[Montacroix Royal Family Series 02] - The Prince & the Showgirl (13 page)

With a pang of regret, he broke the leisurely kiss long enough to lean forward and push a button on the console. "We'll be taking the long way back to the palace, driver."

Drew Tremayne, displaying properly servile demeanor, did not even glance up at the rearview mirror. "Yes, Your Highness," he replied blandly.

Burke pushed another button, causing the thick tinted glass to rise between the front and back seats.

When he turned back to Sabrina, the sight of her momentarily took his breath away. Her golden hair was tousled from his fingers, her lips were parted invitingly, and her eyes were wide and clouded and, he noticed reluctantly, unsure.

For one brief, fleeting moment, his mind brought forth a picture of Sabrina lying in a sun-kissed bed of wild buttercups, her catlike eyes smiling up at him, her arms outstretched.

Forcing the evocative image away, Burke ran his knuckles down her flushed cheek in a slow, tender sweep. "I promise,
chérie
, I will not hurt you."

Even as she knew Burke honestly meant those gravely stated words, Sabrina knew he was wrong. Because he would hurt her. Oh, he wouldn't mean to. But whatever happened between them tonight, they would have no choice but to part. She would resume the tour designed to salvage her father's reputation while he would remain here, where he belonged, in Montacroix.

In six short days, Burke would become regent. And Sabrina had come to know enough about him to accept the fact that in time, he would do his duty to his family and country by choosing a proper wife capable of giving him the heirs necessary to ensure the continuation of the Montacroix principality.

Oh, he might think of her from time to time, she considered. But eventually she'd fade from his mind like a distant dream. Or a summer dalliance with an appealing American commoner.

Every ounce of common sense Sabrina possessed told her that she should back away from this temptation, now. Before it was too late for choice.

But as his caressing hand moved down her cheek, and then her throat, creating a terrible pitch of excitement in her blood, Sabrina knew it had been too late from the beginning. From that first moment she'd found herself drowning in his smoky dark eyes.

"I don't want to talk," she said, raking her hands through his crisp black hair and pulling his mouth back to hers.
I don't want to think
. Her avid lips plucked hungrily at his, her kiss hot and hungry. Her slender hands, naked of any jeweled adornment, clutched at his hair, bringing his mouth back to hers, again and again.

When her teeth plucked at the cord in his neck, need punched like a fist into his gut, surging through Burke's furnace-hot body. His tongue stabbed deeply into her mouth, his greedy hands moved over her, clutching pieces of gold-lame-covered flesh.

He was no longer gentle, but—for some reason she promised herself to think about, later, when her head ceased spinning and her body was no longer aflame— Sabrina did not want gentleness.

Her hands ripped at the starched shirtfront, sending black ebony studs flying. She pushed the material away, her fingers twisting in his black chest hairs as her mouth ate into his.

. Need pumping through him, Burke unfastened her gold dress, the zipper sounding unnaturally loud in the close confines of the limo. He yanked the clinging bodice of the gown to her waist, giving his hands access to her breasts.

When he lowered his head and took a taut rosy peak between his teeth and tugged, Sabrina made a low, deep sound in her throat that was half purr, half growl. Pulling her into his arms, he arranged her so that she was lying across his lap. Attempting to regain control, he forced himself to be satisfied with long, slow kisses. Her taste coursed through him like a roiling river, a roaring filled his head. Tension built, and as much as he wanted to bury himself deep in her moist warmth, Burke held back.

She was sprawled wantonly across him, her gold kid shoes on the seat of the car, her skirt riding high on her long legs.

"You are so beautiful." He slipped his hand beneath her skirt and trailed his fingers up her thigh, tracing a seductive pattern that left her trembling. "That first moment I saw you, looking like a ravishing blond gypsy, you took my breath away."

"I felt it, too," she admitted on a throaty voice that was half honey, half smoke. "I didn't want to. But I did."

His lips curved into a satisfied smile that only hours earlier would have irritated her. But now her own ravished lips returned his rakish grin. They smiled at each other for an exquisitely long time.

Underlying the aura of sensuality was a familiarity so strong Burke felt as if he could reach out and touch it. He'd dreamed about her—or someone remarkably like her—for so long that it seemed as if he'd been waiting for her his entire life.

He'd fantasized about horseback riding with her beside the diamond-bright waters of Lake Losange, imagined kissing her in a hidden Alpine grove, dreamed of making love in front of a blazing fire. During these atypical flights of fantasy, when she finally arrived, no words were needed. He'd simply known.

Perhaps, Burke thought with a burst of self-directed humor, he had inherited a smattering of Katia's second sight. Because as a slow flame spread through him anew, it was as if he could read Sabrina's mind; as if their sensual thoughts had tangled.

Burke had never experienced anything like this with any other woman. Any other lover.

It would be so easy, he mused. Another kiss, a touch here, a long, lingering caress there, and he could have her in his arms crying out for release. But then what? What of tomorrow?

As his gaze swept over her softly flushed features, Burke admitted that he wanted a great deal more than a tumble in the back of a limousine.

Dragging his eyes away from Sabrina, he glanced out the steamed-up window. "We're almost at the palace."

"Yes." Her voice was breathy with anticipation.

With hands that were not as steady as he would have liked, Burke reluctantly rearranged her clothing, then nudged her back onto the seat beside him. "I'll walk you to your door. And then I must go to the garage."

"The garage?" She didn't even try to keep the surprise and disappointment from her voice.

"I want to check the car before tomorrow's time trial."

