CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

‘P ERHAPS WE SHOULD be holding hands, Travis?’

Travis felt the inconvenient shot of lust at the tentative question from the woman beside him as they strolled through the sleepy Alpine town together and he tried to ignore the five guys flanking them and scanning the chocolate-box houses of Sariyelva like Rottweilers.

The heat sparked in his gut at the artless expression on her face.

He’d been edgy ever since their almost kiss earlier. But as the hot flush spread up her neck he couldn’t resist a smile.

This deal was already a lot more complicated than he’d imagined it would be. He hadn’t counted on their chemistry—which was looking more problematic by the second. But even so, he’d pushed for a Christmas break when she’d insisted on a public wedding.

Their ‘honeymoon’ would be his last chance for at least a year to visit the hideaway he’d built in the Colorado Rockies—and where he always headed over Christmas and New Year to de-stress.

He’d be damned if he was going to break that tradition to accommodate his fake wife, when he was already accommodating her enough.

‘Holding hands is kind of lame, don’t you think?’ he said.

‘What exactly do you suggest, then?’ she asked, frowning.

‘How about we try this,’ he said, and slung his arm over her shoulder.

She let out a huff of surprise against his neck. And the heat spiked.

Yeah, their chemistry was definitely going to be a problem... But he only hugged her closer when her security chief gave him the stink eye again.

‘Your Majesty?’ Jensen asked, clearly not at all happy seeing Travis manhandle his queen.

Tough.

‘Tell your guard dog to back off, Belle.’ He nuzzled her ear, deciding to go for broke as he spotted the flicker of a camera lens in the distance. ‘We’re on candid camera already.’

She shuddered—which he felt all the way to his toes—but announced crisply, ‘It’s okay, Jensen. Mr Lord has my permission to hold me.’

‘Now put your arm around my waist,’ he instructed, because she was as stiff as a board beside him. Seriously, if he didn’t know better, he’d think she’d never snuggled with a guy before.

She reached around his waist, her fingers curling into the fabric of his ski jacket—the gesture so awkward, it was almost sweet.

Go figure.

He tried to stroll with her under his arm, but her body was so rigid beside his she couldn’t get into step with him.

‘Relax, Belle,’ he murmured. ‘You adore me, remember.’

She huffed out a scoffing breath, but the teasing had the desired effect and she finally began to soften enough not to fall on her face.

They headed into the main town square followed by their entourage, including the still scowling Jensen.

Dusk had fallen and fairy lights hung from the rafters of the wood-framed buildings, sparkling in the evening light. The place looked magical, like the set of a romantic movie, or a winter fairy tale. The locals stopped to stare and smile at them but kept a respectful distance. Spotting a coffee house in the corner of the square, he released her from the shoulder hug and grasped her hand to tug her towards it.

‘Let’s get a hot chocolate,’ he said as inspiration struck. ‘I’m parched.’

Isabelle’s eyes widened. She was clearly taken aback by the suggestion.

He knew the plan had been to get photographed together and then split before they could cause too much commotion. But he wasn’t ready to let her go just yet.

‘I... Okay. But I’ll need to check with Jensen,’ she said.

He forced himself not to object. ‘Go ahead.’

The presence of her security team had annoyed the hell out of him up on the ridge—and was one of the reasons why he’d nixed any official engagements straight after the wedding and pushed for the Colorado trip. Putting up with the constant scrutiny was going to be a major pain in the butt during his year in Androvia, which he hadn’t really considered until now.

It took a good five minutes of negotiation for Jensen to agree to the detour on the condition they remained in sight.

‘Of course,’ Isabelle said. ‘But could you find somewhere discreet to observe us?’

Jensen gave a curt nod and the team fanned out ahead of them. Once they’d checked out the café, and alerted the proprietor, two of the team sat at a table on the far side of the porch while the others took up positions at vantage points around the square.

Isabelle turned to him. ‘Okay?’ she asked.

Not really.

He swallowed his frustration and squeezed her fingers. ‘I guess.’ Leading her up the porch steps, he asked the proprietor—who had rushed out to greet them—for a table for two.

‘Yes, of course, monsieur ,’ he said, then bowed so low to Isabelle, Travis was surprised he didn’t topple over. ‘It is a great honour and privilege to have you frequenting our establishment, Your Majesty.’

Travis bristled some more. Isabelle might be their queen but she wasn’t a supreme being—and the way people treated her like one was getting old fast.

The guy directed them to a table on the porch beneath the eaves, with enough bowing and profuse thanks to get on Travis’s last nerve.

