Page 8 of Twins For His Majesty (Royally Tempted #1)

W HEN THE DUST settled and her breathing returned to normal—though pleasure was still a fog wrapping around her body—sanity began to return, and Phoebe was nervous.

Nervous because she’d let this happen again, even after the way he’d been, last time. Nervous because he might treat her like that again, and if he did, what did that mean for her decision-making?

She’d come here to find her father, but also to grieve and move forward from the Christopher debacle.

She needed to heal, to find peace and to reassure herself that she was capable of exercising some solid judgement with men.

But wasn’t this falling into the same trap?

Being so blinded by desire that she couldn’t think straight?

Well, if he thought he could just come to her apartment for sex and then leave again, he had another think coming. She wasn’t going to lie there, waiting for him to make her feel worthless. If anyone was going to get up and leave, it would be her.

Despite the fact that her bones were heavy and her muscles like liquid, thanks to the pleasure he’d lavished on her, and despite the fact she liked how it felt to lie right there, cradled to his side, she quickly jerked away, turning her back on him before standing and going to her chest of drawers.

She pulled out a summery dress and yanked it over her head, not worrying about underwear, before turning to face him.

‘Do you need anything else?’ She crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring the look of wry amusement on his face.

How dare he?

‘We still have a conversation to get through.’

Pink bloomed in her cheeks. ‘I can’t see that we have anything to talk about.’

‘Really? Would you like another demonstration?’

She bit down into her lower lip and refrained—just—from telling him that maybe she would. ‘That doesn’t mean anything.’

He sat up a little straighter, the sheet draped over his lap. Her sheet. Would she ever wash it again? She banished the errant thought, narrowing her gaze.

‘Doesn’t it?’

‘No.’

‘I’m glad to hear you say that.’ He nodded slowly, as if that had been exactly what he wanted to hear. ‘How would you feel about coming to a sort of arrangement?’

Lights danced on the edge of her field of vision. ‘What do you mean, an arrangement?’

‘Obviously, this works.’ He ran his hand over the bed beside him.

‘I like being with you, Phoebe. In fact, in all sincerity, I have been able to think of very little but you for the last five weeks.’ She smothered a small gasp—but barely.

‘Which, as I’m sure you can imagine, is not particularly convenient, given my responsibilities. ’

She ignored the flush of pleasure his confession wrought. But it meant a lot to know that he’d been as afflicted by desires and memories as she had been. Careful to keep her expression neutral, she fidgeted one hand behind her back. ‘So? Where are you going with this?’

‘A long time ago, my parents entered into a sort of contract with King Stanos and Queen Margerite. It’s more an agreement of intent, rather than legally binding. However, my plan has always been to honour it.’

‘What kind of contract?’ She wasn’t following—perhaps because the sheer force of her pleasure not two minutes ago had robbed her brain of most of its blood.

‘A marriage contract. They have a daughter—Sasha. She’s three years younger than I am. It was always their intention that we would marry.’

Phoebe stood very, very still but inside, her heart was turning to ice faster than she could handle. He kept talking, evidently oblivious to the pain he was inflicting.

‘They felt—as I feel now—that a royal marriage would be best. To secure our family’s position on the throne.’

Octavio wasn’t Christopher, but echoes of the moment she’d met Christopher’s wife and had needed to act as though everything was perfectly fine made her whole world spin wildly out of control.

The hand that had been fidgeting behind her back flattened so she could press it to the wall for much-needed support.

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘Because if you’re going to agree to my proposal, I need to be perfectly clear about the boundaries of what I’m offering.’

She blinked quickly. ‘What proposal?’

But there was a sinking feeling in her stomach that showed she already understood. Still, she waited, with breath held, needing to hear him say the words and confirm her worst fears.

‘I want you to be my lover, querida. I want to see you for as long as we feel like this, for as long as it works, and for as long as I am able.’

She flinched. ‘You mean until you’re married?’

‘Until the engagement is formalised,’ he corrected. ‘Anything beyond that would not be right.’

She made a scoffing sound, half laughter, half deranged disbelief. ‘No, of course. Whereas this is all perfectly above board.’

