The King's Convenient Bride / The Illegitimate Prince's Baby: The King's Convenient Bride

Maybe he could make her tell him no.

He let his hand slide down her back, slowly. Over the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip. Then he went lower, cupping the soft swell of her behind. She whimpered softly, but didn’t attempt to pull away. He took it one step further, pulling her against him, so she would feel exactly what all of this fooling around was doing to him. And, hell, she felt amazing. All soft and warm and sweet smelling. And rather than deter her, his actions seemed only to fuel her determination.

She drew her nails across his skin, arched and rubbed herself against him, and he couldn’t stop the husky sound of need that welled up from his chest.

She had given every indication that she was a virgin, but now he wasn’t so sure. And he didn’t know how he felt about that. He liked the idea that she would be his alone.

Her hands were on his shoulders, his chest, traveling slowly downward, in the direction of his waistband. A few more inches, and he wouldn’t be able to stop.

Virgin or not, how could he, in good conscience, deny Hannah what she told him she wanted—the privilege of waiting for her wedding day?

The truth of the matter was, as good as this felt, as much as she seemed to want this, he couldn’t.

He broke the kiss and backed away, leaving her flush and out of breath. And honestly, he wasn’t faring much better. “We have to stop.”

Her cheeks were red, her voice husky with desire. “Why?”

“Because you don’t want this.”

“Yes, I do. I want us to make love.”

She tried to kiss him again, to touch him, but he manacled her wrists in his hands. “No, you don’t. You’re upset, and it’s affecting your judgment.”

“I’m not upset. Honestly.”

“Hannah, if we let this happen, you’ll regret it.”

“I won’t.”

“It’s only a week.” He could hardly believe what he was saying. That he was the one talking her out of sex. He must have been completely out of his mind.

Her expression said she was thinking the same thing. “Today, next week. What’s the difference?”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Phillip, I want this. Tonight. Right now.”