Never Gamble with a Caffarelli

They were led to the top table where Angelique was finally introduced to the Crown Prince’s wife, Abby, a fellow Englishwoman who had met and fallen in love with Talib earlier that year. A royal baby was due in a few months, which Abby explained had given an extra boost to the celebrations. It seemed Dharbiri was in party mode and an event like this could on for days. Great.

Remy took her hand and led her out to the dance floor for the bridal waltz. ‘Loosen up, Angelique. You feel like a shop-window mannequin in my arms.’

Angelique suppressed a glare. ‘Get your hands off my butt.’

He smoothed his hand over her hip and then tugged her against him. ‘That better?’

She looked at him with slitted eyes. ‘We’re supposed to be dancing, not making out.’

‘I thought you’d be great at dancing.’

‘I am great at dancing.’

‘Then show me your footwork.’

Angelique moved in against him and let him take the lead. The music was romantic with a flowing rhythm so she let her body move in time with it. She started to feel like a princess at a ball, or a star contestant on one of those reality dance shows. They moved in perfect unison around the dance floor. The other couples—and there were hundreds—swarmed backwards to give them more room.

‘Nice work,’ Remy said once it was over. ‘Maybe we should do that again some time.’

‘You trod on my toe.’

‘Did not.’

‘Did so.’

He gave her a grin as he pinched her cheek. ‘Smile, ma chérie.’

She smiled through clenched teeth. ‘I want to scratch your eyes out.’

‘Did I tell you how beautiful you looked?’

‘I can’t breathe in this dress. And I have no idea how I’m going to fit in the bathroom. They’ll have to take the door off or something.’

He grinned again and tapped her gently on the end of the nose. ‘You’ll find a way.’

Angelique let out a breath as she watched him turn to speak to another guest. There were times when Remy took his charm into very dangerous territory...

* * *

‘You have to try this,’ Remy said as he came over with a loaded plate from the banquet a little while later.

Angelique breathed in the delicious smell of lamb with herbs and garlic. She couldn’t stop her gaze from devouring everything on his plate. Along with the juicy lamb pieces, there was a couscous salad and some sort of potato dish and flatbread. The carbs would be astronomical. ‘No.’ She gave him a tight smile for the sake of anyone watching. ‘I’m not hungry.’

‘Here.’ He forked a piece of lamb and held it in front of her mouth. ‘You have to try this. It’s amazing.’

‘I don’t want it.’

His eyes locked on hers, hard, determined. Implacable. ‘Open your mouth.’

Angelique’s belly shifted at his commanding tone but she was not going to let him win this. This was her battle, not his. She was the one who had to keep her body in top shape for her career. She had been counting calories and carbs since she had landed her first contract. Since before that, actually. It was the only thing she could control. She knew what she had to do to keep her body perfect. She was not going to allow anyone, and in particular Remy Caffarelli, to sabotage her efforts.

She gave him a flinty look. ‘I said I’m not hungry.’

‘You’re lying.’

She felt the penetrating probe of his dark-brown eyes as they tussled with hers. Heat came up from deep inside her, a liquid molten heat that had nothing to do with food but everything to with hunger.

Sexual hunger.

Angelique knew one taste would not be enough. She would end up bingeing on him and then where would that get her?

His kiss had already done enough damage.

And that dirty dance routine...

She could not afford to let herself be that vulnerable again. She was in control of her passions. She did not slavishly follow her desires. She had self-control and discipline.

She did not want him or his food or his fancy footwork.

Angelique pulled out an old excuse but a good one; she was nothing if not a great actress when the need arose. She put a hand to her temple and gave him a part-sheepish, part-apologetic look. ‘I’m sorry, Remy, it’s just I’ve been fighting a tension headache ever since I got up. Well, actually, I didn’t get up, because I didn’t go to bed in the first place. I couldn’t sleep a wink.’

He studied her for a moment as if weighing up whether to believe her or not. ‘Maybe you’re dehydrated. Have you had enough to drink?’

‘I could kill for a glass of wine.’

He gave her a wry look. ‘You could get killed for having it.’

Angelique felt a cold hand of panic clutch at her insides. ‘We are safe now, aren’t we? I mean now we’re—’ she gave a mental gulp ‘—married?’

Remy’s expression sobered for a moment, which made that fist of panic grip a little tighter. ‘We’re safe as long as we act as if this is a real marriage. It would be foolish to let our guard down until we’re on the plane home.’

Angelique swallowed as she cast a nervous eye over the crowd of people who had joined in the wedding celebration. They looked friendly and innocuous enough, but how could she be sure one or more of them weren’t waiting for her to make a slip up?

Her stomach pitched with dread.

