a long, long moment, she looked at him and smiled despite the dampness on her lashes, put her hand in his and went with him, just as she had done last night.
Chapter Nine
The flight was long. Chloe spent most of it sleeping in Nicolas’s arms.
They landed on a private airstrip. Deep green hills rose on one side, white sand stretched toward a brilliantly blue sea on the other. Chloe looked around and felt a chill of warning.
“Where are we?” she said.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Nicolas smiled. “This is an island called Aristo.”
She felt the blood drain from her head. Though decades of disagreement separated Aristo and Calista, physically they were separated only by the Straits of Poseidon. It was possible someone might recognize her. If that happened, if her father found out she’d come here with a man, especially a man who was wealthy...
“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?”
“We can’t stay here, Nicolas! We can’t!”
“Why not?”
She stared at him, wondering where to begin. How would he react to knowing who she was? She should have told him sooner but there’d been no reason...
“Chloe.” Nicolas took her hands and looked down into her eyes. “I brought you here because it’s a favorite place of mine, and because we can be alone.” He hesitated. “There are things I must tell you.”
“There are things I must tell you, too.”
“Here’s the most important thing,” he said, and cleared his throat. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
“Oh, Nicolas. Nicolas...”
He kissed her, and nothing mattered after that.
He took her to a beautiful house on a cliff above the
Long, lazy days slipped by. They sailed, they walked the beach, they made love. They talked about things as simple as the sea and as complex as the stars but somehow, those other things, the ones they’d said they had to tell each other, remained unspoken. The closest they came was when Nicolas said there had been demands on him all his life.
“On me, too,” Chloe said softly, and she suddenly looked so unhappy that Nicolas took her in his arms and swept away that sad look by making love to her.
That night, as Chloe lay sleeping in his arms, he watched the moon paint patterns on the ceiling and finally acknowledged the truth.
He was not going to marry a woman who would please the Council or his father. He was not going to marry the well-bred daughter of an Aristan or a Karatian. He was going to marry the only woman he would ever love. His Chloe.
Karas needed new leadership. It also needed a new direction. Marrying for love, not duty, was definitely a new direction.
All he had to do was tell Chloe the truth. She might be a little surprised, but he’d handle that. She loved him, he was sure of it, and what could be more powerful than love?
Content, happy, certain of what would come next, Nicolas fell asleep. How could he possibly know that Chloe was awake, that she, too, was making fateful decisions.
She was going to tell Nicolas who she was. A sheikh’s daughter. He could handle that. He had obviously spent time on Aristo; he was at least familiar with this part of the world.
The next part would be more difficult. She would return home, as her letter had promised, but only to tell her father she was not going to marry a man of his choosing.
She was crazy in love with Nicolas. And he loved her; he’d admitted as much. He had brought her here to tell her something important. It had to be that he wanted her to be his wife.
Content, happy, certain of what would come next, Chloe fell asleep in her lover’s arms.
***
Nicolas knew he’d been pushing his luck. His cousin, Prince Alexandros of Aristo, had a home on these cliffs, too. They had not run into Alex or anyone from the Aristan royal family, but how long would that luck hold? It was time to confess everything to Chloe and propose marriage. He would do it that night.
He was nervous all day. What if she turned him down? He could not wait. In late afternoon, he took Chloe walking on the beach. She had been unusually quiet all day, but then so had he.
Now, he thought, now was the time for talk.
“Agapi mou,” he said slowly, “do you remember what I said about there being demands on me?”
She nodded. “And that there were things we had to tell each other.”
He bent his head and kissed her gently, then took a deep breath to steady his nerves.
“It’s time to talk about all of it. But first—first, sweetheart, I ask for your patience. No, that’s the wrong word. I need your understanding. You see, I have not been honest with you—”
“Oh, the lady will be most understanding, my lord,” a sly male voice said.
Chloe gasped in fright. Automatically, Nicolas stepped in front of her...and then his eyes narrowed with surprise.
“Marius?” It was his father’s chief minister. Nicolas’s voice took on a tone of command. “What are you doing here?”
“Saving you from making a fool of yourself, Prince Nicolas.”
“Prince Nicolas?” Chloe said.
“Chloe. I was going to explain—”
“Why not let Miss Sharif do the explaining, sir.”
Nicolas drew Chloe forward, his arm tight around her waist. “Her name is Sutton. And I don’t like your tone.”
“Her name is Sharif, and she is the daughter of Sheikh Sharif of Calista.”
“No. That’s impossible.”
“It is fact, sir. She and her father have long schemed to find her a rich husband to pay off his gambling debts and restore the family fortune.”
Nicolas stared at Chloe. “Is it true?” he asked carefully.
“My father is a sheikh from Calista, yes. But the rest—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why didn’t you tell me who you really were?”
“I had good reason.”
“Yes, well, so did
“She had excellent reason, my lord. In fact, Miss Sutton sent her father a letter only days ago, saying she was going to marry a rich man of whom he would surely approve.”
Chloe’s face paled. “No!”
Nicolas’s eyes went flat. “Did you send such a letter?”
“Of course I did, but—”
“You hoped to marry me,” he said, his voice cold.
