Crown Prince's Chosen Bride Page 12

  It wasn’t that he found what she was saying boring. On the contrary, visiting Australia had long been on his ‘to do’ list. But Tristan found himself getting drowsy.

  For the last three nights he had slept badly, kept awake by thoughts of Gemma and how much he wanted her to be part of his life. Now she was next to him and they were together. Not for long enough, but it was more than he could have dreamed of. For the moment he was content. To drift off to the sound of her voice was a particular kind of joy...

  When he awoke, Gemma was skilfully negotiating her car down a series of hairpin bends on a narrow road where the Australian bush grew right to the sides.

  ‘You’ve woken just in time for our descent into the valley,’ she said. ‘Hold on—it’s quite a twisty ride.’

  The road wound through verdant rainforest and huge towering indigenous trees before emerging onto the valley floor. Tristan caught his breath in awe at the sight of a wall of rugged sandstone mountains, tinged red with the morning sun.

  ‘It’s magnificent, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘You should see it after heavy rain, when there are waterfalls cascading down.’

  The landscape alternated harshness with lush pastures dotted with black and white cattle. There was only the occasional farmhouse.

  ‘Do you wonder why I’m driving so slowly?’ Gemma asked.

  ‘Because it’s a narrow road?’ he ventured.

  ‘Because—ah, here they are. Look!’

  A group of kangaroos bounded parallel to the road. Tristan wished he had a camera. His smartphone was switched off, and he didn’t dare risk switching it back on.

  ‘You have to be careful in the mornings and evenings not to hit them as they cross the road.’ She braked gently. ‘Like that—right in front of the car.’

  One after the other the kangaroos jumped over a low spot in the fence and crossed the road. Halfway across, the largest one stopped and looked at him.

  ‘He is as curious about me as I am about him,’ Tristan whispered, not wanting to scare the creature. ‘I really feel like I am in Australia now.’

  ‘I promised you kangaroos in the wild, and I’ve delivered,’ Gemma said with justifiable triumph.

  While he could promise her nothing.

  * * *

  As Gemma showed Tristan around the three-bedroom, one-bathroom cottage, she wondered what he really thought of it. He was, after all, used to living in a castle. The royal castle of Montovia was splendid—as befitted the prosperous principality.

  Her internet research had showed her a medieval masterpiece clinging to the side of a mountain and overlooking a huge lake ringed by more snow-topped mountains. Her research had not shown her the private rooms where the family lived, but even if they were only half as extravagant as the public spaces Tristan had grown up in, they would be of almost unimaginable splendour.

  And then there was a summer palace, at the other end of the lake. And royal apartments in Paris and Florence.

  No doubt wherever he lived, he was waited on hand and foot by servants.

  But she would not be intimidated. She was proud of her grandma’s house—she and her cousins would probably always call it that, even though it was now their names on the deed of ownership.

  She loved how it had been built all those years ago by her grandfather’s family, to make the most of the gun-barrel views of the escarpment. To a prince it must seem very humble. But Gemma would never apologise for it.

  Tristan stood on the wide deck her grandfather had added to the original cottage. It looked east, to the wall of the escarpment lit by the morning sun, and it was utterly private. No one could see them either from the neighbouring property or from the road.

  Tristan put his arm around her to draw her close, and she snuggled in next to him. No more pretence that what they felt was mere friendship. She’d known when she’d invited him to spend his final weekend with her what it would lead to—and it was what she wanted.

  Tristan looked at the view for a long time before he spoke. ‘It’s awe-inspiring to see this ancient landscape all around. And to be able to retreat to this charming house.’

  She should have known that Tristan would not look down his princely nose at her beloved cottage.

  ‘I’ve always loved it here. My grandmother knew what the situation was with my stepfather and made sure I was always welcome whenever I wanted. Sometimes I felt it was more a home than my house in Sydney.’

  He turned to look back through the French doors and into the house, with its polished wooden floors and simple furnishings in shades of white.

  ‘Was it like this when your grandmother had it? I think not.’

  ‘Good guess. I loved my grandma, but not so much her taste in decorating. When I inherited with my cousins Jane and John—they’re twins—I asked Andie to show us what to do with it to bring it into the twenty-first century. Not only did she suggest stripping it back to the essentials and painting everything we could white, but she used the house as a makeover feature for the magazine. We got lots of free help in return for having the house photographed. We put in a new kitchen and remodelled the bathroom, and now it’s just how we want it.’

  ‘The canny Party Queens wave their magic wands again?’

  ‘You could put it like that.’

  He pulled her into his arms. ‘You’re an amazing woman, Gemma Harper. One of many talents.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Highness. And to think we’re only just getting to know each other... I have many hidden talents you have yet to discover.’

  ‘I’ve been keeping my talents hidden, too,’ he said. ‘But for no longer.’

  He traced the outline of her mouth with his finger, the light pressure tantalising in its unexpected sensuality. Her mouth swelled under his touch, and she ached for him to kiss her there. Instead he pressed kisses along the line of her jaw and down to the sensitive hollows of her throat. She closed her eyes, the better to appreciate the sensation. How could something so simple ignite such pleasure?

