Princess from the Shadows Maisey Yates Page 13

  “I like it,” he said. Instead of the other things he could have said. Because he did like it. And it was the simplest truth he had.

  “Good.”

  He shrugged his pants and underwear down and stood in front of her. He’d never thought that much about being naked in front of a woman, but he’d felt exposed since their conversation at dinner. And now, he felt like she was looking inside him. As if she could truly see him.

  She moved to him, her fingers sliding over his abs and down to his rock-hard erection. He put his hand over hers, halting her movements. “Carlotta, I’m too close,” he gritted.

  “I’m okay with that,” she said, squeezing him.

  She leaned in and kissed his neck, her tongue hot and slick against his skin. Everything felt heightened, his blood running hot and fast just beneath the surface of his skin.

  “I’m not. I need …”

  She continued down, her hand caressing him, her lips and tongue on his chest, his stomach. Then she braced her hands on his thighs, holding him tight as she flicked the tip of her tongue against the head of his arousal.

  He sifted his fingers through her hair with the intent of pulling her back, but he couldn’t. He could only hold on to her, keep his knees from buckling as she took the length of him into her mouth.

  His muscles shook beneath her sensual assault, her hand working in time with her mouth. Fire built in him, low and liquid, spreading through him, bringing him to the brink. Then she would pause, squeeze him hard, and it would ebb, keep it at bay. Somehow she knew just when to pause, knew how to give him just enough to time. Knew how to bring him to the edge without letting him go over.

  It was torture. Beautiful, decadent torture. And he couldn’t remember ever being so turned on in his life.

  Carlotta moaned, deep and low, the sound moving through his body, adding to the sensation. He tightened his grip on her hair and earned another throaty sound from Carlotta.

  “Enough,” he said tightly.

  She raised her head, a satisfied smile curving her lips. She stood, wrapping her arms around his neck, looking him in the eye. He took the chance to unhook her bra and slide her panties down her legs, reveling in the feeling of soft, bare skin against his.

  She moved to the bed, stretching out before him across the dark comforter, her smile wicked. A temptation. His pulse was pounding, in time with her name, repeating over and over in his mind. Carlotta. He was so very aware that it was her he wanted, not simply sex and satisfaction, but Carlotta.

  His stomach rebelled at the thought. She couldn’t be allowed to be that important. He couldn’t think straight, and his chest felt full. All of the emotions he’d been battling since she walked into his life felt too close to the surface. Too raw. This was everything he feared, everything he’d spent his life learning to deny.

  He looked at her face, her beautiful face. He felt as though someone had reached inside him and twisted his guts. He had to stop it. Had to build the wall back up.

  “Turn over,” he said, his voice rough.

  For one moment her confidence faltered.

  “Trust me, Carlotta.”

  “I do,” she said.

  Her admission made him feel like a knife had just been pushed into his chest. He ignored it, tried to breathe around the sharp, searing pain. Tried to embrace the deep, dark nothing he knew still lived in him.

  She turned over onto her stomach, and for a moment, he felt like he could breathe again. The emotional knot in his chest loosened. He needed to distance himself, but at the same time, he needed to be inside her more than he needed air.

  He joined her on the bed, his legs on either side of hers. He traced the line of her back with his fingertips, pressed a kiss to her shoulder blade, while his hand skimmed over her curves, palming her soft buttocks.

  She moaned and he moved his hand around so that he was touching her stomach, then lower still so that he could caress the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. “Up on your knees,” he said.

  She complied, her bottom coming into contact with the hard ridge of his arousal. He bit back a curse as he continued to stroke her, pushing one finger into her slick folds as he reached over to the side table with his other, pulling a condom out of the drawer.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She breathed the word.

  He brought the head of his shaft against the slick entrance to her body and entered her slowly, not wanting to cause her any discomfort, not even for a moment.

  “Yes,” she said, a sound of satisfaction this time, and he began to thrust in and out of her body.

