A Whisper of Disgrace

Did he hear her quiet intake of breath? Was that the reason for his enigmatic smile as his gaze flicked upwards?

‘Don’t look so frightened, Rosa,’ he said softly, his eyes making their own leisurely journey down over the entire length of her body.

‘I’m not frightened,’ she answered, trying to convince herself it was true, even though that lazy scrutiny was making her skin tingle in a very distracting way. She told herself that she’d met enough powerful men in her twenty-three years to make her impervious to them. But she’d never met anyone who had looked at her quite like that before. He had removed his jacket and was wearing dark trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She could see the crisp sprinkling of hairs on his powerful forearms and, despite his relaxed pose, she was very aware of all the latent strength in his muscular body.

‘Come over here and sit down,’ he said, patting the elongated seat beside him.

She approached with the caution of someone walking towards an unexploded bomb, knowing it would sound naive if she complained that the angle of the seat made it look more like a bed. Yet a couple of days ago she’d wanted more than anything to find herself in bed with him. She wondered what had happened to that new and confident Rosa Corretti, who had looked at this man and decided that she wanted him.

Was it because this morning he was exuding a sex appeal which seemed intimidating and for the first time she realised that he was planning to deliver? That things had moved beyond the hypothetical and sex had become a reality. She was aware that his initial relaxed pose had gone and been replaced by a sudden tension—as if he, too, had suddenly acknowledged the close confinement of the aircraft cabin as the outer doors slammed shut.

She slid into the seat beside him, aware that he was still watching her, his dark eyes seeming to drink in every move she made. She told herself that she mustn’t be intimidated. That she needed to be more like the woman who had pole danced her way into his line of vision, rather than the one whose heart was now beating out a thready tattoo. ‘I hope that what I’m wearing is “appropriate,”‘ she said.

‘Utterly.’ He watched as she smoothed the delicate material of her dress over her bare knees. ‘You will need an entirely new wardrobe to cope with the demands of life as a princess, of course—though I don’t imagine you’ll have much of a problem with that. I’ve yet to meet a woman who doesn’t salivate at the thought of buying new clothes, especially when someone else is picking up the bill.’

Levelly, she met his gaze. ‘Are you going to spend all your time denigrating women?’

‘Not all my time, no.’ His smile was edged with pure danger. ‘I’m sure we’ll be able to come up with something more exciting to fill our time.’

‘Because …’ She didn’t want to let this go. She didn’t want him to keep making comparisons—because wouldn’t that just tap into her crippling certainty that she was going to disappoint him? That he had signed up for something and was going to get something completely different. ‘I’m sure your knowledge of women is comprehensive—it’s just a little off-putting if you’re going to keep reminding me of the fact.’

‘I’m sure your knowledge of men is equally comprehensive, Rosa.’

‘You’d be surprised.’

‘I doubt it. I’ve yet to meet a woman who surprises me.’

Rosa gave a little shake of her head. What a cynic he was. Shouldn’t she have tried to hook up with someone softer—and kinder? Someone who wouldn’t have whirled into her life like a very sexy tornado. The plane engines began to flare into life and suddenly she started to laugh—the unexpected sound taking her by surprise because it seemed a long time since she’d laughed at anything.

He raised his eyebrows. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘Everything.’ She looked at him. ‘Within the space of a few short hours I’ve become the kind of person who steps onto a private jet with a man I don’t really know—a man I’m going to marry. I’m going to be a princess and I’m going to live in Paris and I don’t have a clue what my life will be like. It just doesn’t …’ Her voice trailed off as she met his eyes and shrugged. ‘It just doesn’t feel real, that’s all.’

Once again, Kulal saw that fleeting look of vulnerability—the one which didn’t match the sensual lips and hedonist’s body. The one which was making his gut twist with an inexplicable unease. ‘If it’s any consolation, it feels pretty bizarre to me too,’ he said flatly as the irony of the situation hit him—not for the first time.