* * *
Three hours and much mingling later, they were once more in the back of the pink limousine. Stefan handed Holly a glass of pink champagne—her first of the whole day. His too, for that matter.
‘To pink limos,’ she said. ‘I haven’t had a chance to say thank you. It’s fabulous.’
‘I’m glad you like it. I gather it is not, however, taking us to the airport so we can catch a plane to Paris?’
‘No...’ Holly took a deep breath and apprehension returned to her blue eyes.
As the silence stretched he took the time to study her. She had changed out of her wedding dress into her ‘going away outfit’. A simple cream linen dress. Her hair now hung loose in all its golden glory, and she still looked every bit as beautiful as she had when she’d walked down the aisle, a vision in ivory satin and lace.
‘You’re going to have to tell me some time,’ he pointed out.
She took another sip of champagne—presumably for fortification. ‘We aren’t going anywhere. We’re staying here.’
Stefan closed his eyes and then opened them again, pinched the bridge of his nose and focused on keeping his voice calm. ‘Why?’
‘Because the past few weeks have all been about being in the public eye, being on show. I thought it might be nice to explore Lycander differently. I reckon it would look good to the public as well—fit well with the “returning prince” theme. What do you think?’
He thought she wasn’t speaking the whole truth; there was something in the way her gaze had fluttered away from his for an instant.
‘Wouldn’t you like to go to Paris? Explore there.’
‘One day I would, yes.’
Damn it. Maybe she didn’t want to go there on a fake honeymoon; maybe she wanted to save Paris for when she could do the clichéd romance for real.
‘But now you want to remain in Lycander?’
‘Yes. I’ve realised that even though I have lived here all my life there are still so many places I haven’t seen—and I think it will be fun.’
A study of her expression yielded nothing but apparent sincerity, and he did believe her. He recalled how she had described her exploration of London. But he suspected there was an additional ulterior motive, and wariness banded his chest at the idea he was being manipulated in some way.
Well, if he was then he’d never give something for nothing. He shrugged. ‘OK. If that’s what you want. We can find Lycander’s equivalent of the Chelsea Physic Garden. But I want something in return.’
It was her turn to look suspicious, and her forehead creased as she sipped her drink and looked at him narrow-eyed over the rim of the glass. ‘Like what?’
‘Take the marketing role at Lamberts.’
‘Jeez. Why can’t you let that go? We’ve been through it. There is no point—I will be taking up residence on Il Boschetto di Sole in a year.’
‘I understand that; I am simply suggesting that this year you take the chance to do a job you enjoy—give it a try. It will be good experience that will help with Il Boschetto di Sole. One year. Where is the harm in that?’
Holly hesitated, twisting a tendril of hair around her finger. She considered his words and then suddenly she grinned. ‘What the hell? You’re right. Why not? I can’t live on Il Boschetto di Sole during our marriage, and I do want to try marketing, and it will be good experience. I’ll do it.’
‘Good.’ He raised his glass and a smile tilted his lips. ‘To your new job.’ And to his private hope that it would be the first step for Holly to veer from the path of tradition and duty. ‘It’s important to enjoy life—grab the good times whilst you can.’
This he knew.
And just like that the atmosphere in the limousine subtly changed. The air became charged with a shimmer of awareness—he’d swear he could almost see it—a pink glitter of desire. And he knew that really all their talk had simply been to put off an inevitable decision—a decision they had been headed for ever since he’d seen her walk down the aisle...ever since he’d lifted her veil and kissed her.
Holly stilled, her blue eyes wide as their gazes met and locked. Then slowly—so slowly, so tentatively—she shifted across the seat. The swish of her dress against the pink leather mesmerised him.
There was no need for words; instead he cupped her face in his hands and brushed his lips against hers, the movement so natural, so right, that he let out a small groan as her lips parted beneath his.
The kiss seemed timeless. It could have been seconds or it could have been hours before the limo glided to a halt. By then he was gripped with a desire so deep he ached, and he felt her answering need in the press of her body against his, the tangle of her fingers in his hair.
As they emerged, hand in hand, he tugged her towards the revolving door of the hotel, through the lobby and towards the stairs. Once inside their suite they didn’t—couldn’t—wait. His jacket fell to the floor and her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, crept underneath the material, and as she touched his chest, he exhaled a pent-up breath.