Married for the Prince's Convenience

He stopped her with a finger to her mouth.

‘Understood. But remember this, too. Whatever happens between us will not go beyond tonight. It cannot,’ he stated imperiously. ‘My desire for you is finite.’

Hearing the words so starkly drew a cold shiver from her in spite of passion’s flames arcing between them. He felt it and immediately captured her shoulders. ‘But make no mistake. This desire burns bright and strong and I promise to make the experience—should you choose to stay for it—pleasurable for you.’

His accent had thickened, his words burning away the cold as if it had never existed. He lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers.

Jasmine swallowed as his words echoed in her head. A powerful aphrodisiac intent on eroding rational thought.

Walk away. Now!

She groaned and pulled away. ‘I can’t. I know you probably think I’m a tease, but I promise, I’m not. I’m not in the habit of jumping into bed with a man I just met. I hope you understand?’

Her mind made up, she took another step back and picked up her clutch. She couldn’t go through with it. She would find another way to save her stepfather. Whatever the repercussions, Jasmine would find a way to help Stephen and her mother deal with it.

But not this.

Whatever Joaquin needed the copy of the treaty for no longer mattered to her. The man who stood in front of her, who’d battled whatever demons haunted him to achieve this treaty for his kingdom, didn’t deserve what she’d planned tonight. She would never be able to live with herself if she went through with it; if she took a step back to that dark place she’d sworn never to revisit again.

Her heart lifted, lightened, filled with relief.

She looked up at Reyes and experienced a little thrill at the stark shock and disappointment on his face. She had reduced a powerful, virile man to...what had he called himself before? Lust-crazed?

Slightly heady with the feeling, she took another stumbling step back before she succumbed to temptation.

She was in an exotic country, in the presence of a charismatic man who seemed to set her very soul on fire. Jasmine knew that if she gave in—and she wouldn’t!—the experience with Reyes would be unique and would remain with her for ever.

After several more moments staring at her, he finally nodded. ‘Very well. I’ll summon my driver.’

Acute loss scythed through her. ‘That would be great, thank you.’

She watched him walk to the intercom next to the bar, holding her breath to keep from blurting for him to stop.

About to press the black button, he paused and looked over at her. ‘It’s not every day that I’m surprised, but you’ve succeeded in pulling the rug from beneath my feet,’ he said.

‘Umm...thanks. But why are you surprised?’

That reserved smile made another appearance and he turned. ‘You want me, but you’re walking away. I may not know why, but I admire the strong principle behind your decision. Perhaps you deserve a prize after all.’

‘Oh?’ Renewed excitement fizzed beneath her skin.

He retraced his steps and held out his hand. ‘If you still want to see it, I’ll show you the treaty.’

Oh. Jasmine wanted to refuse. Wanted to demand another prize, one that involved his mouth on hers. But that opportunity had passed. She’d refused Prince Reyes. A man like that wouldn’t place himself in a position to be spurned twice.

But neither could she resist the chance to glimpse a piece of Santo-Valderran history.

He led her down several flights of stairs into the heart of the yacht. Images of soft, mellow wood and rich chrome touched the edge of her consciousness. There seemed to be a lot of gold—chandeliers, paintings frames, doorknobs—but Jasmine was too caught up in Reyes Navarre’s magnificence and the electric awareness where his hand held hers for details of the décor to register.

She finally regained her senses when he released her upon entering his study. The space was masculine, the furniture rich antique. Expensive books on diplomacy, economics and culture lined one wall. First-edition literary works lined the other. Behind his desk, a Renaissance painting that would’ve had museum curators salivating graced the wall.

He smiled at her and skirted his desk. He pressed a lever beneath the painting and it swung back to reveal a safe. He entered a code and pressed his thumb against a digital scanner.

Jasmine held her breath as he slid out an expensive leather folder and came to stand beside her. Very conscious of the breadth of his shoulders and the heat emanating from his whipcord body, she struggled to focus on the treaty.