Page 23 of Engaged to London's Wildest Billionaire

‘Come on, you’re cold. If we’re done ring shopping—’

‘Don’t you have to pay?’

‘John and I have an understanding. Let’s say farewell and take you home.’

They walked back into the shop, hand in hand.

‘Congratulations.’ John rounded the counter with his arm outstretched, vigorously shaking Lance’s hand. Then he leaned over and kissed Sara on the cheek. ‘I never thought I’d see the day.’

‘Me neither,’ Lance said. ‘But all it took was a special woman.’

He looked at her and smiled, and she wanted to believe in that. She really wanted to believe.

CHAPTER FIVE

SARASTRETCHED,BASKINGINthe cool early morning sunshine that flooded the glorious bedroom of the Duchess suite. It had been a whirlwind since arriving at Lance’s magnificent home by helicopter the previous afternoon. She’d been introduced to the small yet enthusiastic staff. George, the butler, seemed especially determined to find out everything about the workings of Morenburg Palace and her own family’s manor, her likes and dislikes, so she could feel at home here.

Then there had been a brief tour of the public areas of the house, before a personal shopper had arrived with an array of clothes that fitted the description of what she wantedperfectly.It boggled Sara’s mind, given the limited time the woman had to pull it all together. It also told her a great deal about Lance’s power and influence.

He’d arranged a quiet dinner for her in her room when she’d begun to fade from the stress of the past two days. He was more attentive as a fake fiancé than her real one had ever been. She’d never really felt like royalty, even when she had the chance of being royal. But the way she’d been treated in this house made her feel like a princess...

Dangerous, Sara.

She had to keep reminding herself. She knew where romantic delusions had led her once before and couldn’t do that again. Believe in love. Be cast aside. She shrugged off those thoughts and peered at the doorway which led to a shared en suite bathroom and walk-in wardrobe separating the Duke and Duchess’s suites. Lance had said it was a recent addition to the house, designed by his sister, who’d helped redecorate. But it wasn’t the elegant interior design she was interested in. It was the fact that mere metres away Lance had slept...

She held up her left hand in a shaft of sunlight, watching the myriad colours glitter in her engagement ring, which she’d slipped on the moment she’d woken. She hadn’t heard him overnight, collapsing into her lavish canopied bed and falling asleep the moment she’d hit the pillow. Her lips tingled and she brushed her fingers across them. Closed her eyes, imagining his coaxing mouth on hers once more. The way his arms slipped round her, holding her tight. It was okay. Her imagination couldn’t hurt her, not here. But her body didn’t seem to get the message, flushing hot, her heartbeat kicking up at the perfect memory...

Except.

She dropped her hand to her lap. Stood from the too comfortable couch in this beautiful room. She’d been beguiled by dreams before. Powerful, handsome men made false promises. Lance at least seemed a little more honest than most, but she didn’t want a permanent protector. Sara wanted to find herself, find her own way. It started today. She and Lance were going to a house an hour or so away. He’d been tasked with assessing the estate. Maybe she’d find something valuable and begin her quest for independence. That was the only thing that should excite her today.

Sara padded across the plush Axminster carpet to the walk-in wardrobe, not sure what to wear for today’s expedition. She had mostly practical items, but there were a few lovely dresses she couldn’t resist. Her clothes barely took up the allotted space, despite Lance’s best efforts. She looked over at his side of the wardrobe. Rows of suits, shirts, ties and shoes, all perfectly curated. She shouldn’t...but his domain tempted, through the doorway on the other side. She couldn’t help herself...explore a little. What harm could it do? She still had plenty of time.

She brushed her fingers along the rack of exquisite suits hung in perfect order, the fabric soft and perfect. As she moved further into his space, she shut her eyes and breathed in deeply—something spicy and masculine, like cloves, but with a hint of sweetness. She snorted. As if anything about him was sweet. She effortlessly recalled the evil gleam in his eye and the wicked curl of his lip, sending delicious shivers right through her. She explored further, unable to help herself. In many ways he was a closed book, and this might give her an insight. The bespoke fine cotton shirts, hanging perfectly ironed with sharp creases. Silk ties in jewelled colours. She briefly wondered whether he ever wore causal clothes, until she found the worn jeans and soft T-shirts. She traced her hands over the fabric that had touched his skin, unable to help herself.

The door to his room layjust there.She peeked through but it was quiet. This was about the only regularly used room of the house she hadn’t yet been shown. Her heart skipped at the illicit thrill of it all. But, for the sake of authenticity, shouldn’t she, as his fiancée, have free access to his personal space? It made perfect sense, so she boldly walked on through.

If the Duchess suite was feminine, Lance’s was undeniably masculine. There was a canopied antique cedar bed, with hangings that made it look as if a king slept there, still unmade. And she couldn’t get out of her head thathe’dslept here. The indentation on his pillow where his head had lain. The sheets, crumpled in disarray.

Had he dreamed about anything last night? Their kiss, perhaps? The warmth of that thought coursed through her. Did he sleep clothed? Naked? That vision embedded in her brain like a splinter, because she’d seen enough of his body in the press photographs to know he’d be magnificent with nothing on at all. And that thought froze her to the spot. She should leave, but she couldn’t make her feet move out of the room that embodied him so completely. All saturated, bold shades of greens and blues. Solid yet elegant furniture. Rich, soft fabrics. Decadent and sinful—a perfect reflection of the man himself.

As she stood, staring at the unmade bed where his body had lain, a voice called out from her room, coming closer.

‘Sara?’

He walked through the doorway from the walk-in wardrobe on this side. She froze, not knowing what to do, because she was in his space but wore only what she’d slept in—a cute tank and sleep shorts in a silky soft fabric. Great for comfort, but not designed to hide much. His eyes widened as they met hers, then did a slow survey of her body. A lazy smile slid across his face. Her nipples tightened traitorously.

He’d be able to see everything. All she could do was brazen it out...

‘I... I was just...’

‘Exploring?’ Lance leaned against the door jamb, preventing any kind of escape. His gaze flicked to the bed and back to her as the heat rushed to her cheeks. ‘Do you like what you see so far?’

Sure, he was talking about the house, but all she could see was him. He wore dark, perfectly tailored suit trousers and one of those bespoke shirts, in a blue and white stripe. A gleam in his eye and a sensual curl of his lip spoke of all kinds of trouble. He was perfect. She couldn’t take her eyes from him.

‘It’s a beautiful house.’ She cleared her throat, and he raised an eyebrow. She tried to get the conversation on track. ‘You must be very happy here.’

‘We barely spent any time here as children, with my father’s ambassadorial work. Sometimes it’s nice to be back, but I spend most of my life in London. Is there anything more you’d like me to show you?’

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