Not Fit for a King?

He’d thought her beautiful at their engagement party but he hadn’t felt this fierce physical attraction that evening. The truth was he hadn’t felt much of anything for her throughout the year. Until now.

But ever since yesterday, whenever he looked at her, he thought of one thing—getting her in his bed, naked beneath him.

He wanted to see her long blond hair tousled about her face, a golden ripple across the pillow.

He wanted to part her thighs as wide as he could and bury himself in her, thrusting deep and hard to make her come.

He wanted to shatter her control and make her fall apart and see if there was perhaps a real woman, a warm woman, underneath the shimmering hair and stunning face.

“We both have busy schedules,” he said, “but I’ll see if I can’t have our appointments and appearances shuffled around to allow us to spend as much time together in the next few days—”

“Four,” she interrupted. “You’ve promised me four starting tomorrow.”

“I think that was four, starting today.”

“Tomorrow,” she insisted firmly. “Today was already half over when we made the agreement.”

“Perhaps, but as I intend to spend all our time together, I think you might find four days excessively long, unless you don’t think you’ll weary of me after morning, noon and night?” His voice trailed off and he shrugged, as if to say it was entirely up to her.

Two bright spots of color burned high in her cheekbones deepening her blue eyes. “I would only weary of you if you were boring.” Her full lips curved. “Do you intend to be boring?”

She was outrageous. She should be punished. With his hands, and mouth, and tongue.

His body hardened just thinking of how she’d feel beneath him.

Emmeline glanced around the room, her expression serene. “I’m starving. Do you know when dinner will be served?”

“I’m not so easily distracted,” he said, “and a change of subject won’t change my intentions.”

“And I’m sure you’ve heard the expression, don’t put the cart before the horse?”

He let his gaze travel slowly over her, resting provocatively on her breasts, hips and the juncture of her thighs. “Are you the cart? Or the horse?”

Her chin lifted. “Neither.”

Hannah was thrilled when Mr. Krek invited them to dinner, which was served at an intimate round table before the living room’s tall gold marble fireplace.

“I knew your English was excellent,” Zale said, midway through dinner as the footmen removed one plate only to replace it with another. “But I hadn’t realized you spoke it with an American accent. Did you study in the States or have an American tutor?”

She’d read that Zale Patek spoke more languages than any other royal—Spanish, Italian, French, English, Swedish, Turkish, Greek and of course his native language, Raguvian. He was that rare breed of scholar and athlete.

“American tutor,” she said, trying to remember if Emmeline had ever studied in the United States but didn’t think so. “And you?”

“I was educated in England—sent to boarding school at ten, and then on to university after.” “Why England?”

“Tradition. I attended the same schools as my brother, father, grandfather and great-grandfather.”

“When you have children, will your son do the same?” A slightly mocking note entered his voice. “You mean, our son?”

Hannah glanced up, straight into his eyes. They were such a unique color, not exactly brown, not exactly gold. “Yes, ours,” she said, blushing as she imagined having Zale’s child.

“Our one of two,” he added. “The heir and spare. It’s all you’d agree to give me, remember?”

Hannah just looked at him.

“Why, Emmeline, were you so adamant that it only be two? You never gave me a proper explanation.” His lips curved in a lazy smile that failed to touch his eyes. “We finally have time to talk properly. To discuss all the things you wouldn’t discuss this past year. I’d love to know why you insisted we limit our family to two. If we hope to save our relationship, then this is probably the best place to start.”

“I don’t know.”

Zale took her hand, lifted it to his mouth. “Was it your figure you feared losing?”

She tugged her hand back, fingers tingling from the touch.

“No!”

“Your freedom then?” “That’s silly.”

“Well, it is hard to gallivant about when you’re pregnant.” “I don’t gallivant, and despite what you might think, I look forward to having a family.” “Just not a large family.” “Yes.”