To Claim His Heir by Christmas

by Victoria Parker

  The sun bathed her in a warm glow, picking out the honeycomb strands in her hair, and she swept a stray tendril back from her temple in a decidedly nervous gesture. ‘Yes. I told her I was staying with you for a couple of days.’

  Thane didn’t bother arguing that point. Yet.

  ‘So, thank you for…’ She shook her head, sending that wayward lock tumbling back over her face. ‘Why on earth I’m thanking you for returning my own property to me, when it was originally your fault I lost it, is beyond me—but I do appreciate you sending for it.’

  ‘You are most welcome. See? I am not so bad after all.’

  ‘Oh, you are very bad, Thane. Of that I am in no doubt.’

  A dark laugh erupted from his chest. ‘Fortunately for me you like me that way. It turns you on.’

  A blush that spoke more of pique than passion flurried across her cheeks, but her scathing retort perished as his man at the house—Pietro—appeared and laid a mound of homemade madeleines, croissants and cream-filled pastries on the table before her.

  That serene breeding of hers came rushing to the fore. ‘Everything smells delicious—thank you so much. Did you make these?’

  Pietro fastened his warm hazel gaze on her. ‘My wife, Your Royal Highness. But she will only cook for our Prince.’

  Thane’s good mood disintegrated and he clenched his teeth. It didn’t matter how many times he told the man to call him Thane, he still got our Prince. Respectful, yes, but it shafted him with guilt—because despite his title his hands were largely tied, and if he’d played things differently he’d be in the position to do a damn sight more for them.

  Luciana arched one brow in his direction. ‘Why only Thane?’

  ‘Eat, Luciana,’ he ordered, knowing what was coming.

  He didn’t want Pietro’s gratitude. It was Thane’s job to procure him a better life. He was the one to blame for the mess they were in. If he’d been stronger, hidden his true ambitions better, his father would have given him the throne upon his death. Instead of passing it over to the power-hungry, greedy lech that was Franco Guerrero.

  Naturally Luciana didn’t take a blind bit of notice—Dios, she was an obstinate little thing—and she blinked up at Pietro with those gorgeous brandy eyes no man could possibly resist. Not even happily married Pietro, with his six girls and loose tongue.

  ‘He gives us a home, our own land. No one but the crown owns land on Galancia, but Thane gives us acres of his vineyards and my family make the best wines on the island. Then he makes sure my girls can travel north, go to school. He fixes everything.’

  ‘Pietro…don’t. Please.’

  Every time he heard those words it just reminded him of the thousands of others he couldn’t help. Though now he had Luciana all that would change, wouldn’t it? Dios, he couldn’t wait. His patience shredded more by the day.

  Luciana, whose only focus was Pietro, said, ‘Oh, he does?’

  As if some mental explosion had occurred in that ingenious brain of hers, so many emotions flickered across her exquisite face that he was hard-pressed to pick out one.

  ‘Si,’ Pietro said avidly. ‘The best man to walk the earth. And now you are here, and everything will be—’

  Thane glanced up to silence him. He didn’t want these two days to be mired with talk of his throne. But, fisting his hand beneath the table, he warred with an internal battle to be forthright. At least with himself. Truth was, he wanted Luciana to want him. To choose him over Augustus. Not to feel pushed or obligated in any way. And he refused to read too deeply into that.

  ‘Now I’m here…?’ Luciana prompted.

  Pietro grinned. ‘He will be happy at last. All will be well.’

  Guilt blanched her flawless skin and she composed a spurious smile that made Thane uneasy. Made him doubly sure he was missing something.

  ‘You must meet my wife. I will never have peace if she does not speak to you.’

  Thane almost groaned aloud. They would be here all day and Luciana would be subjected to God knows what.

  ‘Pietro? I don’t think we have time. Luciana wishes to explore—isn’t that right, angel?’

  The wide-eyed gleam she launched his way was anything but angelic. It was positively devious and it made his blood hum. She wanted to hear more, he realised.

