Page 4 of Twins For His Majesty (Royally Tempted #1)

D AWN STIRRED ACROSS the kingdom, like the breathing of fresh life into the night, a whisper and a kiss, light and gentle. Darkness turned to silver and then to mauve, before a hint of gold glimmered across the city, drawing Phoebe’s eyes to the palace, which she glimpsed through the window.

What had seemed so natural and easy the night before now slammed into her with a growing sense of awe.

What had she done?

And why ?

Phoebe had never had a one-night stand before in her life.

In fact, she’d only been with one other man, whom she believed herself to be engaged to—little had she known, he was actually already married.

But to Phoebe, it had been real, and she’d thought herself in love, and their intimacy had been a natural progression of that.

Last night with King Octavio had been something else entirely.

Something wild and passionate, something quite feral, as if they were simply animals, unable to keep their hands off each other.

Maybe it had started out as something else.

Comfort? Sharing grief? An understanding of life’s cruellest losses?

But within minutes it had escalated. They’d torn clothes from one another, tangled arms and legs, lips meshed, bodies fused by a desperate, aching need that had refused to abate.

The first time they were together had been wild and manic, but there’d been no answering calm afterwards.

No sense of satiation. It had simply morphed into a different type of need, this time, a compulsion to explore slowly, to almost torment one another by holding back until they were once more at fever pitch.

He’d kissed her all over, his mouth ravaging her breasts, her nipples, the sensitive skin just beneath her ear, her everywhere.

She pressed the palm of her hand to her lips to contain a moan.

Dawn was breaking and she was at work. She needed to get out of the clínica , go home, freshen up and then get back to work, all without anyone knowing how she’d spent the small hours of the morning.

Her heart was in her throat as she contemplated how exactly to handle the etiquette of the situation.

Last night, they’d agreed it was a one-night thing, and she’d been fine with that. She was still fine with it. Only, having known the mind-blowing pleasure that had been sex with Octavio, she was experiencing just a hint of remorse at the idea of leaving without one more kiss, one more everything…

But she had a shift starting in a few hours, which left just enough time to get home, shower, eat something and return.

As quietly as she could, she crept from the bed, easing one leg out first and then the other, watching him the whole time, waiting to see if he would stir, half hoping he would even as she did her best to be quiet.

He didn’t.

The combination of yesterday’s grief and last night’s activities must have worn him out, because she’d have put money on him ordinarily being an early riser. There was an intensity to him that made her think he was the kind of man who wouldn’t want to waste a moment of the day.

Her clothes were in the lounge room, where they’d been flung the night before. She pulled them on quickly, tidied her hair, pinched her cheeks, then paused only to check her reflection in the mirror.

Phew.

She looked completely normal. There was no outward way to deduce how she’d spent last night.

Her handbag was still in the locker room, she realised with a groan, and she’d need it to get into her place. A slight complication, but she’d just have to try not to be seen by anyone who knew her well enough to be familiar with her shifts.

She crept out of the suite, shutting the door behind her as softly as possible, then moving quickly down the plush, carpeted corridor, head bent the whole way.

By some miracle, she managed it. Not only to retrieve her handbag, but also to slip out of the staff doors of the clínica without running into anyone she knew. She barely breathed until she’d boarded the bus that would take her within a few blocks of the apartment she was renting temporarily.

As she showered and dressed, her mind kept flashing back to last night. To the way he’d been with her. The way he’d kissed her and touched her as though she were the most perfect, rare, beautiful object in the world.

What a gift, to be able to make a woman feel like that. She’d never known anything like it.

She probably never would again.

She dismissed the thought. She wasn’t thinking about men or relationships right now.

God knew, she’d been so badly burned by Christopher, she wasn’t sure she’d ever trust anyone ever again.

She couldn’t so much as think of her ex without a horrible, all-consuming sense of shame.

That she’d been ‘the other woman’, while he’d been married, got his wife pregnant, seen his first child born, and his second, all the while stringing Phoebe along, treating her like a first-rate idiot.

And she had been an idiot, utterly and completely.

