But what was he prepared to do about it?
That was the question.
He watched her, taking in the grace and loveliness of her form and movement, the full, luscious temptation of her exciting body, the beauty of her perfect face, and the question burned inside him. What was he prepared to do? It was working into a drumbeat in his head and in his heart. What? Just exactly what?
“You don’t love him.”
The words came out loud and clear and yet he was surprised when he said them. He hadn’t planned to say anything of the sort. Still, once it was out, he was glad he’d said it. The truth was out now, like a flag, a banner, a warning that couldn’t be ignored any longer. And why not? Truth was supposed to set you free.
And she didn’t love Leonardo. It was obvious in the way she talked to him and talked about him. She was using him and he was using her. They had practically said as much in front of him—though neither had known it at the time. Why not leave it out there in the open where it could be dealt with?
“You don’t love him,” he said again, even more firmly this time.
She whirled to face him, her arms folded, her eyes flashing. “How do you know?” she challenged, her chin high.
A slow smile began to curl his lips. As long as they were speaking truth, why not add a bit more?
“I know, Pellea. I know very well. Because…” He paused, not really for dramatic effect, although that was what he ended up with. He paused because for just a second, he wondered if he really dared say this.
“Because you love me,” he said at last.
The shock of his words seemed to crackle in the air.
She gasped. “Oh! Of all the…” Her cheeks turned bright red and she choked and had to cough for a moment. “I never told you that!”
He sat back and surveyed her levelly. “You didn’t have to tell me with words. Your body told me all I would ever need to know.” His gaze skimmed over her creamy skin. “Every time I touch you your body resonates like a fine instrument. You were born to play to my tune.”
She stood staring at him, shaking her head as though she couldn’t believe anyone would have the gall to say such things. “Of all the egos in the world…”
“Mine’s the best?” he prompted, then shrugged with a lopsided grin. “Of course.”
She held her breath and counted to ten, not really sure if she was trying to hold back anger or a smile. He did appear ridiculously adorable sitting there looking pleased with himself. She let her breath back out and tried for logic and reason. It would obviously be best to leave flights of fancy and leaps of faith behind.
“I don’t love you,” she lied with all her heart. Tears suddenly threatened, but she wouldn’t allow them. Not now. “I can’t love you. Don’t you see that? Don’t ever say that to me again.”
Something in her voice reached in and made a grab for his heartstrings. Had he actually hurt her with his careless words? That was the last thing he would ever want to do.
“Pellea.” He rose and reached for her.
She tried to turn away but he wouldn’t let her. His arms came around her, holding her close against his chest, and he stroked her hair.
“Pellea, darling…”
She lifted her face, her lips trembling. He looked down and melted. No woman had ever been softer in his arms. Instantly, his mouth was on hers, touching, testing, probing, lighting her pulse on fire. She kissed him in return for as long as she dared, then pulled back, though she was still in the circle of his embrace. She tried to frown.
“You taste like chicken,” she said, blinking up at him.
He smiled, and a warm sense of his affection for her was plain to see. “You taste like heaven,” he countered.
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Oh, please, Monte. Let me go.”
He did so reluctantly, and she drew back slowly, looking toward him with large, sad eyes and thinking, If only…
He watched her, feeling strangely helpless, though he wasn’t really sure why. With a sigh, she turned and went back to pacing.
“We have to get you out of here,” she fretted while he sat down again and leaned back in his chair. “If I can get you out of the castle, do you have a way to get back to the continent?”
He waved away the very concept. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said confidently. “And when I do go, I’ll take care of myself. I’ve got resources. No need to worry about me.”
She stopped, shaking her head as she looked at him. How could she not worry about him? That was pretty much all she was thinking about right now. She needed him to leave before he found out about the baby. And even more important, she wanted him to go because she wanted him to stay alive. But there was no point in bringing that up. He would only laugh at the danger. Still, she had to try to get him to see reason.
“There is more news,” she told him, leaning against the opposite chair. “Rumors are flying.”
He paused, the chicken leg halfway to his mouth. He put it down again and gazed at her. “What kind of rumors?”
She turned and sank into the chair she’d been leaning on. “There’s talk of a force preparing for an Ambrian invasion.”
He raised one sleek eyebrow and looked amused. “By whom?”
“Ex-Ambrians, naturally. Trying to take the country back.”
His sharp, all-knowing gaze seemed to see right into her soul as he leaned closer across the table. “And you believe that?”
“Are you kidding?” She threw her hands up. “I can see it with my own eyes. What else are you doing here?”
He gave her another view of his slow, sexy smile. “I came to kidnap you, not to start a revolution. I thought I’d made that perfectly clear.”
She leaned forward, searching his eyes. “So it’s true. You are planning to take over this country.”
He shrugged, all careless confidence. “Someday, sure.” His smile was especially knowing and provocative. “Not this weekend though. I’ve got other plans.”
He had other plans. Well, wasn’t that just dandy? He had plans and she had issues of life and death to contend with. She wanted to strangle him. Or at least make him wince a little. She rose, towering over him and pointing toward her gateway.
“You’ve got to go. Now!”
He looked surprised at her vehemence, and then as though his feelings were hurt, he said, “I’m eating.”
“You can take the food with you.”
He frowned. “But I’m almost done.” He took another bite. “This is actually pretty good chicken.”
She stared at him, at her wit’s end, then sank slowly back into the chair, her head in her hands. What could she do? She couldn’t scream for help. That could get him killed. She couldn’t pick him up and carry him to the doorway. That would get her killed. Or at least badly injured. She was stuck here in her chambers, stuck with the man she loved, the father of her child, the man whose kisses sent her into orbit every time, and everything depended on getting rid of him somehow. What on earth was she going to do?
“I hate you,” she said, though it was more of a moan than a sentence.
“Good,” he responded. “I like a woman with passion.”
She rolled her eyes. Why couldn’t he ever be serious? It was maddening. “My