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The need was elemental. It wasn’t a pursuit of rebellion, it was physical. As necessary as breathing. Terrifying and foreign in its intensity, but far too compelling to walk away from.
“Then follow me.” He started walking again and she followed. He led her down a stone path that went from the house and disappeared into the thick, lush sand of the beach. “You might need to lose your shoes,” he said, looking down at the glittering high heels she was wearing.
“Right.”
He tightened his grip on her while she lifted one foot up and toed the first spiky shoe off, then the other. He picked them up off the sand, the feminine heels out of place in his large, square hands. “I don’t want you to lose them,” he said.
“Thanks.” She didn’t really care about the shoes. She couldn’t. She felt somehow outside of herself and more connected to her body’s physical needs than she’d ever been. Above and also deeply immersed in what was happening to her, to them. She just wanted to block everything out but the feelings that were moving through her. The desire and lust and things she’d ignored for so long. To embrace the heat in her blood instead of trying to suppress it.
For one moment, she just wanted to be a woman. To capture what had been ripped from her life, not just by Gabriel, but by her parents and their disapproval, the media and their cruelty.
She scanned the beach, looking for a place that might afford some privacy.
“This way,” he said, drawing her forward, into a cove of palms that stood back from the water. There was a cabana there, linen curtains tied back on thick, wooden posts, blowing in the warm evening breeze.
A large, white mattress was placed in the middle on a wooden frame. It was clearly meant for two, and it was obviously meant for privacy. As private as one could get out in the open.
“Before you go and get angry, I’ve toured the property before. I haven’t sneaked out of parties and brought dates here.”
“Not here specifically.”
“I never claimed to be a saint.”
“Neither did I,” she said, climbing the wooden steps that led into the secluded structure. “But I seem to have been trying to do an impression of one for most of my life.”
She sat on the edge of the lounge and leaned back slightly, almost shocking herself with her boldness.
He approached the lounger and rested his knee on the thick, white padding, just between her thighs. He didn’t touch her, but she could feel his heat, felt a hollow ache starting at her core and working its way into her stomach, making her feel needy and edgy. Nervous too.
He leaned in closer and she leaned back, the move reflexive. She could see a smile curve the corner of his wicked mouth in the dim lighting. He rested his hand next to her hip, brought his face closer to hers and she scooted back a fraction. He chuckled, resting his other palm on the other side of her so that he was over her, his lips so near her she would barely have to move to kiss him.
So she did it. She tilted her head up, bringing her mouth against his, her tongue teasing the seam. He tasted even better than she remembered. Until two weeks ago it had been so long since she’d been kissed, so long since she’d felt beautiful. So long since she’d wanted anything that was just for her.
He returned the kiss, his mouth hot and hungry, his tongue sliding against hers, the friction so sensual she thought it might kill her. She didn’t think anything had ever felt so good. Her hands moved to his shoulders and she felt herself falling back slowly, her head resting against one of the throw pillows that had been placed on the lounger.
He put one hand on her leg and pushed the hem of her dress up, allowing her to part her thighs so he could settle between them, the hard ridge of his erection hot even through layers of lace and silk, teasing her sensitized body.
He rocked against her, teasing her with the slight pressure from his arousal, pleasure pouring through her like warm oil. She arched into him, wanting more, wanting him to keep kissing her. Wanting him to touch more of her. Wanting more in general.
“Touch me,” she whispered against his lips, moving her hands from his shoulders to the front of his shirt, jerking the knot on his tie, loosening it and pulling it off so she could get to the buttons on his dress shirt.
She worked the buttons quickly, desperate to touch his skin. Desperate for more. She placed her palm flat on his chest, his flesh hot and hard, the hair prickly and masculine beneath her hands.
His chest vibrated with a low, masculine growl as he tore his lips from hers and pressed a line of kisses down her neck, sucking the tender skin where it met with her shoulder. She arched her back, a silent entreaty for him to touch her breasts.
And he knew just what she wanted. He moved his hand around to the back of her dress and with one deft motion he slid the zipper down, loosening the lacy garment so that he could tug the top down, baring her black strapless bra.