  She tilted back her head for more, but he teased her by planting feather-light kisses on her eyelids, one by one, and then her nose.

  ‘Kiss me properly,’ she begged, pressing her aching mouth to his.

  He laughed deep in his throat, then deepened the kiss into something harder and infinitely more demanding. She wound her arms around his neck to pull him closer, craving more. Her antennae thrummed softly—not in warning but in approval. She wanted him. She needed him. He was hers. Not forever, she knew that. But for now.

  This was the first time she had walked into a less-than-ideal relationship with her eyes wide open. It was her choice. With Tristan she had not been coerced or tricked. She just hoped that when the time came she would be able to summon the inner strength to let him go without damage to her heart and soul—and not spend a lifetime in futile longing for him.

  But she would not think of that now. Her mind was better occupied with the pleasure of Tristan’s mouth, his tongue, his hands skimming her breasts, her hips.

  He broke away from the kiss so he could undo the buttons of her shirt. She trembled with pleasure when his fingers touched bare skin. He knew exactly what he was doing, and she thrilled to it.

  ‘I haven’t shown you around outside,’ she said breathlessly. ‘There are horses. I know you like horses. More kangaroos maybe...’

  Oh! He’d pulled her shirt open with his teeth. Desire, fierce and insistent, throbbed through her. She slid his T-shirt over his head, gasped her appreciation of his hard, muscular chest.

  He tilted her head back to meet his blue eyes, now dark with passion. ‘How many times do I have to tell you? The only sight I’m interested in is you. All of you.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE SUNLIGHT STREAMING through the bedroom window told Gemma she had slept for several hours and
that it must be heading towards noon. She reached out her hand to find the bed empty beside her, the sheets cooling.

  But his lingering scent on the pillow—on her—was proof Tristan had been there with her. So were the delicious aches in her muscles, her body boneless with satisfaction. She stretched out her naked limbs, luxuriating in the memories of their lovemaking. Was it the fact he was a prince or simply because he was the most wonderful man she had ever met that made Tristan such an awesome lover?

  She wouldn’t question it. Tristan was Tristan, and she had never been gladder that she’d made the impulsive decision to take what she could of him—despite the pain she knew lay ahead when they would have to say goodbye.

  Better thirty-six hours with this man than a lifetime with someone less perfect for her.

  Her tummy rumbled to let her know the hour for breakfast was long past and that she’d had very little to eat the night before.

  The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted to her nostrils, and she could hear noises coming from the kitchen. She sat up immediately—now fully awake. Tristan must be starving, too. How could she have slept and neglected him? How could she have wasted precious time with him by sleeping?

  She leapt out of bed and burrowed in the top drawer of the chest of drawers, pulled out a silk wrap patterned with splashes of pink and orange and slipped it on. She’d given the wrap to her grandmother on her last birthday and kept it in memory of her.

  She rushed out to the kitchen to find Tristan standing in front of the open fridge, wearing just a pair of blue boxer shorts. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight. Could a man be more perfectly formed?

  He saw her and smiled a slow smile. The smile was just for her, and memories of their passionate, tender lovemaking came rushing back. The smile told her his memories of her were as happy. They were so good together. He was a generous lover, anticipating her needs, taking her to heights of pleasure she had not dreamed existed. She in turn revelled in pleasing him.

  All this she could see in his smile. He opened his arms, and she went straight to them, sighing with pleasure as he pulled her close and slid his hands under the wrap. His chest was warm and hard, and she thrilled at the power of his body. He hadn’t shaved, and the overnight growth of his beard was pleasantly rough against her cheek.

  For a long moment they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms. She rested her head against his shoulder, felt the steady thud of his heartbeat, breathed in the male scent of him—already so familiar—and knew there was nowhere else she would rather be.

  ‘You should have woken me,’ she murmured.

  ‘You looked so peaceful I did not have the heart,’ he said. ‘After all, you drove all the way here. And I only woke half an hour ago.’

  ‘I...I don’t want to waste time sleeping when I could be with you.’

  ‘Which is why I was going to wake you with coffee.’

  ‘A good plan,’ she said.

  ‘Hold still,’ he said as he wiped under her eye with his finger.

  ‘Panda eyes?’ She hadn’t removed her mascara the night before in the excitement of planning their escape.

  ‘Just a smear of black,’ he said. ‘It’s good now.’

  She found it a curiously intimate gesture—something perhaps only long-time couples did. It was difficult to believe she had only met him on Monday. And would be losing him by the next Monday.

  ‘You’ve been busy, by the look of it,’ she said.

  The table was set for a meal. She noticed he had set the forks and spoons face down, as she’d seen in France. The coffee machine hissed steam, and there were coffee mugs on the countertop.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course not. The kitchen is designed for people to help themselves. No one stands on ceremony up here. It’s not just me and my cousins who visit. We let friends use it, too.’

  ‘I went outside and picked fresh peaches. The tree is covered in them.’

  ‘You picked tomatoes, too, I see.’

  Her grandmother’s vegetable garden had been her pride and joy, and Gemma was determined to keep it going.

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘We could have breakfast, or we could have lunch. Whatever you choose.’

