Forced Wife, Royal Love-Child (6 page)

‘No,’ she said, holding up one hand. ‘No wine, please.’

He held up the bottle so that she could see the label. ‘Are you sure? It’s a vintage San Margarita Superiore, the island’s pride and joy.’

She was shaking her head, the internationally acclaimed wine label with its clutch of gold-medal stickers from a dozen different wine shows clearly making no impression.

He moved the bottle and poured some of the straw-coloured liquid into his own glass. ‘Are you worried I might get you drunk and try to seduce you?’

For the first time since he’d sat down, her eyes flicked up to meet his. ‘Not at all. I’m worried I have to fly a helicopter tomorrow morning and I’m being professional. But if my caution stops me from doing something unwise into the deal, so much the better.’

He raised his eyebrows at her words, and at the opening she’d given him. ‘And would this thing you might otherwise do be so unwise?’

She flicked a napkin in her fingers, unfolding it before letting it settle on her lap. ‘I think so.’

‘Even though it might also be very pleasurable?’

Her chin set, she turned those deep honey-coloured eyes up to his once again, any intended coolness belied by the twin slashes of red adorning her cheeks, and he knew she
was remembering, as was he, just how pleasurable that night had been.

‘It would be a mistake,’ she said, her tone defiant, ‘and wherever possible, I try to avoid making the same mistake twice.’

The words grated on his senses, as did her ability to turn defensiveness into attack. He replaced the bottle in the ice bucket with a satisfying crunch, half tempted to tell her she wasn’t going anywhere tomorrow or any time soon until he was good and finished with her.

But as he’d seen before, that would merely fuel her resistance. And he didn’t want resistance. He wanted her warm and willing and begging him to fill her. And he wanted it all tonight.

Rafe forced a smile to his lips as he raised his glass to her in a toast. ‘Then we must ensure you are not tempted to repeat any of the so-called mistakes of the past. Please, eat up.’

Sienna did eat up, as course after course of the most amazing food was delivered steaming-hot to her door. And she knew it must be amazing from the descriptions he gave her along the way, though she never tasted a thing, not the crayfish-filled ravioli or the lightly dusted tender calamari. Even the most succulent quail was completely wasted on her. The fine textures she could appreciate, but nothing of the taste.

Not with him sitting there, so close, so larger than life.

A man she had slept with once before.

A man who had made it plain that he wanted to sleep with her again.

And, if she were true to herself, a man who, despite everything, tempted her more than she cared to admit.

‘Why did Signorina Genevieve come today?’ she asked, as she contemplated the stunning dessert that had been placed before her. Fresh berries and cream lay sandwiched between wafers of meringue, creating a tower of colour and summer
delights circled with a raspberry coulis and sprinkled with icing sugar, and she honestly wished she could appreciate it more, but the question had been circling through Sienna’s thoughts for some time. That and the reason for the woman’s sudden departure from the island so soon after arriving. The young woman had been in good spirits during their flight, and, even though she hadn’t spoken a word to Sienna, it had been clear through her animated conversation with her mother how excited she had been to be travelling to Montvelatte. Sienna had figured her own reason for the visit, but given her sudden departure, now she wasn’t so sure. ‘Surely she would have stayed longer.’

Across the table Rafe leaned back, dragging in a breath. He crossed fingers in his lap, even though she could tell by the tightness of his shoulders that he wasn’t as relaxed as he made out. ‘She came for an interview, that’s all.’

‘She was applying for a job?’

This time he gave an ironic laugh. ‘You could say that. My adviser seems to be obsessed with finding Montvelatte a princess. Which unfortunately involves finding me a wife.’

‘A wife?’ Sienna dragged in her own breath and fiddled with the placement of her napkin.
Rafe was getting married?

She should have seen it coming. It wasn’t a constant supply of high-class mistresses he’d had ferried to the island over the last couple of weeks—since when did they take their mothers with them?—it was potential brides.

And somehow that was no relief at all
.

She did her best to inject some amusement into her voice. ‘And this is how princes of Montvelatte find their wives, is it? By interview? How very romantic.’

Rafe reached for his wine glass and swirled the white wine in lazy circles, but he didn’t take a sip. ‘Romance doesn’t enter the equation. A direct Lombardi descendant must take the
throne, or the principality loses its right to exist. This is all about ensuring that doesn’t happen.’

‘That sounds very melodramatic.’

‘Simply fact. Montvelatte’s right to exist is predicated on the continuation of the line.’

‘So that’s where you came in.’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘Even bastards have a purpose, it seems.’

His self-deprecating manner didn’t fool her for a second. ‘That’s what was happening—that night—when the news broke on the television and they carted away your two half-brothers. You knew then, didn’t you? You knew what it meant.’

‘I had a gut feeling I might get a call.’

‘And you just couldn’t wait to take over the reins and put on that crown.’

