Her Impossible Baby Bombshell, page 16
‘Seriously? You’re giving me the sex talk?’
‘I’m giving you a warning. Bad things happen to women who get pregnant by father. Bad things happen to women who defy him in other ways. Ask around if you don’t believe me.’
‘You have no idea what you’re talking about.’ His sister always had been melodramatic, full of plots and palace intrigues, but of all the undesirable things he had heard, he’d never heard that. Their father had his faults, but he wasn’t a monster.
‘I am dead serious about this, Valentine.’ Her eyes flashed cold fire. ‘Why do you always think you know better than anyone else? Why can’t you just listen to what I’m telling you?’
He was. He did. She’d never knowingly steered him wrong. ‘All right,’ he grated. ‘I’ll be discreet.’
‘See that you are.’
Valentine brooded on his sister’s opinion of their father as she stormed off towards the new brood mares. Yes, their father was a distant figure, not given to praise. Discipline was harsh—his father had no use for weaklings because ruling a kingdom took strength. As for his father’s way with women... Valentine didn’t see malice in it. Indifference, yes. High turnover, yes. Wasn’t as if he were cruel in his dismissal of them. They came, they went. No fanfare, no problem. His father had needs, that was all. And Valentine was his father’s son.
Surely his father would know that Valentine had no intention of going to his wedding bed a virgin? And that he had no intention of marrying anyone any time soon, let alone the pretty stable girl? Even Angelique knew that whatever interest he showed in her, an offer of marriage wouldn’t be part of it.
She wasn’t a permanent employee, she’d be gone within the year, which to his way of thinking would be just about perfect. Angelique had arrived with six of her family’s stunning Cordova mares, hand-picked by his father and hers to temporarily become part of the palace’s breeding programme. One year, one drop of foals, less than seven months remaining and then the foals would be on the ground and the mares would be gone and Angelique with them.
It wasn’t a bad thing, his infatuation. More like the perfect opportunity to live a little, love a little, and learn how to please a woman. Because, heaven help him, he dreamed about pleasing Angelique. He dreamed about possessing her so completely she’d never forget him and more often than not he woke in a lather of sweat and spent desire, no matter how often he took himself in hand. How was that healthy? If he could just have her for a time...get her out of his system...all would be well, and he could get on with the business of finding a suitable queen for Thallasia.
His sister was wrong about their father’s viciousness and instability. His father would understand.
Valentine of Thallasia was eighteen years old, firstborn son of a king, and used to claiming whatever he wanted.
And he wanted Angelique.
* * *
Valentine strode through the main corridor of the stable complex as if he owned it. Which, technically, he one day would. Stable master Alessandro nodded in acknowledgement. Nothing happened in these stables without that man’s notice and that was both a good and bad thing.
His sister’s words reverberated in his brain like a persistent little hammer. It probably wouldn’t hurt to avoid Angelique for the time being and pretend actual interest in the horse-breeding programme and see if he could be of any real assistance. He wasn’t against learning about the horse-breeding programmes of kings. As for riding, he could always improve. There were lessons to be learned here. Strengths to be gained. At least be discreet—that was his sister’s take-home message. That he could do.
An hour and a half later, Valentine left Alessandro’s office, his brain full of bloodlines and horse names and a new appreciation for the mares on loan to Thallasia. The Cordova name was an old one in horse-breeding circles. A fully trained Cordova horse had been a gift fit for a king for the last three centuries and more. Money and power, passion and status, and Angelique was no mere stable girl—she was royalty of a different kind and all the more irresistible because of it.
Finally, he allowed himself to seek her out. Only natural for him to want to approach the source, given the information he’d just inhaled. And there she stood, hosing sweat from the flank of a just-exercised horse—her pale jodhpurs, knee-high black boots and cotton T-shirt wreaking havoc on what little restraint he claimed to have. His father’s second-best stallion was currently behaving like a day-old lamb beneath her hands, but that didn’t stop him from offering his assistance. Not that she took it. Instead she rolled her eyes and tucked a stray strand of hair behind one ear. Silky black and falling to her waist, her hair fell in waves like the sea, and she plaited it when working—a single thick rope that fell between her shoulder blades and continued to her hips—but he’d seen it undone once, and he would see it like that again if he had his way. Bury his fists in it the better to tilt her face towards his and—
‘You keep looking at me like that and I’m going to hose you down,’ she told him, and it didn’t sound like a threat. More like a promise.
