by Nina Milne
Yet her feet seemed reluctant to move—or rather, for reasons she couldn’t fathom, they wanted to move towards Stefan rather than away. Get a grip. Talk about getting it wrong. Stefan was now officially the enemy.
‘So I guess this is it.’
There was no guesswork involved. This was over. Next time she saw Stefan it would be in a court of law, once one of them had succeeded in marrying. So this was their last few minutes together.
Get a grip faster, Holly.
She’d only met the man this morning. What did she want? A greeting card moment?
Damn it. She knew exactly what she wanted and this was her only chance to get it.
Without allowing common sense to intervene, she let her hormones propel her forward. She was so close to him now that the merest sliver of air separated them. His scent assailed her, her whole body tingled, and her tummy felt weighted with a pool of heat. The scowl had vanished from his expression and his grey eyes gleamed in the moonlight. Molten desire sparked in their depths as he closed the tiny gap between them.
‘I know this is mad,’ she whispered. ‘But as we won’t be seeing each other again would you mind...kissing me?’
‘Not a problem,’ he growled instantly.
Sweet Lord—she couldn’t have imagined a kiss such as this. His lips were firm, and she could taste a tang of wine, a hint of lemon... And then nothing mattered except the vortex of sheer sensation that flooded her every sense.
Desire mounted, and her calf muscles stretched as she went on tiptoe and twined her arms around his neck to pull him closer, pressed her body against his in a delicious wriggle of pleasure. She heard his groan, felt the heat of his large hands against the small of her back.
It was a kiss that might have gone on for ever, but eventually he gently pulled away. For a moment she stood, swayed, the only sound the mingle of their ragged breathing. Slowly reality intruded—the red and gold décor, the darkness outside illuminated by the London streetlights and the brightness of the moon.
Think. Speak. Move.
The directions seemed to be blocked. Her synapses were clearly misfiring...all signals from her brain were fuzzed by the aftershock of the kiss.
Do something.
Finally the order made its way through and she took a shaky step backwards, regained control of her vocal cords. ‘Right. I’ll be on my way, then.’
‘No. Wait.’
To her irritation he had pulled himself together way faster than she had and now stood there eyeing her with a gleam of something she couldn’t interpret.
‘There is no need for me to wait.’ To her relief, annoyance had served to dispel the effect of their lip-lock. ‘I need to go and locate a groom.’
‘Do you have anyone in mind?’
There was an edge to his voice. His grey eyes held a speculative nuance and she wondered if he was trying to probe her for information in the hope of using it against her.
‘I have options,’ she said, and kept her voice non-committal even as she reviewed said options.
Her father had suggested he speak with one of the Il Boschetto di Sole employees, but the idea left Holly cold. Graham still worked on the grove—and the thought of marrying another Il Boschetto di Sole employee, even in name only, felt foolhardy. An employee might well hold out hopes of becoming a co-owner, of remaining married to her. Come to that, anyone she married might think the same.
She ran her London colleagues through her mind—whittled them down to three possibilities. But she could hardly call them up and propose. Plus, she barely knew them—how could she trust any of them to stick to an agreement? Il Boschetto di Sole was a huge asset—an immensely lucrative business.
‘But no one specific?’ he persisted.
‘I’m not a fool. I wouldn’t tell you if I had. Do you have a bride lined up?’
Now his lips quirked up in a smile that left her both baffled and suspicious. ‘I’m not sure. Let’s just say I have an idea.’
Which put him ahead of the game—seeing as his tone indicated that his idea was a good one and hers sucked. ‘Bully for you. Now, I really need to go.’
‘Give me five minutes. I need to make a phone call to my lawyers. I may have a way out of this. Promise me you won’t go until I’ve talked to them.’
Holly hesitated. ‘A way out that your hotshot lawyers haven’t already thought of?’
‘They don’t call me The Negotiator for nothing.’
‘I didn’t know they called you The Negotiator at all.’
‘I’ll be five minutes. Tops.’
‘OK. I’ll pack slowly.’
In fact he was marginally longer than the allotted time, and she had her suitcase packed and was at the door before he emerged from his bedroom. To her irritation her tummy did a little flip-flop—he looked gorgeous, and his smile held a vestige of triumph as he walked towards her and gestured to the sofa.
‘You may want to sit.’
‘I’m good here. Right by the door.’
Warning bells began to peal in her head; his smile was too self-assured for her liking. Dammit. Maybe he’d discovered a legal way to grant him victory.
‘Just say it, Stefan.’
‘Marry me.’
Holly stared at him as her brain scrambled to comprehend the words, tried to work out the trick, the punchline. Because there had to be one.
‘Is this your idea of a joke? It’s either that or you’ve gone loop-the-loop bananas.’
‘No joke. I’m not entirely sure on the bananas front, but it makes sense.’
‘On planet bananas, maybe.’
‘Hear me out. If we marry each other we effectively cancel out the competitive element of the will because we both fulfil the marriage criteria.’
The thought arrested her and she moved further into the room, studied his face more closely. ‘But we’d have to stay married for a year.’
‘Correct.’
‘What would happen at the end of the year?’
