‘Displays of affection would be necessary in public, to sell the relationship as real. Obviously,’ she said, laying her cards on the table—while trying not to imagine those firm lips on hers. ‘But it’s generally not expected, in royal circles, for a couple to be too...’ Her face heated again. Wonderful! ‘Too demonstrative. So, it really won’t be necessary for us to do anything too overt in public. And obviously in private, we would do nothing at all.’

  He nodded, slowly. But then his gaze narrowed.

  ‘How long would this marriage have to last?’

  The hope blossomed under her breastbone. This could work. He was considering it. The relief alongside that strange surge of sensation was almost palpable.

  ‘I think a year would suffice. After which we could get a divorce. We would of course agree to the terms of the separation in a legally binding confidential contract to protect both our interests before we marry. I believe Americans refer to it as a prenup.’ She’d already hired a respected divorce attorney in the US who had agreed to do all the necessary paperwork in absolute secrecy. Because Lord hadn’t said anything, though, Isabelle’s nerves demanded she fill the silence.

  ‘Fortunately, there is also no stipulation in the conditions of the trust that the marriage needs to last. Just that it needs to be in place for me to make commercial decisions about the land. And a year would give me sufficient time to develop and sign off on a number of other projects, as well as the lease agreement for your resort.’

  Her heart thudded heavily in her chest, the sadness—that her father had been robbed of the chance to know her as an adult—springing from nowhere as she conjured up the precious image of his face. He had been so handsome and strong whenever Isabelle had been called into his and her mother’s presence as a little girl. She had idolised both her parents, always mindful that their time together was precious, their duties all-consuming. She would never blame him for putting conditions on her accession, which had become increasingly onerous in recent years. She knew he had had her best interests at heart. But she also refused to feel guilty about finding a way around them that would allow her to do her best for Androvia—without having to marry Rene.

  ‘Okay,’ Lord said, the amusement in his eyes turning to approval—and making the jolt of adrenaline worse. Which was preposterous. She did not require this man’s approval, simply his co-operation. ‘That’s super sneaky, but I like it,’ he said. ‘Your old man sounds like a sexist jerk, so it makes sense to game the guy...’

  What?

  Isabelle bit her tongue to prevent her horrified reaction to his thoughtless accusation from slipping out of her mouth.

  Travis Lord did not know the first thing about her relationship with her parents, nor did he need to.

  ‘I’m not gaming him,’ she said, as calmly as she could. ‘I’m simply finding an effective way to fulfil the trust’s conditions.’

  ‘Like I said, sneaky.’

  She huffed out a breath. And drew it back in sharply.

  Do not let him provoke you, Issy.

  ‘You’re pretty smart, aren’t you, Belle?’

  Belle? She startled at the nickname. And the strange warmth at the thought of anyone using such familiarity. She steeled herself against reacting, though. Even if it was becoming a titanic effort.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ she concurred, pointedly, to make it clear his opinions did not interest her in the slightest. Although, to be fair, it occurred to her he looked intrigued now, and impressed, rather than amused, so perhaps that was a good thing.

  ‘So, what do you say, Mr Lord? You pose as my loving husband for a single year, and I will lease you the land on the White Ridge at a very reasonable price, so you can build your resort?’

  He leaned back in the chair, crossed his ankle back over his knee, which made the fabric of his trousers tighten across his thigh muscles in disconcerting ways. His searing gaze roamed over her again, making awareness prickle across her skin.

  And the throbbing got worse.

  She crossed her own legs and tried to squeeze the distracting sensation into submission.

  ‘It’s an intriguing offer,’ he said at last. ‘And I’ve got to admit, a tempting one. But the answer’s no.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said, sure she could not have heard him correctly.

  ‘The answer’s no, Your Majesty,’ he said, with a finality that shocked her more, and a mock deference that had the spark of temper igniting.

  ‘But... Why? This is the only way to give us both what we want,’ she demanded, hating the hitch in her voice.

  If he refused, she would surely be forced to seriously consider proposing to Rene? Not only did she shudder at the humiliating thought of having to go to him, cap in hand, and beg him to marry her. After she had already turned him down once. But she knew he would absolutely insist on a real marriage. And would probably make her jump through several hoops beforehand, just to pay her back for her previous rejection.

  Travis Lord was her only hope of avoiding that humiliation. Because she simply did not know any other eligible men whom she could bribe into a marriage in name only.

  ‘I want the land on the White Ridge, sure,’ Lord said with maddening insouciance as her frantic thoughts began to spiral into the abyss. ‘But I don’t want it that much.’

  ‘Would a marriage to me really be so onerous?’ she asked, then winced at the note of desperation. She must not let him see how much she wanted this to work, or she suspected he would take advantage and become even more arrogant... And contrary.

  ‘Yeah. Because I’m guessing you’d want me to live here, with you, for the duration of our fake marriage.’

  The tension—and panic—in her gut eased.

  Perhaps this was a problem with a practical solution, not an outright rejection. A solution she was more than willing to negotiate.