Never in her wildest dreams had she ever thought something like this would happen. She had wanted a face-to-face with Remy. She hadn’t given a thought to where he was or whom he was with or whether it would be convenient or politic or safe. She had focused solely on her goal to get him to hand back the deeds to Tarrantloch.

Now she was pretending to be married to him.

Not pretending, a little voice reminded her. You are married to him.

Angelique turned back to look up at Remy. ‘Why do you come out here? It’s not the sort of place I thought you would be drawn to. It doesn’t really suit your party-boy image.’

He gave a shrug of one broad shoulder. ‘The Crown Prince is a friend of mine. We went to university together. I like to visit him now and again.’

‘Do you come here often?’ Angelique gave herself a mental kick for not rephrasing that a little less suggestively.

He gave her a wicked look. ‘No single, unchaperoned women in my room, remember?’

She compressed her lips. ‘I’m being serious. How many times do you, er, visit?’

He put his plate down on a nearby table. ‘Not as often as I’d like. I only get out here once a year. Two, if I’m lucky, like this year when I came out for Talib and Abby’s wedding.’

Angelique’s eyes widened to the size of the plate he’d just put down. ‘But...but why? What’s so great about it? I don’t see anything that’s relaxing or beautiful about it. It’s just a bunch of boring old sand dunes.’

He put his hand on her elbow and led her away to a quieter area. ‘Will you please keep your opinions to yourself until we’re out of danger?’ he hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

Angelique wriggled out of his hold, not because she found it unpleasant, but because she found she rather liked it. A lot. She hadn’t realised until now how much she had come to rely on him protecting her. To come to her rescue. She had blundered into a minefield and yet he had remained calm and steady throughout. Even cracking jokes about it.

Was he scared?

If so, he had shown little sign of it until now.

‘I’m sorry, but I’m not used to this,’ she said. ‘You’ve been coming here for ages. This is my first time. I’m what you would call a desert virgin.’

‘What about that bikini shot of you I saw in New York a couple of years back? You were draped over a sand dune with a couple of camels in the background.’

Angelique mentally raised her brows. So he’d seen that, had he? And taken note of it. ‘It was staged. The sand dunes were in Mexico and the camels were cranky and smelly. One of them even tried to bite me. It was a horrible shoot. The designer was impossible to please and I ended up with a massive migraine from sunstroke.’

A frown appeared between his eyes. ‘Why do you do it?’

She felt her back come up. She’d heard this lecture before, too many times to count. The most memorable one had been from him. ‘Why do I do what?’

‘Model. Put yourself out there in nothing but a couple of scraps of fabric.’ His tone sounded starchy and disapproving. Old-fashioned. Conservative. ‘You’re capable of so much more than being some gorgeous too-perfect-to-believe image young guys jerk off to when they’re in the shower.’

Angelique gave him an arch look. ‘Is that what you do?’

His eyes hardened. His mouth flattened. A muscle ticked in his jaw. On-off. On-off. ‘No.’ His tone was clipped. Too clipped. ‘I don’t think of you like that.’

He was lying.

Just like she had been lying about her hunger.

How...interesting.

The thought of him being turned on by her, orgasming because of her, was deliciously shocking. It made her flesh tingle. It made her juices run. It made her need pulse and ache to feel him come to completion with her, the real her, not some airbrushed image that didn’t even come close.

Are you out of your mind? The sensible part of her brain kicked in again.

You are not going to sleep with Remy. Whether he wants to or you want to.

Angelique looked up at him, noting the dull flush that had flagged both of his aristocratic cheekbones. ‘So, when do we get to step out of this charade? We can leave for the airport once this is over, can’t we? I’ve got my bag packed all ready to go. All you have to do is say the word and I’m out of here with bells on. Not the wedding variety, of course.’

His dark-brown eyes seemed to go a shade darker as they held hers. ‘We’re not leaving tonight.’

Angelique felt that fist of panic come back, but now it was two fists.

Two very big, very strong fists.

‘But why not? You have a private jet, don’t you? You can leave whenever you want.’ She swallowed and looked up at him hopefully. Desperately. ‘C-can’t you?’

Remy turned his back so anyone nearby couldn’t see his expression, his voice sounding low and deep, like a rumble of an imminent earthquake under the ocean floor. ‘There is a tradition we have to uphold. We can’t leave until we officially consummate the marriage.’

Angelique jerked back from him. ‘You’re joking. You have to be joking! There’s no way we have to do that! How would anyone know if we, um, did it or not?’

He gave her a levelling look. ‘We’d have to prove it.’

Her brows went up. Her eyes went wide. Her heart started to gallop. Her inner core got hot. Very hot. ‘You mean like witnesses or something? Oh my God, I can’t believe this! I’m so not a threesome person. I’m not even a twosome person. I—’ She clamped her mouth shut. She had given away too much as it was.