He was used to some media scrutiny, and occasionally to being spotted and asked for his autograph—especially back when he’d been a champion sportsman—but this was next level. He was going to need the ten days after the wedding just to figure out how to handle this kind of attention for a year. How the heck had she managed to deal with it for a lifetime?

Isabelle, though, seemed unfazed, the polite shield firmly back in place as she thanked the man graciously.

Travis ordered a couple of hot chocolates, fully loaded—even though he was jonesing for a beer.

Once the proprietor had left them alone, he lifted her hand to tug off one of her gloves, then threaded his fingers through hers. The photographers were still shooting from across the square—but he knew the move wasn’t entirely selfless when she shivered deliciously.

‘That’s gotta suck,’ he said, keeping his voice low, so only she could hear.

‘What has?’ she asked.

He gauged her reaction, and realised she had no clue what he was talking about.

He had a vision of her as she had been as a young girl—taking on the responsibilities of a monarch when she was still grieving, still just a little kid. The weird pang of sympathy—and anger—on her behalf stabbed under his breastbone.

Not your business, Lord. Not your problem.

As far as he was concerned, monarchy was a load of hooey, a clever way to push tourist numbers and maintain the status quo. But he’d never given any thought to what it might be like for the people born into those roles. Was it a privilege or a curse?

A perplexed expression furrowed her brow and he had the sudden desire to make her forget they were on show.

He traced his thumb down the side of her face. Her vicious shudder had the heat curling in his groin—and the desire to distract and unsettle her became even more compelling.

Who cared if this was a business proposition? Didn’t mean they couldn’t give those parasites a show they’d remember.

He lowered his hand to rub his thumb across her knuckles.

‘Don’t you hate people treating you like a queen, instead of a woman?’ he asked, attempting to focus on the conversation, while also focussing on that plump bottom lip—which had captivated him in the forest.

‘Oh, that...’ She released a breath, her relief obvious. ‘You get used to it. I suppose.’ The wistful sigh made him wonder if she was lying to him now, or to herself.

Their drinks arrived, and an unguarded smile brightened her features. ‘I’ve never seen so much cream. Thank you, this looks delicious,’ she said to the young server, who beamed then left them alone again.

She lifted the long-handled spoon beside the tall glass, scooped a marshmallow off the top and popped it in her mouth.

‘You’re doing it all wrong,’ he murmured.

‘I... I am?’ she asked. The concerned furrow made him smile, her artlessness almost as appealing as how easy she was to tease.

‘Yeah.’ He lifted his own glass and took a sip, aware of the cream hitting his upper lip.

She gave a surprised chuckle when he lowered his glass. Then pulled a paper napkin from the dispenser.

‘Here,’ she said, reaching across to hand him the napkin, the stiff self-consciousness finally fading.

He snagged her wrist—and felt her stiffen right up again as awareness flared in her eyes.

‘Not so fast, Belle,’ he said, the devil in him ramping up as her pulse punched his thumb. ‘Why don’t you kiss it off?’

Her delicate brows shot up her forehead. And he saw her throat contract as she swallowed. ‘I... Really? ’

‘Uh-huh. It’ll make the perfect picture,’ he said, as if this were still just for show... And had nothing to do with the heat that had been building all afternoon.

She turned, but he grasped her chin to prevent her from searching out the photographers.

‘Pretend they’re not there,’ he said. ‘And it’s just the two of us, on a hot date. We want this to look convincing,’ he said, smoothly, even though he felt the opposite of smooth right now—the desire in his gut already convincing enough.

She gave a slight nod. But uncertainty and self-consciousness still shadowed her expression—as if she really had no clue how to approach this.

‘Take a sip of your own drink,’ he directed, realising he was going to have to talk her through the process... Why did that only make the need more vicious? The desire more intense?

Surprise flickered in her eyes, but the awareness remained—rich and vivid—as she did what he told her. The lust in his gut twisted and pulsed.

What would it feel like to have this woman following his instructions in bed?

She placed the glass back on its saucer, her fingers trembling but her gaze direct. The white moustache on her top lip made him grin, even as the heat plunged deeper.

‘Good girl,’ he said, then tugged on her wrist to draw her closer. ‘Come here.’

Again, she followed his instructions without question.

But as she leant across the table, that telltale sob issued from her lips. It was like a bullet to his gut, triggering a chain reaction.

And suddenly not one damn thing—certainly not the security team standing guard, not the photographers busy taking intrusive pictures, not even that uneasy feeling in his gut that was screaming at him this felt way too good to be fake—was going to stop him taking what she offered this time...

