Chapter Six

Security was always a concern whenever the king of Ardena attended any kind of public event, so the plan was for Dante’s chauffeur to drive over to Marissa’s condo first, and from there they would go together to pick up Riley. They were halfway to Riley’s house when the princess’s cell phone rang.

She glanced at the display. “It’s my sister-in-law,” she said apologetically before connecting the call.

Dante had no compunction about eavesdropping. After all, it wasn’t as if he could leave the moving vehicle to give her some privacy. And while he could only hear Marissa’s half of the conversation, it quickly became clear that there was a change of plans for the day. A change that, judging by the furrow between her brows and the nervous glances she sent in his direction, the princess wasn’t happy about.

“Apparently Riley’s running a fever,” Marissa told him.

“Why do you say ‘apparently’?” he asked curiously.

“Because I saw her last night and she was fine.”

“Even I know kids can get sick without any notice.”

“You’re right,” she admitted.

“But you suspect she isn’t really ill,” he guessed.

“I think if she was, Hannah would have sounded more worried.”

“Do you think your mother somehow orchestrated the last-minute cancellation?”

“No,” the princess responded without hesitation. “I can assure you that Hannah wouldn’t do my mother any favors. This is entirely her own doing—her attempt to give us some time alone together.”

“So I have an ally in your sister-in-law, do I?” he asked as Thomas pulled into a gravel parking lot.

“For today, anyway,” Marissa grumbled. “Who can predict what she might do tomorrow?”

He couldn’t help but grin in response to the obvious pique in her tone.

The chauffeur parked at the far end of the lot, away from all of the other vehicles. Several minutes passed before the door was opened and they were allowed to exit the car. Marissa knew the delay had been necessary to allow the security detail assigned to the king to survey the area and ensure there were no threats to his safety.

Her cousin, the prince regent, endured the same procedures whenever he went out. She understood that it was a way of life for a ruler and, to a lesser extent, for any royal. It was one of the reasons she preferred to keep a low profile. Unfortunately, a low profile wasn’t possible in the company of the king of Ardena.

When he was satisfied that the area was secure, the chauffeur—whom Marissa suspected was likely a high-ranking member of the security team—carried a wicker basket and led the way. He guided them toward a table that had been moved some distance from the usual picnic area at the base of the nature trails—again, for security rather than privacy—while another guard followed behind.

Thomas spread a cloth over the table, then laid out the place settings and various containers of food before he bowed to the king and retraced his steps to return to the car. But Marissa knew they were not alone. So long as they remained in this public setting, there would be an invisible circle of security guards around them—and probably camera-wielding vultures in the trees.

“I was told that the best vantage point for the launch was the observation deck at the top of the trail. I was also warned that it would be impossible to secure that area because of its popularity and numerous access points, so I hope this is okay.”

“This is fine,” she assured him, surprised that he would even ask.

“We still have about half an hour until the launch,” he noted. “Did you want to eat or walk or just relax?”

“Relaxing sounds good,” she said, even as she wondered if it was possible to relax in the presence of a man who made all of her nerve endings hum.

He picked up the blanket Thomas had left on the bench and unfolded it on the grass in the center of the clearing and gestured for her to sit. She lowered herself onto the blanket, close to the edge to ensure that he had plenty of space on the other side.

He stretched out in the middle, on his back with his hands tucked behind his head and his feet crossed at the ankles.

“Is this how you like to relax?” he asked her. “By communing with nature?”

“I do enjoy being here—it’s so beautiful and peaceful. In fact, I used to be a member of the Falcon Ridge Trail Walkers,” she admitted. “But I stopped participating in the scheduled walks because the other members complained about the paparazzi scaring away the wildlife.”

“Just one of the perks of being born royal,” he noted in a dry tone.

A gust of air swept through the clearing, fluttering the leaves on the trees. Marissa tucked her knees up and wrapped her arms around them.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked her.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem to be relaxing,” he noted.

She wasn’t. How could she possibly relax when he was so close? Close enough that she inhaled his tantalizing masculine scent whenever she took a breath. Close enough—

“Take off your shoes,” he suggested.

“No, thank you.”

“It’s easier to relax when your feet are bare.” He kicked off his own, then sat up to remove his socks.

She’d never thought feet were sexy. Of course, she should have realized that his would be. There didn’t seem to be any part of Dante Romero that wasn’t above average.

“Your turn.”

“I don’t…”

Her protest faltered when he reached over and picked up her foot. Suddenly her mind spun back to the night of the masquerade ball, when Jupiter removed her sandals. She remembered the way he’d unwound the lace, the slow and sensual brush of his fingers over her skin. Just the memory made her heart pound faster.

But this wasn’t Jupiter, it was Dante, and he simply took hold of one shoe and tugged it off, then did the same with the other and carelessly tossed them aside.

