A Night in the Prince's Bed. Chantelle Shaw

than simply look.

      ‘Hey—angel?’ Aksel propped himself up on one elbow and frowned when Mina quickly turned away from him. His gut clenched as he glimpsed a betraying shimmer in her eyes. She was crying! The idea that he had caused her to cry filled him with guilt. He had acted like a barbarian, he thought disgustedly. It was no excuse that for the first time in his life his iron self-restraint had been breached by her achingly sweet response to him. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked softly. ‘Where are you going?’

      Were there rules for this sort of occasion? If so, Mina did not know the rules. ‘I thought I’d go home...now that...now that we’ve...’ She watched his frown deepen and hoped he wasn’t going to suggest they had dinner. The idea of sitting in that plush dining room while they were served by waiters who could probably guess what they’d had for an appetiser sent a shudder through her.

      She tensed as he cupped her jaw and tilted her face to him.

      ‘I didn’t mean to make you cry, angel,’ he said roughly. ‘I’m sorry—I was too fast—too impatient...’

      ‘No—’ Mina did not want him to take the blame. He had nothing to blame himself for. ‘It’s not your fault—it’s mine. It’s just that I’ve never in my life gone to bed with a complete stranger...’ her voice wobbled ‘...and I’m embarrassed.’

      He did not seem to have listened to her, and doubt and remorse darkened his eyes. ‘Angel...I should have—’

      She shook her head, desperate to reassure him. ‘You did everything right. It was...perfect.’ She swallowed, thinking of those moments when she had come apart in his arms. Nothing had prepared her for the physical or emotional intensity of her orgasm. She had connected with him on a deeply fundamental level—as if they were each two halves of a whole—and even now she could not forget that feeling. ‘It was beautiful,’ she said huskily.

      ‘For me too.’ Aksel was surprised to find it was the truth. He leaned forwards and brushed his mouth over hers, felt the soft tremble of her lips and gently pulled her down so her head lay on his chest, and he stroked her hair. She reminded him of a young colt, nervous and unsure, ready to run away at any moment. Certainly she was not like the sophisticated women who occasionally shared his bed. Not at the palace, of course. Royal protocol demanded that only his wife could sleep with him in the prince’s bedchamber. But he owned a private house a few kilometres out of Storvhal’s capital city, Jonja, where he took his lovers, and also a cabin in the mountains where he took no one.