‘It is my fault you fell,’ he said stiffly, his hands at his side, wanting to help her yet feeling oddly impotent.
‘You feel responsible? Rest easy, I won’t sue you.’ Her lips compressed. ‘It’s no more damaged than it already was.’
‘It still needs dressing.’ Blood was already oozing from the small wound. ‘You have a first-aid kit?’
‘Of course.’ She didn’t move.
He sighed at her reluctance. ‘I need to see it. Or I’ll revoke your operating licence.’
She gritted her teeth and limped behind her desk. His irritation smouldered. She really didn’t want him to help. Was that because he’d really offended her or because he’d struck too close to the mark?
She had been trying to get a rise out of him, but she hadn’t meant the vampish ‘on her knees’ offer—not when she’d jumped to get away from him.
She clutched the small container but he held out his hand. Sending him a death look, she passed it to him. Antonio bit back the smile of satisfaction and opened the lid.
‘Lean on the desk,’ he told her.
‘This isn’t necessary.’
He wasn’t used to repeating instructions. He glanced up and her stormy expression clashed with his. ‘Lean on the desk.’
Slowly, stiffly, she rested her body back.
‘Thank you,’ he said, ultra-politely.
He knelt at her feet, inwardly grimacing at the irony given her provocative remark only moments ago.
He knew an injury had ended her professional career. In the last decade Antonio had attended the ballet only out of duty but he could appreciate the strength and commitment it would have taken Bella to reach the level she had.
Her body was still incredibly athletic. This close he could smell her light, floral scent. It made him think of summer sun, not endless nights in a darkened dance club. In his mind’s eye he saw her on the floor, bumping and grinding up close to her patrons. He gritted his teeth. Not jealous. And not aroused.
He was not aroused by her.
He wasn’t like all the other red-blooded men in the world. He didn’t have time to be. He didn’t have the right. But just at this moment, he was every inch a mere man.
‘Do you dance your way through all your tasks?’ he asked, trying to distract himself from her sweet scent and delicate skin. He dabbed the blood and prepped a plaster as quickly as he could, not touching any part of her beyond necessary.
‘Is that a serious question?’ she mumbled.
‘Yes.’ Satisfied with how the plaster neatly covered the gash, he glanced up to read her expression. She was sitting unnaturally still—apparently holding her breath.
She met his gaze with those deep green eyes that were now almost liquid. ‘You want to know if I dance while brushing my teeth?’
He inwardly smiled at the image. ‘I bet you brush in time to the music playing in your head.’
Her eyes widened and her smile broke free—her full mouth softened and her eyes sparkled. She looked fresh and beautiful and bright.
Heat flared from flicker to flame, urging him to touch those lush curving lips—
He jerked to his feet and stepped away before he did something colossally stupid.
‘Have you been out drinking?’
He turned at the bitterness in her tone and saw her smile had vanished.
‘I don’t drink,’ he said simply.
‘No vices at all?’ she mocked. ‘No sex, right?’
That speculation was correct. It had been years since he’d had a lover. He was only about duty: to serve his country and to protect his people. All of them—dead and alive. That was his penance.
‘And no drinking,’ she added. ‘I guess that just leaves drugs.’
‘None of those either.’
‘Fast cars?’
He shook his head. ‘The Crown Prince cannot be injured or killed in a car accident. That can’t happen in San Felipe again.’ His parents’ tragedy had cut the nation too deeply.
‘So you’re reduced to watching.’ Storms gathered in her eyes.
‘If you wanted privacy you would have kept your curtains closed,’ he answered abruptly. ‘But you didn’t, because you like to be watched. You’ve made a career out of it.’