Passion, Purity and the Prince. Annie West

Plus all evening he’d been approached by citizens eager to talk. He’d had no respite.

      To her dismay her hackles had risen at the number of women who’d approached him, simpering and laughing when he turned his blue eyes in their direction. What did that say about her? Hastily she shoved away her petty annoyance at them.

      She’d watched fascinated as he handled requests with good humour and practicality. He made his royal obligations look simple. She noticed he didn’t have any obvious minders with him but mixed easily with the crowd. Perhaps his security staff blended in.

      ‘Of course,’ she murmured. ‘Somewhere quiet would be—’

      A crack of sound reverberated, then a shout. Her breath caught as a young boy raced in front of her, skidding on the cobbles and catapulting towards a vat of simmering spiced wine. She cried out, instinctively reaching for him.

      A large figure plunged forward as the cauldron teetered. It overturned just as Alaric hauled the youngster away. There was a crash, a sizzle of hot liquid and a cry of distress, then a cloud of steam as the boy was thrust into her hands.

      In the uproar that followed Tamsin lost sight of the prince as the crowd surged forward. Then, out of the confusion he appeared, pocketing his wallet and nodding to the smiling stallholder. He accepted thanks from the boy’s parents but didn’t linger. Moments later he propelled Tamsin across the square and into an old hotel.

      Only when they were ushered into a private dining room did Tamsin see his face clearly. It was white, the skin stretched taut across sculpted bones, his lips bloodless.

      ‘Are you all right?’

      It was clear he wasn’t. Rapidly she scanned him, looking for injury. That’s when she noticed the large splash staining his hand and her stomach turned over.

      Tamsin propelled him to the bench seat lining one wall. He subsided and she slid in beside him, moistening a linen napkin from a water carafe and pressing it to his hand.

      He sat silent and unmoving, staring ahead.

      Tamsin washed the wine away, revealing a burn to the back of his hand. She pressed the wet cloth to it again.

      ‘Is it just your hand? Where else does it hurt?’

      Slowly he turned his head, looking blankly at her. His eyes were almost black, pupils dilated.

      ‘Your Highness? Are you burned elsewhere?’ She cupped his hand, reassured by the warmth of his skin against hers, though the chill distance in his eyes worried her. Frantically she patted his trousers with her other hand, testing for more sticky wine.

      Finally he looked down.

      Her hand stilled, splayed across the solid muscle of his thigh. Suddenly her eagerness to help seemed foolish.

      ‘I’m fine. No other burns.’ He threw the wet cloth onto the table, drawing a deep breath as colour seeped along his cheekbones. His free hand covered hers, sandwiching it against living muscle that shifted beneath her palm.

      Fire licked Tamsin’s skin. Something curled tight inside her at the intimacy of that touch.

      Ink blue eyes surveyed her steadily and long fingers threaded through hers, holding her hand prisoner. Tingles of awareness shimmied up her arm to spread through her body.

      ‘In the circumstances you can forget the title.’ His voice was as smooth and seductive as the cherry chocolate sauce she still tasted on her lips. ‘Call me Alaric.’

      His mouth lifted in a tiny smile that made Tamsin’s insides liquefy. A smile that hinted at dangerous intimacies, to match that voice of midnight pleasures.

      Abruptly she leaned back, realising she’d swayed unthinkingly towards him.

      ‘You’re sure you’re not hurt?’ Her voice was scratchy, as if it were she who’d lunged in to save the boy, not him. The blankness had gone from his face as if it had never been, yet she couldn’t help wondering what secrets lurked behind his apparently easy smile.

      ‘Positive. As for this…’ he flexed his burned hand ‘…it’s fine. Though thank you for your concern.’ He leaned forward, eyes dancing. Had she imagined those moments of rigid shock? It had seemed so profound. So real.

      ‘Now we’re alone, we can talk about my proposition.’ He was so close his breath feathered her hair and cheek. Tamsin had to fight not to shiver in response.

      ‘Yes, Your…yes, Alaric.’ She strove for composure, despite the wayward excitement that welled, being so close to him. ‘What did you have in mind?’

      His fingers flexed around hers. His strength surrounded her. It was strangely comforting despite the way her nerves jangled at the look in his eyes.

      His smile broadened and her breath snared.

      ‘I want you to be my companion.’

      Chapter Four

      ‘YOUR…companion?’ Tamsin snapped her mouth shut before she could say any more.

      He couldn’t mean what she thought.

      Companion could have all sorts of interpretations. It was shaming proof of the way he turned her brain to mush that she’d immediately thought he meant lover.