He raised the glass to his lips and, without taking his eyes from hers, drank down the wine. ‘You think I wanted this? To have my life turned into public property?’

‘You seem happy enough lording it over me, holding me here against my will and forcing your way into my room when you’re not welcome. Seems to me you’re a natural at playing to the manor born.’

He stared at her a while, his eyelids half closed. ‘If you say so.’

‘And now you must have a wife. To give you an heir and to give Montvelatte the breathing space it needs.’

‘That’s right.’

She toyed with her dessert, making lazy figure eights through the raspberry coulis that lapped at the edges of her triumph in chocolate. ‘So you’re “interviewing” prospective wives. And meanwhile you’re dining with a woman you once spent a night with, and who you have every intention of sleeping with again.’

It was meant to be an accusation, something that put him at a disadvantage, but the way he looked at her, the sudden widening and wanting revealed in his eyes, the planes of his face suddenly harsher in the fading light, more dangerous seemed to have the opposite effect. ‘I am.’

And she felt a rush of heat infuse her skin, throbbing in places that responded eagerly to his words like an invitation. She was a fool for walking into his trap, for bringing up the one thing he’d somehow avoided talking about all night, and yet the one thing she knew he expected to happen. She looked down at her plate helplessly, at the dessert she’d barely touched, and knew there was no escape there. There were no more courses to come, the coffee already poured, the
petit
fours
sitting between them accusingly. Dinner had come to an end and now he would expect her to fall into bed with him.

He needed a wife. He wanted a bed warmer. And it was clear whatever place she occupied fell into the latter category.

By rights she should hate him for it.

She
did
hate him for it.

And yet…

His gaze washed over her in a heated rush. He didn’t have to utter another word; the question was there in his eyes, the hunger, the need. The promise of bliss.

Memories of the night they’d spent together surged back, rushing over her like a king tide, deep and unable to be resisted, a force of nature that could not be denied. What he’d done to her with his hands and his mouth and his perfect body. The way he’d made her feel…

The knowledge of how he could make her feel again
.

Was it so wrong to feel so tempted? Was it so wrong for her body to hunger for more of what he’d given her, to experience more of that particular brand of magic?

She was leaving tomorrow.

She could have one more night. Where was the harm in that? One more night, and this time she would do the leaving. There could be no more surprises, no more disappointments. This time he wouldn’t have the chance to dump her. This time she would be the one to walk away, the one in control. She could leave him to his ladies and his princesses and contessas. One of them would ultimately win him for ever, but she could have him right here, right now.

Maybe it would never be enough. But wouldn’t one more night be at least something for the inconvenience he’d put her through today?

She deserved something. Surely.

He chose that exact moment to extend his hand to her. ‘It’s time.’

‘C
OME
,’ Rafe said, his voice rumbling through her in a series of tremors that threatened to unravel what was left of her defences. His long fingers wrapped around hers, circling her hand, drawing her up from her chair and against the black-clad, lethal length of him.

‘Rafe,’ she said, as his body received her in a swaying motion, almost as if dancing to a slow, silent waltz. ‘Shh,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t say anything.’

She couldn’t say anything anyway, her reason for speaking forgotten while her senses were fully employed drinking in the feel of him moving against her, setting the silk robe to a sensual massage against her tight nipples and aching breasts.

Intoxicating.

His touch was like a drug, she decided, his hands dispensing a sensual dose everywhere they glided, everywhere they touched. And when he kissed her it was with the promise of ecstasy.

Sienna melted against him, his mouth taking possession of hers, hot and wanting and so hungry that she wanted to give him everything she had, if only he would give her more of him.

His fingers splayed wide down the curve of her spine and over her behind, holding her to him and against that rock-hard
evidence of his need. She invited herself still closer, as his lips left her mouth to trail kisses down her throat. Her head fell back and he took advantage, sliding the silk of her robe apart, grazing the flesh above her breast with his teeth.

It was everything she’d dreamed of. Everything she’d missed in these last few weeks.

Make the most of it
, a tiny voice in her head told her.
Because it’s all you’re ever going to get
.

A hand cupped her breast and she gasped, the voice in her head vanquished. ‘You’re more beautiful than I remembered,’ Rafe murmured huskily, rolling one aching nipple between his thumb and finger before dipping his head to capture it between his lips.

Pleasure, exquisite and intense, speared deep inside, setting off a bloom of moisture between her thighs. She clung to him, knowing that otherwise her knees would give out and she would fall.

He turned his attention to her other breast, sweeping the fabric from her skin, letting her robe fall open in the process, uncaring, his hands underneath, across her naked skin. He drew back then and drank her in with his eyes, and the raw intensity she saw there terrified her.

She shivered, the tiny voice once again uppermost in her mind. What kind of man was he that he could look at her like that and then calmly turn around and marry another?

What kind of woman was she to let him?

