Living Together

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘No,’ she denied instantly.

  ‘Then what do you want?’ he sneered. ‘To see how the mighty have fallen?

  ‘No!’

  ‘Because I have fallen, Helen,’ he said bitterly, his eyes tortured as he looked at her. ‘God, how I still want you!

  ‘You do?’ she asked breathlessly, hopefully.

  ‘Yes! But you look as bad as I feel.’

  ‘And I feel as bad as I look.’

  ‘So do I,’ he admitted with a groan. ‘God, we’re destroying each other!’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed.

  Leon took a deep breath. ‘So why are you here?’

  ‘I saw Max downstairs. He asked me to come up and see you.’

  ‘Would you have bothered if he hadn’t?’ he snapped.

  Helen shook her head. ‘I thought you were in Portugal.’

  ‘And instead I’m here roaring drunk. So where do we go from here?’

  ‘Where do you want to go?’

  ‘To bed,’ he admitted with a groan. ‘With you. For a week. With no interruptions.’

  ‘I’d like that too,’ she told him shyly.

  Leon shook his head. ‘I won’t be used like that again. It almost killed me the last time.’

  ‘Oh, Leon!’ she choked.

  Something seemed to snap within him and he pulled her roughly against him, ravishing her lips with a savagery that took her breath away. They exchanged kiss for kiss, lost in their mutual desire, a desire that raged like an inferno and refused to be put out.

  When it seemed that only her full capitulation would satisfy him he reluctantly put her away from him, his breathing ragged, beads of perspiration on his brow. ’Will you move back in here? Oh, not as my wife,’ he added as she went to speak. ‘I know you don’t want that. But I need you so desperately, Helen. I can’t survive without you now. God, you can see what a mess I’ve made of it since we parted.’

  ‘Do you still love me?’ she asked huskily.

  ‘Can you doubt it?’

  No, there could be no doubt. He was haggard, the pain of their parting hitting him as badly as it had her. ‘I—I have something I want to tell you.’ She looked at him nervously.

  He tensed as if for a blow. ‘You can’t be cruel enough to leave me again? I don’t think I could stand it again, Helen. Maybe if you’d stayed away, but not now. You have to stay.’

  ‘I’d like to.’

  ‘You would?’ he asked almost eagerly.

  ‘Yes. But sit down, Leon, I have to talk to you.’ She waited until he was seated before continuing. ‘Leon, two years ago when I lost the baby I—I—’

  ‘You don’t have to have children,’ he said instantly. ‘You’re all I’ll ever want, I promise you that.’

  She shook her head. ‘You don’t understand. When I lost the baby they told me I couldn’t have any more, that medically it was almost impossible.’

  ‘And that’s why…’ He stood up to come over to her. ‘Good lord, Helen, it isn’t that important to me. Is that the reason you turned down my offer of marriage?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How do you really feel about me? And tell me the truth, please.’

  She met his gaze unflinchingly. ‘I love you. It seems like I’ve always loved you.’

  ‘Oh, my love!’ he groaned, his face buried in her scented throat. ‘That’s all that matters to me. If we want children later on we can always adopt, I’ll love them as if they were our own. Marry me, Helen. Say you’ll marry me,’ he pleaded.

  ‘I haven’t told you everything, Leon. I—’

  ‘Nothing else is of importance to me. All that matters is that you love me.’

  ‘I love you very much. But—’

  He put his fingers silencingly over her lips. ‘When will you marry me?’

  She gave a throaty laugh. ‘Will you let me finish speaking?’

  Leon sighed. ‘Only if you tell me you’ll marry me.’

  ‘Very well, I’ll marry you.’

  He gave a whoop of laughter, triumph in every line of his body as he swung her up into his arms. ‘You little darling!’ he cried. ‘I love you, I love you!’ and he kissed her until she felt dizzy.

  ‘Leon, please!’ she begged finally. ‘I have something important to tell you.’

  ‘Nothing can be as important as you marrying me,’ he smiled down at her.

