My Forbidden Royal Fling

‘Santiago.’

I grind my teeth. ‘Please, let me finish my sentence.’

He eyes spark with mine and then he dips his head in terse agreement.

‘We have no casinos in Marlsdoven. This would be a first.’

‘One of the reasons I selected your country for this project. You’re primed for this.’

‘You mean my citizens are “primed” to become good little gambling lemmings?’

His eyes narrow. ‘Have you ever been to a casino, Princess?’

Heat rushes my face. Before I can answer, he continues.

‘Of course you haven’t.’

I don’t want to analyse his tone or meaning.

‘Do you think if I’d been to a casino I’d be more likely to look favourably on your project? I believe the opposite is true. Seeing one of these places would likely make me refuse to sell the land to you regardless of any benefits I perceive for the country.’ I suck in a shaky breath. ‘But I suspect that would be cutting off my nose to spite my face, and I’ve no interest in doing that.’

He lifts his hand, rubbing the back of his neck, the gesture separating enough of his shirt from the waistband of his trousers to reveal an inch or so of tanned, taut abdomen. My mouth goes dry, my heart in overdrive. I stare at his chest, my stomach in knots, my brain fizzing. I’ve lost my train of thought completely.

‘How do you know if by your own admission you have no experience?’

The challenge drags me into the conversation again, but not fully. His arm drops, and so does the shirt. The sight of his flesh is buried in my mind, yet it’s not enough. I have a yearning to see him completely shirtless, to see all his chest, the entire expanse of muscled abdomen. I blink hard, trying to clear the thoughts, the vision, trying to focus. My country needs my concentration right now. I can’t be distracted just because he happens to be seriously attractive.

‘The land you’ve chosen is valuable, historic and prominent.’ I return the discussion to ground I’m more comfortable with, clearing my throat, vanquishing thoughts of his chest from my mind—for now.

His accent grows thicker as he defends his plans with obvious determination. ‘This land is the obvious place for this. It’s perfect for such a development.’

My eyes sweep shut on a wave of sadness. My own dreams for the piece of central real estate are impossible to visualise now. The arts precinct I wanted to commission—a testament to the cultural richness of Marlsdoven history and a space where children could go and be inspired to create—was now just a once-upon-a-time fantasy.

‘And your prime minister agreed to the sale.’

‘I know.’

‘Yet you don’t agree?’

‘It’s irrelevant,’ I say quietly. ‘Isn’t it? Would you consider a different location at this stage?’

‘Would it make you happy if I did?’

I stare at him, not expecting the question and with no clue how to answer.

‘Or wouldn’t you still have the same ideological issues then that you do now? You don’t want a casino at all. Right?’

‘I don’t think that matters.’ The words are numb, resigned. ‘I’m in the minority. My Prime Minister and Treasurer assure me the parliament wholeheartedly supports your investment. I have no justifiable power to overrule them.’

‘It’s crown land. As you said, your signature is required on the contract.’

Is he throwing me a lifeline? Reminding me that I do hold some power here? For all that I feel he’s reading me like an open book, I can’t understand him at all.

‘I’m not in the habit of going against my parliament.’

‘You’re a terrible negotiator.’

My eyes widen at the criticism and then, to my surprise, he smiles, his teeth baring, his expression changing completely. His eyes crinkle at the corners and it’s as if the sun is blasting into the room. I grip my tea cup more tightly, but nothing can stop my knees from wobbling.