My Forbidden Royal Fling by Clare Connelly

CHAPTER FOUR

INTHEEND, I’m able to wangle a trip with only two security agents, and they keep a distance from me, so that as the plane lands in Barcelona and I walk down the steps, sunglasses and baseball cap in place, I feel anonymous and free. So free.

It’s a warm afternoon and a light breeze lifts off the runway. I smile spontaneously, looking around before being swallowed by the milling passengers all bee-lining for the terminal. I join the crowd, happy to be absorbed by them, thrilled to have been unrecognised so far. The terminal building is air-conditioned. I flash my passport—with a brief moment of discomfort as the customs worker clearly identifies me and bows, but fortunately no one else seems to register his strange response.

Once through customs, I follow the signs to the baggage hall, taking in every detail of this pedestrian travel experience. Compared to the usual fanfare of my trips, this is low key and low stress. The noises that swirl around me are new—conversation and play, children running, adults scolding. There is none of the muted, carefully managed interaction I generally experience.

I want to remember every single detail!

In the baggage hall, I frown, not sure how to find my suitcase, but one of my agents approaches. He’s also dressed casually, to blend in, and I can’t help but grin at the sight of him in jeans and a T-shirt rather than the customary suit.

‘This way, Your Highness.’

‘Remember, Alex, I’m just Freja for the duration of this trip.’

He lifts a brow in silent scepticism then gestures with his hand. I walk alongside him but freeze. Standing at the carousel and sticking out like a sore thumb is Santiago del Almodovár.

I stop walking so abruptly that one of the children who’d been playing around bumps into my legs. I ruffle the child’s hair apologetically then keep walking, my pulse in my throat, my mind in overdrive.

Santiago was not dressed particularly formally the first time we met, but now far less so, in faded black jeans and a grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the hem untucked. He wears a baseball cap and a pair of aviator sunglasses. With his forearms exposed, I notice that he has tattoos. A snake on one arm spirals around and around towards his wrist, where its head appears to be biting the base of his thumb. The other bears a sentence in cursive script. I can’t make out any detail from this distance.

‘Would you mind getting my bag, Lars?’

‘Of course, madam.’

‘Madam’ is a compromise I can live with. I stalk towards Santiago, my stomach doing loop-the-loops.

‘What are you doing here?’

He lifts off his aviator glasses. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

My heart thumps.

‘I came to get you.’ He pulls off his hat. ‘I even brought a disguise but I can see you’ve got that covered.’

I stare at the hat, then him, consternation zipping through me.

‘You came to get me?’

Great. I’ll just parrot everything he says. That won’t make me seem like an idiot at all.

‘We’re a six-star hotel, remember? All service.’

‘I’m not... But...’

He lifts a finger to my lips and I’m instantly reminded of the way he kissed me at the palace. Possessively, with ease, as though he had every right. But he doesn’t. I’m not one of his one-night stands.

I jerk my face away then step backward. ‘Don’t.’

His eyes glint like onyx in his handsome face.

‘I have agents here.’

‘And what? You’re threatening to set them on me if I touch you?’ he drawls and, despite everything, I laugh, shaking my head.

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘I know what you meant.’ He leans closer and lowers his voice. ‘You’re fine to kiss me in a room where it’s just the two of us, but not for anyone else to know you find someone like me attractive. Right?’

‘I didn’t have you pegged as the insecure type,’ I respond, his accuracy felling me.

‘Not insecure. Amused. I cannot imagine living my life with so much concern for what others thought of me.’

‘Obviously,’ I respond tautly.

‘Your bag?’

‘My agent has it.’

‘And does he also have the address of the hotel?’

I nod. ‘Of course.’

‘Good. Then he can follow behind.’

He puts an arm on my elbow, guiding me from the crowd. I stop walking, perfectly aware that if it looks like I’m being abducted my cover will be blown in about seventeen seconds. I turn around and sure enough see my guards running towards me, one with his hand reaching for his gun.

I shake my head quickly. When they’re close enough to hear, I say, ‘This is Mr del Almodovár, my...host. I’m going to travel with him.’

‘But Your Highness...’

Our earlier compromise about using my title is forgotten.

‘It’s fine,’ I assure Alex. ‘I trust him.’

They don’t like it, but this whole trip is unorthodox enough that they grudgingly nod.

‘We’ll drive behind you. Where are you parked?’

He gives them directions then begins to propel me from the airport once more, and this time I let him. His fingers press into the small of my back, his touch insistent and strong.

We’re crowded by others in the lift and he stands close to me, his body behind mine, his warmth enveloping me, his fragrance unmistakable. I breathe in, grateful for the anonymity of being able to close my eyes and cope with his nearness, for those few vital seconds to pull myself together before the doors ping open and his deep voice says, ‘Perdóname’, causing people to separate and make way for us.

