Struggling to channel it rather than succumb to it this time, she delivered the line she had been rehearsing for weeks. ‘That being the case, I have a counter offer.’

  He didn’t look surprised, but then she hadn’t really expected him to, as she had already gathered he was even better at controlling his reactions than she was. Either that or he’d had all semblance of sensitivity ironed out of him long ago. A distinct possibility, given his difficult upbringing—as the child of a single mother who had cleaned lodges in an expensive ski resort in Colorado while living miles away in a trailer park. She’d found no reference to his father in the press clippings.

  ‘You haven’t heard what I’m willing to offer you for the land yet,’ he said, not taking the bait. Yet.

  ‘I cannot sell you the land, Mr Lord,’ she said. On that much she had to be clear. No Androlov had ever sold off any of the kingdom, it was the royal family’s heritage and, as the last of her line, she did not intend to be the first to break that tradition. It was why she was being forced to think outside the box—way outside the box.

  ‘Then why did you agree to this meeting?’ he said, his scepticism searing.

  ‘Because I have another proposition.’

  ‘Uh-huh. Let’s hear it,’ he said. Taking the bait. Finally.

  ‘I will lease you the land you require for your resort.’

  ‘A lease is no good to—’

  ‘For one hundred years with all requisite permissions to develop it which you may require, as long as you stick to Androvia’s strict rules on sustainability,’ she countered before he could sidetrack her again. ‘But on one condition.’

  His frown levelled off. ‘Go on.’

  She took a steadying breath, let it out slowly, and—feeling oddly exhilarated—forced herself to let go of twenty-two years of caution and control, so she could finally take charge of her own—and her country’s—destiny.

  ‘You agree to marry me, Mr Lord.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘I BEG YOUR PARDON, ma’am?’ Travis growled, finally managing to contain his astonishment—and the uncomfortable jolt of lust—long enough to form a coherent sentence.

  Had the Queen of Androvia just proposed to him? Because that was what it had sounded like. But maybe the twelve-hour flight here from Colorado was messing with his hearing—he sure as heck hoped so.

  ‘You are absolutely correct to suggest Androvia needs investment, Mr Lord,’ the Queen replied in a calm, measured voice, as if they were still discussing a land deal, and not something totally nuts. ‘And my people desperately need the employment opportunities a resort such as yours would offer. But the only way to allow a construction of this nature on the White Ridge is for you to marry me because the ridge, like all Androvia’s royal real estate, is held in a trust, which stipulates any development can only be authorised by a man of royal birth, in other words a king, or by a queen if she is married.’

  Not hallucinating, then. Damn.

  ‘I am assuming, of course, you have no royal heritage of your own,’ she added, her tone clipped and condescending.

  ‘Funnily enough, no,’ he said, his own tone caustic.

  He wasn’t ashamed of his heritage, or rather the lack of it. His old man had been a rich guy, but he’d been married to someone else when Travis’s mom had fallen for the bastard as a teenager and then fallen pregnant. But so what? Travis had never wanted the guy’s wealth, or his acknowledgement. He hadn’t needed it. Because he’d done just fine on his own.

  The Queen didn’t seem aware she had insulted him though—because her expression barely changed as she started to outline her nutty scheme.

  ‘Then marriage to me is the only way you would be allowed to build on the land. Or I would be allowed to let you,’ she said, still in that matter-of-fact tone. But then he noticed her gaze wasn’t meeting his and her posture had stiffened.

  Maybe the controlled indifference was a bluff? Why that gave him a rush he had no idea, but he’d take it, if it meant he could regain the upper hand.

  ‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘Who the hell has the power to stop you doing what you want if you’re the Queen?’ he asked, because he was beginning to smell a rat. ‘Androvia is similar to a constitutional principality, like Monaco, right? You’re the head of state and the Ruling Council run the government, but you still own all the land.’

  She would have to be desperate to offer a nobody like him marriage—and that was before they considered the fact he was a stranger, unlike the prince next door.

  ‘I see you’ve done your homework,’ she said, clearly surprised he’d bothered. He bristled, but he let it go. He was used to people underestimating him. And it usually worked in his favour.

  ‘In answer to your question, as I am the monarch I am the beneficial owner of the land, but I cannot break this trust, as it was set up by my father, to protect me, when I was still a child,’ she said.

  His frown deepened. How the heck did stopping her from having authority over her own financial affairs just because she wasn’t a guy, or married to one, protect her, exactly?

  ‘I believe my father felt an alliance between myself and Prince Rene would be good for both our kingdoms and he wished to facilitate that. But I’m sure if he had lived long enough to know me as an adult, he would have realised I am capable of making intelligent decisions about the land on my own.’

  Despite the telling lack of emotion in her voice as she spoke, something flashed in her gaze, when it met his then flicked away again. He wasn’t sure what that something was—disappointment maybe, confusion perhaps, even unresolved grief.

  The pulse of sympathy pushed against his chest. Hadn’t both her folks died in a helicopter crash when she was still just a kid?

  But the something was gone again so fast, his sympathy evaporated.