Then he returned his attention to her now-bare feet, stroking his thumbs leisurely over the hot-pink lacquer on her toenails.

“Well, this answers one question,” he murmured.

She swallowed. “What question is that?”

His gaze skimmed over her, from the ivory cowl-necked blouse to the sand-colored slacks. “Whether you disliked color.”

“Neutrals are easier to coordinate,” she informed him.

“But a lot less fun.” He picked up one of her feet and stroked his thumb along the arch of her foot.

She didn’t disagree. In fact, she didn’t say anything because he was massaging her foot and she’d apparently lost the ability to form coherent thought. His thumb slid along the inside arch, circled the heel and traced the same path back again. She sighed with pleasure.

He smiled. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” she admitted. “But I’m not sure it would look good if there was a snapshot of this particular scene on the front page of tomorrow’s paper.”

“The area has been secured and no one knows we’re even here,” he told her, continuing to work his magic on her instep.

“You mean aside from the half-dozen guards patrolling the perimeter?”

“Aside from them,” he agreed.

“How do you know?” she wondered.

“Because I made a point of stopping at the little café by the waterfront and asking about the beaches in San Pedro.”

“Clever,” she admitted.

He reached up and plucked the pins out of her hair, his movements so quick and deft that Marissa didn’t even realize what he was doing until her hair was tumbling over her shoulders.

“If I’d wanted my hair down, I wouldn’t have put it up,” she told him, not bothering to disguise her annoyance.

“You always wear it up,” he noted. “I wanted to see it down.”

“And you’re used to getting what you want, aren’t you, Your Majesty?”

“Usually,” he admitted.

She automatically scooped up her hair, but he smiled and held up the pins. With a sigh that was equal parts resignation and frustration, she released the tresses again.

“Much better,” he told her and tucked the pins into his pocket. “Are you feeling more relaxed now?”

She was definitely feeling “more” something, but it wasn’t relaxed. “Sure.”

He shook his head, as if he knew she was lying. “It’s the chemistry.”

She swallowed, wondering if he was somehow able to read her thoughts. “Chemistry?”

“A physical attraction evidenced by the sparks sizzling in the air.” He shifted closer, spreading his legs so that they straddled her hips while her feet were almost in his lap. “It’s an elemental human response that occurs when a man and woman who are attracted to one another are in close proximity.”

“You can’t be attracted to me.”

“It surprised me, too. Not that you’re not an attractive woman,” he hastened to clarify. “Just that you’re not my usual type.”

“Based on the extensive lineup of women you’ve dated, I wouldn’t have guessed that you had a type.”

“You might be right,” he agreed. “Either way, the fact is that I like looking at you and being with you, and I can’t help wondering if the attraction between us might grow into something more.”

“I’m sure it’s not a concern that keeps you up at night.”

He was undaunted by her dismissive tone. “Of course, there’s only one surefire way to answer that question.”

“Maybe I don’t want it answered.”

“I think you do. Not consciously, perhaps,” he allowed. “But subconsciously, it’s preoccupying your thoughts. You’re wondering when that first kiss might happen, whether you’ll enjoy it, whether it will end with just one kiss or lead into something more.”

If she hadn’t been thinking about it before, she definitely was now. Not just thinking about it, but wanting it.

The sexy glint in his eyes warned her that he knew it.

“Instead of both of us wondering, why don’t we just get it out of the way?” he suggested.

Before Marissa’s frazzled brain could decipher his words, his lips were on hers.

Her first thought was that the man definitely knew how to kiss. Of course, his abundance of experience had no doubt allowed him to perfect his technique.

His mouth pressed against hers with just the right amount of pressure—enough to demonstrate that he was confident in her response but not so much that she felt his kiss was being forced upon her. He cradled her face in his hands, not to hold her immobile but only to adjust the angle of contact as he slowly deepened the kiss.

He touched the center of her upper lip with his tongue, a gentle stroke that sent waves of pulsing desire coursing through her system. Her lips parted and he slipped inside.

He continued to kiss her, continued to spin a seductive web around her, so that she was enveloped in layer after layer of sensation. Heat. Hunger. Need.

She wasn’t accustomed to feeling like this, to wanting like this. But there was no denying that she did want him. She wanted him to kiss and touch her all over. She wanted to feel his lips and his hands on every part of her body. Mostly, she wanted to once again experience all those glorious sensations that had rocketed through her system when she’d made love with Jupiter.

Except that Dante wasn’t Jupiter and this wasn’t an anonymous encounter.

She pulled away from him and forced a smile. “Well, now that we got that out of the way, we should eat.”

“I wouldn’t say that we got anything out of the way,” he denied. “In fact, I’d say that what we did was put the attraction between us front and center.”

