The Princess Finds Her Match Page 6

  “Are you wet, Lexie?”Nic rasped as he pushed her dress up over her hips and spread her legs wide.

  “M−maybe?” She could feel the blush reaching all the way to her collarbones.

  “Then let’s find out.”

  He made short work of her panties, tossing it somewhere over his shoulder. She let out a muffled groan as she felt his finger delving between the lips of her sex. It was answered by an equally felt groan from Nic. “Fuck, you are soaking wet, querida.” That word again! Her legs fell open wider.

  “Why did you stop?” she complained when Nic’s fingers disappeared.

  “I want to savor you.” He sidled to her side, pulling her dress down and baring her breasts. Lexie watched through half−lidded eyes as his fingers painted her nipples with her own moisture.

  “Oh mio Dio,” she cried in pleasure when Nic’s mouth closed on one rigid peak, suckling her. His fingers went back between her legs, slicking her with her juices. He found her sensitive spot and circled it slowly with one finger, his motions gradually increasing in pace. He ceased his ministrations on her nipple and pulled back, watching her. Lexie closed her eyes and bit her lip, out of her mind with pleasure.

  “Let go, Lexie. I’ll catch you.” His voice was a low rumble. With a small scream, Lexie’s torso bucked halfway off the bed. Her body went into spasms and then she went limp.

  * * *

  “Lexie?” Nic gave her a gentle nudge when she hadn’t moved after several minutes. A half-pained laugh escaped him when he realized she had fallen asleep and was gently snoring. She was dead to the world and oblivious to leaving him as hard as his polo mallet. He flopped back on the bed, arms folded behind his head as he contemplated the ceiling and recalled the crazy night they had shared. He had never shared that instant connection that he had experienced with Lexie with another woman in his life before. Even with Melissa, who had been an extremely sexy and beautiful woman.

  He felt her moving. She had turned toward his side, almost edging him out of the bed, and he smiled ruefully. They were obviously going to have to discuss sleeping arrangements, amongst other things, tomorrow. Later, he corrected, the clock indicating it was half past two in the morning. She started tugging on her hair, mumbling in an irritated voice. He couldn’t understand what she was saying and realized she was talking in a different language, but he understood the source of irritation. Underneath the wig, Nic could feel several pins, which were probably digging into her scalp.

  “Let me help you, rojita,” he whispered, pulling the pins as gently as he could. Underneath the wig, Lexie’s hair was swept up in another updo and held by more pins. He managed to figure out how to remove more hairpins that were stuck into her hair and was surprised by the sheer number that he had removed. Through it all, Lexie had gone back to sleeping deeply. Making sure that he had removed each and every damned one of those hairpins, he combed out Lexie’s hair so that the long tresses fell in a disarray down her back.

  Nic muffled his laughter as the night lamp illuminated her real hair. It was a glorious titian red. Thank God. His tattoo wouldn’t have made any sense if she had been a brunette. He fingered the soft locks and tucked it gently behind an ear. She appeared younger in sleep. Later, they would talk. It was blessed timing that his practice was scheduled in the afternoon, so they had time to spend together before he had to be away from her. Nic decided to make himself comfortable since he had a few hours of shuteye to spare. He was still hard, but that could wait. Without standing and some hip action, he managed to remove his trousers. His mobile fell with a thud to the carpeted floor.

  There were several missed calls from Rupert Butler and another from a number that wasn’t on his phone book. Lexie stirred and Nic glanced at her quickly, afraid he had woken her up, but she was still deep in slumber. Her profile was clean and pure. Her dress was still riding on her hips, exposing a smooth thigh. A shot of lust speared Nic at the sight of her breasts pressed close together by her arm. She looked like a Titian painting and Nic had never seen anything so artless and lovely. Before he knew what he was doing, Nic had captured several photos of her in repose. Later, he would show her how beautiful she was in sleep. His eyes drifted close and the last thought he remembered was that he couldn’t wait for her to awaken.

  * * *

  There was one thing a self-proclaimed modern princess like Her Royal Highness Alexandria Maria Gallagher Ligueria from the principality of Seirenada could do very well, amongst other princess approved pursuits – curse in four languages. As this was an ability that she could not ask the Royal Secretary to include in her press kit, she deemed it useless but secretly satisfying nonetheless.

