Princess in the Iron Mask (17 page)

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip and she finally looked up at him, her amber eyes huge, swimming with unwanted tears. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, broken, still hurting.

‘You believed they would leave you alone. To live your own life.’

She sniffed. ‘Hoped would be more like it.’

‘Ah, Claudia, all the hope in the world cannot change who you are.’ He knew that better than anyone.

No matter the man he’d become, underneath he was still Lucas Allesandro Gallardo—the boy who’d failed to protect and had lost everything. The man who’d fought for king and country and pledged an oath to honour and obey. The same man who’d just surrendered to his selfish desires and taken an innocent. One he’d sworn to protect. A woman he was beginning to doubt knew what she wanted from life, let alone how to find the love she so desperately needed.

She was blossoming before his very eyes—a butterfly emerging from the chrysalis. She deserved happiness and there was a man out there, perfect and strong and made just for her. And now Lucas had ruined her reputation. Lucas who had nothing to offer.

His chest seized, the pain dominant, punishing. She was so damn vulnerable she hadn’t realised the consequences of her actions. That had been
his
job. And he’d failed. He’d allowed his emotions to reign. Again. He’d failed to protect. Again.

Lucas closed his eyes. What the hell had he done?

CHAPTER TWELVE

P
ADDING
DOWN
THE
hallway, Claudia cinched her robe tight. Silence, even after years of it, made her cold from the inside out. What had happened she’d no idea, but after a night of heart-shattering euphoria Lucas was gone.
Her
Lucas, that is.

Lucas Garcia, Head of Security for Arunthia, was back in full military mode today. Distant. Guarded. Re-armed with enough strength to fight a seven-nation army. Even Armande had backed off, when Lucas had gone on a full-on attack over some keypad in his office. But she’d hazard a guess that had more to do with a delivery from the palace—a rack of dresses for the ball tomorrow night and an official-looking parcel for him. ‘Business,’ he’d said. One of the few words he’d spoken all day.

Feet bare, the chill of each wooden plinth penetrated her feet as she tiptoed down the staircase. Did Lucas blame her for hardening her heart to her parents? It was the hardest thing she’d ever done, and here she was doing it once more.

Thankfully she had more sense than to fall for a man who could make love to her with such glorious passion, then wrap her in one of his dark grey sheets and carry her to her room. Oh, and the real
pièce de résistance
had been the words, ‘Go to sleep.’ Before the door clicked shut with deafening finality.

He’d walked away—just as he’d warned her he would. So she’d no right to be hurting—
none.

But...

Sleep?
Wrapped in satin that smelt of sex and Lucas?

And still she could smell him—the musky potency that oozed from his every pore. Raw, addictive and utterly tormenting.

A moan snuck past her lips. She just wished she’d never told him the things she had. She might as well have ripped her heart from her chest, sliced it open with a scalpel and laid it on the table for his inspection. Obviously he hadn’t much liked what he’d seen.

Pausing on the bottom step, she peered through the darkness, eyes slowly adjusting at the wide rack standing by the window, weighted with a colourful array of cloth. With sleep a pipedream tonight, she’d nothing better to do than make her choice.

Risking a glance at Lucas’s office, she saw a thin sliver of light under the door; imagined him sitting there. Honestly, he was such a cold brute at times. Yet it was that very darkness that engaged her—locked her on target and drew her in.

The ivory moon hung low, casting the room in silver swathes—just enough light for her to take a peek at the dresses. When they’d arrived today her bruised heart had demanded they be returned. She could buy her own dress—one that wouldn’t come with any stipulations. But then, thankfully, the red haze had cleared and the fact she’d been thought of at all was something. Despite everything they were her parents. And her mother
was
trying.

Trailing her fingers over the array of satin, silk and lace, she closed her eyes. Pale gold ruched satin whispered to her, called her name. Gripping the arch of the clothes hanger, she pulled it from the rack, held it up to her body and swayed gently, watching the frothy skirt swish around her legs. So beautiful. Created for a princess of the realm.

Ramming the dress back on the rail, she picked another. A vibrant aquamarine colour with a low dip at the back, a straight skirt. Full sleeves.

‘Ah, Claudia, have I taught you nothing?’

The heavy weight rustled to the floor as she spun around and slapped her hand over her cantering heart.

Lucas lay sprawled on one huge aubergine sofa, where he had a prime-time view of every move she made. One arm bent, he propped up his head, wearing an expression that bordered on dark torment. Hair damp, the dark locks clung to his brow. The lack of light shadowed his blue eyes, transforming them to obsidian depths that drilled straight through her.