‘We’ll need evidence that you’re a virgin.’

Angelique blinked. ‘Pardon?’

‘Blood.’ He had his poker face on. ‘On the sheets. We have to display them the next morning.’

She gave him a narrowed look. ‘Whose blood?’

His mouth cracked in a half-smile. ‘Yours.’

Angelique sent him a fulminating glare. ‘I just knew you were going to say that. The only blood I want to see spilled right now is yours.’

‘You’re really hating this, aren’t you?’ His expression was amused.

Her eyes went to slits again. ‘By “this” I suppose you mean this ridiculous subservience.’

He gave one of his loose, get-over-it shrugs. ‘It’s the way things are done here.’

She shook with outrage. ‘But it’s the wrong way!’

‘The women here are happy.’ His voice was calm, measured. ‘They don’t have to do anything but be who they are. They don’t have to primp and preen. They don’t have to have a spray tan every week or put on false nails or colour their hair. They don’t have to pretend they’re not hungry when they’re starving, because they’re not going to be judged solely on their appearance. It is who they are on the inside that matters.’

He was describing a paradise...or was he?

She set her mouth. ‘That’s only because they probably don’t know what they’re missing. If just one woman gets a glimpse of what she could have, you could have total anarchy out here.’

An amused quirk tilted his mouth. ‘And I suppose you’d be out front and leading the charge of that particular riot?’

She gave him a beady look. ‘You’d better believe it.’

CHAPTER FOUR

REMY WAS ENJOYING every minute of his ‘marriage’ so far. It was so amusing to press all of Angelique’s hot buttons. He knew exactly what to say and how to say it—even the way to look at her to get a rise out of her. The reason he knew was because deep down he felt exactly the same.

Marriage was a trap.

It was stultifying. Restraining. A freedom-taking institution that worked better for some than for others.

And he was one of the others.

He didn’t like answering to anyone. He had spent too much of his life living under the shadow of his brothers and his grandfather. He wanted to make his own way, to be his own person. To be known as something more than a Caffarelli brother or grandson.

He didn’t want to be someone’s husband.

And as for being someone’s father... Well, he was leaving that to his two older brothers, who seemed pretty keen on the idea of procreating.

Remy was not interested in babies with scrunched-up faces and dirty nappies; sleepless nights, running noses, temper tantrums. Not for him. No way.

He was interested in having a good time. Playing the field. Working the turf. Sowing his oats—the wild variety, that was.

And at times his life could get pretty wild.

He loved the element of risk in what he did—scoping out failing businesses, taking chances, rolling the dice. Chasing success, running it down, holding it in his hands and relishing the victory of yet another deal signed and delivered.

He was a gambler at heart, but not an irresponsible one. He knew where to draw the line, how to measure the stakes and to raise or lower them when he needed to.

And he was a firm believer in the golden rule of gambling: he only ever lost what he could afford to lose.

Besides, he’d already suffered the worst loss of all. Losing his parents so suddenly had been shattering. He still remembered the crushing sense of loss when Rafe had told him about their parents’ accident: the panic; the fear; the terror. It had made Remy feel that life was little more than a roll of a dice. Fate was a cruel mistress. Your life could be perfect and full one day, and terrifyingly empty the next.

Remy looked down at Angelique who was trying to disguise her fury at the little ‘proof of virginity’ story he’d spun her. He wondered how long he could spin it out. She looked so infuriated he thought she was going to explode. She probably had no idea how gorgeous she looked when she was spitting at him like a wild cat. He wouldn’t mind having those sharp little claws digging into his back as he rocked them both to paradise.

Are you out of your mind?

If you sleep with her you won’t be able to annul the marriage as soon as you get home.

Right. They would have to share a room—there would be no avoiding that—but he could always sleep on the sofa.

There had better be a sofa or you’re toast.

‘Right.’

Angelique looked up at him and Remy realised he’d spoken aloud. ‘Pardon?’ she said.

‘How’s your headache?’

She looked at him blankly for a moment. ‘My...? Oh yes; terrible. Absolutely excruciating.’ She put a hand to her temple again. ‘I’m getting blurred vision and I think I’m seeing an aura.’

‘We’d better get you to bed, then.’

The words dropped into the silence, suspended there, echoing with erotic undercurrents that were impossible to ignore.

‘To sleep,’ Remy said. ‘Just in case you were getting the wrong idea.’ Like his body had. It was already hard. Getting harder. Deep breath.

She angled her head at him suspiciously. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re playing with me?’

He wanted to play with her all right. His body said yes but his mind kept saying no, or at least it was saying no so far. But how long would he be able to keep his hands off her? Theoretically she was the last woman in the world he wanted anything to do with. She was too high-maintenance. Too wild.

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