‘You wouldn’t dare.’ He summoned his most engaging grin. ‘Because if you did I’d have to take my wet shirt off in front of you.’ Which as far as he was concerned was win-win.
She laughed and reached for the plastic scraper and began applying it to the horse’s back. ‘I’ve seen better bodies.’
Doubtful.
She spared him a glance and laughed. ‘You are the smuggest boy I’ve ever met.’
‘Man. Smuggest man you’ve ever met,’ he corrected, and she laughed again and it was a beautiful sound.
‘Angelique,’ Alessandro barked from inside a nearby stall. ‘Get on with it.’
‘See? You’ve got me into trouble. Some of us are working.’ But she didn’t sound concerned. Maybe because she was in the unique position of being beholden to her family’s horses first and the royal stables of Thallasia second. It gave her a boldness the other grooms didn’t have, not to mention that she was the best rider amongst them by far, with an uncanny instinct for getting the best out of any horse beneath her. He knew for a fact that Alessandro used her shamelessly to help train the more advanced horses here.
‘How many horses do you still have to exercise?’
‘Your father’s best stallion and my favourite Cordova mare.’
The two most impressive beasts in the complex. He’d learned that of late, and naturally he wanted to master both of them. ‘Want some help there?’
She straightened slowly, taking her sweet time looking him over. She wasn’t indifferent to him, far from it, and this game they played was delicious. ‘Are you up to it?’
Surely he could be forgiven for groaning his reply. ‘Alessandro, I’m taking my father’s stallion up to the gamekeeper’s lodge. Will that count as his exercise for the day?’
The older man’s head and shoulders appeared above a stall wall. ‘Do you have your father’s permission?’
‘Well, he didn’t say no.’ Possibly because Valentine hadn’t yet asked him. ‘Can Angelique come with me?’
The horsemaster spared her a hard glance and a string of rapid Spanish. Angelique nodded and replied in kind.
‘Was that a yes?’ he asked.
‘That was a don’t encourage you and definitely don’t get you killed. There was also a be careful in there and an I hope you know what you’re doing.’
‘So it was a yes.’
‘Only if you’re the one riding the mare.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘That stallion’s crawling out of his skin today on account of servicing a mare yesterday. We sent the mare to pasture at one of your farms this morning and I swear he can still smell her. If we ride, I’m the one who’ll be riding him because he’s an ill-mannered pig. You will have the pleasure of riding a perfectly trained Cordova mare.’
‘See, that’s what I thought you said the first time. I just can’t comprehend the “you riding the stallion instead of me” part.’
She gave a gallic little shrug and pointed towards the stallion’s stall. ‘Me, that one.’ She pointed towards a different stall. ‘You, that one. She’s faster than the big brute anyway.’
‘Want to bet?’ It was the only way he could tolerate the assault on his masculinity.
‘I love to bet.’
It took twenty more minutes before they were riding out towards the heavily forested western edges of the palace grounds. Another thirty before they reached the gamekeeper’s lodge. He was the first to dismount. He tried not to stare as she slid lightly from the horse and stared at the lodge with her hands on her hips and her head tilted to one side.
‘Would you like to go in?’ he asked.
‘Are there any other people in there?’
‘No.’
‘Then, no. If you want to bed me—and you do—you might try getting to know me first.’
‘I already know a lot about you.’ Nothing but the truth. She came from a centuries-old Spanish horse-breeding and training family with extensive holdings in the Pyrenees. Her mother was from Liesendaach originally—the kingdom adjoining his—but had embraced her new country with a wide-open heart. Angelique had an identical twin sister and an older brother. She liked to rise before dawn and take a two-hour lunch at midday and then work again until late. She feared no horse or man—which in his opinion was a mistake. She was beyond beautiful and he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. In his more cynical moments he’d almost convinced himself he’d be doing her a favour by making his interest in her so plain. Some of his father’s men had hungry eyes and brutal ways and they were looking, no mistake.
