Sarah Morgan - Princes Waitress Wife Page 3

  He was giving her the choice.

  He was telling her that, if he kissed her again, he was going all the way.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered, knowing that there would be a price to pay, but more than willing to pay it. ‘Oh, yes.’

  If she’d expected her shaky encouragement to be met with a kiss, she was disappointed.

  ‘If you want to slow things down,’ he murmured against her throat, ‘I suppose I could always eat the dessert that’s waiting for me on the table.’

  Holly gave a faint whimper of frustration, and then he lifted his head and she saw the wicked gleam in his eyes. ‘You’re teasing me again.’

  ‘You asked me to slow down, tesoro.’

  She was finding it hard to breathe. ‘I’ve definitely changed my mind about that.’

  ‘Then why don’t you tell me what you want?’ He gave a sexy, knowing smile that sent her body into meltdown.

  ‘I want you to kiss me again.’ And not to stop.

  ‘Do you?’ His head lowered to hers, thick lashes partially shielding the mockery in his beautiful eyes. ‘You’re not supposed to give me orders.’

  ‘Are you going to arrest me?’

  ‘Now, there’s a thought.’ He breathed the words against her mouth. ‘I could clap you in handcuffs and chain you to my bed until I’m bored.’

  Her last coherent thought was Please don’t let him ever be bored, and then he lifted her, and the demands of his hands on her thighs made it impossible for her not to wrap her legs around his waist. There was the faint rattle of fine bone-china as he positioned her on the table, and only when she felt the roughness of his zip against the soft flesh of her inner thigh did she realise that he’d somehow manoeuvred her skirt up round her waist.

  With a gasp of embarrassment, she grabbed at the skirt, but she felt the hard thrust of his body against hers.

  ‘I love the stockings,’ he groaned, his dark eyes ablaze with sexual heat as he scanned the lacy suspender-belt transecting her milky-white thighs.

  Thighs that definitely weren’t skinny.

  The fragile shoots of her self-confidence withered and died under his blatant scrutiny, and Holly tugged ineffectually at the hem of her skirt, trying to cover herself. ‘Sylvia insists on stockings,’ she muttered, and then, ‘Do you think you could stop looking at me?’

  ‘No, I definitely couldn’t,’ he assured her, a laugh in his voice as he released his hold on her bottom, grasped her hands and anchored them firmly around his neck. ‘Take a deep breath in for me.’

  ‘Why?’

  A wicked smile transformed his face from handsome to devastating. ‘Because I want you to undo a few more buttons without me having to move my hands again. I’m never letting go of your bottom.’

  Hyper-sensitive to that particular subject, Holly tensed, only to relax again as she registered the unmistakeable relish with which he was exploring her body. ‘You like my bottom?’

  ‘I just want to lose myself in you. What’s your secret—exercise? Plastic surgery?’ He gave another driven groan, captured her hips and drew her hard against his powerful erection. ‘What did you do to it?’

  ‘I ate too many biscuits,’ Holly muttered truthfully, and he gave a laugh.

  ‘I love your sense of humour. And from now on you can expect to receive a box of your favourite kind of biscuits on a daily basis.’

  Slightly stunned that he actually seemed to love her worst feature, and trying not to be shocked by his unashamed sexuality, Holly was about to speak when his mouth collided with hers again and sparks exploded inside her head. It was like being the centre piece at a fireworks display, and she gave a disbelieving moan that turned to a gasp as her shirt fell open and her bra slid onto her lap.

  ‘Are these also the result of the famous biscuit-diet?’ An appreciative gleam in his eyes, he transferred his attention from her bottom to her breasts. ‘Dio, you’re so fantastic I’m not even thinking about anything else while I’m with you.’

  Something about that comment struck a slightly discordant note in her dazzled brain. Before she could dissect his words in more detail, he dragged his fingers across one nipple and shockwaves of pleasure sliced through her body. Then he lowered his dark head and flicked her nipple with his tongue.

