Claimed By The Wealthy Magnate

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Get it together, Kaitlin.

If only this man didn’t affect her so much. Her expert eye recognised the quality of the understated light blue silk cotton shirt and suit trousers. But it wasn’t the expensive clothes—it was the raw energy they contained, the solid, muscular bulk of his body, the strength of his craggy features, the square determination of his jaw and the set of his lips.

Lips that had given her such aching pleasure she nearly shivered with the memory.

Get it together now, Kaitlin.

He gestured to the side table pushed against the wall of the room. ‘Help yourself to food.’

Kaitlin contemplated refusing, unsure whether she could physically eat, given the fact her tummy was busy tying itself up in a lanyard of knots. But this was supposedly a business breakfast, and therefore she’d do better to play along. The last thing she wanted was for the hotel staff to notice anything amiss.

Two minutes later she seated herself at the circular table, with a plate holding a croissant, a dab of butter and a small pot of strawberry jam in front of her. Somehow she had to focus—she was here to negotiate herself out of this mess. Channelling every single iota of her inner poise, she managed a cool smile. Whatever it cost her she would not show Daniel even a particle of her discomfort.

‘So, Kaitlin. You requested this meeting. Why?’

‘I need to know what you plan to do.’

For a fleeting second confusion flashed across his face, and then a small mirthless smile tipped his lips up. ‘You’re worried I’ll go public with the whole Barcelona story?’

‘Yes.’

In truth, the idea of the press getting hold of this made her quake. Her parents would... Her imagination couldn’t even begin to conjure up the Duke’s and Duchess’s reactions. But it was more than that...

‘I realise you have no obligation not to,’ she continued quietly, ‘but it wouldn’t just impact me. The scandal would affect Prince Frederick as well.’

The House of Lycander had been besmirched by more than its fair share of disgrace and rocked by tragedy, and the idea that she might add to Frederick’s troubles filled her with horror.

‘I don’t want my stupidity to discredit Frederick or make him look a fool in the eyes of the media.’

‘Because you love him?’

The question was posed as though the answer mattered and it caused her vocal chords to tighten.

‘Or because it would make your relationship and marriage to him problematical?’

Perhaps she should lie—claim that she did love Frederick, throw herself on Daniel’s mercy. Ha! Instinct informed her that that wouldn’t work, because she sensed he didn’t have any. But, more than that, she didn’t want to lie—she’d lied enough.

‘That’s none of your business. I will not discuss Prince Frederick with you. That’s not fair to him.’

‘You didn’t worry about fairness in Barcelona.’

‘I told you—I hadn’t met him then. Or at least I hadn’t started to date him.’

‘But you knew you were going to.’

Daniel’s voice was soft, but the edge could have cut a diamond. Easy to imagine him in a courtroom now.

‘All the time you were with me you knew that you would soon be dating someone else.’

The contempt in his voice made her feel exposed and she leant forward, needing him to understand even as she knew she shouldn’t care about his opinion.

‘Yes.’ There could be no denial there, but she’d be damned if she apologised either. ‘But I didn’t plan that night. I didn’t go to Barcelona to have a one-night stand.’

‘Why did you go?’

‘I had a moment of panic.’

‘No. A moment of panic is when you have a few drinks, breathe into a paper bag or eat your bodyweight in chocolate. It’s not when you assume a fake identity and sleep with a stranger.’

‘OK. So I had a spectacular moment of panic.’

‘Because of Prince Frederick? That seems extreme. No one was going to march you to the altar on the spot.’

‘I know that.’

How to explain panic to this man? A man who clearly knew who he was and what he wanted from life. To Kaitlin, panic was a mortal enemy—kept on a leash, tamed by her determination not to let it conquer her. Time had taught her the best way to achieve dominance was control—if she micromanaged every second of her life, created a secure zone, a persona that was in command, that way she won.

‘I just wanted some space to process the future...some time out. The plan was to stay in my hotel room and order room service. Instead...’ She tipped a palm up and let out a sigh.

Instead she’d deviated from the script for the first time in a decade, stepped out of her comfort zone and into disaster.

‘Instead you ended up with me. It doesn’t make sense. As far as I can tell, from the publicity that surrounds you, you are the personification of discretion. You’ve never so much as been caught tipsy, and any relationships you have had haven’t caused even a breath of scandal. As for you and Prince Frederick—you haven’t even been seen holding hands in public...’

Impossible to explain that there was no spark between her and Prince Frederick—had never been a spark with any man until Daniel. Dating Frederick was calm, correct and dutiful. In truth that had surprised her as much as it had relieved her. Prince Frederick of Lycander had once been a noted playboy—had ‘dated’, for want of a better euphemism, plenty of women, and been photographed on yachts and in night clubs. But clearly that wasn’t the way he treated a possible wife. Formal duty characterised their relationship, and that suited her fine.

‘I agree it didn’t make sense. I acted out of character and it was a mistake.’ Of enormous proportions.

The sparks between her and Daniel had set off an inferno that could affect the rest of her life.

‘So now you’ve decided to enter the gilded cage? That’s the gilded cage you were talking about in Barcelona, isn’t it?’

The words slammed into her—seemed to echo across the months.

‘The Lycander marriage.’

Kaitlin summoned as much aristocratic hauteur as was possible. ‘My marriage is my business and I know what I’m doing.’

Amazing she could say that with a straight face. No! She did know what she was doing; it was just this man, this horrible scenario, that was messing with her head.

‘There is nothing wrong with a gilded cage.’

‘Dammit. There is everything wrong with a gilded cage.’

The force in his voice made her jump, caused her heart to pound.

‘It’s a prison of the worst kind.’

Bleakness flashed across his blue eyes and for a mad second she wanted to reach out and offer comfort. Ridiculous. She had to focus on what was important here.

‘You are entitled to your opinion, but I disagree.’

His fingers drummed the snowy white linen of the tablecloth and his gaze seemed to bore into her soul. ‘That’s not what you thought nine months ago.’’

‘Yes, it is. I had a moment of insanity that night, but however mad I was I always knew what my future held.’

Daniel shook his head and she wondered why this mattered so much to him. She felt an urge to ask—a wish that this conversation didn’t have to be so antagonistic. A sudden memory of the conversations they’d shared that Barcelona night clouded her mind: the ease, the banter, the sharing of opinions. Compared with the sophisticated, carefully constructed exchange of her talk with Frederick. Enough. Bad enough that her body was on alert—heaven help her if her mind joined the party.

‘And I should never have jeopardised it with a meaningless one-night stand.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘Meaningless?’ he repeated softly.

‘Meaningless on any real level.’ It was impossible to infuse her words with more than a mocking semblance of truth—not when she knew that their night together had been little short of a miracle for her.

‘You sure about that?’

His voice deepened and Kaitlin caught her breath on the smallest of gasps. She dropped her gaze from the look in his eye. The ice-blue had darkened to cobalt and she knew what she would see in their depths—the memory of the levels, the sheer heights of the passion they had scaled. Heat crept up her cheekbones and her gaze lingered on his hands, on their strength, their capability, and an image flashed into her brain. The touch of his fingers as they’d caressed her skin...her own fingers trailing down the skin of his bare back...the ripple of muscle, the taste of...