She roped her arms around his neck and pulled him down with her. His thigh parted hers, but instead of taking her he lay beside her, burying his erection against her hip instead of inside her where she wanted it, needed it, craved it. She wanted him to hurry, but his hands mapped her body with slow precision, tracing each curve and indention, circling her aureole, her navel, her sex. She arched against him. He released her and twisted toward the nightstand.
Finally. She expected to see a condom in his hand. Instead, the bracelet she’d admired at the market rested on his palm. Her heart clenched. “Dominic, you shouldn’t have. But how did you…?”
“Ian purchased it for me. Accept this as a reminder of our time together.”
How could she refuse? “Thank you.”
She lifted her wrist. He slipped it on and then kissed each of her knuckles.
This feels like goodbye. A knot formed in her throat and her pulse skipped with alarm. “Dominic, are you leaving tomorrow?”
“No departure date has been set.” He sipped his way to her elbow, her shoulder, her neck. Madeline shoved aside her disquiet and lost herself in his passionate possession of her mouth. His hands seemed to be everywhere, arousing her, coaxing her, stroking her. She returned his embrace, sculpting the muscles of his shoulders, his back, his buttocks. His soft lips traveled over skin made more sensitive by the rasp of his evening beard.
Need spiraled inside her, coiling tighter and tighter until she squirmed beneath him. “Please.”
He rose over her and eased inside her one tantalizing inch at a time. No condom, a corner of her mind insisted. But condoms didn’t matter. She was protected. And she wanted to be as close to Dominic tonight as she possibly could be.
He withdrew and thrust deep. She countered his every move again and again until the tingles of orgasm, headier than that glass of expensive champagne, bubbled through her, racking her body with pleasure.
Dominic groaned her name against her neck and then crashed in her arms.
She held him tight.
And wasn’t sure she ever wanted to let him go. Madeline jolted upright in the bed.
Dominic’s bed.
She shoved her tangled hair out of her face and blinked, trying to clear her groggy mind and her vision. What had woken her? She looked around. No clue.
Dominic’s side. Empty. She smoothed a hand over the pillow. Cool. Checked the clock—11:00 a.m. She’d overslept. Oops.
A smile flitted across her lips. She’d had good reason for snoozing late. But now she’d have to hurry. Candace had a noon appointment with the bishop at St. Nicholas Cathedral and she wanted her wedding party to be there. That included Madeline.
Why hadn’t Dominic woken her as he’d done every other morning? With kisses and caresses and slow and easy lovemaking? Because she’d forgotten to tell him about the church thing and it wasn’t on the calendar she’d given him.
Unfamiliar masculine voices penetrated the closed bedroom door. She snatched the covers up to cover her nak*dness.
Dominic had company. She had to get dressed.
Her dress lay draped across the back of the chair instead of puddled on the floor where he’d dropped it. Her panties, hair clip, purse and shoes sat in the chair. She tossed back the covers, raced toward her clothing, scooped up the bundle and ducked into the lavish bathroom only to skid to a halt.
Eeek. Her hair resembled a frizzy string mop and the remnants of her makeup looked hideous. She dumped her stuff on the counter, quickly braided her hair and then bent to wash her face. She brushed her teeth with her finger and a dab of Dominic’s toothpaste. Better. Not great. Will have to do.
The bathroom light glinted on the bracelet. Her quick smile turned into a frown. Should she hide in here or leave?
Leave unless you want to arrive at the church looking like last night’s leftovers. She tugged on her clothing and stepped into her heels. The ensemble might have been fabulous last night, but at eleven in the morning it looked exactly like what it was—the outfit of a woman who’d spent the night.
“So,” Madeline mumbled to herself, “how are you going to get out of the suite?”
The only entrance lay through the sitting room. Past Dominic and his visitors. In last night’s wrinkled dress. Ugh.
She returned to the bedroom. She could still hear the voices, but it sounded as if the men had moved to the balcony—the balcony spanning the entire suite, including the bedroom. Her gaze darted to the window. Curtains closed. Whew.
The balcony. That could be good. She could slip out the front door while they were outside and maybe they wouldn’t see her. Still, she listened at the bedroom door for a few seconds before daring to slowly twist the knob and ease the panel open a couple of cautious inches.
“Wedding preparations will begin at once,” a male voice pronounced.
Wedding? Madeline peeked out the door. Dominic and two older men stood on the balcony. One, of perhaps sixty, had a thick head of silvered blond hair, Dominic’s erect posture and bone structure. The other was older, more wizened looking. A little bent. Bald.
She scanned the rest of the room and slammed into Ian’s dark stare. Her heart stuttered. He stood stiffly on the far side of the room. Uh-oh. Unless Dominic had told him, Ian hadn’t known she was here. She put a finger to her lips in the universal “be quiet” symbol. He didn’t respond with as much as a blink.
“And if I’m not ready to return?” Dominic asked. He wore last night’s clothing, but his black shirt and pants didn’t look as out of place as her cocktail dress. He hadn’t shaved and his hair looked as if it had only been finger-combed.
