To Claim His Heir by Christmas

by Victoria Parker

  ‘Hungry?’ he asked, his voice as thick as his throat.

  She licked the sweet treat from her lips with a sensual flick of her tongue. ‘Erm…yes. Dinner was awful.’

  He took the opening for what it was. Perfect for getting him back on track. ‘The food or the company?’

  Her gaze drifted to stare unseeingly out of the tinted window. The runway floodlights flickered over her at intervals, highlighting the honeycomb strands in her lavish hair and lending her skin an incandescent glow.

  Ethereal was surely the only word to describe her in that moment. Seraphic. And his ardour dulled as he was struck with the feeling that he was too dark to touch her. That he would taint her somehow.

  Right at this moment she was crushed up against the door, as far away from him as she could get, and Thane hardened his body, trying to expunge the terrible self-awareness, the stomach ache that whispered of rejection. Not once had she rebuffed their volatile passion. Not once. The reason for which he wanted to know. Now.

  ‘You never answered my question,’ he said, his tone darkly savage. ‘Was it the food or the company that was so bad you could not eat?’

  Her absurdly long, decadent eyelashes were downswept. ‘Does it matter?’ she asked softly.

  Patience dwindling, he went in for the kill. Even though he was unsure if he could go through with this if she said yes.

  Astounding and unthinkable as it was, if she did he’d rather put her on an Arunthian plane without another word. The ‘why’ of it wouldn’t be difficult to find if he cared to revisit his boyhood, watch misery trickle down his mother’s face as she pined for another. But delve into the past he would not. That long-ago place was a dark punishment he would never descend to again.

  ‘Are you in love with Augustus, Luciana?’

  She massaged her temple as if he were a headache she wished to rub away.

  ‘I wasn’t born to marry for love, Thane. I have no choice over the direction my life takes.’ Her voice was tinged with bitterness and he felt a flicker of suspicion spark in his gut.

  Frowning, he narrowed his eyes on her face, his guts twisting into a noxious tangle. ‘Have you been in his bed?’

  If he’d blinked he would have missed it. Her wince of distaste.

  ‘That is none of your business.’

  ‘Have you been in his bed, Luciana?’ he asked again—harder, darker. Almost cutthroat.

  ‘What difference does it make?’

  ‘For hell’s sake, just answer the question!’

  Up came her arms with an exasperated toss. ‘No! Okay? I haven’t been anywhere near his rotten bed. Would you want to?’ She groaned aloud as if she wished the words back, and shoved another chunk of chocolate between her pink lips.

  Thane felt a smile kick the corner of his mouth as relief doused over him like a warm shower of summer rain. That temper of hers still gave her a candid, somewhat strident bent.

  ‘And you still intend to marry this man?’ Even though the idea appalled her?

  ‘Yes.’

  He would have to be six feet under first.

  Clearly Henri was pushing her into it. That bastard. He should have killed the man years ago, when he’d had the chance. Fury pummelled at him to think she was being forced to the altar as his mother had been. And Thane’s every protective instinct kicked in—he wanted her kept far away from Henri and Augustus. Where neither of them could reach her.

  ‘You will not touch him, comprende? Nor will you allow him to touch you.’

  Not that he was giving her the chance to do either.

  Huffing a little, she arched one fair brow. ‘That’s going to prove a bit difficult when we are married, Thane.’

  ‘Which is precisely the reason you are not marrying him.’

  His mind was set. Firstly, she had the rarity of blue blood, and a union with her would give him his crown. Four years early. His struggles to build a better life for his people would end. His uncle’s dictatorship would cease as Thane took total control of the throne. Finally he could make amends.

  And secondly—he easily silenced the impish taunt of his earlier words—there would be no riding bareback into hell as he aligned with the enemy. Because while she might be a Verbault at this moment, Thane would soon make her a Guerrero. Tomorrow seemed as good a day as any. Saving her from a fate worse than death—namely the vapid Viscount and her father’s political clutches.

  Win-win. Let it not be said that he wasn’t knight in shining armour material.

  A faint crease lined her forehead as she fingered back the curtain of her hair to glance at him warily. ‘I…I’m not?’