"Oh." His rejection, after the passion they'd shared, felt like a slap in the face. She felt embarrassed and ashamed and couldn't bear to meet his look. "I understand."

"
Non, ma chère
," he corrected gently, taking her downcast chin and forcing her to look up at him. "I don't believe you do."

"Really, Your Highness—"

"Surely we've progressed to a point where you feel comfortable using my first name."

When she didn't answer, he said, "I want very much to make love to you, Sabrina."

"Of course you do," she returned, her Darling temper flaring to rescue her from humiliation. "That's why you're rushing off to the garage the minute we get back to the palace." Sabrina hated the cold, petulant sound of her own voice. If she'd been reading for a play, the margin notes would have read:
woman scorned
.

"
I
want to make love to you," he repeated gently, but firmly. To prove his point, he took her hand, which had tightened into a clenched fist in her lap, slowly un-curled her fingers and pressed it against an aching part of his anatomy.

"See what you do to me?" he growled. "All it takes is a single glance of your polished silver eyes, or the musical sound of your laughter, or the merest touch of your slender hand against mine, for my body to betray itself in an embarrassing, painful way."

The frustration in his tone, along with a lingering desire was enough to make her believe him. "Then why?"

He stroked the back of her hand, which was still pressed against his groin, with his fingertip. He couldn't entirely explain his feelings to her because he hadn't succeeded in explaining them to himself. "We will make love, Sabrina. When the time and the place is right. And although I doubt that I shall sleep the rest of this night, I wish to do this properly."

As the limousine pulled beneath the porte cochere, Burke lifted her trembling hand to his lips.

"I do, however, have one request before I behave like the gentleman I wish I wasn't and resist this delightful temptation."

Afraid that she was close to giving Burke whatever he wanted, her eyes turned wary. "What request is that?"

"I would be honored if you would let me take you on the tour of the vineyards tomorrow morning. This morning, actually," he corrected.

An image of making love to Burke amid thick green vines pregnant with lush purple grapes, flashed enticingly through Sabrina's mind. She could smell the rich dark earth mingling with the sweet scent of ripening grapes; she could feel the sunshine warming their flesh. She could see their entwined bodies…

This had to stop! Burke was not just playing havoc with her body; ever since they'd met, her imagination had gone into overdrive.

"I don't know if that would be a very good idea."

"Please, Sabrina." His lips brushed her knuckles, creating a now-familiar flare of desire.

She let out a long breath as her mind and heart raced. "I wouldn't imagine that 'please' is a word a prince would have to use very often."

"I'm a man, first," he reminded her unnecessarily. "Before I'm a prince. But you are right, I save begging and groveling for the really important occasions."

She tugged her hand free and was about to retort that she hardly considered his request to be either begging or groveling when she saw the relaxed humor in his eyes.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"No." His gaze warmed. "Not exactly."

"What exactly do you find so humorous?"

"Us, I suppose. The situation. This chemistry."

"Chemistry," Sabrina murmured, feeling the heat flooding her cheeks yet again. "Is that a polite term for lust?"

"Whatever you want to call it, Sabrina, you can no longer deny that it exists. Not after tonight."

"No. I can't."

Sabrina had never believed in lying. Not even to herself. Especially to herself. She took another deep breath and felt her equilibrium begin to return.

"I don't understand. I'm usually much more circumspect in my relationships with men." She hated Burke thinking that she literally threw herself into the arms of every handsome man who came along. In truth, she hadn't been with a man since her marriage disintegrated. And even before she'd caught him in bed with her understudy, she and her husband had maintained separate bedrooms for months. In the beginning, he'd professed not to want to hurt her after her surgery. In the end, Sabrina came to realize that it had only been an excuse not to make love to her. Which wasn't that surprising. She'd always known, from their debacle of a Caribbean honeymoon, that she was incapable of satisfying an intensely sexual man such as her husband.

So what made her think she could satisfy this man? she asked herself now. That idea, which had not occurred to her while she'd been burning in the prince's arms, was horribly depressing.

The passionate mood had passed and Burke, for the time being, was relieved. "Perhaps it was my smooth, continental charm that was nearly your undoing."

Dragging her mind back to their conversation, Sabrina chewed on a crimson fingernail and eyed him thoughtfully. "I don't think so."

"My devastatingly dark looks?"

"Sorry."

"How about the fact that I am first in line to the royal throne of the principality of Montacroix?"

"What on earth would that have to do with anything?"

On the contrary, it was the main reason she felt so threatened by her feelings for him. With any other man, she may have allowed herself to hope. To risk. But with this man—this prince—Sabrina knew there could be no future.

"I have heard of something called a Cinderella complex, which states that despite what they say, all women secretly wish for a Prince Charming to sweep them off their feet, take them away from their boring, humdrum lives to his palace, where they and all the little princes and princesses will live happily ever after."

He'd hit a little too close to home. Memories of her long-ago fantasies danced enticingly through her mind. Sabrina stubbornly ignored them.

"Not that I believe in that ridiculous bit of pop psychobabble in the first place, even if I did, I'd be forced to point out that my life—both professionally and personally—is far from humdrum, Your Highness."

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I'll readily agree with your professional acclaim, Sabrina. As for your far-from-humdrum love life, I suppose I'll just have to take your word on that."

"You do that." Despite her lingering feelings of desire, Sabrina was amused by the deft way he'd managed to lighten the unsettling sensual mood. "So with my enviable professional acclaim, not to mention all those men waiting at the stage door, what could I possibly need with a prince?"

"What indeed?" Although he was determined to give her some space, Burke couldn't resist touching her. Her hair, free of its pins, tumbled nearly to her waist.