“Perfecto,” he said, his palm grazing her rib cage, skimming over the tips of her breasts. Not even close to enough.
Her breath hitched, her entire body drawn so tight she thought she was going to explode. She’d never been so turned on, so fast, in her life. But she felt like she was ready to go over the edge at any moment.
He lowered his head, his tongue trailing just beneath the line of her bra, so close to what she wanted and still not enough. “Rodriguez. Please. I need more. I need you to touch me,” she said, her words coming out halted, labored.
He reached his hand behind her again and undid the catch on her bra with a swift flick of his fingers. The night air was warm against her bare skin, and she couldn’t feel embarrassed. Not even for a moment.
He swore, short and sharp, before lowering his head and drawing one of her nipples into his mouth. She gripped his head, lacing her fingers through his hair, holding him to her.
The heat spreading through Rodriguez was reckless. Dangerous. He enjoyed sex. Always. But it never took him over like this. Usually, the heat of desire was comparable to standing near a fireplace. Warm, something he looked forward to, but not something wild or dangerous. The feeling Carlotta gave him was more like a wildfire, burning hot, raging through him with nothing to contain it.
Her desire wasn’t calm, it wasn’t polite or restrained. She wanted him, and she wasn’t shy about showing it. And he could give her no less. He had no ability to effect the persona of a smooth, experienced lover. Not now. He could only feel.
Her nipple hardened beneath his tongue and her obvious need for him sent a shot of pure, hard lust through him, making his erection jerk with the need to be inside her. His hands shook as he started to slide her dress down her hips. He couldn’t remember trembling before sex since he was a sixteen-year-old virgin.
He felt her go stiff beneath him suddenly, her body tight when before she had been pliant in his arms. “Did you hear that?” she whispered, drawing away from him.
“No.” His blood was roaring too loudly in his ears for him to hear anything.
“Madre di dio,” she cursed, reaching down to the side of the lounger and retrieving her bra, quickly covering her lush breasts with the band of black fabric.
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice nearly hysterical as she tugged the top of her dress back into place and contorted her body into an odd shape as she reached for the zipper. “Anyone could have walked up here, that’s what’s wrong!” she hissed.
“Do you need help?” he asked, indicating her struggle with the zipper, his brain still moving slowly.
“Yes,” she said, turning, her face angled down. “I thought I heard someone.”
“I don’t hear anyone.”
“That isn’t the point.”
He tugged the zipper into place and she turned. “What is the point then?” he asked.
“That we could have been caught.”
“So what? We’re engaged.”
“So?” she choked out, her words rising as she stood from the lounger. “So? You clearly have never been the center of a tabloid scandal. Oh, yes, you have, you just don’t care! Well, I care!”
“Carlotta, there wasn’t anyone out here. And anyway, we’re engaged to be married, where’s the scandal?”
“Where’s the scandal? You can hardly find pictures of royals kissing each other politely, let alone … snogging … in a cabana!”
“We were a little bit past that point.”
“Don’t,” she said, her voice trembling as she bent down and grabbed his tie, tossed it in his direction, “remind me.”
“Why are you so angry? Nothing happened. There were no pictures.”
“But there could have been!” she said. “And they would have been online and my … my son would have seen them. It’s bad enough that Luca will be able to look his family up on the internet, see that they called him the Santina bastard. See the endless speculation about who his father is, the headlines intimating I might not know who it is. Should he also see pictures of me half naked on a lounge chair with a man?”
“No, I don’t suppose he should but I am the man you’re marrying.”
“You keep saying that like it matters. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I … How can you understand? You just … can’t.”
“Try me, Carlotta. Do you think you have the monopoly on whatever it is you’re feeling right now?”
“On this? Yes. I’m sure I do. At least when it comes to the two of us.”
“I didn’t think you were a saint. You’re doing a great impression of someone who finds themself to be holier than thou.”
