by Annie West
Whatever the truth, by the time they settled upstairs in Paul’s private sitting room Eva was exhausted and nervous. Both of which she refused to show.
When Paul offered her a drink, she asked for sparkling water. A whisky was tempting—she’d appreciate that sudden shot of heat, as she felt unaccountably chilled—but until she knew there was no pregnancy she’d avoid alcohol.
She sat stiff-backed on a sofa, while he sprawled, long-legged on one facing her.
They both began speaking at once then stopped. Paul gestured for her to go first.
‘Is it true?’ she asked in a voice brittle with suppressed emotion. ‘What that woman said about this tiara?’
‘You understood that? They were speaking Ancillan. I thought you weren’t fluent.’
Eva pursed her lips. ‘We’ve been engaged for four years, Paul. Of course I’ve been learning your language.’ In fact, she’d started many years earlier, even though it was a notoriously difficult language to learn, because of her infatuation with Paul.
If only it were still just infatuation!
For the first time she could recall, he looked flustered. ‘I knew you’d had lessons. I’ve heard you speak a little at official events. But I thought...’ His gaze sharpened. ‘Did you understand what your attacker said in that back alley?’
Eva sipped her water and inclined her head, suppressing a shiver. Occasionally she still heard that voice, those words, in her dreams.
‘Eva!’ He leaned forward, as if to reach for her, and she sank back, feeling too fragile to let him touch her.
Paul frowned. ‘In that case, allow me to apologise on behalf of my fellow Ancillans. I wouldn’t have had you hear such things for anything, either that night or tonight. Those harpies—’
‘Was it true? About the tiara?’
He swirled amber liquid around his glass.
‘The piece is from the family vault. It’s been worn by several generations of women in my family.’ His sudden smile was like sunshine breaking through a stormy sky. ‘It could have been made for you, Eva. I’m so pleased you wore it.’
With difficulty Eva ignored the compliment and concentrated on what he’d said about the tiara. She’d guessed it was a special piece, given its obvious age and quality.
‘She said it was only ever worn by the Queen. Is that right?’
Paul hesitated before answering then shrugged. ‘Traditionally, yes.’
‘And this is generally known?’ Her skin frosted as she absorbed the implications of what she’d done, wearing the beautiful thing. ‘Does everyone see this as proof we’ll marry soon?’
Already she found it increasingly difficult, fending off well-meant queries about when the wedding would be. After their long engagement, it seemed people believed it was imminent. Paul hadn’t thought of that when he’d suggested she stay here for six weeks.
His dark eyebrows crammed together as if he didn’t like her words. ‘Very few people would understand the significance of you wearing it.’
‘But some in the court clearly do. They see it as further proof that we’re to marry.’ Eva paused, throat closing on the word. This act of theirs grew harder each day.
He put down his glass and shot to the edge of his seat, leaning forward and capturing her free hand.
‘Does it matter what others think?’
‘It does if they expect a wedding in a few months. Hasn’t it struck you that we’re digging ourselves into an ever deeper hole by continuing this pretend engagement? That we’re building up public expectations?’
Something shifted in Paul’s expression.
‘What if it’s not a pretence? What if I said I wanted you to stay and marry me?’
Her restless fingers froze in his grip. ‘Sorry?’
‘What if I asked you to wear the tiara because I want you to be my Queen?’
‘You’re not serious?’
But, looking into those dark blue eyes, she saw no hint of humour, much less doubt. Paul looked like a man convinced he knew what he was doing.
A great wave of emotion shuddered through her and she had the simultaneous desire to laugh and burst into tears.
Shock, she realised. She was in shock.
Eva lifted her glass to trembling lips and downed her water in one draught. She gripped the tumbler so hard it felt as though it were soldered to her skin.
‘What are you saying, Paul?’
‘I’m saying we’re good together, Eva.’
‘Just because we were sexually compatible.’ He’d never know how much it cost her to use the past tense. She still burned for him. Just having him hold her hand incinerated her control and left her longing to be possessed by him.
His mouth quirked up on one side and inevitably there it was. Desire, like hot honey, swirling through her.
‘Actually, I wasn’t referring to sex. I’ve been trying very, very hard not to think about that, though I admit I haven’t been very successful.’
He paused, watching her face intently as his thumb swiped across her wrist, as if he knew that made her shaky with longing. ‘But, yes, you’re right. We’re extremely compatible physically. I’d even say combustible. I can’t stop thinking about us, together.’
Another pause in which Eva would swear she saw a heat haze shimmer in the air between them.
‘We share something very special sexually.’
That rough-suede voice was a caress. Eva’s nipples peaked as her skin drew taut and everything inside clenched.
‘That night was a mistake.’
‘It was no mistake, Eva. But let’s put that aside for now.’
Easier said than done when she felt as if she was on fire just from his words.
‘We’re good together. We understand each other. We have similar values and goals. We make a great team—you must see that.’
Eva clamped her lips shut, scared of what she might blurt out.
