Shock Heir For The King (Mills & Boon Modern) (Secret Heirs of Billionaires, Book 25)

by Clare Connelly

  ‘I’m asking you,’ he insisted, almost gentle, almost as though he understood her fear and wanted to ease it. ‘I’m asking you to see sense. I’m asking you not to put me in a position where I have to fight you for our child.’

  Fear lanced her breast because she didn’t doubt the sincerity of his words, nor that he had the ability to follow through. She had some savings, but not a lot. Her adoptive parents were comfortable but by no means wealthy. Not in a million years would she be able to afford a lawyer of the calibre necessary to stave off this man’s determination. Would he even need a lawyer? Or would he have some kind of diplomatic privilege, given he was King?

  ‘You’re such a bastard,’ she said, stepping backwards. It was a mistake; the window was behind her. Ice-cold against her back, and rather like a vice clamping her to the spot.

  ‘I am the father to a two-year-old. A little boy I didn’t know about even three hours ago. Do you think wanting to raise him is truly unreasonable?’

  ‘Raise him, no. Marry me? Yes.’

  ‘I want this as little as you do, Frankie.’ He expelled a sigh and shook his head. ‘That is not completely true, in fact. I still want you. I came here tonight because I was thinking of our weekend together and I wished to take you to bed once more.’

  She bit down on her tongue to stop a curse from flying from her lips. ‘How dare you?’ The words were numbed by shock. ‘After all these years? After the way you slept with me and then disappeared into thin air? You thought you could just turn up and have me fall at your feet?’

  ‘You did once before,’ he pointed out with insufferable arrogance.

  Her fingertips itched with a violent impulse to slap him. ‘I didn’t know you then!’

  ‘And you don’t know me now,’ he continued, moving closer, speaking with a softness that was imbued with reasonable, rational intent. It was like a magic spell being cast. His proximity was enough to make her pulse thready and her cheeks glow pink.

  But she hated him for the ease with which he could affect her and she did her best to hide any sign that she so much as noticed his proximity.

  ‘You don’t know that I am a man who has won almost every battle he’s fought. You don’t know, perhaps, that I am a man accustomed to getting everything I want, when I want it. You do not know that I have the might of ten armies at my back, the wealth of a nation at my feet, and the heart of a warrior in my body.’

  Another step closer and his fingertips lifted to press lightly against her cheek. His eyes held hers, like granite locking her to the window.

  ‘You think I don’t know you get what you want?’ she returned, pleased when the words came out cool and almost derisive. ‘You wanted me that weekend and look how that turned out.’

  It was the wrong thing to say. Memories of their sensual, delicious time together punctuated the present, and she was falling into the past. With his body so close, so hard and broad, a random impulse to push onto her tiptoes and find his earlobe with her lips, to wobble it between her teeth before moving to his stubbled jaw and finally those wide, curving lips, made breathing almost impossible.

  They were perfect lips, she thought distractedly, her artist’s mind working overtime as they studied the sculptured feature.

  ‘You are not seeing anyone else.’ It was a statement rather than a question, and his certainty was an insult.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ she asked, a little less steadily now.

  There was something enigmatic and dangerous in his gaze, something that spoke of promises and need. Something that stilled her heart and warmed her skin. ‘You do not react to me like a woman who’s in love with another man.’

  She sucked in a breath; it didn’t reach her lungs. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  His smile was sardonic. ‘You look at me with eyes that are hungry for what we shared. You tremble now because I am close to you.’ He dropped his fingertips to the pulse point at the base of her neck and she cursed her body’s traitorous reaction. ‘You do not wish to marry me, Frankie, but you want to be with me again, almost more than you want your next breath.’

  Oh, God, it was true, but it was wrong! And there was a difference between animal instincts and intelligent consideration—there was no way she’d be stupid enough to fall prey to his virile, sensual pull. Not again. Only she was already falling, wasn’t she? Being drawn into his seductive, tantalising web...

