The Royal House Of Karedes Collection Books 1-12. Кейт Хьюит

commission and/or to fulfill the additional duties required of her in their entirety …

      Her head snapped up. “What?”

      “Ah,” he said, his voice a low purr, “I can see that you really didn’t read this before you signed it. A bad decision, I’m afraid.”

      “That’s insane! You cannot contract for—for a mistress …”

      “Keep reading,” he said softly.

      Did she have a choice? Her gaze dropped to the contract.

      Such failure shall result in forfeiture of all goods and services already provided and repayment for same.

      “What goods and services?” She looked up and flashed a triumphant smile. “You haven’t provided any.”

      “Have you forgotten you’re flying to Aristo with me? Did you think I wouldn’t provide you with a workshop and tools?” He jerked his chin toward the contract. “There’s more.”

       Finally, in the event of forfeiture, an additional penalty to be paid by Maria Santos in the amount of …

      The typed-in number had so many zeroes it made her laugh. Alex’s eyes narrowed.

      “I assure you, this is not meant for your amusement.”

      No. Of course not, but what else could she do when the penalty for walking away was easily ten times the value of everything she owned?

      “You must know I can’t afford anything even close to that!”

      He shrugged. “I know only what is in the agreement you just signed.”

      He sounded as removed as if they were discussing when the snow might stop. It not only killed her hysterical laughter, it killed any hope she’d had that this was a joke.

      “But—but I’d lose everything. This loft. My clients. The people I deal with would suffer, the ones who subcontract to me. And Joaquin, who’s been with me from the start—”

      “Your lover’s welfare is not my concern.”

      “Joaquin is not my lover.” Maria flung the contract at his feet. “He works for me.”

      He bent and picked it up, smoothing the pages, his expression blank.

      “It doesn’t matter one way or the other. My only concern is this contract. Are you going to abide by it or not?

      She stared at him, hating him, hating herself even more. How could she have slept with him that night? Better still, how could she have returned his kisses just now? Was she truly, pathetically her mother’s daughter?

      She wanted to curse him. To pummel those broad shoulders with her fists, but what would that change? Nothing, she thought bitterly, nothing at all.

      “This is usury!”

      He grinned. Such a ruggedly beautiful face, she thought wildly, made even sexier by that quick devil’s smile.

      “An impressive legal term,” he said. “But incorrect. The penalty to which you’ve agreed has nothing to do with a loan.”

      “Damn it,” she exploded, “do not play word games with me! I know what usury means. And I know what this contract is.

      Unconscionable. Immoral. Cruel and mean-spirited and—”

      “And enforceable.”

      “You cannot coerce a woman into—what was your phrase? Into warming your bed!”

      Suddenly, he was standing much too close. She stumbled back but his big hands were already framing her face and lifting it to him.

      “There’s not a word that even hints of coercion in that contract,” he said softly. “You signed it of your own free will.”

      “How can you do this?” she said shakily. “Don’t you have any scruples?”

      He laughed softly. “An interesting question, coming from you.” His smile faded; his gaze dropped to her lips. “One month, agapi mou. That’s all it will be. One month of being in my bed. Of spending the nights with me deep inside you.” His lips twitched, as if he’d made a joke, but his eyes were so dark they seemed bottomless. “I can endure it, if you can.”

      His words made her blush. How could he joke about the devil’s bargain he was forcing on her?

      “I hate you,” Maria snapped.

      Alex grinned. “Hate me all you like, sweetheart. It’s not your heart I’m after.”

      No, she thought, no, it wasn’t. And that was fine because her heart would never be part of this arrangement.

      “Understand something, Your Highness,” she said, searching for and finding a way to salvage one tiny bit of pride. “Being in your bed is one thing. Participating in what happens there is not something you can ever expect.”

      His teeth flashed in a quick smile. “A challenge?”

      “A statement of fact.”

      “A challenge,” he said flatly. “One I am happy to accept.”

      He bent his head, brushed his lips over hers. His mouth moved against hers again and again in the lightest of kisses. She wanted to lean into him. Wanted to close her eyes, part her lips, clasp his head and bring it down closer to hers…

      I feel nothing, she told herself.

      And wished to God it were true.

      What in the name of Chronos was she doing? Was she packing everything she owned? Jeans. T-shirts. Sweaters. Sneakers and sandals and, hell, another pair of jeans.

      Alex looked at his watch, scowled and shook his wrist. Was the damned thing working? Impossible that only five minutes had passed since she’d first turned on her heel, marched away from him and dragged a suitcase from a corner of the loft.

      The loft. Her loft. His lip all but curled. He’d been in Manhattan lofts before. Soaring ceilings. Enormous windows. Brick walls and polished wood floors. Furniture from Scandinavia that made the most of all that open space.

      Maria’s loft lacked only whatever machines had once been installed here. Raw space, New York realtors called it, and made it sound as if that was a good thing—which, he supposed, it was if you intended to transform it into something habitable.

      This was not habitable.

      The floor was wood but the finish had long since worn away. The walls were brick. Not warm brick, just brick. Old, dark, depressing. The ceiling soared, all right. It soared straight up to an intimidating tangle of pipes and electrical lines.

      As for furniture… there were a couple of work tables. Some cabinets and benches. Boxes. More boxes. And, in this end of the room, farthest from the entry door, a screen that he assumed concealed the bathroom, or what passed for a bathroom, and in front of that, a bed.

      Maria’s bed.

      Neatly made. Simple. Almost convent-like in appearance…

      A double bed.

      Alex’s jaw tightened.

      His own bed—his beds, considering the number of homes he owned—his beds were always king-sized. A bachelor’s necessity, his brothers called them. Plenty of room for a man and a woman and hours of hot sex.

      But a double bed might have advantages.

      There’d be little space in which to sprawl while the lovers in Maria’s bed took some needed rest. They would have to sleep on their sides, spoon fashion, she with her backside tucked into his groin, her spill of wild, sexy curls tucked beneath his chin. He would wake during the night, feel the heat of her against him and his sex would engorge, fill with heat, throb as he shifted his weight, as she backed up to him, as she awoke and drowsily whispered his name while he sought her moist entrance, while