… no matter how discreet?” “Absolutely not.”
“You don’t hope to take a lover later, after we’re married and you’ve fulfilled your duty?”
Hannah was appalled by his questions. “Is that the sort of woman you think I am?”
“I think you’re a woman who has been pressured into a marriage she doesn’t want.”
Her jaw dropped slightly, and she stared at him unable to think of a single response.
Zale leaned closer, his deep voice dropping even lower, his amber gaze intense. “I think you want to please others, even if it comes at a terrible price.”
“Because I’ve agreed to an arranged marriage?”
“Because you’ve agreed to this marriage.” His eyes held hers. “Can you do this, Emmeline, and be happy? Can you make this marriage work?”
“Can you?” she flashed, flustered.
“Yes.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I have discipline. And I’m older by ten years. I have more life experience and know what I need, and what I want.” “And what is that?”
“I want prosperity for my country, peace in my home and heirs to ensure succession.”
“That’s it? Peace, prosperity and children?”
“I’m a realist. I know I can’t expect too much from life so I keep my desires simple. My goals attainable.”
“Hard to believe that. You were the star footballer that carried Raguva to the finals of the World Cup. You don’t achieve success like that without big dreams—”
“That was before my parents’ death. Now my country and family come first. My responsibilities to Raguva outweigh everything else.”
The fierce note in his voice made her tremble inwardly. He was intense. So very physical. Everything about him screamed male—the curve of his lip, the lean cheek, the strong masculine jaw.
“I need the same commitment from you,” he added. “If we marry there will be no divorce. No room for second thoughts. No means to later opt out. If we marry it’s forever, and if you can’t promise me forever, then you shouldn’t be here.”
Zale abruptly pushed back his chair and extended a hand to her. “But that’s enough serious talk for one evening. We’re supposed to be celebrating your arrival and the good things to come. Let’s mingle with our guests, and try to enjoy the evening.”
The rest of the night passed quickly with everyone vying for an opportunity to speak with King Zale and the glamorous, popular Princess Emmeline.
But finally by ten-thirty, with the last guests departing, Zale escorted Emmeline back to her suite on the second floor.
It had been a strange evening. Perplexing, he thought, glancing down at her golden head with the delicate diamond tiara.
He’d been ambivalent about her arrival. He’d needed her here for duty’s sake. Raguva needed a queen and he needed heirs. But at a purely personal level, he knew she wasn’t the woman he would have ever picked as his wife.
Zale knew his faults—hardworking, no-nonsense, intensely dedicated—but he was loyal. It was a trait he respected in himself, and valued highly in others.
He realized belatedly that Emmeline might not.
He knew she’d never been spoiled by her parents. If anything, her parents had been hard on her, holding her to an exacting standard that she could never meet, which made Emmeline desperate to please. The world might see her as a glowing, confident princess but her father had warned Zale that she could be difficult and at times, terribly insecure.
King William d’Arcy’s warning had worried Zale as he did not need a difficult and insecure wife, much less a fragile, demanding queen.
But Zale’s late father had wanted this match very much. In his eyes, Princess Emmeline had been the perfect choice for Zale, and although his father had died five years ago, Zale wanted to honor his father’s wishes, hoping that once the beautiful Emmeline reached Raguva she would settle in, settle down and become the ideal bride his father imagined her to be.
They’d reached her suite and for a moment neither said anything. “It’s been a long day,” he said at length, breaking the uncomfortable silence, even as he wondered how he could marry her with so many doubts.
But she was here, another part of his brain argued. She’d come when she’d said she would, and she’d behaved perfectly proper tonight. More than proper, she’d been beautiful, approachable, likable.
“It has,” she agreed.
“Tomorrow night will be far less formal. There is no state dinner, just a quiet dinner together, so that should be relatively easy.”
She nodded, looking up at him, her blue eyes dark with an emotion he couldn’t decipher. “I’m sure it will be.”
He stared down into her face, wondering how this warm, appealing woman could be the remote, cold Emmeline of the past year.
“Is there anything you need?” he asked now. “Anything that hasn’t been provided?”
“Everything has been wonderful.”
Her answer baffled him even more. “No special requests? You’ve my ear now. I’m happy to oblige.”
She shook her head.
“You’re happy to be here then?”
Her full mouth curved into a tremulous smile. “Of course.”
He didn’t know if it was the inexplicable shimmer of tears in her eyes, or that uncertain smile, but suddenly Europe’s most beautiful princess looked so very alone and vulnerable that Zale reached for her, putting his hand low on her back and finding bare skin.
Her head tipped back, her blue gaze finding his. Zale’s hand slipped lower, his palm sliding down warm satin skin.
He heard her soft intake of breath as he drew her closer, holding her against him, her full, soft breasts crushed to his chest. He dropped his head, covering her mouth with his.
It was to have been a brief kiss, a good-night kiss, but when her lips trembled beneath his he felt a rush of hunger. Desire.
Power.
He drew her closer still, molding her to him with pressure in the small of her back.
She shivered against him and his pulse quickened, blood pounding in his veins, making his body hot, and hard.
The need to possess her filled him, consuming him, and ruthlessly he deepened the kiss, taking her as if she already belonged to him.
The insistent pressure of his lips parted hers, and the tip of his tongue flicked the softness of her inner lip making her squirm. The urgent press of her hips against his made blood roar in his ears and he nipped at her mouth, small bites that made her shudder with pleasure.
God, she was sensitive. Responsive. Her body trembled against him, and he slid his hand from the small of her spine down, lower, over the pert curve of her backside, which made her gasp, her nipples hardening, pebbling against his chest through the thin silk of her gown.
Blood coursed through him.
Desire pounded through his veins.
She was deliciously smooth, deliciously curved and he wanted more of her, all of her. His body throbbed.
God, she was hot and tasted sweet. He wanted to rip her gown off her, strip her voluptuous body bare and explore her curves and hollows—like the dip of her spine, the space behind her knee, the softness between her thighs.
He wanted between her thighs. Wanted to part her knees as wide as he could—