  ‘Maybe brunch? You’re going to cook?’

  ‘Don’t look so surprised.’

  ‘I didn’t imagine a prince could cook—or would even know his way around a kitchen.’

  ‘You forget—this prince spent time in the army, where his title did not earn him any privileges. I also studied at university in England, where I shared a kitchen with other students. I chose not to have my own apartment. I wanted to enjoy the student experience like anyone else.’

  ‘What about doing the dishes?’ she teased.

  ‘But of course,’ he replied in all seriousness. ‘Although I cannot say I enjoy that task.’

  She pressed a quick kiss to his mouth—his beautiful, sensual mouth which she had now thoroughly explored. He tasted of fresh, ripe peach. ‘Relax. The rule in this kitchen is that whoever cooks doesn’t have to do the dishes.’

  ‘That is a good rule,’ he said in his formal way.

  She could not resist another kiss, and then squealed when he held her close and turned it into something deeper, bending her back over his arm in dramatic exaggeration. She laughed as he swooped her back upright.

  He seemed so blessedly normal. And yet last night he had worn the ceremonial sash and insignia indicating his exalted place in a hereditary monarchy that stretched back hundreds of years. He’d hobnobbed with the highest strata of Sydney society with aplomb. It was mind-blowing.

  ‘The fridge and pantry are well stocked,’ she said. ‘It’s a long way up the mountain if we run out of something.’

  ‘I have already examined them. Would you like scrambled eggs and bacon with tomatoes? And whole-wheat toast?’

  ‘That sounds like a great idea. It makes a pleasant change for someone to cook for me.’

  ‘You deserve to be cherished,’ he said with a possessive arm still around her. ‘If only—’

  ‘No “if onlys”,’ she said with a sudden hitch to her voice. ‘We’ll go crazy if we go there.’

  To be cherished by him was an impossible dream...

  She was speared by a sudden shaft of jealousy over his arranged bride. Did that well-born woman have any idea how fortunate she was? Or was she so fortunate? To be married to a man in a loveless marriage for political expediency might not make for a happy life. As it appeared had been the case for Tristan’s parents.

  ‘So—what to do after brunch?’ she asked. ‘There are horses on the property that we’re permitted to ride. Of course they’re not of the same calibre as your polo ponies, but—’

  ‘I do not care what we do, so long as I am with you.’

  ‘Perhaps we could save the horses for tomorrow?’ she said. ‘Why don’t we walk down to the river and I’ll show you some of my favourite places? We can swim, if you’d like.’

  ‘I didn’t pack my swim shorts.’

  ‘There’s no need for swimsuits,’ she said. ‘The river is on our property, and it’s completely private.’

  A slow smile spread across his face, and her body tingled in response. Swimming at the river this afternoon might be quite the most exciting it had ever been. She decided to pack a picnic to take with them, so they could stay there for as long as they wanted.

  * * *

  Gemma woke during the night to find Tristan standing by the bedroom window. The only light came from a full moon that sat above the enormous eucalypts that bounded the garden. It seemed every star in the universe twinkled in the dark canopy of the sky.

  He was naked, and his body, silvered by the moonlight, looked like a masterpiece carved in
marble by a sculptor expert in the depiction of the perfect male form.

  Gemma slid out of bed. She was naked, too, and she slid her arms around him from behind, resting her cheek on his back. He might look like silvered marble but he felt warm, and firm, and very much a real man.

  ‘You okay?’ she murmured.

  He enfolded her hands with his where they rested on his chest.

  ‘I am imagining a different life,’ he said, his voice low and husky. ‘A life where I am a lawyer, or a businessman working in Sydney. I live in a water-front apartment in Manly with my beautiful party-planner wife.’

  She couldn’t help an exclamation and was glad he couldn’t see her face.

  ‘You know her, of course,’ he said, squeezing her hand. ‘She and I live a resort life, and she swims every day in the sea. We cross the harbour by ferry to get to work, and I dream of the day I can have my own yacht. On some weekends we come up here, just the two of us, and ride horses together and plan for the day that we...that we—’ His voice broke.

  He turned to face her. In the dim light of the moon his face was in shadow, but she could see the anguish that contorted his face.

  ‘Gemma, I want it so much.’ His voice was hoarse and ragged.

  ‘It...it sounds like a wonderful life,’ she said, her own voice less than steady. ‘But it’s a fantasy. As much a fantasy as that party planner living with you as a princess in a fairytale castle. We...we will only get hurt if we let ourselves imagine it could actually happen.’

  ‘There is... I could abdicate my role as crown prince.’

  For a long moment Gemma was too shocked to say anything. ‘You say that, but you know you could never step down from your future on the throne. Duty. Honour. Responsibility to the country you love. They’re ingrained in you. You couldn’t live with that decision. Besides, I wouldn’t let you.’

  ‘Sometimes that responsibility feels like a burden. I was not born to it, like my brother.’

  ‘But you will rise to it.’

  He cradled her face in his hands, looked deep into her eyes, traced the corner of her mouth with his thumb. ‘Gemma, you must know how I feel about you—that I am falling in lo—’