sensed rather than heard him approach behind her. Was it her imagination or did she feel the heat of his breath against her naked skin?
“Then you are indeed fortunate,” he said close to the shell of her ear.
His voice held a whisper of a thousand words left unsaid. Ottavia closed her eyes and concentrated on remaining still. On simply absorbing his nearness without analyzing the individual reactions clamoring throughout her body.
“Fortunate?” she asked, her voice surprisingly husky.
“A king does not have many choices,” he said to her surprise.
“I would have thought that you had it all, Sire.”
The air behind her shifted—the heat that had smoldered against her suddenly gone—and she knew he’d stepped away. Because with those few words he’d said too much, perhaps? Slowly, she turned around. He stood on the other side of the room, his hands loosely clasped behind him as he stared at a portrait of his late father on the wall.
“I have a proposal for you, Ms. Romolo,” he said without looking at her. “It would behoove you to agree.”
“Just like that? Without knowing the terms?” she asked. “Without negotiating? I think not.”
“Do you negotiate everything?”
“I am a businesswoman.”
He spun to face her. “Is that what you call your...trade? A business?”
“What else would you call it?” she challenged.
The corner of his mouth quirked upward. Ottavia fought the urge to bristle. He was testing her. That much was obvious. If she was to get what she believed she was owed by him, she needed to hold on to every last thread of self-control that she possessed.
“Come here, Ms. Romolo.” He crooked a finger at her.
She would do as he’d commanded, but only because she wanted to, she told herself as she glided forward with all the elegance and poise she’d learned in the past fifteen years.
“Sire?” She bowed her head as she drew before him.
A low chuckle escaped him and she felt her own lips twitch in response.
“Subservience does not suit you.” With the point of one finger he tipped her chin up so she looked him in the eye again.
Her lips parted on a gasp as she recognized the sudden flare of hunger in his gaze. A gasp that he captured as he lowered his mouth to hers and took her lips in a kiss that stole every rational thought from her mind. Caught by surprise, she gave herself over to his touch, to his taste. To the plundering of his tongue as it delved into the moist recesses of her mouth. A sound, a growl from deep in his throat as she touched her tongue to his, sent unaccustomed desire unfurling through her body. Her blood heated, her insides clenched on a spear of need that completely took her breath away.
And then, just like that, it was over. She teetered slightly on her heels before gathering sufficient wits to steady herself. A swell of anger bubbled at the back of her mind. Outrage swiftly quelled the yearning that hummed through her veins as she realized he thought he had the right to simply take from her without permission. Disappointment followed hard on the heels of her anger. Here was another man who saw her as something to be used at his whim, and discarded.
She had to regain the upper hand once more, so she swallowed her indignation and smiled at the man standing opposite her.
“Sampling the merchandise?” she asked tartly.
* * *
Against his better judgment Rocco calmly smiled in response. No easy feat when a large percentage of his blood supply had headed due south in response to that kiss. He was beginning to see why the courtesan was in such high demand. She was addictive. Only one kiss and he wanted more. It had been so long since he’d indulged in something purely for his own pleasure. The needs of his country came first, always. But the country could hardly be harmed by him taking this opportunity to sate his desires. Maybe some good, satisfying, no-strings sex would help him clear his mind.
“You say your fee has gone up,” he started. “Perhaps you undervalued yourself to begin with?”
He could see his remark had startled her when she made no comment. Rocco pressed his advantage.
“I will avail myself of your services and in return I will pay that paltry invoice you sent to me—and then some.” He hesitated and tilted his head. Looking at her as if assessing a fine piece of art before continuing. “Name your price,” he snapped.
Ottavia named a sum that was astronomical compared to the invoice she’d sent him.
“You place a very high value upon your services, Ms. Romolo,” he said, torn between exasperation and amusement. She thought she could scare him away with her demands? Well, she had another think coming.
“To the contrary. I place a very high value on myself,” she replied.
But he’d caught the faint tremor in her voice. She knew she’d overstepped the mark with her ridiculous price.
“I will pay it.”
He watched as she reached one hand to play with a tendril of hair. Round and round her index finger she wound it, the almost childish gesture looking unaccountably adorable on such a sophisticated, elegant woman. She stopped suddenly, letting her hand drop to her side as if she’d just realized what she was doing and straightened her shoulders—a businesswoman once more. And yet, for that brief moment she’d been playing unconsciously with her hair, he had the feeling he’d seen the real woman behind the courtesan’s facade. Like everything else about her, it captivated him.
“Do we have an agreement?” he pressed.
“We have not discussed a term of length.”
“For that sum I should expect our contract to be open-ended,” he said, his exasperation clear.
“I’m sure you realize that would be counterproductive to my business,” she replied with a slight smile.
Once again, unexpected mirth mixed with irritation. She looked like a sensual goddess—one who promised no end of hedonistic delight—and yet she had a mind and acuity as sharp as any negotiator he’d ever come across. She was, in fact, unlike any woman he’d ever met before. It was as if she didn’t really care whether he wanted her or not—as if she’d be equally happy to walk away—and he found the concept captivating. Challenging.
There was nothing he liked better than a challenge.
“A month, then,” he said.
Even as he said it, he realized that spending a month with her, as appealing as it sounded, might be unrealistic. He couldn’t stay hidden in this retreat for too long—he had duties elsewhere requiring his attention...such as his hunt for a bride. But with his sister’s recent, and very happy, marriage to his country’s primary antagonist, surely he could allow himself a bit of a break, if he stayed in contact with the capitol city through email and phone.
“A month,” she repeated. “Very well. If you would allow me access
