Part 13 (2/2)
”I'm quite sure.” The brim of his baseball cap tipped at an angle that partially hid their faces from the beach, adding to the thrill of the forbidden. She willed herself to keep her wits about her, but when his mouth found hers, the desire she'd kept so carefully bottled up since the weekend they'd made love overwhelmed her. All she could think of was his kiss, his warmth, his fingers curling into the hair at the back of her head. The unfamiliar scratch of his stubble against her face along with the sweet familiarity of his tongue coaxing her to invite him in.
But was there love in his kiss? Her overloaded mind couldn't tell. Though on one level she knew she should pull back, desire drove her fingers to cross the short distance to his knees, gliding over the soft fabric to explore the corded muscles of his thighs.
”What else can I do to convince you?” he whispered before angling his mouth to deepen the kiss.
He tasted like pure bliss. Suns.h.i.+ne. Heat. The promise of utterly divine s.e.x.
The barest hint of his cologne-or was it his soap?-tickled her senses, along with the scent that only belonged to him, the scent that had lingered in her pillowcase the night after they'd made love in her bed.
She could get lost in him. The frightening part was that the idea of surrender didn't frighten her as much as it should.
She eased away, though her fingertips remained on his shoulder. ”Maybe we shouldn't do this here.”
”Your suite isn't far.”
”No, it wouldn't be-”
In her peripheral vision, she caught sight of a man moving along the beach. Instinct made her turn and look.
He held a long-lens camera to his eye. It pointed straight at them.
Chapter Twenty.
The closer she and Stefano got to the hotel, the more fight-or-flight nausea roiled Megan's stomach.
”Smile and wave goodbye as if we're friends out for a Sunday afternoon stroll, then go inside,” Stefano instructed as they rounded a stand of palm trees and low tropical plants bordering the hotel. He'd replaced his sungla.s.ses and pulled the brim of his hat a little lower, but his voice sounded as if he hadn't a care in the world. ”I'll be at your suite in a few minutes.”
She did as he asked, then opened a side door and entered the air-conditioned hallway leading to the lobby. Only when the heavy gla.s.s door was firmly closed behind her did she dare turn and look. The man with the camera was nowhere in sight. Neither was Stefano.
Adrenaline pumped through her system double-time as she leaned against the cool interior wall. How could she be so stupid as to take a risk like that? The mystery man could have been a tourist or seaside bird-watcher. But more and more, she feared a member of the paparazzi finally recognized Stefano. If so, what had he photographed?
She closed her eyes and flexed her fingers in a quick effort to clear her brain. Only time would tell what images the man captured and where they'd appear. There was absolutely nothing she could do about it now.
Straightening her shoulders, she made her way down the hall and entered the expansive lobby, nodding to members of the staff and smiling at guests gathered in the rotunda area. Everything appeared normal. The bartender in the corner lounge was engaged in an animated conversation about soccer, bellboys whisked luggage trolleys to waiting guests, and the concierge scoured a book of restaurant menus for a young couple. Two children dodged in and out of the velvet rope that sectioned off the check-in area as their parents picked up room keys.
”Excuse me, Ms. Hallberg?”
Megan spun to see a young woman wearing a desk clerk's uniform cross the lobby toward her. ”Yes. It's Cristina, right?”
”Yes.” She'd only been working at the hotel a week and appeared pleased to be recognized. ”Santi stopped by the desk about two hours ago and asked if I'd seen you. Did he find you?”
Strange for him to seek her out on a weekend. Unless there was a last-minute snag with the dining arrangements for a weekend event, he wouldn't. ”No, I've been away. Did he say what it was about?”
”Only that if I saw you, I should tell you that he's looking for you.” She pursed her lips, thinking. ”He did seem preoccupied, but I couldn't say why.”
”Thank you, Cristina. I'll call him in a few minutes.”
”All right. Oh, and Ms. Hallberg? Great dress.”
Unwilling to linger in the lobby, Megan thanked Cristina for the compliment, then took the elevator up to her floor. Within seconds of keying into her suite, a light knock came at the door. She opened it to admit Stefano.
”Well,” she said once they were in her entry hall with the door closed. ”That couldn't have been good.”