  ‘This is,’ she gave him a tremulous smile. ‘I’m going to have your baby.’

  He looked stunned. ‘But you just said—’

  ‘I know,’ she gave a choked laugh, ‘and I believed it to be true—until tonight. I’ve just come from seeing the doctor. It’s true, Leon—I’m pregnant. Isn’t it wonderful?’

  ‘Wonderful,’ he echoed dazedly. ‘But how—’

  ‘You know how,’ she giggled.

  ‘Not that how,’ he scolded.

  ‘I know.’ Helen gave a happy laugh. ‘The doctor said that the scarring which was probably the reason for the doubt had healed itself. I don’t really care how, Leon, I just know I’m so happy I could cry.’

  ‘Oh, don’t cry, my darling, or I’ll have to join you.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘I feel like it right now. Oh, I know men aren’t supposed to, but then most men haven’t just been handed the world. I’m getting everything I’ve ever wanted in one go. You most of all, but a baby too! It’s fantastic!’

  ‘You don’t mind becoming a father so soon?’

  ‘Mind? I’m ecstatic!’

  ‘Good. I’m ready for that lesson now, Leon,’ Helen told him shyly.

  His eyes widened. ‘Are you sure? There’s no risk involved, is there? Besides,’ he added wickedly, ‘you seem to have learnt the lesson pretty well the first time around.’

  Helen blushed prettily. ‘Don’t I?’ she agreed laughingly. ‘But the doctor told me to lead as normal a life as possible during my pregnancy, and as I fully intend going to bed with you to be normal…’

  ‘Come here, wanton!’ Leon gathered her tenderly into his arms. ‘I’m quite willing to give you as many lessons as you need. Just don’t ask me to let you out of my sight until I have my ring firmly on your finger,’ he scowled a warning.

  ‘I wasn’t going anywhere. A week, I think you said?’ she queried sweetly.

  ‘With no interruptions,’ he confirmed throatily, and bent to claim her lips before swinging her up into his arms.

  Their son was born seven months later. He was perfect, blond hair almost white, with deep blue eyes that Helen felt sure would turn the same tawny colour of his father’s later on.

  * * * * *

  Now, read on for a tantalizing excerpt of New York Times bestselling author Maisey Yates’s new release,

  THE PRINCE’S CAPTIVE VIRGIN

  The first book in her new Once Upon a Seduction…series!

  Ruthless prince Adam Katsaros offers Belle a deal—he’ll release her father if she becomes his mistress! Adam’s gaze awakens a heated desire in Belle. Her innocent beauty might redeem his royal reputation—but can she tame the beast inside?

  Read on to get a glimpse of

  THE PRINCE’S CAPTIVE VIRGIN

  CHAPTER ONE

  Once upon a time…

  BELLE LOOKED up at the imposing castle and tightened her coat more firmly around her petite frame. It was surprisingly chilly tonight on the small island country nestled in the Aegean Sea between Greece and Turkey.

  Of course, when she had first heard of Olympios she had been put in mind of the Mediterranean. Bright white homes and searing blue skies and seas. And perhaps, in the daytime, that was what it was. But here at night, with the velvet darkness settled low around her and that damp air blowing in from the ocean, it felt like something completely unexpected.

  The fortress in front of her, on the other hand, was almost far too expected. It was medieval, and nothing but the lights flickering in the window gave any indication that it might be part of the modern era. Of course, she could expect nothing less from a man who
had gone to such great lengths to seek revenge on a photographer.

  A man who had captured her father in the act of taking pictures and imprisoned him to get revenge for something as innocuous as photographs that were set to be published without his permission.

  Belle supposed that she should be afraid. After all, Prince Adam Katsaros had proven to be unreasonable. He had proven to be inhumane. But she was bolstered by the same rage that had infused her veins from the moment she had first heard of her father’s fate, even now.

