Married for the Prince's Convenience

A hair’s breadth away, she saw his eyes widen. Her heart slammed with horror and embarrassment at what she’d almost done. She snatched her hand back and for a split second contemplated taking that fatal step backwards. Maybe dashing herself over the rocks at the bottom of the cliff would knock some sense into her.

‘What makes you say that?’ she prevaricated when it became clear he expected an answer to his question.

‘You have a very expressive face.’ His beautifully deep accented voice was solemn.

‘Oh.’ She stalled and tried to think fast. What could she say without causing offence? ‘They’re okay, I guess. I mean, they’re not my thing. Too fast. Too...wet.’ Not to mention, they reminded her of the times Stephen had taken her out on his boat very soon after she and her mother had gone to live with him. Still in her destructive phase, she’d given him a hard time about those trips. Despite his many reassurances, a part of her had remained untrusting, afraid he’d end up being like all the men her mother had fallen for in the past. Each morning, she’d woken up anxious that that would be the day Stephen tossed them out of his life. He hadn’t, of course, but she still couldn’t look at a boat without remembering that distressing period. ‘But they’re nice to look at, I suppose.’ She bit her lip to stop further inanity spilling out.

The stranger’s grave nod did nothing to distract her stare.

‘But exhilarating, some would say. No?’

Light-headedness encroached. Exhilarating. Breath-stealing. Captivating. But all those adjectives had nothing to do with speedboats and everything to do with the man in front of her.

Belatedly, Jasmine realised she hadn’t taken a single breath since she’d clapped eyes on him. Sucking in oxygen restored some much-needed brain activity. ‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been inclined to take a trip on one. Mainly because I get seasick standing on a beach.’

‘That’s a shame. There is a tranquillity I find on water that I haven’t found anywhere else.’

The thought of this man, powerfully built, quietly commanding and confident, craving tranquillity touched a strange place inside her.

‘My stepfather loves the water too.’ Damn. She needed to watch her tongue.

‘But something about it makes you sad?’ His voice softened as his eyes grew even more solemn.

Her startled gaze flew to his. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘You speak with fondness but your eyes darken with unhappiness.’

His intuitiveness disturbed her, made her feel vulnerable. Wrenching her gaze from his, she looked around. The terrace was deserted, but soft lights glowed from exquisite crystal-cut chandeliers and showed the guests slowly filling the large hall.

The hall...

Where she should be. Trying to make contact with Prince Reyes Navarre.

Instead she was alone with this strangely captivating man.

A man she didn’t know.

Although she’d talked herself into believing not every stranger meant her harm, she knew better than most which situations to avoid. Being alone with a man twice her size wasn’t a good idea.

But rather than fear, a thrum of excitement fizzed through her veins. Her breathing constricted, her heart thumping loud in her ears as she inhaled. Almost drawn by an invisible force, her gaze returned to his face.

His black dinner jacket and crisp white shirt gave his features a vibrancy, helped in no small measure by the golden perfection of his skin. Cast in part shadow by the broad shoulders blocking the light, his taut cheekbones and strong, uncompromising jaw made her fingers tingle with the urge to explore him.

As she stared his mouth hardened into a tight line, as if he held some emotion in. The strong need to touch those lips, experience their firm texture and soothe them softer with her thumb grew. Her eyes flashed back to his to find him regarding her, waiting for a response.

‘I have issues with water. Let’s just leave it at that.’

He looked as if he would demand more. But he merely nodded. ‘Tell me your name.’ His authoritative tone demanded nothing but her compliance.

Without questioning why, she answered, ‘Jasmine Nichols.’

His solemn expression altered, fleetingly replaced by a small smile that creased his lips. ‘You are named after the flower that blooms in the gardens of my home, Jasmine.’ His voice caressed her name in a way that made all the hairs on her body strain to life. ‘It is a fragile yet sturdy flower that has soothed us with its heady fragrance for thousands of years.’