lashes flew up; she stared at Alex Matthews’ grim face and, to her horror and shock, tears burned behind her eyelids.
‘It must have been a stinker,’ he said harshly, his arms tightening around her so that she was hauled up into the refuge of his powerful body, her cheek against the open neck of his shirt.
Warmth enveloped her, and his faint sexy fragrance. Gratefully, she curved into him, soaking up the bonedeep security of his vitality. She could hear his heart, fast and heavy, and anticipation burst into full flower inside her, so shameless and sudden she shuddered at the intensity of it.
Until she realised he was as aware of her as she was of him. Shocked, she jerked upwards, and this time Alex let her go.
‘Oh, good lord,’ she muttered, despising her lack of self-control. ‘Sorry—I didn’t mean to disturb you.’
And then her words registered. Heat washed her entire body in a flood of colour, and she had to stop her instinctive dive under the nearest pillow. Instead, she stared belligerently at him.
‘It’s all right,’ he said shortly. He got to his feet and looked down at her. ‘Do you have nightmares often?’
Serina managed to rally enough fragments of her usual composure to say in a voice that was almost level, ‘Occasionally—but doesn’t everyone?’
Not Alex Matthews, she’d be prepared to wager.
He said, ‘Want to talk about it?’
‘No,’ she returned abruptly, then flushed. ‘Sorry again; that was rude of me.’
‘Sometimes talking about something will banish the fear.’
He sounded only mildly interested but after one rapid glance at him she looked away, her nerves stretched so taut she could feel them twanging.
However, he had comforted her so he deserved some sort of explanation. Reluctantly, she said, ‘I think it’s a standard nightmare—I was being chased, running like crazy but not being able to escape whoever or whatever was after me. I can never see what it is I’m afraid of, which is idiotic.’
If only she could see it she’d be able to face it and deal with it, but the terrifying menace had never revealed itself to her.
She should have outgrown it years ago. Her mother had told her it was a growing-up dream, a fear of leaving childhood behind and becoming an adult, but Serina no longer believed that. She’d had to grow up the year she’d turned eighteen, the year her parents had died.
‘Expecting dreams to follow any sort of logic sounds like a recipe for futility,’ Alex said casually.
She tried a pale smile. ‘Oh, well, it’s over. Thank you very much for rescuing me.’
There was no immediate answer, and she looked up again to catch a frown before he asked in the same impersonal tone, ‘Can you think of any reason for having it now?’
With an attempt at her usual crispness she said, ‘No. But then, as you’ve just pointed out, dreams don’t necessarily have a reason.’
His brows smoothed out, leaving his bold face unreadable. ‘A meal will be ready soon. If you’d like a shower, feel free to use the bathroom.’
‘I’d like that very much.’ As he turned to go, she added, ‘Thank you. You’ve been very kind.’
‘No problem,’ he said over his shoulder as he left.
For a few seconds Serina sat very still, deliberately allowing her shoulders to sag while she breathed slowly and steadily in an attempt to relax.
What a fool she’d been! Dear heaven, the moment Alex lifted her she should have pulled away and found the self-control to reject his well-meant comfort politely but definitely.
Instead, she’d snuggled—yes, snuggled—into him as though he were her last refuge in a dangerous world.
And it had been wonderful—strong arms around her, that faint disturbing scent that was his alone, his body quickening into life against hers…
Until she’d realised what she was doing—what she’d been begging for.
Humiliation roiled through her in a sick flood. Biting her lip, she opened the door into the small, luxurious bathroom and turned the shower onto cold.
Alex looked up when she emerged, every hair in place, cosmetics subtly renewed. The mask was back, he thought sardonically, and this time set in concrete. A piercing twist of hunger took him by surprise. Irritated, he tried to banish it.
Why did she exasperate him so much? Because she’d turned a defunct royal connection into a lifestyle? A clearly profitable lifestyle, if her wardrobe was anything to go by.
No, that was unfair; her clothes were almost certainly advertisements for the designer she’d been a muse for.
What the hell did a muse do? Nothing, he suspected, beyond attracting attention and showing off the couture clothes made for her. If so, the designer had chosen well; Serina of Montevel had connections to royalty all over Europe, and she looked superb in the subtly sensuous clothes that draped her elegant body.
Which didn’t alter the fact that Alex despised people who played on their heritage, their title or their position.
Yet he didn’t seem to be able to despise Serina—Princess Serina, he reminded himself. He’d not only invited her to stay with him, he’d organised a holiday for her brother to keep him out of mischief, and promised him holiday work for a year.
So why was he pushing his way into her life? Because she was a challenge?
He dismissed that thought; he’d never regarded women as trophies, the harder to win the more prestigious. As for her kid brother—well, he quite liked the boy, and keeping him away from the pack of wolves he’d inadvertently fallen in with would be to Gerd and Rosie’s advantage because Montevel and Carathia shared a border.
And the Princess? She intrigued him.
Reduced to the most basic level, he wanted her. And it cut both ways—he was too experienced to misread the quick fluctuations of colour in her exquisite skin, the subtle alterations in her breathing, the tiny physical signals she couldn’t control.
Fight it with everything she had—and she was certainly doing that—the elegant Princess Serina couldn’t hide her response to him. Yet she’d made it plain she resented the mindless tug of desire and had no intention of acting on it. Which probably meant that just as the attraction was mutual, so was the exasperation.
It seemed a waste, but it was her decision to make.
He glanced at her serene face as she lowered herself gracefully into the chair and picked up a magazine.
Last night the woman who’d finally wrecked her parents’ marriage and possibly caused their deaths had insinuated that Serina was on the lookout for a rich husband. He despised the woman—and himself for not being able to banish her words from his mind.
Perhaps Serina was saving herself for marriage, although he’d heard rumours