  ‘No,’ she denied flatly, moving sideways, proud of herself for putting distance between them, for dismissing him with such apparent ease. If only her knees weren’t weak and her nipples weren’t throbbing against the lace of her bra. ‘And the fact I’m single doesn’t mean I’m up for this stupid idea. I’m not marrying you.’

  He turned his back on her. His spine was rigid, his shoulders tight in his muscular frame. He paced across the room, reminding her of a prowling animal, some kind of Saharan beast, all lean and strong.

  She watched him, her body shivering, her mind struggling to make sense of anything.

  ‘What choice do we have?’ He kept his back to her and thrust his hands into his pockets. He was looking out at the city, staring at the view, and his voice had a bleakness to it that reached inside her and filled Frankie with despair.

  She followed his gaze; nothing seemed to shine now.

  ‘What choice do I have?’ he repeated. ‘I have a son. He is a prince, and the fate of my country is on his shoulders. I must bring him home. I owe it... I owe it to my people,’ he said firmly. He moved one hand from his pocket to his head, driving his fingers through his dark hair, then turning to face her again. ‘And you owe it to Leo, Frankie.’ His eyes held hers and there was earnestness and honesty in his expression. ‘You want to raise him with me, don’t you?’

  Her chest tightened because he was right. ‘I want to raise a son who is happy and well-adjusted,’ she said finally. ‘Who has two parents who love him. That doesn’t mean we have to marry...’

  ‘When we were together, back then, you told me of your upbringing,’ he said with a soft strength in his voice. ‘You told me of weekends spent hiking in the summer and playing board games in the winter, reading around the fire, cooking together. You told me how you’d longed for a sister or brother because you wanted a bigger family—lots of noise and happiness. You told me your family meant everything to you. Would you deprive our son of that?’

  She stared at him, aghast and hurting, because, damn him, he was right. Everything he’d repeated was exactly as she felt, as she’d always felt, ever since she’d known the first sting of rejection. Since she’d understood that adoption often went hand in hand with abandonment—for the two parents who had chosen to raise her, there were two who had chosen to lose her, to give her away.

  She’d seen everything through a prism of that abandonment, never taking family time for granted, seeing it with gratitude because she had feared her adoptive parents’ love, once given, might also be taken away again.

  Her eyes swept shut and, instead of speaking, she made a strangled noise, deep in her throat.

  His eyes swept over her beautiful face and, seeing her surrender, he pushed home his advantage. ‘Marry me because our son deserves that of us. You and I slept together, we made a baby together. From the moment of his conception, this stopped being about you and me, and what we both want. We have an obligation to act in his best interests.’

  More sense. More words that she agreed with, and suddenly the pull towards marriage was an inevitable force. She knew she would agree—she had to—but she wasn’t ready to show him that just yet.

  ‘It’s too much,’ she whispered, lifting her eyelids and staring at him with confusion and uncertainty. ‘Marrying you, even if you were just a normal man, would be...ridiculous. But you’re a king and I’m the last person on earth who wants to be...who’s suitable to be... I wouldn’t be any good at it.’

  ‘First and
foremost, you will be my wife, and the mother to my children. Your duties as Queen will not need to be onerous.’ He softened his expression. ‘In any event, I think you are underselling yourself.’

  But she heard nothing after one simple word. ‘Children? As in, plural?’

  ‘Of course. One is not enough.’ The words were staccato, like little nails being slammed into her sides. Something deep rumbled in his features, a worry that seemed to arrest him deep inside.

  But she shook her head, unable to imagine having more children with this man. ‘I don’t want more children.’

  ‘You do not like being a mother?’ he prompted.

  ‘Of course I do. I love Leo. And if I could lay an egg and have four more children, then I would. But, unfortunately, to give you more precious heirs I’d need to...we’d need to...’

  ‘Yes?’ he drawled, and she had the distinct impression he was enjoying her discomfort.

