CLARA ADJUSTED THE band of her dress one last time before deciding she was ready. She hoped the ambassador’s reception would be more exciting than it sounded. She hoped her boobs didn’t fall out of her dress. She hoped her princess lessons paid off and she didn’t embarrass Marcelo. Somehow, she had to contain the excitement that had been careering through her since their kiss that hadn’t been quite a full-blown kiss but still a kiss. Excitement always made her motormouth worse and dulled her impulse control, and she had never, in her entire life, felt anything like this before.
She’d relived the moment approximately once every minute. Sometimes twice.
If Alessia hadn’t interrupted them, how far would they have gone? How far would she have let it go?
The more pertinent question was how far did she want it to go? She knew her attraction for Marcelo had exploded. She knew she adored his company. She knew she adored him, and not just because he’d saved her life or brought her the most beautiful piece of jewellery in the world.
The problem was her complete lack of experience with men. Just because she’d liked being held in his arms and had practically swooned with desire at their way too brief kiss did not mean she’d like anything else. Just because the mere thought of his hands roaming her body sent thrills racing through her did not mean the reality would be anything like it.
And what about his expectations? Clara would never second-guess another person’s thoughts.
Luckily she’d put all her jumbled questions in order by writing them down, and she shoved the note into her clutch bag before taking one last deep breath and leaving her bedroom.
She laughed when Marcelo took one look at her in the living room where he was waiting for her and his eyes practically fell out of his head.
‘Now that is a reaction I like!’ she said, delighted at such a visceral reaction.
He rose from the sofa. ‘Dio, bella, you look amazing. That dress...’ He smacked a kiss to his fingers.
Loving the compliment, she beamed. ‘You look amazing too. I keep thinking you should only wear jeans and T-shirts because you look so sexy in them but you’re just as sexy in a tuxedo.’
His laugh sounded very much like a groan. ‘Clara, I’ve spent the last two hours trying my best not to think sexy thoughts of you and then you come out with that while wearing a dress like that? Are you trying to kill me?’
‘Let’s wait until we’ve been married a few months before I try that, eh?’
Marcelo rubbed the back of his neck and suppressed another groan. He didn’t see how he would make it to their wedding day without losing his mind, never mind a few months into it. Especially when Clara wore dresses like this one, a red velvet toga-style dress with the thick straps constituting the top half skimming either side of her full breasts to the diamond-studded sash tied around her waist. Her hair had been left loose, one side tucked behind her ear showing off diamond waterfall earrings. Her only other jewellery was her engagement ring. It sparkled as brightly as she did.
He could hear voices beyond the walls of the living room. His team were gathering.
‘Ready to meet your public?’ he asked.
‘As ready as I’ll ever be. Do you have a gag ready if needed?’
Stepping before her, Marcelo gazed deeply into the, oh, so expressive dark brown eyes. Dio, he longed to kiss her. Instead, he satisfied himself with tracing the back of a finger lightly down her cheekbone, and was gratified when her lashes fluttered and she shivered.
‘You’ve got this, bella,’ he assured her quietly, praying that he was right. ‘The press will be camped outside the embassy and will take pictures of us together, but that will be your only contact with them. For the function itself, if you feel at any point that things are getting too much and that you’re losing control, take my hand and squeeze it hard.’
‘That sounds like a plan but you might find I spend the whole function squeezing it.’
‘You’ve got this,’ he repeated.
Her eyes softened. ‘I hope so. For your sake.’ And then a flare of the mischief he was becoming so familiar with flashed. ‘Sure you don’t want to bring a gag as backup? Just in case?’
Bursting into laughter, he took her hand and kissed the knuckles.
A short while later, they climbed into the back of their car. As Clara arranged herself next to him to minimise creases to her dress, Marcelo reflected that, for once, he was attending a royal function without dread of the certain tedium.
Whatever happened when they got home, whether she took the plunge and joined him in his bed or not, having Clara on his arm guaranteed the event would not be boring.
For that alone, he was grateful to have Clara Chaos in his life.
The reception was far more gruelling than Clara had anticipated. Held in the ambassador’s residence in what looked from the outside to be a magnificent town house, it was filled with glamorous women and dashing men.
Trying to remember everything that had been drilled into her, especially the need to think before speaking, was a nightmare and much harder in practice than in theory.
They all wanted to talk to her. Funnily enough, everyone seemed to want to know about her relationship to the British royal family. There were more than a few crestfallen faces when she told them she’d never met anyone more senior than a viscount, and that had been at a garden party when she was a child.
‘Why has no one asked me about King Pig?’ she whispered to Marcelo when they had a brief respite from the deluge of interested people.
‘They’ve been warned not to,’ he murmured.
‘Why?’
‘Officially, because you’re too traumatised to discuss it.’
‘And unofficially?’
