The Prince's Chambermaid

‘Sir!’ she gasped.

‘Xaviero,’ he corrected, on a groan. ‘What is it? Tell me.’

What could she tell him other than that this felt like heaven itself? As if she’d never been properly alive before that moment—because no man had ever made her feel like this. He was so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face and it felt so unbelievably intimate that she felt weak. Already she was way out of her depth—and every atom of common sense she possessed was telling her to get away from him before it was too late. But common sense was immediately scrambled into a hot and senseless desire as his lips came down to meet hers—and Cathy knew she was lost.

His last kiss had been lazy, almost careless—like someone dipping a toe into a pool of water to test the temperature. But not today. Today it was as if he had dived straight in. His lips were seeking. Expert. Driving down on hers with sensual insistence and making her gasp with pleasure.

Without preamble, Xaviero pushed her down onto the soft bed, seeing her eyes widen in surprise as he began to unbutton her dress. ‘You thought perhaps we would—how do you say it—pet for hours? The struggle on the bed as we remove first one item of clothing, and then the other? No.’ He smiled as her milky flesh began to be revealed to him. ‘I like my women naked,’ he murmured and touched his lips to the pulse which fluttered wildly at the base of her neck.

Her thoughts struggled to make themselves known over the clamour of her senses. My women, he had said. Which implied he had known quite a few. She swallowed as his lips began to graze over the line of her jaw. Of course he has known quite a few—did you really think that a man like this wouldn’t have done? Another button popped open and Cathy closed her eyes as she felt the whisper of his fingertip skating over her belly. Should she tell him?

But now he was sliding her shoes off. And her tights. And his fingertip was sliding over the insole of her bare foot—tracing a tantalising circle there—and Cathy thought it incredible that such a sensation could come from so provocative and yet so innocent a gesture.

‘Ooh,’ she breathed, forgetting all her misgivings as she thrilled to his touch. Because in this setting all the pomp and circumstance surrounding him had dissolved. Suddenly he was simply the man in denim again. The man with the golden eyes who had so bewitched her. Who was bringing her to life beneath his expert, seeking fingertips. ‘That’s…that’s just gorgeous…’

Briefly, Xaviero smiled as he peeled off the uniform dress, briefly assessing her underwear. You could tell a lot about a woman from her underwear—and he had experienced more than his fair share of it. Virginal white lace—never applicable—or sensual scarlet satin chosen to send out a very specific message about the wearer. He’d seen just about every variation on black—and garments where less was supposed to equal more. He’d seen bottoms clad in French knickers and bottoms almost naked in Brazilian thongs. He’d seen stockings, suspenders and hold-ups, which always seemed to slide down at the most inopportune moments. But he had never seen underwear like Cathy’s before.

It was…His fingers moved around her narrow back to find the clasp of her bra. Functional was pretty much the only word you could use to describe it—because it certainly hadn’t been chosen with eye appeal in mind. Flesh-coloured briefs and a flesh-coloured bra—but then the latter had quite a tough and supportive job to do, he acknowledged.

But when the catch sprang free, it was Xaviero’s turn to moan with pleasure as her breasts tumbled out, glorious and unfettered and free.

‘Porca miseria!’ he groaned, staring at them in disbelief before eagerly taking them in his hands.

Cathy let her head fall back against the pillow, vaguely aware that perhaps she should be objecting—but unable to form a single coherent thought, because now his lips were trailing sweet fire over her breasts.

‘Oh!’ she gasped.

His tongue stilled for a fraction of a second and he dragged in a shuddering breath, feeling the jerk of his erection and the hot fever of his blood. She was as responsive as he could have hoped for—even more responsive than she had been in his dreams. And dreams were powerful things, he recognised—sometimes they intruded on your reality and altered it. So that for a moment he felt he knew this woman because he had met a version of her in the unconscious world he inhabited while asleep. Was that why he felt so intensely turned on? Or was it simply because his body was so hungry for a woman’s touch?

Except she wasn’t touching him at all—and maybe that was because she was clad in nothing but a pair of unattractive panties while he was still wearing his suit.