Her Christmas Prince. Catherine Mann

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      And she admired him for it. For caring about the children’s home and about what he could do to make the fund-raiser a success.

      Glendovia was his country, and she had been hired to do a job for it. But he seemed to know that she took her work of organizing charitable events and raising funds for worthy causes very, very seriously. Seemed to know…and in his own way, care.

      That touched Alandra more than a dozen roses, a hundred glasses of champagne or a thousand romantic dates ever could have.

      He might have taken a wrong first step with her by inviting her into his bed before even getting to know her, but he had taken a few right steps since. Redeeming right steps.

      When he took her elbow now, she felt a familiar tingle in every millimeter of skin his fingers came in contact with.

      “Ready to go?” he asked.

      She nodded and let Nicolas adjust her wrap around her shoulders before guiding her outside and into the waiting limousine.

      Despite the late hour, there were still plenty of paparazzi gathered to snap more pictures upon the royal family’s departure. The camera flashes burned her eyes and blinded her vision. She was only too happy to have the car door slam behind her, blocking out the pesky photographers.

      When they arrived home, the family said their good-nights before heading for their respective bedchambers. Alandra wished them all a good night, as well, before turning toward her own rooms.

      “I’ll walk with you,” Nicolas said, catching up with her and once again slipping her arm through his.

      She started to tell him it wasn’t necessary, but thought better of it with his parents and siblings still within earshot. Instead, she inclined her head, tightened her hold on his arm and murmured, “Thank you.”

      They walked to her suite without speaking, and she was surprised to find it a comfortable silence. Perhaps because it had been such a long and busy day, and she was too tired to worry about what she should be saying or doing. She couldn’t find it in her to be concerned about what Nicolas might say or do, either.

      When they arrived, he opened the door, then stood back for her to enter. Crossing the dark sitting room, she turned on a small table lamp, which bathed the space in a yellow-gold light.

      Alandra straightened and turned, and nearly bumped into Nicolas, who had followed her silently and was standing mere inches away. For a moment, her mind went blank. Her breath hitched and her heart leaped at finding him so near.

      She swallowed nervously and opened her mouth to speak, though she didn’t have a clue what she planned to say.

      Not that it mattered. Before she could utter a sound or get her brain to function properly, Nicolas had lifted a hand to the back of her neck and threaded his fingers into the loose hair at her nape. He tugged her forward, and she went easily, willingly, like a puppet on a string.

      Their eyes met, and in that brief second, she saw passion and fire and desire. Those same emotions caused her stomach to tumble to her toes, and made her feel suddenly light-headed.

      Then he bent and lowered his mouth to hers.

      The minute their lips met the earth seemed to rock on its axis. Alandra had never felt such heat, such electricity, such an amazing and overwhelming need.

      Nicolas’s fingers at her nape tightened, while his other hand grasped her hip. Her own hands were on his shoulders, gripping and clawing. She couldn’t seem to get close enough.

      His scent filled her nostrils, spicy and masculine. As his tongue swept through her mouth, he tasted the same.

      She kissed him back with equal fervor, delighting in the way contact with him flooded her senses.

      Just when she thought she might expire from pleasure, Nicolas broke the kiss. “Say no,” he whispered raggedly against her lips. “Tell me to go. Tell me you don’t want this.”

      He kissed her again, hard and swiftly. “Go ahead, Alandra,” he taunted softly, “tell me.”

      She knew what he was doing. He was challenging her to stick to her declaration that she wouldn’t sleep with him during her visit. That she wouldn’t allow herself to be seduced.

      But, God help her, she couldn’t. She wanted him too much to deny it any longer.

      To deny him.

      Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pressed her mouth to his. The same smoldering heat washed over her again and, with a sigh, she whispered, “Don’t stop. Don’t go. I do want this.”

      She expected him to smile—a cocky, self-important response to show her he’d known all along he would win their little cat-and-mouse game.

      But he didn’t smile. Instead, his eyes flashed with fire, a second before narrowing dangerously.

      Bending slightly, he scooped her up, ball gown, high heels and all. His determined strides carried them to her bedroom, where he kicked the door closed and crossed to the wide, four-poster bed.

      The room was dark, with only a hint of moonlight shining through the diaphanous curtains on the French doors. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but as Nicolas deposited her on the mattress, then stood back to unbutton his jacket, she decided it didn’t matter. She could see him just well enough, and in a few minutes she would be touching him everywhere. Feeling him everywhere.

      He stripped off his jacket and kicked off his shoes, then loosened the first few buttons of his shirt, keeping his gaze locked on her the entire time.

      Not wanting to be a mere bystander, Alandra rose to her knees and pulled off her strappy heels, tossing them aside. She reached behind her for the zipper of her dress.

      “No.”

      Nicolas’s low, stern voice stopped her. He took two steps forward to the edge of the bed and ran his hands seductively down her bare arms.

      “Let me.”

      Her stomach muscles clenched as his fingers ran over her abdomen and around her sides, to her lower back. Slowly, he slid his palms up the line of her spine.

      His touch burned through the velvet of her gown as his hands trailed upward, and then drew the zipper down. The quiet rasp of the tiny metal teeth parting accompanied their harsh breathing.

      When the zipper was lowered, her dress fell open, helped along by Nicolas’s large, strong hands. She shrugged and shifted slightly; he pulled it away and dropped it unceremoniously at his feet.

      Alandra knelt at the edge of the king-size mattress in her cherry-red bra and panties, and a pair of sheer, thigh-high stockings. Her heart was racing out of control, her nerves skittering like a million angry ants. Licking her dry lips, she remained perfectly still, watching Nicolas and waiting.

      He stood equally still, his blue eyes riveted on her face. And then he reached for his shirt, undoing the buttons and pulling the tail from his slacks.

      His movements weren’t hurried, but they weren’t patient, either. He made short work of removing the garment, СКАЧАТЬ