Maisey Yates - Luxury Escapes

She could hear Maximo out on the balcony, on the other side of the curtain, addressing his people, speaking in Italian. If there was a sexier sound in the world she’d never heard it. His voice did things to her, and not only her. He was an amazing public speaker; she could tell from behind the curtain. He had charisma. She couldn’t understand a word he was saying but it sounded good.

He was the sort of leader that inspired. The sort of leader his country needed.

She straightened and nearly cursed out loud when the boning dug into her again. She was making the right decision. Maximo was a good man. He would be a wonderful example for their child, and a wonderful father. No matter how overwhelming all of it seemed to her, this was her son’s or daughter’s legacy. The people waiting down there were her child’s people. There was no way she could have denied them this chance.

Luigi, the man who coordinated most big events for the royal family, signaled for her to make her entrance onto the balcony. He swept the curtain aside for her, careful to keep himself out of view, and she took a tentative step out into the blinding Mediterranean sunlight.

The height, the heat and vibrating sea of people below made her head swim. She tried to paste a smile on her face, as she had been instructed to do, and took her place at Maximo’s side.

He put his arm around her waist and drew her close. His father, who was standing with the queen, took the center of the balcony and spoke into the microphone. A cheer erupted from the crowd.

Maximo turned to her and brushed her cheek softly with the back of his hand. The light touch sent a shimmer of something wonderful through her. His eyes were intent on her face, his expression serious, but almost caring.

He leaned in and pressed a light kiss to her lips. She hadn’t been expecting a gesture of affection like that and it had her heart pounding so hard she was afraid the microphones would pick it up, and everyone would be able to hear for themselves just what Maximo did to her. He held her tightly against his body, his strong arms cradling her. She shifted and her breasts brushed his hard, masculine chest. Electricity zinged through her.

She couldn’t stop staring at him, couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. Her future husband. He was so handsome dressed in a traditional mandarin-collared suit with a long dark jacket that accentuated his broad chest, slim waist and spare hips. The plain jacket was adorned with medals pinned to the right breast, over his heart. The Latin words written on the pin spoke of duty to God and country.

An intense feeling swelled in her chest. Pride, she realized. She was proud to stand by his side. Proud that he was the father of her baby. And who wouldn’t be? He was a good man, a man who understood responsibility, a man who valued honor. Maximo wasn’t the kind of man who would walk away from his responsibilities. He was the kind of man who would stand and face challenges when they came. When the results of the test came, the test that would tell them if there was a chance their child might be affected by Cystic Fibrosis, Maximo would face it head-on, of that she had no doubt. He wouldn’t run from a painful situation, wouldn’t walk away if things were hard.

Maximo leaned in again, his hot breath touching her neck, making goose bumps break out over her skin, despite the heat.

“Wave at your people,” he commanded gently. She turned, still in his arms, and put her hand up in a shy wave. She was greeted by another round of enthusiastic cheering. Many of the people waved back or waved flags.

“Bene,” he whispered near her ear and nuzzled her gently with his nose.

Lightning flashed through her from that simple brush of skin on skin, igniting a desire that was hot and insistent, and totally outside of her experience. It was all for show. She knew that. It didn’t mean anything to him. But her body didn’t seem to know, much less care. She felt her knees weaken and she slumped against him, against the solid wall of his body. She realized how easy it would be to just melt into him, to lean against him forever.

The strength of those feelings shocked her, made her knees shake. She wasn’t supposed to feel like this. She moved then, turning her body away from him, trying to keep her lips glued into a smile. And then she was being ushered back behind the curtain, leaving the king and queen to continue speaking to the crowd.

“You did very well,” Maximo said, releasing her from his hold once they were out of view.

“A smile and a wave,” she said breathlessly. “Not too impressive.”

“When a woman looks like you, that’s about all it takes. They loved you.”

She laughed shakily. “It’s the dress.”

“It’s a lovely dress.” His eyes traveled over her, over each of her curves.

For once, such a close inspection didn’t make her think of what might happen if she let a man get too close to her. It lit a fire that smoldered hot in her belly.

It wasn’t virginal nerves that made her draw back from the obvious attraction between them. It was a different kind of fear. Fear of the strength of her response to him, of the almost overwhelming need she felt to melt into him, have him assuage the ache he made settle between her thighs. The intense desire to allow him to make her lose control.

“You are truly beautiful.” His eyes, those hard, dark, commanding eyes, softened. He cupped her cheek and let his thumb trace her upper lip.

The curtain was swept aside again and the rush of heat that came from outside broke the bubble they’d been cocooned in.

“It is done,” Luciano said firmly. “The wedding will take place in eight weeks, after Sunday Mass.” He turned to Maximo and said something in his native language.

A dull red stained Maximo’s cheekbones and his eyes hardened, a muscle in his jaw jumping with tension. “ Si. I am certain.”

“It’s good to be sure.” Luciano patted his son on the back before stopping in front of her. “Make him happy.”

Luciano and Elisabetta exited the room, leaving Alison and Maximo alone.

“What did he say?” she asked, knowing it hadn’t been flattering to her.

“It isn’t important.”

She let out an inelegant snort. “For something unimportant it certainly made you angry.”

“He asked if I was certain it was my child.”

That stung a little bit. But then, the king didn’t know her. He had to suspect that she and Maximo hadn’t known each other for very long. Really, she couldn’t blame him for his concern.

She shrugged. “Well, I suppose we don’t know for sure. If they were careless enough to give me your sample they might have been mislabeled. That would let you off the hook.” The color in his face darkened and she felt instantly contrite. “I’m sorry. That was a tasteless thing to say.”

“It was.” He slipped his arm through hers and led her back toward their rooms. “I don’t consider myself on the hook. I want this child.”

“I only meant the marriage,” she mumbled.

“The marriage should hardly be noticeable for either of us. Despite the change in location for you.”

“Glad to know I won’t be too heavy a ball and chain,” she snapped.

“Not at all. And make no mistake, I’ve been married, and I’m not looking for that sort of relationship out of this.” He released her arm and made his way up the stairs without her.

He had mentioned that he hadn’t been planning on getting married again and up until then she had been certain it was love for his wife that kept him from wanting a new wife. Now she wasn’t entirely certain.

And why should she care? He wasn’t going to be her husband in any true sense of the word. He would be her partner. They would raise their baby together during the day and at night he would warm the bed of some lithe, six-foot-tall blonde. And she would go to bed alone and enjoy the solitude of her bed. And cold sheets. So why didn’t that sound fair, or appealing, at all?