Maybe she had taken the lead, but it didn’t mean she was in total control. Steph gasped when Raoul cupped his hand along the back of her neck and drew her head down, meeting her lips with his. The kiss was strong, sure, and devastating; a clash of mouths and tongues as they let desire sweep in. After only a few moments Stephani shifted, so that she was no longer sitting on his lap but straddling it, her knees pressed against the back of the chair and her bottom resting on his thighs. His hands cupped her there and she threaded her fingers through his hair. It was so thick, so soft. She’d always wondered, and now she knew.

His lips slid from her mouth to the hollow of her neck, and she gave a little cry as he nipped the tendon running from her neck to her shoulder. The chair was rather limiting for movement, but Raoul tilted his hips anyway and she strove to meet him.

Confused, cautious, whatever he wanted to call it—there was no mistaking what they were feeling right now. Desire. Turned on. She knew in her heart that Raoul hadn’t made love to anyone since Ceci’s death, and it had been even longer for her. She wanted him so badly she nearly wept with it.

But weeping would definitely be a mood killer, so instead she kissed him full on the mouth again before whispering, “We need to go inside.”

She gave a little squeak when Raoul didn’t answer but grabbed her bottom and stood, keeping her legs wrapped around his waist. “Open the damned door,” he growled, and she blindly reached behind him and hit the handle on the French door.

He backed them into the living room and then kicked the door shut with a definitive rattling of the glass. When he put her down on the sofa, she looked up and saw his nearly black eyes glittering at her. A dark thrill shot through her body, full of anticipation and want. Raoul dropped down on a knee on the cushion beside her, bracing himself up on his hands as he kissed her. It only took a few seconds for him to lower his body, the delicious length of him pressing her into the sofa.

She welcomed his weight, reveled in it. Hips to pelvis they rocked, mimicking the act she wished for so much but knew could not happen tonight. But she wasn’t going to stop yet. It felt too good. She’d waited too long.

Raoul sat up and made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, peeling it off his shoulders and discarding it on the floor. Stephani’s heart raced at the sight of him, and she scrambled to undo her own buttons until her blouse gaped open, revealing her barely there bra. Over and over her mind repeated that he was there for her. She was the one turning him on. She was the one he wanted to be with. It didn’t stop being surreal, no matter how often she thought it. She was overwhelmed with it not because of what he was but because of who he was.

No title. Just Raoul. Strong, sexy, capable. Her dream man that she’d thought she’d never have. And right now he was so totally hers.

When he lay on top of her again, it was to the sensation of skin to skin, warm and smooth. He flicked open the front clasp to her bra, baring her breasts to his gaze and then his mouth, drowning her in delight. He shifted on the sofa, slid his hand beneath her skirt and touched her. She lost all rational thought and simply went with the sensations created by his talented mouth and fingers.

Until they built to a peak and she crested, releasing a sharp, glorious cry.

When she opened her eyes, he was watching her with a soul-searing intensity. Her skirt was hiked up around her waist, and he reached for the button on his trousers. Stephani ached with wanting him, but she’d told herself over and over that this wouldn’t happen tonight.

“No, Raoul. We’re not ready for that.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw; she understood that he was extremely aroused and she was asking him to stand down. She couldn’t blame him; the lovely boneless feeling in her body right now was glorious. But for them to truly make love . . . he wasn’t ready. She wasn’t sure she was, either.

He let out a slow breath, adjusted himself, and sat down on the end of the sofa.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, sitting up and pulling her blouse over her naked breasts. “I let myself get carried away, and I got to . . . you know. And you didn’t. And that’s not really fair.”

He looked over at her. “I’ll be all right in a few minutes. Fairness doesn’t enter into it, Steph. You say stop, we stop.” He smiled a little and raised an eyebrow. “Though maybe you might want to fix your clothes. Seeing you like that isn’t exactly conducive to . . . deflation.”

The little wry grin was half amused, half chagrined, and Stephani laughed a little in return. She sat up, smoothed down her skirt, and turned a little bit away from his gaze to re-hook her bra and button her blouse.

When she turned back around, he’d reached for his shirt and was putting it on. He didn’t button it, though. Instead he leaned back into the cushions and spread one arm over the back of the sofa. “Come here,” he said quietly. “Let’s just sit for a bit.”

They did. She curled into his embrace and he toyed with her hair, playing with a few strands over and over until she got sleepy with the warmth and comfort of it. The silence should have been odd but it wasn’t. Instead it inspired an intimacy even greater than the one they’d just shared. Tenderness. How she’d craved it.

When his fingers stopped moving in her hair, she turned her head a bit and discovered he’d fallen asleep, his head back against the cushion, lips closed. He looked . . . peaceful. Relaxed. In a way she’d rarely seen since he’d become a widower, single parent, and future king.

She closed her eyes and decided to let him sleep.

* * *

Raoul stepped inside the great hall only to hear his father’s voice echo from the library. “Raoul, is that you?”

He sighed. He’d hoped to sneak up to bed. It was nearly midnight, but he’d fallen asleep on Stephani’s sofa and had slept for over two hours while she got up and cleaned up the dinner mess, then sat on the other end of the sofa with a book.

It had been disturbingly domestic, particularly on the heels of their earlier activity. He was still feeling a bit off balance from it all.

