The Royal House Of Karedes: Two Kingdoms (Books 1-3). Sandra Marton

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      “One seven four oh Grandview Avenue,” she said in a small voice. “That’s in the Bronx.”

      “The Bronx?” the driver said.

      “The Bronx,” Alex repeated firmly, and the big car started up again.

      Alex watched Maria’s face as the limo made its way along the snow-laden streets.

      She sat huddled in the corner, as far from him as she could get, staring straight ahead, her face pale in the glaring headlights of the few cars coming toward them. The snow had all but emptied the city streets.

      She was trembling.

      He frowned. Was she cold? Impossible. The sole virtue of that ugly jacket had to be its warmth. Besides, the car’s interior was warm.

      She was nervous, then. Or anxious. About agreeing to go with him? Not that she’d actually agreed. He’d forced her into it.

      Never mind.

      Was she nervous about telling her lover she was going away with another man? Alex’s jaw tightened. A week from now, hell, a couple of hours from now, her lover would be history. Once they boarded his private plane, he’d take her to the big bedroom in the rear of the cabin, strip her out of that foolish outfit and touch her in ways that would make her forget any man but him.

      That was how it had been that night.

      Maria, blind with passion. Her skin, silken to the touch. Her mouth drinking from his, her fingers cool against his body, her hands trembling when he clasped them, brought them to his chest, his belly, his erection.

      Touch me this way, he’d murmured. Yes. Like that. Like that.

      She’s never done this before, he’d thought in amazement. And then he’d simply stopped thinking, lost in the heat that consumed them.

      What a lie!

      She’d done everything before. He’d known it as soon as he heard her on the telephone that morning. Until then, she’d had him fooled. And that wasn’t easy. He’d been with a lot of women. Too many, he sometimes thought; their faces and names and bodies had become blurred over the years.

      Not hers.

      Maria’s name, her heart-shaped face and its delicate features, her body that was softly curved and not a fashionable arrangement of hard bones and flesh, even her voice…

      He had forgotten nothing. She came to him in his dreams, telling him she wanted him.

      Turning yourself on again, you idiot? he thought angrily as he shifted in the deep leather seat.

      Well, there’d be no more of that.

      He knew what this was all about, if he was honest. Ego? Maybe a little. Anger? Okay, that, too. Payback? Absolutely. But the real reason he wanted her was much more basic.

      The hair of the dog that bit you. Driving out demons. Whatever you wanted to call it. Have enough sex with Maria Santos and he’d wipe her name, her face, everything about her from his mind.

      A month from now, he’d be happy to see the last of her. Whether she was clever in bed or not, he’d never come across a woman who could hold his interest for much longer than that. This one would be no exception, not even if she went from waif to temptress, fire to ice…

      “It’s the building right over there.”

      Her voice was low. Alex blinked and realized the car had slowed to a crawl. He looked out the window and saw a nondescript street, cars packed tightly along the curb, and a looming wall of apartment buildings.

      “This one, miss?” Hans asked.

      “Sí. Yes.”

      It was the first time she’d lapsed into Spanish since the phone call—and since she’d cursed him. She sounded breathless. Stressed. His jaw tightened. Was she nervous about visiting her lover and telling him her plans?

      If he’d been her lover, she’d have had the right to be terrified. He could not imagine agreeing to her going off with another man for a month. Not for a day. Not if she belonged to him.

      The limo eased into the space beside a fire hydrant. The driver turned off the engine and reached for the door handle.

      “Thank you,” Maria said quickly, “but that isn’t necessary. I can open the door my—”

      “Stay in the car, Hans.” Alex’s voice was cold. “I’ll take care of Ms. Santos.”

      A blast of frigid air swept in as he opened the door. Maria’s heart skipped a beat. Did the Prince of Arrogance think he was going inside with her? Not in a million years.

      “Thank you,” she said, forcing a polite smile, “but I can manage.”

      “Don’t be silly, glyka mou. It’s late, the street is nearly deserted. What kind of gentleman would permit a woman to be alone under such conditions?”

      His tone had gone from harsh to silken. A spider’s web was silken, too. She didn’t want him with her, not only because then he would know she hadn’t come to see Joaquin but because he would know too much.

      “Maria. I’m waiting.”

      He was leaning into the car, his patrician face rigid. Anger swept through her. Did he think he could take over every aspect of her life?

      “Keep waiting, then. I don’t require your assistance. And let me assure you, Your Highness, if you think you are a gentleman—”

      She gasped as he caught her shoulders and pulled her from the car.

      “You will not talk to me that way,” he growled. “I don’t give a damn what you do or do not require. What matters is what I require. For the next month, you’ll do things my way or not at all. Is that clear?”

      “Yessir,” she said, and touched her stiff fingers to her forehead. “Of course, sir,” she added, and clicked her heels. Then she jerked her chin up, stepped around him and marched over the snowy sidewalk to the building’s entry.

      Alex could feel his face burning.

      He shot a furious glare at Hans, sitting straight as a ramrod behind the wheel. He gave no sign that he’d seen or heard what had just happened.

      Alex took a deep breath. Then he trudged after Maria through the snow. Her feet, in those hideous boots, moved up and down without interference but he was wearing leather mocs—handmade leather mocs, he thought grimly, and they were already cold and sodden.

      Great. He was about to come face to face with the man who’d been her lover and his damned shoes would probably fall off his feet when he…

       Panagia mou!

      What kind of place was this for a love nest? The entrance door had a broken lock. The lobby smelled of mice and mildew. What remained of a mural clung pathetically to a graffiti-scarred wall. There was an elevator СКАЧАТЬ