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ she snapped, lifting her fingertips to her temples and massaging them.

  ‘We are getting married,’ he said, and apparently her acquiescence was now a point of fact. ‘Do you think the question of sex is one we won’t need to address?’

  His ability to be so calm in the face of such an intimate conversation infuriated her.

  ‘If I were to marry you,’ she snapped, resenting his confidence as to her agreement, ‘sex wouldn’t be a part of our arrangement.’

  He laughed. ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘Yes, really. And it’s not funny! Sex should mean something, just like marriage should mean something. You’re laughing like I’m saying something stupid and I’m not—the way I feel is perfectly normal.’

  ‘You are naïve,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘Like the innocent virgin you were three years ago. Sex is a biological function—two bodies enjoying one another: pleasure for pleasure’s sake. Marriage is an alliance—a mutually beneficial arrangement. Even those who dress it up as “soulmates” and “love” know it for what it really is, deep down.’

  ‘And what’s that?’ she demanded.

  ‘Convenience. Companionship. Sex.’

  Her cheeks flamed pink. ‘How in the hell did you get to be so cynical?’ she demanded.

  ‘I am more realist than cynic.’ He shrugged insouciantly. ‘You will grow up and see things as they really are one day, Frankie.’

  ‘I hope not.’

  ‘Don’t be so glum,’ he cautioned and, without her realising it, he’d crossed the room and was standing right in front of her. His eyes bored into hers and everything in the room seemed to slow down, to stammer to a stop. She stared up at him, her heart racing, her mouth dry, her eyes roaming his face hungrily. ‘You will enjoy certain aspects of being my wife.’

  She swallowed in an attempt to bring moisture back to her mouth. ‘You’re wrong.’

  He laughed, a dry sound, and swooped his head down, to claim her mouth with his. ‘When it comes to women and sex, Frankie, I’m never wrong.’

  Her pulse hammered in her ears and her body went into overdrive, her nerve-endings tingling, her heart throbbing. She wanted to resist him. God, she wanted to make a point. She wanted to push him away. But with her dying breath, with every fibre of her being, she wanted this more. She lifted her hands, burying them in his shirt, her senses noting everything about him—his warmth, his strength, his masculine fragrance, his closeness, his hardness, his very him-ness. Memories of how it had been before flashed through her and she whimpered, low in her throat, when one of his hands moved behind her, cupping her bottom and pulling her forward, pressing her to his arousal until she made a groaning sound, tilting her head back to give him better access to her mouth.

  And he dominated her with his kiss, his mouth making a mockery of her objections, his lips showing her how completely he could force her surrender, how quickly he could crumble all her reserves, how quickly he could turn her into trembling putty in his arms.

  How little, in that moment, she minded.

  He lifted his head, pulling away from her, his breathing roughened by passion, as her own was. ‘I have no intention of making your life difficult or unpleasant, Frankie. Through the days, you’ll barely know I exist.’

  Her pulse was still hammering inside her and her body was weak with desire. When she spoke, the words were faint, breathy. ‘And at night?’

  ‘At night,’ he promised, lifting his hand and stroking his thumb across her cheek, ‘you won’t be able to exist without me.’

  * * *

  Matthias stared at his child and inside him it felt as if an anvil were colliding with his ribcage.

  The little boy was the spitting image of Spiro, just as the painting had made him appear.

  ‘Hello.’ He crouched down so he could look into Leo’s face. ‘You must be Leo.’

  Leo nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes. I am Leo.’

  Matthias couldn’t smile. He felt only pain, like acid gushing through his veins. How much of this boy’s life had he missed? How much was there about him he didn’t know?

  ‘We are going to go on an adventure,’ he said, standing, glaring at Frankie with all the rage he felt in that moment. The night before, he’d wanted to make love to her until she was incoherent, crying his name at the top of her voice. Now? He felt nothing but rage. Rage at what she’d denied him. Rage at what she’d enjoyed while he’d been none the wiser.

