Shock Heir for the King

by Clare Connelly

  A moment later, she did another lap, then another, then switched to freestyle on the water’s surface. She’d been a strong swimmer through school, and she’d always enjoyed it. But nothing was as nice as this. The water in the pool was salty, the twilight sun had the perfect degree of warmth and after the trials of staying calm in the face of Leo’s belligerence it was a delight to expend some energy in this way.

  Three more laps, and she emerged to find that she was no longer alone. Matthias had slipped into the pool unannounced and, though he stood on the opposite side, he was watching her, and he might as well have reached out and touched her, for how her body reacted to his presence.

  ‘Matt...’ she cleared her throat ‘... I didn’t know you were here.’

  ‘I just arrived.’

  How did he have the ability to unsettle her with a single look? Her nerves struggled to find harmony in her body.

  ‘I spoke to your father.’

  Frankie’s eyes flew wide. ‘Already?’

  He nodded. ‘I saw no point in delay.’

  ‘No, of course not. I mean, we’re getting married so soon. I just hadn’t expected...’ She was babbling. She clamped her lips together and made an effort to focus. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He was pleased for us. I wondered if you might wish to ask them to remain for some time after the wedding, at least to help with Leo while we take our honeymoon.’

  ‘Honeymoon!’ The word slid over her back like warmed caramel. She almost groaned at the image it conjured of the two of them, tangled in sheets, warm, passionate, limbs entwined...

  ‘You know, that thing that usually follows a wedding?’

  Her cheeks flushed pink. ‘But this marriage isn’t... I mean... It’s not like we need that. Surely you have too much work. Wouldn’t it just be an inconvenience?’

  ‘Do you not wish to see more of this country you are to be Queen of?’

  She bit down on her lip. ‘I just don’t think a honeymoon is called for.’

  ‘Why do you make the distinction?’

  ‘Honestly? A honeymoon makes me think of beds strewn with rose petals and baths filled with champagne. That’s not us.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed, moving through the water easily, his long legs carrying him into the deepest part without more than half his chest being submerged. ‘But it does not mean we can’t have fun.’

  Her mouth was dry and every breath of air seemed to make her nerves quiver. ‘I think we have different ideas of fun.’

  He laughed. ‘Do we?’

  She flushed and nodded, but her heart was racing, her pulse throbbing. ‘I’ve told you, I’m not interested in casual sex.’

  ‘There’s nothing casual about marriage,’ he said logically. ‘And I think you’re very interested in sex with me.’

  Her chest squeezed. He closed the distance between them completely and, beneath the water, his long fingers found the edge of her bikini bottoms. With his eyes holding hers, he pulled her close to him. And, damn it, she went, with no resistance whatsoever. As though she were an iron filing and he her magnetic pole.

  ‘Matt,’ she murmured as his other hand curved into the bikini bottoms. He was taunting her, his eyes daring her to say something. To tell him to stop. And, though she knew she should, the word wouldn’t come out. In fact, nothing came out except a small husky sound of surrender.

  ‘Listen to me,’ he said softly, swimming through the water and pulling her with him. He eased her onto one of the steps at the corner of the pool and stood between her legs. ‘I want you, and I believe you want me. This—’ he gestured from her chest to his ‘—is like a live wire.’

  Her eyes flared at the description; it was exactly how she felt.

  Beneath the water, his fingers toyed with the elastic sides of her bikini bottoms, sliding down and curving around her buttocks so she held her breath at the unfamiliar but undeniably welcome contact. She was a fool, she knew—she had to stop this—but oh, it felt so good. Just another minute, she promised herself.

  Using his hands to guide her, he brought her body forward a little, so she could feel the strength of his rock-hard arousal, the desire that was there for her, and she whimpered low in her throat. Memories of how he’d felt, moving inside her, made her crazy with longing.

  ‘I am the only man who’s ever made love to you. Yes?’

  Her cheeks flushed and she shuttered her eyes, unable to meet the scrutiny of his gaze.

