CAROL MARINELLI - Scandals Of The Royals - Princess From the Shadows

To have someone simply not see that dark mark on her record … that was something she hadn’t thought possible.

It had altered her own parents’ perception of her so profoundly she’d assumed everyone must look at her and see a big scarlet A branded across her chest, even without knowing the full story.

He pushed open the door to her room and stood there, allowing her to enter first. Rodriguez had that smooth, surface chivalry down to a science. It probably made women melt at his feet. If his dark good looks, hot body and wicked grin hadn’t already done the job.

“I went out today and I was driving through downtown when I saw this.” He took a garment bag out of her closet. “And it made me think of you.”

“Did you go through my things?”

“No, I asked one of the household staff to put it in the closet.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t like it when people go through your belongings?”

“Would you?”

“I don’t know. I live alone so I don’t have that problem.” His eyes locked with hers. “I did live alone anyway.”

“Now you have us.”

“And servants. You can never be truly alone in a castle. Even if all of the staff left there would still be ghosts wandering the old dungeon.”

“You have a dungeon here?”

He smiled. “You interested?”

A reluctant laugh pulled up from her stomach. “Not really my thing.” She took the garment bag from his hand. “You should be used to staff. You lived here when you were a boy.”

“Until I was old enough to go to school. When I was eight I went to boarding school.”

“That’s so young! I could never send Luca away. Not in three years’ time. I don’t think I ever could.”

He looked at her, his eyes blank, that darkness that lay beneath the surface a palpable force. “I liked school.”

“Good.” She unzipped the back and her mouth dropped when she saw the black lace dress that was nestled inside. “This is … there’s not much to it.”

“It will look perfect on you.”

“I don’t flaunt. I’m a mother.”

“You are a woman,” he said, his voice firm, insistent. “Don’t forget that. Whether you’re Luca’s mother, my wife or the Queen of Santa Christobel, you are a woman and there’s no crime in remembering that.”

“I … I know that. I remember. How could I forget?” Of course, for her, being a woman was basically a crime. She didn’t know what to do with that part of herself. The part that wanted occasions to dress for. The part that wanted a man in her bed. It was easier to simply be Luca’s mother and ignore everything else.

“You dress nicely,” Rodriguez said. “But not sexy.”

She frowned. “I thought my press conference dress was sexy.”

“No, you were sexy in it. It would only be considered sexy at a tea party.”

She looked him over, at his black pants and shirt, so lovingly fitted to his body, making him look dangerous and attractive. “Well, you dress like you’re on the prowl.”

“I generally am,” he said, offering her a crooked smile. “Now go try the dress on.”

She shot him a deadly glare and folded the bag over her arm, heading for the dressing room that was just off the main portion of the bedroom. She got out of her beach clothes and tugged the flimsy dress up over her curves.

She contorted her arm and tugged the zipper midway up her back, unable to finesse it all the way up. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. So, she’d ask him for help. He was going to see her naked after the wedding anyway. And this wasn’t even naked, this was just a partially exposed back. A bathing suit, even a modest one, would show much more than the dress put on display.

But it wasn’t so much about the amount of skin as it was about what Rodriguez made her feel.

Well, she wasn’t giving him that power. She owned her body, and she wasn’t a slave to errant desires.

She opened the door and poked her head out. “Can you zip me?”

The teasing light in his eyes vanished again, like a candle thrust into the wind. He frightened her when he looked like that. Because he lost that easy manner completely and he became someone—something—else entirely. Dangerous. A predator. And she had the feeling she was the prey.

“Sure,” he said, walking to the dressing room door. Her heart pounded in rhythm with his steps and she did her best to ignore it. To ignore the languid heat that seemed to be inside her bones, spreading through her, making her feel weak and shaky.

She turned and braced her hand on the door, anything to disguise the slight trembling in her fingers.

He didn’t bother to pretend, even for a moment, that the brush of his skin on hers was accidental, didn’t pretend he was simply helping with the last bit of the zipper. His finger trailed up the line of her back, hot and exciting.

She tensed, drawing her shoulders up.

“Relax, querida ,” he said softly, his knuckle brushing against her shoulder.

“Then you’re going to have to stop touching me.”

She felt his fingers toying with the zip tab, his other hand moving to her waist, his touch light but so … present. She felt it all the way down to her toes and every interesting point in between.

“Not possible if you want me to help you with your dress.”

“You’re taking liberties,” she said, her voice stiff.

“Don’t you sound like the maiden in a Regency drama? I quite like it.”

“Next you’re going to tie me to the railroad tracks …”

“You’re mixing your time periods.”

She rolled her eyes, then realized he couldn’t see her face. “That’s beside the point.”

“Sorry, but I find it counterintuitive, covering up a woman’s skin, I mean.”

“You are shameless, Rodriguez.”

He put his hands on her arms and turned her, and she sucked in a sharp breath when she stopped, her face inches from his. “I can be,” he said.

“Well, I wish you wouldn’t. Be … so shameless.”

She looked into his eyes, past the glimmer of humor, to the predator. Her body responded. And it wasn’t the flight response she should be having. Maybe she wasn’t the prey. Maybe she was a predator too. Maybe her body was on the prowl too. Looking for a mate. She looked down, breaking the visual hold he had on her.

“If you really wish, Carlotta.” He moved his hands, reaching behind her and tugging her zipper into place. “I think the dress looks perfect.” He took a step back, as though they hadn’t just been caught in the most sexually tense moment in the history of sexual tension.

She swallowed hard and turned to face into the dressing room so that she could see herself in the full-length mirror. The dress wasn’t really as indecent as she’d imagined—the black lace gave hints of skin, but, thanks to the lining beneath, covered anything that really mattered. It was long, a mermaid-style skirt that flared out past her knees, swishing as she walked.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, hating to admit he was right. Not enough to give up the dress, but enough.

“I knew it would be.”

“A man with much confidence,” she said.

“No. How could it be anything but stunning on you?”

She looked at his reflection in the mirror, her eyes meeting his indirectly that way. “Rodriguez, I … I don’t need the whole playboy act, okay? I’m marrying you. It’s done. You don’t need to do this.”

She knew, the moment she said the words, that she’d said the wrong thing. His eyes flattened, his mouth thinning into a line.

“If that’s what you want,” he said, his voice sharp.

“I just … Thank you for the dress.”

He nodded and turned, walking out of the dressing room and, judging by the click of the door, her room.