Crown Prince's Bought Bride

He tensed. ‘Too much for what?’

Her gaze dropped from his. ‘Nothing.’

He nudged her head up with a finger under her chin. ‘There has to be a basis of truthfulness between us before this goes forward.’

The hand on his chest bunched, then pushed him away. Reluctantly, he released her.

‘You assume something is going to happen between us,’ she said.

‘Drop the pretence. You’re still as destitute now as you were this morning.’

She glided a nervous tongue-tip over her lower lip, dragging his attention again to that enticing part of her body that was chiselling away at his composure.

Perhaps his mother was right and it was time to look beyond his life of strict official duty and responsibility to the crown.

His gut tightened. From as long as he could remember, there’d been no one else for him but Celeste. He’d been satisfied with the projection of a life with her based on affection, mutual respect and dedication to his kingdom.

There’d been no over-exuberant displays of affection, but the sex had been satisfying—if a little underwhelming with the passage of time. But that had been acceptable in light of his father’s extramarital affair and the claim that he’d had no control over himself.

Remi had sneered at that weakness.

He welcomed a life devoid of such emotional entanglements, and if his body was done with the self-imposed celibacy he’d placed upon it since Celeste’s death, if the time had come when he could move beyond the heavy fog of guilt to the semblance of a future, he would decide with his head and not with the sharp, fevered passion that saw some men make fools of themselves. Not with the stark, blazing hunger that currently clawed at him, courtesy of the siren in front of him.

His mother had called him this morning, demanding to know who he’d selected from her list. The unspoken suggestion that there must be some sort of deadline on the guilt and grief that shrouded him had triggered a bolt of fury. His terse response had strained their conversation. But he’d hung up knowing he needed to make a decision, and soon.

But not before he’d dealt with the powder keg Jules had left behind.

‘A quarter of a million pounds is much more than the seventy-five thousand you bargained for. That and a signed confidentiality agreement means you’ll get to walk away with more money than you dreamed of,’ he said.

‘You make me sound like a cold-hearted gold-digger,’ she muttered, her words wrapped in a thin layer of something close to anguish.

But he’d seen her last night. Like in those pictures palace security had dug up, she’d been dressed for maximum effect, the wisps of nothing she wore designed to captivate any red-blooded male within her radius.

He didn’t like to admit it, but the thrumming of his blood insisted he wasn’t altogether immune to Madeleine Myers.

‘Time is up. Yes or no?’

CHAPTER FOUR

A QUARTER OF a million pounds.

Enough for the operation her father desperately needed with plenty left over for a better place for him to live after his procedure. Surely the prospect of a brighter future would end the cycle of depression her father couldn’t seem to break? It might even stretch to hiring a carer for him so she could return to university to finish her studies.

The possibilities of what that money might do staggered her for a minute, momentarily lightening the heavy weight of despair. She took a deep, relieved breath for the first time in what felt like for ever.

And then she looked into the formidable eyes watching her with thinly veiled distaste.

Relief turned to shame. A powerful need to toss his offer in his face ploughed through her. It would be immensely satisfying to walk away, prove that she wasn’t the cheap little gold-digger he’d branded her. She wasn’t her mother, she wanted to tell him. She didn’t value her relationships based exclusively on the size of a man’s bank account.

Surely he would look at her with less damning eyes if he knew the money was for her father?

A stark reminder whisked away that foolish notion.

How could she have forgotten about Greg? Friendly, cheeky Greg, who at fourteen had been one of her closest friends, part of the gang at their country club. Greg, whose wealthy parents had bred horses and looked down their noses at anyone whose personal portfolio didn’t include three homes in exotic locations...

She’d been too blinded by desperation to see his true colours when she’d turned to him for support when her world had turned grey. He’d hidden his distaste well. Had fooled her with his false sympathy when she’d told him about her father. In the bleak, uncertain landscape of her new reality Greg had been her only shelter, and she’d unashamedly leaned on him in the months after her mother’s desertion when the unvarnished truth of her father’s addiction had come to light.

For months Maddie had trusted him with everything.