The fire flashing in Aléx’s eyes turned from fury to pain. Sharp pain that seemed to stab at something vital inside him, robbing him of breath. Fear for him, not of him, pushed her forward, making her grip his forearm.
“Aléx, are you okay?”
He didn’t respond; he simply stared at his arm where they were joined as if it was some mystical puzzle he was trying to complete or unlock.
What the hell was going on? He was a king, for goodness’ sake. If she’d broken him with this little twin swap stunt, Reigna was going to kill her. Having this king drop dead of shock because of something she did would haunt Regina for the rest of her life. She had to fix this.
“Aléx, please,” she begged frantically. “What is it? What can I do?”
A dark focus crystalized in his eyes as he shifted his arm until he shook her hand free and clasped her wrist in his painful grip.
He pulled her so close that her body was flush against his. She could feel the hard drum of his heart pounding through his chest. She wanted to flatten her hand against it, try to soothe him until she could see reason slip into his expression again. Buthe kept her to him, keeping her wrist in his unyielding grip so she could do nothing but stand there looking up into his fiery blue gaze.
It should’ve frightened her. It should’ve had every one of her danger bells going off in her head. But fear wasn’t what she was feeling. No, deep in the pit of her belly, desire flickered from a small spark to a full-on inferno. There was no fear. There was only need. The same need that had found her in his bed, beneath him, begging for every filthy thing he’d done for her, to her. She melted against him, hanging on to every sliver of emotion she saw play across his face.
Beneath the obvious anger, there was that same need she felt burning through her system. The flush running just beneath his skin was the same as the night he’d taken her to unimaginable heights in his bed. Yes, she was here for another round of that, even if it was because he was so furious with her that devouring her was the only way he could temper his anger.
Too needy to be patient, she licked her dry lips and opened her mouth to speak.
“What can I do, Aléx?”
His lips turned up at the corners, giving his classically handsome features a sinister twist.
“You can start by making up for the little trick you played on me by marrying me and giving me the child you owe me.”
Well damn. Of all the things she’d expected—no—wanted to hear from him, it sure as hell wasn’t that.
Chapter Five
“Say what now?”
He watched confusion clear out the lust he’d previously seen in her eyes.
She’d wanted him. He was certain of it, because the same ache that had her licking her full lips had his heart racing inside his chest. But then the ache that had threatened to swallow him whole four months ago tried to crawl its way out of the dank grave he’d buried it in. Instead of leaning into need, he’d lashed out by saying the most unhinged thing he could think of.
But now that he’d said it, he wouldn’t take it back.
“You owe me a child, and in order for me to have a child, I must be married due to legitimacy laws concerning the line of succession. That means you’re going to marry me and give me what I’m owed.”
“What you’re owed? You seriously think I owe you a baby because you jumped to conclusions about my sister’s pregnancy?”
She was right. He had jumped to conclusions. That didn’t matter as far as he was concerned. He would not take fault in this. Not one single iota of it.
“The bill’s come due for the little game you and your sister played. I’ve come to collect, and you have to give me what I’m owed.”
As the last syllable of his sentence left his mouth, her left brow rose as she pointed her forefinger at her chest.
“I don’t have to do anything but stay Black and die.”
Her words short-circuited his brain, disrupting the anger and lust that had clouded his senses since she’d walked into his hotel room announcing that he’d slept with the wrong twin.
He tilted his head, taking her in. Her round hip was jutted out to one side, and her face, usually bright with sass and snark, was pulled into tight lines. All the softness her curves held was now replaced with stern rigidness that let him know Regina Devereaux was no pushover.
Everything in her stance said she was going to fight him on this. That was okay. He was a king. He was used to waging war to get what he wanted. Regina Devereaux would fall prey to his will the way everyone else did.
On its face, his request was obviously ludicrous. Even he wasn’t so far gone in this moment that he couldn’t see that. Unfortunately, the empty hole in his heart that had been sitting there for five years had shrunk enough for him to notice when there was a chance that he was going to become a father. God help him, after feeling hope for the first time in too many years, he couldn’t simply walk away from it just because this was all some cruel twist of fate.
He was a king. He made his own fate. He would be a father again. Making that happen depended on his ability to convince this woman he wasn’t as unbalanced as he sounded.
