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‘By saving them from the lure of gambling?’
He laughs, a thick, gruff sound that sends sparks of lightning through my body. ‘Do you have any idea how prim you sound?’
I gape, the disparagement unexpectedly hurtful. I spin away from him, because I need the breathing space. He’s too close, too everything.
‘In every pleasure, there is the potential for pain. Should alcohol be banned altogether because some people have a propensity to alcoholism? Should driving be outlawed because there are some drivers who will always speed just for the thrill of it? Of course not. You cannot protect your citizens from every possible perceived evil. Life doesn’t come with any guarantee.’
‘That’s just the sort of reply I’d expect from someone who’s never borne any personal responsibility.’
His head whips back, as though I’ve punched him. ‘With respect,’ he says it in a way that makes it clear the words are empty, ‘You know nothing about me or my responsibilities.’
‘I know enough.’
‘Because I own casinos.’
‘Because you own casinos,’ I agree, my anger stirred beyond usefulness. ‘Because you live the life of a hedonistic bachelor intent on drinking, smoking, having debauched parties on super-yachts, all the while robbing poor people of their homes and relationships. I ask you again, how do you sleep at night?’
‘Rarely alone,’ he throws back, the words sparking through me, and I gasp, the image of him naked fully formed in my mind. ‘But apparently you know that already, Princess.’
‘This is getting out of hand.’ My voice shakes, fury still ripe in my gut, disbelief at the direction our conversation has taken making my skin clammy. Or is it the reference to his sexual activities? I press fingertips to my throbbing temples, willing myself to calm down.
‘You are the one who’s letting a
personal opinion interfere with a business proposition.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Then how come the way I live my life doesn’t bother your Prime Minister or Treasurer?’
My eyes sweep shut at his very valid point. ‘Of course it bothers them. They’re men of integrity and you’re...you’re...’
I whirl around to face him, only to find that the Spanish billionaire has closed the distance between us. He’s right behind me, his eyes latched onto mine, his face a mask of repressed emotion––but I see beyond it. I feel the fury emanating off him in waves.
‘Si? What am I?’
‘Not like them,’ I finish lamely, my anger cresting and falling, being replaced by something else now, a different wave, something more dangerous and distracting. I stare up at him, my body quivering with a thousand and one things.
He’s so close, though, so close, and I find myself slipping, my fingertips tingling with a need to feel. I clasp them together in front of me to stop myself doing something really stupid, like reaching up and running them over his chest.
I know I should move away. Take a step backward. Put some space between us. But being near him is doing something vital and addictive to my body; it’s resonating through me.
I hold my ground, inches from him.
‘No.’ His expression is grim, his eyes piercing mine before dropping to my lips, tracing the line of my mouth until I open it on a small gasp. A gasp or a plea? I can’t be certain. ‘I imagine they never argue with you like this.’
I shake my head wordlessly, just the tiniest movement, for fear of dislodging his gaze from my mouth. I feel as though he’s touching me. Pleasure spikes through me. I have no idea what this means—I’ve never seen a man and longed for him in this way. It’s wrong and inappropriate, but even that knowledge makes me want him more, not less. ‘No one does.’
Something like understanding flashes through his eyes. ‘And do you like being argued with?’
‘Of course not,’ I lie, ignoring the fact that I feel more alive right now than I have in my entire life.
His soft laugh shows he understands, and it embeds itself in my nervous system. ‘Then shall I leave?’
Yes. Yes, he should. This conversation is counter-productive, his presence an affront. We’re never going to agree. He should absolutely leave. ‘I...’ The words are jammed in my throat, some invisible barrier preventing them from escaping.
Triumph crosses his expression. His eyes shift to mine, a challenge in their depths as he lifts a hand, moving it closer to my face. I hold my breath, staring at him, waiting. He touches his fingertip to my cheek, phantom-like, so I shift a little closer, pressing my cheek to his palm. What’s happening to me? How can I possibly be doing this? I’m the Crown Princess of Marlsdoven and this man represents a serious threat to my country. Yet here I stand, entranced, captivated, pleasure exploding through me.
‘Come to Spain with me.’