  As per this instance.

  “Mecachis!”Lexie cried out in Spanish as she was jarred from sleep, having landed on something sharp on the floor. It was the heel of her evening shoe. “Maledizione!” she uttered in Italian. Her limbs were tangled in the linen, and it was a good thirty seconds before she emerged victorious from battling the rumpled covers. Pushing her curly locks out of her forehead and feeling the room swimming around her, she grabbed the edge of the bed to steady herself and encountered a familiar and most gorgeous set of electric blue eyes regarding her sleepily.

  “Merde!” Lexie felt sucker punched by those sexy eyes and dropped on her haunches. “Shit!” She felt weakness invading her limbs. Outtakes of last night’s memory came rushing back, and with it came a dawning sense of horror. “Merparoata!”

  A deep, raspy chuckle came from the bed. “You lied to me, sweetheart.”

  Lexie’s eyes panned the room in mounting panic, skittering to a stop when she spotted her discarded wig lying on top of the velvet couch.

  “I did?’ she croaked, her mouth dry, trying vainly to recall if she had revealed her identity to him last night and at the same time wondering if she should make a dive for the wig.

  “You told me you only knew four languages, including English, that was. You just swore in five.” He sounded delighted and Lexie stole a quick look at him, just to confirm it wasn’t the remaining alcohol level in her bloodstream that was making her hallucinate. Nope. He was still there. Draped on the bed, a hand cupping his chin, his elbow supporting that gorgeous head with wavy, grown out locks. His eyes were positively wicked.

  “Oh.” Lexie’s breath hitched before she said in a rush of relief, “The last one was Liguerian. It’s a dialect, so it doesn’t count.” Hazy images of her standing on a stage, holding a microphone and belting a Britney Spears song in out-of-tune splendor came back to torture her. The crowd was cheering, egging her on, and he was watching her with a grin etched on those sexy, firm cut lips.

  “Liguerian?” he asked in a raspy rumble.

  Something twitched down there. Was it her uterus reacting to the ridiculously sexy male sprawled a few feet from her? Nope, just her full bladder choosing to make its presence known at that instant. She needed to pee. And where was her phone?

  She stood, dragging the blanket she had draped around her with as much dignity as she could. Her bustier dress was around her hips, and Lexie didn’t want Nic watching her trying to wiggle it back up to her chest She walked slowly to the bathroom then slammed the door shut, but not before seeing Nic’s amused expression. Oh God, where was her underwear? she thought as she relieved herself. Flushing the toilet, she grabbed the handlebar and hoisted herself on unsteady legs. Her reflection in the mirror horrified her. Her mascara had dried in sticky flakes and her eyeliner had smudged, making her look like a raccoon. Her hair looked like several kittens had a field day playing in it. She washed her face, trying to remove as much make−up as she could, then spotting a band provided by the hotel, gathered her hair in a ponytail. She zipped herself into Blair’s rumpled dress and with a deep breath, walked out of the bathroom and completely forgot what she had been about to say.

  She saw him in the process of pulling on his jeans. Lexie stopped dead cold, his naked, ripped torso rendering her speechless.

  “Good morning, rojita,
” he greeted huskily, his eyes running over her with some heat as he took in her cleanly scrubbed face and hairdo. “You are impossibly more beautiful this morning than last night.”

  Goodness! She could feel the gears in her brain chugging to a slow, clanking motion at his presence. “Um, a−about last night,” Lexie began and then cringed at how original sounding she was. He started sauntering to where she was rooted stupidly in the middle of the bedroom. She started backing away, unnerved by the intensity of the expression in his eyes. He followed suit, stalking her until she bumped against the door.

  “What about it?” Two muscular arms flanked her head, trapping her. Just like yesterday. Or was it earlier today? She blinked, trying to get her brain straightened out. A thumb descended and stroked her lower lip.

  Focus, Lexie, she berated herself. Do not get distracted by those marvelous pectorals, those bronzed arms and Oh, God, that patch of cut muscles between his thighs and lower abs. And that hint of cologne and man that was now assaulting her nostrils.

  “Last night was an aberra−oh−my−Lord!” she squeaked as with a deft and practiced movement, Nic unzipped her dress and pulled it down effortlessly.