  Whatever issues she had with her old man’s refusal to trust her just because she was a girl weren’t his business. Being orphaned as a kid was tough, but he’d lost his mom too when he was still a teenager, and he’d survived. And prospered. Plus, it wasn’t as if Queen Isabelle had ever wanted for anything. If you were going to get orphaned, better to have it happen in the lap of luxury.

  ‘Okay, so you can’t control your own land without getting married,’ he said, determined to establish the facts here. ‘But if you need a husband so bad, why not just hook up with the guy he wanted you to marry...then lease the land to me?’

  While the playboy prince sounded like a loser, she had to at least know the guy.

  ‘Because the Prince and myself are not compatible in any way,’ she said swiftly, her gaze direct now and impenetrable, but the colour on her cheeks blossomed.

  ‘And you think we are?’ he countered, ruthlessly controlling another inconvenient shot of lust.

  Seriously? She might be beautiful and one hell of a challenge to a guy like him, which was weirdly hot, and, sure, the White Ridge had been his first choice by quite a wide margin to locate Lord Culture’s first European resort... But marriage was way too drastic a solution to close this deal.

  Maybe European royalty didn’t have an issue with using sex to sweeten business deals but he sure as heck did.

  Marriage had never been part of his game plan. He enjoyed good hard sweaty sex, and lots of it, when the chemistry and the timing were right. And companionship, up to a point, as long as it didn’t get in the way of his work commitments. But he had never believed in hitching your future to someone else’s star—thanks to all the losers he’d watched his mom hook up with over the years, starting with the bastard who had got her pregnant at seventeen then hightailed it back to his wife...

  But even if Travis had been the marrying kind and hadn’t been deeply cynical about any relationship that required more than supplying his dates with an orgasm—or two—her proposal would still be nuts, because they’d only just met. Literally.

  ‘Our compatibility is completely immaterial,’ the Queen replied tightly, throwing him even more. How exactly was a marriage between them supposed to fly when they knew not one thing about each other?

  ‘Uh-huh,’ he said. Was she really going to make him state the obvious?

  Seemed she was when she only stared back at him, clearly waiting for him to make the next move.

  He took his time, checking her out—man to woman. Her eyes narrowed, and her chin lifted, her expression one of pride and no small amount of indignation. He smiled at her reaction, appreciating the way her full breasts pressed against the tailored blouse she wore as her breathing accelerated.

  Tough luck, Belle baby, you started this.

  He refused to relinquish eye contact, rewarded when the blush spread up her neck. He relaxed back into his seat, starting to enjoy himself—the shift in power from her back to him almost palpable.

  Yeah, Her Majesty might be an accomplished diplomat, and stateswoman, used to getting her own way despite her current fix. But he’d hazard a guess she was a lot less used to propositioning guys, especially guys like him, who weren’t at her beck and call.

  ‘It may be immaterial to you,’ he said, eventually. ‘But it isn’t to me.’

  Her blush intensified. Yup, this was definitely her first rodeo, marriage-proposals-to-American-roughnecks-wise.

  She opened her mouth to reply, but he beat her to it.

  ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’ve just asked me to hook up with you on a permanent basis. Which makes our compatibility important. Because no way am I gonna agree to marry someone before I know if we’re good in bed. And so far, all we’ve done is share a handshake.’

  * * *

  Isabelle sucked in a breath. So shocked by the forward comment, she was momentarily speechless.

  She had never, in her entire life, been spoken to so disrespectfully. She forced herself to school her features and breathed through the forceful reaction. She must not respond to Travis Lord’s attempts to provoke her. Although maintaining her usual composure was not helped by the hot blush currently incinerating her face. Or the rush of blood making the indignation sink into her abdomen—and throb, disconcertingly.

  She contemplated her response—and tried to find a positive in the most excruciating conversation she had ever had with a man. Or anyone for that matter.

  After several pregnant seconds, she finally managed to control her outrage while attempting to view his candour with as little emotion as possible. Perhaps, his directness was...well, refreshing. At least it meant she could speak plainly, too.

  While the man clearly had no respect whatsoever for her position, could she find a way to make that work in her favour? After all, what she had asked of him was the opposite of conventional... Harder to put a positive spin on, though, was the hot brick that seemed to have got wedged between her thighs when he had studied her as if he couldn’t see her position, her title, her legacy, all he could see was her. Which was not good. Because the only way to make this proposal work was for her to remain calm and dispassionate with him at all times.

  She cleared her throat. ‘I think you misunderstand me, Mr Lord. I’m not suggesting a marriage in which...’ She paused, aware her blush was probably radioactive by now. ‘In which conjugal rights are involved.’

  ‘Conjugal?’ He spat out the word on an astonished breath. But then his dark brows launched up his forehead, and he laughed. The deep, husky sound made the throbbing worse, even though his amusement was clearly aimed at her. ‘Are you for real?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, and he laughed again.

  What exactly was so funny?

  ‘Is a marriage without conjugal rights not the correct term for a marriage without intimacy involved?’ she pointed out. Then realised she’d made another error when he chuckled again—the amusement in his dark eyes turning the hazel to a rich chocolate... Annoyingly.

