‘Definitely not. Unless you think I’m not a sentient person, capable of making my own decisions?’
‘On the contrary. I think you are very capable of that—which is why I’ll expect you to make the right one. But be assured, Frankie, regardless of what you think and feel, I have no intention of leaving this country without my son. It is obviously better for everyone if you come with him as my fiancée.’
She sucked in a breath as the truth of what he was saying settled around her. ‘You’re actually threatening to take him away from me?’
‘I’m asking you to marry me.’
Her eyes swept shut. ‘Telling me, more like.’ When she blinked her eyes open he was closer, so close her palm was almost touching his chest.
‘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.