Alix Saint Croix’s voice was sharper this time. ‘A king in exile, to be more accurate. Does that make a difference?’
Leila looked at him as she handed him another sample and said, equally coolly, ‘I’m sure it doesn’t. You’re still a king, after all, are you not?’
He made a dissenting sound as he took the new tester. Leila wondered how much more patience he would have for this game they were playing. As if someone like him really had time for a personal perfume consultation...
She looked to see him sniff the strip and saw how he immediately recoiled from the smell. He grimaced, and Leila had to bite back a smile.
‘What is that?’
She reached across and took the paper back. ‘It’s extracted from the narcissus flower.’
His mouth curled up slightly. ‘Should I take that as a compliment? That I don’t immediately resonate with the narcissus?’
Leila avoided looking at him and started packing up her bottles, eager to get away from this man. ‘If you like any of those scents we tested I can make something up for you.’
‘I’d like that. But I want you to add something I haven’t considered...something you think would uniquely suit me.’
Leila tightened inwardly at the prospect of choosing something unique to him. She closed the case and looked at him. ‘I’m afraid I will be bound to disappoint you. Perfume is such a personal—’
‘And I’d like you to deliver it personally this evening.’ He cut her off as if she hadn’t even been talking.
Leila stood up abruptly and looked down at him. ‘Monsieur Saint Croix, while I appreciate the custom you’ve given me today, I’m afraid I...’
He stood up then too, and the words dried in her throat as his tall body towered over hers. They were too close.
His voice was low, with a thread of steel. ‘Are you seriously telling me that you’re turning down the opportunity to custom make a scent for the royal house of Isle Saint Croix?’
When he said it like that Leila could hear her mother’s voice in her head, shrill and panicked, Are you completely crazy? What was she doing? In her bid to escape from this disturbing tension was she prepared to jeopardise the most potentially lucrative sale she’d had in years? The merest hint of a professional association with a king, no less, and her sales would go through the roof.
In a small voice she finally said, ‘No, of course I wouldn’t turn down such an opportunity. I can put a couple of sample fragrances together and deliver them to the hotel later. You can let me know which you prefer.’
His eyes were a mesmerising shade of pewter. ‘One scent, Leila, and I want you to bring it to me personally. Say seven p.m.?’
Her name on his lips felt absurdly intimate, as if he’d just touched her. She glared at him but had no room to manoeuvre. And then she told herself to get a grip. Alix Saint Croix might be disturbing her on all sorts of levels but he was hardly going to kidnap her. He wouldn’t need to. That was the problem. Leila was afraid that if she had much more contact with him, her defences would start to feel very flimsy.
Hiding her irritation at how easily he was sweeping aside her reservations, she bent down and closed her suitcase—but before she could lift it off the ottoman he brushed her hand aside and took it, wrapped a big hand firmly around the handle.
Leila straightened, face flushed. He extended a hand and lifted a brow. ‘After you.’
Much to her embarrassment, he insisted on escorting her all the way down to the lobby and seemed to be oblivious to the way everyone jumped to attention—not least his security guards. He called one of them over and handed the thickset man the case, instructing him to carry it back to the shop for Leila. Her protests fell on deaf ears.
And then, before she could leave, he said, ‘What time shall I send Ricardo to escort you to the hotel?’
Leila turned and looked up. She was about to assert that she’d had no problem crossing the square on her own for some two decades, but as soon as she saw the look in his eye she said with a resigned sigh, ‘Five to seven.’
He dipped his head. ‘Till then, Leila.’
* * *
Once back in his own suite, Alix stood looking across the square for a long time. Leila’s reluctance to acquiesce to him intrigued him. Anticipation tightened his gut. Even though he knew this was likely just a game on her part, he was prepared to indulge it because he wanted her. And he had time on his hands.
He felt a mild pang of guilt now when he thought of what his security team had reported to him about her.
The Verughese family were wealthy and respectable in India. A long line of perfumers, supplying scents to maharajas and the richest in society. There were a scant few lines about Deepika Verughese, who had been Leila’s mother. She’d come to France after breaking off relations with her family, where she’d proceeded to have one daughter: Leila. No mention of a father.
In all other respects she was squeaky clean. No headlines had ever appeared about her.
He felt something vibrate in his pocket and extracted a small, sleek mobile phone. Without checking to see who it was, and not taking his eyes off his quarry across the square, he answered, ‘Yes?’
It was his chief advisor, and Alix welcomed the distraction, reminded of the bigger picture.
He turned his back to the view. ‘How are the plans for the referendum coming along?’
Isle Saint Croix was due to vote within two weeks on whether or not they wanted Alix to return as King. It was still too volatile for Alix to be in the country himself, so he was depending on loyal politicians and his people, who had campaigned long and hard to restore the monarchy. Finally the end goal was in sight. But it was a very delicate balancing act that could all come tumbling down at any moment.
The ruling party in Isle Saint Croix were ruthless, and only the fact that they’d had to reluctantly agree to let international observers into the country had saved the process from falling apart already.
Andres was excited. ‘The polls are showing in your favour, but not so much that it’s unduly worrying the military government. They’re still arrogant enough to believe they’re in control.’
Alix listened to him reiterate what he already knew, but it was still reassuring. Something bittersweet pierced his heart. When he regained the throne he would finally have a chance to avenge his younger brother’s brutal death.
Alix tuned back into the conversation when the other man cleared his voice awkwardly and said, ‘Is it true that your affair with Carmen Desanto is over? It was in the papers today.’
Alix’s mouth tightened. Only because of the fact that Andres was one of his oldest and most trusted friends did he even contemplate answering the question. ‘What of it?’
‘Well, it’s unfortunate timing. The busier you can look with very unpolitical concerns the better—to lull the regime on Isle Saint Croix into a false sense of security. Even if they hear rumours of you gaining support from abroad, when they see pictures in the papers...’
He didn’t need to finish. Alix would appear to be the louche and unthreatening King in exile he’d always been. Still, he didn’t like to be dictated to like this.
‘Well,’ he said with a steely undertone, ‘I’m afraid that, as convenient a front as Carmen might have proved to be, I wasn’t prepared to put up with her inane chatter for any longer.’
An image popped into Alix’s head of another woman. Someone whose chatter he wouldn’t mind listening to. And he very much doubted that she ever chattered inanely. Those beautiful eyes were far too intelligent.
On