  Tortured by sensation, Holly’s head fell back. Inhibitions blown to the wind by his expert touch, driven to the point of explosion by his vastly greater experience, she knew she was completely out of control and didn’t even care. She felt like a novice rider clinging to the back of a thoroughbred stallion.

  The burning ache in her pelvis grew to unbearable proportions, and she ground herself against him with a whimper of need. Desperate to relieve the almost intolerable heat that threatened to burn her up, she dug her nails into his shoulders.

  ‘Please—oh—please.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ His eyes were two narrow slits of fire, his jaw hard, streaks of colour highlighting his cheekbones as he scanned her flushed cheeks and parted lips. Then he flattened her to the table and came down over her, the muscles in his shoulders bunched as he protected her from his weight.

  Feeling as though she’d been dropped naked onto a bonfire, Holly gave a low moan that he smothered with a slow, purposefully erotic kiss.

  ‘You are the most delicious thing that has ever been put on my table, my gorgeous waitress,’ he murmured, his desperately clever fingers reaching lower. The intimacy of his touch brought another gasp to her lips and the gasp turned to a low moan as he explored her with effortless skill and merciless disregard for modesty.

  ‘Are you protected?’ His husky question didn’t begin to penetrate her dazed brain, and she made an unintelligible sound, her legs tightening around his back, her body arching off the table in an attempt to ease the fearsome ache he’d created.

  His mouth came down on hers again and she felt his strong hands close around her hips. He shifted his position, tilted her slightly, and then surged into her with a decisive thrust that drew a disbelieving groan from him and a shocked gasp from Holly.

  An explosion of unbelievable pleasure suddenly splintered into pain, and her sharp cry caused him to still instantly.

  Pain and embarrassment mingled in equal measure and for a moment Holly dug her nails hard into his shoulders, afraid to move in case moving made it worse. And then suddenly the pain was gone and there was only pleasure—dark, forbidden pleasure that beckoned her forwards into a totally new world. She moved her hips restlessly, not sure what she wanted him to do, but needing him to do something.

  There was the briefest hesitation on his part while he scanned her flushed cheeks, then he surged into her again, but this time more gently, his eyes holding hers the whole time as he introduced her to an intimacy that was new to her. And it was pleasure such as she’d never imagined. Pleasure that blew her mind.

  She didn’t know herself—her body at the mercy of sensual pleasure and the undeniable skill of an experienced male.

  Controlled by his driving thrusts, she raced towards a peak and then was flung high into space, stars exploding in her head as he swallowed her cries of pleasure with his mouth, and reached his own peak with a triumphant groan.

  Gradually Holly floated back down to earth, aware of the harshness of his breathing and the frantic beating of her own heart. He’d buried his face in her neck, and Holly focused on his glossy dark hair with glazed vision and numb disbelief.

  Had that really just happened?

  Swamped by an emotion that she couldn’t define, she lifted her hand and tentatively touched him, checking that he was real.

  She felt an immediate surge of tension through his powerful frame and heard his sharp intake of breath. Then he lifted his head, stared down into her eyes.

  To Holly it was the single most intimate moment of her life, and when he opened his mouth to speak her heart softened.

  ‘The match has started,’ he drawled flatly. ‘Thanks to you, I’ve missed kick-off.’

  Keeping his back to th
e girl, Casper stared blankly through the glass of the President’s Suite down into the stadium, struggling to regain some measure of control after what had undoubtedly been the most exciting sexual encounter of his life.

  On the pitch below, England had possession of the ball, but for the first time in his life he wasn’t in his seat, watching the game.

  Which was something else that he didn’t understand.

  What the hell was going on?

  Why wasn’t he rushing to watch the game?

  And since when had he been driven to have raw, uncontrolled sex on a table with an innocent woman?

  Innocent.

  Only now was he realising that all the signs had been there. And he’d missed them. Or had he ignored them?

  Either way, he was fully aware of the irony of the situation.

  He’d had relationships with some of the world’s most beautiful, experienced and sophisticated women, but none of them had made him feel the way she had.

  This was possibly the first time he’d enjoyed uncomplicated, motiveless sex. Sex driven by sheer, animal lust rather than human ambition.

