been reading your aunt’s magazines.’’
The smile widened. ‘‘I look at the pictures sometimes.’’
He thought of the one picture he knew she’d seen—him, bare-bummed on a nude beach on the Riviera. The woman he’d gone there with hadn’t been in the photograph, but there’d been several coy references to her in the accompanying article. ‘‘There was a time when I worked hard to earn my reputation. I’ve grown up some since then, but no one wants to read about my real-estate investments for some reason.’’ His thumbs moved over damp, warm skin. ‘‘Is that a problem for you? My reputation?’’
‘‘No. But you aren’t going to be here long.’’ She paused. ‘‘I didn’t think that would be a problem, before…before you kissed me. Now…I don’t know what I want now.’’
He knew what he wanted—to follow the heat that moved between them, see where it led. He wanted his hands on her, and his mouth, and he wanted to know what sound she would make when he drove inside her. And if they had been alone, if only they’d been somewhere private right now, he was almost sure he could have found out.
Unless, of course, he went crazy on her. That would be a real mood spoiler. ‘‘You said you liked the ocean. Have you ever been snorkeling?’’
‘‘A few times. But—’’
‘‘Come with me tomorrow. There’s a private beach attached to the palace grounds, a little cove that’s perfect for snorkeling.’’
Tartly she said, ‘‘I’m not royal or noble or rich. I can’t close my shop on a whim to go play.’’
‘‘You must close it sometimes.’’ He moved closer, thinning the space between them until he could catch her scent—roses and musk, an unexpected blend of the cultivated and the wild. Like her. His fingers curved around her arms, rubbing lightly. ‘‘When can you get away?’’
‘‘I haven’t decided to get away with you. Or even to see you again.’’ Her expression was haughty, like a cat that hasn’t given permission to be petted. But her breath was hasty. ‘‘I need time and space to make that decision. I want you to back off.’’
‘‘That would probably be the smart thing to do.’’ Her hair turned frisky when it was damp, he noticed, losing its sleek gloss to curls. He pushed it back with one hand, tucking those wayward curls behind her ear so he could see her face better. Neon light, filtered by mist, fell rosy and soft on the curve of her cheek and jaw.
He really should back off. She’d asked him to. But maybe it would be best to find out if he was going to lose more than his control every time he kissed her.
Bending, he claimed her mouth.
Her lips were warmer than the skin he’d caressed. Her hands flew to his shoulders—maybe to push him away, but she didn’t. Instead, her fingers dug into his skin. Held on. Hunger twisted through him, smoky and treacherous.
He wouldn’t lose control this time. If he took it slow, held back, maybe he’d be safe. Maybe he could go on kissing her, holding her.
He fitted her into the curve of his body. She felt perfect there, held tight against him. She made a small sound. His arms tightened, and his mouth took. But the hands that had been kneading his shoulders were pushing against him. She was trying to end the kiss, to stop him—and he didn’t want to stop. Instead of letting her go, he held on more tightly. I can make her accept my kiss, accept me…
The thought echoed in a suddenly empty mind. He was thinking of forcing her? Shaken, he loosened his arms.
She tore herself free. Her chest was heaving. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. But it wasn’t anger he saw in her eyes. It was fear.
Appalled, he could only say he was sorry, that he had never meant to frighten her. Then he thought he should have kept his fool mouth shut, because a woman with her pride wouldn’t like being accused of fear.
She took a steadying breath, met his eyes and said something that made no sense. ‘‘I know. But you can hardly help scaring me.’’ And she turned and walked away.
He stayed with her, of course. In silence. In silence they climbed into his car, and neither of them spoke for several blocks. He told himself he was being ridiculous—he’d grown up knowing how to make social small talk. This silence shouldn’t be hard to fill. But she was the one who spoke first.
‘‘I suppose you’ll tell His Grace that I’ve agreed to help, if I can.’’
‘‘I’ll let him know.’’ They’d left the busy streets behind. Here, near her shop, the street was almost empty. He could see Roberts’s little Fiat in the rearview mirror. ‘‘I’ve screwed things up, haven’t I?’’
‘‘It’s not you. Or rather, it is you, but it’s me, too.’’ Her laugh was shaky and short, but genuine. ‘‘And if you understood that, please explain it to me.’’
‘‘You’re confused about what you want. There’s a hell of a lot I’m not too sure of myself, but I know what I want.’’ He double-parked in front of her shop. ‘‘I’ll walk you upstairs.’’
‘‘There’s no need. Truly.’’ She turned in her seat to face him. ‘‘Once you’ve had time to think it over, you’ll probably be relieved things ended between us when they did.’’
The muscles along his shoulders tensed. ‘‘You said you needed time to think, not that you were refusing to see me again.’’
‘‘Drew.’’ She shook her head slightly. ‘‘I’m confused, yes, for a lot of reasons, but mainly because I had a psychic moment.’’
He smiled, relieved. If that was her main objection, he could find a way to reassure her. ‘‘Is that what happened?’’
‘‘Can you honestly say you’re still interested in me? A woman who thinks she has visions?’’
‘‘Oh, yes. I want to see a great deal more of you. And I mean that in every way, including the one that worries you.’’
Her expression was calm, but her fretful fingers told another story as they slid the pendant back and forth on its chain. ‘‘That’s honest, at least. I’m not sure it’s flattering, since you think I’m nuts.’’
‘‘I think you’re brave and smart and lovely. Will you go to the ocean with me as soon as you can take some time off?’’
‘‘I…no, I don’t think so.’’
‘‘You pick the place, then.’’
She grimaced. ‘‘Pushing me to make a decision won’t get you the answer you’re looking for.’’
He wanted to push her, to make her agree, but some sliver of conscience or common sense held him back. ‘‘Just a minute,’’ he said, and got a business card from his wallet. He scribbled a number on the back of it and handed it to her. ‘‘That’s my cell-phone number, so you won’t have to go through the palace switchboard. Call me. Day or night, whenever you decide, call.’’
She
