better than to be touched by this man. Tall and broad shouldered, with a deep and masculine voice that reminded her of dark liaisons and whispered secrets, Alexander Rochelle was so physically male that Merry couldn’t imagine anything more feminine than being his lover. Just once in her life, she yearned to experience romance as intense, as perfect, as she was sure it would be with this man.
But she couldn’t. Rick and Cynthia’s marriage made their commitment official, finalizing the twenty-one matches that would break Merry’s curse. She didn’t know what would happen next. Literally! Right now, she stood before Alexander as a twenty-nine-year-old princess in a crone’s body, but any minute now her physical appearance, regal bearing and comportment could be restored. Then Alexander Rochelle might be attracted to her, but it was her duty to return to Silestia to marry Prince Alec Montclair, the man to whom she had been promised.
That was one of the lessons she had learned during this curse. To respect and appreciate her life—including her duties. As a member of a royal family she had responsibilities. She was a leader, a ruler and one of the guards of the benevolent magic passed down through her lineage. She could be a tyrannical monarch—but because being a crone for seven years had shown her that being born a princess was a gift, not a curse—she had decided to fulfill her lot in life with joy.
And her lot in life was to marry Prince Alec.
“What if your boss—the actual owner of the resort for which you work—told you it was okay to dance?”
“Then I’d probably dance, but no one’s asked me.”
Alexander set his champagne glass on a convenient table and bowed elegantly before extending his hand to her. “Then allow me to ask you.”
Tingles of attraction tiptoed through Merry, tempting her to place her fingers on his open palm and satisfy at least a little of her longing, and she gulped.
Being put under a curse and becoming old and haggard had been confusing, and it had taken her two years to adjust. Getting twenty-one couples together had been the struggle of a lifetime. The last five matches had been darned near impossible! She didn’t want to blow her success because she was in lust.
Of course, who was to say dancing with Alexander would wreck her success? There was no way it could affect the twenty-one matches she had in place. Even if she tripped over his feet or drooled on his jacket, she couldn’t embarrass herself because she hadn’t yet transformed into Princess Meredith. No one at this resort even knew Princess Meredith existed. They knew Merry Montrose, resort manager, wrinkled-up old prune who looked about ten years past retirement, not three weeks away from her thirtieth birthday!
Damn it! It wouldn’t hurt anything to dance with Alexander, and certainly after seven long years of torture she deserved one tiny morsel of womanly joy.
Of course she did!
“I’d love to.”
She placed her white-gloved fingers on Alexander’s palm. Through the lace she could feel his warmth, his power. Pleasant shivers of excitement skipped up her arm. But when he slid his hand to the small of her back and nudged her as close to him as propriety allowed for a dance with an elderly woman, the shivers turned into a torrent of arousal. A very unacceptable torrent of arousal! After seven years of deprivation, being this close to a strong, sensual man nearly overwhelmed her. Heat shot through her and Merry honestly worried that she would faint.
“You’ve done a wonderful job with the resort.”
Conversation! Thank God! She needed anything to get her mind away from the strength she could feel in his shoulders, the scent of his aftershave, the sensuality in his watchful eyes.
“Thank you.”
“The fact that so many love matches seem to originate here hasn’t hurt publicity.”
Merry gulped again. “Thanks. I think.”
He laughed. “Thanks is the appropriate response. I was definitely complimenting you. La Torchere Resort is getting a reputation better than the fountain of youth. We’re the fountain of love. If our number of guests continues to rise, we may have to add another wing to the hotel.”
Merry held back a grimace. This time tomorrow she would be on her way home. The matchmaking would stop. The fountain of love wouldn’t necessarily dry up, but it would surely slow down. “Don’t send the project out to an architect yet.”
“Why? Do you know something I don’t know?”
“No,” Merry hastily replied, probably too hastily, because he gazed down at her and Merry forgot everything but the latent fires of sensuality in his blue eyes. Standing so close, feeling his power as he effortlessly guided them around the dance floor, she was caught again in a yarn of yearning. What would it be like to kiss this man? To have him touch her and want her….
“I think you do know something I don’t know.”
Jarred out of her thoughts, Merry said, “No.” She paused to give him a reassuring smile and to remind herself that right at this moment she was a crone whom a man like Alexander wouldn’t want on a lost bet. Also, with the curse broken, she would return to her true self, and as her true self she was promised to someone else. She had to stop fantasizing. “I don’t.”
“Okay.” He smiled at her.
Merry’s knees weakened again, and this time she couldn’t seem to force them back to full strength. As she and Alexander floated along the dance floor, the lithe movements of his body brushing hers conjured all kinds of blissfully sensual images that would dissolve any woman. But Merry also remembered that with her curse broken she was probably experiencing the longings of a young woman because she was returning to her normal self. She didn’t know how this curse worked, but there was a very real possibility that the blink of an eye could take her from crone to princess.
The blink of an eye?
Merry’s heart bumped against her ribs. She really could zap back into a princess in the blink of an eye. After all, she’d become a crone in the time it took for her godmother to chant a few words. It wasn’t impossible that she could suddenly find herself a princess in a crone’s gown, having to explain the change to the man currently swirling her around the dance floor.
She had to get the heck away from Alexander Rochelle!
She drew a quick breath. “Alexander, I’m sorry,” she said, bringing those soft blue eyes of his back to her again. “But I’m afraid I’m not feeling very well.”
His features sharpened. “You’re ill?”
His genuine concern touched a forgotten place in her heart. No one had cared about her for seven long years. But she wasn’t sick and he wouldn’t want to hear the real reason she needed to get away. So she fell back on her most obvious, and also most annoying, problem as a crone. “Maybe tired is a better word.”
“You do look flushed.”
Of course she did. Dancing with him had driven her to a state of excitement she hadn’t felt in nearly a decade. It was a wonder she wasn’t a puddle at his feet.
She smiled slowly, wearily, because acting was her ticket away from the temptation of his arms. “I’m simply tired. It’s been a stressful week.”
“Helping