  This could go two ways, he decided. Either he’d be flooded with a profusion of gratitude or she’d fight him under the influence of some misplaced loyalty to her father. So it was a good job there wasn’t a battle he couldn’t win.

  ‘No. Instead you are marrying me.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IN THE DISTANCE Luciana heard the driver’s door open, then close with a deft clunk. Then came a cacophony of voices that fluttered around the car—the cadence low, masculine. And all the while she stared at Thane, who wore a mask of impermeable steel. Her mouth was working but no sound was emerging as she swung like a pendulum, lurching from fighting tears of frustration to biting back a laugh that was sure to lean over to the hysterical side—because the proposal she’d expected had finally come to pass. From the wrong man entirely.

  Are you sure about that, Luce?

  Yes, she was sure—of course she was sure.

  And the worst thing about all of this…? For a split second all she’d seen was Thane and all she’d heard was ‘marry’ and ‘me’, and the little girl inside her who’d gorged on fairytales and dreams of love—the one who hadn’t seen the darker side of marriage and was blissfully unaware of her duties—had felt her heart leap to her throat in utter joy.

  Foolish little girl. Foolish heart.

  Blame it on temple-pounding awkwardness, but the silence finally pressed a sound from her throat.

  ‘Thane? Are you crazy?’

  Crazy? He was insane. Mad as a hatter. Nutty as a goddamn fruitcake.

  ‘Quite probably.’

  There, you see—he’s even admitted it.

  ‘We’re enemies, or have you conveniently forgotten that?’

  Oh, she could just imagine Thane having a chinwag with her father. Hey, do you remember me? The one who tried to assassinate you? Well, I want to marry your daughter. Yeah, that would go down well. Not.

  If he had attempted the assassination. But why would her father spout such a heinous lie? Truth was, she was drowning in reasons why she couldn’t marry him. And that was without broaching the topic of Natanael.

  ‘You and I are not enemies, Luciana.’

  His eyes took on the lustrous glitter of the black sapphires they reminded her of and she shivered in response.

  ‘Any chance of that ended when I took your innocence five years ago and made you mine. If your father and my uncle wish to prolong the feud that’s up to them, but it has no bearing on our future.’

  She shook her head in disbelief. Bad idea. Dizziness took the car, and her, for a little spin. ‘How can you say that?’

  ‘Easily. I am my own man, and I will not be dictated to by anyone or anything.’

  A scoff burst past her lips. ‘Bully for you. I, however, don’t have a choice.’

  ‘Which is precisely why I am giving you an alternative.’

  So it would seem. The question was: why? He wanted her away from Augustus—that much was evident. Every time the other man’s name was brought up he visibly fumed, until she half expected him to snort fire like some great mystical dragon. As if the thought of the other man touching her was abhorrent to him. But not because he loved her. No, no. His biting words from earlier were enough of a clue… ‘We take what is rightfully ours. I made you mine…’

  So in effect she could be a Picasso he’d spotted at Christie’s and fancied would look wonder
ful mounted above his machete rack. A beautiful possession.

  Fire-tipped arrows pierced her chest and flamed up her throat.

  ‘Well, thank you for the offer,’ she said satirically. ‘But I’m not keen on your alternative, Thane. For starters, it’s simply another demand. And, let me tell you, they are certainly racking up this month.’ Her insides were shaking so hard it made her voice quiver. ‘And another thing: unfortunately for you, as far as courting rituals and practices go, abduction does not score points.’

  He frowned deeply and looked at the magazine pouch. As if he was spectacularly disorientated and the answer to her meltdown lay between the covers of the latest gossip rag.

  Idly scratching his sexy, stubbled jaw, he glanced back up. ‘Courting?’

  Luciana blinked. Out of that entire speech, ‘courting’ was what he’d picked up on? ‘Yes, Thane. Dating, courting.’

  Surely he couldn’t still be as mystified about women as he’d been five years ago? He must have had a truckload since then; he was sex incarnate. Not that she cared what he did. Absolutely not.

  ‘You would prefer this?’ he asked, stunned but apparently game.

  Luciana squeezed her eyes shut. Lord, this was utterly surreal.