  Yes, the girl had known he was a prince.

  But he was experienced enough to know that she’d wanted him as a man.

  Hearing the faint brush of clothing against flesh, he knew she was dressing. For once he was grateful for the iron self-control and self-discipline that had been drilled into him in his few years in the army, because that was the only thing currently standing between restraint and a repeat performance.

  It must have been novelty value, he reflected grimly, his shoulders tensing as he heard her slide her feet into her shoes. That was the only explanation for the explosive chemistry they shared.

  Which left them where, precisely?

  He turned to find her watching him, and the confusion in her beautiful green eyes turned to consternation as a discreet tap on the door indicated that his presence was required.

  The girl threw an embarrassed glance towards the door and frantically smoothed her skirt over her thighs. It was obvious from the uneven line of buttons on her shirt that she’d dressed in a hurry, with hands that hadn’t been quite steady. Her hair was still loose, spilling over her narrow shoulders like a fall of autumn leaves, a beacon of glorious colour that effectively announced their intimacy to everyone who saw her.

  Focusing on her soft mouth, Casper felt a sudden urge to power her back against the table and lose himself in her incredible body one more time.

  ‘They’ll be waiting for you in the royal box.’ Her husky voice cut through his disturbingly explicit thoughts, and she hesitated for a moment and then walked over to him.

  ‘Y-your Highness—are you all right?’

  Casper stared down into warm green eyes, saw concern there, and suddenly the urge not to let her go was almost painful. There was something hopeful and optimistic about her, and he sensed she hadn’t yet discovered that life was a cold, hard place.

  Her smile faltered as she studied the grim set of his features. ‘I guess this is what you’d call a bit of an awkward moment. So—well—’ she waved a hand ‘—I have to get back to work and you—well…’ Her voice tailed off and her white teeth clamped her lower lip. Then she took a deep breath, closed the gap between them, stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the mouth. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you for what you’ve given me.’

  Caught by surprise, Casper stood frozen to the spot, enveloped by a warm, soft woman. She tasted of strawberries and summer and an immediate explosion of lust gripped his body.

  So he wasn’t dead, then, he thought absently, part of him removed from what was happening. Some things he could still feel.

  And then he heard a massive cheer from the crowd behind him and knew instantly what had happened.

  Not so innocent, he thought grimly. Not so innocent that she didn’t know how to work the press to her advantage. She was kissing him in the window, in full view of the cameras covering the game and the crowd.

  Cameras that were now focusing on them.

  She might have been sexually inexperienced, but clearly that hadn’t prevented her from having a plan.

  Surprised that he was still capable of feeling disillusioned and furious with himself for making such an elemental mistake, Casper locked his fingers round her wrists and withdrew her arms from his neck.

  ‘You can stop now. If you look behind me, I think you’ll find that you’ve achieved your objective.’

  Confusion flickered in her eyes and then her attention fixed on something behind him. ‘Oh my God.’ Her hand covered her mouth. ‘H—how did you know?’ Her voice was an appalled whisper and she glanced at him in desperate panic. ‘They filmed me kissing you. And it’s up on the giant screens.’ Her voice rose, her cheeks were scarlet, and her reluctant glance towards the stadium ended in a moan of disbelief. ‘They’re playing it again and again. Oh God, I can’t believe this—it looks as though I’m—and my hair is all over the place and my bottom looks huge, and—everyone is looking.’

  His eyes on the pitch, Casper watched with cool detachment as his friend, the England captain, hit a post with a drop-goal attempt.

  ‘More importantly, you just cost England three points.’

  With cold detachment, he realised that he was now going to have to brief his security team to get her out of here, but before he could speak she gave him a reproachful look and sped to the door.

  ‘Do not leave this room,’ Casper thundered, but she ignored him, tugged open the door, slipped between two of his security guards and sprinted out of sight.

  Unaccustomed to having his orders ignored, Casper stood in stunned silence for a few precious seconds and then delivered a single command to his Head of Security. ‘Find her.’

