[Montacroix Royal Family Series 01] - Guarded Moments (9 page)

"Aren't you at all curious?" she asked finally.

"Curious?"

They'd stopped at a red light. Chantal's head was turned away, her gaze directed toward the rain-washed sidewalk where a man and woman were kissing under the protection of a wide black umbrella. As she watched the tender lovers so oblivious to the outside world, Chantal felt a sharp stab of envy like nothing she'd ever known.

"I've been wondering for days what it would be like to kiss you," she said. Her soft voice was little more than a whisper but easily heard in the intimate confines of the limousine.

"I suppose it's a natural enough curiosity."

"Then you have also wondered?"

Caine shrugged. "Of course. You're a remarkably enticing woman. Princess. Any man would be tempted to kiss you."

"Yet you're not a man to easily succumb to temptation, are you, Caine?"

"No. I'm not."

He was an absolute paragon of restraint. Chantal found herself admiring Caine even though his rigid self-control was driving her crazy. She sighed softly. "Then I'm afraid we have a slight problem."

"What's that?"

"Unlike you, I've always believed in following my instincts. And to tell the truth, I'm not certain I can get through another night without knowing."

As the light turned green and the car started through the intersection, she leaned toward Caine, her eyes gleaming with sensual intent.

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Muttering a soft oath, Caine succumbed to the inevitable as Chantal brushed her lips lightly against his, tasting, testing.

She had thought she'd known what Caine's kiss would be like, but as he drew her closer, she realized that even her most vivid fantasy paled in the face of reality.

It wasn't that his mouth was harsh or impatient. To her surprise, he made no attempt to rush them into quick intimacy. When the tip of his tongue circled her parted lips, she sighed. When his teeth nibbled enticingly at her lower lip, she trembled. And when he slipped his tongue between her lips to touch hers, she sighed again and shuddered.

Chantal had grown up in the lap of wealth and privilege. Never had she known need. Until now. As every tingling nerve ending in her body became focused on her mouth, on the sheer glory Caine was capable of bringing to a mere kiss, Chantal, for the first time in her life, experienced true hunger.

"Well? Is your curiosity satisfied?" he asked, nibbling gently on her earlobe.

"Oh, not yet." Her hands went to either side of his face, drawing his lips back to hers. "More."

"Anything you say, Your Highness," he said against her mouth. He'd tried to resist her and failed. Now the only thing to do was to accept this for what it was—an exceptional, once-in-a-lifetime experience—then get on with his life.

A longing slowly built up inside Chantal as Caine kissed her with a patience that made her bones melt. His lips plucked at hers, tenderly, teasingly, before skimming up her face, leaving sparks on every inch of heated skin: the crest of her cheekbones, her eyelids, her temples, her chin. When his treacherous mouth loitered at the base of her throat, she heard a slow, drugged moan of pleasure and realized that it had escaped her own tingling lips.

Clouds covered her mind as he murmured to her, quiet, enticing words that thrilled her as she felt them being formed against her mouth. Degree by glorious degree he deepened the kiss until what had once been soft and gentle grew more demanding.

It was torture. Ecstasy. It was torment. Bliss. The rainy world outside the limousine tilted, then slowly slipped away as Chantal's attention centered solely on Caine's sinfully talented lips. It was as if he meant to kiss her endlessly, and as her avid mouth clung to his, Chantal prayed he'd never stop.

He'd thought he was safe. What harm could there be in a simple kiss? All right, Caine allowed, so it wasn't a simple kiss, but hadn't he realized that would be the case? There hadn't been anything simple about the Princess Chantal yet, so why should he have expected this to be any different? As he felt her skin heating to his touch, felt her warm, soft lips move hungrily, almost desperately against his, he felt himself slowly, inexorably sinking into quicksand.

He'd kissed other women before. More than he could count. But as he kissed Chantal, all those other faces and names blurred into an indistinct, distant memory. He'd wanted other women before, but as an outrageous need to strip off her clothing and taste every fragrant inch of warm, satiny skin—to absorb her—raced through him, Caine knew that no other woman had ever made him burn this way. No other woman had ever made him weak.

Whether he wanted to admit it or not, the princess was like no woman he'd ever met. And that, Caine acknowledged grimly, was precisely what made her so dangerous.

When he realized that they were pulling up in front of the hotel, Caine allowed himself one more lingering kiss, savoring the sweet taste of her lips. That was it, he vowed. That was as far as he could go without getting in over his head.

"I'll see you to your room."

"Yes." Her wide, passion-laced eyes met his, handing him a gilt-edged invitation he was determined to ignore.

As much as he warned himself not to touch her, Caine's hand rested on her back as they rode up in the elevator. Her white cashmere coat was soft; Caine suspected that her skin would be softer.

"Amazing," she murmured, luxuriating in the possessive touch of Caine's hand against her back.

He was a strong man. She'd seen his strength each morning as they ran, witnessed the play of rigid muscles, the power of his long, sinewy legs. But she'd suspected that he could be gentle, as well. And the exquisite tenderness of his kiss had been proof of that. Strength and tenderness—an irresistible combination for any woman, but especially for Chantal. She had waited her entire life for such a man.

He twined his fingers in her hair, tempted to press his lips against the gleaming, dark strands. "What's amazing?" The hell with it, he decided, giving in to temptation. There were still fifteen floors to go; plenty of time to regain his willpower.

Chantal sighed with pleasure as his warm breath fanned her temple. "I was exhausted earlier, yet now…" Her voice drifted off, her dark eyes enticed, her slightly parted lips seduced. "You must be a magician."