‘Because it will lead to other questions where you would be forced to lie and as you can’t lie, it is better to avoid it altogether.’
‘Very sensible.’ She smiled at a waiter offering a tray of canapés to them and helped herself to another tiny mouthful of something that resembled a miniature Yorkshire pudding stuffed with crab meat. It didn’t even fill her mouth and he’d moved on to another guest before she could take another one. ‘Are they going to serve any real food any time soon?’ She was getting hungrier by the minute.
‘It doesn’t appear so,’ Marcelo said in an undertone. ‘There’s a good restaurant a few streets away we can go to when it’s polite to escape.’
‘I’ll try not to faint from hunger in the meantime.’
Ice-blue eyes captured hers. Amusement gleamed in them.
A frisson raced up her spine and she quickly looked away. She needed to keep her focus and not be distracted by Marcelo’s gorgeous face and the crazy feelings looking at him evoked in her. She needed to be Princess Perfect for him.
Over the next hour that passed, though, Clara’s composure start to flag. Holding herself straight the whole time and watching every word that came out of her mouth was exhausting, and so she was delighted when Marcelo spoke into her ear. ‘Time to make our exit. Follow my lead.’
After a flurry of goodbyes and thank-yous, they left through a different door than they’d arrived.
The convoy of cars that had driven and accompanied them there were waiting for them.
‘Can we walk to the restaurant?’ she asked impulsively. If felt like she’d been cooped up all week and she had a real urge to breathe the evening air and see a bit of Ceres that wasn’t castle.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘In those shoes? Aren’t your feet hurting you yet?’
She laughed. Until six days ago, Clara hadn’t even owned a pair of high heels. ‘They’re killing me!’
‘And you still want to walk?’
‘If it’s not too much hassle.’
She detected a moment’s hesitation before he grinned and beckoned one of his guards over to relay the new instructions, and then they set off.
The Ceres capital’s streets were how Clara had always pictured Rome, all narrow and lined with high renaissance buildings.
‘How did I do?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t insult anyone by mistake or embarrass you in any way, did I?’
‘Not at all. They all thought you were charming.’
‘Charming? Me? Ha! Still, that’s good. I did try to behave like a princess.’
‘Clara...’ Marcelo shook his head. It had been an impressive effort on her part but it had pained him to see the effort she’d made, the fixed smile on her face. At times, her nails had dug into his palms but he doubted she’d even been aware of it. ‘You did great, okay? You just need to relax a little and let the real you shine.’
‘But people don’t like the real me and I want your people to like me for your sake.’
There she went, in that matter-of-fact manner that took people aback at the first meeting of her, bluntly confiding that people didn’t like her as if it were a simple fact of life.
‘Of course people like you. I like you,’ Marcelo told her, at a loss at what else he could say to refute her assertion. ‘Alessia likes you.’
‘It’s okay, I wasn’t fishing. Some people like me. Most don’t. They find me too much. Oh, look, there’s a caricaturist!’
They’d reached a piazza with a huge fountain in the centre, brimming with people eating and drinking the evening away in the plentiful restaurants and bars with outside seating. Following her gaze, Marcelo saw an artist speedily drawing a cartoonish portrait of a young woman striving to keep a straight face.
‘You want one done?’
‘I’d love to. But not right now. If I have to wait much longer for food I might start eating my own arm.’
‘Then it’s just as well we’re nearly there.’
And just as well she’d refused, Marcelo thought with a stab of inward fury.
It was happening again, that impulse Clara brought out in him to say, ‘To hell with decorum and duty.’
A prince of Ceres stopping at a caricaturist? Eschewing his carefully laid out security detail to walk the city streets? They were hardly things that could be described as thrill-seeking, not in the way that part of him had been sated in his army years, but there was something about Clara that pulled those old, suppressed feelings out and made him yearn to throw caution to the wind and feel alive again. He could lie to himself that Clara’s eyes when she’d asked if they could walk, which had had the same pleading quality Bob’s got when begging for a treat, had been the reason he’d agreed but spending all this time with someone as honest as Clara forced a man to be honest with himself and the truth was he’d wanted to throw the shackles of his position aside too, even if only for a short walk.
The restaurant, a favourite of his family for its discretion and privacy, was busy but, as expected, the owner quickly found a table for them and another close by for his bodyguards, welcoming Marcelo with the subtle fawning he remembered from his visits here before.
‘This is cool,’ Clara enthused once they were seated at a small table for two, wine poured and their order taken.
‘It has excellent food.’
‘You’ve brought lots of women here?’
‘Enough,’ he answered drily. Marcelo was getting used to his fiancée asking the questions most other people were too frightened, wary or inhibited to ask. He liked that she could ask something like that without a hint of jealousy too. He liked that he didn’t have to second-guess her.
‘There’s lots of women looking at you,’ she observed. ‘And I don’t think it’s just because you’re a prince.’
