Santina's Scandalous Princess

Control. He was losing it. He didn’t want to want this woman. In any way. He had enough to do arranging this camp, managing his own business and making sure his siblings stayed on a steady course. He didn’t need the complication of a woman—any woman, but especially one as dangerously high-profile as Princess Natalia.

Far better to steer clear of her except in the office, or he’d see himself splashed across the tabloids like the rest of his family, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Straightening, he pulled a sheaf of papers towards him and determined to work for the rest of the afternoon—and not give the aggravating princess another thought.

He stayed in his office until after seven, immersed in his work. He heard the muted farewells of the others leaving, the sound of the door closing, when he decided to finish up back at the beach house he’d rented for his time on the island. His equilibrium mostly restored, Ben grabbed his attaché and opened his office door, stopping abruptly when he saw Natalia still bent over the filing cabinet.

The first thing he noticed was the way her skirt pulled across the rounded curve of her bottom. Then he jerked his gaze upwards and realised she was still filing away. The thought shocked him, for if she was still here it meant she hadn’t been slow on purpose. So what was really going on? Ben had no idea, but this perplexing insight into the woman he wanted to dismiss made him pause. Frown.

She straightened and, seeming to sense his presence, turned. Ben noticed her guarded expression, her eyes veiled before she tilted her head and gave him a flirty smile. That was the expression he was used to seeing, yet it didn’t ring true right now.

‘You didn’t have to stay late.’

Natalia lifted one slender shoulder in a shrug. ‘I wanted to get the job done.’ She glanced at the remaining few files. ‘I’ve decided I despise filing.’

‘It is a bit tedious.’

‘That too.’ She tucked a strand of wheat-blonde hair behind her ear and turned back to the cabinet.

Ben saw how stiff her shoulders were, her whole body nearly vibrating with tension. She also looked exhausted, and to his own shock he found himself saying, ‘Let me finish it.’

‘I can do it—’ she insisted, surprisingly fierce, but Ben had already slotted the remaining files into the cabinet and closed the drawer. It had taken less than a minute. Why, he wondered, had it taken her hours? Surely even the most incompetent person could manage it quicker than that. Yet looking at her drawn face and shadowed eyes he didn’t think it had been some kind of revenge. She’d actually, in her own way, been trying.

‘So you finished your first day,’ he said lightly. He had come to stand quite close to her in order to finish the filing, and he was conscious of her slender form, the sweep of her satiny cheek, the way her chest rose and fell. He took a step back. ‘Congratulations.’

She gave him a sharp look, reminding him, to his relief, of the spoilt princess he’d encountered at the engagement party. ‘Much to your disappointment, I’m sure.’

‘I wouldn’t say that.’

‘I would. You made this bet in order to see me fail.’ She spoke flatly, without her usually lilting playfulness, and Ben found he missed it.

‘I made this bet—’ he began, then stopped. Why had he insisted she volunteer for him for a month? His own kind of revenge for her being the kind of partying, publicity-seeking princess she was? Or to teach her a lesson? Or something far more dangerous—because he wanted to see her again, wanted to be near her? He didn’t like any of the choices.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ Natalia jibed softly. ‘Never mind. One day down, twenty-nine to go.’ She turned to fetch her coat but Ben got there first, holding it up for her. ‘So I can hang up my own coat but not put it back on?’ she mocked, yet he sensed a brittle edge to her tone, to her whole self, that he hadn’t heard before. It made him wonder what would happen when that brittle edge cracked. What was underneath?

She slipped her arms into the sleeves and as his fingers brushed her shoulders he felt her twang with awareness, her body as taut as a tightly strung bow. He also felt the answering jolt of lust ricochet through his own body, so strong it took all his self-control to release her.

‘Let’s call a truce for the evening,’ he said, and she turned, close enough to him that her hair brushed his cheek as she moved.

‘Are you serious? Where’s the fun in that?’

‘I’m not sure. But keeping up with you is exhausting, Princess.’