  ‘Tell me,’ he demanded, kissing her neck so her breath came fast and hard inside her. ‘That your only experience of sex is with me.’

  A strangled noise escaped her throat. ‘Why does it matter?’

  ‘Because if this is so, then you have so much to learn,’ he said.

  One of his hands moved from her rear, coming over her leg and buzzing the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, before nudging the flimsy material of her costume aside. She held her breath, her mind no longer able to concentrate on what he’d been saying. He watched her intently as his fingers brushed over her womanhood, his eyes holding hers as he slid a finger into her moist, tight core.

  ‘You have so much to learn about your body and its pleasures, and I want to teach you that.’ He swirled his finger around and she arched her back, her eyes fixing on the sunset overhead, on the colours that were only enhanced by the sheer perfection of his touch. ‘I want you.’ His mouth dropped to the flesh at the base of her throat and he kissed her, slow and long, and she moaned again, wrapping her legs around his waist and surrendering to the bliss of this moment, surrendering to an inevitability she’d been fighting since he’d walked into her gallery and her body had started to feel fully alive for the first time in three years.

  ‘I know you want to fight me—’ he rolled his hips and she moaned, his words stoking her like flames in a fire ‘—but can you not see how good our marriage can be? Neither of us wanted this, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be everything we want now, Frankie.’ Her name on his lips was a seduction, his promise a temptation that was almost impossible to resist. Because he was right. He was so right.

  Frankie didn’t believe in casual sex, but this wasn’t casual. This wasn’t even just sex. There was so much more between them; there always had been. At least, for Frankie. He wasn’t just some man she’d rushed into bed with. She’d met him and on some level had tripped headlong into love. She’d given all of herself to Matthias that night, not just her virginity. Not just her body.

  And he’d walked away with such ease.

  Oh, he’d had to—duty had called him. But he’d stayed away and her heart had been breaking.

  Could she really lose herself to him again? Could she really be so stupid?

  ‘Tell me you want me,’ he said, and he stood out of the pool, removing his hand from her only so he could reach down and lift her, carrying her against his chest as though she weighed nothing.

  ‘I...can’t,’ she whispered as her hands reached up and tangled in the hair at his nape, as her body stayed wet and cleaved to his. He carried her to a pool lounger, laying her down and disposing of her bikini bottoms swiftly, staring at her naked sex with eyes that were so hungry they robbed her of breath.

  ‘You can’t admit to this?’ He arched, kneeling on the ground at the foot of the lounger, parting her thighs with strong, broad hands. His mouth on her was a sensual, terrifying possession and she cried out as pleasure, sharp and visceral, broke through her.

  He didn’t speak—he didn’t need to. His actions made a mockery of her determination not to want him. His tongue ran over her, tasting her sweetness, and his fingers held her legs wide; she was all his. All of her.

  She cried out as he moved faster, and then slid a finger deep into her core, tormenting her sensitive nerve-endings with his possession and absolute mastery of her body.

  She was so close to breaking point, pleasure within ar
m’s reach, and he lifted his head, his eyes staring at her, his expression impossible to decipher. ‘Beg me,’ he said simply.

  Heat coloured Frankie’s mind, cheeks and thoughts.

  ‘Beg me,’ he said again, dropping his mouth and lashing her with his tongue once more, his touch like heaven.

  ‘I can’t,’ she cried, but then his name was dropping from her lips again and again and again, rent with desperate need. She called him Matthias, because here, in this kingdom, beneath the skies of Tolmirós, he was Matthias. Not Matt, who she’d fallen in love with—she could see that now, looking back through time, and knowing who she’d been then.

  At twenty-one, she’d met Matt and fallen in love. But she’d been a girl who believed in fantasies then, who thought sex and love went hand in hand. And now she saw that sex on its own could be enough.