  ‘We have plenty of time…darling.’ She emphasised that endearment—the very one that made his heart lurch—with a swift kick to his shin as she peered up at the other man all guile and innocence. ‘I think that’s a wonderful idea, Pietro. I would love to meet her.’

  Relishing Thane’s discomfort, she flashed her teeth at him, all saccharine sweetness. The dark look he volleyed back said she would pay highly for it. Later.

  Then again, Pietro had wandered off—so why wait?

  Easing forward in his seat, he slid wicked fingers over the delicate curve of her knee beneath the table, then made small teasing circles as they ascended higher and higher up her inner thigh.

  The light flush that coloured her cheeks made a gradual descent across her chest, down over her breasts, and the glass of freshly squeezed orange juice in her fist rippled as she clamped her thighs together, imprisoning his hand.

  ‘See that knife?’ she whispered in a rush, motioning to the lethal blade on the table-top. ‘I won’t hesitate to chop those fingers off.’

  ‘Ah, you won’t do that, Luciana.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure, if I were you. Don’t underestimate me, Romeo.’

  Flipping his hand, he forcibly nudged her legs apart. ‘While I have no intention of underestimating you, I believe you’ll soon see sense. Because what will I pleasure you with then?’

  Her breathing became short and shallow, making her deep cleavage taunt him with a subtle quivering heave, and he had the sinful urge to ramp up her erotic want higher still. So he stroked one finger over the lace of her panties and ran his tongue along his bottom lip suggestively.

  ‘Actually…who needs fingers? I can think of various other ways to torment you.’

  And he would use every one to lure her in. No matter what it took, by the weekend both Luciana and the throne would be his.

  * * *

  She was going to murder him. Wrap her hands around his throat and send him to meet his maker—the devil himself. That was if she didn’t choke on the uncut testosterone in the air first. Arrogant and downright debauched—that was what he was.

  She couldn’t move or whimper a sound, since Pietro was still fiddling with a coffee pot at the far end of the deck—and of course the shameless reprobate just loved that…the possibility of them getting caught likely got him off. It certainly didn’t excite her blood. A woman of her gentility and refinement should be appalled at his sybaritic behaviour. And she was. Utterly.

  Squirming, she tried to dislodge his hand and alleviate the dark pulse that throbbed in her pelvis. She wanted them back on topic. Wanted to hear every word that wasn’t being said. It was that stuff that interested her—far more than his wandering lasciviousness.

  Liar.

  She felt like an insect that had inadvertently strayed into a spider’s web, her every move ensuring greater entrapment, but right now she didn’t care. Entangled as she was, there was far more going on here than met the eye.

  Pietro vanished around the corner and she smacked Thane’s arm away as she spun on him, eyes narrowed.

  ‘Your uncle runs Galancia in a dictatorship, does he not? No government, no parliament to speak for the people, all the power coming from the man at the top. The state owns every acre of land, therefore every piece of brick and mortar too.’

  That did it.

  He flung himself back in his seat, taking his wicked fingers with him. It was if he’d found a state of mindless pleasure and was put out at her stopping his fun. Tough.

  ‘I am sure you know he does, princesa.’

  ‘So by giving Pietro his own land you’re breaking your own rules?’

  He picked up his espresso and downed the treble
shot. ‘They are not mine.’

  ‘No? Are you saying you don’t agree with them?’

  His nonchalant shrug belied the curious tension in his menacingly hard frame. ‘I don’t think it’s fair that the people can’t reap the benefits of their hard work, that’s all.’

  Fair? ‘You’re indirectly hinting at a democracy, Thane.’

  ‘I might be.’

  Shock made her rock back in her seat. The dark, dangerous, autocratic Prince of Galancia wanted a democracy? While Arunthia had been a democratic state for years, it was the last thing she’d expected here.

  ‘Is this what you’re planning to do when you rule?’

  ‘I might be.’

  Good Lord. ‘And so you take from the rich to give to the poor in the meantime?’

  He scratched his jaw lazily. ‘On occasion. Or I may just have paid Pietro’s family for building this house.’

  ‘How much? Thirty million?’

  ‘I’ll have you know it’s the going rate.’

  ‘Is it really?’