  ‘My father would never give his blessing in a billion years.’ Hypothetically speaking, of course. Frankly, she had no idea why she was engaging in this conversation. It was all impossible.

  ‘I care not,’ he drawled, his arrogance and power so potent she could taste it. ‘If the man wants a fight on his hands for you he can have it. Gladly. He obviously cares little for you to subject you to such a marriage.’

  Luciana eased back, pulling her spine upright. She rewound that little speech of his and replayed it in her head. Then felt butterflies take flight in her chest—winged creatures flapping furiously against her ribcage. Had he just said he would fight for her? She was pretty sure he had. As well as intimating that he cared for her happiness. Sort of.

  Her thumb found its way to her mouth and she nibbled on the soft pad.

  This was the behaviour of a callous mercenary? Really? No, of course it wasn’t—she must be missing something. He had to have an agenda. Other than his ridiculous chest-thumping caveman routine, that was.

  Problem was, when he fixated on the way she sucked her thumb, with wicked heat smouldering in his dark eyes, she couldn’t think what day it was—never mind decipher his ulterior motives.

  Maybe he wants you for you. Maybe your father was wrong about him. Maybe his reputation isn’t as bad as it seems.

  Luciana shook her head vehemently. No. That would mean she’d run when she shouldn’t have. Made a mistake. And she refused to believe that. After all, proof of his pitiless, ruthless nature wasn’t hard to descry, was it? Look where she was, for heaven’s sake—atop the highest asphalted runway in Europe, about to be manhandled onto a plane!

  On the verge of a panic attack, or at the very least an undignified fainting spell, she yanked at the door handle and—yes!—it gave way under the pressure of her grip and she flung it wide.

  A second later she launched herself from the car, almost breaking her neck as her heels hit a dusty sheet of new-fallen snow and she slipped…swayed…then skidded to a stop.

  Adrenaline spiked her pulse and she glanced left and right, back and forth, wildly searching for a way out. Even as her legs turned to lead at the very thought.

  Stupid legs. Stupid heart.

  Inhaling swift and deep, she slowly refocused her vision on the mountainous white peaks looming from all angles. Dangerous. Breathtaking. Much like the man who now strode around the back of the limousine, moving towards her with a warrior’s effortless grace. And yet she felt every step like a seismic rumble.

  Instinctively she staggered backwards and pushed out her hand in a stop sign. ‘Don’t come any closer!’

  Snow drizzled from the sky in fat, puffy white flakes and swirled around his tall, commanding body in eddies and whirls as if drawn to his magnetism. The braver ones dared to touch, settle on his ebony hair, kiss his broad shoulders, tease the lapels of his jacket—only to be annihilated in an instant by his unfathomable heat.

  Stupid snowflakes.

  ‘Luciana. Don’t fight me,’ he cajoled, in that sinful voice that made her shudder.

  Translation—Roll over and take it. Be a good girl and do as you’re told.

  Yeah, right.

  His hands fisted before he stretched the kinks from his fingers and lifted them to spear into his hair; brushing the damp glossy strands back from his forehead, bringing his face into sharp relief.

  Oh, Lord.

  Her insides panged on a swift stab of anguish. Natanael… The resemblance was spooky. Surreal. Bittersweet and oddly wonderful at the same time.

  Arms plunging to his sides, he tipped his head and gave her a crooked smile. ‘We need to leave. Come with me.’

  Fighting the sting at the back of her eyes, she wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her body. ‘No. I can’t go with you, Thane. I’m sorry. And I can’t marry you. I have to take my throne in two months. I have responsibilities of my own.’

  But more than that—much more—I have a son at home: one you can never find, because I’m frightened of what will become of him. I have to protect him. You keep confusing me and I can’t trust my instincts with you.

  Fact was, she had no idea who this man truly was.

  So find out, Luce. Go with him. Find out.

  It was a risk she couldn’t possibly take. Something told her that if she left with him she’d never return home. Thane would never let her go. His formidable dominance would wrap her up tighter than any other person ever could. Including her father. Loath as she was to admit it, at least if she married Augustus Nate would be safe—and so would she. Her emotions would never engage with him.

