Contract Wedding, Expectant Bride. Yvonne Lindsay

her husband-to-be would take no lover other than herself. Her plan had worked—at first. But when he’d discovered her deception, Thierry had been incensed—and when the news had, somehow, leaked to the press, making them into a media spectacle, Thierry had called off the engagement entirely. It had taken a disastrous event to reunite Mila and Thierry...but finally they had reconciled and wed, and were now blissfully happy. It had all worked out in the end.

      That didn’t make him any happier with Ottavia Romolo, though, without whom all of this could have been avoided. So no, he had never truly considered availing himself of any of her considerable charms. He’d been too busy wishing that she’d take herself to another country entirely and let them deal with the chaos she brought in her wake.

      But now, with his senses tingling and his mind intrigued, he found himself considering a far more affirmative response.

      “I haven’t decided yet,” he answered.

      “Nor have I offered,” she countered.

      Oh, she was good—valiantly holding on to her pride and dignity even while the threads of control of this situation escaped those long slender fingers. Heat burned low in his groin at the challenge she presented—and the temptation. His response to her both irritated and stimulated him. Much like the woman herself.

      “You are mistaken if you think you have a choice, Ms. Romolo.”

      She lifted her chin defiantly. “I always have a choice. I am glad you have destroyed my initial invoice,” she continued with a smile.

      Rocco was surprised. Of all the things she could have said, he hadn’t expected that.

      “I’m pleased to hear it,” he said. “But why?”

      “Because, Sire, my price has gone up.”

       Two

      Silence stretched between them. Ottavia boldly stared straight into her king’s eyes, hoping that her anxiety would not show—that he wouldn’t sense that beneath the fall of the luxurious fabric of her gown her legs had turned to jelly.

      His brows pulled together in a straight line, his sherry-colored eyes glowed like polished amber. Not the bright color so often associated with the fossilized gemstone, but a deeper hue. One that spoke of layers of complexity that she instinctively knew were synonymous with the powerful man standing before her. And he was powerful. As easily as he’d ordered her held here in this beautiful small palace—isolated on a stunning island in the middle of a lake—he could have her cast into a windowless prison for the rest of her days.

      She realized she was holding her breath when tiny dark spots began to dance before her eyes. She allowed herself a shallow breath, then another but, as if she was mesmerized by his stare, her gaze remained locked with his. The spots receded slowly but her clearing vision did nothing to calm the wild hammering of her heart or the fear that plucked at her soul. Had she gone too far? She’d always fought to maintain the upper hand in all her relationships and every one had served its purpose in helping her achieve her final goal. While charm was usually her weapon of choice she had a feeling that King Rocco would run roughshod over such a tactic. He was not a man known for playing nice.

      It galled her that he had so much power over her. Hadn’t she sworn that no man would ever make her decisions for her or control her life again? And yet, in this, she was effectively helpless. Work to your strengths, she reminded herself, and allowed her stance to soften. She allowed her lips to part, just slightly, and moistened them with the tip of her tongue. He’d noticed, she realized with a flare of satisfaction. His eyes had flickered to her mouth; his nostrils had flared ever so slightly on an indrawn breath.

      She’d cast her bait, but had she hooked him?

      “You had better be worth it,” he growled.

      His voice was deep and slightly rough. As if he was fighting his own internal battle. Ottavia allowed herself a smile, lowering her eyelids slightly.

      “So do we enter into a contract, my king?”

      She lingered over the last two words, using every skill at her disposal to make them sound like a caress—a promise. She knew she’d failed when he threw his head back on a hearty laugh that transformed the seriousness of his face into something far more appealing. Something that pulled at her with a magnetic strength she’d never experienced before. Eventually he calmed.

      “You still think you can control how this turns out, don’t you?” he said, cocking one brow at her. “Are you always this optimistic?”

      “I am always in control of myself and my choices,” she replied.

      Even as she said the words she knew they hadn’t always been true. Certainly not when she’d been fourteen and her mother’s latest lover had begun to show an unhealthy interest in her burgeoning figure. Even less when her mother had discovered that interest and Ottavia had overheard her mother haggling with her lover over how much he would be prepared to pay to have her.

      She fought back a shudder. Those days were behind her. She’d taken control of her life that day. Made a conscious choice and resolved to never be at anyone’s mercy ever again.

      Ottavia forced her thoughts into the present and recalculated her strategy. Perhaps King Rocco needed a little more enticement. She took a step back before turning and slowly walking closer to the windows that overlooked the gardens and the lake. If she hadn’t been so acutely attuned to the man she’d turned her back on she wouldn’t have heard the sharp intake of breath as he noticed the long sweep of her back, laid bare by the open cut of her gown. It was as if she could feel the heat of his gaze follow the line of her spine until it dipped into the deep V of fabric that covered the swell of her buttocks.

      She sensed rather than heard him approach behind her. Was it her imagination or did she feel the heat of his breath against her naked skin?

      “Then you are indeed fortunate,” he said close to the shell of her ear.

      His voice held a whisper of a thousand words left unsaid. Ottavia closed her eyes and concentrated on remaining still. On simply absorbing his nearness without analyzing the individual reactions clamoring throughout her body.

      “Fortunate?” she asked, her voice surprisingly husky.

      “A king does not have many choices,” he said to her surprise.

      “I would have thought that you had it all, Sire.”

      The air behind her shifted—the heat that had smoldered against her suddenly gone—and she knew he’d stepped away. Because with those few words he’d said too much, perhaps? Slowly, she turned around. He stood on the other side of the room, his hands loosely clasped behind him as he stared at a portrait of his late father on the wall.

      “I have a proposal for you, Ms. Romolo,” he said without looking at her. “It would behoove you to agree.”

      “Just like that? Without knowing the terms?” she asked. “Without negotiating? I think not.”

      “Do you negotiate everything?”

      “I am a businesswoman.”

      He spun to face her. “Is that what you call your...trade? A business?”

      “What else would you call it?” she challenged.

      The corner of his mouth quirked upward. Ottavia fought the urge to bristle. He was testing her. That much was obvious. If she was to get what she believed she was owed by him, she needed to hold on to every last thread of self-control that she possessed.

      “Come here, Ms. Romolo.” He crooked a finger at her.

      She would do as he’d commanded, but only because she wanted to, she told herself as she glided forward with all the elegance and poise she’d learned in the past fifteen years.

      “Sire?” She bowed her head as she drew