Page 4 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 5-8

But the something was gone again so fast, his sympathy evaporated.

Whatever issues she had with her old man’s refusal to trust her just because she was a girl weren’t his business. Being orphaned as a kid was tough, but he’d lost his mom too when he was still a teenager, and he’d survived. And prospered. Plus, it wasn’t as if Queen Isabelle had ever wanted for anything. If you were going to get orphaned, better to have it happen in the lap of luxury.

‘Okay, so you can’t control your own land without getting married,’ he said, determined to establish the facts here. ‘But if you need a husband so bad, why not just hook up with the guy he wanted you to marry...then lease the land to me?’

While the playboy prince sounded like a loser, she had to at least know the guy.

‘Because the Prince and myself are not compatible in any way,’ she said swiftly, her gaze direct now and impenetrable, but the colour on her cheeks blossomed.

‘And you thinkweare?’ he countered, ruthlessly controlling another inconvenient shot of lust.

Seriously? She might be beautiful and one hell of a challenge to a guy like him, which was weirdly hot, and, sure, the White Ridge had been his first choice by quite a wide margin to locate Lord Culture’s first European resort... But marriage was way too drastic a solution to close this deal.

Maybe European royalty didn’t have an issue with using sex to sweeten business deals but he sure as heck did.

Marriage had never been part of his game plan. He enjoyed good hard sweaty sex, and lots of it, when the chemistry and the timing were right. And companionship, up to a point, as long as it didn’t get in the way of his work commitments. But he had never believed in hitching your future to someone else’s star—thanks to all the losers he’d watched his mom hook up with over the years, starting with the bastard who had got her pregnant at seventeen then hightailed it back to his wife...

But even if Travishadbeen the marrying kind and hadn’t been deeply cynical about any relationship that required more than supplying his dates with an orgasm—or two—her proposal would still be nuts, because they’d only just met. Literally.

‘Our compatibility is completely immaterial,’ the Queen replied tightly, throwing him even more. How exactly was a marriage between them supposed to fly when they knew not one thing about each other?

‘Uh-huh,’ he said. Was she really going to make him state the obvious?

Seemed she was when she only stared back at him, clearly waiting for him to make the next move.

He took his time, checking her out—man to woman. Her eyes narrowed, and her chin lifted, her expression one of pride and no small amount of indignation. He smiled at her reaction, appreciating the way her full breasts pressed against the tailored blouse she wore as her breathing accelerated.

Tough luck, Belle baby, you started this.

He refused to relinquish eye contact, rewarded when the blush spread up her neck. He relaxed back into his seat, starting to enjoy himself—the shift in power from her back to him almost palpable.

Yeah, Her Majesty might be an accomplished diplomat, and stateswoman, used to getting her own way despite her current fix. But he’d hazard a guess she was a lot less used to propositioning guys, especially guys like him, who weren’t at her beck and call.

‘It may be immaterial to you,’ he said, eventually. ‘But it isn’t to me.’

Her blush intensified. Yup, this was definitely her first rodeo, marriage-proposals-to-American-roughnecks-wise.

She opened her mouth to reply, but he beat her to it.

‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’ve just asked me to hook up with you on a permanent basis. Which makes our compatibility important. Because no way am I gonna agree to marry someone before I know if we’re good in bed. And so far, all we’ve done is share a handshake.’

Isabelle sucked in a breath. So shocked by the forward comment, she was momentarily speechless.

She had never, in her entire life, been spoken to so disrespectfully. She forced herself to school her features and breathed through the forceful reaction. She must not respond to Travis Lord’s attempts to provoke her. Although maintaining her usual composure was not helped by the hot blush currently incinerating her face. Or the rush of blood making the indignation sink into her abdomen—and throb, disconcertingly.

She contemplated her response—and tried to find a positive in the most excruciating conversation she had ever had with a man. Or anyone for that matter.

After several pregnant seconds, she finally managed to control her outrage while attempting to view his candour with as little emotion as possible. Perhaps, his directness was...well, refreshing. At least it meant she could speak plainly, too.

While the man clearly had no respect whatsoever for her position, could she find a way to make that work in her favour? After all, what she had asked of him was the opposite of conventional... Harder to put a positive spin on, though, was the hot brick that seemed to have got wedged between her thighs when he had studied her as if he couldn’t see her position, her title, her legacy, all he could see was her. Which was not good. Because the only way to make this proposal work was for her to remain calm and dispassionate with him at all times.

She cleared her throat. ‘I think you misunderstand me, Mr Lord. I’m not suggesting a marriage in which...’ She paused, aware her blush was probably radioactive by now. ‘In which conjugal rights are involved.’

‘Conjugal?’He spat out the word on an astonished breath. But then his dark brows launched up his forehead, and he laughed. The deep, husky sound made the throbbing worse, even though his amusement was clearly aimedather. ‘Are you for real?’

‘Of course,’ she said, and he laughed again.

What exactly was so funny?

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