He studied her, as if trying to read her every thought. She hated that. She hated him. She hated what he was making her feel—worthless and cheap, all over again. She ground her teeth, glaring back. ‘And what would be in it for me?’ she demanded. ‘You get sex whenever you want it. What do I get?’

‘The same thing. No one could know about it—this would be between you and me.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s for the best.’

‘Because I’m a cleaner?’

‘You would be hounded by the press, and to what end? This could only last another six months or so, at the most.’

‘So you’re telling me the fact I work as a cleaner at a hospital has no bearing on how you’d feel being seen with me?’

‘I don’t care what you do for a living, Phoebe.’

‘Sure you don’t,’ she scoffed.

‘But other people would,’ he conceded after a beat. ‘That is not why I would need this kept secret. I don’t care what people say, but my uncle—who until recently was on the throne—has worked hard to undermine me, even before I was crowned. I would prefer to avoid scandal.’

‘And I’m a scandal.’

‘Potentially. So we could go between the house of mine we used the other night and your apartment. I also have homes around the world—we could travel together, when our schedules allowed.’

Just like a real high-class mistress, she thought with a wave of nausea.

Outwardly, she made another scoffing noise. ‘You’ve really thought all this through, haven’t you?’

‘I’ve had five long weeks to come up with a plan.’

‘And this was the best you could do?’

‘Well, what do you suggest?’ he demanded. ‘What other option is there?’

‘That we go back to Plan A and never see one another again.’ Her voice was shrill now, control on her emotions almost non-existent. She needed him to leave before she reached for the crystal vase beneath the window and hurled it at him.

‘I do not believe that’s viable.’

‘Nor is this.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I won’t be treated like some kind of…of…whore!’ she spat, slicing her hand through the air. ‘I won’t become your mistress. No way.’

‘You would be my lover,’ he corrected gently, standing now, uncaring for his magnificent nudity as he strode towards her. ‘Here, and at my apartment, we would be equals. Two people who can spend time together, make love whenever they want, until this madness passes.’

She flinched. ‘And then you ride off into the sunset and marry Princess Whatever-Her-Name-Is?’

‘Sasha,’ he supplied gently. ‘And yes.’

‘And what about me, Octavio?’

‘You move on with your life, too. This would be our arrangement, Phoebe. Our arrangement. I am not dictating terms to you, I am asking you to be a party to a deal that enables us to keep seeing one another.’

It was all so reasonable and sensible, but Phoebe didn’t feel either of those things.

She felt sickened by his suggestion and she felt mad.

Mad up to the eyeballs! She wanted to scream at the insult he was wrapping around her, and somehow expecting her to be almost relieved about.

‘It’s not enough,’ she spat. ‘I don’t want what you’re offering. ’

‘I can’t offer more.’

‘Then I don’t want you.’

‘But you do, and we both know it,’ he said, with a hint of regret, because they were both trapped, in a sense, by this desire. ‘The question is, do you want me enough to accept this deal?’ He gently caught her chin with his finger and angled her face up to his. ‘I really hope the answer is yes.’

Tears threatened to form on her lashes. She blinked quickly, squaring her shoulders. ‘It’s not. Now please, get the hell out of my apartment and don’t ever contact me again.’ And with her last thread of strength, she pulled away from him and stalked out of her bedroom.

He knew he should have left straight away, but he was reeling.

He had come here with no expectation that she would refuse him.

In the back of his mind, he’d seen the arrangement as a fait accompli.

He’d been almost unforgivably rude the last time they’d seen one another, but their chemistry was such, he’d fully expected it to overcome any obstacle.

More than that, the parameters he’d put in place surely made the whole concept of this safe and easy and even fun.

At least, that’s how he viewed it. The perfect non-relationship relationship.

Instead, every word he’d said after they’d finished making love had seemed to rile her more and more. But he hadn’t been wrong about her feelings for him—on a physical level, she was as invested in this as he was. So why was she fighting him?

‘Listen, Phoebe.’ He followed after her, hands raised in a placating gesture.

‘This doesn’t have to be a big deal. Let’s leave it a week and then touch base.

If you’re available, you can come to my place for dinner.

We can talk more.’ Perfect. Casual. Easy.

As though he didn’t care one way or another—he just wished that were true.

The jut of her chin was laced with defiance; she might as well have sky-written No way .