‘That sounds very melodramatic.’
‘Simply fact. Montvelatte’s right to exist is predicated on the continuation of the line.’
‘So that’s where you came in.’
He leaned back in his chair. ‘Even bastards have a purpose, it seems.’
His self-deprecating manner didn’t fool her for a second. ‘That’s what was happening—that night—when the news broke on the television and they carted away your two half-brothers. You knew then, didn’t you? You knew what it meant.’
‘I had a gut feeling I might get a call.’
‘And you just couldn’t wait to take over the reins and put on that crown.’
He raised the glass to his lips and, without taking his eyes from hers, drank down the wine. ‘You think I wanted this? To have my life turned into public property?’
‘You seem happy enough lording it over me, holding me here against my will and forcing your way into my room when you’re not welcome. Seems to me you’re a natural at playing to the manor born.’
He stared at her a while, his eyelids half closed. ‘If you say so.’
‘And now you must have a wife. To give you an heir and to give Montvelatte the breathing space it needs.’
‘That’s right.’
She toyed with her dessert, making lazy figure eights through the raspberry coulis that lapped at the edges of her triumph in chocolate. ‘So you’re “interviewing” prospective wives. And meanwhile you’re dining with a woman you once spent a night with, and who you have every intention of sleeping with again.’
It was meant to be an accusation, something that put him at a disadvantage, but the way he looked at her, the sudden widening and wanting revealed in his eyes, the planes of his face suddenly harsher in the fading light, more dangerous seemed to have the opposite effect. ‘I am.’
And she felt a rush of heat infuse her skin, throbbing in places that responded eagerly to his words like an invitation. She was a fool for walking into his trap, for bringing up the one thing he’d somehow avoided talking about all night, and yet the one thing she knew he expected to happen. She looked down at her plate helplessly, at the dessert she’d barely touched, and knew there was no escape there. There were no more courses to come, the coffee already poured, the petit fours sitting between them accusingly. Dinner had come to an end and now he would expect her to fall into bed with him.
He needed a wife. He wanted a bed warmer. And it was clear whatever place she occupied fell into the latter category.
By rights she should hate him for it.
She did hate him for it.
And yet …
His gaze washed over her in a heated rush. He didn’t have to utter another word; the question was there in his eyes, the hunger, the need. The promise of bliss.
Memories of the night they’d spent together surged back, rushing over her like a king tide, deep and unable to be resisted, a force of nature that could not be denied. What he’d done to her with his hands and his mouth and his perfect body. The way he’d made her feel …
The knowledge of how he could make her feel again.
Was it so wrong to feel so tempted? Was it so wrong for her body to hunger for more of what he’d given her, to experience more of that particular brand of magic?
She was leaving tomorrow.
She could have one more night. Where was the harm in that? One more night, and this time she would do the leaving. There could be no more surprises, no more disappointments. This time he wouldn’t have the chance to dump her. This time she would be the one to walk away, the one in control. She could leave him to his ladies and his princesses and contessas. One of them would ultimately win him for ever, but she could have him right here, right now.
Maybe it would never be enough. But wouldn’t one more night be at least something for the inconvenience he’d put her through today?
She deserved something. Surely.
He chose that exact moment to extend his hand to her. ‘It’s time.’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘COME,’ Rafe said, his voice rumbling through her in a series of tremors that threatened to unravel what was left of her defences. His long fingers wrapped around hers, circling her hand, drawing her up from her chair and against the black-clad, lethal length of him.
‘Rafe,’ she said, as his body received her in a swaying motion, almost as if dancing to a slow, silent waltz. ‘Shh,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t say anything.’
She couldn’t say anything anyway, her reason for speaking forgotten while her senses were fully employed drinking in the feel of him moving against her, setting the silk robe to a sensual massage against her tight nipples and aching breasts.