He let his eyes soak up the beauty before him. ‘I imagine there’s a lot of men looking at you too, and I don’t think it’s because you’re about to become a princess.’
She pulled a don’t-care face. ‘All the women kept staring at you at the embassy. I was worried I’d have to hit them with my bag if they started groping you.’
He burst into laughter. ‘That really would be most unbecoming of a princess.’
She grinned. ‘Then it’s just as well I resisted.’
‘Indeed.’
Clara leaned forward. The table was so small that if Marcelo were to lean forward too they could kiss. Lowering her voice, she said, ‘Can I take my shoes off or would that be unbecoming?’
His eyes crinkled with amusement. ‘Go ahead.’
Using her toes to work the heels, she slipped them off and stretched her aching feet. Straight away her toes prodded into male legs.
‘Sorry.’
He smiled slowly. ‘I’m not.’
Another of those dizzying rushes of heat flushed through her and, for a long, long moment, Clara’s brain went entirely blank.
Luckily food arrived. Bread rolls and a plate of olives and cold meats were laid before them. Her stomach growling, Clara dived straight in.
This really was an excellent restaurant, she decided, all moody and dark. In the other corner a female singer was crooning songs as dark and moody as the décor. As it was in Italian, she didn’t have a clue what she was singing about and decided she’d rather not know in case it was something inane. Instead, she jiggled her shoulders to the beat and enjoyed the feel of Marcelo’s legs brushing against hers. There was nothing accidental about it now, and she enjoyed the thick, swirling sensation that coursed through her because of it. She hoped to enjoy more of this sensation later. Hoped a lot. But, of course, that was all dependent on Marcelo.
She had to wait until they’d finished their first course before she could remove the list she’d written earlier from her clutch bag.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘A list of questions for you.’
‘Questions about what?’
‘Sex.’ She waited until he’d finished choking before elaborating. ‘I did like I said I would and had a good think about whether I want us to take things further, and I really, really do, but there are things we need to discuss first, so I wrote it all down so I wouldn’t forget anything.’
As he looked a little dazed and was blinking more than was normal, she thought it best to add, ‘That’s if you still want something physical to happen between us?’
He took one long last blink, straightened, drank half the wine in his glass then fixed his stare back on her. His lips curved into a half-smile. ‘Yes, bella, I want that very much.’
‘I like you calling me that.’
‘Bella?’
She nodded. Every time he called her it, a warm glow fizzed inside her.
‘It suits you.’
‘Thank you. So, can we go through my list?’
He took a deep breath, obviously bracing himself, then inclined his head. ‘Go ahead.’
‘Does sex hurt the first time or is that an urban myth?’
There was a flickering in his eyes. ‘It doesn’t hurt men but it’s different for women. I think it can be uncomfortable the first time but, from what I understand, so long as you’re relaxed and ready, the discomfort is fleeting.’
‘How will I know if I’m ready?’
‘Your body will tell you.’
‘How?’
‘Trust me, you’ll know.’
Unconvinced at this assertion, Clara looked at her list for the next question. ‘What if we get naked and I decide I want to stop?’
‘Then we stop.’
‘Have you had sex with a virgin before?’
‘No.’
She shot her stare back to him. ‘But you’re sure you’ll know if I’m ready?’
‘No, bella, you will know.’
Still unconvinced, she said, ‘Do you promise?’
‘I promise.’
Hmm. She supposed time would tell. If it got that far.
‘What was your first time like?’
‘Over much too quickly,’ he deadpanned.
She sniggered. ‘How do you know if it’s over too quickly?’
‘As a rule, if the man comes before the woman, then it’s over too quickly.’
She opened her mouth to ask her next question but before she could speak, their waiter returned to the table.
Marcelo exhaled slowly, glad of the reprieve the arrival of their main course brought.
Never in his life had he had a conversation like it. Strangely, there was something erotic about the businesslike manner Clara approached the subject.
And there was a lot erotic about the way she happily, unashamedly devoured her risotto. The stirrings he’d been battling in his loins refired. Idly, he wondered if she would have the same enthusiastic appetite in the bedroom.
As if she could read his mind, once she’d cleared most of her bowl she went straight back on topic. ‘If I have sex with you and I don’t like it, will you expect me to have sex with you again?’
‘No.’
‘What if we’re actually having sex and I don’t like it and ask you to stop?’
‘Then I would stop.’
‘Has that happened to you before?’
‘No.’
‘Would your ego be bruised?’
‘Probably.’
‘Would you hate me for it?’
‘I would hope not.’
She considered this then nodded. ‘I wouldn’t hate you if you decided you didn’t like having sex with me. If we have sex, will it change the dynamic of our relationship?’
‘Probably.’
‘For good or bad?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘So it would be a risk? I’m just thinking that we’re going to spend the next year living together so we have to weigh up whether having sex is worth the risk.’
