Virgin Princess's Marriage Debt / Demanding His Desert Queen. Annie West

      Theo felt the thrill of satisfaction as he watched her crystal-blue eyes storm like a Mediterranean downpour. He’d never failed to find enjoyment in teasing her. But seeing her feathers ruffled, seeing her annoyed and angry, held a bittersweet taste this evening.

      Good. He wanted her angry. He wanted her annoyed. He wanted her to feel every single thread of emotion that had wrapped around his heart the moment he’d realised just how artfully she’d played and betrayed him. Because it wasn’t just him that her machinations had affected. That his mother had been caught up in the fallout was untenable. So when Sofia failed to issue the apology he knew he deserved, she had sealed her fate. The photographer he had hired had done well and been paid well for his services too. Securing front-page headlines throughout the world had been exactly what Theo had wanted, knowing that it would back her into a corner. Knowing that no other royal would want to go near her after being associated with his debauched reputation. He had ignored her for weeks, knowing that it would only infuriate her more. Until yesterday, when he had begun to leave little breadcrumbs on social media of where she might be able to find him. He wanted her on his turf, he wanted her on the back foot, needed her to be. This was only the second step towards his utter and complete revenge. She would know the sting of humiliation, she would know the deep slice of hurt and betrayal—feelings that were so familiar to him it was as if he had been born with them—and she would know, ultimately, that she had brought it on herself.

      His gaze ate up the image before him. She was wearing clothes he’d never seen her in, certainly nothing that would ever grace the style magazines she was often lauded in. The tight grey denim riding low on her hips made his mouth water, and the silky white top tucked into them was nowhere near indecent, but as it moulded to her perfect breasts, topped by thin straps, he couldn’t imagine that she was wearing a bra. He would have seen the evidence of it. The low heel of the suede nude-coloured heels gave her overall appearance a conservative contrast to the barely dressed women at the club, teetering on almost death-defying stilettos.

      He had imagined her monstrous over the years, every heartache added to the list of crimes she had perpetrated against him and his mother. He had imagined her begging and pleading for forgiveness, but in reality he could not deny the effect she had on him and cursed his body’s weakness for her. Even now, he had to lean forward to hide the evidence of his arousal, his desire for her. The one thing that had never gone away.

      Her pupils dilated at his slow perusal, and the realisation that she too was as beholden to their mutual attraction was the only balm to his ego.

      ‘Theo—’

      ‘Princess Sofia de Loria of Iondorra…’

      This time she scowled. More like the youthful woman he had once known, and it struck him in his chest. He slowly exhaled the shock, but took great pleasure as those about them started to produce their smartphones and snap pictures of the two of them—some not even bothering to be discreet. He would not be her dirty little secret. Not this time. This time, he would make it impossible for her to walk away from him.

      ‘You must issue a denial,’ she said finally, as she tried to ignore the flashes punctuating the beginning of their exchange.

      ‘A denial of what, Your Highness? That we kissed? I believe that is quite undeniable at this point.’

      ‘That we are in a relationship,’ she hissed beneath her breath. ‘I can’t have the world thinking that…’

      ‘Thinking that you are involved with an illegitimate Greek commoner?’

      ‘I was going to say Greek millionaire playboy.’

      ‘Please,’ he scoffed. ‘It’s billionaire playboy to you.’

      She artfully raised an eyebrow.

      ‘You can look at my financials if you doubt it,’ he replied, unable to keep the heady mixture of pride and arrogance from his voice. Everything he’d achieved, every grape, bottle, vineyard and investment, had been despite her machinations and through his own hard work. She could hardly claim the same.

      ‘I’m not here to debate what names the press call you, I’m here to get you to put a stop to the ones they’re calling me.’

      He held back the smile that his lips itched to tease into. Instead, shaking his head and offering her a simple shoulder shrug, he said, ‘Óchi. No. I don’t think so.’

      ‘Why not?’ she demanded incredulously.

      ‘It doesn’t suit my purposes to do so.’

      ‘What do you want, Theo?’ Suspicion darkened her eyes to a midnight-blue. A colour he remembered from his past, and he thrust the thought aside.

      ‘I want,’ he said, unfurling his large frame from the sofa beneath him, closing the distance between them in order to see the moment she realised that she was helpless, that she had no other choice… ‘you to learn the consequences of your actions. I want you to learn that we mere mortals will not be as easily discarded as you seem to think.’

      I want you to learn that you cannot destroy me and everything I hold dear and just walk away, he concluded silently.

      ‘I want you to pay for the way you set me up—’

      ‘Theo—’

      He didn’t even register her interruption as the wave of indignation and fury pounded in his veins, competing with the heavy base of the club’s music.

      ‘I want what you once promised me, what you once begged me for. I want you to make a truth from your lies. I want you to wear my ring.’

      His eyes narrowed as Sofia failed to move a muscle, blink even. This mask that she wore, this impossibly regal poise, was different to the young woman he remembered. He had seen her desire to throw a glass of champagne over him earlier, a fit of female pique. But this? No, this was unacceptable. He didn’t want poised. He wanted furious. He wanted her to feel what he felt.

      ‘In fact,’ he pressed on, now standing, towering above her, cocking his head to one side in a way that showed only disrespect, ‘I don’t just want you to agree. You see, your name is now entwined with mine. No one of royal pedigree would attach themselves to you in marriage, no matter how desperate they are. No one would want my seconds, my cast-offs. No one would ever choose you again. It doesn’t matter how long you wait. Every time I cause a scandal—and trust me, agápi mou, I am more than willing to engage in as many I can find—every time I’m seen out with my next conquest, your name will be dragged down with me. Compared to whatever woman graces my bed, the speculation as to whether your poor, wounded little princess heart is breaking over my latest indiscretion will be on every single front page around the world.

      ‘You should be happy, Sofia. You are now tied to me as securely—if not more so—than you used to pretend you wanted to be. So no, I don’t want you to simply agree to be my wife. I want you to beg.’

      Just like the way his mother had begged her employer to reconsider. Like