He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, inhaling the summery fragrance of her satin skin, enjoying the little shiver of awareness she couldn’t hide. Tamsin was different from other women. He couldn’t remember any of them intriguing him so. Protecting his country had never coincided so well with personal inclination.
They said you should keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Alaric wasn’t sure yet if she was an enemy or an innocent, but he’d enjoy keeping Tamsin Connors close. Very close.
Tamsin’s heart faltered and seemed to stop as his lips caressed her hand in a courtly gesture. The trouble was, to her overwrought senses it felt provocative, not courtly, evoking reactions out of proportion with the circumstances.
There was no mistaking the amusement in his eyes. He was laughing at her. Did he take her for a fool?
She yanked her hand away, anger and hurt bubbling in a bitter brew that stung the back of her throat.
‘No one would believe it.’
‘Why not? People will believe their eyes.’
She shook her head, wishing he’d stop this game.
‘Tamsin?’ He frowned and she realised she was blinking eyes that felt hot and scratchy. Hurriedly she looked away at the old mural of convivial wine makers on the far wall.
‘I’m not the sort of woman to be companion to a prince.’ Even if it was make-believe.
‘I know my record with women is abysmal but surely you could make an exception in the circumstances.’
‘Oh!’ She shot to her feet. ‘Just stop it!’ Tamsin paced the room then whirled to face him. ‘No one would ever believe you’d really taken up with someone like…’ The words choked as her throat constricted. ‘Like me.’
He rose, eyes fixed on hers. ‘Nonsense.’
Tamsin felt like stamping her foot. Or shouting.
Or curling up in a ball and crying her eyes out.
All the weak, emotional things she’d wanted to do when Patrick had revealed he’d only spent time with a woman like her because she was useful to his ambitions. All the things she hadn’t let herself do because she’d been busy pretending it didn’t matter.
‘Look at me.’ She gestured comprehensively to her practical, unglamorous clothes. ‘I’m not…’ But she couldn’t go on. She knew she wasn’t attractive, that she didn’t inspire thoughts of romance or even plain old lust. But she refused to say it out loud. She had some pride.
‘I see a woman who’s intelligent and passionate and intriguing.’ His words snapped her head up in disbelief.
When had he moved so close?
He loomed over her, making the room shrink so it seemed there was only her and him in a tiny, charged space.
Tamsin’s throat worked as anger roiled. ‘I refuse to be the butt of your joke.’ She swung away but he caught her elbow, turning her implacably to face him.
‘It’s no joke, Tamsin. I was never more serious.’
She angled her chin higher. ‘I don’t think my clothes would pass muster for consorting with royalty, do you?’ Easier to focus on that than the shortcomings of the woman who wore them.
‘I don’t give a damn about your clothes,’ he growled, a frown settling on his brow. ‘If they bother you replace them. Or let me do it if you don’t have the cash.’
‘Oh, don’t be absurd!’ As if it was just the clothes. Tamsin knew how men viewed her. No one would believe she was a sexpot who’d snared the interest of a playboy prince!
‘Absurd?’ The single word slid, lethally quiet into the vibrating silence, raising the hairs on her nape.
His eyes sparked fire. Suddenly the danger she’d once sensed in him was there, staring down at her.
A frisson of panic crept through her.
She backed a step. He followed.
‘You don’t believe me?’
Silently she shook her head. Of course she didn’t believe him. She had no illusions. She—
In one stride he closed the gap between them. His hands cupped her face, fingers sliding into her hair, dislodging pins. The sensation of him tunnelling through her hair, massaging her scalp was surprisingly sensual.
Tamsin stared up into eyes darkening to midnight-blue, so close she could barely focus. She told herself to move away but found her will sapped by the look in his eyes. The floor seemed to drop away beneath her feet as she read his expression, his fierce intent.
That look bewildered her. She’d never seen it before.
‘I—’
Her words stopped as his lips crushed hers. She gasped, inhaling his scent and the spicy taste of his skin. Her thoughts unravelled.
Taking advantage of her open mouth Alaric devoured her. He was determined, skilful, dominant. He overwhelmed every sense, blotted out the world. Stole her away to a place of dark ecstasy unlike any she’d known.