Married for the Prince's Convenience. Maya Blake
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tranquillity I find on water that I haven’t found anywhere else.’
The thought of this man, powerfully built, quietly commanding and confident, craving tranquillity touched a strange place inside her.
‘My stepfather loves the water too.’ Damn. She needed to watch her tongue.
‘But something about it makes you sad?’ His voice softened as his eyes grew even more solemn.
Her startled gaze flew to his. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘You speak with fondness but your eyes darken with unhappiness.’
His intuitiveness disturbed her, made her feel vulnerable. Wrenching her gaze from his, she looked around. The terrace was deserted, but soft lights glowed from exquisite crystal-cut chandeliers and showed the guests slowly filling the large hall.
The hall...
Where she should be. Trying to make contact with Prince Reyes Navarre.
Instead she was alone with this strangely captivating man.
A man she didn’t know.
Although she’d talked herself into believing not every stranger meant her harm, she knew better than most which situations to avoid. Being alone with a man twice her size wasn’t a good idea.
But rather than fear, a thrum of excitement fizzed through her veins. Her breathing constricted, her heart thumping loud in her ears as she inhaled. Almost drawn by an invisible force, her gaze returned to his face.
His black dinner jacket and crisp white shirt gave his features a vibrancy, helped in no small measure by the golden perfection of his skin. Cast in part shadow by the broad shoulders blocking the light, his taut cheekbones and strong, uncompromising jaw made her fingers tingle with the urge to explore him.
As she stared his mouth hardened into a tight line, as if he held some emotion in. The strong need to touch those lips, experience their firm texture and soothe them softer with her thumb grew. Her eyes flashed back to his to find him regarding her, waiting for a response.
‘I have issues with water. Let’s just leave it at that.’
He looked as if he would demand more. But he merely nodded. ‘Tell me your name.’ His authoritative tone demanded nothing but her compliance.
Without questioning why, she answered, ‘Jasmine Nichols.’
His solemn expression altered, fleetingly replaced by a small smile that creased his lips. ‘You are named after the flower that blooms in the gardens of my home, Jasmine.’ His voice caressed her name in a way that made all the hairs on her body strain to life. ‘It is a fragile yet sturdy flower that has soothed us with its heady fragrance for thousands of years.’
Overwhelmed by the equally heady blend of emotion swirling through her, she gave a nervous laugh. ‘Blimey, I hope I don’t look that old!’
‘Be assured. You don’t.’
His smile disappeared, but she suspected he was still amused by her. The thought created a joyous fizz in her blood. It struck her that this man, whoever he was, hadn’t smiled or laughed in a long time. The urgent need to catch another glimpse of that enigmatic smile grew.
‘Great. Living to a thousand sounds like fun, but I bet it becomes a nuisance after that. A few more decades will do me just fine, though. I have things to do, people to impress.’
Joy sang in her chest when he rewarded her with another fleeting smile.
‘I have no doubt that you will make your mark on the world before you leave it.’ His head dipped in a shallow bow. ‘Enjoy the rest of your evening, Jasmine.’ With graceful, long-limbed strides, he walked away from her.
His abrupt departure stunned her into stillness. She watched four figures detach themselves from the shadowed doorway and fall into step behind him. She didn’t need to be told they were bodyguards.
And rightly so. He was far too lethal to walk around without armed escort.
It wasn’t until he reached the bottom of the stairs that led into the main hall that she regained the power of speech.
‘Holy hotness, Batman,’ she muttered under her breath, still more than a little stunned.
Watching him cut a path through the assembled crowd, Jasmine realised she hadn’t even asked his name. Without pausing to think, she dashed through the doors after him.
She came to a screeching halt after a few steps.
What was she doing? She hadn’t come to Rio to check out its male citizens, or to fall flat on her face for the first enigmatic man who looked at her with deep, hypnotically solemn eyes.
The real reason wrenched her back to reality, making any dream she harboured glaringly impossible. Whoever the mysterious, formidable stranger was, he had nothing to do with her mission here.
A mission that should’ve been the one and only thing on her mind.
She slid her wrap closer to ward off the sudden chill invading her body.
How could she have lost sight of her objective so quickly? Her stepfather’s well-being depended on her. Running after a man who’d made her feel so alive, so special that she would have given up all she held dear to spend another minute in his presence was out of the question.
She clutched her grey silk purse and tried to think clearly, but it was no use. His smell, the feel of his hand on her skin, the intensity of his dark gaze that seemed to see past the outer trappings of civilised conversation to her inner self, remained imprinted on her.
Her breath rushed out shakily. She tried to tell herself what she’d felt didn’t matter. That wasn’t her purpose here. The only thing that mattered was finding Prince Reyes, getting her hands on the treaty and making it out of here in one piece. By way of grounding herself, she recited the list once more and forced herself to move into the hall as she did so.
The first thing she noticed was that the man she’d been speaking to was now on the other side of the room. Similarly suited men surrounded him, yet he remained curiously aloof, standing out so spectacularly, everyone else faded into insignificance.
Forcing her gaze away, she looked around. In halting Portuguese, she tried to enquire discreetly from her waiter which of the men was Prince Reyes, but her query only drew a blank stare.
Her anxiety returned when she realised most of the conversation going on around her was in Portuguese. Naïvely, she’d assumed since most of the staff at her hotel spoke English, everyone in Rio did too.
But the man who’d spoken to her on the terrace had used perfect English.
So ask him.
Except she couldn’t. She’d have to cross the room to get to him, and in the time she’d been dithering his audience had tripled.
Insinuating herself into his crowd would only draw attention to herself. And for what she’d come here to do, anonymity was key. Wishing she’d pressed Joaquin Esteban for more details about the prince, she cast another look around.
A bell sounded nearby, making her jump. Guests started taking their places at the long banquet table. She found her place and had just sat down when a light-haired man joined her.
He looked at her hopefully. ‘Please tell me you speak English?’
Jasmine smiled with relief. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘Thank God! You think your Portuguese is all right until someone asks you a question. Then even the little you know flies straight out of your head. I’m Josh, by the way.’
‘Jasmine,’ she responded.
‘Crazy, isn’t it?’
Startled, Jasmine glanced sideways to him. ‘Sorry?’
He nodded to the group of men taking their seats at the