“Nicolas. It isn’t how it seems.”
“It is precisely how it seems,” he said, and he turned his back and walked away, his minister at his heels.
Chapter Ten
Nicolas returned to Karas and his father relinquished the throne. Nicolas said he was too busy to bother with public celebration so the transition was handled as simply as possible. His father unobtrusively watched his son assume leadership. Nicolas was clearly going to be an excellent king. But he was quiet and withdrawn. That troubled the older man.
When asked, Nicolas insisted he was simply occupied with his new duties but the former king wasn’t convinced. Was his son mourning the loss of the woman who had almost tricked him into marriage? The loss had been a necessary one, and yet Nicolas was no fool. That he’d fallen for the woman’s tricks seemed impossible.
And so the former king set in motion the ancient means by which the privileged had always gained information. Servants heard things, and money could often buy what they’d heard.
Days later, he confronted Nicolas.
“There is something you might wish to know about Chloe Sharif.”
Nicolas stiffened. Everyone in the palace knew better than to speak Chloe’s name.
“There is nothing I wish to know about her.”
“She quarreled with her father, the sheikh.”
Nicolas flashed a bitter smile. “I’m sure he wasn’t happy she’d placed the hook but failed to reel me in.”
“She refused to marry a man her father had selected. She said marriage should be about love, not money or power. She said she would never marry—but that, at least, she had known love. Then she left her father’s home and said she would never return to it.”
Nicolas’s icy look held for a few seconds, then vanished.
“She lied to me,” he said in a low voice. “She should have told me who she really was.”
“The way you told her who you really were?”
A muscle knotted in Nicolas’s jaw. “She is not of royal blood. She is Calistan. Her father is not a man to admire.”
“And?”
“And you and your Council will just have to deal with that because, damn it, I love her!”
The former king smiled. “A new direction, my son,” he said softly. “For us all.”
***
Chloe’s roommates had moved out. One had relocated to Chicago, one to
Not that she missed Nicolas. Why would she? He had accused her of lying, of trying to sleep her way into his heart. She was long over him, she was just still angry. Angry as hell, which was why she was often awake the way she was tonight, watching some stupid old movie on TV....
The doorbell rang. Chloe shot to her feet. Somebody at your door at this hour wasn’t a good thing. Did burglars ring doorbells?
The bell rang again and now a fist hit the door, too. Chloe’s heart began to race. Call 911? Shove a chair under the doorknob? Scream?
“Chloe? Chloe, I know you’re in there. Open this door!”
Her heart bumped into her throat. “Nicolas?”
He pounded on the door again. “Open it or I’ll call the New York Post and tell them the King of Karas is at Chloe Sutton’s door and she won’t let him in.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Try me.”
Chloe hesitated. Then she undid the chain and the lock and cracked the door open.
“Go away,” she hissed, but Nicolas shoved past her and slammed the door shut behind him.
Chloe stared at him. Why had he come? She had no wish to see him...and wasn’t it stupid that she wanted to throw herself into his arms when she hated him, hated him...
“Chloe.” He sounded stern. Then, all at once, his voice broke. “Chloe, my love, my heart...”
“I am neither of those things, Nicolas, remember? I am a liar, the woman who tried to snare you for your money.”
There were a dozen answers but Nicolas gave the only one that mattered.
“I love you,” he said, opening his arms. Chloe gave a sob and flew into them. He held her, kissed her, whispered to her in Greek, in English, and she thought, Please, please, let this not be a dream again, and then she thought, Where is your pride, Chloe? and she pushed him away.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice trembled. “Are you at loose ends for the weekend?”
“Agapi mou. I love you.”
“Sure you do. That’s why you made those—those awful accusations, why you walked away from me and—and” Tears rose in her eyes. “Go away, Nicolas. Please. I’ve been such a fool—”
Nicolas drew her to him. “I’m the one who’s been the fool.” He kissed her temple. “Tell me you love
“How could you have imagined I didn’t? How could you have believed the worst about me? That letter...I sent it before I met you. I wrote my father that I’d finally agreed to let him choose my husband because it was my duty.”
“Your duty,” Nicolas said softly, “is to live the rest of your life with me. Will you be my wife, agapi mou?”
“I thought I could do it. My father is getting old and I was raised to be dutiful and—” She drew a wobbly breath. “And then I met you. And I knew I could never marry except for love.”
He smiled. “Is that a yes?”
“Nicolas, you are such a self-centered, arrogant—” He kissed her and she put her hand against his face. “It’s an absolute yes,” she said, laughing, and he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom.
***
She flew back to Karas with him.
Nicolas’s father smiled. The ministers frowned but the new king would not be moved and, within days, Chloe charmed them all, even the one who had ended their idyll on Aristo.
A week later, the lovers went walking on a moonlit beach. Nicolas turned Chloe toward him, kissed her and slipped a ring on her finger. The platinum setting held a perfect four-karat pink diamond from the fabled mines of Aristo.
“Chloe, beloved. Will you be mine?”
Chloe’s eyes glittered with happy tears. “Forever,” she said softly, and went into his arms.
THE END