“Yeah. Fabulous.”
Shaking his head, he sighed. “There it is again.”
It occurred to her, then, that she hadn’t seen him smile this whole time. He’d been serious. Solid. Unshakable. Strong. She racked her brain trying to remember if he’d even smiled once last night. All she remembered were seductive glances and heated strokes that had lit her on fire and could easily do so again, if she let him. “What does last night have to do with you bringing me here?”
“You’re here because of what we did last night.”
She dug her nails into her arms, holding on tightly. “So, what, you hope it’ll happen again, so you’re locking me up to keep me close? That’s kind of pervy for a prince.”
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind it happening again. I’d be a fool or a liar to say otherwise, and I’m neither of those things.” He gave her a look that, in any other circumstance, could have melted the panties off a nun. “I’ve never forgotten you, and I’ve always regretted not writing you—”
Rage—pure rage—stabbed her in the heart, and she lost it.
Legit lost it.
“Bullshit,” she spat, poking his chest with her finger and forgetting all about her intention to remain diplomatic for the sake of her company. “You wrote me, and you left me there waiting for you, you…you…shithead.”
He frowned and just stood there, looking confused. Typical man. “What? Waiting where?”
“You—you—God.” She threw her hands up and let out a short laugh. “You’re unbelievable. You’re actually going to act like you don’t know?”
His frown deepened, but he remained silent.
She scowled at him, pushing past him. “I’m leaving. Right now. And you can’t stop me.”
Easily, he caught her arm, stopping her mid step. Even though he held her firmly, his touch was gentle. But his eyes? They spoke another story. They were on fire. “What are you so angry about? Is it because I never wrote you after New York? Because, not to point out the obvious, you didn’t write me, either.”
This guy was something else. What a jerk.
“Liar.” She glared at his hand on her arm, trying to pull free because his skin was touching hers, and her pulse was racing, and she didn’t know whether to kiss him, hit him, or kill him. Maybe all three. “Let go of me.”
He stiffened, anger making his nostrils flare, and he didn’t let go. If anything, he moved closer, his body heat taking over her breathing space mercilessly. “I am not a liar.”
“Yet you say you never wrote me, and I never wrote you?” she asked, letting out a laugh. “I don’t know what else to call it, then.”
“Nothing. Call it nothing.” He tightened his grip on her before releasing his fingers. “Or, better yet, call it the truth.”
“I wrote to you, and you wrote back.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but that didn’t happen.”
Stepping away from him and his magnetic pull, she lifted her chin, refusing to even entertain the idea he was telling the truth. Even if, against all odds, he was and he’d never written those horrible letters…he still broke a promise. And he still couldn’t be trusted. “Whatever.”
“Why would I lie about writing letters?” he said slowly, still acting lost.
“It doesn’t matter. None of this does.” She dug her nails into her palms, breathing fast. “Just let me go.”
“I can’t—”
“Yeah. So you said.” She tapped her foot. “Why not?”
“Because we had sex,” he said pragmatically. “As a prince, I have to be sure there wasn’t a child made in the process, so you have to stay here with me, until we find out for certain.”
She choked on nothing at all, coughing and gasping for air. He sighed and studied his nails, clearly unconcerned for her welfare. By the time she pulled herself together, he leaned against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other. As she rubbed her face and let out a nervous laugh, he cocked a brow. “Are you finished, then?”
“You can’t be serious about this,” she croaked, her throat aching. “We used a condom. There is no secret baby.”
“Unfortunately, I am.” He stared at her, not smirking, yet somehow still appearing to have done so. “I don’t joke often.”