  ‘Yeah, sure, maybe back in the eighteenth century,’ he said, still amusing himself at her expense.

  Before she could point out how rude he was being—because, really?—he carried on talking. ‘So let me get this straight, you want me to marry you, but you don’t want me to sleep with you?’

  She dismissed the strange pang in her belly—which made no sense whatsoever, because it almost felt like disappointment. ‘Of course not, we have only just met.’

  And she had never had sex with anyone. She cut off the errant thought before she could give him any inkling of that inconvenient truth.

  Her sexual history was hardly relevant. And something about the way he sat in the leather armchair—unfazed by the direction of the conversation, one ankle hooked over his opposing knee as if he were the master of all he surveyed, the smile on his face both knowing and relaxed and far too confident—made her suspect letting him know she was a virgin would only make him more arrogant, and give him more power, when he already had enough. It was more than clear that Mr Lord had a lot of experience in the bedroom—something he seemed to be not so subtly advertising to her, quite deliberately—making her sure she was at enough of a tactical disadvantage in this negotiation already.

  Unfortunately, it was also a message her body was getting loud and clear—hence the insistent throbbing.

  He released his ankle, to lean forward. ‘You want to marry me...’ he said. ‘But you don’t want to enjoy it? How is that gonna work...for either one of us?’

  She frowned. Was he being deliberately obtuse, or was he just trying to antagonise her? Maybe it was a bit of both. Either way, she tried not to rise to the bait, or get derailed by the over-confident smile and the mocking twinkle.

  Maybe this idea had been doomed from the start. She certainly hadn’t factored in the extent of Travis Lord’s insouciance, his irreverence, his arrogance, his strange sense of humour or his industrial-strength disregard for the strictures by which she had lived her entire life... His very masculine Americanness, basically. But she had become desperate to find a solution to her situation—when it had become apparent that to get her country the development and investment it so desperately needed—i.e. to drag it into the twenty-first century—she would have to either marry Rene or find someone else.

  And as far as she was concerned, Travis Lord—for all his faults—was still the better option.

  Yes, he was an unknown quantity, but Rene—and a marriage with him—certainly was not. It would be a disaster—Rene was, and had always been, a man much more interested in the reckless pursuit of debauchery than the needs of his kingdom and his monarchy. Plus, Rene would insist on a sexual relationship. And expect a real marriage if they were to wed. For the simple reason that, as the last of his line too, he required an heir. And providing one, given his many sexual conquests, seemed to be the only thing he had any aptitude for.

  She shuddered at the thought. One day, she would need to think about the continuation of her line, too. But not for a while. And when she did, she intended to take the necessary time to find a suitable match—a man she could admire, who would respect her and her duty. Perhaps she could even find love, the way her parents had once loved each other, but it would not be a dealbreaker. Because her duty to her throne, and her subjects, would always be her paramount concern. So, finding a man she could enjoy a settled, productive life with, who could share the burden of responsibility with her, rule by her side, enrich her kingdom with his wisdom, and be a good father to guide their children to maturity, was a distant goal at this point.

  Obviously neither Travis Lord nor Rene Gaultiere would ever be that man. But all she required at present was a husband, in name only, to help her secure her country’s future, while also honouring the conditions of her father’s will.

  ‘It’s fairly simple, really,’ she said, determined to take his question at face value and ignore his attitude problem.

  ‘Enlighten me,’ he said.

  She took another deep breath. Then proceeded to do just that. ‘I need a husband to be able to lease you the land. I do not wish to marry Rene, which was my father’s preferred choice when he set up the trust. But he did not stipulate who my husband had to be...’ Thank goodness. ‘Or that it was necessary he be of royal blood.’

  He was still listening, and he hadn’t interrupted. Hope sparked. Maybe this didn’t have to be complicated after all. A simple transaction that would give them both what they wanted.

  ‘I can marry anyone. The man does not need to be a prince. Nor does it even need to be a real marriage. But I think, in view of the fact the Ruling Council are likely to be surprised by you as my choice...’ because the traditionalists on the council had already dropped enough hints that they considered Rene to be the best option ‘...it would make sense for us to pretend this is a real marriage.’ She was starting to babble, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself, his silence somehow triggering the nerves that had once made her talk too much as a child on those rare occasions when she’d had her parents’ full attention. ‘Which would mean us pretending to be in love. For appearances’ sake... But given that you are such a successful businessman and you would be bringing a large portion of the infrastructure investment we all want for Androvia with this project, I’m sure the council will come around quickly.’

  He nodded. ‘I get it. So, you think we can fool the council guys that we’re madly in love, while not touching each other?’

  She blinked, taken aback by another direct question and the rueful amusement still sparkling in his eyes. Why was he so hung up on the sex bit? When she’d already explained it wasn’t relevant?

  She forced herself to take a breath, and control her irritation... And her dismay. And give him a straight answer... After all, it was utterly impossible to tell what the man was thinking, so it was probably best not to overthink his question.

 

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