To Claim His Heir by Christmas(9)

Fire-tipped arrows pierced her chest and flamed up her throat.

'Well, thank you for the offer,' she said satirically. 'But I'm not keen on your alternative, Thane. For starters, it's simply another demand. And, let me tell you, they are certainly racking up this month.' Her insides were shaking so hard it made her voice quiver. 'And another thing: unfortunately for you, as far as courting rituals and practices go, abduction does not score points.'

He frowned deeply and looked at the magazine pouch. As if he was spectacularly disorientated and the answer to her meltdown lay between the covers of the latest gossip rag.

Idly scratching his sexy, stubbled jaw, he glanced back up. 'Courting?'

Luciana blinked. Out of that entire speech, 'courting' was what he'd picked up on? 'Yes, Thane. Dating, courting.'

Surely he couldn't still be as mystified about women as he'd been five years ago? He must have had a truckload since then; he was sex incarnate. Not that she cared what he did. Absolutely not.

'You would prefer this?' he asked, stunned but apparently game.

Luciana squeezed her eyes shut. Lord, this was utterly surreal.

'My father would never give his blessing in a billion years.' Hypothetically speaking, of course. Frankly, she had no idea why she was engaging in this conversation. It was all impossible.

'I care not,' he drawled, his arrogance and power so potent she could taste it. 'If the man wants a fight on his hands for you he can have it. Gladly. He obviously cares little for you to subject you to such a marriage.'                       
       
           



       

Luciana eased back, pulling her spine upright. She rewound that little speech of his and replayed it in her head. Then felt butterflies take flight in her chest-winged creatures flapping furiously against her ribcage. Had he just said he would fight for her? She was pretty sure he had. As well as intimating that he cared for her happiness. Sort of.

Her thumb found its way to her mouth and she nibbled on the soft pad.

This was the behaviour of a callous mercenary? Really? No, of course it wasn't-she must be missing something. He had to have an agenda. Other than his ridiculous chest-thumping caveman routine, that was.

Problem was, when he fixated on the way she sucked her thumb, with wicked heat smouldering in his dark eyes, she couldn't think what day it was-never mind decipher his ulterior motives.

Maybe he wants you for you. Maybe your father was wrong about him. Maybe his reputation isn't as bad as it seems.

Luciana shook her head vehemently. No. That would mean she'd run when she shouldn't have. Made a mistake. And she refused to believe that. After all, proof of his pitiless, ruthless nature wasn't hard to descry, was it? Look where she was, for heaven's sake-atop the highest asphalted runway in Europe, about to be manhandled onto a plane!

On the verge of a panic attack, or at the very least an undignified fainting spell, she yanked at the door handle and-yes!-it gave way under the pressure of her grip and she flung it wide.

A second later she launched herself from the car, almost breaking her neck as her heels hit a dusty sheet of new-fallen snow and she slipped … swayed … then skidded to a stop.

Adrenaline spiked her pulse and she glanced left and right, back and forth, wildly searching for a way out. Even as her legs turned to lead at the very thought.

Stupid legs. Stupid heart.

Inhaling swift and deep, she slowly refocused her vision on the mountainous white peaks looming from all angles. Dangerous. Breathtaking. Much like the man who now strode around the back of the limousine, moving towards her with a warrior's effortless grace. And yet she felt every step like a seismic rumble.

Instinctively she staggered backwards and pushed out her hand in a stop sign. 'Don't come any closer!'

Snow drizzled from the sky in fat, puffy white flakes and swirled around his tall, commanding body in eddies and whirls as if drawn to his magnetism. The braver ones dared to touch, settle on his ebony hair, kiss his broad shoulders, tease the lapels of his jacket-only to be annihilated in an instant by his unfathomable heat.

Stupid snowflakes.

'Luciana. Don't fight me,' he cajoled, in that sinful voice that made her shudder.

Translation-Roll over and take it. Be a good girl and do as you're told.

Yeah, right.

His hands fisted before he stretched the kinks from his fingers and lifted them to spear into his hair; brushing the damp glossy strands back from his forehead, bringing his face into sharp relief.

Oh, Lord.

