Natalie Anderson - The Secret That Shocked De Santis

‘I’m giving the matter serious consideration.’ He smiled, but watched her closely. ‘This is called Pirates’ Cove for a reason. Those rocks in the sea provide a thorny path to hidden caves once full of treasure... Not to mention the rumours of a secret tunnel connecting this cove to the island over there.’ He nodded in the direction just behind her, to the small island reserved solely for the Princes’ use.

He thought she was a tourist. Not surprising when her accent was not as strong as his. She’d spent too many years overseas at boarding school, banished from her home.

‘Isn’t that your private island? Where you keep your women?’ Teasing him was irresistible. She could be a tourist for a moment, couldn’t she? Not a soldier who’d promised to serve his family.

‘Bound to the beds—that’s right.’ Laughter lit his eyes—and so did sensual promise.

He would, she realised, do just that. And, more appallingly, she would let him. She touched the tip of her tongue to her dreadfully dry lips.

‘So you are a pirate prince? Is that why you’re here—stealing treasure?’

Stealing hearts. He was scooping hers up without a second thought. And so easily he wasn’t even aware of it.

‘Who’s the pirate really?’ he challenged, gently shaking her. ‘The mysterious woman in black? Strong, agile. Thief of thoughts.’

‘Thoughts?’ she queried.

‘Si. I can think of nothing but you,’ he admitted in a low tumble of words. ‘I no longer care about what I should be doing. That I ought to be moving. All I can think about is...’

‘Is...?’ she prompted, melting.

He angled his head and finally pulled her that bit closer again. ‘It is not right that your skill set is so imbalanced.’

She almost purred at the blatantly sensual undertone to his words, at the feel of his hard length pressing against her again. ‘You’re taking it upon yourself to rectify my training?’

‘I think I must,’ he murmured. ‘Because if you know how to give a bruise, you must also learn how to make it better. It is only fair.’

He was wrong. Bruises healed just fine on their own. She’d never had anyone to kiss her bruises better. But she didn’t mind going along with him for just these few moments.

‘So what do I need to do?’ she breathed.

‘When a woman is bruised you must kiss her very lightly. With great care. To ensure you’re not hurting her more.’ He brushed his lips against her temple—the lightest kiss that made her toes curl into the wet sand. ‘And you do this until you sense that she is ready for greater pressure.’ He brushed his lips lightly over her skin again, then again. ‘That she is ready for pleasure. And then you give pleasure until the hurt is forgotten.’

He claimed her mouth then. She leaned into it, letting him explore, and he did—with wicked skill, torching the tinder between them until white-hot need poured through her.

‘Feel better?’ he asked, drawing back, arrogant knowledge gleaming in his eyes.

‘No. I feel terrible.’ And she did. The yearning inside her was a pulsing, hungry thing that she feared would never be assuaged. ‘Kiss me more.’

‘Strong little thing, aren’t you?’ He half laughed. ‘And demanding.’ He suddenly lifted her, splashing back the few feet to the shore and setting her on dry sand. ‘Well, so am I.’

‘Little?’ she teased, attraction magnifying her audacity. Since when in her life had she ever flirted?

He kissed her again in answer. Rougher—harder—even more pleasurable. She sank into it, gripping him fiercely. She had no idea how long they clung, wet and wild on the edge of the sea. All she knew was that it wasn’t for long enough. But he broke the seal.

‘I want to see you bared,’ he said harshly, pressing his hot mouth to her neck. ‘I want to touch you.’

He was a man used to getting what he wanted. To issuing a command and having it obeyed instantly.

Stella was used to following orders. And this was what she wanted.

Heated and frantic, she knew she’d have only this one chance to feel this wild exhilaration. Stella wriggled free, pulled off her tee shirt and tossed it to the sand. Unclasped her embarrassingly utilitarian-style bra super-quick—before he had the chance to really see it and before she had the chance to think. And to stop.

All of a sudden she was there, half naked before him. For a moment he just stared at her bared breasts. She felt her nipples tighten, despite the heat of the sun and the warmth of the gentle breeze. Then he raised his glance and glared at her.

It was as if she’d been plunged into a crucible. Her bones became like molten steel. Malleable, she awaited his instruction. She realised vaguely that she would do anything he asked. And enjoy it. Because that was Prince Eduardo’s absolute promise—pleasure, fun, abandonment.

She drew in a shuddering breath, startled at the ferocity—the foreignness—of her own surrender. And for a split second she froze.

His pupils dilated.

Before she could run he reached for her, hauling her back into his fierce embrace, kissing her with such a passion that her knees actually buckled. She looped her arms tight around his broad shoulders, kissing him back, revelling in the sensation of her breasts pressed against his shirt. She clung and she didn’t care. Lust, savage and raw, overruled everything.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked, his hands roving up and down her spine as if he couldn’t get enough of the feel of her.

She didn’t answer.

‘I’m not going to let you go until you tell me.’

She didn’t know what made her do it. Maybe it was annoyance at his arrogant assumption that she’d do as he asked—even though they both knew she would. Or perhaps it was the newborn imp within her, wanting to test him. She felt him tense again and her anticipation heightened.

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