“I want to be,” she said sharply. “I want to be better than this. I need to be.” Her voice broke on the last word, the desperation he heard there something he couldn’t understand. Something he didn’t think he wanted to understand.
“Better than what? People want sex, Carlotta. They need it. It’s fundamental. A drive, like eating and sleeping. It’s not wrong to want it.”
“You say that because you have no idea what it means to face the consequences of it. It’s not the same as eating and sleeping. You have to be careful. And I should be in control of myself … of my body. I should have control.”
She turned and walked away, her arms crossed over her front like she was cold, holding on to herself tightly. He didn’t follow her. She didn’t want him to. He knew it. He wanted to. He wanted to find out what her problem was. To figure out why her rejection of him made his stomach feel tight, his body numb. It was more than unquenched desire. More than simple disappointment over not achieving a climax.
He wasn’t sure what it was.
He watched her small figure until she made her way back up to the expansive home and slipped back into the ballroom. He hoped she didn’t attract attention.
Not for his sake. For hers. Because she hated having her photo taken.
He couldn’t remember the last time the needs of someone else seemed so much more important than his own.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CARLOTTA closed the door to Luca’s room silently, her heart heavy. With responsibility. Anguish. Guilt. Nothing was ever simple.
She’d made a hasty retreat through the less populated portion of the mansion, and had managed not to run into anyone beyond a few members of staff. A trick she’d learned during her last idiotic affair.
That thought made her feel sick. Why was she still struggling like this? Why, when she knew the kind of pain it could cause, had she let her guard down?
The easy answer was that Rodriguez and her need for him had blindsided her. She liked sex, and yes, she’d missed it periodically over the past six years, but the need for completion had never, ever been like it had been tonight with Rodriguez.
This was just plain scary. Shocking in its intensity. It was taking her over.
She was tempted to go back in Luca’s room and curl up with her sleeping son. Use him as a shield against everything Rodriguez had conjured up in her. Yes, he had reminded her that she was a woman, not simply a mother, a caregiver. But someone with needs of her own.
And she wished she hadn’t been given that reminder.
She leaned back against Luca’s bedroom doors and closed her eyes. And she gave in to the misery that was making her entire body feel too tight. She let one tear slide down her cheek, then another. A sharp, silent sob forced her to suck in a breath.
“Dios. Are you okay?”
She turned toward the sound of Rodriguez’s voice, wiping away the moisture on her face, hoping he didn’t notice that her hands were shaking. “F-fine, I’m fine.”
“Luca?”
“Sleeping. I’m just …”
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He took a step toward her, his dark brows locked together. “I thought … you seemed to want everything …”
“I did,” she whispered.
“Did someone hurt you? Did Luca’s father …”
She laughed, the sound hollow and watery. Pitiful. “Yes. Of course he did. We aren’t together as one big happy family, are we? But he didn’t … hurt me … not like you mean.”
He looked over his shoulder, down the long corridor, vacant for now, but they both knew that staff were still milling around, even though it was past midnight.
“Come on,” he said, touching her hand lightly. “Come talk to me.”
She followed him, trying desperately to keep from dissolving into a dribbly mess. Because no one had really wanted to talk to her about what had happened. Not with any real depth or meaning.
Come talk to me.
The way he said it was like he really wanted to hear it. But she wasn’t sure she could tell. Not when it seemed to live inside her, a dirty secret that roamed around in her belly like a hungry lion, consuming happiness, her joy in normal things. Reminding her, constantly, that she’d failed. That she could never be worthy of forgiveness.
He pushed open wide, double doors at the end of the corridor. His room, she knew. And yet, even though a couple of days ago she might have accused him of trying to seduce her, she didn’t think that tonight.
Anyway, she’d practically led the seducing earlier.
The front section of his chamber was a sitting area, and that seemed neutral enough. She sat in one of the chairs, the one farthest from any of the other chairs, because if they were going to have this discussion, she was keeping her distance. Keeping her control.
Rodriguez didn’t sit. He stood, leaning against the mantel, his posture relaxed, arms folded across his broad chest. He’d never put his tie back on and the top few buttons of his shirt were still open.