I’m used to a degree of subservience wherever I go. People ‘obey’ me—I hate that term but I can’t think of any other way to describe it. But the responsiveness here is all down to Santiago. Whether he’s recognised as one of the country’s wealthiest men, or simply exudes that air of authority wherever he goes, I see the way his words are taken as a command. Even my security agents were quick to fall in with his suggestion.

His car, naturally, is sleek and black, a beautiful sports car with heavily tinted windows, a golden badge I don’t recognise on the bonnet. The headlights flash as we approach. He surprises me with his manners as he comes to the passenger door and opens it for me. When I move to step inside, he puts a hand on my arm. Every part of me goes haywire.

‘I’m glad you came.’

My stomach twists. I stare at him, right back to where I was a week ago, torn between what I want and what I know I must do, how I know I must act.

My smile is tight, my body hot. ‘It’s a good opportunity to appraise your casino. Thank you for suggesting it.’

The suggestion of a smile plays on his lips. I feel his cynicism and slip into the car before I can say something else, drawing the seat belt into place.

He rounds his side, flaring the engine to life a moment after taking a seat. The car instantly feels smaller, his presence overpowering. I am conscious of the strain of his trousers across his thighs, his hyper-masculine fragrance, his capable hands on the wheel. He tilts me a sidelong glance, then checks his rear-view mirror. A car is approaching, black with windows tinted just as dark as these.

‘Your staff?’

I flick a glance in the mirror as Alex puts down the driver window so I can identify his face. I nod. Santiago puts the car into reverse and backs out in one swift, easy motion, then accelerates forward. With every rev, I feel the car’s power beneath me, thrilling and raw, just like Santiago. His hands shift the gear stick as he drives, so my eyes are drawn to his fingers, tanned and confident, and his leanly muscled forearms. At the bottom of the car park, he presses a button and the driver window lowers, allowing him to tap his phone to the boom gate. It opens in response, but he waits on the other side, conscious of the security agents, allowing them time to come through behind us before he accelerates into traffic.

I’ve been to Spain before, but there’s something about being here like this—incognito, no official schedule of visits, no state engagements, undercover and unknown—that makes the whole outlook glisten with magic. The buildings are at first industrial, but as we draw nearer to the centre I see the hallmarks of this famed city. Baroque buildings in various states of repair are juxtaposed with modern constructions and Renaissance churches remain, their stone features beautiful, the perfect contrast to the Gaudi and Gaudi-influenced buildings we zip past in the city centre.

We drive through a restaurant precinct, the buildings close together, with red awnings and flower pots adding bursts of colour. The street is paved and narrow, so Santiago slows down, and I glimpse tables all set to face the street, the umbrellas dotted around to ward off the sun. Diners are dressed with casual elegance, and suddenly I long to be amongst them, eating tapas and drinking wine, making conversation with like-minded friends. A pang of longing assails me for the type of simple friendships most people take for granted.

‘A sigh?’

I spin to face Santiago, a frown pulling at the corner of my mouth. ‘Excuse me?’

He turns to look at me and my breath catches in my throat. His eyes are as golden as the Barcelona sunshine today, framed by thick, dark lashes. Those freckles on the bridge of his nose draw my attention.

‘You sighed.’

‘Oh.’ I swallow. ‘It’s just—this looks so lovely.’

His eyes shift beyond me to the tables strewn with afternoon diners.

‘We can come here for dinner.’

My spine jolts with warmth. It’s not a dinner invitation. It’s so much more intimate than that. It’s a presupposition that we’ll share a meal.

‘I came to assess the casino,’ I remind him primly, already forgetting that this is also, in part, a chance for me to kick up my heels—discreetly, of course. ‘Dinner on the streets of Barcelona, while charming under different circumstances, is unnecessary.’

His eyes hold mine for a moment longer and then, with a slight smile, he turns back and continues driving. The world beyond the car has lost its ability to hold my attention. All my focus is now on Santiago.

‘Is there something in your royal rule book that precludes fun?’

Despite the question, I smile. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, there’s no such thing as royal rule book.’

‘Isn’t there?’

The question is insightful. I sigh again, a soft exhalation of breath this time. ‘There are...conventions and expectations,’ I murmur. I don’t explain to him that my life is guided by the expectations of my parents; he’d probably mock the sentiment, and I don’t think I could bear that.

‘And these rules mean you cannot come for dinner with me at a restaurant like this?’

‘I wasn’t planning on having dinner with you at all, actually.’

His laugh is a throaty sound.

‘Why is that funny?’

‘Because you are determined to act as though you don’t want to spend time with me when we both know that is not true.’

And his hand shifts off the gear stick and towards my knee, grazing my skirt lightly so I startle, my veins immediately rushing with lava.

‘I was warned about your arrogance,’ I mutter, hoping I sound dismissive.

Another gruff laugh, a bark of noise. ‘I’m sure you were.’

He shifts gear and my gaze flickers lower.