  ‘Beg for me and I will make you come,’ he promised, lifting up and taking one of her breasts into his mouth, while his finger stayed inside her, tormenting her with memories and promises.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked, digging her nails into his shoulders as thought became impossible, as pleasure crashed over her. Surrender, her body begged, her heart implored. Surrender and accept that this is enough!

  Of course it was—for some people.

  But not for Frankie.

  Her body was on fire, her pulse racing, her heart thumping, and she knew that satisfaction was within reach. All she had to do was beg him, to say the word please that she was swallowing inside her throat, and he would drive her over the edge; he would make her feel almost whole.

  Almost.

  But it would never be enough for the girl who’d wanted real love all her life.

  ‘I can’t,’ she said, her breathing so rushed, dragged from so deep within her lungs it hurt. ‘Don’t make me beg.’

  Surprise covered his features when he pulled up to look at her.

  ‘Don’t use what I feel to demean me,’ she said, lying flat on the lounger, staring up at the evening streaked sky.

  ‘Demean you?’ he repeated, the word ragged. ‘Frankie, by getting you to accept what you want, I am empowering you. Empowering you to enjoy sex, to enjoy this thing between us that is purely good. I have no interest in demeaning you. I want you to be brave, to face up to what you’re feeling. Stop hiding from me.’ And his eyes held hers for a long moment as his mouth dropped closer to her sex. She held her breath, propping up on elbows to watch him.

  ‘Let us try it another way,’ he said, the words deep and husky. ‘Let me beg you. Let me beg you to let me do this,’ and he flicked his tongue out, teasing her flesh so she made a keening sound of pleasure. ‘Let me beg and you say, simply, “Yes”.’

  Yes.

  The word was heavy in her throat, bouncing over and over, begging to be said, begging her to agree, so she could be put out of her misery.

  ‘Just say yes,’ he repeated, and his mouth moved faster and her pleasure built until her eyes were filled with a bright white light and she was no longer conscious of anything but this.

  ‘Say yes,’ he demanded, pulling her body closer so he could go deeper, his mouth possessing her in a way that was so intimate, so personal, so perfect. His hand scooped under her bottom, lifting her up, and she heard herself crying out, over and over and over, giving away a part of her soul that she had thought she would be able to keep locked up: ‘Yes, Matthias, please. Please!’

  * * *

  He stared at the painting, his lips a grim slash on his face. Don’t use what I feel to demean me.

  Her words, issued in the heat of a sensual moment of passion, had stuck with him, chasing themselves around his head until he could barely think, until he couldn’t fathom what he’d been thinking.

  Don’t use what I feel to demean me.

  Had he been doing that?

  Since she’d arrived in Tolmirós, he’d been intent on seducing her, on forcing her to stop hiding from the magnitude of their desire.

  Matthias, with his experience of women and sex and attraction, knew what he shared with Frankie was rare. So rare that even three years after their first encounter he hadn’t been able to put her from his mind. Three years later and he’d never met anyone who held the same appeal for him. This passion was rare and it deserved to be explored.

  But at the cost of her self-esteem?

  He swore under his breath, pacing to the windows that overlooked the ocean. It had all seemed so simple when first they’d arrived. Sex was a simple transaction. A conversion of lust to satiation.

  Whatever his attitudes were to it, Frankie’s were not the same.

  And yet he’d driven his tongue over her, tasting her release, delighting in her complete surrender even when he now suspected he should have stopped. He’d thought he would feel triumph with her surrender; he’d thought he’d revel in her total acceptance of the tug of their mutual need.

  He hadn’t.

  He’d felt only something very close to blinding panic. He’d tasted her as she’d fallen apart, and his own body had been begging him to bury his length inside her soft, welcoming core, yet he hadn’t. He’d pulled away from her even when her desire had burst around them, and her willingness to succumb to pleasure had been palpable.

  He’d been as beholden to passion as she, in the end, but it didn’t matter. Because she’d been right. He’d been determined to get her to face what they felt for one another.

  But why?

  Why did he care so damned much that she should surrender to this desire?

