of his freedom slithering from his grasp.
He let go of her hand and she stared in wonder at the enormous rock on her finger. When she looked back up at him, a pool of tears welled in her eyes.
Bloody hell, did she have to go and do that? As if this wasn’t awkward enough. But for her sake, he did his best to hide his discomfort. Besides, what woman wouldn’t get a little misty-eyed to have such a fine piece of jewelry in her possession?
“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” she said wistfully.
Or so big, he imagined. If there was one constant with women, it was a love of things that sparkled. “It’s been in my family for generations.”
“It’s amazing.”
The moisture building in her eyes hovered precariously at the edge of lids, threatening to spill over at any second. A good reason for him to—as the Americans liked to say—get the hell out of Dodge.
He shifted his weight, preparing to pull himself to his feet, but before he got the chance, she vaulted off the couch, threw her arms around his neck and hugged him.
In all of her preparations for this marriage, not even in the instructions that had been sent to her, breaking down the events of her first day in the palace, had one word been mentioned about a formal proposal. Which, in her mind, could mean only one thing.
He had gotten down on one knee before her not out of duty, but simply because he wanted to.
It was the sweetest, most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her. Like her fairy-tale dream coming true. And it was the only logical way to explain how, one minute she was sitting across from him, and the next she was pressed up against him, her arms linked tightly around his neck.
She felt his arms circle her, his large palms settle on and cover the entire width of her hips. He smelled masculine and inviting. And she liked the way their bodies fit together just right. The warm, solid feel of him. He made her feel…safe.
But was she really? His hands were mere inches from parts of her that had never been touched by a man. Parts that shouldn’t be touched for at least another two weeks. Then his grip on her tightened almost imperceptibly.
A warm shiver of awareness coursed through her from her head all the way to her toes and she was suddenly hyperconscious of not only his body, but of her own. The slight quickening of her breath. The tingle in her breasts where they crushed the solid wall of muscle in his chest. She could even feel the heat of his skin seeping through the layers of their clothing.
A hot curl of desire started in her belly and spiraled outward in a thrilling rush. Into her arms and legs, her fingers and toes, and some very interesting and wicked places in between.
Every scent and sound and sensation seemed to jumble together, making her feel dizzy and confused. There was an incredible energy building between them. She could feel his breath deepen, his pulse quicken to keep time with her own frantically beating heart.
It was frightening and exciting and arousing all at the same time. And though she knew it was wrong, it felt too good to stop.
Phillip moved his head and Hannah felt the scrape of his beard stubble against her cheek. The warm rush of his breath on her ear. Pull away, her conscience warned. You do not want to do this.
Oh yes, I do, answered back the part of her that had been looking forward to this for the past eight years.
His lips were so close. So near she could almost taste them. He moved his head, nuzzled her cheek lightly, and everything inside her melted to hot liquid. If she hadn’t already been sitting, her legs surely would have buckled out from under her.
Anticipation buzzed between them like an electric, live wire. He turned just a little and she felt his lips…on her cheek, at the corner of her mouth….
His mouth brushed hers and though she was expecting it, longing for it even, it still surprised her. And scared her half to death. It felt too wonderful, and she had come too far, saved herself for too long, to turn back now.
Gathering up the absolute last shred of restraint left in her, she turned and rested her head on his shoulder. “You promised me that you would keep your hands to yourself.”
His voice sounded rough when he spoke. “That’s not exactly fair, considering you started it.”
She couldn’t argue with that. She had literally thrown herself at him. The only person to blame here was herself. “You’re right. But we have to stop.”
“No, we don’t.” His hands slid from her hips to the indent of her waist. He nuzzled the tender spot just below her ear and she shivered. “You can’t tell me that you don’t want this as much as I do.”
Of course she did, maybe even more, but that wasn’t the point. She dropped her arms from around his neck and flattened her palms on his chest. “As you get to know me, you’ll find I have this annoying habit of doing things by the book. And we’re not married yet.”
“No one will know.”
“I’ll know.”
He sighed, a long, tired sound tinged with frustration. Then lifted her up, as though she weighed nothing, and deposited her back on the couch.
Since she didn’t trust herself and she clearly couldn’t rely on him to apply the brakes, from now on there would be no more temptation. That meant no kissing or touching of any kind until after the wedding. “We’ve waited this long. Two more weeks aren’t going to kill us.”
He pulled himself to his feet. “Speak for yourself.”
She diverted her gaze, finding that it both embarrassed her and gave her a depraved thrill to know that touching her had aroused him. “Are you angry with me?”
The hard lines of his face softened. “Of course not. If more people honored their values the way you do, the world would be a much better place.”
Of all the things he could have possibly said to her, that had to have been the sweetest. And he said it so honestly, as though he really meant it. Maybe he wasn’t so tough as he liked people to think.
“I should go,” he said. “You’ve had a long day.”
“I am exhausted,” she admitted. With the time change and the long trip, she had been up for more than twenty-four hours straight.
“There’s a directory by the phone if you should need anything.” He grabbed his jacket from the chair and walked to the door.
She followed, several steps behind. “Thank you.”
He stopped, hand on the doorknob, and turned to her. “For what?”
She shrugged, suddenly feeling embarrassed. She was twenty-four years old and still so terribly naive about certain things. But anxious to learn. “I don’t know. Everything, I guess.”
“You’re welcome.” He pulled the door open, then hesitated. “By the way, where do you keep your lipstick?”
“Lipstick?”
“You