  He held her hip with one hand, while the other was moving over her in time with his strokes. He could hear nothing, think of nothing, beyond the amazing, white-hot blaze of pleasure that was coursing through his body.

  “Rodriguez.” Every syllable of his name was filled with the evidence of her satisfaction as her internal muscles pulsed around him.

  And then he was pushed back into reality, no cocoon of denial to shield him. This was Carlotta. And it was more than sexual pleasure coursing through his veins.

  “Carlotta.” He gave in to the blinding urge to say her name, to acknowledge the depth of the desire that seemed to be driving him. And when he did that, he gave his body permission to release, his orgasm overtaking him, tearing away every last shred of control that he’d wrapped himself in.

  He clung to her as he rode the wave, froze as he emptied himself, his muscles shaking in the aftermath, his heart pounding so hard he was certain she could hear it. He took a few steadying breaths.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said, glad for the need to go and dispose of the condom. Glad for the excuse to gain some distance.

  But even when he closed the door to the bathroom he could still feel her. On his skin. Beneath it. He felt tangled in her.

  Sex had never done this to him. He’d always held himself back from it, engaging his body but never anything more.

  Tonight, he had nearly drowned in the experience. The emotion overtaking the physical, fusing with it, creating a force he could not deny or control.

  He had always prided himself on being a man in control, from the time he’d been a boy and control meant the difference between flying under the radar and enduring a beating.

  And Carlotta had stripped him of it. Effortlessly, it seemed. And he had not been able to rebuild it. He had been left defenseless. Open and bleeding, raw. Exposed. Vulnerable.

  He had vowed he would never be vulnerable again. That no one would ever hold power over him. Have the power to cause him pain.

  He discarded the condom and turned on the shower, stepping beneath the cold spray, not waiting for it to heat.

  He couldn’t lose his control. He could not allow it. He hit his fist against the tile wall, welcoming the bite of pain. Anything to bring him back down, to erase the buzz of arousal that was still coursing through him.

  Anything to remind him of who he was, and all that he could never hope to have.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I’M GOING to have a busy week when we get back home. Rodriguez had said it, and he’d meant it.

  After they returned to Santa Christobel, Rodriguez became the man he’d promised to be from the beginning. A man leading a separate life from her.

  In the past week he hadn’t even come to her at night.

  And no matter how much she’d hoped to stay detached, she just wasn’t.

  Maybe if Carlotta had any clue what she wanted she’d be able to talk to Rodriguez and get everything sorted out. But it all came back down to the fact that she wasn’t supposed to care that he was being kept busy with affairs of state.

  She blew out a breath and took her cell phone out of her purse, toying with the idea of calling Sophia. It had been too long since she’d talked to her sister. Mostly because it was so much easier to send a text and feign happiness.

  And then there was Natalia. Natalia who, at this point, was more like a stranger than a twin thes
e days.

  Now she felt even more alone. Great, nice train of thought.

  She had Luca, she was comfortable. She was home with him. She shouldn’t care that her sisters were in different countries and Rodriguez was barely speaking to her. Of course, she did care. But she didn’t know what to do about that.

  She scrolled through a litany of her favorite swear words, in English and Italian, while she watched Luca hopping over a ball in the middle of the expansive lawn from her position on the terrace.

  “Watch me!” he shouted as he launched himself over the bright red rubber ball.

  “Be careful, Luca,” she said. It was almost reflexive to say that, whenever he said, “Watch me.”

  “I am!”

  “Yeah, okay,” she said, rolling her eyes, thankful he couldn’t see her perform the childish action. She was supposed to be the mom. But she wasn’t perfect, even though she tried to be.

  She thought of Natalia again, of all the confusing emotion wrapped up in that relationship. Another area of her life she’d been imperfect in. She’d so envied the bright light her sister possessed that she managed to just laugh off the stuff the tabloids wrote about her. That she seemed to have permission, even if it was grudging, to be who she wanted to be. To be who she was instead of trying to force herself into a mold she would never, ever fit into.