“You knew that as soon as your bride was chosen you would have to return home,” the thick-haired one replied.
Bride? Madeline’s world slowed to a standstill.
Bride? Her heart bolted into a racing rhythm. Dominic was getting married? To whom? Warmth—hope—filled her chest before she could stymie it.
Whoa. Where had that come from?
“I’m not ready. I need more time.” Dominic again.
“Why? So you can play here with your paramour? I have seen the papers and heard the reports. Do you think I don’t know where you were last night and with whom?” the regal guy asked.
Paramour. Madeline’s brain snagged on the word and her stomach plunged.
Paramour. Her.
Not the bride in question. The strength seeped from her limbs. She leaned weakly against the doorjamb and closed her eyes. The tremor started deep inside and worked its way to her extremities.
What is your problem? You knew he wasn’t going to marry you. “I have promised to do as you wish, Father. I will take a bride. One of the council’s choosing. But I need more time.”
A bride of the council’s choosing? Her confused brain couldn’t make sense of that.
“Her family awaits your arrival,” baldy said. “Promises have been made and agreements signed. The jet will fly you to Luxembourg this afternoon. Your father has brought your grandmother’s engagement ring. You will propose tomorrow. A gala to announce and celebrate the engagement will take place next Saturday evening.”
Nausea. Dizziness. Rapid heart rate. Cold, clammy hands. Shock, Madeline diagnosed. She struggled to inhale, but it hurt too much. Pain sliced through her like an explosion of surgical blades.
What had Dominic said that day in the café? He wasn’t committed to anyone at this time? She remembered the exact words because she’d thought it an odd answer. As odd as him saying he wanted to share a bed for reasons other than duty, greed or fleeting attraction. She hadn’t understood then. She did now.
He’d been planning to marry all along. A woman of some mysterious council’s choosing.
She’d never been more to him than a way to pass the time while awaiting the name of his bride.
God, she hurt. Which made absolutely no sense.
Why? Why does it hurt so much? Because, fool, you fell in love with him. You knew this was temporary and that he was out of your reach. And you fell for him anyway. She bit her lip to stop a whimper of pain. She loved him.
Did you expect him to marry a commoner like Prince Rainier did? And what about virgins? Did you conveniently forget that Dominic, like Prince Charles, might have to marry a virgin? Her hands fisted and her nails dug into her palms. At some point her subconscious must have started believing in fairy tales. Otherwise she wouldn’t be feeling as if she’d been shoved off the deck of an ocean liner. Adrift. Drowning. Lost.
Ian. She suddenly remembered the unfriendly bodyguard. Her gaze found his. How often had he witnessed the crash of a woman’s world? A woman who’d fallen in love with his unattainable boss.
Hurt and humiliated, she silently closed the door, staggered back into the bedroom and braced her arms on the desk. How could she sneak out when she could barely walk?
She couldn’t face Dominic. Couldn’t look into his eyes and know that the man she loved was destined to marry someone else.
One more pertinent fact he’d neglected to mention.
She’d been nothing more to him than a vacation fling. A no-strings-attached affair.
A half laugh, half sob burst from her lips. She shoved her fist against her mouth to stifle the pitiful sound. He’d given her exactly what she asked for. And it was breaking her heart.
He may have avoided full disclosure, but she was the one who’d set up the parameters and then screwed up and broken the rules by falling in love. Sucking in a fortifying breath, she squared her shoulders. She would never let him know how badly he’d hurt her.
She sank into the chair, yanked open the desk drawer and extracted a piece of hotel stationery and a pen. The pen slipped from her fingers. Twice. Her hands shook so badly she could barely put the tip to the page.
Pull it together before Dominic comes in here and finds you wrecked. Gulping deep, painful breaths, she struggled for calm, the way she did when a heinous accident landed in her E.R.
She would not act like those shameless women who’d flung themselves at him at the ball. She wouldn’t beg for crumbs of his attention. She had too much pride for that. And she would cling to what was left of her tattered pride until her last breath.
What she needed was a cool, emotionless, nonnegotiable goodbye. A final goodbye. Because she didn’t want him to come looking for her. She couldn’t bear a face-to-face encounter because she didn’t think she could hide her feelings, and he would pity her if he figured out her secret. Or worse, he’d be patient and polite and detached—the way he’d been with the other women who’d made their availability so obvious.
Gritting her teeth, she formed each letter, each word, each painful phrase until she had nothing left to say. At least nothing she could or would print. And then she folded the stationery and rested her head on the desk.
Empty. She felt completely drained and empty inside.
As far as Dear Johns went, hers sucked. But she didn’t have time for another draft. She straightened and shoved the note into an envelope. Her mouth was too dry to lick the seal, so she tucked in the flap and earned herself a paper cut for her trouble. She sucked the stinging wound.
How fitting that her goodbye left her cut and bleeding. Dominic had cut out her heart without even trying.