  This was unbelievable. Staggering. She’d been absolutely right. She had no idea who he was. And nor did anyone else. Including her father. Which wasn’t surprising. Since Thane didn’t have overall control he naturally wanted to keep his true agenda firmly under wraps.

  ‘Still being a hero, then, Thane?’ she asked softly.

  Just as he’d been when he’d saved her from a fate worse than death in Zurich. Just as he’d been when he’d appeared once again out of nowhere in Courchevel. As if she’d conjured him up. Like some freak happenstance or serendipity.

  An assassin? A mercenary? This man? She doubted that very much.

  But, oh, no, he really didn’t like being called a hero. The angry glitter in his eyes told her that. He was a testament to leashed power, Luciana decided. No need to shout when he could incite a quake with one look or a word. So intense. And he was heart-thumpingly gorgeous with it.

  ‘Quiet, Luciana. Or I will silence that mouth for you. Again. And don’t think I won’t.’

  His dominant power pushed at her, hot and hard, and she blushed like a teenager with a crush.

  ‘Oh. I believe you. But this time I’m not giving you the chance.’ That was what had got her into this mess to start with.

  She might be here against her will, or rather she’d had little choice, but the sliver of pride she had left was a precious commodity she could ill afford to lose. So there was no way she was falling for that again. She knew better. Kiss her once and he’d had her on a plane. Kiss her twice and she’d find herself bound for Outer Mongolia, or flat on her back on her way to a priest. Though why the man wanted to marry her specifically she couldn’t begin to fathom.

  Why can’t you just accept he wants you for you, Luce?

  Because that would be plain stupid.

  He arched one of those devilish brows. ‘You know better than to challenge me, Luciana.’

  The dark promise in those words made her shiver. And if his obsidian eyes had seemed compelling before, now they were like magnets, pulling on the iron in her blood, making it race around her body.

  Lifting her tall glass, she splashed some orange juice down her parched throat, relishing the tangy sweetness that burst over her tongue, determined to wrestle back her poise. Get back on topic, for heaven’s sake.

  ‘Anyway,’ she said. ‘Why build a home here? Don’t get me wrong—it’s absolutely stunning—but why not live at Galancia Castle?’

  His gaze drifted out to sea, but not before she saw the shadow of pain wash over him. ‘I live there too. But my uncle and I are not the best of housemates. Even with thousands upon thousands of square feet and over two hundred walls.’

  Seemed to her they were divided in more ways than one. Even as she struggled to take it all in she dug for more. ‘I’ve heard it’s one of the most opulent, palatial castles in the world.’

  ‘It is the devil’s lair.’ A deep feminine voice sounded from beside her. ‘Our Prince is better here. That place makes him dark and that man drains the life from him. Welcome…welcome.’

  Thane shoved his hands through his raven hair, discomfort and agitation leaching from him.

  Luciana yearned to straddle his lap, take away his pain just as she’d once done, but instead she jiggled her chair backwards to welcome Pietro’s wife.

  ‘Buenos dias,’ she said, standing to accept a warm greeting and a kiss to both cheeks. The astounding affection filled her heart with elation and almost thrust her into a stupor.

  Cupping her face, the petite brunette spitfire beamed. ‘Good gracious, you are a real beauty. Little wonder he will not take—’

  ‘Hanna,’ Thane ground out in warning.

  ‘Ah, hush. Let an old woman be happy.’ She clapped her palm over her chest. ‘This will be the best Christmas we have ever seen.’

  It took all of Luciana’s willpower to maintain her serenity. Never mind that the woman had just told the dark Prince to hush—why the blazes was she casting her festive aspirations on Luciana? Why should she think Luciana would be here for Christmas? Was Thane so darn confident he’d been shouting it from the rooftops?

  Of all the arrogant, conceited…

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell every Galancian within hearing distance that she’d be long gone by then. But as if Thane sensed her freefall he picked up her hand, lifting it to his lips. Tenderly he kissed the sensitive pulse-point that pounded at her inner wrist as he locked those mesmerising eyes on hers.