  ‘I’m afraid you would have to reside in the White Palace for the majority of the year, yes,’ she said, because that much was non-negotiable. Not only did she need to sell this marriage to the Ruling Council, she wanted to sell it to her subjects too, so they would get behind the construction of the new resort—and the other changes she hoped to bring to the country’s infrastructure to help drive economic growth. ‘But you would be able to keep up your business commitments. I would endeavour to keep your official engagements to a minimum. And I could certainly make your commitment to me personally worth your while.’

  ‘How?’ he asked, bluntly.

  So, he wanted to play hardball. She could handle that. ‘We could discuss the terms of the lease—negotiate a very favourable rate for your business,’ she said, a backup position she’d planned for. The truth was, she’d be happy to lease the land for a lot less than it was worth, if she had to. The investment in the country’s infrastructure and the chance to circumvent the trust that had hamstrung her monarchy for so long would be worth it. The preliminary plans his company had already submitted included a heliport and an upgrade to the country’s aging rail system as well as over a thousand skilled jobs during the construction alone. But she wasn’t about to let him know that yet.

  Then he derailed her, again.

  ‘I’m not talking about the money. Or the land.’

  ‘You’re... You’re not?’ she asked, hopelessly confused.

  ‘You really don’t see the massive problem here?’ he countered. But it sounded like a rhetorical question, which only confused her more.

  ‘No, I do not.’ She stared, waiting for him to elaborate, knowing she had exposed herself enough—and also suspecting if she started talking again, her nerves might not allow her to stop.

  ‘If I’m going to live here, for an entire year,’ he drawled, as if he were talking to someone who was not all that bright, ‘as your loved-up husband, I’m guessing I won’t be able to date anyone else, because that isn’t gonna sell the “we’re madly in love” vibe if the media find out.’

  The skin on her cheeks burned, the wildfire spreading across her collarbone, as what he was implying finally dawned on her.

  ‘Being celibate for a year is a problem for you?’ she murmured.

  ‘Hell, yeah, isn’t it for you?’ he shot back.

  The blush intensified as she tried to cover her dismay—and the now insistent throbbing at her core.

  ‘Well, obviously, it’s not ideal,’ she managed, attempting to sound as if she knew what she was talking about, when sexual frustration had never, ever been an issue for her. ‘But I’m sure I could make the sacrifice worth your while...’

  ‘Oh, yeah? How?’ he demanded, the heated purpose in his gaze suddenly making her palms start to sweat. And the throbbing in her core become turbo-charged.

  We could dump the no-sex rule.

  She swallowed down the utterly inappropriate thought that popped into her head—and made her sex clench and release.

  What was happening to her? She did not wish to be in an intimate relationship with any man, yet. And certainly not with a man like Travis Lord, ever. He was far too arrogant and overpowering... Plus, the American billionaire might as well have had ‘sex god’ tattooed on his forehead, while she was a complete novice. He would almost certainly laugh at her inexperience and could use it against her—when he got bored with her, which of course he would.

  She was a queen, not a courtesan. And while she needed this marriage, she had no intention of risking emotional intimacy with any man—least of all a man like him who had already proved to be wholly unpredictable and not anywhere near as easily controlled as she had hoped. So, she blurted out the only thing she could think of to keep the negotiation on track.

  ‘What if I offered to lease Lord Culture the land you want on the White Ridge for a single dollar?’

  CHAPTER THREE

  TRAVIS STARED AT the woman in front of him, struggling to contain his surprise, and that vague feeling of insult that he remembered from when he was a kid—and he’d had to help out his mom on her jobs, while the rich kids they were cleaning up after looked at him like dirt. This wasn’t personal, that much was obvious, so why the hell was he insulted she’d rather sell a tract of her precious kingdom to him for a dollar than consider sharing a bed with him? It wasn’t as if he had been suggesting they hook up. But her desperation to get this deal, without going there, still got his goat. And he wasn’t even sure why.

  The truth was, he’d decided as soon as she’d made the offer not to accept it. Sure, he was intrigued and kind of flattered—at first—that she would ask him. But at the same time, he wasn’t about to relocate his whole operation, and sign some secret agreement, or pretend to love someone he didn’t know just for a piece of land. He had his pride and, now he was a billionaire, he could afford to keep it.

  The White Ridge might be perfect for what he wanted, but it felt as if he would be selling his integrity—along with his time—and, while he’d always been ruthless, even he had balked at the thought of posing as a loving husband when he was about as far from ever being that as it was possible to get. Hell, how would he even pull off the charade she was suggesting, given he wasn’t a professional actor? But weirdly, as he had glimpsed emotions that she had been trying to hide flit across her face—shock, confusion, panic—pretending that he wanted her, a lot, hadn’t seemed like such a stretch. Because the truth was, for reasons he could not begin to figure out, the whole ‘ice princess’ act she had going on was a challenge that he found surprisingly hot.

  Maybe that explained why he was so mad right now. When he shouldn’t be...

  ‘A dollar?’ he said. ‘Are you serious?’

