His Majesty's Temporary Bride. Annie West
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her, Cat swallowed. Did he imagine it or did her pupils widen?
‘Amelie?’ Despite his burning curiosity he wouldn’t thrust himself into her home, especially after her recent loss, if she objected.
‘I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable here than in the city. There’s plenty of room, after all.’ Her jaw angled infinitesimally higher, banishing the earlier hint of reserve. ‘I’ll ask the chef to make pancakes for breakfast while you’re here.’
A hint of a smile softened her mouth and understanding passed between them, the memory of him offering to cook her pancakes on the yacht.
‘Pancakes?’ Lady Enide looked perplexed.
‘I heard somewhere that His Highness is fond of pancakes.’
‘Alex, please.’ He relaxed back in his seat, pleased Cat was taking the lead. Her silence had puzzled him. ‘Yes, I’m fond of pancakes. I acquired a taste for them when I worked in the States.’
* * *
It wasn’t till the next day that he managed time alone with her. Time enough to wonder if he’d acted too rashly, inviting himself to the palace he’d originally planned to visit for only the shortest of official visits.
Yet it was too late for second thoughts.
He’d been installed in a guest suite with views on two sides to the manicured gardens and the sea beyond. He had everything he could wish for, except the company of his hostess.
It was only a couple of months since Cat had lost her brother. She had other priorities. Yet he was disappointed when a staff member showed him the palace. And when Lady Enide, with a posse of senior diplomats and the Prime Minister, met him for afternoon tea in one of the grand rooms. There was no sign of Cat, merely a murmured reference to a previous commitment she couldn’t break.
At dinner they sat with the full length of the long table between them. Afterwards his attempt to talk with her was stymied by the Prime Minister, inviting him to discuss trade opportunities Alex couldn’t afford to ignore.
Strange behaviour for a woman who’d consented to the idea of marriage, should he agree. It felt, bizarrely, as if she didn’t want to be alone with him.
Now, so early that dew clung to the grass and the sun’s rays sprayed apricot and amber across the sea, he intercepted Cat on her morning run. He’d woken early and dressed in jogging gear. He’d seen her don running shoes after swimming ashore from the yacht and guessed she was an early morning runner. Now he peeled away from his vantage point and joined her.
Startled, she looked over her shoulder. Her expression was unreadable as she nodded acknowledgement. Yet she didn’t break stride as she headed for a path descending into the forest reserve.
Alex followed, adapting to her pace. It wasn’t a jog but a long-legged run, quickly eating up the distance. He found himself needing to concentrate on his breathing even as he enjoyed the flash of her smooth golden legs and the sway of that long ponytail over her slim back.
She moved like an athlete, not a royal who spent her days glad-handing VIPs and hosting formal dinners.
Princess Amelie was a poster girl for modern royalty. Losing her mother early, she’d become her father’s official hostess, the pretty face of royalty in St Galla, often filling in for the King at openings, community events and charity occasions. She was a consummate diplomatic hostess and the media loved her for her warm heart and cool elegance, citing her as a modern-day Princess Grace.
Word had it she’d virtually raised her younger brother, Michel, and that she had a special fondness for children. It was this maternal side of her nature that had particularly appealed to his mother. As if he was ready to settle down with a brood of kids!
It wasn’t Cat’s assets as a mother that focused his attention as they ran the waterfront path through the forest. It was imagining that supple golden body wrapped around him, those soft lips on his, and that voice, throaty with desire, murmuring his name.
Even her hair made him want to tangle his fingers to draw her close. It pleased and intrigued him that it fell in abundant golden waves, so different to the photos he’d seen and the way she’d looked last night, hair tight and straight in a formal style. There was a hint of wildness about it now that suited her. Like the flash and sizzle he’d read in her the day they’d met.
Each time he saw her Alex was struck by how different the Princess was in the flesh, compared with her photos. In those she always looked refined and charming. But the real woman also had a vitality and undeniable sex appeal that drew him.
Drew him! It was a smack to his chest, stealing his air.
‘You run well.’ She’d stopped, hands on knees, drawing slow breaths, though he noticed she wasn’t panting. Her T-shirt clung to her breasts and abruptly he was aware not only of the trickle of sweat down his backbone but the heat stirring in his belly that had nothing to do with exertion.
Hands on hips, he hauled in oxygen, chest expanding hungrily. How long since he’d had a good run instead of a snatched gym workout after a long day?
Cat’s eyes dropped to his chest then roved up to his shoulders before cutting away to the glassy sea.
‘So do you.’ Alex tried and failed to divert his attention from her pert breasts and the pulse beating at the base of her neck where her skin glowed, damp and inviting.
Okay, maybe he didn’t try very hard.
He lifted his eyes and met her clear gaze.
His lungs constricted. What he read there was unequivocal. Interest. Attraction. Desire.
She didn’t hide it coyly. There were no slanting sidelong looks or fluttering eyelashes, just an appraisal that seared through his self-control and made him want to punch the air in victory.
So he hadn’t imagined it. Despite the distance she’d put between them yesterday, Cat’s direct gaze spoke of a need that answered his own.
A breeze stirred loose tendrils of her hair and he’d swear he tasted her fragrance on his tongue. Something crisp and sweet like ripe pears.
She swallowed, the tip of her tongue swiping her bottom lip, and his mouth dried.
He forced himself to keep his hands anchored at his waist, fingers digging into taut flesh.
Cat blinked and stepped away, turning to look across the bay where his yacht had been moored yesterday. She wrapped her arms around herself.
‘When did you recognise me? You never called me Amelie that first day.’
‘On the yacht.’ Not as soon as he should have. He’d been too distracted by the urgent hum of hunger. A hunger so sudden and complete it outclassed anything he’d ever felt for a woman. If it weren’t for the fact he was coming out of a prolonged sexual drought it would worry him. Fortunately he knew this must be his libido’s response to recent abstinence and a remarkably intriguing woman.
‘You didn’t say anything.’ Was it imagination or did her mouth tighten?
He shrugged. ‘Was there any need? It was clear we were going to get to know each other.’ He hadn’t intended it, but his voice hit a gravel-deep level at the thought of how well he’d like to know her. ‘You’re easily recognisable, even in wet clothes.’
The clinging clothes had merely turned the picture-perfect Princess into a real flesh-and-blood woman, much more appealing than in any of those posed photos. There was an aura about Cat, a vibrant authenticity, that drew him. He felt it now, when at last night’s dinner it had been subdued.
‘Cat... Amelie.’
She swung to face him, her expression grave. ‘Yes?’
Alex cleared his throat. Absurd to hesitate. He needed to clarify his position, even if it scuppered the chance to know Cat as he wanted to. He refused to lead her on. He