Conveniently Wed to the Prince

She’d only met the man this morning. What did she want? A greeting card moment?

Damn it. She knew exactly what she wanted and this was her only chance to get it.

Without allowing common sense to intervene, she let her hormones propel her forward. She was so close to him now that the merest sliver of air separated them. His scent assailed her, her whole body tingled, and her tummy felt weighted with a pool of heat. The scowl had vanished from his expression and his grey eyes gleamed in the moonlight. Molten desire sparked in their depths as he closed the tiny gap between them.

‘I know this is mad,’ she whispered. ‘But as we won’t be seeing each other again would you mind...kissing me?’

‘Not a problem,’ he growled instantly.

Sweet Lord—she couldn’t have imagined a kiss such as this. His lips were firm, and she could taste a tang of wine, a hint of lemon... And then nothing mattered except the vortex of sheer sensation that flooded her every sense.

Desire mounted, and her calf muscles stretched as she went on tiptoe and twined her arms around his neck to pull him closer, pressed her body against his in a delicious wriggle of pleasure. She heard his groan, felt the heat of his large hands against the small of her back.

It was a kiss that might have gone on for ever, but eventually he gently pulled away. For a moment she stood, swayed, the only sound the mingle of their ragged breathing. Slowly reality intruded—the red and gold décor, the darkness outside illuminated by the London streetlights and the brightness of the moon.

Think. Speak. Move.

The directions seemed to be blocked. Her synapses were clearly misfiring...all signals from her brain were fuzzed by the aftershock of the kiss.

Do something.

Finally the order made its way through and she took a shaky step backwards, regained control of her vocal cords. ‘Right. I’ll be on my way, then.’

‘No. Wait.’

To her irritation he had pulled himself together way faster than she had and now stood there eyeing her with a gleam of something she couldn’t interpret.

‘There is no need for me to wait.’ To her relief, annoyance had served to dispel the effect of their lip-lock. ‘I need to go and locate a groom.’

‘Do you have anyone in mind?’

There was an edge to his voice. His grey eyes held a speculative nuance and she wondered if he was trying to probe her for information in the hope of using it against her.

‘I have options,’ she said, and kept her voice non-committal even as she reviewed said options.

Her father had suggested he speak with one of the Il Boschetto di Sole employees, but the idea left Holly cold. Graham still worked on the grove—and the thought of marrying another Il Boschetto di Sole employee, even in name only, felt foolhardy. An employee might well hold out hopes of becoming a co-owner, of remaining married to her. Come to that, anyone she married might think the same.

She ran her London colleagues through her mind—whittled them down to three possibilities. But she could hardly call them up and propose. Plus, she barely knew them—how could she trust any of them to stick to an agreement? Il Boschetto di Sole was a huge asset—an immensely lucrative business.

‘But no one specific?’ he persisted.

‘I’m not a fool. I wouldn’t tell you if I had. Do you have a bride lined up?’

Now his lips quirked up in a smile that left her both baffled and suspicious. ‘I’m not sure. Let’s just say I have an idea.’

Which put him ahead of the game—seeing as his tone indicated that his idea was a good one and hers sucked. ‘Bully for you. Now, I really need to go.’

‘Give me five minutes. I need to make a phone call to my lawyers. I may have a way out of this. Promise me you won’t go until I’ve talked to them.’

Holly hesitated. ‘A way out that your hotshot lawyers haven’t already thought of?’

‘They don’t call me The Negotiator for nothing.’

‘I didn’t know they called you The Negotiator at all.’

‘I’ll be five minutes. Tops.’

‘OK. I’ll pack slowly.’