she was still an enigma.
On one level she was easy to read. Her peal of laughter at the antics of children on the outdoor ice-skating rink. Her enthusiasm for markets filled with local handcrafts and produce. She was pleased by simple delights: watching a woodcarver create a nutcracker dragon, or a lace-maker at work, asking questions all the time.
Most women he knew would complain of the rustic enter-tainment!
It was tempting to believe her innocent of deception.
But she’d prevaricated in the car and he’d sensed there was more to her reasons for coming here. Her tension when he pushed for answers, and the way she avoided his gaze made him suspicious.
She was back in disguise, hiding behind thick-rimmed glasses and a scrunched up bun, with an anorak the wrong colour for her complexion and a pair of shapeless trousers.
Was she trying to banish any memory of her in shorts?
His mouth twisted grimly. That particular image was emblazoned on his brain.
With rapt attention she watched a stallholder cook pancakes and fill them with dark cherries, walnuts and chocolate. It was pure pleasure watching her. Her face was blissful as she bit into the concoction, oblivious to the sauce glistening on her bottom lip or Alaric’s testosterone-induced reaction as it dripped to her chin.
She swiped her lips with a pink tongue. To his horror his groin tightened and throbbed as if she’d stripped her ugly clothes away and offered him her soft body.
Right here. Right now…
What was going on? She was nothing like his usual women. He wasn’t even sure he could trust her.
Yet her combination of quick mind, buttoned up formality, prickly challenge and hidden curves was absurdly, potently provocative.
She was like a special treat waiting to be unwrapped. The perfect diversion for a man jaded by too many easy conquests. Too many women seeking to trap him with practised seduction and false protestations of love.
Someone bustled past, bumping her close and branding her body against his. His mouth dried. He had to force himself to let go after he’d steadied her.
‘Come,’ he said abruptly. ‘Let’s find somewhere quiet.’
Tamsin looked up at his brusque tone, pleasure waning as she read his stony expression. Clearly he’d had enough.
She couldn’t blame him. He’d gone out of his way to show her sights that must, for him, be unremarkable. Plus all evening he’d been approached by citizens eager to talk. He’d had no respite.
To her dismay her hackles had risen at the number of women who’d approached him, simpering and laughing when he turned his blue eyes in their direction. What did that say about her? Hastily she shoved away her petty annoyance at them.
She’d watched fascinated as he handled requests with good humour and practicality. He made his royal obligations look simple. She noticed he didn’t have any obvious minders with him but mixed easily with the crowd. Perhaps his security staff blended in.
‘Of course,’ she murmured. ‘Somewhere quiet would be—’
A crack of sound reverberated, then a shout. Her breath caught as a young boy raced in front of her, skidding on the cobbles and catapulting towards a vat of simmering spiced wine. She cried out, instinctively reaching for him.
A large figure plunged forward as the cauldron teetered. It overturned just as Alaric hauled the youngster away. There was a crash, a sizzle of hot liquid and a cry of distress, then a cloud of steam as the boy was thrust into her hands.
In the uproar that followed Tamsin lost sight of the prince as the crowd surged forward. Then, out of the confusion he appeared, pocketing his wallet and nodding to the smiling stallholder. He accepted thanks from the boy’s parents but didn’t linger. Moments later he propelled Tamsin across the square and into an old hotel.
Only when they were ushered into a private dining room did Tamsin see his face clearly. It was white, the skin stretched taut across sculpted bones, his lips bloodless.
‘Are you all right?’
It was clear he wasn’t. Rapidly she scanned him, looking for injury. That’s when she noticed the large splash staining his hand and her stomach turned over.
Tamsin propelled him to the bench seat lining one wall. He subsided and she slid in beside him, moistening a linen napkin from a water carafe and pressing it to his hand.
He sat silent and unmoving, staring ahead.
Tamsin washed the wine away, revealing a burn to the back of his hand. She pressed the wet cloth to it again.
‘Is it just your hand? Where else does it hurt?’
Slowly he turned his head, looking blankly at her. His eyes were almost black, pupils dilated.
‘Your Highness? Are you burned elsewhere?’ She cupped his hand, reassured by the warmth of his skin against hers, though the chill distance in his eyes worried her. Frantically she patted his trousers with her other hand, testing for more sticky wine.
Finally he looked down.
Her hand stilled, splayed across the solid muscle of his thigh. Suddenly her eagerness to help seemed foolish.
‘I’m fine. No other burns.’ He threw the wet cloth onto the table, drawing a deep breath as colour seeped along his cheekbones. His free hand covered hers, sandwiching it against living muscle that shifted beneath her palm.
Fire licked Tamsin’s skin. Something curled tight inside her at the intimacy of that touch.
Ink blue eyes surveyed her steadily and long fingers threaded through hers, holding her hand prisoner. Tingles of awareness shimmied up her arm to spread through her body.
‘In the circumstances you can forget the title.’ His voice was as smooth and seductive as the cherry chocolate sauce she still tasted on her lips. ‘Call me Alaric.’
His mouth lifted in a tiny smile that made Tamsin’s insides liquefy. A smile that hinted at dangerous intimacies, to match that voice of midnight pleasures.
Abruptly she leaned back, realising she’d swayed unthinkingly towards him.
‘You’re sure you’re not hurt?’ Her voice was scratchy, as if it were she who’d lunged in to save the boy, not him. The blankness had gone from his face as if it had never been, yet she couldn’t help wondering what secrets lurked behind his apparently easy smile.
‘Positive. As for this…’ he flexed his burned hand ‘…it’s fine. Though thank you for your concern.’ He leaned forward, eyes dancing. Had she imagined those moments of rigid shock? It had seemed so profound. So real.
‘Now we’re alone, we can talk about my proposition.’ He was so close his breath feathered her hair and cheek. Tamsin had to fight not to shiver in response.
‘Yes, Your…yes, Alaric.’ She strove for composure, despite