‘Every action we take in life involves a degree of risk.’
‘But we have evolved to mitigate most risks. We wear seat belts in cars, helmets on motorbikes... Do you wear condoms?’
‘Always.’
‘Do you have condoms?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sensible. If we get as far as having sex you’ll have to wear one because, for obvious reasons, I’ve never taken contraception.’ She finished her wine then topped both their glasses up. ‘So, what do you think? Do you still want to have sex with me after all that?’
He gazed into the dark brown eyes and thought a man could sink into them and never come back up for air. ‘More than I have ever wanted anything. And you? Are you willing to take the risk too?’
‘Oh, yes...so long as you accept that I might change my mind halfway through.’ She shrugged apologetically. ‘I don’t know how I will feel when we’re naked and doing stuff so I can’t promise anything.’
‘Everyone has a right to change their minds.’
‘So you accept that I might change my mind?’
‘I will accept whatever you’re willing to give.’
‘Then shall we go home and possibly have sex?’
He arched a brow. ‘Now?’
She looked at their almost empty plates. ‘Unless you want dessert?’
Marcelo laughed through the pain of desire firing through him. ‘As much as I long to whisk you back to the castle right now, we need to wait a few minutes or my obvious arousal will be front-page news.’
Her beguiling eyes widened. ‘You’re aroused right now? Really?’
He covered her hand with his and brought it to his mouth. ‘Did you really expect me to have an hour-long discussion about sex with the sexiest woman on the planet and for my body not to react?’
Her eyes gleamed. ‘I have a lot to learn.’
Now that she’d made her mind up Clara was impatient to get home but the short drive back to the castle, her hand tightly entwined with Marcelo’s, dragged interminably. She remembered going on a school trip to a theme park when she was ten. She’d never been to a theme park before and had longed to ride on a roller-coaster. The night before, she’d been far too excited to sleep and had almost thrown her breakfast up before she left. That was the closest she could remember to how she felt now.
The thuds of her heart accelerated when their driver entered the castle’s grounds. So powerful were they that their ripples churned in her belly. But there was no fear that she would be sick from them.
How funny that she’d lived twenty-two years without even a flicker of desire for a man and then, virtually overnight, her mind had become consumed with thoughts of Marcelo and sex. Now it was like those thoughts had fed into her bloodstream and spread to every nerve ending. Anticipation thrummed so heavily in her that her only fear was that she wouldn’t like it when he touched her. She hoped she would like it and that all these wonderful new sensations had some meaning, otherwise why would she have them? It would be a disappointing waste.
They’d reached their private carpark.
They were home.
Suddenly anxious, she tugged at his hand. ‘Promise you won’t be angry with me if I change my mind.’
Through the castle grounds night lights, she saw his features contort.
Brushing a thumb along her cheekbone, he quietly said, ‘I will take whatever you’re willing to give. Nothing more. You have my word.’
The driver opened the door.
Clara gazed into Marcelo’s steadfast stare a moment longer then smiled her relief and twisted round to jump out.
While she waited for him to join her, she gazed up at the stars and hugged herself. Whatever the outcome of what they were about to share together, she knew she was in safe hands and that when she got cold feet or found what they were doing too repulsive to continue, he would put his clothes back on and wish her a goodnight.
The odds were, it would be rubbish—how could reality live up to expectation, even if her expectations were low?—but at least when she eventually morphed into a white-haired spinster with a menagerie of pets, she’d be able to look back on this night and say she’d had a go at sex. She doubted they would go as far as full-blown sex because she had no idea how she was supposed to know when she’d be ready and just because excitement threaded her insides did not mean it would be the same on the outside. She might find his touch on her naked flesh repellent. She hoped not. She hoped she would like it enough that at some point her body would flash a neon sign at her that said, You’re ready!
Once inside and the staff dismissed for the night, Clara kicked her heels off while Marcelo headed to the bar and removed a bottle of Scotch and two glasses with a raised eyebrow in question.
‘Why not?’ she murmured, thinking for the hundredth time how sexy he looked in a tuxedo. She hoped he looked as sexy naked. She hoped it got that far.
He poured them both a glass.
Eyes locked together, they drank.
‘Another?’
She shook her head and pressed her palm to his cheek so she could feel the soft bristles of his beard on her skin. ‘Let’s go upstairs.’
He captured her hand before she could remove it. His stare bore into her with its intensity. ‘Nothing more than you are willing to give.’
She smiled. ‘And nothing more than you’re willing to give.’
He laughed. It sounded pained to her ears.
At the top of the stairs, Marcelo opened his bedroom door and extended an arm in invitation. The expression on his face clearly told her he wouldn’t argue if she changed her mind and locked herself in her own room.
She wasn’t even close to changing her mind. At least, not yet...