“Friends of yours?” Mila commented, nodding in the direction of his shadow team.
He made a sound that was something between a snort and a laugh. “Something like that,” he acknowledged. “Do they bother you? I can ask them to leave.”
“Oh, no, don’t worry. They’re fine.”
She settled in her chair and looked at the tray Prince Thierry placed on the table, noticing he’d also ordered a small bowl of ice. She watched in bemusement as he took a pristine white monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped some of the ice inside it.
“Give me your hand,” he commanded.
“Really, it’s not that sore,” Mila protested.
“Your hand?” he repeated, pinning her with that steely gaze and Mila found herself doing as he’d bidden.
He cradled her hand in his while gently applying the makeshift ice pack. Mila tried to ignore the race of her pulse as she watched him in action. Tried and failed.
“I apologize again for my clumsiness,” he continued. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“Seriously, it’s okay,” she answered with a smile.
“Let me be the judge of that,” he said firmly, smiling to take the edge off his words.
Clearly he was a man used to being in command. The idea sent another thrill of excitement coursing through Mila’s veins. Would he take command in all things? She pressed her thighs together on a wave of need that startled her with its intensity.
He looked up. “I’m Hawk, and you are?”
“A-Angel,” Mila answered, defaulting to the diminutive of the name she was known by here in the United States. If he could use a moniker, then why shouldn’t she also? Why shouldn’t they just be two strangers meeting on the street just like anybody else?
“Are you in New York on business?” she asked, even though she knew full well why he was here.
“Yes, but I return home in the morning,” he replied.
She was surprised. The summit was scheduled to last for four days and only started tomorrow. He had just arrived here yesterday and now he was already returning to Sylvain? She wanted to ask why but knew she couldn’t. Not when he was supposed to simply be a stranger she’d just met on the street.
He lifted the makeshift ice pack from her hand and gave a small nod of satisfaction. “That’s looking better.”
“Thank you.”
The prince let go of her hand and Mila felt an irrational sense of loss. His touch had been thrilling and without it she felt as though she’d been cast adrift.
“And you?” he asked.
Mila looked up and stared at him. “Me, what?”
“Are you in New York on business or do you live here?”
The skin around his eyes crinkled again. He was laughing at her, she was sure of it, but not in an unkind way. For a moment she was struck by the awful and overwhelming sense of ineptitude that had marked her first meeting with the prince. She recalled how embarrassed she’d felt back then. How she’d found herself so unworthy of this incredibly striking, self-assured man.
She wasn’t that girl anymore, Mila told herself firmly. And tonight, incognito, she could be anyone she wanted to be. Even someone who could charm a man like Prince Thierry of Sylvain. The thought empowered her and bolstered her courage. She could do this.
“Oh, sorry,” she laughed, injecting a note of lightheartedness to her voice. “You lost me there for a moment.”
“But I have you now,” he countered.
Warmth flooded her as his words sank in.
“Yes,” she said softly. “You do.”
The air thickened between them—conversation forgotten for the moment as they stared into one another’s eyes.
Thierry found himself willingly drawn into her gaze. Her brows were perfect dark arches, framing unusual amber eyes fringed by thick dark lashes. Their coloring seemed at odds with her long blond hair, but she was no less beautiful for it. If anything, it made her even more striking. Her cheekbones were high and gently sculpted, her nose short and straight. But it was her lips to which his eyes were most often drawn. They were full and lush and as she parted them on an indrawn breath he felt a deeply responsive punch to his gut. Arousal teased at his groin. It was as if he was in a spell of some kind. A spell from which he had no desire to break free.
It was only as someone walked past their table, bumping it and spilling some of her coffee, that the enchantment between them was broken.
Angel laughed and sopped up the mess with a paper napkin. “Seems I’m destined not to finish my coffee this evening. And in answer to your question, no, I live in Boston. I’m only visiting the city.”
“I didn’t think your accent was from around here,” Thierry commented.
With elegant fingers, she balled the napkin and picked up her cup to take a sip of what was left of her drink. He found himself captivated by her every movement. Enthralled by the flick of her tongue across her lip to taste a remnant of the topping of chocolate and milk foam that lingered there. Thierry swallowed against the sudden obstruction in his throat. It was as if his heart had lodged there, hammering wildly.
He shouldn’t be here with this woman. He was engaged to another—someone he barely knew, even though he would be married to her by the end of the month. And yet, not in all his years of bachelorhood had he felt a compulsion to be with someone as he did with the enchanting female sitting opposite him. It was almost as if he knew her already, or felt as if he should. Whatever the sensation was that he felt, he wanted more of it. Hell, he wanted more of her.
Angel put her cup back down. “Actually, I’m in New York to attend a lecture on sustainability initiatives.”
Thierry felt his interest in her sharpen. “You are? I was scheduled to attend that lecture tomorrow myself.”
“And you can’t delay your return home?”
The dark pull of reality crept through him and with it the reminder of what tomorrow would entail. Eight and a half hours by air to Sylvain’s main airport, then another twenty minutes in his private helicopter to the palace. All of which to be followed by meetings with his household and the heads of government. His time wouldn’t be his own until after his father was buried in the family vault near the palace. Maybe not even then.
“Hawk?” Angel prompted him.
He snapped out of his train of thought and gave her his full attention. “No, I must return home. An urgent matter. But enough of that. Tell me, what takes a beautiful young woman like yourself to a dusty old lecture hall?”
She looked affronted by his question. “That’s