It was the promise in his eyes more than the words that made everything inside her quiver, but she refused to let him see it. “It was just an elemental human response to proximity,” she said, turning his words back on him.

“Then I’ll just have to ensure we maintain close proximity.”

She ignored the heat that filled her cheeks.

“Lunch?” she prompted.

“Good idea.” He grinned wickedly. “I’m starving.”

Marissa couldn’t help but be impressed by the selection of food. There were French breads and savory crackers, gourmet cheeses, thin slices of smoked salmon, duck foie gras with port wine and black Ardenan olives. They watched the balloons overhead as they leisurely sampled the various offerings, sipped on a crisp, chilled Chardonnay, and then nibbled on fresh fruit and dark chocolate truffles for dessert.

When they were finished, Marissa began packing up the leftovers in the basket Thomas had left. She found an unopened plastic container.

“What’s this?” She didn’t wait for a response but opened the lid, lifting a brow when she recognized the contents. “A peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich?”

“I didn’t know if Riley would be fond of pâtés and cheeses,” he explained.

“That was very thoughtful,” she said, noting that there were also chocolate-chip cookies and a bottle of apple juice for the little girl.

“Well, I didn’t actually pack it myself,” he admitted. “But I’m not so self-absorbed that I wouldn’t realize a five-year-old might prefer a simpler meal.”

“There was a time when Riley didn’t want to eat anything but chicken nuggets,” Marissa admitted. “And while her eating habits are a little more expansive these days, she would definitely have gone for the peanut butter and jelly.”

“You seem very close to her,” he noted.

“I spent a lot of time with her when she was a baby, after Michael lost his wife,” Marissa explained.

“He’s remarried now, isn’t he?”

“Yes, just this past spring,” she confirmed. “And he and Hannah have another baby on the way, which Riley is absolutely thrilled about.”

“I get the impression you’re pretty thrilled, too.”

She shrugged. “It’s no secret that I’m a sucker for babies.”

“My mother’s going to love that about you.”

“Be careful,” she warned. “A woman could get ideas when a man talks about her meeting his parents.”

“Well, it is traditional for a man to introduce his future bride to his family.”

“So all those headlines about the king of Ardena searching for a queen aren’t just rumor?”

“No, they’re all true.” He popped an olive in his mouth. “Well, all except the one about my alien bride.”

She smiled at that. “Does your constitution require that a king be married?”

“It’s not a requirement so much as an expectation, and the constitution provides far more latitude than do my parents.”

Marissa was familiar with the weight of parental expectations. Although Elena had always demanded far more of her sons than her daughter, with both Michael and Cameron happily married now, the focus had shifted. She understood that her mother’s determination to see her married to Dante Romero had nothing to do with wanting a suitable match for her daughter and everything to do with the stature she herself would gain as the king of Ardena’s mother-in-law.

“But my parents are anxious for me to marry, not only because they believe our country needs a queen but because they’re both eager for a grandchild.”

“An heir for the next generation,” she noted.

His brows lifted. “Actually, I’m not sure either of them is thinking about the future of the throne so much as their desire to have a baby around to spoil.”

“What are your thoughts on that?”

“I like kids,” he said easily. “And my dad was a great dad, so I’d hope I could do a decent job following in his footsteps.”

“I met your father once,” she told him.

“He didn’t tell me that.”

“He probably doesn’t remember.”

Dante’s brows drew together. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it was more than twenty years ago.”

“Really?”

“King Benedicto was in Tesoro del Mar for meetings with my uncle, and I was visiting the palace with my brothers. Of course, my brothers were running through the halls at full speed, as desperate to leave me behind as I was to keep up, and as I was racing up the stairs, I tripped and scraped the skin off of both of my knees.”

Dante winced sympathetically. “That must have hurt.”

She nodded. “And I screamed so that everyone would know it. Your dad was the first on the scene.

“He immediately scooped me up off the floor and carried me over to the wing chairs by the windows overlooking the rose garden. He cuddled me until my sobs subsided, then he sat me on the edge of one of the chairs and squatted down, carefully inspecting first one knee and then the next. The nanny hurried over with antiseptic cream and bandages and tried to send the king away so that she could tend to my injuries, but he insisted on cleaning and bandaging the scrapes himself. Then he took a handkerchief out of his pocket, wiped away the last of my tears, kissed my forehead and pronounced me good to go.”

“That’s quite a detailed memory,” he remarked, sounding more than a little skeptical.

Marissa just smiled. “Every girl remembers the first time she falls in love.”

“You fell in love with my father?”

“He was the first man—aside from my own father, who had passed away six months earlier—to hold me while I cried.”

“That’s your criteria for giving your heart?”

Her smile widened. “He was also very handsome.”

