When Jag had first informed her that she would have to walk two steps behind him at all times she’d been offended. Now she wondered if that wasn’t a blessing. It might mean that she went unnoticed the whole night!
She twisted the egg-sized diamond on her finger, eyeing the endless row of steps they needed to descend with mounting dread. She just hoped she didn’t trip over the beautiful gown she’d been squeezed into. It was the most delicate, the most exquisite piece of clothing she had ever worn and it made her feel like a fairy princess.
Queen, she amended with a grimace. Had Tarik really needed to introduce her as the future Queen? Couldn’t he have just said her name? Or, better yet, nothing at all?
She noticed Jag shift in front of her
and her heartbeat quickened. Here we go, she thought, preparing to follow him down the staircase. Only that didn’t happen. As if sensing her unease, he turned towards her, his hand outstretched.
Regan glanced up to find sapphire-blue eyes trained on her with an intensity that made her burn. And just like that she was back in his arms with his mouth open over hers. She moistened her lips and saw his eyes darken in response. His chest rose and fell as he took a couple of deep breaths and she wondered if he wasn’t thinking about the same thing. Then he gestured for her to approach him.
She took a small step, then another. ‘What?’ she whispered self-consciously. ‘Why have we stopped?’
‘The thing is...’ A wry grin curled one side of his mouth and he looked so impossibly handsome in that moment she could have stared at him forever. ‘The thing is, I’ve always hated protocol.’ He drew her to his side and clasped her hand.
A low murmur rippled through the crowd as he raised her hand to his lips, a sexy smile lighting his eyes. It was a chivalrous gesture. A gesture meant to impress, and it did, melting Regan’s heart right along with every other woman’s in the ballroom.
Do not get caught up in all this, she warned herself, instantly suppressing the shiver of emotion that welled up inside her. This was not a fairy-tale situation. She was not Cinderella, and Jag was not going to be the Prince—or King—who promised to adore her for ever. Real life didn’t work out that way. Real life was often a painful slog.
She gave him a faltering smile, wondering why he was still stalling. ‘It’s too late to change your mind now,’ she whispered, throwing his earlier words back at him.
His smile widened. ‘I have no intention of changing my mind, my little America.’
Regan told herself not to get lost in that smile. Or the nickname that sounded too much like an endearment. He had walked away from their kiss last night without a backward glance. The only interest he had in her was with regard to thwarting diplomatic crises and getting his sister back. That settled in her mind, she took a deep breath and concentrated on not tripping.
Unbelievably the night went much faster than Regan had expected. The people she met were mostly lovely and interesting, and Jag never let her very far out of his sight, instinctively sensing when she was feeling out of her depth and coming to her side.
‘He’s divine,’ more than one woman had said with unabashed envy throughout the night, giggling like schoolgirls when Jag paid them personal attention. She watched with fascination at how he skilfully worked the room and put the people around him at ease. It was such a contrast to the way they had met, and yet she saw both elements of him in the superbly tailored tuxedo that did wicked things to his body. He was at once incredibly sophisticated and also inherently dangerous. Not physically. At least not to her. No, King Jaeger’s danger was in the masculine charisma he exuded with unassailable ease. It made everyone in the room want to be near him. Especially her.
Realising that the wife of a Spanish diplomat had just spoken to her, Regan smiled apologetically. She cast a sideways glance at Jaeger, watching the way he easily commanded the conversation in the small group of delegates clustered around him. A stunning woman at his side leaned close to him and whispered something in his ear, her hand placing something into his trouser pocket so effortlessly Regan nearly missed it.
‘You are very lucky,’ the woman, Esmeralda, said again, forcing Regan to refocus.
‘Lucky?’ Regan murmured, wondering what they were talking about now.
‘Yes. He is a king amongst kings.’ She gave Regan a knowing smile. ‘Although I’m not sure I could handle all that latent sexuality, and I’m Latin.’
Regan’s face flamed as she recalled the sexual skill with which he’d kissed her, the way his hands had moulded her to him and stroked her breasts.
‘Ooh-la-la...’ Esmeralda chortled. ‘I can see that you can.’
‘Can what?’ Jag asked smoothly, placing his arm around Regan’s waist.
‘Just girl talk, Your Majesty,’ the older woman said, raking her eyes over his torso as if she wished it were her blood-red fingernails instead.
But Regan was embarrassed, knowing for a fact that the woman’s assumptions were completely wrong. She didn’t have the experience, or the expertise, to handle someone of Jaeger’s sexual nature and she never would.
Excusing them both, Jag led her towards their table.
‘What’s in your pocket?’ Regan asked, leaning close to him so no one could overhear.
He stopped and looked at her, stepping to the side to avoid anyone else following in their path. His eyes glinted with amusement at her. ‘I suspect it’s a phone number. I haven’t looked.’
Regan’s mouth fell open. She wasn’t sure what astonished her the most. That he hadn’t looked or that a woman would slip a man her phone number in plain sight of anyone who happened to be paying attention.
‘But you’re engaged,’ she said on a rush. ‘At least, that woman thinks you are.’
‘She’s also married.’ His eyes twinkled as they gazed into hers.