  It seemed that she was insulated from fear, which was strange considering she’d spent a lot of her life feeling afraid of almost everything. Of losing her father and the haven she’d found with him after her mother had abandoned her when she was four years old. Of the potential inside herself to become a tempestuous, selfish creature driven by passions of the flesh, as her mother had been and probably still was.

  All that fear was gone now. Had been from the moment she had first boarded her plane in LA, all the way through her layover in Greece, and through the flight that carried her here to Olympios.

  She could only hope that her bravado lasted.

  Tony was going to be so mad when he found out she’d done this. Her boyfriend of nearly eight months had always wanted to be more involved in her life. But she resisted. Just like she’d been resisting serious physical intimacy. That was part of all her fear stuff.

  She’d never had a boyfriend before, and she was accustomed to her space and her independence. Surrendering any of it just didn’t sit well with her.

  Which was an ironic thought, considering what she was prepared to do here today.

  She was surprised to find that the palace was more or less unguarded. There was no one about as she walked up the steps that led to a rough-hewn double door. She was tempted—not for the first time since her arrival on the island—to check and see if her phone calendar had been set back into the last century. Or, perhaps, a few centuries ago.

  She lifted her hand, unsure as to whether or not one knocked on doors like this. In the end, she decided to grasp hold of the iron ring and pull it open. It creaked and groaned with the effort, as though no one had dared enter the large, imposing building in quite some time. However, she knew that they had. Because only a few days ago her father had been brought here. And—if rumor was to be believed—he was being imprisoned on the property.

  She took a cautious step inside, surprised by the warmth that greeted her. It was dark, except for some wall sconces that were lit across the room. The great stone antechamber possessed nothing like the sort of comforts she would have expected from a palace. Not that she was in the habit of being admitted into palaces.

  No, the little seaside home she and her father lived in in Southern California was as far from a palace as it was possible to get. It wasn’t even Rodeo Drive.

  But this wasn’t exactly what she had expected from royalty. In spite of her lack of experience, she did have expectations. She might never have been admitted into the lavish homes and parties that celebrities threw in Beverly Hills, but her father’s business was photographing those events. So she had a visual familiarity with them, even if it wasn’t based in experience.

  “Hello?” she called out into the dim chamber, vaguely aware that that might not have been the best idea the moment the word left her mouth and ricocheted off the stone walls. But, that adrenaline that had wrapped itself around her like an impenetrable suit of armor remained. She had a mission, and she was not going to be frightened out of carrying it out.

  Once the prince understood, he would be more than happy to return her father to her custody. She was certain. Once he understood about her father’s health.

  “Hello?” she called again. Still nothing.

  She heard a soft sound, footsteps on the flagstone floor, and she turned toward a corridor that was at the far left of the room, just in time to see a tall, slender man walking toward her. “Are you lost, kyria?”

  His tone was soft and kind, faintly accented and nothing like the harsh, brutal surroundings that she found herself in. Nothing at all like she had imagined finding here in this medieval keep.

  “No,” she said, “I’m not lost. My name is Belle Chamberlain and I looking for my father. Mark Chamberlain. He’s being held here by the Prince…and I…I don’t think he understands.”

  The servant—at least, that’s what she assumed he was—took a step closer to her, his expression becoming clearer as he moved nearer. He looked…concerned. “Yes. I know about that. It is, perhaps, best if you go, Kyria Chamberlain.”

  “No. You don’t understand. My father is ill, and he was supposed to start treatment back home in the States. He can’t be here. He can’t be…imprisoned, just because he took some photographs that the Prince doesn’t like.”

  “There is a lot here that protects the Prince’s privacy,” the man said, as though she hadn’t spoken. As though he were simply reciting from a well-memorized book. “And whatever the Prince says is…well, it is law.”

  “I’m not leaving without my father. I’m not leaving until I speak to the Prince. Also, your security is shockingly lax.” She looked around. “Nobody stopped me from entering. I imagine it was far too easy for my father to gain access to him. If he wants to keep his life private, then he should work harder at it.” The celebrities her father photographed went to great lengths to avoid his telephoto lens. She was not impressed with the setup the Prince had here.