  But that wasn’t Natalia’s fault. Carlotta realized that for the first time. Natalia wasn’t doing it to her, to hurt her in any way. She was simply living. And Carlotta’s own issues were a big part of what kept them so distant from each other.

  She scrolled through the numbers on her phone, her fingers trembling. Maybe she should call her. Maybe it was time.

  Her phone vibrated in her hand. She looked down and saw Natalia’s name on the screen and her heart banged against her chest. It made sense now, why Natalia’s name had been so persistent in her mind. She was thinking of her too. But if her sister was calling, the news had to be bad. Something catastrophic, because Natalia never called.

  She answered quickly. “Natalia?”

  “Ciao, Lotta.”

  No one had called her Lotta in years. No one had been close enough to her to use a nickname. It made her throat feel tight, achy.

  “Natalia, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” her sister said, far too quickly. “Congratulations on your engagement.”

  Carlotta looked down at the ring on her left hand. Oh, yes, she was engaged. But if not for the memory of those two glorious nights in Rodriguez’s bed she wouldn’t believe it.

  But Natalia hadn’t called to congratulate her, and her sister’s skirting of the issue was getting on her already frayed nerves. She closed her eyes and worked to cultivate a calm tone. “Natalia. Something is wrong, I can tell by your voice. What is it?”

  Even after years of distance, Natalia’s tone was easy to read. They were twins, and regardless of the fact that they were as opposite as two people could be, she had always felt deeply the things Natalia had felt. Had always sensed when something wasn’t right. That also accounted for the restlessness she’d felt a few moments earlier.

  “I.” Natalia hesitated. “I just wanted to talk to you. And see how you were doing.”

  Carlotta didn’t believe that for a moment. Her sister was many things, a lot of them good, but after going so long without contact from her, she couldn’t really believe she’d suddenly decided she cared about what was happening with her.

  I’m falling for the wrong guy again. And I know better. He’s probably screwing actresses and models even as we speak, maybe even at the same time, and I’m sitting here feeling like I’m missing half of myself.

  “I’m fine,” she said, because the truth wasn’t going to cut it here. Not when she hated the truth so much.

  “Are you really? I mean … this marriage.”

  “I’m only doing what we all must do,” Carlotta said, her words not her own. They were her father’s words. And right now, she hated them. “I’m more worried about you, Natalia, we haven’t spoken—”

  “In years, I know,” her twin said, her tone defensive.

  “Not years.” But close.

  “We haven’t had a real conversation in years.”

  That insight, coming from Natalia, shocked Carlotta a bit. She was right. They hadn’t. She hadn’t really had a meaningful conversation with anyone but Rodriguez since she’d gotten pregnant with Luca. She’d just sort of closed off. Her sister had noticed. And it had hurt her, she could hear that in her voice.

  That cut deep. That her own issues had affected Natalia that way. That she had let her resentments come between them.

  “I just wanted to say,” Natalia said, her voice unsteady, “I’m sorry for not being there when you had Luca. And after I.” She paused and Carlotta waited, wondering if she should speak, wondering if she could. “I was afraid.”

  “I know you were, Natalia,” Carlotta said, keeping her voice neutral.

  “And angry,” Natalia continued. “About a lot of things. About how you were treated and how it would change things. I felt like you were moving on to a whole new life without me.”

  For some reason, Carlotta laughed, even though she felt no humor. Only a bone-deep sadness. “I was, I suppose.”

  “But I was selfish. I know that.”

  Carlotta let the words wash over her, felt them loosen the hold on some of the anger that was wrapped around her heart. Anger she hadn’t realized was still so prominent, because it had become such a part of her.

  “It was a long time ago,” she said, more to herself than to Natalia.

  “Still, I just … wanted to be honest.”

