Chapter Five
The rest of the ball passed in a blur for Wren. Isandro’s kiss had utterly destroyed her concentration and she had no idea how to get it back.
The ball had started off being difficult and as the evening progressed, it had only got harder and harder. She’d thought people’s disapproval of her would be the hardest thing to deal with, but it wasn’t. Of course, it wasn’t.
It was being close to Isandro all night, with his hand on her hip, the heat of his palm burning through the silk.
Burning her. Scorching her. His tall, powerful body was hot, too, and the spice of his aftershave intoxicating.
His presence undid her in ways she hadn’t been expecting, and that was her own fault.
She’d wanted to revel in not having to hide her feelings for him, but she’d also wanted not to be seduced by him, and that had been an impossible tightrope to walk.
She’d thought the fresh air would do her good, clear her head, but then he’d stepped close and taken her chin in his hand, and his mouth had been on hers before she could pull away. And once it was, she hadn’t been able to move.
Oh, she could tell herself it had been because they were in public and jerking away from her fiance’s kiss would turn heads.
But she knew the truth. She hadn’t pulled away because she hadn’t wanted to.
She’d wanted his kiss. She’d been desperate for it.
And once that beautiful mouth had been on hers, all she’d wanted was more.
That one kiss in his office, desperate and frantic and feverish, had been over far too soon, though the memory of it had been burned into her mind for ever.
But the one on the terrace, a delicate brush of his mouth before the touch of his tongue, had been aching, melting, like warm syrup, and all she’d wanted was to sink into it.
Sink into him. She hadn’t meant to touch him, but her hands had risen helplessly to his chest, pressing against all that hard, hot muscle.
A good job she wasn’t having any alcohol because that kiss had been nothing but intoxication and she was still trembling with it.
As they moved through the room, she could hardly think. Her mouth felt sensitised, as if he’d branded her with that kiss and everyone could see the mark. She didn’t know what to do with herself.
His hand stayed on her hip and she could feel every inch of it, the pressure of his arm at her back dizzying. The deep, warm sound of his voice as he greeted people echoed through her, and she found herself glancing up at him every minute or so, unable to tear her gaze from his face.
Why had he kissed her? He’d mentioned it being a photo-op, but he hadn’t looked anywhere but at her, so she only had his word for it. Then again, why else would he have done so?
You know why. You know what he’s doing. He doesn’t like that you refused him and now he’s getting his own back.
The realisation wound through her brain, sharp as a razor.
He’d never been a man who liked being denied, and that day at breakfast, when she’d told him that their marriage wouldn’t be physical, he’d been angry about it.
Oh yes, he’d been furious. But then he’d let it go, and at the time she hadn’t understood why. Now, though, it made sense.
He’d decided to seduce her, hadn’t he? He was the King, he was used to getting what he wanted, and he wanted her.
Or at least he did in a physical sense, and that was probably why he had his arm around her so often tonight, making sure he was always touching her in some way.
He was reminding her of their physical chemistry and how incendiary it could be, the bastard.
As they finished speaking to some dignitaries from Japan, Wren pulled herself away, needing the distance to clear her head.
She had to figure out what to do about it, because if she kept allowing him to touch her, kiss her, she wasn’t going to be able to hold out against him.
She’d fall into his bed as easily she’d sat on his desk and let him spread her legs.
It couldn’t happen. This was already hard enough for her, and sleeping with him would end up with her giving him everything and him giving her nothing in return. She was so tired of having nothing.
Isandro glanced at her as she pulled away, his black brows drawing down in concern. ‘Are you all right? Do you need another break?’
She put a hand to her forehead. ‘I…actually think I might need to go to bed.’
His frown deepened, and he caught her other hand, pulling her into a quieter corner of the ballroom, next to a large pot of carefully arranged flowers. ‘What is it?’ he asked with some concern. ‘Are you feeling unwell?’
It wasn’t for her, that concern. It was likely all for the baby, and fair enough. If she’d actually felt unwell, but she didn’t.
‘No,’ she said, deciding to take the bull by the horns and say it. ‘I just don’t like your seduction plan.’
