My Forbidden Royal Fling

‘It’s long enough to appraise the casino,’ I point out, reminding us both of the main reason I came to Barcelona.

His smirk pulls me apart from the inside out. ‘Sure.’ His accent rolls over the word, softening it. ‘But perhaps not enough to make up for lost time.’

I frown. ‘What does that mean?’

‘That we have four nights to give you a lifetime’s worth of sexual satisfaction. It’s a challenge, but I think I’m up for it.’

‘That’s big of you.’

‘If you say so.’ He winks at my unintended double entendre.

‘You seriously have an ego the size of a house.’

‘Is that all?’

We’re quiet. Our eyes clash. ‘The thing is...’ I move my hand back to his eagle tattoo, then press my palm to his chest. ‘I meant what I said before. I can’t date. And I especially can’t date you.’

‘Because if people discovered we were sleeping together, a scandal would follow?’ he says speculatively.

‘Well, yes.’ I bite down on my lip, worried about offending him before I remember this is Santiago del Almodovár. ‘With everything that’s printed about you in the press, my people would be horrified.’

‘I have no interest in ruining your pristine reputation, Your Highness.’ For a moment, I’m reminded of his antipathy on that first afternoon we met, the silent undercurrent of disapproval that was obvious in his every remark. But then he stands, extending a hand to me, so I place my own in his and he pulls me to standing. Our bodies are so close, my hips brush his.

‘Four nights in my bed, and no one will ever know.’

Something like adrenalin courses through my veins. A secret affair with Santiag

o del Almodovár explodes through me; wonderment fills my body. It’s not what I expected when I came to Spain, but it’s absolutely perfect. Why shouldn’t I enjoy a fling with a bad-boy sex god before I go back to Marlsdoven and continue to act like the perfect Princess the country expects me to be?

‘Isn’t it technically my bed?’ I ask with fluttering lashes.

‘Your bed, my bed. Let’s not argue over semantics.’ He scoops down and lifts me easily, cradling me to his chest. ‘So long as there’s a bed and you’re in it, I don’t particularly care about anything else.’

* * *

He runs the loofah over my body, sponging me until I’m covered in soap, the warm water of the shower rinsing it off. I watch him unashamedly, fascinated by this intimacy, by his closeness, by the fact he’s not intimidated by me and by the way he reveres my body, worshipping me as though there is some all-powerful energy source layered beneath my skin. When I’m clean all over, he looks up, his dark eyes hooded, his expression causing my lungs to burst with air pressure.

‘How do you feel?’

Better than I’ve ever felt before. ‘Good.’ I smile shyly.

‘And here?’ He presses a finger to my sex so I jump, the touch unexpected and perfect.

‘Good.’ I thought I was shy before!

‘You’re sure?’

I nod but, when he presses his lips to my most intimate core, I almost jump out of my skin.

‘Santiago...’ It’s a plea, but for what?

He flashes his eyes at me, a smile playing about his lips before he moves his tongue, flicking my sensitive cluster of nerves until stars dance behind my eyes. I lift my hands up and press them flat against the tiled wall behind me, desperate for the support. The warm water douses my naked body, cascading down my breasts as he lashes me with his tongue... Then I’m falling apart at the seams all over again, pleasure a tidal wave drowning me in desire and, though we are taught to fear drowning, I can’t say I feel anything right now but ecstasy.

* * *

‘Did you grow up here?’ I reach for another of the Cambados oysters, their ocean-salt flavour delicious, particularly when paired with Santiago’s wine.

He watches me eat then runs his hands over his jaw, as if lost in thought...or weighing something up, perhaps. ‘I grew up in the Ciutat Vella.’