He stuck his head inside the doorway. “It’s me. Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Alexander smiled. “You didn’t. I’m sixty-two years old and sometimes I have trouble falling asleep. I decided to come down here instead.”

Worry worked its way into Raoul’s heart. “Are you feeling all right?” His father had slowed down lately, and there were times Raoul wondered about his color. There was a vitality that was sometimes missing.

Alexander nodded. “I’m fine, really. Just thinking, mostly.” He gave Raoul a sharp look. “And you’re out late.”

“I was in the city for dinner,” he explained. “I was just going to head up to bed.”

“Before you do . . .” Alexander got up from his plush chair. “Lucy called this evening. The children wanted to say good night to you.”

Raoul tensed. His father was fishing, as if he knew something was up. “I’m sorry I missed them, but I’ll see them tomorrow afternoon.”

“Diego checked in as well.”

Raoul frowned. His brother was on his honeymoon; why would he feel the need to phone? “Is everything all right?”

“I believe so. He wanted to get approval for some side program you two talked about, but I think Sofia is going to come see you about it tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry you ended up acting as my secretary, Padre. I’ll look after everything tomorrow.”

Alexander casually went to a table and poured himself a splash of Scotch. “Out for dinner, you say. What’s her name?” He smiled, raised an eyebrow, and gave Raoul a knowing stare.

This was why they wanted privacy. Raoul’s neck heated. Was he blushing? How embarrassing. He wasn’t a schoolboy. He was a grown man. He’d been married once before, had two children. Surely he could go on a dinner date without having to ask permission.

“It’s not like that,” he lied.

Alexander sipped at the amber liquid. “Of course it is, and I’m glad. You need to start dating again. As I’ve told you before, it’s better to rule with someone by your side rather than do it alone. You need to get married again. Have a queen.”

Raoul’s annoyance flared. “Better to rule alone than marry purely for the sake of marrying. I loved my wife. I may never love anyone that way again. It was just dinner. Let’s leave it at that, ¿sí?”

“I’ve made you angry.”

“It’s a sensitive topic. And one I don’t care to discuss at the moment.”

Alexander lifted his hand. “Okay. If I promise to back off, could you just let someone know where to reach you? Even Stephani. She has both your work and your social calendar, ¿sí?”

Raoul prayed his expression hadn’t changed at the mention of her name. She had his social calendar, all right. She’d been in charge this evening from start to finish, and he’d enjoyed every moment.

He nodded. “If it’s urgent, Marco always knows where I am. He knew tonight as well. Good night, Papá. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Raoul.”

He strode off in the direction of his rooms, went inside, and stripped down to take a shower. Afterward, dressed in a simple pair of blue boxers, he lay down on top of his bed and looked at his phone.

Messages from the children, via Imogen’s phone. He sent them a reply, apologizing for missing them and that he couldn’t wait to see them when they got home. He signed it with hugs and kisses.

An email from Diego, which required a longer response and that he’d answer in the morning.

And another text came in, the phone buzzing in his hand. He thought maybe it was Imogene, but when he tapped on the little envelope he saw it was Stephani.

Are you still up?

Yes, he typed back. Ran into my father. He asked questions.

What did you say?

He hesitated for a minute, then tapped on the little keyboard. I said I was out for dinner. He didn’t need to tell her about the rest of the conversation. She’d only get paranoid.

There was a bit of a break, and then another message came through. You’re very cute when you sleep.

He chuckled a bit, as he highly doubted anyone had ever described him as “cute.”

I must have been comfortable, he replied. Maybe a little too comfortable. He liked her apartment. Liked her cooking. She was slightly different in her own environment. More . . . at ease, perhaps.

He wondered if she’d disappeared, it took so long for her to answer. When she did, it was simply two words; a question left hanging.

About earlier . . .

Raoul’s body tensed, simply from the memory of holding her in his arms. She’d been warm and sweet, like Señora Ortiz’s dulce de leche, and amazingly open to him. His earlier thought came back to settle in his mind. He’d liked how she’d taken the lead. Admired her confidence. He also knew she’d been right to stop. His brain was already crowded with thoughts; if they’d slept together it only would have compounded his confusion. His body had demanded satisfaction, but she’d correctly recognized that they needed to take things slowly.

You were right, he typed. It’s too soon.

Once again, she didn’t answer right away, and he wondered if that had been the wrong response. Damn, it had been years since he’d had to worry about saying the wrong thing to a woman. He added, When it happens, I want it to be right.

When it happens. Did that mean it was a foregone conclusion? He rather thought it was. Rationally, he knew he should be able to date, to possibly even have a relationship, without marriage being an inevitable result. They could take their time. It wasn’t like there was a rush on for heirs, either. He’d satisfied that duty with Emilia and Max.

He flipped over to his side. Dating had to be so much easier when a person was ordinary. Most of the time the pressure that came with being next in line didn’t bother him so much. But sometimes, like tonight, he wished he could just be a regular man with a regular job trying to navigate the dating scene.

His phone buzzed again.

I want that too, she answered. Good night, Raoul. I’ll see you in the morning.

Yes, yes she would. And he’d lie awake for a long time, thinking of how on earth they could maintain a secret relationship within the castle walls.