She was wrong. It had always been easier to be the bad to Jag’s good. But he didn’t offer an objection. Instead he pasted a smile on his face and pinched his sister’s side just as the photographer clicked the shutter. Milena kicked his ankle in return and it was their usual game on to see who could make the other break first.
Two hours later, bored to the bone, Rafe thought about heading to his hot tub—alone—when he saw her. A vision who appeared to be nude at first glance but who, unfortunately, wasn’t. But she was breathtaking, with her dark hair, smooth caramel skin and elegant cameo-like profile. Her delicate features were complemented by slender curves and long legs.
They’d fit, he realised with a jolt, somehow already knowing just how good they would be together though he’d never even spoken to her. Instantly intrigued by the notion that he wanted to know the colour of her eyes and the taste of her lips under his. He wanted to feel her warm silken skin and feast his eyes on her sweet curves as he stripped that clever gown from her body with aching slowness for the very first time.
As if sensing the heat of his thoughts, she turned her head, her eyes instantly finding his.
She blinked, as if she felt the caress of the erotic images coursing through his brain, a flush touching her high cheekbones. Or was that just his imagination going overboard? It certainly couldn’t be because of the fool standing in front of her. Count Kushnir wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like that if he had a set of instructions and an accompanying magnifying glass.
Rafe let a slow grin curve the corners of his lips, noting the way her eyes widened with alarm as if she too already knew that they were destined to become lovers.
Because they would become lovers. Tonight, tomorrow night—for Rafe it was already a forgone conclusion. He only hoped she wasn’t one of those women who liked to play hard to get, imagining that if he had to work for it he’d be more interested. He wouldn’t. Because he couldn’t be more interested in this woman if he tried.
ALEXA FELT PRINCE RAFAELE’S gaze on her as if it were a tractor beam.
This was it. The moment she’d been waiting for. The moment he’d notice her so that they would meet and she could introduce herself. Not that she’d probably need to do that because he would surely know who she was but still, it was the polite thing to do. She’d introduce herself, make small talk and…and…
‘Choo-choo…choo-choo!’
‘I’m sorry?’ Forcing her attention back to the man in front of her, with a noble Russian lineage dating back before Peter the Great, she tried to smile. ‘I don’t think I heard you right?’
At least she hoped she hadn’t. But no…there it was again. An obnoxious, high-pitched noise as he mimicked the sound his toy steam engine made as it trundled around an apparently life-sized track. It reminded her of the stories of sybaritic kings of old who set up lifelike warships in large lakes and watched them battle for supremacy. If she had thought this man might be a possible candidate for a fake engagement should Prince Rafaele turn her down, he’d just convinced her to look elsewhere. The only thing she could fake in this man’s company was a smile. And even that was growing old.
‘May I interrupt?’ A smooth deep voice beside her thankfully broke off the man’s description of yet another steam engine.
Expecting the voice to belong to Prince Rafaele, she breathed a heavy sigh of relief intermingled with disappointment when it wasn’t. Immediately her eyes cut to the place she had last seen him but he wasn’t there any more.
‘Your Royal Highness?’
Somewhat perplexed that the Prince had simply walked away after staring at her so openly, Alexa smiled at the newcomer beside her. What had he asked her? To dance? ‘Yes. Thank you.’
She didn’t actually want to dance but maybe movement would help settle her suddenly jangled nerves.
It had been the look the Prince had given her. That all-encompassing male glance that had raked her from head to toe and then pierced her with heat. It had completely thrown her. Of course she’d known he was good-looking. The mouth-watering photos Nasrin had dredged up on the Internet were demonstration enough of that, but in the flesh… In the flesh he was something more. More charismatic. More powerful. More sensual. More physical.
Taller than those around him, he’d been wide-shouldered and lean-hipped, his body exuding the kind of animal grace that drew the eye of anyone in his vicinity and held it. His dark brown hair was cut in longer layers, framing his chiselled jaw and well-shaped lips to perfection.
In many ways he’d reminded her of King Jaeger but this man had a laconic, laidback sense to him that was powerfully sexy, and strangely she’d never once thought of the King as sexy.
Powerful, yes. Intimidating and regal, yes. But she’d never looked at him and felt her blood pump faster through her veins, as had happened from one long, wicked look from Prince Rafaele.
Feeling guilty that she was completely ignoring the man who was currently holding her at a respectful distance on the dance floor, she tried to dredge up something interesting to say to break the silence between them. God knew she had years of banal small talk rolling around inside her head but, for the life of her, she couldn’t seem to recall any of it, her brain stuck on the strange lethargy that had entered her body at Prince Rafaele’s heated stare.
‘I hate to cut in, Lord Stanton, but you need to contact your office. Something about a paternity test being carried out with your name on it.’
‘Pardon?’ Her dance partner instantly dropped her hand and frowned at the man she’d been waiting all night to ‘run into’ with horror. ‘That can’t be true.’
Prince Rafaele gave an indolent shrug of one wide shoulder. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger.’
Alexa frowned as Lord Stanton mumbled an apology and carved a purposeful path through the crowded dance floor as if the devil was on his trail.
‘Allow me,’ the Prince said, taking her into his arms and holding her much closer than Lord Stanton had done.
It took her only a moment to realise that he’d done that deliberately, and that there was probably no paternity test in the works at all.
‘Was any of that true?’
‘Not a word.’
Alexa didn’t know whether to laugh or frown at his candour. ‘That wasn’t very nice. I think you really scared poor Lord Stanton.’
‘Only because it’s happened to poor Lord Stanton before.’
‘It has?’ She blinked at him. ‘How do you know that? Is he a friend of yours?’
‘I know everything. But no, he isn’t a friend. Not even close.’
‘He’s not going to be happy when he finds out you lied.’
‘Probably not.’ The Prince raised an eyebrow as if to say he couldn’t care less, his gaze skimming her face. ‘But first things first. That soft accent I can hear in your voice isn’t French, is it?’
‘No.’
‘Good.’ Before she could think too much about his question he manoeuvred her closer, distracting her. ‘Now I can just enjoy how good you feel in my arms.’
Incredibly aware of the warm male chest mere inches from hers, Alexa’s breath caught. One of his hard thighs was pressed ever so slightly between her legs, keeping her slightly off balance, so that she had to grip onto his hand to stay upright. Aware that she’d never felt such a powerful response to anyone like this before, she automatically drew back, her reaction causing a slow masculine