  “Fucking beautiful,” Nic murmured. That F word again! It was like tripping the wire to her erogenous zones. Her nipples peaked to attention and the area between her legs clenched. He slowly stood up, his hands running a leisurely path up her thighs, a burning trail on her body until they settled on her waist. “Breakfast can wait.” He stared into her eyes before uttering in a deep, sexy murmur, “Or not,” and proceeded to wipe out whatever was left of Lexie’s mental processes at that point.

  Her eyes closed at the feel of swirling, decadent, wet heat on one taut nipple. She gasped when he started suckling, his other fingers rolling on its pebbled mate. Lexie’s knees started to buckle and she grasped the doorknob to keep herself upright, wary of touching any part of Nic’s body. If she touched him and participated in his seduction, she would be consumed.

  Her legs finally gave way, predictably, and she landed in an unglamorous heap on the floor.

  “Easy,” Nic cooed and instead of helping her up, he grasped her thighs and opened her wide. On. The. Floor.

  “Wait,” Lexie cried weakly as his head started its descent towards its presumable target. That spot that was shamefully, undeniably wet. She was stone cold sober now and although every nerve ending in her body was screaming for him not to stop, she owed him the truth about who she was. Either he hadn’t heard her or chose not to because the next instant she felt his tongue on her. Tasting, flicking, plunging in and out. Faster, harder, until she was incoherent with pleasure. Her toes curled, her whole body went into rictus, and she must have screamed before she went boneless.

  “You were saying?” The wicked man was looking very smug. Lexie was too wrung out to care that her juices were still glistening on those sexy lips.

  A phone ringing intruded into the relative silence of the room. Several seconds passed before Lexie recognized her ringtone.

  “What time is it?” she asked with foreboding.

  “It’s ten in the morning.”

  “Shit!” Lexie was galvanized into action. She jerked upright and felt the room momentarily sway. Nic cupped her elbow, but she wrenched it away. She rushed to the bed, rummaging through linens and pillows trying to look for her wrist bag.

  “Here.” Nic handed her the bag calmly. “It was on the night table.”

  With shaking fingers, she undid the clasp. Out tumbled her phone, credit card, and some cash. There were three missed calls from Theia and a text message.

  GOOD MORNING YOUR HIGHNESS. REMINDING YOU THAT THE CHARITY LUNCHEON FOR THE CHILDREN’S HOSPITAL IS AT ELEVEN AM TODAY. COULD YOU PLEASE GIVE ME A RING ONCE YOU ARE UP?

  She had just finished reading the message when the phone rang again.

  “Lexie? Thank God,” murmured the usually unflappable Theia when she answered the call. “I have been trying to reach your room since eight this morning.”

  Lexie deliberately turned her back on Nic, who was unashamedly listening to the end of her conversation, and kept her voice low. Her mouth was dry. “I’m sorry. I overslept.”

  “I thought that was what had happened, but you had me worried for awhile. I am sending a new makeup artist to your suite in ten minutes. Would that be alright?”

  “Erm, make it twenty,” Lexie burst out, trying to keep the panic from her voice.

  “Are you sure everything is alright, Your Highness?”

  Lexie was already scrambling for her other shoe and stuffing the spilled contents of her handbag back inside the tiny clutch. “Everything is fine. I’ll see you in a while.” She disconnected the phone before Theia could say anything more.

  “Nic, I’m sorry. I have to go.”

  There was a long pause. His eyes assessed her for several seconds before he replied. “I’ll bring you where you need to go.” He had his arms crossed against his still-bare chest. “Give me five minutes.” On the way to the bathroom, he cupped her face and dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead.

  This was not the way it was supposed to happen. Trust her to botch the plan and find the sweetest, sexiest man to have a one-night stand with. Lexie’s heart constricted at what she had to do. Guilt gnawed at her insides, but Theia’s call had doused the sexual haze she had been wrapped up in since encountering Nic. Like a thief, she quickly stepped outside the hotel room, keeping her head down low in case somebody recognized her. Fat chance of that, she thought hysterically, catching a glimpse of her bare face, rumpled dress, and unruly hair by the elevator mirror. Still, she would rather have her walk of shame done in private rather than plastered all over the tabloids. She was old news, but Peter’s death was not.

