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The Royal Collection. Rebecca WintersЧитать онлайн книгу.

The Royal Collection - Rebecca Winters


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am,’ she promised, winding her arms around his neck. ‘I am.

      They kissed, almost tentatively at first as if they could hardly believe that they were really there, touching at last. It felt so good to be kissing Corran again, to be holding him tight. Lotty pressed against his lean, hard body and would have wept again at the pleasure and the piercing relief of it if she had had the breath to spare, but the sweetness of the kiss was spinning her round and round until she was dizzy and dazed with happiness.

      ‘Are you sure?’ she mumbled between kisses as they broke for breath. ‘I don’t want to get married just because it’s the right thing to do.’

      Corran was backing her over to the sofa, easing her down onto the cushions without once taking his warm lips from her throat. ‘It’s up to you,’ he said as he kissed his way along her jaw. ‘If you’re determined to ruin your reputation as the perfect princess, we’ll live in sin and you can thumb your nose at the press. As long as we’re together, I don’t mind.’

      He rested his hand on her stomach and lifted his head to smile down at her. ‘But I think we might as well get married, don’t you? I’ll make sure our children know that they have a wild and wicked princess for a mother and you can pretend to be unconventional!’

      Lotty laughed, but made a face. ‘I think I’ve done enough pretending,’ she said. ‘Have you forgiven me yet?’

      ‘I will if you’ll come back to Loch Mhoraigh with me.’

      ‘Oh, I’d love to do that,’ sighed Lotty.

      Corran sat up, pulling her with him. ‘Why do I get a feeling there’s a but coming up? Do you need to stay in Montluce?’

      ‘No. From tomorrow, Caro will be Montluce’s princess, and I can step back. I wasn’t thinking about my duties here,’ Lotty told him. Drawing a deep breath, she tried to sit back, but Corran kept both arms firmly around her. ‘Montluce isn’t the problem; I am,’ she said. ‘The truth is that I’m not the right kind of wife for you, Corran. You do need someone useful, and I’m not.’

      ‘I disagree,’ said Corran, smoothing her hair back from her face. ‘You may not be the best cook in the world, but you’ve got very useful social skills. If it wasn’t for you dragging me to that ceilidh and charming everyone there, I would still be cut off from the village. As it is, I’ve been inundated with casseroles and cakes from Betty McPherson and everyone else in the village who feels sorry for me for being stupid enough to let you go. And you impressed Dick Rowland enough for him to invest in the estate. That’s much more useful than being able to drive a tractor or help with the lambing.’

      Lotty sat up a little straighter. ‘I suppose that’s true. And we know I can clean and paint.’

      ‘No more hard labour for you until after the baby is born,’ he said firmly. ‘You can just concentrate on making me happy. That’s where you’re really useful.’

      ‘Oh, well, if I must,’ she said, smiling, and winding her arms around his neck as he kissed her again.

      Some time later, she heaved a blissful sigh and rested her head against Corran’s shoulder. ‘I’m Caro’s bridesmaid, so we’ll have to stay until after the wedding tomorrow, but then we can go home. I can’t wait!’ Smiling, she pulled off her tiara and let it dangle from her fingers. ‘I won’t be a princess any more.’

      ‘You’ll always be a princess,’ said Corran, taking the tiara and putting it back on her head. ‘But you’ll always be Lotty too, and you’ll be a wife, and you’ll be a mother. You’ll be yourself.’

      ‘No more pretending,’ she realised.

      ‘No more pretence,’ he agreed. ‘For either of us. We’ll be true to ourselves and true to each other, and we’ll love each other and we’ll be together. What more do we need?’

      Twining her fingers with his, Lotty leant in for another long, sweet kiss and thought about going home with him. She thought about the big grey house waiting for her by the water, about the hills and the cool, clean air.

      And she thought about Corran, about the man he was and the life they would share, and the child they would love.

      ‘Nothing,’ she said.

      * * * * *

       Royal Sins

       Bound to the Warrior King

       Maisey Yates

       Protecting the Desert Heir

       Caitlin Crews

       Pursued by the Desert Prince

       Dani Collins

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

       Bound to the Warrior King

      Maisey Yates

      Elyse and Elizabeth, I blame you for this book…

      I mean, I thank you for this book. It was as fun

      as I thought it would be.

       CHAPTER ONE

      SHE WAS FRAIL. And pale. Her blond hair pulled back into a tight and elegant bun, the long sleeves of her dress and the hem that brushed the floor were likely an attempt at sparing her European skin from the full brunt of the Taharan sun.

      It would not do. A few moments out in the environment he’d spent his past decade in and she would perish.

      Nothing more than a white lily drying on the sand until she returned back to the dust, sent away on the next dry, hot breeze.

      Whatever advisor had imagined she would make a suitable wife for the Sheikh of Tahar was clearly yet another man he needed to have removed from his position.

      When it came to his staff, Tarek’s needs were not Malik’s. As was becoming clearer and clearer every day.

      A political alliance. That was what this potential marriage had been called. As Tarek knew nothing of politics he’d been more than willing to investigate the possibilities of the union.

      But no. Seeing her now... It would not stand.

      “Take her away from my sight,” Tarek said.

      She looked up, her expression smooth yet shot through with steel. “No.”

      He arched a brow. “No?”

      “I cannot leave here.”

      “Certainly you can. The same way you came in.” It was he who could not leave. He who could not go back and seek the solace of the desert.

      He, who had been kept in isolation for most of his life, who now had to find a way to rule a population of millions.

      She tilted her chin upward and he could see her regal bearing, the aristocratic lines of her profile. And he realized he had not bothered to hold on to her name.

      He was certain he had been told when, two weeks previously, he’d been informed a princess from a European kingdom would be coming to offer herself in marriage. And yet, his brain had sifted through and retained some things, but not others.

      Her name was not essential, and therefore it had been dropped.

      “You


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