To Claim His Heir by Christmas

‘No? But haven’t I given you an explanation? What more could you possibly want from me?’

‘That is a very good question, princesa.’

And Luciana had the feeling she wasn’t going to like the answer. Not one bit.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_a80d9af2-63d6-573b-b2de-15f5bff566e7)

THANE IGNORED THE EYES that were boring into his skull and riffled through the mini-bar of the limousine for some hard liquor. She was turning him to drink already—he was insane even to contemplate what enticed his mind.

Snatching a miniature of bourbon, he unscrewed the lid, then tipped the contents onto his tongue and let the fiery liquid trickle down his throat in a heavenly slow burn.

From the corner of his eye he saw Luciana pick up a bottle of sparkling water and commanded himself not to look, to watch. To devour all that beautiful, riveting bone structure—her nose a delicate slope of pure femininity, pronounced razor-sharp cheekbones a supermodel would kill for—those intoxicating brandy-gold eyes and that glossy, over-full wanton mouth as she drank.

Dios, she made his flesh and blood blaze. And it had been so long since he’d felt anything that he was consumed. By want. By hate. It was a terrifically violent and lethal combination that was taking all of his will power to control.

While she speared darts of ire or disbelief in his direction, poised and elegant in her glamorous couture black and white ensemble, all he could think of was her pupils dilated, her hair tossed over his pillow in gloriously messy abandon, and raw, primal sheet-clawing passion.

But it was more than that, wasn’t it? He’d thought his memories were long dead, murdered by the passage of time and the strife in Galancia, but since he’d touched her he’d started to remember.

Remember being held close against her bare skin, feeling truly wanted—a real man made from flesh and hot blood, willing to pay whatever price it took to sustain that feeling a while longer. And, while he wanted that back, he knew it was lost to him.

‘Having a bit of fun. Letting loose.’

Any molecule of hope he’d harboured that she’d felt something for him disintegrated, and inside his chest that lump of stone where his heart should be cracked down the centre and crumbled to dust.

Good. He didn’t want the weak and tender emotions involved in this. Never had to begin with. But the beguiling creature had lured him in. Lesson learned.

‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?’ she asked, before gnawing on her crimson bruised bottom lip.

‘As soon as I figure it out, yes.’ Because despite his misgivings, despite what she’d said, something…something told him she held the key to his fate. He couldn’t explain it if he tried—just as he’d never been able to explain how he’d known she was in grave danger the day they’d met. How when their eyes had locked he’d known she belonged to him.

Ignorant of his internal debate, she heaved a great sigh at his cool reply. But it had taken him less than ten seconds to figure out the best way to play this game: total emotional lockdown. Which was no inconsiderable feat when that aloof haughtiness kept invading her body like some freakish poltergeist and he was overcome with the violent need to grab her and shake it loose. Then there was the way her mind clearly often wandered down a path that he suspected was paved with turmoil, because guilt would walk all over her face. It made him want to climb into her brain and seduce her secrets.

The bright lights of the Altiport runway came into view, as did his sleek black private jet embellished with the Guerrero family crest—a large snake curling around the blade of a sword—and she clutched her bag to her chest as if it held the crown jewels. Which, he conceded, might be true. His knowledge of women’s paraphernalia was zilch.

‘Thane, look. Be reasonable about this. I’m your enemy—there isn’t anything I could give you but trouble. For starters, the bellboy saw me drive away in your car. Does he know who you are?’

He shrugged his wide shoulders. ‘I imagine so. I believe I am very difficult to miss.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Arrogance really should be your middle name. My point is: come morning, Augustus will know I’m with you. Then he’ll call my father—because, let me tell you, they are as thick as thieves. Soon after my father will be on the warpath. So you have to let me go home. My family will worry if I just vanish into thin air.’

‘Let them suffer,’ he said. Just as he’d done. Trying to fill the empty, aching void of losing her. Had she cared for him? Obviously not.

She huffed in disgust. ‘Well, how gallant of you. How would you feel if someone you loved disappeared off the face of the earth?’

His mouth shaped to tell her he knew exactly how it felt, but first his pride stopped him, and then her words. Love? This had nothing to do with love. He was a protective man by nature, and naturally that extended to her. She’d been his. Correction: she was his. Regardless of her true identity. Moreover, he would kiss Arunthian soil before he admitted any hint of vulnerability to her. To anyone. He’d been nine years old when he’d last made that mistake—telling his father that enclosed spaces made him violently sick. Twenty-four hours down an abandoned well had taught him much.