‘These last few weeks have been a revelation. I never realised how much difference it would make to have a partner beside me.’ He shook his head. ‘Even in such a short time you’ve made a difference here and you’ve lessened my load. I actually feel like I don’t have to work sixteen hours a day just to keep the place afloat.’
Inside something seemed to unfurl. Like petals of a flower opening.
Eva was glad she’d made a difference. It was what she’d trained for, after all, but mainly she’d wanted to help Paul. She’d found a real sense of achievement in the weeks since she’d been here. Imagine what she’d be able to do with more time.
A hint of a smile hovered at the corners of her mouth. She felt the quiver, felt the rising joy, for just an instant before she suppressed it.
Paul’s voice was deep and serious. ‘Our arrangement has been working so well. Why not make it permanent?’
His eyes glowed and his expression was almost tender.
Almost.
Because sexual desire and an appreciation of her work ethic and skills wasn’t love. It might make her feel good but it wasn’t enough.
Eva had changed since she’d arrived in St Ancilla. Perhaps she saw more clearly how futile it was to hope for more than Paul could give. Perhaps she’d set a higher value on herself and wasn’t ready to settle for less than she needed.
Paul saw the benefits of an arranged marriage. The convenience. That was all. He didn’t see her. Or, if he did, only in so far as she filled his own needs.
He wasn’t a selfish man. He didn’t know how she felt about him. If he did, she guessed he’d never suggest marriage. But her feelings were already shredded from playing the part of his fiancée up close and personal this last month. Imagine how tough it would be if they married!
‘I’m glad to be able to help, Paul.’ His name felt heavy on her lips.
She breathed slowly and put her empty glass down on
a side table. Then she gently tugged her other hand free of his grip.
A second later she was on her feet.
She had to end this. Now.
And, if you’re pregnant, then what?
But she couldn’t be, surely? How unlikely was it that there was a baby? He’d taken precautions, hadn’t he?
She pressed a hand to her stomach then let it fall, scared he might read the tell-tale gesture.
If there’s a baby, then we’ll just have to face that complication when the time comes.
For now, all she could do was face her current reality.
That Paul wanted her in a convenient marriage. He’d be a kind, caring husband but he would never love her. While she was still, despite her every effort, head over heels in love with him.
Eva paced towards the window, peering out at moonlight silvering the Mediterranean. It looked so lovely, so perfectly romantic. But this wasn’t a romance, it was reality.
‘It wouldn’t work, Paul. I don’t want to marry you.’ She kept her eyes fixed on the view, knowing she wouldn’t be able to do this if she looked him in the eye.
‘In fact, the reason I wanted to talk with you tonight was to tell you I’ve decided to go home next week.’
‘Next week!’ His voice came from behind her and she felt the warmth of his breath cascade down her bare neck, sending tiny ripples of delight skittering across her skin. He must be standing close, his head tilted down towards her. For a second she allowed herself to imagine that was regret as well as surprise in his voice. ‘But you can’t. It’s not—’
‘It’s what’s going to happen, Paul. I can’t do this any more.’
Eva swung round and was confronted with the sight of his solid jaw clenched tight. She knew Paul, knew how determined he could be. She couldn’t afford to give him a chance to win her over because she knew how fragile her defences were against him.
‘Please, Paul. No more arguments. We’ve been over this before. I don’t want to marry you, and you don’t want to marry an unwilling woman.’
Was it her imagination, or did he flinch?
Eva couldn’t stay to find out. Without raising her gaze to his, lest she waver, she hurried past him. Out she went into the cold, empty corridor, her bruised heart lying heavy against her ribs.
He didn’t try to stop her.
That hurt most of all.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
PAUL PACED THE CORRIDOR. The place was in darkness but for pearly moonlight spilling through the windows. The clean-up from the ball had finished and everyone was in bed.
Except him.
Eva’s announcement had come out of the blue, her news so shocking it was impossible to relax and switch off. He kept reliving her words and that terrible air of finality as she’d spoken. It hadn’t been posturing. She’d meant every word.
Why?
He couldn’t understand it. Her attitude made no sense.
Her words had sliced through him, as if she’d taken one of the antique swords from a display case downstairs and run him through with it.
Had he ever known such hurt? It made the time he’d fractured his collarbone on the polo field fade into insignificance. Even discovering the full extent of his father’s crimes against the nation and against his half-sister Caro hadn’t hurt like this. Because he’d been able to do something to correct those.
But Eva leaving—not just for a couple of months but for ever—there was no remedy for that.
Paul’s pain increased, as if that phantom blade cut down through his chest and kept going. He stopped mid-stride, pressing his palm to his belly, trying to force the sensation away.
He hadn’t seen this coming. He’d imagined Eva was happy here. She seemed it. Her enthusiasm for the projects she was engaged in and the people she met brightened each day. The only negative was that she was on edge whenever he got close. Then he’d see her shoulders creep up as if she was girding herself for his touch.