She’d told him she wouldn’t sleep with him. And yet here she was, next to naked, all but begging for him to take her. She was akin to a starving dog under the table, grateful for any scraps that might be thrown her way.

What the hell was wrong with her?

Sienna wrenched her hands from his shoulders, trusting her spine was firmer now and that her legs would hold up on their
own, and pulled the sides of her robe together, lashing her arms firmly below her breasts to keep it there. She was shaking and she couldn’t stop it, her body protesting at the sudden change of direction.

His head tilted to one side, his brows drawing together in a frown. ‘Sienna,’ he said straightening, ‘are you cold?’

She shook her head, shuffling her bare feet backwards over the rich Persian carpet. ‘I think you should go. This is a really bad idea.’

His eyes glinted menacingly. ‘You didn’t seem to think so a moment ago.’

‘I told you before I wouldn’t sleep with you. I’m sorry, but I haven’t changed my mind.’

He took a step closer, the knot in his brows deepening. ‘What kind of game are you playing? It’s obvious you want this as much as I do.’

‘No. I don’t think so. And personally I don’t think you give a damn what I want. All you care about is an easy lay.’

He growled at her coarse words. ‘That’s not true.’

‘It is true! You decided when I landed on this island that you had an easy lay on tap. You didn’t give a damn what I thought then, and you don’t give a damn now. I told you I wanted off this island then and I still want off this island now. But you’re still not listening. You still think you can take whatever you damn well please. Well, let me tell you, you had your chance in Paris and you made your choice crystal clear then.’

He didn’t move, other than the faint tic in his jaw and the dangerous gleam in his eyes. ‘Don’t think you’re going to gain some advantage by holding out. I’m afraid Sebastiano’s shortlist of potential Montvelatte princesses is already complete. There’s a place for you in my bed if you want to take it, but I certainly won’t beg you to change your mind.’

Cold fury at his arrogance skyrocketed her anger into overdrive.
‘You think I want to marry you? Get real! I don’t care that you’re a prince. I wouldn’t care if you were the Beast of Iseo himself. I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man left on earth. I told you I wouldn’t sleep with you and I won’t. Get used to it!’

His face was dark and filled with a fury that secretly terrified her. He was a prince. This was his land, his world and she was telling him how it was to be. She must be insane to think she could get away with it. But damn it, nothing gave him the excuse to act the way he did.

Nothing!

He glowered at her again, took a step closer that had her wanting to reel right away, before his tightly drawn lips finally gave way to sound. ‘Have it your way.’

It was a perfect day, the rising sun already high in the sky, dazzling with the promise of heat. The infinity pool set into the gardens below sparkled and merged with the sea beyond, the perfect diamante-set blue, which in turn merged into a perfect azure sky.

A perfect day. And the perfectly wrong day for a foul mood.

Rafe sat on the terrace, holding his coffee, staring out resentfully over the beauty of the surroundings. His plans to seduce her into submission had come unstuck. So be it. If she wanted out so badly, she could have it. It was no real loss.

The chopper waited on the helipad for its pilot. He’d watched its arrival half an hour ago. He was surprised, given her vehemence of last night, that she hadn’t already left.

He took a sip.
Dio!
Even the coffee tasted bitter today. He put down his cup with a clatter and stood. What was he waiting for? She was leaving. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing him watching out for her departure.

Something made him turn then, a noise, a movement, and
he saw her, standing in the doorway staring at him like a frightened animal stuck in the glare of oncoming headlights. Memories of last night’s argument bubbled up like boiling mud, and his gut squeezed tight.

The only compensation was that she looked as bad as he felt. Her skin was pale. So pale against the Titian gold framing her face, even though pulled tight into that damned braid she favoured. And her eyes were smudged with dark circles that spoke of a lack of sleep that he could only hope matched his own.

What was she so scared of? Did she think he’d make another move on her? Not a chance!

‘I just wanted to say goodbye,’ she said, in a voice so tiny it almost got lost in the space between them.

He gave a brief nod. ‘Have you eaten?’

Her face seemed to lose even more colour, if that were possible, and as he looked closer, he could see she was clutching at the door beside her for support, her grip so tight that her knuckles were white.

She shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together, her whole face looking pinched and drawn. She’d had a worst night than he had.
Good
. But as he edged nearer, he noticed for the first time that there was colour in her face after all, a strange shade of grey. ‘Shouldn’t you have breakfast before you go? At least some coffee?’

‘I have to go,’ she squeezed out between barely open lips, her eyes wider than ever as he approached. ‘Thank you for your… Well, thank you.’

He nodded again, determined not to care one way or another how she felt. ‘I’ll have Sebastiano take you down to the helipad.’

She nodded and turned to go then, letting go of the side of the door to melt back into the house, but something about the way she moved, a slight stagger, a waver in her step, had him at her side in a heartbeat.

