Santina's Scandalous Princess

‘Why did it take you so long to do that filing?’ Ben asked quietly, and Natalia stilled, the smile slipping right off her face. For a second she felt horribly exposed, as if he’d just stripped her clothes, or even her skin, right off in the middle of the restaurant. Ben gazed at her with that same thoughtful seriousness, and Natalia scrambled to regain her

equanimity. Her armour.

She raised one hand, waggling her fingers. ‘Filing is murder on the nails. I wanted to keep my manicure.’

His mouth tightened, although his expression remained thoughtful. Knowing. ‘You’ll have to say goodbye to your nails next week, when the camp starts. I doubt your manicure will survive on the football pitch.’

‘Yes, and just what do you expect me to do on a football pitch?’

‘Whatever needs doing,’ Ben replied. His tone was

equable, and yet Natalia sensed that hardness underneath that told her this man was a formidable adversary. He’d managed to get her father to agree to her volunteering for a month; he could probably get anyone to agree to just about anything. In fact, she realised, swallowing drily, he could get her to agree to all manner of things… .

She pushed that thought aside, as well as the accompanying images that danced through her mind of Ben looking at her with heavy-lidded languor rather than this quiet speculation. Ben drawing her to him and brushing those soft, mobile lips against her own. Ben slipping his hands…

No. She willed the images and thoughts away. Thinking about getting any closer to Ben Jackson was foolish to the point of insanity. He already guessed—and knew—too much.

‘I should tell you,’ she informed him blithely, ‘I don’t know the first thing about football.’

‘Oh, don’t worry.’ His mouth curved into a slow smile. ‘I’ll teach you.’

Again awareness raced along Natalia’s nerve endings and burst like sun-fire through her blood. If she reached one hand out, she would be able to touch him. She wondered how his skin would feel, imagined the rough brush of faint stubble under her fingers. Just how soft would his lips be? She’d spent too much time thinking about his lips, his eyes, the hard, sculpted body underneath that sober silk suit. She needed to stop. Flirting was one thing, desire another. Need, she knew, was dangerous. She’d given into it really only once before and the results had been disastrous and long-lasting. She was still living them down. With the way the press loved to hate her, she always would be.

‘I’m not a very good student,’ she warned him, keeping her voice as light as ever. That was as close as she could come to admitting the truth.

‘Fortunately I’m a good teacher.’

Was she imagining the innuendo, wanting it even, or was Ben really suggesting something? His eyes glinted in the candlelight and his mouth quirked upwards. He knew what she was thinking! The realization slammed through Natalia, ignited shock and even fear inside her. How did this man know her so well? She’d spent her whole life trying not to be known, even as she inwardly longed for someone to truly understand her, not the pampered party princess, but the girl—and then the woman—underneath…whoever she was. Yet she didn’t want the person who truly knew her to be Ben Jackson, with his cynicism and his sneers and his stupid sense of duty. She couldn’t.

‘I should go,’ she said abruptly, the sudden urgency she felt to escape coming through in her tone. Ben quirked one eyebrow.

‘It’s only a little after eight. The night is young.’

‘I have other plans,’ Natalia told him, a blatant lie but one she managed with breezy confidence. ‘My social calendar is quite full, you know.’

He straightened in his seat, his eyes narrowing now not with speculation but, Natalia suspected, with disapproval or even disdain. Well, at least that was more familiar. She stood, and a waiter hurried to her side.

‘Your Highness…?’

‘My coat, please.’

Ben stood as well. ‘I’ll drive you home.’

‘There’s no need. I can text my driver—’

‘And bring him out for no good reason? Why do that?’ And she heard—or at least thought she heard—a thread of judgement in his voice. She’d do that because she didn’t care about other people. She didn’t think about them or their needs. She was selfish, shallow, vain—everything the tabloids said she was. Of course.

‘Fine.’ Natalia glanced at the table, their three-thousand-dollar bottle of champagne only half finished. ‘I’ll wait for you to settle up.’