Never Gamble with a Caffarelli. Melanie Milburne

the cleric asked Remy to join hands with Angelique, he felt a lightning zap shoot up his from his hand, travel from the length of his arm and straight to his groin as if she had touched him there with her bare hands. He hadn’t touched her even when her father had brought her with him when he had socialised with Remy’s grandfather in the years before their fall out. Being eight years older than her, Remy had occasionally been left with the task of entertaining her during one of his grandfather’s soirées. Even as a young teenager she had shown the promise of great beauty. That raven-black hair, those bewitching eyes, those lissom limbs and budding breasts had been a potent but forbidden temptation.

      He had always made a point of not touching her.

      Would the cleric expect him to kiss her? Not that the idea didn’t hold a certain appeal, but Remy would rather kiss her in private than in front of a small group of conservative tribesmen.

      After all, he didn’t want to offend them.

      Angelique’s hand was tiny. His hand almost swallowed it whole. But then the whole of her was tiny. Dainty. He felt a primal stirring in his loins when he thought of what it might be like to enter her. To possess her. To feel her sexy little body grip him tightly...

      Whoa, keep it in your trousers. Remember, this is just an on-paper marriage.

      The cleric went through the vows and Remy recited his lines as if he were an actor reading them from a script. No big deal. They were just words. Meaningless words.

      When Angelique came to her lines she coughed them out like a cat with fur balls. She almost choked on the promise to obey him.

      ‘I now pronounce you man and wife.’ The cleric gave Remy a man-to-man smile. ‘You may lift the veil and kiss your bride.’

      Angelique’s eyes flickered with something that looked like panic. ‘I’d really rather not.’

      Remy didn’t give her time to finish her sentence in case she blew their cover. Besides, he’d kissed dozens of women. All he had to do was plant a perfunctory kiss on her lips and step back. Everyone would be happy.

      Easy.

      He lifted the heavy veil from her face and planted his mouth on hers.

      * * *

      Angelique had spent years during her teens imagining this very moment—the first time Remy kissed her. She had imagined it when other dates were kissing her, closing her eyes and dreaming it was actually Remy’s mouth moving on hers, his hands touching her, his body wanting her. Quite frankly, those mind-wanderings of hers had made some of those kisses—not to mention some of her sexual encounters—a little more bearable.

      But not one of her imaginings came anywhere near to the real deal.

      Remy didn’t kiss sloppily or wetly or inexpertly.

      He kissed with purpose and potency.

      The firm warmth of his lips, the taste of him, the feel of him was so...so intensely male, so addictive, she couldn’t stop herself from pushing up on tiptoe to keep the connection going. His mouth hardened and then she felt his tongue push against her lips just as she opened them.

      His tongue slid into her mouth and found hers.

      She heard him smother a groan as her tongue tangled with his.

      She felt his body stir against her as he gripped her by the hips and pulled her flush against him.

      She heard the cleric clear his throat. ‘Ahem...’

      Remy dropped his hands. He looked slightly stunned for a moment, but then he seemed to give himself a mental shake before he grinned charmingly and rather cheekily at the cleric. ‘Almost forgot where I was for a moment.’

      The cleric gave him an understanding smile. ‘It is very good to see an enthusiastic couple. It bodes well for a happy and fulfilling marriage.’

      Angelique ground her teeth. Remy was enjoying this much more than he should. She could see the glint in his eyes as they reconnected with hers. She gave him an ‘I’ll get you for this later’ look but he just grinned even wider and gave her a wink.

      ‘The Crown Prince and his wife have a put on a special banquet in honour of your marriage,’ the cleric said.

      Oh no! Don’t tell me there’s going to be a reception with speeches.

      But as it turned out it was more like a party. A dry party. Which was a crying shame, as right now Angelique needed a glass of something alcoholic—make that two glasses and to hell with the calories—because she was now officially a married woman.

      Arrrggh!

      The reception room was as big as a football field, or so it appeared to Angelique. How many friends did Remy have out here, or had someone rented a crowd? There were at least a thousand people. Who had a wedding that big? It was ridiculous! It was like a wedding extravaganza, a showpiece of what a celebrity wedding reception should be. The room was decked out in the most amazing array of satin ribbons, balloons and sparkly lights that hung from the high ceiling like diamonds. They probably were diamonds, she thought as she glanced up at the chandelier above her head. Yep, diamonds.

      They were led to the top table where Angelique was finally introduced to the Crown Prince’s wife, Abby, a fellow Englishwoman who had met and fallen in love with Talib earlier that year. A royal baby was due in a few months, which Abby explained had given an extra boost to the celebrations. It seemed Dharbiri was in party mode and an event like this could on for days. Great.

      Remy took her hand and led her out to the dance floor for the bridal waltz. ‘Loosen up, Angelique. You feel like a shop-window mannequin in my arms.’

      Angelique suppressed a glare. ‘Get your hands off my butt.’

      He smoothed his hand over her hip and then tugged her against him. ‘That better?’

      She looked at him with slitted eyes. ‘We’re supposed to be dancing, not making out.’

      ‘I thought you’d be great at dancing.’

      ‘I am great at dancing.’

      ‘Then show me your footwork.’

      Angelique moved in against him and let him take the lead. The music was romantic with a flowing rhythm so she let her body move in time with it. She started to feel like a princess at a ball, or a star contestant on one of those reality dance shows. They moved in perfect unison around the dance floor. The other couples—and there were hundreds—swarmed backwards to give them more room.

      ‘Nice work,’ Remy said once it was over. ‘Maybe we should do that again some time.’

      ‘You trod on my toe.’

      ‘Did not.’

      ‘Did so.’

      He gave her a grin as he pinched her cheek. ‘Smile, ma chérie.’

      She smiled through clenched teeth. ‘I want to scratch your eyes out.’

      ‘Did I tell you how beautiful you looked?’

      ‘I can’t breathe in this dress. And I have no idea how I’m going to fit in the bathroom. They’ll have to take the door off or something.’

      He grinned again and tapped her gently on the end of the nose. ‘You’ll find a way.’

      Angelique let out a breath as she watched him turn to speak to another guest. There were times when Remy took his charm into very dangerous territory...

      * * *

      ‘You have to try this,’ Remy said as he came over with a loaded plate from the banquet a little while later.

      Angelique breathed in the delicious smell of lamb with herbs and garlic. She couldn’t stop her gaze from devouring everything on his plate. Along with the juicy lamb pieces, there was a couscous salad and some sort of potato dish and flatbread. The carbs would be astronomical. ‘No.’ She gave him a tight