  ‘Can you give me her name, Your Highness?’

  Casper stared through the door. ‘No,’ he said grimly. ‘I can’t.’

  All he knew was that she clearly wasn’t as innocent as he’d first thought.

  Feeling nothing except a desperate desire to hide from the world, Holly sprinted out of the room, shrinking as she passed a television screen in time to overhear the commentator say, ‘Looks like the opening score goes to Prince Casper.’

  Hurtling down the stairs, she ran straight into her boss, who was marching up the stairs towards the President’s Suite like a general leading an invading army onto enemy territory.

  ‘Sylvia.’ Her breath coming in pants, Holly stared at the other woman in horrified silence, noticing the blaze of fury in her eyes and the tightness of her lips.

  ‘How dare you?’ Sylvia’s voice shook with anger. ‘How dare you humiliate me in this way? I picked you especially because I thought you were sensible and decent. And you have destroyed the reputation of my company!’

  ‘No!’ Horribly guilty, overwhelmed by panic and humiliation, Holly shook her head. ‘They don’t even know who I am, and—’

  ‘The British tabloid press will have your name before you’re out of the stadium,’ Sylvia spat. ‘The entire nation heard the commentator say “That’s one girl who isn’t lying back thinking of England”. If you wanted sleazy notoriety, then you’ve got it.’

  Holly flinched under the verbal blows, feeling as vulnerable as a little rowing boat caught in a heavy storm out at sea. What had she done? This wasn’t a little transgression that would remain her private secret. This was—this was…‘Prince Casper has kissed lots of women,’ she muttered. ‘So it won’t be much of a story—’

  ‘You’re a waitress!’ Sylvia was shaking with anger. ‘Of course it’s a story!’

  Holly stared at her in appalled silence, realising that she hadn’t once given any thought to the consequences of what they were doing. She hadn’t thought at all. It had been impulse, chemistry, intimacy; she bit back a hysterical laugh.

  What was intimate about having your love life plastered on sixty-nine-metre screens for the amusement of a crowd of eighty-two thousand people?

  She swallowed painfu
lly. ‘Sylvia, I—’

  ‘You’re fired for misconduct!’

  Her world crumbling around her, Holly was about to plead her case when she caught sight of Eddie striding towards them, his face like a storm cloud.

  Unable to take any more, Holly gasped another apology and fled towards the kitchens. Heart pounding, cheeks flaming, she grabbed her bag and her coat, changed into her trainers and made for the door.

  Nicky intercepted her. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Feeling dazed, Holly looked at her helplessly. ‘Home. Anywhere.’

  ‘You can’t go home. It’s the first place they’ll look.’ Brisk and businesslike, Nicky handed her a hat and a set of keys. ‘Stick the hat on and hide that gorgeous hair. Then go to my flat.’

  ‘No one knows who I am.’

  ‘By now they’ll know more about you than you do. Go to my flat, draw the curtains and don’t answer the door to anyone. Have you got the money for a cab?’

  ‘I’ll take the bus.’ Too shocked to argue, Holly obediently scooped her hair into a bunch and tucked it under the hat.

  ‘No way.’ Nicky stuffed a note in her hand. ‘Get a taxi—and hope the driver hasn’t seen the pictures on the screen. Come to think of it, sit with a hanky over your nose. Pretend you have a cold or something. Go, go, go!’

  Realising that she’d set into motion a series of events that she couldn’t control, Holly started to walk towards the door when Nicky caught her arm.

  ‘Just tell me one thing,’ she whispered, a wicked gleam in her eyes. ‘The rumours about the prince’s talents—are they true?’

  Holly blinked. ‘I—’

  ‘That good, huh?’ Nicky gave a slow, knowing smile. ‘I guess that answers my question. Way to go, baby.’

  Ruthlessly focusing his mind on the game, Casper watched as the England winger swerved round his opponent and dived for the corner.

  The bored blonde gasped in sympathy. ‘Oh no, the poor guy’s tripped. Right on the line. Why is everyone cheering? That’s so mean.’