Standing close to her as he was, Caine could not avoid meeting her gaze. Thoughts—all of them erotic, each of them dangerous—raced through his mind. Images of hot, humid nights, cool jazz and steamy sex. Of laughing, lazy sex in flower-strewn meadows, while the summer sun smiled benevolently overhead. Lying beside her in a mountain cabin, in front of a crackling fire, her naked flesh gleaming with the reflected orange glow of the firelight as they created a storm that made the blizzard outside pale in comparison.

Princess Chantal was temptation incarnate. A temptation he was finding more and more difficult to resist.

"Not a magician," he said, backing off slightly and shoving his hands into his pockets. "Just a man."

The passion was still there. She could feel it surrounding them, pulsing beneath her skin, like a thousand live wires. But now there was something else, as well. Something she reluctantly acknowledged as she watched the shield close over his smoky gray eyes. "A man determined to resist my feminine charms."

Caine read the hurt in her eyes and realized what a challenge it must have been for her to pull off that casual, teasing tone. "Chantal—" He reached for her, but she backed away, shaking her head.

"No," she insisted on a voice that wavered only at the edges. "Don't make things worse by apologizing, Caine." She gave him a smile—a brave, trembling smile that tore at something deep inside him. "I've always been impulsive. It's one of my more unattractive traits—"

"I doubt that there's anything unattractive about you."

At the moment, when she was struggling to hang on to one last shred of dignity, Chantal did not welcome his kindness. "Please," she said, pressing her fingers against his lips, "don't say anything. Not until I finish."

Caine nodded.

Drawing in a deep breath that was meant to calm but didn't, Chantal tried again. "Despite what you've read of my alleged romantic escapades, the truth is that I've never been very good at relationships," she began quietly. "Something—or someone—always seems to get in the way."

She thought of the various individuals she'd given her heart to, only to learn the hard way that too many men received an ego boost from attracting—then subsequently dumping—a princess. Even those not attracted by her title had found her wealth irresistible, courting her by day even as they spent their nights with beautiful, sexually hedonistic women who were not foolish enough to expect love or commitment in return.

Perhaps, she considered, it was she who was wrong. Perhaps it was not that the men in her life had promised too little, but that she had expected too much.

"What I'm attempting to say," she continued falteringly, "is that if you walk away from me tonight, I'll live. It won't be the first time a man has rejected me, and I doubt that it will be the last. But—" she took a deep breath "—if you are at all tempted to seize the moment, so to speak, I would not send you away."

As he watched the vivid color bloom in her cheeks, Caine realized that the princess, who had displayed amazing composure under some very trying conditions, was more than a little embarrassed by this intimate conversation.

"I can't think of anything I'd rather do than make love to you," he said honestly.

"But… ?"

"I thought I had explained all that."

"The part about us coming from different worlds."

The elevator door opened onto her floor, and although Caine was tempted to ride down to the parking garage and back up again all night long if that's what it took to get this settled, he didn't trust himself to be alone in such a confined space with a woman whose very scent drove him to distraction.

"Exactly." Putting his hand under her elbow, he guided her out into the hallway.

Chantal was quiet as they walked the short distance to her door. She was not in the habit of offering herself to a man, and although Caine's rejection stung, she wasn't about to let him see he had the capacity to hurt her.

Relieved when she appeared willing to allow the matter to drop, Caine escorted her into the room as he did every night, his swift, surreptitious gaze sweeping the suite. The day before their arrival, he'd arranged for her doors and windows to be wired to an alarm system that sounded both in his room and in the manager's office downstairs. If anyone had broken in during their absence, he or Drew would have been informed of the fact by the desk clerk. But it still didn't hurt to double-check.

"I'll want to run in the morning, before the flight," she said, shrugging out of her coat. The snowy cashmere fell unheeded onto the plush carpeting.

"You really do look tired," he said, noticing for the first time the pale blue shadows under her eyes. He picked the coat up and tossed it over the arm of a nearby chair, noting as he did so that it carried her scent. "Perhaps you should sleep in."

She kicked off her high heels as she headed for the bedroom. "All I need is a good night's sleep. I have no intention of foregoing my run tomorrow. If you're not here, I'll simply go alone." Her back was to him, and as she pulled down the zipper of her black silk dress, Caine was treated to a generous expanse of creamy flesh.

Biting down a surge of desire so strong that it was all he could do not to toss her onto that king-sized bed, Caine opted to leave now, while he still could. "Hey, Princess."

"Yes?" She turned in the bedroom doorway.

"Anyone ever tell you that there are times a guy might just mistake you for a Missouri mule?"

Fluttering her dark lashes, Chantal gave him a saucy, impertinent Gypsy's smile. "Only one man. But since I have reason to question his judgment, I choose not to believe him.
Au revoir
, Caine. I will see you in the morning. Early." Flashing yet another smile even more tantalizing than the first, she shut the bedroom door between them.

As he entered the room he shared with Drew, it crossed Caine's mind that she wasn't the only one questioning his judgment. How many men would have turned down what the princess was offering this evening?

"Don't say a word," he warned as he encountered Drew's knowing grin. An instant before that heated kiss, it had occurred to Caine the partition was open and Drew could see them in the rearview mirror. But then her lips had touched his and coherent thought had fled his mind. "Not one single word."

"About what?" Drew asked with feigned innocence.

Caine was about to reply when the telephone rang. "Yeah," he answered abruptly, not bothering to conceal his irritation.

"Mr. Caine O'Bannion?" The hesitant feminine voice, faint, as though coming over long-distance lines, caught him by surprise. Besides the hotel manager, only two people—Director Sebring and the president—knew he was staying at this hotel.

"Sorry, wrong number," he said.

"Mr. O'Bannion, please don't hang up. This is Noel Giraudeau. Chantal's sister."