His other arm dangled off the edge of the seat, his hand a claw, holding a whisky glass from his fingertips. The crystal tumbler swayed back and forth lazily. Legs wide, one bent knee was resting on the back cushion, the other was long and straight in front of him.

To anyone else it was the insolent pose of a devil-may-care, but Claudia could feel the anguish rolling off him in waves. This devil
did
care, and something powerful held him in thrall.

She feasted on his bronze chest, the rippled curve of his abs and the tight waistband of his black hipsters...and lower to the snug, thick ridge of his erection. A shiver that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature whistled through her.

Eyes fluttering shut, she bit hard on her lip, trying to remember why she was so angry with him, shovelling deep to dredge up hurt. She’d been dumped into her cold bed as if nothing had happened between them, then ignored, all day, and lest she forget he’d taken her parents’ side over hers. But in all fairness she’d known he would. He was all about duty—just as they were. It shouldn’t hurt. It
should
make her heart stronger. Harder.

Counting to three, she ordered her eyes to stay above his waistline and popped them open.

‘You’ve taught me plenty, Lucas. How to reach the heights of passion only to fall from grace. And I have to tell you it’s quite a drop. How easy it is to trust, open yourself wide, only to be rejected when you come up wanting. Have my confessions turned you cold? Because, honestly, it’s freezing in here.’

‘No.’

That was it?
No.
Did she believe him? He certainly didn’t have any reason to lie.

Arm lifting, he took another lazy swig of Scotch, his shadowed face haunted, and a pang resounded through her heart.

‘Talk to me, Lucas. Tell me what’s wrong.’

‘Go to bed.’ His tone was icy cold, the dismissal cruel.

Curling her fingers into protective fists, she forced her heels into the rug, while the overwhelming urge to go to him, brush the hair from his eyes and kiss away the pain, warred with the fear of rejection. If she could hold him, help him, he might fall asleep in her arms like the first time. How many times had she needed comfort and it had never been offered? Then maybe—just maybe—he would tell her, he would share.

Pushing her pride deep down, knowing he needed her, desperate to console him, she implored, ‘Will you come? Spend my last night with me?’

‘No.’

One word, loaded with pain.

She took a fortifying gulp of air. ‘I don’t understand why you’re being like this.’

The sound of glass clattering off oak, the slosh of liquid spilling, made her flinch. Not that Lucas seemed to notice.

‘Do you realise what I’ve done, Claudia?’ he said. ‘Taken an innocent when you were in my protection. I should never have touched you.’

Wait a minute...

‘No—
no!
For heaven’s sake, I asked
you.
I wanted to make love just once in my life. You’ve taken nothing from me, Lucas. I gave it freely.’

‘Pleasure does not come without a price,
querida,
’ he countered fiercely. Then his lips twisted, one dark brow raised into a cynical arch. ‘Make love, Claudia? Didn’t I tell you I just have sex.’

The way he said
sex,
as if it was dirty, something to be ashamed of, scored at her heart, sent flames of dismay up her throat. He regretted making love to her—having sex—whatever the hell he wanted to call it, and—
oh, my God
—she had to stiffen to stay upright through the pain in her stomach, which twisted tighter with every second he stared, as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her. One look that launched a thousand reasons to run. Leaving behind the main reason to stay. Ripping her clean in half.

* * *

He was in agony.

Lucas thrust his hands through his hair and tore his eyes from her while a dark torrent stormed through him, pulling, dragging him under. His chest heaved as he suffocated under the dense blanket of remorse.

Dios,
he’d taken away her chance of marrying with honour. And that damn letter from her father, pouring out his gratitude to Lucas, had poured gasoline on the flames of his anger. In one night he’d dishonoured her and himself.
Dios,
if their affair ever became public knowledge...

Self-loathing sucked his throat dry.

His gaze landed on the original painting for the tenth time. The memories like a drum-beat, loud and disturbing, warning him to back away, turn her against him, make her leave.

‘Who is she, Lucas? You know her. I can see it in your face when you look at her.’

‘I do not know her,’ he said, his throat thick as he stared at the past. Failure. His mistake. One he would never repeat. ‘She reminds me of someone. That is all.’

‘Someone you lost?’

He tried to swallow around the grenade lodged in his throat but it was damn impossible. ‘Go to bed, Claudia.’

‘Talk to me, Lucas,’ she begged, taking a step towards him. ‘Please.’