  Because he wanted her. He wanted her with the strength of a thousand stars, and he knew she felt the same. But her determination and willpower were many times stronger than his. Why? What did she want? Not just from him, but in general?

  The damned fairy tale? He couldn’t offer that. He didn’t have it within his power to give Frankie the dream of love and happily ever after. But he could give her more than sex. He could give her enough, surely, to make her truly happy—not just in bed but as his wife?

  And he wanted her to be happy, he admitted to himself now. He needed her to be happy, to smile at him as she had on those few rare occasions since coming to Tolmirós. He wanted to win her trust, to earn her trust, and the rest, surely, would follow.

  Maybe it wouldn’t. But Frankie deserved more than to have a husband who wanted only her body. She deserved as much of the dream as he could offer—surely some of her fantasy would be better than none?

  * * *

  ‘You look like a little prince,’ Frankie enthused, tears sparkling on her lashes as she studied her son. He’d undergone a similar makeover to her own: a haircut, new clothes, and he looked utterly divine.

  ‘’E is so handsome. Just like his father,’ Liana cooed, her eyes wrinkling at the corners as she bent down and picked Leo up. He didn’t arch his back with Liana in the way he’d taken to doing with Frankie, she noticed with a wry grimace. Liana always got hugs and kisses and yeses straight away. But Frankie couldn’t be cross about that—not when Liana had helped make Leo’s transition to life in Tolmirós so easy.

  A whisper of guilt flicked through her because there were only days to go until the wedding and though Frankie had spent her days ensuring Leo was settling well and making sure this private residence of the palace felt like home, she was distracted almost all the time.

  When she’d first agreed to this, he’d told her two things. Through the days, you’ll barely know I exist. At night, you won’t be able to exist without me.

  The latter was true. Since the afternoon in the pool, when she had surrendered herself to his mouth and given up her determination to resist the passion that flared between them, he’d made no effort to touch her. He’d come to bed late and lay on his side until he’d fallen asleep, and she’d lifted her head up and watched him, and flopped onto her back and wondered what he’d say if she gave into all he
r body’s urges and straddled him, and begged him to forget what she’d said: to make love to her.

  As for the days, she more than knew he existed then too.

  He was everywhere she looked in this palace. He was in their son’s face, Liana’s pride, his servants’ obedience, the kingdom’s prosperity. He was in the enormous canary diamond and white gold ring he’d slid onto her finger two nights earlier, his eyes locked onto hers as he told her it reminded him of the yellow she’d painted the sunlight in the painting she’d been working on the weekend they’d met. And though it was a meaningless, throwaway comment, it had made her chest feel as if it were exploding with delirious joy, with pleasure and disbelief. With perfection.

  He was everywhere, even when he’d said he wouldn’t be, even when he made no effort to seduce her. Their conversations were polite, cordial, and lacking any indication that he even wanted her. Perhaps he didn’t. Perhaps it was as simple as an impulse for him—she’d told him ‘no’ and he’d accepted that. If only Frankie had found it so easy to put him from her mind!

  ‘Thank you for getting him ready for tonight, Liana, and for agreeing to come.’

  ‘Of course! My place is with him at these functions—as much as you would like me to be,’ she added tactfully. ‘Royal parties are not much fun for children. They tire so quickly of being polite and well-behaved.’ She looked at Leo with a wink and then reached into her pocket, pulling out a small round chocolate. ‘And Leo knows there will be a treat at the end of the night, for his very good behaviour.’

  Leo nodded sagely, and Frankie laughed. ‘Is this his prince face?’ she suggested, pride bursting through her.

  ‘He has been practising.’

  ‘Well, Leo, you’ve absolutely mastered it.’

  Liana turned to face Frankie and, for the first time, looked at her properly. ‘You are very beautiful, Frankie. Like a princess yourself, no?’

  ‘Oh, no, but thank you,’ she demurred, feeling more like someone going to a dressing up party. ‘Ball gowns aren’t really my caper.’