His blue gaze flickered, and she felt a curious satisfaction that she’d been right. That’s exactly what he’d been doing with the touches and kisses. Now the question was whether he’d deny it.
‘Seduction plan,’ he echoed. ‘Interesting choice of words. I thought we were supposed to be giving the public a love story.’
So, he was going with denial. Stupid, stupid man.
‘The public didn’t need that kiss,’ she pointed out.
‘But you did.’ Challenge burned in his dark blue eyes. ‘You were clutching my shirt by the end of it.’
Heat washed through her, and she wished she could think of a good excuse for the way she’d clutched him, but there wasn’t one. He wouldn’t believe her anyway. ‘So?’ She lifted her chin. ‘I’m not sleeping with you, Isandro. I told you that and I meant it.’
He glanced away, giving the crowd a sweeping glance before stepping abruptly closer. ‘Let’s not argue about this here,’ he murmured, leaning down so his mouth was near her ear, the warmth of his breath brushing her skin. ‘We’re supposed to be in love, remember?’
Every part of her ached to push him away or maybe to turn and run from the room, but she couldn’t.
This was the act she’d agreed to, and she had a role to play.
So she stood there, unable to stop from trembling at his nearness as his scent and heat swamped her. ‘L-lovers can argue,’ she said huskily.
‘They can,’ he agreed, his mouth brushing her ear, scorching her skin. ‘But not on their first public event together.’
This wasn’t fair. He was being so deliberate, knowing how weak she was when it came to him, and so she had to do something. She had to fight him somehow, and the only way she could was to resist.
He’s expecting you to resist, though. What he’s not expecting is for you to give in.
Giving in was the exact opposite of what she’d intended, but her only thought now was to surprise him, put him on the back foot for a change.
So, without thinking too deeply about it, she turned and brushed her own mouth over his in a lightning-fast butterfly kiss.
He stiffened in surprise, and so, pressing her advantage, she took her mouth away and lifted a hand to his cheek, lightly touching his skin.
‘I meant it,’ she said quietly and with emphasis as she gave him a glowing, radiant smile for the public’s benefit.
‘Don’t cross me, my king. If you do, you’ll regret it. ’
It was satisfying to see him look at her as if she were someone new he’d only just met. But that lasted only a second, as a hot blue flame ignited in his eyes. ‘That,’ he said with equal emphasis, ‘was a mistake, little bird. You know I can never resist a challenge.’
Oh, she knew. But now it was out in the open. Now he knew she was onto him and now she’d do everything in her power to thwart him.
Anticipation wound through her, though it really shouldn’t have been there.
He’d always excited her and not just sexually.
The way he thought fascinated her, and his vision for Valdora inspired her.
He was a big-picture thinker, and she’d loved listening to him talk about his ideas and plans.
It made every work day new and different, and she’d started to realise that he wasn’t the only one who liked a challenge. She did, too.
A wave of powerful emotion caught her as she looked into his inky gaze. Excitement. Desire. Anticipation… Love.
Why keep your distance from him? When you want him with every breath in you?
A good question. What was the point of resisting when she felt this way?
What was she trying to protect herself from?
But it always came back to her mother. To Lily sitting her down when she’d been five years old and telling her that she was leaving, and that Wren would be going to live with her grandparents.
Explaining that Wren’s father didn’t want any more children, and so Wren couldn’t come with her. She had to stay behind.
‘I’m sorry,’ Lily had told her when Wren had asked why. ‘But I love him. You’ll understand one day.’
But Wren had never understood. All she knew was that her mother hadn’t loved her as much as she’d loved Wren’s father, that he hadn’t wanted her at all, and that her grandparents had only found her a burden, so maybe there was something wrong with her.
Maybe she wasn’t someone anyone could love, especially not a man like Isandro.
So no, she couldn’t fall into his arms, couldn’t tell him how she felt. She was too afraid of his response. Too afraid to have confirmation of how she’d always felt about herself, that she wasn’t worthy of anyone’s love, certainly not that of a king.
Instead, she was the one who stepped away first, her head held high. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘I really think I need to go to bed. Please apologise to the guests for me.’
Then she turned around and fled the ballroom before he could stop her.
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