He’d been such an accomplished liar, though, it wasn’t really that she was stupid. Just that she’d been alone and lonely and wanted to feel loved, and he’d offered her so much of that.

Memories of Christopher were just the antidote she needed to the swoony feelings Octavio had invoked. All men were bastards, she thought with satisfaction, as she dressed in her other uniform and prepared to return to work.

His first waking thought that day had been born of desire.

He’d reached for Phoebe automatically, his arm stretching across the bed, his fingers seeking, wanting, needing, only to connect with the empty sheets.

A cursory glance at the suite had shown him to be alone, and his instant reaction had been a visceral sense of disappointment before he’d told himself he should be relieved.

Despite his clarity the night before, there’d been a part of him that had worried she might want more than he was offering, that she might get the wrong idea. She was a cleaner in a hospital and he was royalty—was it possible she harboured some kind of romantic Cinderella notion?

Evidently not.

She’d disappeared, leaving no note, no number, nothing.

Until now. Standing in the foyer of the clinic, he listened as the director spoke gently.

‘As there are no complicating factors, your uncle’s body will be released as soon as you convey your wishes as to the funeral preparations. If you should wish for any further medical information, please—’

At that moment, there was a loud crash. One of his security agents had knocked an enormous vase of flowers to the tiled floor, leaving a cascade of water and stems in disarray.

‘I’m so sorry, Your Majesty. Please excuse me a moment.’

Dr Garcia moved quickly, her heels clacking over the floor, and it was then that he saw her.

Phoebe James.

Phoebe James, who loved to be kissed just above her hip bone.

Phoebe James, who had loved being on top last night, her body arching as she took him deep inside, her breasts so perfect and full, he hadn’t been able to stop staring at them.

Phoebe James, who’d run her hands all over him and moaned his name at the top of her lungs.

Phoebe James, with huge green eyes that were very determinedly not looking at him now, no matter how much he willed it.

Phoebe James, who was being instructed by her boss to clean up the mess his guard had just made.

Oh, for Christ’s sake.

It was her job as a cleaner to clean things, but the sight of her scuttling across the tiles and scooping down, picking up the stems first and then moving on to the broken glass had him wanting to shout something.

To force her to stop. The broken vase shouldn’t be her responsibility.

And he definitely shouldn’t care this much, he admitted to himself.

Not for some woman he’d just met and would never see again.

But there was something about her that fired all his protective instincts to life.

So, when Lola, the director, returned to continue their conversation, he directly addressed the broken vase. ‘That should not be your cleaner’s responsibility. My guard knocked it—he will take care of it.’

‘It’s fine, Your Majesty. These things happen.’

Impotence grew inside of him. But how could he argue the point further without revealing something more?

He had been worried about his own privacy the night before, but now he considered Phoebe’s job.

She had been such a stickler for convention initially; she hadn’t even wanted to use his first name.

He listened as Lola continued to outline the protocols from here, but his eyes kept straying to Phoebe, and he was sure she knew he was watching, because her cheeks began to glow pink. At one point, a piece of glass cut her finger and he had to bite back a curse.

It was too much.

He strode across the tiles, uncaring for what Lola might think, and crouched beside Phoebe. Up close, memories of last night throbbed in his gut and spread through his whole body, so when he spoke his voice was raw with hunger. ‘Let me help you.’

Startled, she looked at him, her lips parting. It was a mistake.

A huge mistake.

He couldn’t help but stare at them, and the memories came thick and fast now.

What would she say if he pulled her into his arms and kissed her until she was moaning against him, as she had the night before, begging for him to take her?

He tamped down on that very real temptation.

It would obviously be one of the stupidest things he could do, and Octavio was not stupid.

Nor was he controlled by his libido. Generally.

‘You’re bleeding.’

‘Go away.’

‘You’re hurt.’

‘It’s nothing, please .’

‘Phoebe—’

‘Don’t,’ she hissed, her eyes flashing past him, to the hospital director and whomever was watching. ‘Please don’t,’ she whispered, plastering a bright smile on her face. ‘This is my job.’

But he hated that.