Princess from the Shadows Maisey Yates Read Online Free PDF Page B

sometimes she wasn’t quite sure what to make of her new curves.
    Not that they were pin-up worthy or anything. But at least she could fill out the top of her dress now, with a little cleavage.
    She wondered what Rodriguez would think. If he would check her out. That made her cheeks feel hot. She tried to find some hold on her control, tried to keep in command of her body’s reaction.
    This is what happens when you give in. When you’re weak .
    That was what her father had shouted at her the day she’d told him she was pregnant. The day she’d told him who the father of her baby was through heartbroken sobs. It was so easy to feel the shame, the sick, crawling feeling of dirt on her skin, as she confessed the truth about Gabriel.
    She was determined never to be weak again.
    “Ready,” she said, turning away from her reflection, redirecting her thoughts.
    The door swung open and Rodriguez was there, leaning against the frame. He didn’t look last season, not even close.
    His crisp, white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a wedge of golden brown skin and just a little bit of dark chest hair. His dark hair was disheveled. He looked like a man who’d just come from his lover’s bed.
    She wrinkled her nose. She’d been upstairs for a couple of hours, it was entirely possible that he’d …
    “So, how was your evening?” she asked, stepping past him, out into the corridor.
    “Fine. I had some work to see to.”
    “Great.”
    “You?”
    “Luca seems settled in. I don’t know if he really understands that we’re staying here. But then, I guess that makes two of us.”
    “Three,” he said, walking ahead of her, taking the stairs two at a time. She followed as quickly as her kitten heels would allow.
    “You don’t feel at home here?”
    He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at the painted ceiling. “I never have.”
    “You could. redecorate.”
    A short laugh escaped his lips and he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks. “That’s almost like suggesting I paint over the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling. I mean, not quite, but as far as Santa Christobel and our history is concerned, it is.”
    “Well, that would be a bad idea then.”
    “Very likely.”
    He paused and turned to her, placing his hand on her lower back. She felt the heat of his touch blaze through her, like fire had ignited in her bloodstream, moving through her like a reckless spark on dry tinder.
    Was she so desperate for a man’s touch that such a simple thing could turn her on so quickly? Well, clearly she was. A man she didn’t even know, a man she wasn’t sure she liked. She truly was no better now than she’d been six years ago. It was still there, that reckless passion. The one she’d worked so hard to shove down deep, to lock away forever. It was a sobering, gutting realization.
    “This way,” he said, unaware of the turmoil his hand on her back had caused.
    She kept her shoulders straight, tried to keep it so his hand only touched the fabric of her dress and didn’t press it down so that it came into contact with her back again. Because that had been far too disturbing.
    The dining room was as opulent and formal as the rest of the house, the sprawling ceiling mural continuing through, with scenes of a massive feast painted just above the long, expansive table.
    “Cozy,” she said.
    That earned a laugh from Rodriguez. “Isn’t it? Perfect for an intimate dinner for two. Plus twenty.”
    “The palace in Santina is a bit like that. It’s daunting. Luca. he’s not used to this.”
    “Why did you take him away from Santina?”
    “The press,” she said, her voice soft.
    He pulled a chair out for her and she sat, touching the golden fork that was set beside an ornate dinner plate.
    “It was bad for you?” Rodriguez took his seat opposite her.
    She looked nice tonight, pretty even. She dressed too plainly for his taste, her hair too well ordered and smooth for his liking. But she was