by Jane Porter
He looked at her, mildly amused. “When did roses stop smelling like roses?”
“A number of years back when someone got the idea to make them more hardy and disease resistant. The flowers grew bigger but the fragrance disappeared.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I don’t suppose there’s a section on rose horticulture in your how-to-be-a-king manual.”
“Regrettably there isn’t such a manual. I could have used one.”
“Why?”
“The first few years were hard. Every day I wished I’d spent time with my father learning about my responsibilities before he died. There’s so much he could have taught me, so much I needed to know.”
“But that would have meant giving up your career sooner.”
“I know. I wasn’t ready to give up football. I probably would never have been ready. But then they died and their accident forced me to grow up.”
She was silent a moment. “Is that how you really view it?”
“I was the Crown Prince. I should have been here, learning from my father.”
“But football was your passion. You loved it since you were a boy.”
His broad shoulders shifted. “Boys become men.”
She reached out, covered his hand with hers. “It’s none of my business, but I’m glad you were able to do what you loved to do. So many people are miserable. They hate their jobs, hate their lives. It’s not the way I want to live.”
“You’re happy then?”
“I love my work. I’m lucky I get to do what I do.” He smiled at her then and his smile transformed his face from handsome to absolutely gorgeous.
If only she could tell him the truth. She needed him to know. Her eyes burned and she took a quick sip of her wine to hide her pain.
Zale reached out and brushed a long pale strand of hair back from her cheek. “You keep tearing up today. What’s wrong?
What have I done?”
“Nothing. I’m just thinking about the past and the future and our families.”
“There’s been a lot of pressure from our families, hasn’t there?”
She nodded.
“You know my father was the one that wanted us to marry. He picked you for me when I was fifteen.” His lips twisted. “You were five. And chubby. I was horrified.”
Hannah smiled crookedly. “I would have been horrified, too.”
“My father assured me that you’d grow up, and once you did, you’d be a rare beauty. He was right. You … fit me.” “I’m glad.” “Are you?” “Very much so.” “So no regrets about last night?”
“None at all. I love—” She broke off, aware that she’d come so close to telling him how she felt. Because she did. “I loved every moment of it.”
“We should probably get the prenup signed. Your father calls me every day, sometimes twice a day, to ask why we haven’t done it yet.”
“And what do you tell him?”
“That we’ll sign it when we’re ready.”
“I can’t imagine he likes that.”
“No. But this is between you and me now, and I intend to keep it that way.”
“Do we need the prenup then? Can’t we just get married without it?”
Zale studied her from across the table. “You’d marry me without any financial agreement in place?” “I trust you.”
“You should. I’d never betray you.” Guilt flooded her. Guilt and grief. But even as she battled her conscience, she told herself to remember it all. Every word. Every smile. Every detail.
She wanted to remember it all so that even when she was gone she’d have at least the memories to hold, memories of lunch with Zale in the crumbling tower overlooking the walled city nestled between mountains and sea.
Because this wasn’t just the day she fell in love, but the day she fell in love with him forever.
Less than a week ago she knew practically nothing about Raguva, Zale’s small independent country overlooking the sapphire Adriatic Sea, and even less about him, Zale Ilia Patek, Raguva’s king, but now Hannah knew far too much.
Like how driven Zale Patek was, and how determined he could be.
How his country meant so much to him and his brother even more so.
It’d break her heart to leave. And she would leave. If not tonight, then tomorrow. It wasn’t a maybe, it was definite. Simply a matter of time.
A question of when.
“Would you have been attracted to me if we’d met a different way?” she asked.
He seemed intrigued by her question. “You mean, if we’d just met randomly … two people on the street?”
She nodded.
His brow lowered and he studied her so intently that she felt as though he could see all the way through. “Yes. Definitely.” If anyone else had looked at her so closely it would have made her uncomfortable, but when Zale looked at her like this she felt beautiful … safe.
Yes, safe. He was a warrior. A protector. A man with courage and integrity.
“Would you like me?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.
Her eyes stung.