“I’ve been told I’m the spitting image of King Benedicto when he was crowned, thirty-five years ago,” he said, the devilish twinkle in those dark eyes assuring her that he was teasing.

She narrowed her gaze, as if struggling to see the resemblance. “You do have his ears,” she finally acknowledged.

“And his charm?” he prompted hopefully.

“There’s definite potential.”

As Thomas drove back toward Marissa’s condo later that afternoon, Dante found that he was genuinely reluctant for the day to end. He’d had a good time with the princess—she was easy to talk to and didn’t hesitate to speak her mind on any number of topics, nor was she the least bit shy about letting him know when her ideas and opinions differed from his own.

He’d accepted the fact that he was attracted to her. What surprised him was to realize how much he actually liked her. And that he could imagine himself spending the rest of his life with her.

Not that he was anxious to exchange vows, but he’d resigned himself to the necessity of it. And since he figured she had a right to know what his intentions were, he said, “I think we should get married.”

Her brow lifted, but she replied in a similarly casual tone. “I think you’re insane.”

He grinned, because her response proved that his instincts about her were exactly right. He needed a wife who would stand up to him and say what was on her mind. “I realize that a marriage between us might seem impulsive—”

“Might?”

“But if you think about it,” he continued as if she hadn’t interrupted, “there are several valid reasons for us to marry and really no reason for us not to.”

“How about the fact that I don’t want to marry you?”

“Putting aside for now the fact that you acknowledged your wishes might not be a factor,” he said, “why wouldn’t you want to marry me?”

“Do you want a list?”

His brows rose. “Do you have one?”

“I could make one,” she assured him. “And right at the top would be the fact that I don’t even know you.”

“I’m not suggesting we get married tomorrow.”

“Well, in that case…” She paused as if reconsidering his offer, then shook her head. “The answer would still be no.”

He cocked his head. “You really don’t want to marry me?”

“Did you think I was being coy?”

The possibility had crossed his mind, and he realized that was his mistake. She wasn’t the type of woman who played those kind of games, which was just one more thing he liked about her.

“No,” he admitted. “But I do think your rejection was as impulsive as my proposal.”

She didn’t dispute the possibility.

“I have no desire to marry a woman against her will, but another man might not feel the same way,” he cautioned.

“So you’re saying that I should marry you because it’s probably going to be the best offer I get?”

“No, I’m saying that you should give me—give us—a chance,” he clarified.

“Isn’t that what today was about?”

“Today was a first date. I’m asking for a second.”

“Why?” she asked warily.

“Because I think your refusal to consider a relationship between us is more about resenting your mother’s manipulations than any personal feelings toward me.”

“I would think you would resist being manipulated as much as I do.”

“I would,” he agreed, “if I felt I was being manipulated.”

“We both know you’re not really interested in me.”

“I’d say that kiss we shared in the park proves otherwise.”

“You’re making a big deal out of one little kiss,” she warned him.

He just smiled, confident that their next kiss would prove otherwise. “I’m not asking you to run away to Ardena with me yet,” he continued. “I just want a chance to get to know you.”

“Because marrying a princess from Tesoro del Mar would be a strategic political move,” she guessed.

“It would be foolish of me to deny that’s true. However, the woman I choose as my bride—as my country’s future queen—will be my wife for the rest of my life, and I have no intention of making that decision solely on the basis of political considerations.”

“What other factors are there when you’re responsible for the future of your country?” she challenged.

“Attraction. Affection. Intelligence. Compassion. Common interests. I don’t want to stare into my coffee cup every morning because I can’t carry on a conversation with the woman seated across the table from me.”

“Sounds like you’ve given this some thought,” she noted.

“Aside from international trade relations, the domestic economy, rising unemployment, health care and funding for education, I’ve hardly been able to think about anything else.”

Her lips curved, just a little. Just enough to distract him with thoughts of how sweet those lips had tasted and how passionately she’d responded to his kiss.

“Well, that list certainly puts the matter of marriage into perspective,” she said.

“Except that it is important. My parents’ relationship taught me that having a true partner in life can make dealing with all of the other issues if not easier, at least manageable.”

“You were lucky to have that kind of example.”

“I know,” he admitted. “And although I may not know you very well, the one thing I can say with absolute certainty is that you don’t bore me.”

“I’m so pleased to hear that, Your Majesty.”

He grinned in response to her dry tone. “I imagine you’d be more pleased if I went back to Ardena and never bothered you again.”

“As if spending time with the king of Ardena could ever be considered a bother.”

“I’m having dinner with your cousin and his wife Tuesday night,” he told her. “It will just be a small group, including the French ambassador and his spouse, and Prince Harry and his current companion. I’d be pleased if you could join us.”

“I don’t know how anyone could refuse such a gracious invitation.”

He chuckled. “But no doubt if you did, you would.”