He slanted his mouth across hers, letting go of her wrist to cradle her cheeks, angle her head for better access, and capture that sob at last.

He licked and sucked and nipped—coaxing, encouraging, exploiting—until she opened for him on a heady breath, and let him in.

Her taste was even more intoxicating than the first time—warm rich chocolate, thick luxurious cream, and heady elemental desire.

He devoured her, exploring the recesses of her mouth. Until he had forgotten about everything but the hot sultry taste of her... And what he planned to feast on next.

Desire and longing barrelled through Isabelle’s body, her mind dazed, her pulse thundering, as Travis Lord’s lips claimed hers in a kiss that went from coaxing to carnal in a heartbeat.

She shivered, only vaguely aware of the table edge digging into her ribs, or his fingers caressing her scalp while he held her head. And took more.

Sensation vibrated from her breasts to the sweet spot between her thighs, and every pulse point in between. Her mind drifted into a sensual fog, dominated by the thrust of his tongue—and the desperate ache in her sex. The yearning to feel him there too, conquering her most intimate place in the same way as he was conquering her mouth, shot through her consciousness—wild, reckless, exciting, and absolutely terrifying.

She wrenched her mouth free, shocked by the direction of her thoughts, and how quickly they had roared out of control.

‘Damn.’ He groaned, then grinned at her—the smile knowing and arrogant.

Panic sprinted up her spine, doing nothing to obliterate the gush of need still making her sex ache.

He dropped his forehead to hers, his breathing as strained as hers, his strong hand massaging the tight muscles in her neck.

Sensation feathered her cheek, the scent of chocolate on his breath so rich and evocative she couldn’t seem to make her mind engage.

‘That should convince them,’ he murmured, his thumb brushing the hammering pulse in her collarbone. She stiffened, the words throwing ice water over her flushed skin.

Of course, this kiss wasn’t real for him, any more than the first one had been. It was all for the benefit of the photographers. She lifted her head, dislodging his hand, and blinked furiously, trying to control the brutal yearning and the cruel twist of humiliation.

His pupils had dilated to black, but other than that he was totally unmoved—as assured as always—while the heat he had incited still raced through her bloodstream, threatening to incinerate what was left of her common sense.

‘Yes, I think that will be more than sufficient,’ she managed around the boulder lodged in her throat.

Did he know? What his kiss had triggered? That the minute he had taken her mouth with that sense of entitlement and demand, she had been lost to the passion?

He captured her chin and turned her face to his, then wiped away what was left of the cream on her top lip with a napkin.

‘You good?’ he asked.

‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, although nothing could have been further from the truth.

Especially when his lips quirked. ‘What are you thanking me for, Your Majesty?’

For kissing me as if you meant it.

The pathetic thought humiliated her even more.

‘For making that so convincing,’ she said, still trying to wrestle her wayward emotions back under control. ‘I appreciate it,’ she added, desperate to persuade herself this was still just a transaction.

But then he tilted his head to one side, his gaze roaming over her with the same fierce entitlement that had made his kiss feel so overwhelming.

‘It wasn’t exactly a hardship, Belle,’ he said. His gaze dipped to her mouth, which began to tingle alarmingly—the memory of his conquest still playing havoc with her senses. ‘That mouth is kind of irresistible.’

It is?

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip to stop herself from acknowledging the foolish feeling of validation at the compliment.

‘I’m glad you think so,’ she said. ‘You happen to be a very accomplished kisser, so I guess that makes us even,’ she added, trying to sound sophisticated and not devastated.

She had the awful suspicion she hadn’t fooled him though, when he let out a gruff chuckle.

But the intense heat in his gaze didn’t seem to have the cynical edge she had come to expect when he replied, ‘Yeah, I guess it does.’

He was humouring her. They weren’t even at all. Because sex was a game to him, while it could never be one to her. But still her pulse slowed when he stood and offered her his hand.

‘Show’s over,’ he said, grasping her fingers. Sensation shot up her arm—because of course it did. ‘We’ve given those vultures enough to run with for now.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She gulped down the spurt of regret—knowing that giving in to the impulse to spend more time with him would be even more dangerous than that ferocious, all-consuming kiss.

He dumped some of the local currency on the table.

‘I can get my security to pay,’ she offered.

His gaze flattened, the amusement gone.

‘No, thanks, Your Majesty,’ he said, the cynical edge back. ‘When I take someone on a date, I pay.’

Except this isn’t a real date , she wanted to protest.

But how could she, when it had felt far too real to her?