‘We would co-own Il Boschetto di Sole. Yesterday neither of us thought we’d own even an acre, so why not settle for fifty-fifty?’
‘Split it?’
‘Yes. Why not? This way guarantees us half each—I realise we’d need to figure out a fair way to actually divide the land, but I would be happy to do that up-front.’
Suspicion tugged at her as she searched for an ulterior motive. Was this some way to trick her out of everything? But instinct told her Stefan Petrelli didn’t work like that.
Get real, Holly.
Had she learnt nothing? Her instinct when it came to men and their motives was hardly stellar.
‘I don’t get it. Why are you happy to do this?’
‘A guaranteed fifty percent works for me. This way it also means I don’t end up with a wife who will try to manipulate me. We would both be equally invested in the marriage and the subsequent divorce. This works. For both of us. If we have to marry, it makes sense to marry each other.’
Logic dictated that he was correct. Her brain computed the facts. She knew that her father would be more than content with ownership of any percentage of Il Boschetto di Sole. Plus she had to marry someone—way better to marry someone who wouldn’t have power over her. But as she looked at him her tummy clenched at the mere thought of marrying him. She would be signing up to a year under the same roof as a man her hormones had targeted as the equivalent of the Holy Grail.
Grow up and suck it up.
This made sense—guaranteed her father ownership of the land he loved.
‘This could work.’ Deep breath. ‘But we’d need to work out the rules. The practicalities.’ Another deep breath. ‘This would be a marriage of convenience.’
To her annoyance, she could hear the hint of a question in her tone.
Clearly so could he.
His eyebrow rose. ‘Unl
ess you have something else in mind?’
‘No!’ Though a small voice piped up asking Why not? This man was sex on legs, and they were attracted to each other. They would be sharing a roof for a year—didn’t it make sense to take advantage?
Yet every instinct warned her that it was a bad idea. Stefan had freely admitted his only commitment was to a relationship carousel and she had no wish to climb aboard. What would happen when his need for variety came into play? If...when...she wasn’t woman enough? She could almost taste the humiliation.
‘This would be a strictly business arrangement.’
‘Agreed. I make it a general rule not to mix business and pleasure. So, subject to working out the details, do we have a deal?’
‘We have a deal.’
Without thought Holly held out her hand, and with only a fractional hesitation he stepped forward and took it.
Mistake. As she stared down at their clasped hands sensation shot through her and her body rewound to their kiss, imagined the heat of his hand on her back.
Quickly she tugged her hand free. ‘I’m headed to bed. I’ll see you in the morning and we can iron out the details.’ With that, she grabbed her suitcase and forced herself to walk rather than sprint for her bedroom.
Stefan stared at the closed door for a long moment. Was this marriage idea lunacy or genius? Best to go with the latter. This gained him land in Lycander and a place to scatter his mother’s ashes. It also gave him control of the situation. The only issue was the thorny one of attraction—one that needed to be uprooted.
Holly did not fulfil his relationship criteria. She wanted a family, a relationship that held more than just the physical, and he couldn’t offer that. If he couldn’t pay he shouldn’t play—and he shouldn’t even have considered the idea that their marriage might be anything other than strictly business. He’d still been under the spell of that kiss. From now on in he’d make sure to keep his distance, and he was pretty damn sure Holly would do the same.
His phone buzzed and surprise shot through him as he saw the caller’s identity. Take the call or decline the call? In the end curiosity won out.
He sank into the armchair and put the phone to his ear. ‘Hi, Marcus. What can I do for you?’
Marcus Alriksson was Chief Advisor and one of the most influential men in Lycander—a man who was close to Prince Frederick, and a man who worked behind the scenes to help shape Lycander’s future.
‘Stefan. We need to talk. Any chance of setting up a video call?’
Hell, why not? It would be a relief to have his thoughts distracted from Holly.
‘Sure.’
Minutes later Stefan faced Marcus, keeping his body deliberately relaxed as he studied the dark-haired man on the screen. The Chief Advisor gave nothing away, but his dark blue eyes studied Stefan with equal interest.
‘So, Marcus, what can I do for you?’
‘I want to discuss the situation with Il Boschetto di Sole. Will you be pursuing your claim?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’
Stefan raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m flattered, Marcus. I didn’t know you cared.’
‘I do care. More to the point, Frederick cares. You and he could be friends. You choose not to be.’
That was not an avenue he wanted to go down. He didn’t want to be friends with his half-brother—didn’t want to be anything. He wanted to maintain a simple indifference.
Liar.
Deep down he still craved an older brother who’d fight his corner. Once Frederick had done that. Then he’d withdrawn. Stefan knew why—because Frederick had blamed his younger brother for Eloise’s departure. Worst of all, Frederick had been right to condemn him.
All too aware of the other man’s scrutiny, he dispelled the memories. Now was not the time.
‘Is that what this is about? A call to friendship?’
‘I want to discuss a deal.’
‘What sort of deal?’
‘I’ll get to that, but first some background. Have you heard of an organisation called DFL?’
Stefan frowned in thought. ‘It stands for Democracy for Lycander, right?’
