Marrying His Majesty. Marion Lennox

it was Lily who was taking control.

      He’d outlined a business proposition. So why was he kissing her?

      She should fight him. She shouldn’t let him kiss her.

      She was passive, letting him do the running, letting him kiss her…

      Why had she done this? Why had she let him?

      She knew why. She just had to see… if what she remembered was real.

      Like beer. It was a stupid analogy but she’d thought of it a few times over the past months.

      The first time she’d been given a glass of beer, it had been after a day spent working in the hold of a sun-baked boat. She’d been hot to the point of exhaustion. She’d been so thirsty her tongue was swollen, and she remembered that beer as almost like nectar.

      The next time she’d tasted beer it had been an ordinary day—no heat, no exhaustion. She remembered being deeply, intensely disappointed.

      So now… for all these months she’d been convincing herself that what she felt for Alex had to be a combination of time, place and mood. Nothing more.

      But she had to see.

      So stupidly, dumbly, she let herself try.

      Alex’s kiss had been tentative, questioning. She felt the first stirrings of regret. This wasn’t as she remembered.

      She should pull away while she still felt like this.

      But she had to push harder. The memory was still too strong to let her release it without grief. She had to take the next step.

      She put her hands on either side of his face, she pulled him closer—and she kissed him back.

      And here it was again.

      Magic.

      She’d fallen for this man hard, and she remembered why. No. She didn’t have to remember. It was imprinted on her brain, on her body.

      Heat. Aching need. Pure animal magnetism.

      The crazy conversation of the last few minutes faded—everything faded, there was only this man and his mouth on hers and his body close to her. His taste, his feel, his masculine scent.

      She’d remembered this man during the nightmare of the past few months and she’d thought her memories must be imagination born of illness and of loneliness.

      But this was real. This was Alex.

      Her Prince. Her man.

      She felt her lips open and taste as she’d tasted him before. She was kissing him as fiercely as he was kissing her—and maybe consciousness didn’t come into a decision like this.

      Maybe it just had to happen.

      She let herself sink into the kiss. For this one sweet moment she allowed herself the luxury of believing this passion meant something to him. Her fingers twined through his hair and she tugged him closer. Closer.

      For just this minute she could savour him, taste him, hold him. Pretend he was really her man, he was her future and everything would fall into place. She’d have a happy ever after.

      Maybe ever-after didn’t cut it, she thought numbly. Now was the important thing. Now. Here. Alex.

      He made her feel so sexy he took her breath away. Desire started deep within, and built.

      She wanted him so much.

      Her body was on fire, burning with a heat she’d felt once before with Alex, but never before and never since. She was aching for him, hot for him, moist for him, right here, right now, fully clothed, with the only contact being his mouth on hers.

      She was helpless in the face of her body’s response. She felt herself shift, move closer, so close she was aching to be a part of him.

      He could take her here, right now, she thought wildly, regardless of no protection, of no hope for a future, of nothing but burning want. She’d been ill for so long… hopeless for so long… but, within her now, life was surfacing. She was surfacing in her response to this man. A primeval need…

      Alex.

      His body was magnificent. Unimaginably erotic. He was holding her hard against him. His hands were strong and warm, curving into the small of her back, pressing her breasts against his chest, crushing her to him as if he wanted her as much as she wanted him…

      If she could just get nearer…

      She was out of control and she didn’t care.

      She let herself go…

      But things had changed since the last time she’d let herself love this man. She had a son. And in the end it was Michales who broke the kiss.

      The baby was sitting at their feet, gazing up at the adults above him in some indignation. Michales was unaccustomed to being ignored. He needed a feed. He needed attention.

      So he did what any self-respecting baby would do in the circumstances. He opened his mouth and he howled.

      Michales.

      Her baby.

      Reality slammed home. She pulled away from Alex as if he were burning her. Which pretty much explained how she was feeling.

      She lifted Michales, she hugged him against her and she held him tight, as if he were a shield.

      She’d been out of control. Again. After all she’d been through. After all her vows. This man just had to touch her and here she was, tumbling into trust again.

      Trust meant heartache. Trust meant betrayal and grief.

      Do not trust this man.

      This had to stop—now.

      Had he messed it up entirely?

      He’d come here with a business proposition. He’d never imagined he could seduce her into doing what he wanted.

      Was that what she was thinking?

      Who knew what she was thinking? She looked dazed.

      He felt dazed.

      He had to get this back on an impersonal footing.

      ‘That’s just what we don’t want,’ he managed.

      ‘Sorry?’

      ‘That wasn’t meant to happen. We need to keep this impersonal or we’ll mess this up entirely.’

      ‘Right,’ she said, as if she didn’t understand a word he’d said. Which was exactly how he felt.

      ‘I’ll come again tomorrow,’ he said, struggling to sound brisk and businesslike. ‘Meanwhile, will you do some research? Discover what I’ve said is true?’

      Her face had become… blank? It was as if she’d just terrified herself and was struggling back from the abyss. Struggling to hold on to what she knew.

      ‘I don’t know why I did that,’ she whispered. ‘It was crazy. I didn’t mean it. I don’t want it. I don’t want you to touch me.’

      She was lying. They both knew it. But there was fear behind her words. He didn’t understand it.

      She’d come to him last time with joy. Had being pregnant changed something so fundamental that she was afraid of his effect on her?

      ‘I want my freedom,’ she said, a flat statement, unequivocal.

      What sort of a need was that?

      But freedom was the one thing he was more than prepared to give. After all, wasn’t that what he wanted himself?

      ‘You can have it,’ he said. ‘But marry me first.’

      ‘I can’t.’

      ‘I believe you can. For Michales’s sake.’

      ‘You…