The King's Captive Virgin

‘I need your help with a personal matter,’ he said irritably. ‘That is all I am prepared to discuss while we are in a public place. Does that satisfy your safety concerns?’

She was lost for words. How could she possibly help him with a personal matter?

His gaze narrowed. ‘Have I given you reason not to trust me?’

‘I don’t trust anyone,’ she answered honestly.

Not intimately. And she certainly didn’t trust him. King Giorgos had a good reputation—he was serious, intense, and it was known that he worked hard and long hours—but that edginess he carried, and the unexpected, unexplained demand he was making...

Her body was sending out all kinds of chaos signals—the shivers down her spine, the speed of her pulse, the breathlessness, the heat. Maybe she was coming down with something. But, no, in her gut she didn’t trust anyone—not him, and now she was beginning not to trust herself.

His smile was slow and not very reassuring. ‘No doubt you have your reasons.’

Of course she did. ‘Several,’ she replied coldly.

He offered nothing more than a dismissive shrug. ‘Regardless of your hesitation, we need to leave.’

She shook her head. ‘I have to finish my shift.’

‘Leaving a few minutes early will make little difference. Your manager has already been informed.’

Shocked, she stared up at him, registering his planning. He hadn’t come to the hospital to visit patients and to spread cheer.

‘I came here for you.’ He quietly confirmed her thinking. ‘And I’m not leaving without you. If I have to get my security team to forcibly remove you, then that’s what I will do.’

‘No, you won’t,’ she challenged him—because this she did know. ‘You care too much about what people think.’

King Giorgos was remote and dignified and there’d never been a breath of scandal about him. He was Giorgos the Perfect, while his sister was Eleni the Pure.

He blinked rapidly. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You’re the hard-working, serious King who can do no wrong.’

‘You do realise you’re insulting that “hard-working, serious King” to his face?’

‘Because he is doing wrong. You can’t make me go with you.’

‘I can—because this is too important. We are leaving,’ he ordered. ‘Walk with me now.’

‘You’re serious?’

He took another step closer—a shade too far into her personal space. ‘Are you going to make me get the chains? Because if that’s really what you want, then of course I wouldn’t dream of disappointing a lady.’

His sneer was mortifying. That humiliating blush burned again. She hadn’t meant it about the chains, yet here he was implying that she was doing this only to...to flirt? She never flirted.

What was wrong with her? This man made all the rules—he owned the nation...his face was on the currency—and she was snapping at him like some schoolgirl with an immature crush.

‘Of course not.’ She avoided his eyes and muttered contritely, ‘I’ll just get my bag and then we can leave.’

She was startled when he kept pace with her as she went into the small office.

‘Why are you following me?’

‘I’m not giving you a chance to hide anything or any time alone to contact him.’

Contact who? She stared at him uncomprehendingly.

‘Just get your things,’ he muttered.

It finally dawned on her that this had to be a case of mistaken identity—he’d confused her with someone else and there was nothing she could help him with. She was nobody. She did nothing but work at the hospital and then go home to read up about more work. But she’d go with his assistant now and they’d soon realise she wasn’t the person the King sought. Then they’d bring her back here and all would be forgotten.

Reassured by this reasoning, Kassie grabbed her satchel and slung the strap over her shoulder.

She almost had to run to keep pace with him moving through the hospital. He’d lost patience and wasn’t slow. She stepped into the sleek black car idling right outside the back entrance. To her surprise King Giorgos walked around and got into the seat on the other side.

‘I thought I was going with your assistant?’ she said. She’d been looking forward to a quick resolution.

He directed a quelling look at her as the car glided off, taking them away. ‘Do you ever stop questioning?’

‘Not when there’s this much to be questioned. Where are you taking me? And why?’

‘I’m the one who has the questions, Ms Marron.’

The edge in his tone forced her to regard him directly. Something lurked in the back of his eyes—a streak of wildness that surprised her.

But it wasn’t entirely a surprise. From what she’d seen of him at a distance—in the news and on the television—King Giorgos had always appeared to her like a wild man forced into refined clothes. It wasn’t that he wasn’t civilised—of course he was—but it was as if he might break free from the polished uniform at any moment. He was too elemental to be contained.

Idiot.

She scoffed at her wayward thinking. She was just unused to a man his size. He was taller than average, with a powerful set to his extremely broad shoulders. Lean and muscled, his physique and demeanour were imposing. And this close she could see his hair was a little bit too long, and a faint edge of stubble showed on his jaw, adding to the impression of edginess—of a man chafing at his constraints. And right now he was clearly inwardly struggling to contain a fierce emotion.

But the thought that King Giorgos might be struggling with latent rebelliousness was pure imagination. This was King Giorgos. The man had been King since his late teens—earnest and capable beyond his years. Yet suddenly all she could do was think about that streak of wildness and the size of his muscular thighs and the promise of physical power...

What was wrong with her? She swallowed, but it didn’t ease the dryness in her throat.

She realised that he was silently scrutinising her as much as she was him. But he had that hostility in his eyes again, and a moody set to his jaw. His whole positioning was tense. Something was off. Something was wrong. And she had no idea how she was supposed to help.

‘Is it Princess Eleni?’ she asked softly.

He sat very still. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘She missed her visit today. She never misses her visits.’

He watched her...waiting. Something swirled in the atmosphere between them. The luxurious car suddenly felt cramped—as if she were too close to him, as if he could see into her mind. She felt compelled to fill the silence—anything to deflect this pull she felt, pushing her nearer to him.

‘She was unwell last week,’ she added, licking her dry lips.

‘Unwell in what way?’