  Reaching the lobby, she quickly looked around for the concierge and asked for a cab. “There are several lined up by the taxi stands, ma’am.” The concierge pointed to a side wing of the lobby entrance. After murmuring her thanks, Lexie made a dash for it. She had just reached the outside “foyer” when she heard Nic shouting her name. Her furtive leave taking made her feel small.

  “I told you to wait,” he said in rebuke when he had reached her side. His eyes flashed with hurt and quiet anger. “I’ve got a rental car.”

  “I’m sorry, Nic,” she said, flustered at the sight of him once again. “I’m in a hurry.”

  “I told you I would take care of it,” he gritted out.

  She tried to blot out memories of his gallantry, protectiveness, and sweetness last night but the images of him smiling, his beautiful lips twitching at the corners in amusement, and the heat and tenderness in his blue eyes as he looked at her kept intruding. She couldn’t bear to be the one inflicting that hurt. Lexie pulled the collar of his shirt and kissed him. It was a kiss intended to soothe, to ask for forgiveness, and to say goodbye, but Nic hurriedly change the tone by pressing her body flush to his. His lips latched on to her hungrily. Somewhere, Lexie registered the flash of a strobe and drew back in alarm. It was only a group of tourists laughing nearby, but the camera flash reminded her of the feeling of being hunted, of the relentless pursuit. Lexie could not believe how foolish she had been acting once again. They were in a public place, making her an easy target for the press to document her guilt and shame as they had done once before. With a choked sob, she wrenched free from his embrace and without looking back, left him standing all alone by the curb.

  * * *

  Nic’s concentration was shot and judging by the murderous look on Rupert Butler’s face, the team owner knew it, too.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” roared Butler as he caught up with him on the way to the pony lines to get fresh mounts as was obligatory after each play period. It was the fifth chukker in the championship game between Team Arion and Team Black Cavalier, and the score was 10-8 in favor of the latter. “You let that puny gaucho ride you off!”

  In his rage, Butler was oblivious to the tense silence that descended on the team. Composed of four p
layers, Butler was the only American. The rest were from Argentina, including most of the grooms tending to the ponies. Nic, whose father was Argentine, let Butler’s insulting use of the word gaucho slide off. For now. As team captain, it was Nic’s responsibility to head off any would-be burgeoning mutiny.

  “Get your ass out of your head and earn every fucking dollar I’m paying you!” The veins on Butler’s pale forehead were threatening to pop out. By sheer will of force, Nic stopped himself from landing a blow on the bastard’s face. He wouldn’t be doing himself or his horse-breeding farm any favors if he got thrown off the team. “If Walkden wins the championship, you’d better start looking around for a new patron,” he sneered before thundering off to the field.

  “Sheet!” Javier Rodriguez, wearing the team jersey of white, blue, and gold with the number “1” emblazoned on the back, spat on the ground. “I don’t know why you let that son of a beetch treat you that way.”

  “Keep your cool, Javier. This is not the right time for that,” he admonished the younger player.

  It was a year of bad luck. Nic’s previous patron, the Texan oil baron Harvey Anders, had died from a stroke in the middle of the year, leaving Nic suddenly without the much-needed additional income to cushion the sudden crisis in his horse farm. An equine virus had killed three of his champion studs and several “made” ponies, horses that he had already trained for polo and were ready to be sold. His parents were keeping things afloat while he competed, and though loathe to be working for Butler who had a reputation as a bastard on and off the polo field, he’d had little choice.

  Nic’s focus had been barely hanging by a thread before the halftime completely snipped it off. He was sitting by the makeshift tent drinking water when his eyes had aimlessly drifted onto the field where the divot stomping was taking place. Various men and women, well-dressed, loaded and knowing it, were laughing and tossing their heads drinking champagne while stomping on the loose soil that had come off during the play. Nic spotted Tansy Butler chatting with a woman whose back was to him. His heart started at the sight of the red-gold hair similar to Lexie’s. It was tied in a chignon. He grimaced in self-disgust at his foolish hopes. She had walked away without a backward glance. Obviously any “connection” they had had the other night was one-sided. Your only regret was that you didn’t get to fuck her at all, a voice in his mind taunted. The signal that halftime was over sounded. He mounted his pony and ruthlessly crushed any thoughts of her during the game, for his own safety and sanity.