Instantly he was on the defensive. ‘There’s nothing much to tell. It’s all on the record, as I’m sure you know. I imagine you’ve seen it for yourself.’ Roman could feel his throat thicken and cursed the pain one woman’s desertion could still cause him. No wonder he never talked about it. No wonder he had closed his mind to it a long time ago. ‘My mother left when I was three years old and I never saw her again,’ he said baldly. ‘My father never remarried.’
‘But—’
‘But what?’ he interrupted, forcing all the bitter emotion from his words and replacing it with a tone of cool finality. He reminded himself that this was a conversation they needed to have only once and he could make it as short as he wanted. ‘Those are the facts, Zabrina. I’ve never gone in for analysis and I don’t intend to start now.’ He stared down at the inky brew in his coffee cup before lifting his gaze to hers. ‘And since we’re being so remarkably frank, there’s something else we should address. I think we both need to know where we stand on the subject of divorce, don’t you?’
Zabrina grew still as his words filtered across the table towards her, stabbing at her like little arrows. She should have been prepared for this question but, stupidly, she wasn’t and as a result she found herself filled with another rush of uncertainty. Had she thought that if she was so reasonable on the subject of fidelity, Roman might declare she would be his wife for life? And wasn’t there some inexplicable part of her which wanted that—because while she might feel unsettled around him, weirdly she felt really safe? As if Roman could protect her from some of the terrors of the world. That as long as he was by her side, nothing really bad could happen.
Why think something as irrational as that?
She stared at the sunny gleam of her half-eaten mango, trying to work out what had changed inside her, but it was difficult to put her finger on, mainly because she didn’t understand the softening of her feelings towards the man she was soon to marry. It wasn’t just the amazing sex they’d shared on the train—although that had obviously been the most incredible thing which had ever happened to her. It was more to do with his subsequent behaviour and the conversations they shared whenever they took their meals together. He spoke to her as if she were his equal. She realised that sometimes Roman could seem as sympathetic as ‘Constantin’ had been. He made her feel as if her views counted. As if she was an intelligent person worthy of consideration. And nobody had ever done that before.
But that didn?
??t mean she should allow herself to be lulled into a false sense of security, because, although his attitude towards her might sometimes be sympathetic, his feelings hadn’t changed. He didn’t have feelings towards her, remember? Of course he would wish to address the subject of divorce, because it was relevant. This wasn’t an emotional discussion, she reminded herself, but a practical one. They were a modern monarchy and there wasn’t a royal family in the world which hadn’t been affected by marital breakdown. Divorce no longer held any real stigma—other than the devastating heartbreak her auntie had told her about after she’d gone through it herself. Perhaps that was what had made her mother so determined to hang onto her own marriage, no matter what. And surely she couldn’t be condemned for that.
‘I don’t know about you,’ she said, meeting the question in his eyes, ‘but I would prefer to avoid divorce, especially if there are children involved. Though obviously,’ she amended hurriedly, ‘if circumstances were to change—’
‘In what sense?’ he questioned coolly.
The words were threatening to stick in the back of her throat, so that each one felt as if it had been coated with tar. ‘If, say, you were to meet another woman,’ she began. ‘And to fall in love with her. Then obviously I wouldn’t stand in your way, if you wanted to end the marriage.’
His face was shuttered. ‘How very understanding of you, Zabrina. I had no idea I was marrying such a libertarian.’
‘Why, what would you prefer me to do?’ she demanded. ‘Display an undignified rage and rake your cheeks with my fingernails?’
‘Honestly?’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Right now what I would prefer you to do involves being locked in my arms.’
But it was less of a question and more of a statement and the short silence which followed was broken by the smooth glide of his chair against the marble floor. Zabrina’s heart began to thunder and she felt the curl of excitement low in her belly as he rose to his feet.
‘Roman,’ she said—and this too was a statement, because he was walking around the table towards her, moving with a natural grace and stealth which was incredible to watch, and the look of intent on his sensual features cried out to something deep inside her. Something which scared and excited her. She tried to bat the feelings away but somehow it wasn’t working. Beneath her silk dress, she could feel her nipples tightening into hard buds and surely he must be able to see that too? There was a syrupy tug in her belly and suddenly she longed for him to touch her there. She swallowed and felt her cheeks colour. Yes, there—where the aching was at its most intense. Did he see her blush? Was that why his lips curved into that seeking smile?
He was beside her now. Reaching down and lifting her clean off the chair—or was she reaching up to him? She didn’t know, and afterwards she would find it impossible to remember. All she knew was that there were no servants present—for he had dismissed them all—and that this was the first time they had been alone since she had stepped off that train in Rosumunte.
And that they seemed to be in the middle of some crazy sexual power game.
‘Roman,’ she whispered.
‘We’re done talking,’ he husked. ‘Just kiss me.’
It was an uneven request which went straight to her heart but Zabrina needed no such instruction because her lips were already seeking his, and, oh, that first touch of his skin against hers made her gasp. How could a simple kiss feel like this? How come that already she wanted to explode with pleasure? One of his hands was tangled in the fall of her hair while the other was on her peaking breast, his thumb circling the pebbled nipple with dextrous provocation which was making her want to squirm. Sanity implored her to call a halt but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to.
Her hands explored the width of his powerful shoulders then reacquainted themselves with his chest, her nails scraping hungrily against the fine linen of his shirt. She could feel the faint whorl of hair against his muscular torso and, as he cupped his palms possessively over her buttocks, he deepened the kiss. He was pulling her even closer, so that his body was imprinted on hers. She felt the rocky outline of his erection and remembered what it had been like when he had been naked and proud, and she shuddered in his arms.
‘Sweet heaven,’ he husked, and never had she thought that a man so powerful could sound so helpless. ‘How the hell do you do that?’
‘Do what?’
‘I don’t know,’ he grated, almost angrily, as he circled his hips against her, his voice dipping to a silken murmur. ‘Do you like that?’
‘You know I do,’ she whispered back.
The words seemed to stir him into action, for he began to move. He was backing her across the room, his mouth not leaving hers, until she could feel the coolness of the wall pressing against her back. His mouth was on her neck. Her jaw. As she looped her arms around his neck and arched herself into the hardness of his body he gave a low laugh, and the sound of his exultation thrilled her even more. And now his fingers were rucking up her dress and lightly tracking over the goose-pimples which were rippling over her thighs. Any minute now and he would reach her panties, whose moist panel felt like an unbearable barrier, denying him the access she was so desperate to grant him. She squirmed in expectation and he gave an unsteady laugh.
‘Do you have any idea of how much I want you, Princess?’ he bit out in a tone she’d never heard him use before, and in that moment Zabrina felt a wave of the same heady power which had flooded her the first time he’d made love to her. She could make him feel like this.
But that random thought was her undoing—or maybe her salvation.
Because he hadn’t ‘made love’ to her, had he?