‘Not a word.’
Alexa didn’t know whether to laugh or frown at his candour. ‘That wasn’t very nice. I think you really scared poor Lord Stanton.’
‘Only because it’s happened to poor Lord Stanton before.’
‘It has?’ She blinked at him. ‘How do you know that? Is he a friend of yours?’
‘I know everything. But no, he isn’t a friend. Not even close.’
‘He’s not going to be happy when he finds out you lied.’
‘Probably not.’ The Prince raised an eyebrow as if to say he couldn’t care less, his gaze skimming her face. ‘But first things first. That soft accent I can hear in your voice isn’t French, is it?’
‘No.’
‘Good.’ Before she could think too much about his question he manoeuvred her closer, distracting her. ‘Now I can just enjoy how good you feel in my arms.’
Incredibly aware of the warm male chest mere inches from hers, Alexa’s breath caught. One of his hard thighs was pressed ever so slightly between her legs, keeping her slightly off balance, so that she had to grip onto his hand to stay upright. Aware that she’d never felt such a powerful response to anyone like this before, she automatically drew back, her reaction causing a slow masculine grin to curve his lips. ‘Too fast for you?’
‘I...’ Completely unprepared to be meeting him like this, let alone be plastered up against his hard body, Alexa frowned. ‘Yes. I don’t like being crowded.’
Truth be told, she wasn’t used to being touched like this. Her father had never been overly tactile and, as her mother had died giving birth to her, she’d been raised by a procession of nannies, each one leaving before she or Sol could become
attached to them. It had been her father’s way of training any neediness out of them, his methods intended to instil in them both a sense of objectivity and distance befitting a monarch of their realm.
She still remembered the day her beloved Mrs Halstead had left. At five, Alexa had cried herself into a stupor, thus proving her father’s point. After a while she had stopped crying when people left but, given the mistake she’d made with Stefano, the lesson in objectivity had taken much longer to master. And sometimes she worried that she still hadn’t got it. Especially now, when she was struggling to remain objective in this man’s arms.
‘By all means I can do slow,’ he said with a grin, his mesmerising eyes flicking over her with sensual intent.
Even though she had dressed to attract attention she was so unused to men flirting with her it took Alexa a moment to assimilate his meaning. When she did, heat curved up the side of her neck. She hadn’t fully worked out what she was going to say to him when they finally met so she found herself at a loss for words. It was only her love for her country, and a desire to placate her father, that had her still considering going ahead with her plan.
Because ordinarily she wouldn’t go near a man like the Prince. And not just because of his bad boy reputation but because he was too big and too male—his level of testosterone swamping her and making her way too aware of him. It was like being confronted by an enormous, sated wolf; even though you knew it was well fed you still couldn’t relax in its presence for fear that it might pounce just for the fun of it.
The orchestra music changed tempo and she realised that the Prince danced very well, his movements fluid and graceful as he moved her in time with the beat. Wondering how to gain control of the situation and suggest a place for them to sit down and talk, she was completely unprepared for his enticing all-male scent to swamp her as he leaned in closer.
‘You’re exceptionally beautiful,’ he murmured, bringing her left hand up to his lips in one smooth move, smiling against her fingertips. ‘And unmarried. Two of my favourite attributes in a woman.’
His earlier question about her being French came back to her and she pulled back to stare up at him.
Did he not know who she was?
She’d received so many sympathetic glances during the night from those who knew her to be the jilted Princess of Berenia that her teeth had wanted to grind together.
For him not to recognise her... It didn’t seem possible but...perhaps it was. After all, he’d been off doing his own thing for a decade now, where her life had remained incredibly small by comparison. A bolt of inspiration shot through her. If he didn’t know who she was it would give her a chance to find out how amenable he would be to her plan without having to embarrass herself by asking outright.
His eyes watched her, confident and direct. Sapphire blue surrounded by inky black lashes, they drew her in with the promise of delights she had probably never even dreamed of, drew her in as if he could read every one of her secret wishes and desires and had the power to answer them all. The notion was both terrifying and utterly irresistible.
The prince’s heavy-lidded gaze held an amused glint as if he knew exactly how he was affecting her. Only she didn’t plan to become one of his worshippers so it was best to set the scene early.
‘Are you always this direct?’ she asked, meeting fire with fire.
‘I’m not one to waste time on trivialities.’ His fingers brushed the inside of her wrist, sending an unexpected trail of goosebumps along her arm. She fought off another tremor as she thought about what those fingers would feel like stroking other, more intimate, parts of her body. ‘State what you want and go after it has always been my motto.’
She didn’t doubt it.
But ever since her brother had died her life had been mapped out for her and stripped of any real choice so she rarely, if ever, stated what she wanted, or went after it.
He swung her in a tight circle, the hand at the base of her spine covering the small of her back. ‘It hasn’t failed me yet.’ The smile he gave her was one hundred per cent lupine in nature. ‘I hope it’s not about to.’