Royal Holiday Bride

And so, at his father’s insistence, he’d paid a thousand dollars for a ticket to this masquerade ball to benefit the Port Augustine Children’s Hospital and dressed himself up like Jupiter, just because Benedicto was certain that Princess Marissa would be in attendance and because he had yet to figure out how to refuse anything his ailing father asked of him.

“She’s not unattractive,” his mother had informed him, although she’d seemed slightly less enthusiastic than her husband about the idea of the Tesorian princess as her son’s bride. “Just a little more conservative than the women you usually date, but she is always stylish and well put together.”

Unwilling to rely on his mother’s description, he’d done some research on his own. Finding pictures of the princess hadn’t been very difficult—though she wasn’t frequently on the covers of the tabloids, she did make public appearances for noteworthy causes. It seemed that the Port Augustine Children’s Hospital was one of her favorites.

He would agree that she wasn’t unattractive. In fact, when he studied her face more closely, he realized that she was actually quite beautiful, if not the type of woman who would ordinarily catch his eye. Medium height, average build, dark hair usually tied back in a braid or secured in a knot at the base of her neck. Her eyes were also dark, her smile as unobtrusive as the rest of her.

It shouldn’t have been too difficult to pick her out of a crowd, except when the crowd was attired in fancy costumes and elaborate masks. As Dante looked around the ballroom of the royal palace, he realized that he was surrounded by gods and goddesses and various mythological creatures, some that he recognized but many more than he did not. Even the staff were in costume: the waiters as slaves and the security guards as gladiators.

It was as if he’d stepped into another world, and he had to give credit to the decorators for their efforts. The boundary of the dance floor was marked by tall Roman-style columns wrapped in green ivy and twinkling lights. Beyond the dance floor were round tables covered in white linen with laurel wreath centerpieces. Marble pedestals topped with busts of ancient philosophers had been placed around the perimeter of the room.

Some of the guests were in formal attire and carried simple stick masks as a nod to the theme; others had elaborate costumes and face decorations that ensured they remained anonymous. For Dante, the one benefit of being unrecognizable in his costume was that he’d been able to forgo having bodyguards flanking him as he moved through the crowd.

He stepped out of Medusa’s path and fought against a smile as she turned to give a blatant once-over to a centaur. He decided that even if he didn’t manage to locate Princess Marissa, it wouldn’t be a boring night. But he wasn’t willing to give up on his mission just yet. He scanned the crowd again, looking for someone who was trying to blend into the background—an observer rather than a participant. The harder he looked, the more convinced he became that his task was futile.

And then he saw her.

The dress was of the richest emerald where it was gathered at one shoulder, with the color gradually transitioning from green to blue until it became a vivid sapphire at her ankles. Her hair spilled down her back, a luxurious cascade of silky red curls. Enormous hammered-gold earrings dangled from her ears and wide bracelets of the same style glinted at both wrists.

Her mask was an elaborate design studded with blue-and-green jewels with a fan of peacock feathers on one side; behind it, her brilliant green eyes sparkled. Her glossy lips were lush and full and curved in a tempting smile. Her skin was pale and dusted with gold. The slope of her shoulders was graceful and sexy.

Lust shot through his veins, as strong and fierce as any bolt of lightning his namesake might have thrown down from the heavens. He forgot about his mission to find the Tesorian princess and made his way across the room to her.

He bowed; she curtsied.

“Juno,” he acknowledged with a nod.

Those luscious lips curved. “Jupiter?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

She gave him a slow once-over, her emerald eyes skimming over the gold-trimmed purple toga, gold breastplate, down to the sandals on his feet. “The ruler of the gods is customarily depicted with a beard.”

“I’m a man for whom practicality trumps convention,” he told her.

“The facial hair was itchy,” she guessed.

“And you are a woman who is obviously as smart as she is beautiful.”

“I know that Jupiter had a lightning bolt. I didn’t know that he had such a glib tongue.”

“There’s probably a lot about me that you don’t know,” he told her. “But if you would do me the honor of sharing a dance, we could start to fill in some of the blanks.”

“I’d like that,” she said.

She placed her hand in his, and he felt the jolt again.

Her gaze flew to his, and he saw the same awareness—the same desire—in her eyes that was coursing through his blood.

He lifted her hand, touched his lips to the back of it.

Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened.

He drew her closer, dropped his voice. “Or we could skip the dance.”

She shook her head. “A tempting offer, but I want to dance … at least for now.”

“And later?” he queried, leading her onto the dance floor.

Her lips curved in a slow, sexy smile that made his heart pound. “We’ll figure that out as we go.”

He was a good dancer, Marissa noted. He moved easily, naturally, and it felt so good to be held in his arms, close to his body. Her heart was pounding and her blood was humming. For the first time since she’d set her plan in motion, she started to believe that she could go through with it.

If she could be with Jupiter.

That this man had chosen to come to the ball dressed as her mythological mate was nothing more than a coincidence, she knew that. And yet, in her heart, she believed it was a sign that she was doing the right thing.

Or maybe it was just her hormones, because she honestly couldn’t ever remember responding to a man as immediately and intensely as she’d responded to this one.

She tipped her head back, smiled when she met his gaze. She’d danced with a lot of men whose eyes had roamed the dance floor, looking for their next partner, their next conquest. But Jupiter seemed interested only in her, and for a woman who was used to standing on the sidelines, being the center of such focused attention was absolutely exhilarating.

Though his face was half-covered by a gold-colored mask, there was no disguising the strength or masculinity of his features. His eyes were as dark as espresso and surrounded by thick lashes, his jaw was strong and square, his lips exquisitely shaped and quick to curve.

“So why Jupiter?” she asked him now.

“Why would I choose the identity of any one god when I could be the ruler of the gods?” he countered.

“Lofty ambitions,” she mused.

For just a second, she thought she saw a shadow cross his eyes. But then he smiled, and everything inside of her quivered.

“I would expect the consort of the king to have similarly grand desires,” he noted.

She didn’t think his use of the word desires was either inadvertent or inappropriate. She had very specific plans for this night, and while she didn’t think they were particularly grand, she was determined to see them through.

“You don’t honestly expect me to confess my grandest desires to a stranger on the dance floor, do you?” she challenged.

“But I’m not a stranger,” he pointed out, leading her away from the crowd as the song ended. “I’m your mythological mate.”

He plucked two glasses of champagne from the tray of a waiter and passed one to her.

She murmured her thanks and lifted the glass to her lips to soothe her suddenly parched throat. It was easy to flirt with him on the dance floor when they were surrounded by other dancers. But now, even though there were probably five hundred people in the ballroom, she felt as if they were alone. And the nerves tying knots in her stomach were equal parts anticipation and apprehension.

She had barely finished half of her champagne when she was approached by a Minotaur. Ballroom protocol dictated that an invitation not be refused, so she let him lead her back to the dance floor. After the Minotaur, she danced with Apollo, then with a senator. Each time she made her way around the dance floor past the table where she’d left Jupiter, she saw him watching her.

She felt like the belle of the ball and she had a wonderful time dancing and chatting with all of them, more comfortable in her anonymity than she’d ever been as Princess Marissa. But all the while, she was anxious to return to Jupiter.

“I was beginning to feel neglected,” he said when she finally escaped the dance floor and made her way back to him again.