‘Honestly, could you be a more heartless brute?’

It didn’t escape him that he’d been called worse things in his time—a murderer, a mercenary, a traitor—so why the devil it stung coming from her was a mystery.

‘I’m sure I could if I put my mind to it,’ he drawled darkly.

‘But you’re going to be a wanted man. Do you want to spend the rest of your days in a jail cell?’

Thane turned to face her and raised one mocking eyebrow. ‘Your father would have to catch me first princesa—and, believe me, that is impossible.’

‘It’s not about catching you,’ she said, pointing at his shirt before turning the same finger back on herself. ‘He’ll come for me. Do you want an Arunthian army on your doorstep?’

As if.

‘They would never get through Galancian airspace. Do you forget who I am? Your security and your army are no match for mine.’

‘You’re probably right. But that’s because we are peacekeepers. Not fighters. Our people don’t live in fear of an iron-fisted rule. We are rich in life and happiness and that is more important to us.’

Thane scoffed. Did she think he didn’t want those things for his own people? What did she think he fought for? The good of his health? But the topic did bring him full circle to his hellishly risky concept. She could, in effect, help him gain a better life for them. Relax that iron-fisted rule she’d just accused him of by placing his crown in his hands.

Dios, it was mad even to think any union could possibly work, but the notion spun his brain into a frenzied furore. Snagging on one name: Augustus.

He was the biggest unknown in all of this. What the hell was a woman like Luciana doing with a scumbag like him? He was missing something vital here, and he did not appreciate having only half the intel on a situation.

During the twenty minutes he’d waited for her to emerge from the lodge he’d accessed every file he could uncover.

Princess Luciana Valentia Thyssen Verbault. Born and raised in Arunthia. Schooled at Eton and Cambridge, England. No record of her time in Zurich. No surprise there, since she’d been a carousing black-haired gypsy. Five years in China. Low-key. There was only the odd photograph during that time, either with a dark-haired friend and two small boys, or back home at a royal function—as if she’d returned to Arunthia for that purpose entirely, only to travel straight back to China. So what had been there to lure her back again and again? A job? Maybe. But why did his instincts tell him it was a man?

One thing was clear: unless he got a better picture of her life his plans would be dead in the water before he’d even launched them off the jetty.

While all this circled around in his head like manic vultures, Luciana launched into another talkfest about Arunthia: how content the people were, how he could learn a thing or two. The bare-faced cheek of it! Her arms wafted in the air as she warmed to her subject. And, Dios, no matter what crap came out of her mouth, she was the picture of enthralling passionate beauty.

He’d adored that about her. How she could talk for hours. About nothing in particular. Silly, mundane things—music, movies and architecture. He’d revelled in that freedom from his responsibilities, the chance to forget the trouble at home for a while. Ironic that he’d chosen a Zurich festival, having been once before in his uni days, to get away from it all and met a woman from his own sphere who’d been doing exactly the same thing.

An odd memory hit and a smile curved his lips. One she caught.

‘What?’

‘I was just thinking of the time we went to the cinema and were thrown out because you wouldn’t stop talking.’

A lie.

‘Talking? We didn’t get thrown out because we were talking. We got evicted because we were…’ Heat plumed in the rapidly shrinking confines of the car, driving a flush high across her cheekbones. ‘Never mind.’

He felt so smug he could hear his own grin. ‘Shall I finish that for you?’

‘No, thank you. It’s best if we don’t go there, okay?’

She was right. He should be getting a handle on her relationship with the Viscount, not testing her memory. Not watching that beautiful blush frisk down her neck and caress her collarbone. Not inhaling her subtle vanilla and jasmine scent until his body prickled with heat and unleashed a firestorm of memories that turned him hard as steel.

Like the sensation of those plump lips softening beneath his as she’d surrendered to him. The way she’d felt when he’d thrust inside her virginal tight body. The way her legs had curled around his waist as he took her over and over. Lithe, svelte legs…glossed with skin that had felt like finely powdered icing sugar beneath his palms and tasted just as sweet. The softest, most exquisite texture he’d ever touched. Legs that were taunting him now because they were fuller. Lusher. Just like her breasts…