Princess in the Iron Mask - By Victoria Parker Page 0,60

Only him. Words he knew were driven by her fierce need for fulfilment and yet he snatched at them, held them close, allowed himself to believe they were true just for a while.

‘Lucas, please.’

Hand rough, unsteady, Lucas cupped the full swell of one breast, pushed his hipsters down his thighs with the other. She was there, poised, glorious above him. And when she sank down on his erection, sheathing him in hot tight ecstasy, a shot of nitrous injected his heart, stopped it dead.

Claudia’s amber eyes locked on his as she flashed him one of her melt-your-knees smiles and flung her head back in wild abandon, arching sinuously. And suddenly that same heart was torn wide open.

He was the mightiest warrior. And he’d just been slayed.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A WARM SPLASH of crimson dawn flooded the room, washing his torso in a reddened hue, and Lucas flung back the covers of their makeshift bed, extricated himself from the heady scent of passion and launched to his feet.

Skin damp, flushed, feverish, his body shook as if under the power of some deadly virus. Breathing hard, he thrust his legs into a pair of creased trousers and tied the cotton bands at his waist. Only then did he glance down at Claudia, where she lay curled around his empty space, dozing, cashmere blankets draped over her sinful curves.

Something had gone wrong. Some time during the night. Hours of sex should have at least made him feel sated, at some kind of peace. He scrubbed his palm over the ridges of his abdomen, trying to ease the crush.

Lungs tight, his eyes bounced around the room. Dios, he could still see her spread across the glossy black top of his baby grand, open, needy. Still taste the exotic hint of mango on his tongue from when he’d devoured her body. Still feel her nails tearing at his skin.

‘Lucas?’

Her voice—small, hesitant—snagged his attention and his gaze jerked back to the mound of pillows. To her.

Dios, the way she was looking at him...

‘Come lie with me?’ she asked, eyes brimming with hope and something soft and warm.

He shook his head slowly. ‘I need to shower, dress.’ Walk away.

‘Okay, well...’ She bit down on her bruised bottom lip. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

‘Dios, Claudia, I wish you wouldn’t,’ he said, scouring his nape with his palm.

She smiled. ‘Ha-ha. Seriously, though, when I go back to London maybe you...’

Lucas closed his eyes as blood began to rush through his skull at a deafening speed.

He’d made a mistake. A colossal error of judgement—something that seemed to be happening with astounding regularity since this woman—Dios, no, this reluctant royal—had crashed into his life.

Last night she hadn’t come to him just for sex, and once again he’d surrendered to his selfish desires. Now she was sussing him out with all the delicacy of a sledgehammer. And never mind London—she needed to take her place at court!

He hadn’t heard a word she’d said, but he didn’t need to. Her lips had stopped moving and she peered up through long sooty lashes. Coy, sanguine.

Dios, was she falling for him?

Lucas thrust his hands through his hair. Felt moisture coat his palms. ‘Claudia, you must see this for what it is. Heat. Passion. That is all there could ever be. We made a pact, you and I.’ He had nothing to offer but a dark soul. And he lived only to work—as he should. She deserved so much more—a chance to find the love she needed.

‘I know that,’ she said, brow creased, her gaze fastened on her nail as she scratched an invisible mark from the throw. ‘I just thought if you were ever in London we could have dinner or something. I mean...why not?’

Good question. The answer, he knew, was the cure for the deadly tangle of emotions knotting his guts. Because if she left his life normality, a pleasing lack of feeling, would surely resume.

The only way out was to tell her the truth. Crush any spark, any kindling of emotion that was flickering to life inside of her.

Something made her move. Maybe it was the way his frame stiffened. Maybe his conviction scored his face or maybe she felt the sudden chill nip her skin. Because she bolted upright and tugged a fawn cashmere blanket up over her breasts, veiling herself. Protecting all her heaven while he took her on a trip to hell.

His blood turned black and weaved a poisonous path towards what was to come—the disappointment in her eyes, the mortification—when she realised what