“Mr. Ryan, so good to see you.”
“Hello, Al. This is Marisol.”
Al squinted as if trying to remember something.
“Hello, Miss Marisol. Please. I have the best seat in the house for you.”
“Al,” said Ryan smiling, “According to you, all your seats are the best in the house.”
“Sit, sit. I’ll bring wine and appetizers. Baked Eggplant stuffed with shrimp. I know you like that.”
“Yes, Al, that’ll be fine.”
“And for salad, Insalada Caprino—delicate baby greens with goat cheese and raspberry vinaigrette.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“And what would you like for the entree?”
“You know I only come here for the lasagna, Al.”
“Yes, but the lady might like something different? Ah. No matter. I bring lasagna for both of you, and something different. You must broaden your palette, Mr. Ryan.”
Al rushed off as if serving Ryan was the greatest mission in his life.
“Wow,” said Marisol. “Al really likes you.”
“We’re old friends,” said Ryan.
Al was back quickly with a red wine, and another waiter brought their salads and a basket of sliced Italian bread.
Ryan was relaxed and casual, and he chatted about his days at college, where he’d worked two jobs and went to school full-time.
“That’s where I met Al,” he said. “One of my jobs was pizza delivery. Al was working a second job at the pizza joint making pies.”
Marisol couldn’t help but notice how houselights played off his blond hair, or the day’s end stubble that graced his chin. Every so often, Ryan would touch her hand, which sent tingles through her.
“So tell me about you school days,” he said.
“It was all very boring,” said Marisol.
Ryan’s face got very serious. “I’d like to hear about your life, Marisol. You know I’d listen to anything you’d have to say.”
What was she going to tell him? That she was a princess that ran away from her family and her obligations to her country? That she found her fiancé so abhorrent that she took off without a thought of how she was going to take care of herself? That multiple law enforcement agencies were looking for her even now?
“You know,” he said gently, “If you’re in some kind of trouble, I would help you.”
She opened her mouth to speak when a middle-aged woman approached the table.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Aren’t you Princess Marisol of Dalaysia?”
Marisol looked into the woman’s face, panicking. Her mouth went dry as she formed her next words. “Sorry. I get that all the time, but no, I’m not her. I share her dress-size and her first name, but those are coincidences.”
“I could have sworn—”
“Sorry. No.”
“You know they’ve listed her disappearance as a kidnapping?”
“No,” said Marisol as she fidgeted with her hands under the table. “I didn’t know, but if I were her and kidnapped, I’d hardly be sitting in the middle of a New York restaurant having dinner, would I?”
“I suppose not,” muttered the woman. She moved off, but kept looking back at her as Marisol panicked. She felt the need to get out of the restaurant.
“Ryan,” she said. “All this rich food is too much for me. I need some fresh air.”
“Of course.” He placed a generous amount of bills on the table. “Let’s get out of here.”
He put his hand around her waist as they left the restaurant. In the car, he told Jerry to take a spin around Central Park.
“That was strange,” said Ryan.
“What was?”
“That lady in the restaurant. Why would she think you’re Princess Marisol?”
Ryan looked at her so earnestly that she couldn’t lie to him, but if she told him, what would he do? He’d said he would help her, but that was as Marisol the housekeeper, not Marisol the Princess of a small and insignificant county half a world away.
“Please, Marisol,” he whispered. “Let me help you.”
Marisol snuggled under his arm, trying to find a place of shelter, but there was none. If one woman recognized her, many more people would do so too. Soon there would be no alternative. She’d have to go back to her father, and go back to her old life. “If it were only that easy, Ryan, but it’s not,” she said sadly.
Ryan ran his thumb across her bottom lip, and she looked up at him. His eyes were half-lidded as he trailed his hand down her neck. He lifted her head up with two fingers and bent over pressing his lips to hers. Marisol felt a rush of pleasure as he kissed her and she open her mouth to him. Their tongues touched and quickly Marisol was drawn into her passion for Ryan.
