Page 2 of Crowned For The King's Secret

The hesitation was unmistakeable, almost as though she was trying out a new name for size. Something chill pricked at the base of his spine. A warning. He’d learned to listen to those feelings. They could mean the difference between life and death. Of course, there’d been no attempts on his life since childhood. Still, he’d been forced to tolerate many things during his exile, but duplicity would never be one of them.

‘Are you sure?’

He kept it light, but he needed to know what was going on. The thumb of her left hand rubbed over her ring finger. It was unadorned but even he couldn’t ignore that she was toying with the place where a wedding band would have sat, as if something was missing.

‘Married?’ he asked.

They were both adults. She could do what she wanted and knew that people came here to escape many things, but he refused to be the vehicle for infidelity. He had cold, hard experience of what that could do. The sins of his grandfather had set Santa Fiorina into darkness for a quarter of a century. An illegitimate uncle who’d never accepted his position in the family hierarchy, below that of Alessandro’s father. His ambitious wife with dreams for her son’s own succession, encouraging him. Taking what they wanted with violence and bloodshed. These were the things Sandro knew. They’d been inscribed on his soul with his parents’ blood since the night he’d lost them for ever.

He would never do that to any other family, even if the consequences wouldn’t be so dire. Victoria, if that was her name, looked up at him, her eyes taking on that sad, distant look again. One that spoke all kinds of truths he wasn’t prepared to delve into. She shook her head.

‘Not any longer.’

Sandro exhaled, muscles relaxing. He hadn’t known how much he wanted her to give that answer, because there was no one else here he had any interest in. She toyed with a tiny black button on her blouse. One of myriad down the front, disappearing beneath the waistline of her skirt. His eyes were drawn to her cleavage. The tracery of her lace bra under the silken fabric. All giving him mere glimpses and hints of the temptation lying beneath. He couldn’t wait to undo her slowly, if she’d allow him the pleasure.

He motioned to his own glass. ‘Would you like another drink?’ The bartender had been watching them, leaving them alone till it was clear Sandro wanted something more. He joined them now with a professional smile.

‘Same again, sir?’

Sandro nodded. The French red was a spectacular vintage and drinking now, when he had no interest, was a waste, but he doubted the woman before him would drink alone. He motioned to her. She didn’t look at the man behind the bar, but at Sandro, in a way that scored right into his heart.

‘Vodka martini, dirty, with a twist.’

The blood rushed straight from his brain to much, much lower in a roar of pleasure. He wanted to grab her, leave now so they could start the rest of the night together. Instead, he employed the infinite patience he’d required during his exile.

He knew from personal experience that waiting made the ending so much sweeter, and he didn’t want this night to end too soon. This was an old game they played. One that thrilled him, more than tearing down a polo field at speed on horseback.

He couldn’t help the corner of his mouth curling up in a slow smile of ego-driven pleasure.

‘How dirty do you like it?’

She fiddled with the toothpick in her glass, brought it to her mouth and nibbled, almost as if thinking. He counted the seconds in his thumping heartbeats. Then she drew the pick from her mouth and placed it in a napkin on the countertop.

‘Seven out of ten.’

The words slid through him, swift, neat and red-hot.

‘I have a suite here,’ he said in a voice that sounded rough and alien to his ears, as the bartender walked away to make drinks Sandro didn’t give a damn about and was sure Victoria didn’t want either.

‘And what’s in your suite?’

He leaned forward, to get closer. Caught the delectable scent of her again. Their knees brushed and the pleasure of that barest of touches shimmered through him.

‘Everything we need.’

Sandro thought he heard her breath catch. Then a look came over her face and all the expression melted away till what was left was blank and fresh and unreadable. Except her eyes, those sad eyes that caught his attention and held. She nibbled on her lower lip, looked down into her lap. Hair tumbling in soft strands around her face as she smoothed her hands over her skirt again.

‘That’s not something I...do.’

She glanced up at him through veiled lashes, as if it was important she told him that. As if gauging his attitude in case he’d judge her. The only person he judged was himself, constantly. And now he realised that he might have overplayed his hand, forced something fragile too soon. Still, he was used to the seemingly impossible becoming reality. In a few days he was taking back the throne of Santa Fiorina, something on his darkest days he doubted he’d ever achieve.

‘Neither do I,’ he said.

That was the truth. Whilst he’d dallied a little at university, he’d always been too closely protected, everyone around him vetted and known. This situation was as new for him as it seemed to be for her. Victoria’s eyes widened a fraction as she took in his words then she threw her head back and laughed, the sound earthy and raw. Heads turned and all the men in the place looked at her with envy, coveting the precious woman he would make his tonight if she deigned to give him more time.

‘That, I don’t believe,’ she said, her voice containing the warmth of the smile now barely contained on her lips.

Even though exiled, Alessandro knew he’d led a privileged life. But he’d never felt more privileged than with Victoria now, these moments fresh, new and like a storm washing away the tired dust and detritus from his past years.

---