  Perhaps it was a little bit callous of her to look at things that way. But, she had been raised the daughter of a paparazzo, and that was just the way things were. Celebrities capitalized on their images, and relied on the fact that they were public commodities. Her father was simply a part of that economy.

  “Believe me,” the man said. “You don’t want to speak to the Prince.”

  She drew up to her full height, which, admittedly at five-three was not terribly impressive. “Believe me,” she countered. “I most certainly do want to speak to the Prince. I want to tell him that his tyrannical tactics, seizing an American citizen, all in the name of his precious vanity, are not the least bit impressive to me. In fact, if he has issues with his presumably weak chin, subtly rounded jawline and hollow chest, perhaps he could take some of the money he has saved by not renovating this palace and invest in a good plastic surgeon, rather than imprisoning a man for taking a few photographs.”

  “Weak chin?” Another voice sounded in the darkness. Much different from the voice of the servant. It was deep; it resonated there in the stone room, resonated inside Belle. And then, for the first time, she knew fear. An intense, trembling kind that skated down her spine and reverberated in her stomach. “That is a new accusation, I have to say. However, suggestions that I go visit a plastic surgeon are not. I find that I have lost patience with going under the knife, though.”

  “Prince Adam,” the servant said, his tone clearly intended to placate.

  “You may leave us, Fos.”

  “But, Your Majesty—”

  “Don’t bow and scrape,” the Prince said, his tone hard as the stone walls all around them. “It is embarrassing. For you.”

  “Yes,” the man said, “of course.”

  And then, the one person who she felt might be her ally shuffled back off into the darkness. And she was left with a disembodied voice that was still shrouded in the inky blackness.

  “So,” he said, “you have come to see about your father.”

  “Yes,” she said, her tone unsteady. She took a deep breath, tried to get a grip on herself. She was not easily intimidated. She never had been. She had spent her childhood going to private schools that she was far too poor to have gained admittance to, if not for a trust fund previously established by her long-deceased grandfather.

  Everyone there knew she was there on charity, and she had been forced to grow a spine early. Everyone was always teasing her. For being poor. For always having her head in the clouds—well, she had her nose firmly planted in a book. B
ut, those stories, those fictional worlds, were her armor. They allowed her to insulate herself. Allowed her to ignore the taunting happening around her.

  She had survived a childhood surrounded by the mocking glances and cruel words of the children of Hollywood royalty. Surely she could face down the Prince of a country that was the size of a postage stamp.

  She heard a heavy footfall, an indication that he had moved deeper into the room, but she still couldn’t see him. “I arrested your father,” he said.

  “I know that,” she said, doing her best to keep her tone steady. “And I think it was a mistake.”

  He chuckled, but there was no humor in the sound. It lay flat in the room, making it feel as though the temperature had dropped. “You’re either very brave or very stupid. Coming to my country, my home, and insulting me.”

  “I’m not sure that I’m either. I’m just a girl who’s concerned about her father. Surely you can understand that.”

  “Perhaps,” he returned. “Though, I find it difficult to remember. I have not worried about my father in quite some time. The cemetery keeps him in good comfort.”

  She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say to that. If she was supposed to say that she was sorry that his father was dead. In the end, she imagined that he probably didn’t want her sympathy.

  “That’s what I’m afraid will happen to my father,” she said. “He’s sick. He needs treatment. That was why he got the pictures of you in the first place. He needed money to cover the cost of the treatment that the insurance wouldn’t. This is his job. He’s a photographer. He’s—”

  “I have absolutely no interest in paparazzi scum. That kind of thing is forbidden in my country.”

  “No freedom of the press, then,” she said, crossing her arms and planting her feet more firmly against the stone floor.

  “No freedom to hunt people down as though they are animals simply because you wish to collect photographs.”

  She huffed. “I doubt you were hunted down. I was able to gain admittance to the palace easily enough. My father is an experienced photographer, and I bet it was even easier for him.”