But he understood that too—sexual frustration. Because whenever he touched her there were sparks. They’d start at the point of contact and spread right through him. And he’d swear she felt those sparks too. He’d caught Eva’s dazed look as he’d wrapped his hand around her waist to waltz, or held her close beside him while they’d entertained guests. Soon, he promised himself, she’d be his again. Because the physical connection between them was impossible to ignore.
He’d assumed she must be as frustrated as he at her ‘no sex’ rule, yet he’d held back, respecting her need for time and space. Even if...
Paul’s thoughts frayed as he noticed something down the corridor. A line of light under Eva’s door. It was close to three a.m. and she was still up.
He didn’t hesitate. He’d been trained to take charge, to make things happen.
In two beats of his heart he was at her door, head inclined, listening. Was that movement inside?
He raised his hand and tapped on the solid wood. For several seconds he waited, listening, then tapped again. He was reaching for the handle when the door swung open.
Golden lamplight silhouetted her, congealing his thoughts into a hard knot in his gut. Eva’s hair was loose on her shoulders and she’d wrapped a robe around herself, cinched tight at her waist.
Paul’s breath dried out, like a mistral wind sighing out of his lungs in an arid rush.
She was beautiful.
But she was more than simply beautiful.
He didn’t have the words to do her justice. There was just the heavy thrum of his heart beating mine, mine, mine.
‘It’s very late, Paul. I need to...’
Paul inserted a shoulder in the gap between door and jamb and kept moving. The gap widened. For a second they stood toe to toe, so close her heat drenched him, then she moved back and he shut the door behind them.
Eva rubbed her arms as if she were cold, her hands disappearing up the wide sleeves of her robe. It was pale silk, with a delicate pattern of wisteria blossom, making him think, as her long straight hair swung across it, of geishas and oriental luxury.
The notion intensified when she moved, her breasts shifting free against the thin material, and he realised she was naked beneath the patterned silk.
He’d been going to say something but now the words eluded him. He swallowed hard as he took her in.
She spoke but for a couple of seconds it was lost in the white noise of his blood pumping hard, roaring in his ears.
Eva folded her arms in an attitude of annoyance, pulling the fabric tight over her breasts, and dimly he realised she was waiting for him to answer whatever she’d said. Paul dragged his gaze back to her up-thrust chin and prim mouth.
‘You’re angry.’
‘I’m tired, Paul. There’s no point rehashing our last discussion. I want to go to sleep.’
With a clarity that tasted bitter in his mouth, he noticed she wasn’t talking about rehashing the discussion tonight. She meant ever. She’d had her say and didn’t want to open the subject again.
‘Yet you’re still awake. What’s the trouble? Too much on your mind to sleep?’
He glanced over her shoulder and noticed a suitcase open on an antique carved trunk. It was half-full.
Ice shafted through him, chilling his blood.
She was packing?
Didn’t she mean to wait till next week, as she’d said?
Urgency gripped him, twisting his gut into knots.
He’d planned to talk to her tomorrow. Convince her to stay. He could be persuasive, and he’d had no doubts he could make Eva change her mind—or at least agree to stay a little longer, which would give him the time he needed to...what?
It was obvious she’d already thought things through. That, all the time he’d imagined her enjoying herself, she’d been counting the days till she left.
And yet there were times, lo
ts of them, when he’d sensed she was anything but distant or uninterested.
‘I often don’t sleep straight away after an event late in the evening. But I was just about to turn the light off.’ Her gaze flickered away from his and he knew she was lying.
To make him go.
Because she didn’t want to give him the chance to change her mind?
Because she intended to leave sooner than she’d said?
It seemed only too likely.
She wouldn’t listen to him. Wouldn’t be persuaded.
But there was one way he might get through to her.
Paul wasn’t even conscious of forming the thought when he found his fingers brushing the softness of her cheek, down past her chin to her throat then feathering up to push into the heavy curtain of her hair.
Her breath was a sharp inhale and her eyes widened, catching his. She opened her mouth, probably to stop him, so he raked his fingers purposefully across her scalp, moulding her skull as he lowered his head.
Eva’s words never came.
He felt the puff of warm air from her mouth to his, scant centimetres away, but there was no objection.
Her head seemed heavier in his grip, as if she tilted back into his touch, leaving her face turned up towards his. Even then Paul waited, watching, breathing her in, till he saw, like a mist parting over the sea, a hint of blue in the steamy grey of her eyes.
Something stabbed at his chest. Not pain this time. Satisfaction. Anticipation. Relief.
He breathed deeper, inhaling her sweet floral and woman scent, feeling it go straight to his head.
‘I want you, Eva. So badly. And I think you want me.’ He slid his other hand around her waist, drawing her flush against him before she could conjure words to push him away.
Paul watched those expressive eyes, expecting rejection, waiting for the flash of sudden anger.
It didn’t come. Instead there was her scent curling around him, her warm body lush and soft, and those eyes, those incredible eyes, wide with... Yearning? Invitation?
He didn’t need more. His mouth touched hers and paused, waiting, till her lips trembled and opened. Slim hands grasped his shoulders, fingers tightening, and he swept her up against him, delving deep into her mouth with a hungry, desperate kiss.
