Modern Romance December 2015 Books 5-8. Kate Walker

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СКАЧАТЬ This was becoming dangerous.

      Desire was one thing, but jealousy... That was one emotion too far and too ugly.

      That was what you got for spending so much time with a beautiful woman without bedding her. If he’d bedded her from the start her allure would have vanished already and he would now be focussing on getting her performance-fit without wasting energy wondering how she looked naked or whether she moaned loudly when she came.

      For all his words about ‘partaking’ regularly, he hadn’t been with a woman in months—not since his grandfather’s diagnosis. It was as if his libido had gone into stasis.

      And now his libido had gone into hyperdrive.

      Forget noble thoughts about not taking advantage of her position on the island, or that she was there because of his blackmail. The chemistry between them had gone off the charts. All they needed was one night to detonate it. One night. Come the morning, their chemistry would be spent. If not, they still had three weeks to expel it completely, but they would have tamed the worst of it. They would be able to concentrate on nothing but her gala performance.

      At that moment the orchestra broke into a waltz, indicating the start of the evening’s dancing. Talos watched Helios take a deep breath, fix a smile to his face and cross the ballroom to tap a princess from the old Greek royal family on the shoulder. She was on her feet like a shot, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor. It was the cue for the other guests who fancied trying their hands at traditional ballroom dancing to get to their feet.

      ‘Shouldn’t you find a lady to dance with?’ Talos pointedly asked his brother in Greek.

      Theseus’s smile dropped. He grimaced, his eyes darting around the room as if he were searching for someone. ‘I’ll have a drink first. But don’t let me stop you—you two make a beautiful couple.’

      Talos narrowed his eyes and fixed Theseus with his ‘stare’. Theseus pulled a face and swigged his wine.

      ‘Would you like to dance?’ he asked Amalie. Talos might loathe dancing, but the thought of having her in his arms was a temptation not to be resisted.

      ‘I’ve never waltzed,’ she said dubiously.

      ‘Most of our guests have never waltzed. I will lead you.’ That was if he could remember. He hadn’t waltzed since the Debutantes Ball in Vienna, which his grandfather had forced him to attend when he was twenty-one. If his brothers hadn’t already been forced into attendance at the same age he would have put up more than an obligatory protest.

      She allowed him to help her to her feet and guide her onto the dance floor.

      Facing her, he dropped her hand, took a step back and bowed. ‘You must curtsy,’ he instructed.

      Her luscious lips spread into a smile. ‘Certainly, Your Highness.’

      He returned the smile and reached for her right hand with his left and held it out to the side. ‘Now, place your other hand on my bicep.’

      ‘There’s enough of it for me to hold on to,’ she answered, that same smile still playing on her lips, her eyes glimmering with a private message to him—a message he understood and that made his blood pressure rise so high his heart felt in danger of thudding out of his ribs.

      To hell with the traditional hold, he thought, placing his right hand on her back and resting his fingers on the bare flesh above the lining of the dress.

      She felt exquisite.

      Soon they were swirling around the room, the enchantment on her face making all the ridiculous ballroom-dancing lessons he and his brothers had been subjected to in their teenage years worthwhile—something he had never thought would happen.

      Amalie felt as if she’d stepped into heaven. She’d never waltzed before but it didn’t matter; Talos guided her around the dance floor with a tenderness and grace that was as unexpected as it was heavenly.

      She had never felt so feminine before either, the security of his arms something she would savour and relish.

      The original gap between them when they’d started dancing had closed, and suddenly she was very much aware their bodies were pressed together.

      Releasing her grip on his bicep, she smoothed her hand up to clasp the nape of his neck, glad a slower waltz was now being played, one that allowed her time to do nothing but gaze up into his eyes. Her legs followed his lead with no thought.

      The heels she wore elevated her enough that her breasts pressed against his chest, his abdomen against the base of her stomach, but to her intense frustration she couldn’t feel him anywhere other than on her back, where his hand rested, his heat scorching her skin in the most wonderful way imaginable.

      ‘Your brothers seem nice,’ she said, frantic to cut through the tension between them before she was forced into something drastic—like dragging him away.

      ‘They’re good men,’ he agreed, his gaze not dropping from hers.

      ‘What did you mean earlier, when I asked if they had dates and you said that was the whole purpose of the evening?’

      He laughed lightly. ‘It is time for Helios to end his bachelor days. He is hoping that tonight he will meet someone suitable.’

      ‘Someone suitable? For marriage?’

      ‘Yes. A woman of royal blood.’

      ‘That sounds clinical.’

      ‘He is heir to the throne.’

      His fingers were making the same circles on her back that he’d made on her thigh, but this time she could actually feel it. And it felt wonderful.

      ‘It is traditional for the heir to marry a woman of royal descent.’

      ‘Is there a reason why he’s looking for a bride now?’ She thought of their absent grandfather, the King, and wondered if there was more to his illness than Talos was letting on.

      ‘He’s of the right age.’

      She felt his muscles ripple as he lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

      ‘He wants to be young enough to enjoy his children.’

      ‘If you marry, will it have to be someone of royal descent too?’ As she asked the question a strange clenching gripped her heart.

      ‘No.’

      ‘So if you marry it will be for love?’

      His lips twisted into a mocking grin. ‘If I marry it will be because someone has placed a gun to my head.’

      ‘Marriage is a piece of paper. It doesn’t mean anything.’

      Love was the state she’d always feared—not a commitment so easily broken it wasn’t worth the paper it was signed on. It was passionate love that made fools of people. A piece of paper could dissolve a marriage into nothing, but a severed heart never fully healed.

      ‘It means a lot if you’re a member of the СКАЧАТЬ