Absolutely. Most definitely. “Yes.” His lips curved, and his amber gaze warmed. “So the prince and princess rode off into the sunset and lived happily ever after?”
The lump in her throat was making it hard to breathe. “I hope so.”
“Me, too.” Still smiling, he looked down at the silver dome covering his plate. “And maybe while we’re in agreement, should we eat?”
She nodded and lifted the silver cover off her plate revealing a cold seafood salad with a small plate of fresh rolls and sweet butter. “Looks delicious,” she said, knowing she wouldn’t be able to swallow more than a mouthful.
“Yes,” he agreed, looking at her instead of his plate. “Absolutely delicious.”
She blushed, her body coming alive, lower back tingling, breasts aching. “How can I possibly eat now?”
“Maybe we just skip lunch and head back to my room—”
“No!” she cut him off with a breathless laugh. “Absolutely not.”
“Absolutely not? Was last night that bad?”
She choked on a muffled laugh, even as bittersweet emotion filled her, flooding her, reminding her to again remember everything … his expression, his strong features, the sensual curve of his lip, the searing heat in his eyes.
Remember, she told herself, remember his warmth and the smell of his cologne and the way he smiles when he looks at you and likes what he sees.
Like now.
“You know it was great.”
“Thank God. I was beginning to worry there.”
She smothered another laugh, loving him like this … light-hearted, teasing, entertaining. “I just wanted to stay because it’s so beautiful here and you went to so much trouble arranging this lunch. But if you want to go, we can.”
“You’re letting me make the decision?”
She made a face. “You are the king.”
His warm gaze moved slowly across her face, lingering on her full lips. “We’ll stay,” he said at length. “We’ll eat. But as soon as we’re done, I’m taking you to my bed.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HANNAH struggled to chew her food but it was nearly impossible with all the butterflies flitting inside her belly. Zale didn’t help matters by giving her that I’m-so-hungry-I-could-eat-you look throughout the meal.
After a half dozen bites she gave up and sipped her wine, drinking one glass, and then another. By the time she’d finished the second glass, she knew she’d drunk too much.
Not because she was drunk. But because she was a little too hot, a little too turned on. Already.
“You’re not eating,” Zale said, noticing her plate was virtually untouched and his was nearly empty. “Didn’t care for the lobster? It’s one of my favorites.”
“I do. It was good.”
“How would you know? You ate nothing.” She took a quick breath, cheeks warm, limbs unusually heavy. Even her pulse
felt slow. “I’m happy, though.” “Are you?”
“I’ll never forget it. The view. The flowers. The conversation with you.”
He smiled, amused. “That’s a lot to remember.”
“I know, but it’s worth it. How many women get to do something like this? Lunch with King Zale Patek in one of his parapet towers overlooking the sea? Not many.”
“No. Just you.”
Something in his eyes made her heart jump. He was looking at her as if she mattered.
“We’ll have to do it again one day,” he promised, that faint smile playing at his lips while his amber eyes held hers. “Maybe on our first anniversary.”
“I’d like that,” she whispered, knowing that she wouldn’t be the one here, that she’d never have any of this again but she wouldn’t think about leaving, not now, not when she had the rest of the day, the night and possibly tomorrow.
“There’s something else I’d like, Your Majesty,” she said, voice barely audible.
“And what is that, Your Highness?”
For a moment Hannah couldn’t speak, not when her throat squeezed closed and her heart felt as if it were being torn to pieces. And then she pressed the intense emotions back, refusing to let pain steal a single minute of what was left of the day. “I’d like you to kiss me.”
Heat burned in his eyes. His nostrils flared. Hannah could practically feel his desire.
He left his chair, pulled her from her seat and pressed her back against one of the remaining walls. He leaned close, crowding her, his chest against her breasts, his lean hips teasing hers. He was lean, hard, hot and dropping his head he brushed his lips across hers in a kiss so soft and light that she groaned deep in her throat.
“How’s that?” he murmured, his lips pressing a kiss to the hollow beneath her ear. “Was that good?”
“No.”
“No? Why not?”
