Modern Romance Collection: July Books 5 - 8. Natalie Anderson

A glance at the screen revealed the identity of the person behind the five missed calls.

      With a sigh he punched in the number. ‘Hello, Father.’

      * * *

      Sabrina fought her way through several layers of wispy sleep before she surfaced, not quite sure where she was or why she ached in muscles that she didn’t know she had.

      She opened her eyes and encountered the cobalt-blue stare of the man who was standing at the foot of the bed sipping coffee.

      Her husband!

      Her lover!

      She cut short her sinuous little stretch, sucked in a taut breath and sat up, dragging the sheet with her.

      ‘What time is it?’

      ‘Early.’

      ‘You’re...’ Not naked, she thought, taking in his suit and feeling a little stab of disappointment.

      ‘A meeting scheduled for tomorrow has been brought forward.’

      ‘What meeting?’

      He looked surprised by the question. ‘The geological team who did the new survey are available to answer some questions. I have to fly back.’

      She blinked, her brain still not working at full capacity. ‘How long do I have to get ready?’

      ‘No need for that. Take your time. I’m flying out.’

      A cold, resentful feeling in the pit of her stomach expanded. She focused on that and not the hurt. ‘Without me.’

      ‘You are not missing much, I promise.’ He put down his coffee cup and got to his feet. ‘Depending on when the meeting ends, we will meet up tonight.’

      Was that shorthand for to have sex? She didn’t know, but she was concerned by how much she wanted it to be. Hell, one night and she was already an addict! It was no longer a surprise to her that her husband had left a swathe of broken hearts across Europe.

      ‘Last night I...’ She paused, unable to find the words to tell him how right it had felt without sounding...besotted.

      ‘We are expected to make a baby or two. I think we might enjoy it.’

      She brought her lashes down in a concealing sweep. It wasn’t what he’d said, it was the realisation that she had wanted him to say something more, to feel something more.

      Because she felt more, Sabrina realised, she wanted more, she...oh, hell, she had fallen in love with her Playboy Prince, but he was so much more. Pain and shock seeped through her, because for him she would always be a duty, even if it was one he enjoyed. At least when the lights were out and no others duties demanded his attention.

      She was his wife but not his love.

      ‘Are you all right?’

      She dodged his eyes and pulled the sheet all the way up to her chin. Was this what being in love felt like? Nerve endings raw and exposed? The stomach churning? The need to cry until your eyes were red and puffy?

      If so she was amazed it was so popular, that people actively looked for it. She’d had flu that felt better than being in love.

      ‘Fine.’

      Sabrina was a very bad liar, but, rather than challenge the very obvious untruth, Sebastian accepted the statement at face value with a shrug of his muscled shoulders because—Because it’s easier and you’re a coward, Seb.

      ‘I’m not really human until I’ve had my first coffee.’

      The brightness in her voice sent a knife surge of guilt through him as he lowered his lean frame onto the edge of the bed. ‘I know.’

      Eyes dark, wide and wary lifted very slowly to his face as she began to shake her head. ‘No, it isn’t...’

      ‘You’re dreading moving into your golden cage... I do understand.’

      Her dark lashes came down in a fluttering curtain across her eyes; she gave something that sounded like a laugh before raising them again.

      ‘Palace life is restricting, but...’ He took a deep breath. It didn’t matter how many times he told himself she knew what she was letting herself in for, that they were both victims of this situation, he still felt guilty as hell. ‘Our apartments will be separate from my father and you...we...must...’

      ‘Make the best of a bad job. Keep busy,’ she quipped with a brittle smile as he danced around the message he was delivering: that their lives might collide and sometimes in the bedroom, but essentially they were to live their own lives. It was nothing more than she had ever expected from marriage, but that had been before she had been stupid enough to fall in love with her husband.

      That changed everything!

      ‘That wasn’t what I was going to say. The next twelve months...the workload will be... I won’t be there to—’

      She lifted her chin, her pride coming to her rescue. ‘I am not a child, Sebastian, so relax. I do not need entertaining.’

      I just need loving!

      ‘I do not need my hand held,’ she continued, ignoring the ache in her chest. ‘And I am not going to be a needy wife,’ she promised, managing to inject a note of amusement into her voice. ‘I’m not going to ask you for anything.’

      She finished saying what he wanted to hear, getting a hard look for her efforts.

      Sebastian knew he should be feeling relief; instead he felt an odd sense of dissatisfaction as he listened to her list the things she would not be asking of him. He knew that anger was an irrational response but struggled to put his finger on the exact cause.

      ‘What if I need my hand holding?’ From her expression the unplanned question appeared to surprise her almost as much as it had him. ‘Not literally, just a figure of speech,’ he said, responding to a need to clarify his comment. After all, he had never actually needed someone...anyone.

      The addition made her wonder if she had imagined the hard-sounding question. Her eyes flickered from the brown hand he had moved across the counterpane until his splayed fingertips were a whisper away from her own, before shifting back to his face. A wave of sheer longing and lust pierced her like a knife blade, causing her chest to lift as she caught her breath.

      ‘Oh, for one moment there I thought the story that you don’t actually need more than one hour’s sleep a night was more than an urban myth.’

      He responded with a half-smile to her comeback, not seeming to notice her heightened colour. ‘I have watched your parents. They work as a team.’

      She nodded agreement. ‘Yes, but that’s different. They—’

      ‘Love one another.’

      It wasn’t his assertion that sparked her angry response but the patronising little half-smile that accompanied it, though that faded as he continued. ‘But leaving the emotional stuff to one side...’

      Suddenly the anger blocked out everything. It was simply too extreme for her to navigate around. ‘As far as I’m concerned marriage...a real marriage...is all about the emotional stuff! There,’ she charged, discovering that it was possible to love someone and want to throw something at them at one and the same time. ‘Is that emotional enough for you? Sorry if I lack your control!’

      The mattress shifted, making her slide sideways as he got to his feet and turned, spreading his hands in a pacifying gesture as he looked down at her. ‘I’m sorry if I’m throwing the cold water of realism on your dreams, but we have to be realistic. Palace life...marriage, if I can say the word without you throwing something at me? It will take some adjusting to but things might work better if we don’t immediately form two opposing camps, if we are one...team.’

      His logic was impeccable and deeply depressing, and the only thing, she reminded herself, on offer.

      She