Fire and fury bubbled up inside him—a volcano erupting. ‘Go to bed,’ he repeated louder, far harder than she deserved, which made him feel even more of a bastard.

But,
Madre de Dios,
he was unsure how much more he could take. Standing before him, she was so damn exquisite. Her eyes full of undeserved empathy.

‘Why are you pushing me away?’

His tenuous hold snapped. ‘Because I do not want you here.
Comprende?
’

As long as he lived Lucas would never forget the look on her face and his guts twisted, punishing. How could he say that to her? When she already questioned her self-worth? When it was he who was unworthy? And the pain—
Dios,
he hated seeing pain in her eyes. Pain
he
had put there.

Thuds hit his temples. He lifted his hands to cover his burning eyes, but not before a swish of satin whispered by. Like a drug addict grabbing for his next fix, he closed his eyes in ecstasy even as he hated himself for giving in to the hungering clawing need—he grabbed her wrist, pulled, needing to feel her against him and despising himself for his desperation.

Struggling, she pulled her arm away. ‘Get off me.’

‘Come to me.’
Dios,
the craving was so intense he shook with the power of it.

One quick tug and she was bent over him, her face hovering above his, the soft tumble of her hair brushing his chest and arms, the sweet honeyed scent of purity assailing his mind.

He captured a curl around his finger, mesmerised.

‘Let me go,’ she whispered, her chest rising and falling, her robe loose, gaping, taunting, teasing him with the lush swell of her breasts cupped in black lace.

Pounding sensations and emotions assaulted him. Relief she was close. Disgust at himself for being unable to let her go. Regret—yes, regret because she didn’t deserve to be treated this way. And the ferocious need to replace the pain in her eyes with pleasure.
Will you come? Spend my last night with me?
The pleasure she’d obviously come for.

‘Come to me, Claudia,’ he said, gliding his free hand up her throat, across the warm skin of her shoulder. Sliding his fingers beneath the satin robe he pushed it down her arm. His sex throbbed for the tightness of her body, but first he needed to banish the anguish from her eyes. ‘Let me hold you,
querida.
’

The fight left her then, her glorious body softening. His hand fell away as she stood tall and he watched, bewitched, as the black robe fell from her shoulders in a sensual glide to pool on the floor. It was a damn good job he was lying on his back or he’d be on his knees.

Scantily clad in low-cut lace and sheer black satin, slinking over her curves, she was his every fantasy come to life.

Blood roared through his head as the heat surging through his taut frame built to inferno proportions. ‘You’re incredible,’ he said, grasping her satin-sheathed waist and lifting her over him.

Straightening his legs, he coasted the slippery sheath up her bare thighs so she could straddle him, revelling in the slick skin smothering his hips. He plunged his hands into the thick fall of her hair and pulled her mouth down to his. Kissed her hard, desperate to taste, remember.

He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue. ‘Forgive me,
cariña.
It is myself I am angry with.’

‘Let it go, Lucas,’ she whispered, before her lips surrendered.

The sweet taste of forgiveness coated his tongue and for one blissful moment he allowed himself to savour, to indulge in the forbidden tang.

This was what she wanted, he told himself, what she’d come for. And he’d make it spectacular for her. Make her shatter over and over, make her beg him for more until that fierce brain could no longer think. Only feel. Him. Inside her. Surrounding her. A night she would never forget.

Tomorrow everything would come right. He’d meet with Henri and do what was necessary. And Claudia would stand in front of the nation and accept who she was. She would realise the extent of her duty and responsibilities; his promise to return Princess Claudine Verbault would be complete.

But for tonight she was still his.

Tonight she was still
Just Claudia.

Her hot naked core nestled against his throbbing erection and she undulated against him with rhythmic serpentine movements that detonated a need that made his vision swim.

‘Careful,
cariña...
’ he growled.

She filled his mouth with her sweet moans of pleasure. Her hands were a firebrand smoothing over his chest, up the column of his throat, sinking into his hair, massaging the ultra-sensitive skin beneath his ears. It was a confident touch that hummed through his body, and his hips jerked so hard he almost lost it.

In one deft move he broke their lip-lock, whipped the gown up and over her body, tossed it to the floor.

Her voice low and sultry, she began to tell him what she wanted—how hard, how deep, how much she wanted him. Only him. Words he knew were driven by her fierce need for fulfilment and yet he snatched at them, held them close, allowed himself to believe they were true just for a while.

‘Lucas,
please.
’