  ‘Come, Leo,’ he said, the words carefully muted of harsh inflection even when his eyes conveyed his mood just fine. ‘We are going on an adventure together.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HER STOMACH SWOOPED as the plane came in low over the Mediterranean, but Frankie knew it had less to do with the private jet’s descent and more to do with the man sitting opposite her. In the incredible luxury of this plane, surrounded by white leather furniture, chandeliers, servants dressed in white and gold uniforms, Matthias still stood out. He was imposing.

  Regal.

  Grand.

  Intimidating.

  And he was to be her husband.

  Thoughts of their kiss, with her back pressed against a wall literally and metaphorically, flooded her mind and her temperature spiked as remembered pleasures deepened inside her.

  The ocean glistened beneath them like a beautiful mirage, dark blue from up here, and dozens of little islands dotted in the middle of it. Each was surrounded by a ring of turquoise water and an edge of crisp white sand.

  ‘That is Tolmirós,’ he said conversationally, and it was the first he’d spoken to her all flight. The silence had been deafening, but Frankie had been preoccupied enough wondering just how the hell she’d found herself being spirited away to this man’s kingdom—having agreed, at last, to be his wife!

  ‘Which one?’

  He eyed her thoughtfully for a moment and her heart rate notched up a gear. ‘All of them. Tolmirós is made up of forty-two islands. Some are small, some are large. Like Epikanas,’ he said, reaching across and pointing to an island in the distance.

  She looked in the direction he was indicating, trying to ignore the fact that he was so close to her now, so close she could breathe in his woody masculine fragrance. When he’d kissed her, it had been as though nothing else mattered. Not the past, not the future—nothing.

  ‘Epikanas,’ she repeated.

  ‘Good.’ He nodded his approval and the smile that spread across his face warmed her from the inside out. ‘You pronounced that perfectly. You will have a language tutor to help you learn how to speak our language.’ He sat back in his seat and she told herself she was glad. The plane moved lower, bumping a little as it pushed through some turbulence. ‘Epikanas is the main island—my palace is there, my government centre, the main business hub, our largest city. It is where we will live, most of the time.’

  She nodded distractedly, turning in her seat to face him, then wishing she hadn’t when
she found him watching her intently. She skidded her eyes away again, to the seat across the aisle. It had been put into full recline, forming a bed, and Leo was fast asleep, sprawled lengthways.

  She watched him sleep and her heart clenched because she knew, risky though this was for her, she was doing the right thing for Leo. If there was any way she could give her son the security of a family, she was going to do it. Her eyes swept shut for a moment as the single memory she possessed of her birth mother filtered to the top of her mind. It was vague. An impression of a faded yellow armchair, sunlight streaming in through a window, curtains blowing in the slight breeze, and the sound of tapping. Her mother had lifted her, hugged her, smelling like lemons and soap.

  Then the memory was gone again, like the parents who hadn’t wanted her. No matter how hard she tried to catch it, to unpick it and see more of her early childhood, there was nothing.

  Determination fired through her spine.

  Leo would never feel like she had; he’d never know that sting of rejection. He’d never know the burden of that loss. Unknowingly, she tilted her chin in a gesture of defiance, her eyes glinting with determination. For her son, she would make this work.

  ‘This,’ he said, as if following the direction of her thoughts, ‘that we are flying over now is Port Kalamathi,’ he said. ‘The island used to be an important stronghold in our naval operations. Now, it is home to the best school in Tolmirós. It is here that Leo will go, when he is old enough.’

  She looked out of her window at the island that was just a swirling mix of green and turquoise. In the centre there were buildings—ancient-looking, with lots of gardens and lawns. She supposed that, so far as schools went, the location was excellent. But wasn’t it too far from the palace?

  She gnawed on her lower lip and pushed that question aside. Their son was two years old: they could cross that bridge when they came to it. It would be years away. She had more immediate concerns to address.