  Carlotta swallowed hard, trying to grasp what her sister had said. Trying to make it matter. Trying to let go of the hurt and anger, and hold on to it at the same time.

  Not possible, Carlotta. Let it go, or hang on. There’s no halfway.

  Coming from Natalia, this was big. Huge. And if there was one thing Carlotta knew, it was that everyone deserved forgiveness. Because everyone would need it at some point in time. She had. She’d made mistakes. She hadn’t been perfect, and while it had been easy to blame her twin for the erosion of their relationship, the truth was, Carlotta had shut down.

  “What’s going on, to provoke all this honesty?” she asked finally.

  “Nothing,” Natalia said. Too quickly. “I’ve met someone,” she amended. “Someone who’s challenged me. Someone who’s changed me.”

  That sounded familiar. More than. Enough to make her feel an uncomfortable stab of emotion in her heart. She’d met someone too. And she felt changed. In every way a different woman than the one who’d first arrived in Santa Christobel.

  Because of Rodriguez.

  “Changed? Are you engaged as well, Natalia?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Natalia,” Carlotta tried again, hoping to extract more from her. “Who is this person?” Man, woman, rent boy? But she didn’t want to press, or be flippant. This was important. Somehow, this conversation was essential. And it wasn’t the subject matter, so much as the fact that they were having one at all.

  “Just someone,” she said, her tone so sad that Carlotta felt an echo of the pain in her own heart. “No one important.”

  “Oh.”

  She hung up with her sister, feeling … everything. Pain for whatever Natalia was going through, but overwhelming happiness too, because of the moment of connection. Also, fear. A lot of fear.

  Because she was afraid she and Natalia were going through something far too similar at the moment. She was afraid her feelings for Rodriguez were crossing into the kind of territory she needed to stay out of.

  She’d been there, done that, made the papers. Falling in love with the wrong man, making an idiot of herself for him. She didn’t intend to do it with her own husband.

  What if he really was out sleeping with other women? He’d promised fidelity, but what did that really mean? At least she knew that if Rodriguez promis
ed something, he would mean it. At the time. She also knew a man like him was bound to be a little bit fickle.

  He’d said it himself. Sex was cheap.

  To him it was. But it was costing her. Bits and pieces of her heart and soul. It probably wasn’t even the sex. She hadn’t been with him since the night they’d spent together in Barcelona.

  It felt like it had been longer. And less time too. She still ached for his touch, and she still felt branded by it. He did the strangest things to her.

  “I jumped it!” Luca shouted.

  “Yay, Luca!” she returned.

  “Good job, Luca.”

  She whirled around and saw Rodriguez standing in the doorway, and her heart immediately jumped into her throat. He was gorgeous, even when she was kind of mad at him. Even when she was confused about her feelings. She was not confused about the gorgeousness.

  He ran his hand over his thick, dark hair, his smile wide and thoroughly sexy. Thoroughly angering too.

  “Thanks,” Luca said, running up to the terrace, Rodriguez drawing him like a moth to the flame. “Did you have a good day?” Luca asked, his manners on show for once.

  Rodriguez’s smile turned tight. “I did. You?”

  “I jumped over that ball.”

  “A success then,” he said.

  “I’m surprised to see you here before dark,” Carlotta said, knowing she sounded a little shrewish, and not really caring.

  “We have a thing tonight.”

  “We?” she asked, her voice tight.

  “Yes. We. I do not intend to take another woman as my date.”

  “Some notice would be nice,” she practically hissed. “This is becoming a habit with you. I need time to get ready.” Oh, she sounded like a nagging wife already and the wedding wasn’t taking place for months.

  “Three hours should be sufficient.”

  “I think Angelina had planned on taking the afternoon off. She went out.”

  “I talked to Angelina.”

  Annoyance coursed through her. “You talked to Angelina. and you didn’t talk to me?”

  “Is Angelina going to bring movies?” Luca asked.