”If it makes you feel any better, I didn't recognize the guy.” He took off his sungla.s.ses and ball cap and scrubbed a hand over his head, absently fixing the dark hair his hat had mussed. ”I'm able to identify most of the photographers who are a.s.signed to cover my family. He might've been a tourist snapping photos of the beachfront buildings.”
”With that camera?”
”Unlikely,” he admitted as they made their way toward the living area. ”But I find a healthy dose of optimism the best way to handle these incidents.”
”I suppose.” She wanted to share Stefano's confidence, but her words sounded hollow. Another paparazzi photo of Stefano wouldn't affect his day-to-day life. To her, it could change everything.
He set his hat and sungla.s.ses on the kitchen counter, then stepped toward her to take both her hands in his. His skin still held the warmth of the afternoon sun. ”Optimism aside, here are the facts: He wasn't on my flight yesterday morning, nor was he at the park today. Neither of us noticed him when we were sitting on the bench looking out at the beach. Correct?”
”Correct.”
Rea.s.surance filled his voice as he continued, ”That means Anna was long gone by the time he starting taking pictures. On top of that, I don't look like myself and the bench was partially shaded, so even with that lens, photographs taken from that distance will leave room for doubt. So if it was a paparazzo, and if his photos are published, I'll ignore them. No confirmation or denial from the palace means that they weren't worth comment, which means most people won't believe the man in the photo is me. It will end up being another celebrity tidbit that disappears into the ether.”
She flexed her fingers in Stefano's as she studied his face, taking in the expressive black-ringed green eyes with tiny crinkles at the corners, the high, tanned cheekbones, and the firm line of his jaw. He was so strong, so sure, that she wanted to believe him. But how could anyone not see that the gorgeous, charismatic man before her was Stefano Barrali? If that lens was half as powerful as she suspected, someone who might not recognize him in pa.s.sing on the street would look at the photos and say, wow, Prince Stefano looks different with the stubble. Not, no way that's the prince.
As he'd pointed out to her more than once, he wasn't recognized on the street because no one expected to see him, especially in casual dress. A tabloid photo trumpeting his name was an entirely different matter.
If she was snapped kissing the prince and publicly identified, what would it do to her career? To Anna?
Stefano grimaced at her worried expression.
”You're used to this,” she countered. ”I'm not. As much as I knew this was inevitable, I can't help worrying. I thought I'd have more time before having to deal with anything like this.”
”I understand. In fact, I'd be surprised if you didn't worry. But I told you that I'd do everything in my power to ensure you and Anna aren't hurt. And I keep my promises.” He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a warm kiss to the tips of her fingers one by one. ”Speaking of which, we were in the middle of an important conversation when we were interrupted. I was trying to convince you of...something.” He maintained eye contact as he moved his mouth to her wrist, a barely-banked fire lurking in his heavy-lidded gaze. ”The car service won't be here for an hour, which gives us plenty of time to discuss my proposal. Ask me anything you want.”
”Anything?” Do you love me?
”Anything. I want you to trust me.” He grinned. ”Though a single word from you could end the discussion so we can move on to other activities, if you prefer.”
Yes.
The word popped into her head unbidden. She'd put off giving him a definitive answer for weeks now, unwilling to repeat her original response of, ”I can't imagine an answer other than no” precisely because she could imagine it. She'd hoped some magic moment would push her one way or the other. The idea of marriage to Stefano seemed so monumental. Larger than the two of them. Yet deep in her soul, she knew she didn't belong with anyone else and never would. Fate, kismet, whatever it was that led him back to her after so many years, being with Stefano felt amazing both then and now. No other man stirred her this way, and though he didn't say the words she longed to hear, she suspected he felt the same about her.
But could it last?
It struck her then that that was why she'd procrastinated. She'd worried Stefano's visits would stop once they became inconvenient. He'd lose interest in her or in making them a true family. Real life in Sarcaccia would cause his enthusiasm for weekend trips to wane.
She'd wanted him to prove himself. After all her years alone, she didn't want risk being hurt. But would she hurt herself more by not taking a risk? If nothing else, being followed on the beach should teach her one thing: She couldn't live in limbo forever.
”Your brain is working too hard,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and melding his body to hers.
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