Contract Wedding, Expectant Bride. Yvonne Lindsay

side of his life. In the current age of media frenzy every time a public persona put a foot wrong, there was immediate backlash. And this king in particular could not afford any backlash right now. She wasn’t an idiot. She knew that there were fractures in his parliament, and she’d heard the rumors that there were some who did not appreciate him as their ruler. If anyone had to keep himself squeaky-clean it was the man on the other side of the room. Which begged the question—why had he demanded she remain here at the castle?

      She started in surprise as she heard the slap of papers on the coffee table in front of him. King Rocco stood abruptly and sought her out.

      “This is your contract for me?” he said, his voice the epitome of steely calm.

      But Ottavia sensed the carefully controlled fury beneath his words. Her contract was not what he’d anticipated. Not at all. She made no apology for that. Instead, she merely inclined her head in affirmation.

      “There is something missing,” her king pressed.

      “Missing? No, I don’t think so. That’s my standard contract.”

      He scoffed, clearly doubting her word—but at least he didn’t flat out call her a liar. “What about intimacy?” His question was blunt and to the point.

      “Intimacy, Sire? I expect our conversations and our time together will be extremely intimate, and you can rest assured that no matter what is said, it will remain between us and us alone.”

      “Don’t play games with me,” he growled, coming toward her with a light in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine.

      She fought the urge to flee, instead standing her ground and responding as levelly as she could.

      “I do not play games, although we could make games a part of clause 6.2 if you so desire. I’m told I make a fair tennis partner and I’ve been known to win a hand or two at poker.”

      His hands curled around her upper arms. His grip was not so hard as to mark her skin, but there was no way she could easily pull free. Beneath his palms she felt fire in his touch. Fire that matched the heat in his gaze and the heightened color on his cheeks.

      “I’m not talking about tennis and you know that.”

      “Then I am at a loss,” she said, still striving to keep her voice level even as her heart raced in her chest and her breath began to come in short, sharp inhalations.

      King Rocco bent his face to hers. “Sex, my courtesan. Hot, lusty, physical, sweaty, satisfying sex.”

      Ottavia locked her knees so that her legs might stop their trembling. Yet despite all her efforts, her body caught aflame with each syllable he enunciated so carefully and slowly.

      “Um, that’s not in the contract. In fact, I’m sure you read the part where it explicitly mentions that sex is not permitted.”

      “A mistake, surely? Especially when it’s quite clear that your body was made for pleasure. Yours...and mine.”

      His face was closer to hers now—his breath a puff of air against her as he bent and inhaled her scent at the curve of her neck. She couldn’t hold back the tremor that rocked her. Braced herself for the touch of his mouth against her skin. Every nerve in her body stretched taut and she felt the rush of desire and need pool low and deep in her belly.

      Ottavia drew in a short breath, attempting to pull her thoughts together, to formulate an appropriate response—to hold firm to her rules. She lived by rules. They kept her safe. Kept her sane. But safety and sanity were hard to cling to when breathing in the scent of the cologne he wore—an enticing blend of sandalwood, lemon and some spice she couldn’t quite discern. The very thought should be abhorrent to her and yet her body told her otherwise.

      “Ottavia?” he prompted, his lips now so close to her skin she could feel the heat of them.

      She held herself rigid, determined not to lose ground by pulling away but equally determined not to give in to the lure of what his touch promised. If she gave in, she’d be giving too much of herself. With him nothing would be simple and she very much doubted that she’d be able to walk away at the end of their specified time together with any part of her psyche intact. And she had to be strong. She had to be whole. For Adriana if not for herself.

      “There will be no sex,” she managed to say through trembling lips. “There never is.”

      She rocked as he abruptly let her go.

      “What do you mean there never is? You are a courtesan, are you not? What is that if not a mistress and all that entails?”

      Frustration and puzzlement warred for supremacy on his handsome visage—frustration winning in the end. Ottavia took a sip of her drink and dragged her ragged thoughts back together.

      “As set out in the schedule attached to the contract, you can see that I have a double degree in economics and fine arts. I am well versed in protocol and etiquette and I am a consummate hostess. I can discuss financial matters, whether they relate to worldwide economies or personal households. I can advise on art, literature and discuss the merits of the great poets and philosophers to whatever lengths you desire. I can host your guests and ensure that they want for nothing during their time under your roof. I can provide company, solace, humor and I give a mean foot rub.”

      She paused and drew another breath. “I do not have sex.”

      “That’s preposterous! Everyone has sex.”

      “Perhaps that is true of most people. Not me.”

      King Rocco shoved a hand through his hair. “You mean you’ve never had sex with any of your clients, ever?”

      “That’s exactly what I mean.”

      “And these other men...? Your previous clients? They agreed to that?”

      “They did.”

      “And they were happy with that?” A frown now creased his brow.

      “They were.”

      “I find that very hard to believe.”

      Ottavia tried not to smile at the exasperation in his tone but it was clear that she’d failed when the frown on his forehead deepened.

      “What’s so funny? Are you playing a trick on me?” he demanded imperiously.

      “No tricks, Your Majesty. Yes, there have been men who have requested sex as part of their contract. My answer has always been no. They’ve either accepted my terms, or called off the arrangement. There is no other option, Sire.”

      He huffed a sigh of irritation. “Enough with the formal address. When we’re alone, you’re to call me Rocco, do you understand?”

      “But, Sire, you seem unwilling to sign the contract. Without that, why would we ever be alone?”

      “We will be alone because I accept your terms, Ms. Romolo.”

      “Y-you do?”

      “I do. On one condition.”

      A sinking feeling assailed her. “And that is?”

      “That the contract be open to, shall we say, amendment, provided that both parties are willing.”

      It sounded reasonable enough the way he said it. But reasonable did not explain the grim determination in the lines of his face or the single-minded purpose that reflected in his eyes. If anything had become clear to her in her dealings with her king it was that the man was nothing if not determined.

      Still, his phrasing gave her the ultimate control in the end, didn’t it? Both parties had to be willing to make amendments, and there was no way she was going to change her stance on this. She would not be coerced. She would not be forced ever again.

      “Fine,” she said firmly and reached to collect the contract from where he’d dropped it, together with her binder that still sat on the coffee table. “I’ll make the appropriate