  He’d already decided not to go for this deal... But now he was forced to reconsider. Because more than anything else, he had always been a shrewd businessman. His business had saved him after the accident, when he’d had to give up the sport he loved, and eventually become his life’s work. And while he had resigned himself to start scoping out the other places his team had shortlisted before they’d settled on this one, there was nowhere better for the resort than the White Ridge. He had been ready to offer her up to a half a billion dollars for the land. His turnover was enough at the moment he could afford to pay top dollar, but it would still have been a risk—because Lord Culture’s brand wasn’t yet established in Europe. Getting the land for nothing would take that risk away. And give him the opportunity to invest even more in the construction. And the marketing.

  In fact, while he hated to admit it, marrying the Queen would be a huge PR boost, not just for the resort itself, but also for him personally. It would give him class, and an exclusivity he would never have been able to achieve on his own, not just in the States, but globally. And the kind of organic, viral, wall-to-wall publicity that couldn’t be bought. It annoyed him he needed to care about that stuff, because he’d never aspired to be anyone other than who he was... But from a business standpoint, he’d be dumb to ignore the opportunity to turn Lord Culture into something more than just the fastest-growing winter sports brand in the market. This deal could send his business over the top. Give him global reach. And seal his legacy for a generation. And for that, he had to consider his integrity—and his hurt feelings—an acceptable price to pay.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, staunchly. ‘One dollar.’

  He stood up. To hell with it, he’d be nuts not to take a deal like this, no matter the pitfalls. And when it came to business he always went with his gut. And his gut was screaming at him right now to take the deal. ‘Okay.’

  She blinked, several times, her cheeks reddening again. His heart rate sped up. And the heat in his groin pulsed, hard.

  ‘Really?’ she asked, momentarily nonplussed. ‘You’ll agree to the marriage?’

  For some reason, he found himself smiling. When he’d walked in here, he’d got the definite impression this was a woman who was well versed in ruthlessly controlling her emotions, and her reactions. That he unsettled her, and seemed to have knocked her off kilter, felt like an important win.

  If they were going to spend the next year bonded at the hip, he was going to need something to entertain him—and pushing her boundaries seemed like a great place to start. Especially if he wasn’t going to be having any sex—the one recreational activity he really enjoyed, other than boarding.

  ‘Yeah. Have your attorney send the paperwork direct to my EA, Claire Ainsley. She’ll handle everything from my end.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Her breath gushed out as she came around her desk. Her face brightened, and her expression became unguarded for the first time.

  The heat surged.

  Great, he was going to have to get a handle on that reaction if he was going to deal with her for a whole year. But even as the thought occurred to him, he couldn’t resist the urge to poke at her composure again.

  ‘I guess we’ll have to figure out a dating itinerary for the next couple weeks. So we can be seen getting up close and personal before you tell everyone how you’ve fallen madly in love with me.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course, absolutely,’ she said, even though he suspected she hadn’t considered doing any such thing—which only made the urge to push more irresistible.

  He lifted his hand and traced his thumb down the side of her face. Her brows rose and he felt her vicious jolt of reaction. But she didn’t pull away.

  His grin widened. ‘Perhaps we should practise before I go,’ he teased, unable to resist.

  ‘I beg your pardon, Mr Lord.’

  ‘Call me Travis, Belle,’ he said, using the nickname he knew had horrified her earlier. He’d used it then to unsettle her deliberately. It had a similar effect now.

  ‘Belle is not my name. It’s Isabelle, or Issy,’ she whispered. ‘That’s what my mother called me.’ Sadness shadowed her eyes before she could mask it.

  ‘I prefer Belle. It’s better if my pet name for you is unique.’ He brushed his thumb across her lips. Her eyes widened, and he had the weirdest suspicion she’d never been touched by a man before... But then he got a clue.

  She was just skittish with him because she didn’t know him.

  This situation was super screwed up, whatever way you looked at it, but the sooner she got used to his touch, the better.

  ‘Okay, if you insist,’ she said, the intelligence in her eyes dispelling the shock. ‘And what should my pet name for you be?’ she challenged. ‘Trav, maybe. Or Vis?’

  He chuckled. Was she making a joke? Because as outlandish as it seemed, it was also kind of cute.

  ‘They used to call me Killer on the slopes,’ he said, trailing his thumb down the elegant line of her neck and pressing the pad against the rampant pulse in her collarbone. Still she didn’t draw away.

  ‘Killer doesn’t seem very romantic,’ she managed, although her breathing had become ragged. Her throat contracted as she swallowed, the heat rising like a wall. Tall and infallible.

  He was playing with fire. He’d agreed to no sex. But hey, they had to be convincing for this to work, and anyway, when had he ever been the type of guy who denied himself something he wanted...? And right now, he wanted to find out how soft her lips really were.

  ‘Brace yourself, Your Majesty,’ he murmured, giving her one last chance to tell him no.

  But she didn’t, so he lowered his head slowly and pressed his mouth to hers.

  She sucked in a breath, the giddy pulse beating double time against his thumb. He eased her into the kiss, slicking his tongue across the seam, gently, then more insistently, until she got the message. And opened for him. He pressed his advantage, tasting sweetness and spice... And all things nice. But as he probed, ready to go deeper, she jerked back.

  He lifted his head, just as a knock sounded at the door.

  She stared up at him—dazed.

 

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