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Her smile broadened. “I feel the same way, Juan Carlos. I’m bursting inside.”
He brought her down to earth gently, her boots gracing the sacred grounds. And his lips sought hers instantly, kissing her mouth, chin, cheeks and forehead. His hands sifted through her hair and his dark, luscious eyes bored into her. “Do you have any idea how much I love you, Portia? I do. I love you, Princess. With all my heart.”
“Oh, Juan Carlos, I love you, too.” And there it was. Her truth. Her honest feelings poured out of her in this instant of happiness and joy. She could no longer hide away from the sensations rocking her from head to toe. The words she spoke were not damning, but blissful and joyous. She loved Juan Carlos Salazar II, King Montoro of Alma.
“You do? You love me?” His grin spoke to her heart in a language all its own. His was the sweetest of tones, as if he was in total awe of her love.
She nodded eagerly. “I love you.”
He lifted her up and twirled her around once more before he set her down. His kiss this time made her dizzier than a dozen spins in his arms. His mouth claimed her, his lips demanding, his tongue penetrating through to sweep in and conquer. Her knees wobbled and she sought his sturdy shoulders for balance, her monumental declaration swaying both of them.
“Oh, Portia, my love. I cannot think of a life without you. Marry me. Be my wife. Be with me forever.”
The words rang in her ears. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t expected them to come, but the surprise came only in her answer. “Yes, Juan Carlos. I will marry you.”
* * *
The next morning, Portia woke in Juan Carlos’s arms, opening her eyes to a face she had come to love. Handsome, breathtaking and dynamic. He was a man who got things done. He’d certainly pursued her to the point of her complete compliance. How could she not fall in love with this man?
“Good morning, fiancée,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose.
“Hello, my love,” she said.
They’d celebrated in this very bed well into the night. There was champagne and candles and bone-melting caresses.
As she plopped her head against the pillow, the sheets pulled away, exposing her bare shoulders. Her eyes lifted to the ceiling, focusing on tiles that were chipping away. The farmhouse, old and neglected as it was, had undeniable charm. She sighed. “Is this real?”
“So real,” Juan Carlos said. “Here, feel my heart.”
He grasped her hand and placed it on his chest. Under her fingertips, life-sustaining beats pulsed through his veins. “I am real. A man who loves a woman.”
“But you are the king of Alma.”
“And you are the princess of Samforstand...we are meant to be, sweetheart. Can you not see how perfect this is? Fate has stepped in and brought the two of us together. I can only marry a woman of royal blood. And that’s you.” He brought her hand to his lips and tenderly kissed one finger, then another and another. “When I became king, marrying was the last thing on my mind. But then I saw you at the coronation and all bets were off.”
“And what if I weren’t a princess? Then what would you have done?”
“I would have...” He hesitated and sighed, bringing her up and over his body so that she straddled his thighs. He nipped at her lips and wove his fingers through her hair, eyeing the locks as if they were made of gold. “Luckily, I don’t have that burden.”
“No, you don’t,” she said, taking his hand and placing it on her chest. The heat of his palm warmed her breast and she squeezed her hand over his. “Feel my heart.”
His eyes filled with hunger and every cell in her body reacted to his sensual touch. “You are wicked, Princess.”
She chuckled. “You bring it out in me.”
“You see, we are a perfect match.”
“Are we?” She nibbled on her lip. She’d disobeyed her hard and fast rule of not falling for a high-profile man. You couldn’t get much higher than king. Was she destined to fame through association even though it’s the last thing she wanted?
“Let me show you again, so that you will never doubt it.”
His hands on her hips, he gently guided her over him and they welcomed the dawn with their bodies and hearts joined as one.
But her doubts remained, locked and hidden away, even as she agreed to marry him. Even as she claimed her love for him. Half an hour later, she was showered and dressed. She and Juan Carlos ate a quick breakfast of cereal and fruit, both anxious to get back to the cemetery site this morning. But Portia couldn’t forget her six charges. She walked into the living area with bowls of water and cat food in her hands and set them down by the fireplace hearth, where Duchess had taken up residence. “Here you go, girl.”
