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‘But she’ll get used to it.’
Melissa nodded. ‘I guess,’ she said quietly.
He wondered if the reality of how curtailed her life would be from now on was sinking in at last—and how she was going to deal with it. There was also the question of how he was going to deal with the tousle-haired baby in her arms, who was looking up at him with fearless eyes. And Casimiro held his son’s gaze, his own slightly more troubled. Would he learn to know him, and to love him—as all fathers did their sons?
Amber eyes a shade lighter than his own were studying him intently and Casimiro suddenly realised that babies and children were no respecters of privilege or position. That they cared about who you were and not what you represented. Yet countless other men must have dealt with this kind of situation before. How had they coped?
He looked down at the child’s small limbs and tried to accept the somewhat unbelievable idea that one day this little creature would be as tall as he was.
‘Can he swim?’ he questioned suddenly.
‘No, of course not!’
‘Then I’m going to him teach him.’
And despite Melissa’s protests that thirteen months was much too young, Casimiro set about doing just that. A bodyguard was dispatched to purchase several sets of water-wings from heaven only knew where and Melissa realised with a start the subtle extent of her new husband’s power. Water-wings or palaces. Private planes or diamonds. Didn’t matter what it was—whatever the King wanted, the King got.
Yet as she watched Ben splashing around in the turquoise waters of the infinity pool, being lifted aloft by his powerfully built father, she couldn’t dampen down the faint spark of hope which began to flare inside her. For hadn’t that image been what she had always dreamed of? That Ben should have a father of his own—and a hands-on father, too? And perhaps learning to know and to love Ben might make Casimiro more approachable—so that he might lose that sometimes icy air of detachment which could be so intimidating.
She was nervous about their first proper shared meal as a family that night—but Ben was so overawed at being waited on and so worn out by swimming and by the presence of this interesting new adult that he behaved impeccably. No food was dispatched anywhere other than in the direction of his mouth. He even ate a sliced banana with a dexterity which made her glow with pride. Nothing whatsoever ended up in the King’s lap.
To Melissa’s surprise, Casimiro even volunteered to help at bath-time and she had to hide her bittersweet pleasure as she watched him wielding a little plastic watering can and tipping it over the baby’s head. She thought how ordinary he seemed—laughing as Ben splashed him with warm water—but there was an additional benefit to having a man around, she realised.
Although her aunt had been a fantastic babysitter, this was Melissa’s first real experience of sharing child-care and it made such a difference to a mother’s life. It was the little things which meant so much—like being able to dry her hair without Ben trying to swipe the hairdryer. Or being able to shut the door when she visited the bathroom.
She felt almost shy as she waited each night for her new husband to return from reading Ben a goodnight story, and shyer still when his fingers grazed over her skin. One evening, as he played idly with her breast, her hand began to tremble so much that he plucked the half-drunk glass of champagne from her fingers and put it down.
‘I don’t think you want this, do you?’
‘Not…not really, no.’
‘Then let’s go to bed.’
‘We can’t keep missing dinner.’
‘We can do whatever we want.’
‘No, Casimiro,’ she said firmly. ‘Actually, we can’t. The cook has gone to a lot of trouble to prepare a honeymoon feast. Tonight, let’s eat first and then go to bed.’
He raised his eyebrows in a challenge which was only half mocking. ‘Are you ordering me around, Melissa?’
‘Not at all. I’m saying what you know happens to be right.’
Unexpectedly, he laughed at her outrageous remark, unused to the sensation of being overruled by anyone—let alone a woman. Somehow he endured a dinner he could have easily forgone—though he couldn’t miss the smiles of delight bestowed on her by the staff who waited on them during the meal and concluded that Melissa had been right. But knowing that only seemed to increase his desire, so that by the time they reached their suite he could barely wait to undress her before he lost himself in the welcoming warmth of her soft body.
‘You made me wait,’ he declared unsteadily.
‘Aren’t you used to waiting, then, Casimiro?’
‘Never.’ But she was very good at resisting him, he realised—for hadn’t she refused to make love with him in her apartment back in England? And didn’t such proper—and unusual—resistance only make her surrender all the more exquisite? So that tonight she seemed to be composed of honey and silk—sliding through his fingers with slick sweetness.
Never had his exploration of a woman’s body seemed so thorough and complete. Her soft moans only increased his own pleasure—his orgasm shuddering on and on and on so that it felt as if she had stripped him bare…on every level. And later they lay there as moonlight streamed in and turned their bodies silver, his fingers locking lazily in the glossy tendrils of her hair.
By his side, Melissa stirred. ‘Are you awake?’
‘Mmm.’
‘You were…are…absolutely brilliant with Ben,’ she said softly. ‘Am I?’<