His breath was warm on the cool curve of her ear and made her tingle with pleasure. “Not enough,” she murmured, sliding her hands up the broad planes of his chest. His chest was hard, thickly muscled, and she ran her hands over the firm, dense muscle.
“Want more,” she said. “Want you to kiss me properly.” “Like this?” he asked, nibbling at her earlobe.
She felt the coiling of desire in her belly and the dampness between her thighs. Her womb actually ached, her innermost places empty, wanting him. “No. A real kiss. A proper kiss to make the day perfect.”
“You’ve already made it perfect,” he said, catching her face in his hand, and lifting her chin up to look down into her eyes before capturing her mouth with his.
He kissed her slowly, gently, coaxing a response from her, at first warm and sweet, and then warm and sweet became desperate and hot. His lips parted hers and his tongue took her mouth and Hannah wound her arms up around his neck, unable to get close enough.
She needed him, wanted him, wanted everything with him—marriage, and babies, and growing old together—but she wouldn’t have that, she’d only have this.
And she’d take this, all of this, and somehow she’d make it be enough.
She could feel the stubble on his jaw, smell that subtle cologne he wore, taste the wine on his tongue.
“Need you,” she murmured against his mouth, as she slipped her fingers into the short crisp hair at his nape. “Need you so much …”
He broke off the kiss, lifting his head to look down at her. His chest rose and fell with deep breaths and his eyes were cloudy with desire and she reached up to touch his mouth with her fingertips, awed by everything she felt for him.
It was magnificent.
And terrifying.
“You are so damn beautiful,” he said, pressing a kiss to her fingertips. “I honestly can’t get enough of you.” “Then don’t.”
Jaw thick, eyes narrowed, he lifted her into his arms, carried her to a broken stone in the shadows of the turret and set her on the edge. Pushing back her skirt he exposed her bare legs and parted her pale thighs to reveal the scrap of thong she wore. “Unbelievably hot,” he growled, lightly running a fingertip over the damp silk thong between her thighs, making the fabric even wetter.
She gasped as his finger traced her swollen lips again and again, making her thighs quiver and her insides clench with need.
“So wet,” he muttered, fascinated by the bit of silk outlining her most intimate places, and stroking it even more slowly to feel her shudder against his hand.
“And so eager for more,” he added, voice rough, raspy, before pulling the scrap of silk away from her body. He swore beneath his breath as he caught sight of her inner lips and her pink, glistening core.
Hannah clutched the sides of the broken stone she sat on, unable to breathe. No man had looked at her so closely, so intently and she tried to close her thighs but Zale was crouching between, his thighs holding hers open.
“What is it about you?” he groaned, lightly sliding his fingers up and down the wet tender flesh. “Why do you do this to me?”
She jumped and cried out as his fingertips brushed against her, the nub already so sensitive she thought she might explode. “It’s not … me …” she panted, fire licking her skin, making her burn, ache. “It’s … you.”
“No. I’ve never needed or wanted a woman the way I want you.”
She gripped the stone even harder as he focused his attention on her, teasing the small nub, using the pad of his thumb to draw small light circles against the slick ridge.
Hannah could feel the pressure building within her, the coil of desire growing hotter, tighter, fiercer. She was close to climaxing but was too aware that Zale watched her face as he touched her, reading her emotions and reactions. It was sexy and yet scary—to be so open in front of a man—physically and emotionally.
There was so much at risk, she thought, struggling to breathe, already too dizzy. If she wasn’t comfortable he’d see just how much she wanted him to take her, own her, make her forever his.
“Come,” he said, “I want to watch you come.”
She shook her head even as her body jerked and jumped, nerve endings stretched to breaking. “Can’t,” she choked, skin hot, body burning, desperate to find release but unable to let go when he’d watch her fall apart. She’d never been wild, never sexually adventurous, her college boyfriend going so far as to complain that she was boring in bed, but with Zale she felt positively daring.
Desperate.
Wanton.
“Yes, you can,” he insisted.
“N-n-noooo. I c-c-c-can’t,” she stuttered, unable to meet his gaze even as her thighs trembled with the building pressure.
“Why not?” he murmured, gaze intent on her flushed face.
