Men In Uniform: Captivated By The Prince. Lynn Raye Harris

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      They had their first row on their wedding night.

      Elevated to a magnificent suite of rooms adjoining Alessandro’s own, Emily prepared for bed alone. Her head was ringing with the effort of maintaining a front for so long. But at least she could console herself with the knowledge that she had begun to fulfil the requirements of their contract.

      Who was she trying to kid? Emily wondered angrily as she sat down in front of the gilt-embossed dressing table mirror. A ceremony couldn’t plug the chasm in her heart, or blot out her certainty that everything she had planned—so carefully, so meticulously—was already falling apart around her ears because she had made the classic mistake of allowing feelings to get in the way.

      The fact that Alessandro was a prince didn’t matter at all—the fact that they had a business contract between them rather than a love affair mattered more to her than she could ever have imagined. It hurt like hell, she realised wistfully.

      Plucking out the last of the pins holding her hair in place, she allowed it to spill over her shoulders and began to brush it with long, impassioned sweeps.

      It was hard to believe she had been naïve enough to think she could simply pick up the pieces of her carefree single life and transfer them to Ferara with the rest of her luggage. Naïve? Her naïvety had been monumental, Emily thought, shaking her head angrily and then tossing the brush aside.

      The wedding changed everything she realised, remembering the solemn vows she had made. Alessandro was her husband now, and she was his wife. And with those simple facts came hope, desire, expectation—and, most pressing of all, she thought, ramming her lips together as she tried not to cry, was the need to spend at least your wedding night with your husband.

      Once they’d left the cathedral there had hardly been a chance for her to speak to him. And even when they had opened the reception by dancing together there had been constant interruptions. And she hadn’t helped matters, Emily thought, remembering how stiffly she had held herself. There had been a moment when the toasts were made—Alessandro’s hand had closed over her own as they’d sliced through a tier of the wedding cake and she had felt her whole body rebel and strain towards him. But she had clenched her fist over the handle until her knuckles had turned white and hurt…and apart from that—

      She started at the knock on the door.

      She had sent everyone away, taking the chance, once she had showered, to slip into a clean old top that had somehow found its way into the bottom of her suitcase. It didn’t matter what she looked like. It could only be the maid with some hot milk, she reasoned, hurrying to the door.

      ‘Alessandro!’

      She felt foolish, standing there with bare feet, wearing nothing except an old faded top while her husband looked every bit as resplendent in a simple black silk robe as he had in full dress uniform, with medals and sash of office.

      ‘I just came to see if you were all right…if you had everything you need,’ he said, appearing not to register her choice of clothes as he scanned her sumptuous quarters as if running a mental inventory.

      ‘I’m fine,’ Emily replied. ‘Just a little tired.’

      ‘You looked beautiful today.’ As he turned to look at her his gaze was steady and warm. ‘Thank you, Emily.’

      ‘It was nothing,’ she lied, forcing a smile. But her glance strayed to his mouth as she remembered his kiss at the culmination of their marriage ceremony…chaste and dutiful maybe, but it still possessed the power to thrill her like no other kiss could ever hope to again. Recklessly she relived it now, briefly, self-indulgently, closing her eyes for just an instant as faint echoes of sensation shimmered through her frame.

      ‘I think it all went well,’ Alessandro said, breaking into her reverie.

      ‘Yes,’ she managed tightly. ‘It all went very well. Miranda is in seventh heaven. The violin is everything—’

      ‘Can we talk about us for a moment?’

      His expression was hidden in shadow as he moved away from her towards one of the heavily draped windows, but Emily knew something had upset him. Perhaps he thought the violin too high a price to pay for a woman for whom he felt nothing.

      ‘There’s no reason why it should be awkward between us—’ he began.

      Awkward between them! What the hell was he talking about? Alessandro thought angrily, balling his hands into fists while in his mind the image of some rare bloom overlaid the fever. He swung around to look at her. Petals bruised easily, too easily—

      ‘Are you all right?’ Emily said, reaching out a hand. Then, remembering her position, she let it fall back again by her side.

      He was completely naked under the robe; she was sure of it. Her speech had thickened as erotic possibilities crowded her mind…No one need ever know. They could be lovers and still end the contract as agreed. Just the possibility was a seduction in itself…The walls were twelve feet thick in this part of the old palace, she remembered. And their rooms were interconnecting. Most of the servants were still celebrating at one of the many parties in the palace grounds—she could still hear periodic explosions from the fireworks outside.

      ‘I’m not aware of any awkwardness between us,’ she said, in an attempt to prolong the conversation, trying not to stare too blatantly at the outline of his hard frame so clear in silhouette as he stood with his back to the window.

      She was standing close to him now…close enough to detect the tang of the lemony soap he must have used in the shower. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, then murmured dreamily, ‘Don’t worry, Alessandro. I’m completely at ease—’

      She gasped in alarm as his fist hit the wall.

      ‘“Don’t worry, Alessandro”?’ he mimicked СКАЧАТЬ