  All that swarthy, sexy maleness took on a blistering intensity as Thane dipped his chin and locked his fierce gaze on her.

  ‘That throne will not be yours if you marry that man, Luciana. You know it. And maybe your responsibilities now lie with me.’

  Temper igniting inside her, she balled her fists. ‘No, they really don’t.’

  He hitched one shoulder, as if to say he wasn’t going to argue about it, that she should just take his word and accept it. Talk about déjà vu. It was like standing in front of her father’s desk, listening to the latest of his twenty commandments.

  And that was it. It dawned on her that there was just no point in arguing. None.

  From the corner of her eye she noticed a workman bundled in ski gear as he fought the elements, dragging safety cones across the asphalt, and knew exactly what she had to do.

  Luciana took one last look at Thane’s dark beauty and memorised every wicked, gorgeous inch of him. Then she hiked her chin and declared, ‘I am not getting on that plane with you. Goodbye, Thane.’

  Off she went, veering in the workman’s direction, begging her feet not to slip. Cursing herself for not taking three extra minutes back at the lodge to change her clothes.

  ‘Excuse me?’ she called out. ‘Hello? Helloooo…?’

  His head came up, eyes latched onto her and he waved back.

  Thank the heavens above.

  Keep walking, Luce, just keep walking—

  ‘Oh, no, you don’t.’

  An ironclad hand curled around her upper arm and next thing she knew she’d collided with Thane’s hot, hard, magnificent body.

  Fear and excitement shot through her in equal measure. Yet her protest went the way of her sanity when he pulled her impossibly closer, snaring her waist with one strong arm and stroking up her neck with his free hand, his fingers curling around her nape to cradle her head.

  She’d have to be dead not to feel the unabashed sexual charge that sparked in the air. And, like a stick of dynamite, her insides detonated in an explosion of desire, sending an avalanche of wet heat thundering through her.

  Quaking, she had to bite down hard on her lip to stifle
a whimper. It didn’t quite work. She let slip a hum-like cry.

  Those dark, fathomless eyes locked onto her, pupils flaring as she swept her tongue across her bottom lip, and from nowhere a memory cracked through the brume of her mind…

  Luciana was perched on a brick wall, waiting for him to lift her down, waiting for him to make his first move. Just…waiting for him. As if that was all she’d done all her life. ‘Aren’t you going to kiss me?’ she’d asked, yearning for him to do just that.

  When his expression had morphed into a giddy blend of enthusiasm and alarm she’d been flummoxed.

  ‘Haven’t you ever kissed a woman before?’

  A blush so faint she’d nearly missed it had crept over the carved slash of his cheeks. A little embarrassed. A whole lot nervous.

  She’d slid down the wall to puddle at his feet. ‘Can I kiss you, then?’ she’d asked, smoothing his frown away with her fingertips, tucking his hair behind his ears. ‘Would that be okay?’

  Ignoring the rhythmic tic in his jaw, she’d pushed up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. Warm. Soft. And as sensual and commanding as the man himself. Because as soon as she’d coaxed his mouth open with a flick of her tongue he’d taken over with an instinct as old as time and claimed her in a sweet, devouring…

  Luciana blinked back to the here and now—to the snow whirling around them on the chorus of the breeze, the frozen wet droplets peppering her face. To Thane’s dark eyes, deep and hungry and shot with shards of amber, the power of their sexual pull crippling in its intensity.

  ‘My jet is the other way, angel,’ he drawled, as if her defiance had not only been expected but he found her as cute as a button because of it.

  The urge to kick him made her rapidly freezing feet twitch.

  Angel… He’d never called her that before. He must have sharpened his sinful seduction skills over the past few years. It was crazy for her to wish he’d only ever been hers. Just as she’d only ever been his. Crazy. Men needed sex every day, didn’t they? This man certainly had. Up close to him like this, it was easy to remember the long, sultry days and hot nights. Twisted sheets damp with sweat. Sticky skin and the musky scent of their passion lingering in the air as he was controlled by a dark atavistic need to mark her again and again. The slight soreness that only made them desperate for more. Insatiable. Never getting enough.