Playing the Royal Game

‘I want to talk.’

‘We will talk.’

‘I don’t want to leave things till tomorrow.’

‘We won’t,’ Alex said, and then, because he had no choice but to tell her, he did. ‘Now that we’re officially engaged we’ll be sleeping together.’

‘We bloody well won’t!’

‘Not sleeping together...’ he said hurriedly, and at least managed to look a little shamefaced. ‘I had an argument with my parents. I was trying to point out how archaic things are, how ridiculous it is...’ He watched her face, watched her eyes widen, her mouth open to speak; he could feel her tension, like a can of fizzy drink being shaken and shaken and any moment now she would explode, just fizz out her anger all over the corridor. ‘I was talking more about the chosen-bride thing,’ he tried to placate her. ‘This is my parents’ attempt to show me they’ve moved into the twenty-first century. Now that we’re officially engaged we can share a bed.’

‘No...’ Her reaction was instant, there was absolutely no question, but as she spoke he heard a noise behind him, turned and saw the Scandal photographer about to come into the corridor, just as Allegra exploded. ‘If you even think for one moment that I’m going to share—’

He had no choice—there was but one way to silence her. He pressed his mouth to hers, but she was having none of it, and jerked her head away, her protest about to continue. So he pinned her to the wall, took her face in his hands and just pressed her right in.

And pushing him off with her rigid lips wasn’t working. Alex was tall and strong, so she opened her mouth instead to shout, except he kissed her harder; his hands moved faster than hers and captured her wrists as they moved. He wedged her to the wall and she was furious. Yes, he’d paid her, but not for this!

She did not care if there was a photographer—she’d give them a shot! She wasn’t Bobby Jackson’s daughter for nothing; she could be as rough as she liked, and her knee went to move upwards, ready to take aim.

There was only one thing that saved him—he ceased the kiss before contact, his reflexes like lightning, and he froze her with a single word. ‘Don’t.’

She looked at him and for the first time since landing on this bastard of an island he actually looked back.

‘Don’t you dare,’ he muttered.

‘Well, that got a reaction,’ she taunted. ‘Worried about the crown jewels?’ she goaded, speaking now into his ear. ‘I’m surprised they’re not protected.’ She was aware of the cameras flashing, and somehow she did behave, didn’t finish the job off and storm away from him. Instead, because she could, she stood there, because he dared not move. ‘Or perhaps they are...’ She gave a low laugh, her hand moving as if to check him and he gripped harder on her wrist to stop her. Not just because the camera was trained on them, not just because a Crown Prince could not be seen being groped in the corridor, but because he was rock hard.

He looked to green eyes that were spitting; he looked and he looked again. He heard his own fast breathing, and now he could feel hers, feel her breasts pressing into his chest with each rapid breath, and he was not thinking, he was just up for the challenge. He dropped her wrist because he wanted her hand instead, except she wasn’t so brave now, her hand not moving to its target.

‘I thought I was going to get a pat down.’

‘There’s a camera.’

‘It doesn’t take photos around corners... They can’t see that side.’

‘You’re disgusting,’ she said.

‘I can be.’

He said no more, not that Allegra would have heard him anyway; her head was spinning, her ears roaring as blood gushed to her head, her face on fire as a butler opened the door to a private wing. She passed several rooms, and then double wooden doors were opened and she stepped into his bedroom. Had she had a moment to ponder, she would have realised it was perhaps the most beautiful room she had ever seen. The ceilings were high and there was intricate wooden paneling and a fragrant fire was lit to ward off the chill of the late-spring evening. The drapes and furnishings were exquisite, but she barely glanced at them. It was the vast bed that terrified her most and she was also acutely, painfully aware of the palace maids waiting. She had hoped the door would close, that she could have angry, private words with Alex, because this was so not a part of the deal, but instead she was led to a dressing room—her dressing room, it would seem—for Alex headed to another.