He reached for her arm, felt the momentary resistance in her slight frame before she sagged against him in a dead faint.

‘Sebastiano,’ he yelled, collecting her into his arms. ‘Get the doctor!’

‘She’s resting now.’

Rafe stopped pretending not to be interested at the sound of the
dottore’s
voice.

‘Is she all right?’

‘She’s fine, but I’ve advised her to get a complete checkup when she gets home. And to think about avoiding flying while she feels like this, of course. But she’ll feel better a little later on in the day. That’s usually how morning sickness works.’

Clouds of black filled the space behind Rafe’s eyes, an unexpected explosion of red following close behind as his heart pumped loud in his chest. ‘She’s pregnant, then?’

‘Six to eight weeks, at a guess,’ replied the doctor, oblivious to the bombshell he’d just dropped. ‘So if you can do anything to reduce her stress levels, that will probably help her through this period. She does present as being very stressed.’

The doctor continued his diagnosis but Rafe heard nothing. Not while his mind processed the news, peeling back time, trying to remember.
Six to eight weeks
. Was it possible?

He’d used protection. He would never be that careless.

Except he hadn’t!

He had been that careless
.

The details came back in a blinding flash. He’d heard of his half-brothers’ arrests and of their implication in their father’s death. He’d learned that Montvelatte’s existence balanced on a knife edge. And he’d been blind with anger and fury and rage that they could have been so arrogant and so self-absorbed that they had done this with pure greed in mind,
and that they hadn’t seen where they were heading. So blind with anger that he hadn’t stopped to think, hadn’t hesitated before burying himself one last time deep inside the woman who’d just happened to be there.

Had that momentary loss of control done this, resulted in a child? Was it his?

She’d almost got away. He’d been that close to letting her go, angry that she could deny him the pleasure he’d find with her, and so close to letting her walk out of his life for ever.

Would he ever have found out if she’d gone? She might never have told him.

Six weeks. Coincidence? Or fate?

Whichever, she wasn’t getting away before he found out for sure.

The doctor had finished his report. ‘Can I see her?’

‘Certainly. Though be gentle. Right now she’s a little emotionally fragile.’

Rafe blew out his breath in a rush. ‘I’ll just bet she is.’

Moments later he paused outside her room, his anger festering inside him, a living thing. He’d paced the terrace for endless minutes, working out the possibilities. If she’d told him last night that she was pregnant with someone else’s child, if she’d thrown it in his face then and there, he would have left her alone. But she hadn’t said a word. And six to eight weeks? Surely she must have known something? Was that the real reason she’d declined to have any wine?

He thought back on her determination to escape the island. She’d been desperate to get away. So desperate to escape that she’d risk flying a helicopter when she was in danger of passing out at the controls. If those facts weren’t enough to spell out her guilt, he didn’t know what was.

She didn’t want him to know.

Which could only mean one thing.

It had to be his
.

He hauled in a lungful of air, felt the oxygen fuel the fury inside him until it was in danger of combusting, until he wanted to howl at the irony.

All that time Sebastiano had been doing his utmost to find Montvelatte the perfect breeding stock.

All that time Sebastiano had spent ensuring Montvelatte would not be left without an heir.

And all that time there had been one all along.

It was a disaster
. Sienna pushed herself back into pillows damp with tears, unable to assimilate the new-found knowledge, unable to come to terms with the physician’s declaration.

There was nothing wrong with her, he’d calmly informed her, in the very same breath he’d dropped the bombshell that she was pregnant and suffering nothing more debilitating than morning sickness.

Nothing wrong
. That was a laugh, when her entire world was shattering to pieces around her. Nothing wrong, when, in fact, nothing could be less right.

And so she’d argued and remonstrated with him. It had been too late in her cycle and she’d had a period, admittedly light, but then she’d only just come off the pill. It couldn’t be possible.

And the doctor had looked benignly down at her as he’d clicked up his bag and explained that there was no mistake, that coming off the pill so recently meant her cycle could be late, and that the light period she’d assumed she’d had was most likely no more than an implantation bleed.

And then he’d asked her what she did for a living and warned her that she might have to think about not flying for a while.
Not flying?
Flying was her job. She’d just got the job of her dreams. It was her life!

And now she knew that the churning in her stomach was nothing to do with any morning sickness, but a gut-wrenching reaction to the news.

She was pregnant. With Rafe’s child. That alone was bad enough. But he wasn’t just a man any more.

He was a prince.

She screwed her face into the pillow and tried unsuccessfully to stem a fresh batch of tears. This couldn’t be happening to her. Not with him. Not now.

He might be the father of the baby growing inside her, but he was expected to marry. Someone suitable. Someone worthy of being Montvelatte’s princess.

Someone else
.

Not some no-name commoner from a dysfunctional family who’d spent one night with him and ended up pregnant.