She couldn’t have him for the rest of her life, but she could have him now, for one night. This would be the night that she treasured for the rest of her life. When things got dark and ugly, when her royal husband treated her like a broodmare, and her children scorned her for being weak, she could look back on the time when she’d held the man she desired above all others in her arms and gave all of herself to him.
“Let’s go home,” she said.
***
They ran to the elevator at Ryan’s apartment building, and Marisol grabbed Ryan around the neck and pulled him to her for another scorching kiss. He cupped the round globes of her ass and pulled her to him. Hip to hip, Marisol felt the hard evidence of his desire pressed against her. His eyes were slightly glazed now and he licked and sucked on her neck, and down to her breasts, rolling a nipple between his index finger and thumb. She gasped from the electric shocks it sent through her body.
The elevator door opened, and they hung onto to each other, kissing and nipping as they made their way to Ryan’s bedroom. Marisol pulled at his suit jacket, and he took it off. He pulled the zipper of her dress and pushed the dress off her shoulders and down to the floor. With a growl he yanked her lacy bra off, letting her generous breasts free. He pushed her against the wall just inches from his bedroom and sucked in her nipple sharply.
Marisol whimpered as he continued to suckle. Every moment of his mouth on this sensitive bud sent heat through her. He fell to his knees and kissed her mound through her lace panties. With one hard yank the delicate fabric ripped and she was totally naked before him. He lashed her with his tongue making noises of enjoyment, and then it moved lower to her folds were he laved the soft petals of her entrance with loving strokes.
He raised her leg over his shoulder and sought her most intimate places with his silken mouth. Sparks flew up her spine, and a gathering pleasurable pressure built in her core. With a rush of white flame, she broke apart, bucking her hips into his face while calling his name.
He held her there as her breathing calmed, then stood and kissed her with a unstoppable passion. She tasted herself on his lips and that with his scent all around her made her lightheaded with wanting more from him.
“Let’s go to your room,” she said.
He nodded and opened the door, and then pulled her in and swept her into his arms. In a few steps he laid her on his bed. She looked up at him as he pulled apart the tie and took off his slacks. His shaft tented his silk boxers and Marisol had a sudden urge to see it.
With one swift motion she sat and reached for the boxes and yanked them down. Ryan’s shaft pointed directly at her, like a compass pointing north. It was long and wide and she though she’d never seen a man naked before, thought it incredibly beautiful. She reached forward and licked the tip and Ryan moaned.
“God lord,” he said. “You have to stop that. It feels too good.”
But having a taste of him, she wanted more and kissed his length up and down, adding licks of her tongue. His manly scent filled her nose and she knew more than anything that she wanted him inside her.
He pushed her away gently.
“Sweetheart,” he said. “This is great, but I want more than this.”
She nodded. “I do too,” she
admitted breathlessly.
Ryan leaned forward and she leaned backward. They held each other in a passionate embrace. She loved the feel of his skin on hers.
“Wait,” he said. Ryan broke away and turned toward his nightstand and took out a condom from the drawer.
Marisol giggled.
“A good Catholic boy,” she said with a grin, “With condoms.”
“Well, obviously not so good, but I won’t be irresponsible either.”
She watched, licking her lips as he rolled the condom on his thick length. In a second after that, he wrapped his arms around hers, licking behind her ear and making her moan.
He kissed her neck, her breasts, and down her stomach, but he slipped a finger inside her.
“Wet, so wet,” he huffed. “I need you, Marisol.”
“I need you too, Ryan. Now.”
Slowly he entered her, inch by inch, and it drove her crazy. He stopped a second, his eyes getting wide.
“You’re not—” he whispered, shocked.
“Not anymore,” she said. “Ryan, I want this. I want you more than anything.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she said.
With a sharp pain, he filled her, but it was gone in a second, and the raw sensation she had felt quickly subsided as he moved inside her. Joined with him she rose again, her heart beating wildly, and the rush of sensation caused by his rhythm brought her to her peak once again. She clung to him as she came, screaming his name, and he followed, calling hers.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Consequences