  His electric energy zeroed in on her. The panicked dizziness abated. All extraneous noise drained from her perception until there was only him. Until she plunged back to her seat in a dreamlike daze.

  How do you do this to me?

  And then there was this couple, welcoming her with open arms despite the inbred hatred between Arunthians and Galancians, behaving as if she were their saviour. It was surreal. But it was wonderful too.

  Even his beasts gazed at her with loving amber-hued puppy-dog eyes, one of them even resting its slavering chin on her knee. Lord, she couldn’t resist his dogs. Had to stroke the short, furry wheat-brown coat. Brush those velvety ears between her thumb and forefinger.

  Natanael would adore you, she thought with a stab of anguish.

  He would adore all of this. He had pined and pleaded for a four-legged friend and he loved people, being the centre of their world. She could just hear him chattering, see him frolicking on the beach, dwarfed by these huge hounds, building sandcastles with Thane, his—

  Luciana closed her eyes and swallowed thickly around the fear clotting her throat. She didn’t want to make the connection—didn’t want to acknowledge who this man was to her son. Had to focus on escaping, protecting Nate…

  But what if in reality it wasn’t Thane he needed protecting from? What if Thane was the only person in the entire world who could truly protect Nate?

  He wasn’t the man she’d met in Zurich. He was harder. More ruthless. More determined. And yet he wasn’t the monster people claimed him to be.

  Head pounding, as if it had been jammed in a nutcracker and split open, she couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

  So she smiled and nodded in all the right places while the endless waters of the Med called to her, the sound of its gentle lap, its tranquil stillness, soothing the disharmony in her heart and mind. But she didn’t need to be looking at the ocean to realise she was burying her head in the sand. Again. That was exactly what she’d done in Hong Kong. Her utmost to pretend that her time wasn’t running out. And where had it got her? Into inevitable torment when faced with reality.

  If she waded through the mess of enemy nations and her throne she was a mother. First and foremost. Yes, if Natanael came to light it would ruin her in the eyes of her people and her father would likely disown her. But so be it. The only reason she’d kept him quiet was to keep him safe.

  She’d pleaded to have him. The fact that he was alive right now was why she lived with the pain. The fact that his
beautiful face lit up her entire world was why she lived in the dark. But if there were no danger to him there would be no reason for his true identity not to be known. His happiness was the most important thing to her. And if her little boy could have a daddy who was a good man—who would love him and protect him above all else—then Nate deserved that and so did Thane.

  As for her crown… Her father would have to bend his rules and laws. Allow Claudia to take the throne despite the fact that Lucas wasn’t of blue blood. Or he’d have to get over the fact he’d washed his hands of Andalina years ago and command her return from New York. Granted, the thought of Andie being Queen was hellishly scary, but her father would have no choice. If she was ruined, the damage was already done.

  For the first time in years Luciana had choices. She only had to use them wisely. Be absolutely sure she was doing the right thing by telling Thane the truth.

  Hanna and Pietro bade them a fond goodbye, leaving them alone once more.

  ‘I believe I promised you a date,’ he drawled. ‘Lunch at the southern reef? A horse-ride along the beach or up into the vineyards? It’s beautiful up there. What’s your pleasure, angel?’

  You. Heaven help me…you.

  The man being worshipped by the sun before her. She wanted him to be real. Wanted the portentous voice inside her to be quiet, cease whispering that she was sitting in an audience watching a play—a performance being acted to perfection just for her—while she was blind to the true intent of the show.

  ‘What do you want, Luciana?’ he asked huskily.

  A proper family. A wonderful daddy for Natanael. Love.

  But all she said was, ‘All of the above.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IN HINDSIGHT, A HORSE-RIDE probably wasn’t the greatest of ideas, considering he’d almost choked on his own tongue when Luciana had poured that luscious body into some lightweight fawn jodhpurs and a figure-hugging cerise pink T-shirt—the outfit borrowed from one of Pietro’s rake-thin girls. Talk about an exercise in torture.

  He’d just put in the longest twenty-minute car-ride of his life. And now he cursed the idiota who had secreted the royal stables so far inland. He would fire the man if he didn’t suspect it had been himself.