From her clawing at them like a deranged sex kitten.
Che cavolo.
“I’m sorry,” she said tightly.
“Why?”
“The whole thing is … all of this. You were supposed to marry Sophia—”
“I was never particularly attracted to Sophia,” he said, his voice rough.
“But Sophia wouldn’t have. I guess it doesn’t really matter.”
“Carlotta, I get that you don’t want to be the focus of tabloids and Luca does make things different. I know you’re worried about him seeing things that have been written about you when he’s old enough to look for them. Honestly, I had never given a thought to what any children of mine might think if they saw the stories written about me. I understand it now. But nothing happened tonight and …”
“Tonight,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “proved that I haven’t changed. I thought I had control over myself.”
“So you said earlier, but I still don’t get it. Chasing a little sexual pleasure, I don’t see the harm in it.”
“You wouldn’t. But I know the other side of it, don’t I? I know what happens when you let something have control over you.” She drew in a shaky breath, her stomach tightening. “Everything seemed so perfect when I met him. I’d never met a man that I really wanted before. But everything he said sounded so nice, and everything he did felt so good. For a girl who had held on to her virginity for as long as I did, I think his seduction time was record breaking. For a few stolen weekends it was great. Gabriel was—is—a political ambassador that my family was working quite closely with at the time. Every time he came to the palace I would sneak out of my room to be with him.”
“Carlotta, if you think you’re the first girl to be seduced by the kind of man that makes promises but only wants sex, you’re wrong. There are a lot of men gifted in saying just the right things, or the wrong things, to get a woman into bed. But that’s his sin, not yours.”
She laughed. “If that were the whole story, sure. I might believe you. I asked him one night, could we take things public. I was ready. Ready to marry him, or just live with him, whatever he would give me. But I wanted to spend the whole night with him, not sneak back to my room after he was finished with me. And that was when I found out about Kristen. She’s Gabriel’s wife of fifteen years. They have four children. And when he was away on important business trips, supposedly working, he was sleeping with me.” Her voice broke.
“Carlotta …” he said, taking a step toward her.
“Don’t. You have to hear the rest. I was … utterly heartbroken. Completely. And that was when I … This is what I can’t forgive myself for, Rodriguez. I can’t.” For a moment, she couldn’t speak, her voice buried beneath the pressure in her chest, the shame, the guilt. She was sick with it, heavy. She felt too tired to go on, and yet, she couldn’t stop. She had to tell him. Had to let it out.
She swallowed hard. “He … he wanted me again. He wanted to still be with me.” Her voice shook but she continued anyway. “He told me he loved me. And I believed him. And that night, I let myself forget about Kristen, just for a few moments. I let him have me one more time. Because I wasn’t ready to let him go. Because for one, stupid moment, I believed him when he said we could find a way to make it work.”
She choked on the admission, her skin crawling even as she confessed it out loud. “I can’t scrub that night off my skin, Rodriguez. Not after six years.” A sob assaulted her. “And tonight I proved that I haven’t changed.”
That was the part that no one knew. Something she’d never been able to speak out loud. The part that made it impossible to let it all go. She had been stupid enough, going into a clandestine, purely sexual affair with a man that she didn’t really know. But trying to block out the full horror of reality when she’d heard it from his own lips? When she’d known, known his wife was at home, in their bed alone, and he was with Carlotta.
That was something she hated herself for. That she hadn’t been able to stop loving him in that instant. That she had given in when she’d had a chance to turn back.
“The only real consolation of that is, by my dates, I was already pregnant. At least that last time … and it’s hard to even talk about because the one thing, the only thing, I don’t regret from that affair was Luca. But if I had gotten pregnant from that time, when I knew he was married … that would have been much harder to handle.”
Rodriguez didn’t speak, he only looked at her, his eyes unreadable, black bottomless pools, in the dim lamplight of the sitting area. He stood frozen and for one, horrible moment she was afraid he was just going to turn around and leave her there.
Then he moved to her, crouching down in front of her, clasping her hands in his.