Her insides panged on a swift stab of anguish. Natanael …  The resemblance was spooky. Surreal. Bittersweet and oddly wonderful at the same time.

Arms plunging to his sides, he tipped his head and gave her a crooked smile. 'We need to leave. Come with me.'

Fighting the sting at the back of her eyes, she wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her body. 'No. I can't go with you, Thane. I'm sorry. And I can't marry you. I have to take my throne in two months. I have responsibilities of my own.'

But more than that-much more-I have a son at home: one you can never find, because I'm frightened of what will become of him. I have to protect him. You keep confusing me and I can't trust my instincts with you.

Fact was, she had no idea who this man truly was.

So find out, Luce. Go with him. Find out.

It was a risk she couldn't possibly take. Something told her that if she left with him she'd never return home. Thane would never let her go. His formidable dominance would wrap her up tighter than any other person ever could. Including her father. Loath as she was to admit it, at least if she married Augustus Nate would be safe-and so would she. Her emotions would never engage with him.

All that swarthy, sexy maleness took on a blistering intensity as Thane dipped his chin and locked his fierce gaze on her.                       
       
           



       

'That throne will not be yours if you marry that man, Luciana. You know it. And maybe your responsibilities now lie with me.'

Temper igniting inside her, she balled her fists. 'No, they really don't.'

He hitched one shoulder, as if to say he wasn't going to argue about it, that she should just take his word and accept it. Talk about déjà vu. It was like standing in front of her father's desk, listening to the latest of his twenty commandments.

And that was it. It dawned on her that there was just no point in arguing. None.

From the corner of her eye she noticed a workman bundled in ski gear as he fought the elements, dragging safety cones across the asphalt, and knew exactly what she had to do.

Luciana took one last look at Thane's dark beauty and memorised every wicked, gorgeous inch of him. Then she hiked her chin and declared, 'I am not getting on that plane with you. Goodbye, Thane.'

Off she went, veering in the workman's direction, begging her feet not to slip. Cursing herself for not taking three extra minutes back at the lodge to change her clothes.

'Excuse me?' she called out. 'Hello? Helloooo … ?'

His head came up, eyes latched onto her and he waved back.

Thank the heavens above.

Keep walking, Luce, just keep walking-

'Oh, no, you don't.'

An ironclad hand curled around her upper arm and next thing she knew she'd collided with Thane's hot, hard, magnificent body.

Fear and excitement shot through her in equal measure. Yet her protest went the way of her sanity when he pulled her impossibly closer, snaring her waist with one strong arm and stroking up her neck with his free hand, his fingers curling around her nape to cradle her head.

She'd have to be dead not to feel the unabashed sexual charge that sparked in the air. And, like a stick of dynamite, her insides detonated in an explosion of desire, sending an avalanche of wet heat thundering through her.

Quaking, she had to bite down hard on her lip to stifle a whimper. It didn't quite work. She let slip a hum-like cry.

Those dark, fathomless eyes locked onto her, pupils flaring as she swept her tongue across her bottom lip, and from nowhere a memory cracked through the brume of her mind …

Luciana was perched on a brick wall, waiting for him to lift her down, waiting for him to make his first move. Just … waiting for him. As if that was all she'd done all her life. 'Aren't you going to kiss me?' she'd asked, yearning for him to do just that.

When his expression had morphed into a giddy blend of enthusiasm and alarm she'd been flummoxed.

'Haven't you ever kissed a woman before?'

A blush so faint she'd nearly missed it had crept over the carved slash of his cheeks. A little embarrassed. A whole lot nervous.

She'd slid down the wall to puddle at his feet. 'Can I kiss you, then?' she'd asked, smoothing his frown away with her fingertips, tucking his hair behind his ears. 'Would that be okay?'

Ignoring the rhythmic tic in his jaw, she'd pushed up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. Warm. Soft. And as sensual and commanding as the man himself. Because as soon as she'd coaxed his mouth open with a flick of her tongue he'd taken over with an instinct as old as time and claimed her in a sweet, devouring …

Luciana blinked back to the here and now-to the snow whirling around them on the chorus of the breeze, the frozen wet droplets peppering her face. To Thane's dark eyes, deep and hungry and shot with shards of amber, the power of their sexual pull crippling in its intensity.