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СКАЧАТЬ 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 grin to curve his lips. ‘Too fast for you?’

      ‘I…’ Completely unprepared to be meeting him like this, let alone be plastered up against his hard body, Alexa frowned. ‘Yes. I don’t like being crowded.’

      Truth be told, she wasn’t used to being touched like this. Her father had never been overly tactile and, as her mother had died giving birth to her, she’d been raised by a procession of nannies, each one leaving before she or Sol could become attached to them. It had been her father’s way of training any neediness out of them, his methods intended to instil in them both a sense of objectivity and distance befitting a monarch of their realm.

      She still remembered the day her beloved Mrs Halstead had left. At five, Alexa had cried herself into a stupor, thus proving her father’s point. After a while she had stopped crying when people left but, given the mistake she’d made with Stefano, the lesson in objectivity had taken much longer to master. And sometimes she worried that she still hadn’t got it. Especially now, when she was struggling to remain objective in this man’s arms.

      ‘By all means I can do slow,’ he said with a grin, his mesmerising eyes flicking over her with sensual intent.

      Even though she had dressed to attract attention she was so unused to men flirting with her it took Alexa a moment to assimilate his meaning. When she did, heat curved up the side of her neck. She hadn’t fully worked out what she was going to say to him when they finally met so she found herself at a loss for words. It was only her love for her country, and a desire to placate her father, that had her still considering going ahead with her plan.

      Because ordinarily she wouldn’t go near a man like the Prince. And not just because of his bad boy reputation but because he was too big and too male—his level of testosterone swamping her and making her way too aware of him. It was like being confronted by an enormous, sated wolf; even though you knew it was well fed you still couldn’t relax in its presence for fear that it might pounce just for the fun of it.

      The orchestra music changed tempo and she realised that the Prince danced very well, his movements fluid and graceful as he moved her in time with the beat. Wondering how to gain control of the situation and suggest a place for them to sit down and talk, she was completely unprepared for his enticing all-male scent to swamp her as he leaned in closer.

      ‘You’re exceptionally beautiful,’ he murmured, bringing her left hand up to his lips in one smooth move, smiling against her fingertips. ‘And unmarried. Two of my favourite attributes in a woman.’

      His earlier question about her being French came back to her and she pulled back to stare up at him.

      Did he not know who she was?

      She’d received so many sympathetic glances during the night from those who knew her to be the jilted Princess of Berenia that her teeth had wanted to grind together.

      For him not to recognise her… It didn’t seem possible but…perhaps it was. After all, he’d been off doing his own thing for a decade now, where her life had remained incredibly small by comparison. A bolt of inspiration shot through her. If he didn’t know who she was it would give her a chance to find out how amenable he would be to her plan without having to embarrass herself by asking outright.

      His eyes watched her, confident and direct. Sapphire blue surrounded by inky black lashes, they drew her in with the promise of delights she had probably never even dreamed of, drew her in as if he could read every one of her secret wishes and desires and had the power to answer them all. The notion was both terrifying and utterly irresistible.

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