‘Correct. It is growing in prominence and support.’ Marcus’s expression matched his grim tone, and his dark eyebrows slashed in a frown. ‘But I will take it down.’
Stefan emitted a snort. ‘People are entitled to their opinions. Everyone can’t agree with the idea of a monarchy. Months ago you told me Frederick wanted to allow freedom of opinion, planned to be less tyrannical than our father. Yet you want to “take it down”?’
‘People are entitled to their opinions. But I have a personal dislike for those people who choose to express said opinions through violence and racism.’
Marcus pressed a button on his screen and turned it round for Stefan to see.
Stefan perused the site, quickly assimilating sufficient information to realise that Democracy for Lycander was an organisation of the type that turned his stomach: a group that incited racism and violence under the guise of freedom and democracy.
‘OK. I take your point and I hope you nail them. But I’m not sure what this has to do with me.’
‘Times have been hard recently. Frederick is doing his best to reverse the injustices perpetrated by your father but he needs time. Under Alphonse, housing, hospitals, education—every system—was allowed to fall into disrepair and the people are restless. The storm last year caused further damage to property, land and livelihoods. Frederick is still not trusted by everyone—is still judged as the Playboy Prince, despite the fact he is now married with a son.’
Stefan shrugged, tried to block off the unwanted pang of emotion. He’d meant what he said to Holly over dinner—this was not his problem. He owed Frederick nothing...owed Lycander even less.
‘I’m still not sure where I come in.’
‘If you plan to pursue your claim to Il Boschetto di Sole then I assume you’re getting married?’
No surprise that Marcus Alriksson knew the terms of the Bianchi will—perhaps the only shocker was how long it had taken him to make contact.
‘Yup.’
‘Good. Then I have a deal to offer you.’
Not interested. Stefan bit the words back. Marcus wasn’t a fool. He wouldn’t have come to the table unless he was sure he had something concrete to offer.
‘I’m listening.’
‘Your marriage could be an opportunity for you and Frederick to mend fences.’
Stefan snorted. ‘Don’t play me for a fool. You don’t give a damn about a touching Petrelli reunion—this is politics.’
‘Partly. As I explained, Frederick could do with some support and the people could do with some positivity. You could provide both. The return of the exiled Prince... If you come back to support your brother it would show solidarity, and your acceptance and approval would boost Frederick’s popularity. Especially if you gild that return with a wedding.’
‘I’m not even sure I do accept and approve of Frederick and his policies.’
‘Then come and see for yourself. Frederick and Sunita are in India at the moment. Come to Lycander—have a look. Then make a judgement call.’
‘And if I approve? What do I get from this deal?’
‘I want to use your marriage to bring you back into the family. Whether we like it or not there will be media coverage of your marriage, and there will be a lot of speculation about the will.’ Marcus’s face suddenly relaxed into a smile that seemed to transform it. ‘My wife, April...’ Now his voice glowed with pride. ‘She is a reporter and she assures me this is celebrity news gold. It will be played out as brother versus brother. Your story will be latched on to and revisited and I’m guessing you won’t like that.’
‘No, I won’t. But I don’t think there’s a damn thing you can do about it.’
‘I can pro
vide you with a suitable bride and I can help orchestrate the publicity around your wedding.’
‘I can do that myself. Hell, I could have a private ceremony on a secluded island and hide out there for a year. I get that you want to big up the marriage—make it a public spectacle for Lycander—and that you want the whole reunion and brotherly support. What do I get in return?’
‘In return Frederick will restore your lands and titles, and...’ He paused as if for an imaginary drum roll ‘...we’ll give your mother recognition. Set the record straight once and for all—set up a foundation in her name. Whatever you want.’
Stefan’s heart pounded in his ribcage.
Don’t show emotion. Maintain a poker face.
But there was little point in faking either. He knew that many people believed the worst of his mother—thought her departure from Lycander had been an abandonment of her son and saw her through the tainted veil of rigged history—and he loathed it. This was a chance to vindicate her memory and he’d take it.
‘Deal. But only if Frederick is on the level.’ If his brother was simply a ‘mini-me’ of Alphonse, there was no way Stefan would play nice. ‘I’ll need to judge that.’
‘Understood. The bride I have in mind is Lady Mary Fairweather. The licence is sorted and the helicopter is ready to go. You can be in Lycander in two hours.’
Stefan rose. ‘Not so fast. I’ve already got a fiancée. I’m marrying Holly Romano.’
It gave him some satisfaction to see the surprise on Marcus’s face.
Before he could react, Stefan finished, ‘We’ll talk again tomorrow.’
CHAPTER SIX
STEFAN RUBBED A hand over his face and tried to tell himself that two hours’ sleep was sufficient. He pushed open the door to the living area of the hotel suite and came to a halt on the threshold. Holly stood by the window, her blonde hair tousled and shower damp, clad simply in jeans and a thick cable knit navy jumper, bare feet peeping out.
Desire tugged in his gut even as he recognised the supreme irony of the situation. This was his fiancée and she was completely off-limits. There could be no repeat of that kiss, no more allowing their attraction to haze and shimmer the air between them. For a start Holly did not share his relationship values, and secondly they now had a deal—one in which the stakes were now even higher.