His sister’s warning hammered away at his conscience, and something...he didn’t know what...made him say, ‘You should go home soon. Don’t stay.’ He had no idea where his chivalrous streak was coming from. ‘Let Alessandro look to the welfare of your father’s mares. Come back at foaling time. Better still, don’t come back here at all.’
‘Why?’ He had her attention, every last scrap of it. He wanted to preen and puff and show off beneath that breathtaking face and steady gaze.
‘It’s not safe for you here. You’re too—’
She waited, but he didn’t know how to phrase what he wanted to say. ‘Too what?’
Too wild, too innocent, too beautiful to resist. Too much. ‘Too tempting for this court of crows,’ he settled for saying instead. ‘You’ve drawn attention and not just mine. Your father should know better than to send you here. He should have sent his son.’
She dropped her gaze to the ground and toed the edge of the manicured grass with her boot. ‘And what if my brother would have been even more vulnerable than me?’
‘He wouldn’t be.’
Such a strange little smile as she stared at him from beneath that stray chunk of hair and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch it, push it gently from her face. Slowly, he reached out to do just that.
She didn’t pull away.
‘You don’t know anything about my brother or me. I can take care of myself.’ And if her voice trembled almost as much as his fingers had, neither of them made mention of it.
‘What’s your favourite food?’ he asked.
‘Mangoes and strawberries.’
‘Your favourite drink?’
‘Good café solo. Of which you have none!’
He could fix that. ‘And where do you like to be kissed?’
Because he’d make that move next. His insides clenched with the promise of it, and the air between them grew syrupy with waiting.
‘Here,’ she murmured at last, touching her fingers to a place on her neck.
‘Got it.’ He logged the spot with his fingers, heat pooling low in his body and causing a stir as she arched her neck as if inviting more. She was warm beneath his fingertips, her skin soft to the touch, and her hair held the scent of summer. He could feel her racing pulse—or maybe it was his. ‘Where else?’
She slid her fingers towards the place where jaw met ear. ‘Here.’
He set his lips to the first place and slowly dragged his way to the next and she trembled for him and made a faint whimper that sounded like encouragement. ‘Yes?’ He barely recognised his own voice, the rough, needy edge of it.
She turned her head, her lips found his and that was all the answer he needed. He didn’t stop until he was sated and neither did she. From the shadow of the lodge to its entrance hall and then the trophy room with its massive leather sofa that they put to wicked use.
Over and over again, in the weeks that followed.
With every sly challenge and laughing touch she dug beneath his skin until he could barely think of anything but when next he could have her. Never mind his father’s men, who watched them with increasing suspicion. Never mind his sister, who covered for his absence on more than one occasion and told him over and over to be careful and discreet and for God’s sake, Valentine, grow some survival skills.
He was the firstborn son of a king. He couldn’t afford to love as he would. He knew this.
Angelique knew it too. They’d talked about what he could offer her and it wasn’t much. She was the wrong nationality and moreover she worked for a living. Her education was sorely lacking. He would one day marry a well-bred daughter of Thallasia—bonus points if she had political ties the monarchy could use to advantage. Such was the family firm he’d been born to. They knew this. Accepted it. They weren’t playing for keeps.
They were just playing.
Her favourite city was Salamanca. Her favourite meal was her mother’s paella marinera. There was nothing in this world he craved more than the time they spent together, learning how to please her. Her uninhibited cries as he devoured her. The clench and release of her pleasure.
He knew he was neglecting his regular duties. This reckless abandon had to stop before he handed Angelique Cordova the keys to his heart and soul in addition to the ones to his body.
But he didn’t say this had to end as Angelique rolled out of his embrace and started putting on her clothes, chiding him to do the same because they had to get back because she’d be missed if they were late. As it was, they’d have to hurry back, and Alessandro the stable master would know it due to the lather of the horses.
‘Race you,’ he challenged, and she took him at his word. Always the unruly stallion for her and the well-behaved mare for him. Alessandro could overlook many things but risking the Crown Prince’s neck on an unreliable horse was not one of them.
Race you and you’re on, with the scent of her drying on his skin.
His father was waiting for them.
Copyright © 2021 by Kelly Hunter
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ISBN-13: 9781488073496
Her Impossible Baby Bombshell
Copyright © 2021 by Dani Collins
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Dani Collins, Her Impossible Baby Bombshell