“That man was a bastard. He took advantage of you, of the fact that you loved him. He cheated both you, and his wife. All of his children. He should carry the shame of this, and I’m willing to bet that he doesn’t.”
She forced a laugh. “I’m sure he doesn’t. I’m sure he doesn’t care enough about either of us.”
He moved his thumb over the back of her hand. “What happened? After he told you, after the last time you were together?”
He kept holding on to her, offering her strength. She looked down at their hands, joined together in her lap. “I had to find my clothes. I gathered them up, and I went into the bathroom. Then I threw up.”
It had been awful, her entire body shaking and then, with Gabriel watching from the bed, she’d had to stumble from the room, be sick right in bathroom, where he could hear. Where he would know just how much pain she was in.
“And then I got dressed, and I walked out. I avoided him the next day and prayed he wouldn’t come back again. I started feeling sick soon after that and then I realized … and I had to tell my father. Everything. He made me tell Gabriel. And then he paid Gabriel a lot of money. To never come back. To keep quiet when the media discovered I was pregnant.”
She breathed in deeply. “It wasn’t like in movies where a woman finds out she’s pregnant and it’s somehow this wonderful moment. I was horrified. Numb. I had to go to the doctor and get tested for every STD under the sun because clearly our birth control efforts had failed, and there was no telling who else he’d been sleeping with. What he might have given me. And I just sort of existed for the next few months. I didn’t want to feel the baby kick. It made it too real. But when Luca was born … that was like the movies. He was just so tiny and vulnerable. And he needed me. But I realized then how much I needed him too. He gave me purpose. He made me want to be better.”
“And better is denying you have sexual desire?” he asked, his voice soft.
“That’s what it’s meant since Gabriel, yes. But it’s not just that. It’s everything. Things that feel good can be wrong. You have to trust in something more than feelings.”
“He was a bastard.”
“For cheating on his wife? Don’t you plan on cheating on me?”
Rodriguez looked down at Carlotta, at her face, streaked with tears he wasn’t even certain she’d noticed. The confession had cost her, and he could well understand why. And now, faced with her question, he felt like he’d been eviscerated by her words.
Yes. He had been planning on carrying on as he’d always done. But he had promised honesty. Surely that changed things? Now though, he didn’t feel like it did.
“I promised you honesty,” he said, his voice rough.
She nodded. “I know.”
“I won’t hurt you.”
“Rodriguez …”
“I am not the same as he is.” He said it to convince himself, and the sad part was, he didn’t feel convinced. Not even remotely. He felt like he was deserving of every ounce of scorn he was ready to heap onto the man who had dared play with Carlotta in that way. Who had taken a young woman’s fragile emotions and used them so he could find satisfaction in her body.
And for the first time he wondered how he was different than a man like that. Because he had always assumed his behavior was fine. He always parted with his partners on good terms. They had fun, in bed and out, he bought them gifts, he made them feel good about themselves. He’d never considered it wrong, not for a moment.
Now he wondered if he had ever left a woman feeling like that. If he’d truly only used his lovers.
No, he’d never been guilty of quite what Gabriel had. No children, no cheating.
But he had been planning on doing that. To Carlotta. To Luca. It would have been in the tabloids. Luca would be able to see it.
“I won’t cheat,” he said, the words falling from his lips before he had a chance to think them through.
“What?”
“I will stay faithful to you. If you will do the same for me.”
“Forever?”
“Forever. I can’t promise any deep, abiding emotion I … I can’t.” It was the honest truth, a limitation of his that he had accepted long ago. Embraced. “I just don’t have that. But I can control my actions, and I never want to put you in the position of being hurt or humiliated again. I will never do to you what Gabriel did to his wife. And I don’t want Luca seeing tabloid photos of me out with other women.”
He had never believed he had it in him to be a good father. He still didn’t. He knew nothing about it. The mere thought of his own father made him feel ill. But he wouldn’t flaunt any kind of disrespect for Luca’s mother. Wouldn’t have Luca seeing evidence of infidelity in their marriage.