had he shielded his own father from his mother’s misdeeds? Lied to protect his father’s feelings? Even knowing what his mother had been doing the day she died, he’d tried to keep the truth from his father for as long as possible.
Except Reyes didn’t want to let Jasmine go...not just yet.
What he wanted was to assuage the alarming, visceral need to flatten her on the nearest surface and rediscover the heady pleasures of her body.
His eyes rose to her face.
Awareness throbbed between them. Then she glanced away to the view of Paris at night.
‘I was about to order room service. Do you want some food?’ Her voice was husky, warm and sexy in that way that reminded him of their encounter in the darkened bedroom on his yacht.
He forced his gaze from her sensual mouth, and nodded. ‘Sí. I’m starving. Make sure you order an extra-large bread basket.’
She picked up the phone to make the call to his chef. Reyes traced the seductive line of her neck, and resisted the urge to jump into the pool to cool down his out-of-control libido.
* * *
Reyes dismissed the second candidate after a mere twenty minutes.
‘What was wrong with her?’ Jasmine asked, despite the heady pool of relief building inside her. Taking pains not to examine the feeling too closely, she hurried after him as he strode away from the restaurant on the Champs-Élysées.
‘Your notes said she had nothing to do with her father’s media business. That turned out not to be true.’ He rounded on her once they were in the car and driving away. ‘In case I haven’t made it quite clear, I detest the media. They made my and my sister’s lives a living hell when we were growing up, thanks to their insatiable interest in my mother and her infidelities.’ His mouth was pinched and the lines around it deep and pale.
‘I didn’t know that about your mother. I’m sorry.’
He inhaled deeply and loosened the blue-striped tie he’d worn with a pristine white shirt and a dark grey suit. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he exhaled. ‘Gracias. Perhaps I did you a disservice by not giving you enough time to prepare for this.’
It was the closest he’d come to an apology for the unreasonable demands he’d made for her assignment. But even though she nodded her acceptance, Jasmine couldn’t shift from his statement about his mother.
‘Did your subjects know...about your mother?’ she asked.
He wrenched at his top buttons and pulled his tie free. ‘Yes, they knew. They thought my father weak for not divorcing her and by the time she died in her lover’s car, she was very much a hated figure.’
‘So by definition...’
‘Sí, the whole House of Navarre hasn’t endeared itself to the people.’
The question she’d been trying to avoid asking ricocheted through her head.
Ask. This is your chance.
‘Back in Spain you said something about not wanting another destroyed life on your conscience. Did something else happen with your mother?’
His features froze and he remained silent for so long, she was certain he wouldn’t answer.
‘Five years ago, I almost got engaged.’
It was the last response she’d expected. Her mind blanked for a second. ‘What?’
His laugh was bitter. ‘You wanted to know why marrying wasn’t my first choice, so...’ He stopped and his face contorted with bitter recollection. Jasmine wanted to tell him to stop, wanted to wipe whatever wretched memory was causing the distress on his face. He spoke before she could form the appropriate words.
‘Anaïs Perdot and I met the last time I was here in Paris. It was my first diplomatic tour. Her father was doing a lot of business in Santo Sierra and Anaïs and I grew...close.’
Jasmine didn’t want to guess what memory was making his jaw clench. She held her breath as he continued. ‘Her parents were eager for a match. I suppose on paper we were an ideal couple. She was young and exciting. For a while she made me forget that I was the son of a queen who didn’t feel any remorse about dragging the family name through the mud with her infidelities. Hell, she even helped me to forge an easier relationship with the father I detested because I thought him weak for not stopping my mother’s behaviour.’ His chest heaved on a deep exhale.
‘For a while?’ she ventured.
His lips firmed. ‘Her parents thought Anaïs should live in Santo Sierra for a while before we announced our engagement. Within weeks, my mother got her claws into her.’
‘How?’
He shrugged. ‘It started off as lunches and shopping sprees while I was busy with matters of state. Then they turned into late-night parties when she wouldn’t return to the palace until the early hours, and then not at all.’
Jasmine frowned. ‘Behaviour not exactly befitting a future queen, but European royalty have been known to indulge in much worse antics.’
His eyes turned arctic. ‘Really? How many female members of your royal family have been photographed having sex with another man the week before their engagement was announced?’
Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, my God! What did you do?’
Reyes stared at her for several more seconds before he shook his head. ‘I handed over an obscene amount of money to the camera-wielding blackmailer to prevent the pictures hitting the papers. And I set back my relationship with my father by having our biggest fight yet when he refused to lift a finger against my mother for her part in Anaïs’s behaviour.’
‘I’m so sorry, Reyes.’ She laid a hand on his arm and felt his palpable tension.
‘That wasn’t the worst of it. The day I told Anaïs it was over, she went to my mother. My mother convinced her that I was merely throwing a tantrum; that I would get over it. And then she talked Anaïs into partying one more night. On their way back from the club, they were involved in a hit-and-run accident. Anaïs claimed my mother was driving. My mother claimed the opposite. The result was that a teenager was left paralysed for life, his plans to become a doctor shattered.’
‘And still your father did nothing?’
Reyes pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘After I threw Anaïs and her family out of my life, she decided to share her version of her time in Santo Sierra with the media. My father finally tried to do some damage control, but it was too late. We were vilified in the media. My mother’s behaviour spiralled out of control. A few months later, she was dead. That’s when the first ramblings of unrest began.’
‘And your father’s illness just compounded the problems.’
That sadness she’d glimpsed on his face that first night in Rio appeared again. ‘I never really got a chance to tell him that I regretted our fight. Last night would’ve been a good opportunity, had I been home.’
‘You’ll
