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Marry him? Bree’s heart galloped. Vladimir wanted her to be his wife, the mother of his children—just like she’d dreamed?
He swallowed, and his stark blue eyes became uncertain. “Will you have me, Breanna?” Reaching up, he gripped her hands in his own. “Will you be mine?”
Tears rose to her eyes.
“I am yours already. Don’t you remember?” The corners of her trembling lips tugged upwards. “You own me, heart and soul.”
He exhaled in a rush. “Does that mean you’ll be my wife?”
“Yes.” Tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks as she pulled on his hands, lifting him to his feet. “With all my heart.”
Vladimir cupped her cheek. “I belong to you,” he vowed. “Now and forever.”
As their white Russian puppy leaped and barked in happy circles around their feet, he wrapped Bree in his arms. Lowering his head, he kissed her with the passion and adoration that promised a lifetime. And she knew, come what may, that he would always love her, because she’d been brave enough to love herself.
“Never play with your heart, kiddo,” her father had once told her. “Only a sucker plays with his heart. Even if you win, you lose.”
But as Bree looked up into the face of the man she loved, the man she would soon wed, the man who would bring Josie safely home—she suddenly knew her father was wrong. Because when the chips were down, love was the only thing worth a risk. The only thing worth gambling for.
Playing with all your heart…was the only way to win.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from Playing the Royal Game by Carol Marinelli
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CHAPTER ONE
SHE was better off without the job, Allegra told herself.
No one should have to put up with that.
Except that walking in the rain along grey London streets, taking the underground to various employment agencies, the anger that her boss could make such a blatant a pass at her and then fire her for not succumbing started to be replaced with something that felt close to fear.
She needed that job.
Needed it.
Her savings had been obliterated by the bottomless pit that was her family’s excess spending. At times it felt as if her lowly publishing wage supported half the Jackson family. Yes, she was the boring reliable one, but they didn’t mind her dependability when their erratic ways found them in trouble. Just last week she had lent her stepmother, Chantelle, close to five thousand pounds in cash for credit card debts that her father didn’t know about. It was laughable to think that she might now have to have her family support her.
It was a miserable day, with no sign that it was spring; instead it was cold and wet, and Allegra dug her hands deeper into her trench coat pockets, her fingers curling around a fifty-pound note she had pulled out of the ATM. If her boss refused to put her pay in tomorrow it was all she had before being completely broke.
