power and money, he also knew that the majority had been attracted by him— his personality, his looks, his unapologetic masculinity.
But not Princess Catherine. To his fascination, she seemed intent on not merely keeping him at arm’s length but on driving him away. Not that she had a chance of succeeding…
“Quit staring at me,” she said abruptly, slicing into his thoughts.
He settled a little deeper into the dove-gray leather seat. “Now why would I want to do that?”
“Because I don’t like it.”
“But you’re very nice to look at, chaton.”
Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Do not call me kitten,” she snapped. “I have a name. And whatever your opinion of my appearance, I dislike being studied like some sort of museum exhibit.”
“Very well. If it makes you uncomfortable… Catherine.”
Her jaw tightened and he smothered a smile even as he dutifully turned his head and pretended to examine the view.
It was magnificent, he conceded. In between the small groves of palm trees that lined the narrow, serpentine road they were traveling on, aquamarine expanses of the Tyrrhenian Sea could be seen. Red-roofed, Mediterranean-style villas hugged the craggy-coastline, while a dozen yachts were anchored in the main harbor, looking like elegant white swans amidst the smaller, more colorful Altarian fishing boats.
Yet as attractive as the surroundings were, they didn’t interest him the way Catherine did, and it wasn’t long before he found himself surreptitiously studying her once again.
He felt a stirring of desire at the contradiction of her, her air of cool containment so at odds with the banked fire of her hair and the baby smoothness of her skin, which practically begged to be touched. She wasn’t a classic beauty by any means—her mouth was a little too full, her nose a little too short, and the way her dark-green eyes tilted up at the corners gave her a face a faintly exotic cast. Yet, looking at her pleased him. And made him hunger to do more.
The realization brought a faint frown to his face. Catherine, after all, was going to be his wife. He expected theirs to be a lifelong commitment, and if he’d learned anything from the debacle of his parents’ marriage, it was that excessive emotions were not to be trusted. It was all right to find his future bride desirable. Just as long as he didn’t want her too much.
Of course, given Catherine’s current attitude toward him—and he’d known enemies of the state who’d been treated more warmly—being overcome by uncontrollable lust was probably the least of his worries.
With that in mind, he couldn’t resist reaching out and resting his hand on the top of her seat as he turned to face her more fully. “Where, exactly, are we going?”
For a moment he wasn’t sure she would answer. But then she sliced a quick glance at him. “If you must know, I like to drop in from time to time on the various charitable organizations supported by my family.” She took advantage of a straight stretch of road to accelerate.
“Ah.” He pictured her striding down a hospital corridor, doctors and administrators trailing like so much confetti in her wake as she looked in on patients. Or asking pertinent questions of the scientists at the Rosemere Institute, the cancer research facility founded by her grandfather.
Pleased by her sense of responsibility, he shifted a fraction more in her direction, just far enough to slide his fingers beneath the silken tumble of her hair.
A slight shiver went through her, and her lips tightened. “Today—” without warning she hit the brakes and made a sharp left turn, dislodging his hand “—I’m visiting an orphanage.”
The explanation was unnecessary since by then they were sweeping past a high stone wall marked with a brass plaque that read “Hope House—where every child is wanted.” Beneath that, in letters so small he almost missed them, were the words, “Founded 1999 by Her Highness, Princess Catherine of Altaria.” He shot her a startled glance that she ignored.
Seconds later she slowed the car as they approached a rambling two-story house wrapped by a wide, covered veranda. Pulling into an adjacent parking area, she switched off the engine, opened her door and exited the car, all without another word to him.
With a slight shake of his head, Kaj reached for the door handle. But before he could exit, an explosion of sound had him twisting around. He watched, bemused, as a small army of children burst out of Hope House’s front doors, swarmed across the veranda and down the steps, all chattering at once as they ran toward the car.
“Princess, you came!”
“Amalie was ascared you forgot.”
“I told her she shouldn’t worry. I told her you’d be here soon!”
“Did you bring her a present?”
“Nicco said maybe the new king wouldn’t let you visit. He said maybe the new king doesn’t like kids like—”
“Children, stop!” To Kaj’s surprise, Catherine laughed. It was a husky, musical sound that tickled his nerves like velvet against bare skin. “Of course King Daniel likes you.” As she looked down at the dozen small people all vying for her attention, her remoteness melted away. “As a matter of fact, I’ve told him and Queen Erin all about you, and they’ve asked if they might come visit you themselves.”
“They have?”
“Really?”
“Wait till Nicco hears that.”
“Does that mean you won’t come anymore?” This last was asked by the smallest of the children, a petite black-haired girl with big brown eyes in a too-serious face.
“No, of course not, Amalie,” Catherine said gently. “We’re friends, no matter what. Yes?”
The child nodded.
“What’s more, today is your birthday. I couldn’t possibly forget that.”
A bashful smile crept across the little girl’s face. She sidled closer and leaned against Catherine’s hip, rewarded as the princess laid a reassuring hand on her thin shoulder.
Kaj felt a surge of approval. It was good to know the future mother of his children had a maternal side.
Yet even as he told himself he’d made the right choice, that Catherine of Altaria was going to make him a fine wife, he also felt the faintest flicker of uneasiness.
Because just for a second, as he’d watched Catherine’s face soften and heard her affection for the children in her voice, he’d experienced an unfamiliar hunger, a desire to have her laugh at something he said, a need to have her reach out and touch him.
Which was ridiculous, given that he had every confidence that sooner, rather than later, he would be on the receiving end of her affection. All he had to do was stay close and he’d find a way to get past her reserve.
As for this nagging little itch of need she seemed to inspire… It was nothing he couldn’t handle.
Three