‘You have a tattoo.’ I change the subject without really meaning to. He’s unnerved me by being so breathtakingly honest—and beautiful. ‘Two of them.’

‘I have more than two.’ The look he shoots me is pure sensual invitation. My heart stammers.

‘Santiago...’ It’s a breathless complaint. ‘Listen to me. What happened between us the other day...’

‘When we kissed?’ he prompts, once again tilting his face to mine, a knowing look in his eyes.

‘Right.’ I brush it away but my lips tingle and my soul aches. ‘It was a mistake.’

‘Oh?’ He hits the indicator then turns the car off the road, taking us towards the beach. The water shimmers like diamonds in the distance, the sun bouncing off it. He skilfully navigates a narrow one-way street then takes us across a busy road, turning one corner and then another, checking the rear-view mirror to be sure my detail is following.

‘Definitely,’ I murmur, toying with my fingers in my lap.

‘You don’t like to be kissed?’

I briefly imagine how he’d react if I told him that that was the first time I’d ever been kissed.

‘It’s not appropriate for you to kiss me.’

The only sign he’s heard is that his knuckles briefly turn white as he grips the steering wheel more tightly, before sliding the car down a ramp towards an undercover car park. I notice a steel-and-glass monolith above us and my mind immediately fills in the gaps—it’s his casino, the building he had designed and constructed some ten years ago when, at twenty-one, he was a self-made billionaire and already the envy of Europe.

‘Why not?’

‘Because.’

‘That’s not an answer.’

So what is an answer? That I don’t have the freedom to simply kiss any man I find desirable? That I’m supposed to marry some man my parents picked out for me before they died? That I owe my country more than to become one of Santiago’s lovers, a single woman in a long line of women to have graced his bed?

‘Let’s just chalk it up to experience and leave it at that.’

He swings the car into a parking bay right next to the lifts.

His eyes lock with mine and the air between us thickens, sparking with electricity. I feel as though I’m being sucked into a vortex of awareness, every inch of me reverberating with need.

Desire sparks like a fever in my blood, propelling me forward, but only by an inch; despite what I’ve just said, I want him to close the gap. My lips part, my breath is held, and my eyes are on his at first, then on his lips, tracing their outline as I remember what it felt like to be held in his hands and ravaged by him.

‘You want me to kiss you right now.’

The words are a statement of fact. I contemplate denying it, but pride won’t let me lie.

‘What I want and what I know to be right are two different things.’

‘And wanting me isn’t right?’

I shake my head a little, and somehow end up closer to him, my body almost touching his now. My seat belt strains across my chest but the pleasure of that physical contact is like a placeholder for him. I imagine his hands on my thighs and at my shoulder, and shiver.

‘Why not?’

In the distance, there is the banging of car doors. My security detail. Their approach makes me feel urgency.

‘Because,’ I hiss, my heart pounding. ‘You’re you, and I’m me.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘In a year’s time I’m going to be the Queen of Marlsdoven. Even if I wanted to do what you’re suggesting...’ heat rushes my cheeks... ‘I can’t. I’m not at liberty to have meaningless affairs. My people expect more of me.’

‘So how do you conduct relationships, then?’ He seems genuinely interested, the look in his eyes speculative rather than sensual.

I focus on my knees. I wonder what he’d say if I told him the truth. He’d probably be shocked, then bolt out of the car faster than you could say, ‘I don’t sleep with virgins’. The idea has my stomach squeezing—for all that I know a relationship between us is impossible, I don’t want to turn him off completely.

‘You don’t know what it’s like,’ I say after a beat. ‘I’m watched everywhere I go. In the palace there are staff, and outside there are citizens who see me, by virtue of my birth right, as “theirs”. There’s an ideal of what a princess should be and all my life I’ve been taught to live up to it.’

‘And what happens if you don’t?’

The question is one I’ve never asked myself. ‘I don’t want to find out.’ My expression feels heavy with regrets. I press my hand on the door handle. ‘Thank you again for coming to get me.’

His eyes pierce me for several long seconds, but before I can open the door he reaches out, pressing his fingers over my knee. ‘Dinner tonight. In your hotel room.’

My lips part on a rush of breath. ‘No.’ It’s too intimate.

He reaches for my chin then, holding my face steady, our eyes latched. There is a plea in my heart, a plea for him to understand how difficult this is for me.

‘Sí. Don’t fight when you don’t want to, Princesa.’

Princesa. The word heats my blood, my eyes sparking with his. His hand drops from my face and regret forms like a brick in my gut.

‘I suppose it would give us a chance to go over some details of your development,’ I say with a small lift of my shoulder, not meeting his eyes in case he sees the fib for what it is.

To his credit, he doesn’t gloat. ‘Tonight, then.’

A shiver runs down my spine, but not one of fear. No, this is a response of anticipation and warmth, a tingle of excitement at what lies ahead.