nose. “Also a terrific marketing hook.”
The corners of his mouth deepened. “Beauty and brains. Always an irresistible combination.”
This prince, causing her heart to thud-thud under a simple compliment, should have sent her running. She had learned healthy caution from her childhood, but even though most men put her on edge, this one filled her with a giddy lack of fear. It was like breaking out of a shell. Like discovering she had the ability to fly.
She definitely wanted more time with him before this evening ended.
On impulse, she motioned for her guard, who was actually one of Gili’s, and quietly gave him an instruction about the silent auction. He melted away.
Was she being too forward? Reckless?
Their table filled up, forcing her to wait to find out. Dinner passed in a blur of neutral conversation. Someone asked the Prince about his country’s foray into green energy. She vaguely recalled his mountain kingdom between Italy and Austria had been accused of providing a tax haven during the world wars. Elazar sounded very modern and self-sufficient now. He spoke about exporting hydropower, since rivers and streams were one of their few natural resources. There was also a decade of investing in education, attracting engineering and technology start-ups, solar and wind power.
Her inner businesswoman should have been taking mental notes, but she was mesmerized by his casual command over his audience and subtly seduced with how close his sleeve came to touching her arm. Beneath the table, she imagined she could feel the heat from his thigh mere inches from her own. All she could think about was dancing with him.
Dancing. Tears pressed the backs of her eyes. She ached for that simple pleasure.
This adolescent reaction was ridiculous, but she let it happen. Embraced it. This is what she should have been doing at twenty, not hand-sewing sequins on mini-dresses for other young women to wear to exclusive clubs, killing hours with concentrated work so she could get through one day, one more hour, without a breakdown or the drugs that were supposed to prevent them.
Then Prince Xavier turned his terrifically handsome face toward her, bathing her in the light of his regard. “You must travel a great deal for your work? What drew you to fashion?”
He had given each of the others a moment in his attentive sunlight. Now it was her turn. He must engage in small talk with a thousand people a day, at ribbon cuttings and children’s hospitals, but she would have sworn on her life the tension around his eyes eased as he met her gaze. He’d been doing his duty, impatiently waiting to get back to her. She felt delirious even as she prevaricated her way through her reply.
“Both of us are quite creative.” Gili more so. She was the artist who designed out of love and ran the business out of necessity. Trella was the ambitious one, determined to turn a healthy profit. Practicality, not passion, had driven her into making her own clothes, because she couldn’t bear being judged by trolls for merely buying something, let alone how it looked on her.
“We had some start-up help from our brothers but surprised them and ourselves with our success.” Another fib. She wouldn’t have rested until they were making buckets of money. She was competitive and driven by an I’ll-show-you desire for revenge against those who had thrown shade.
“It can’t be an easy field. I’m sure your success is due to hard work as much as anything else.”
He was trying to get her into bed. She knew that with the brains he’d said he admired, but his flattery worked. She was ridiculously affected by his compliment. She wanted to say “It was a ton of work. Thank you for noticing.” Gili was the face of Maison des Jumeaux, which meant she received the bulk of the credit—not that she didn’t deserve a lot, but Trella worked just as hard and was not a naturally humble person. Hearing his praise went into her like a transfusion, tipping her further under his spell.
Their hostess moved to the podium to make a short speech, thanked the guests for their donations then announced the winners for the auction items. Trella grew increasingly self-conscious as the moments ticked down, certain she had truly lost her mind this time. Maybe she should leave before—
“Finally, our most coveted prize, a dance with the Prince of Elazar, has been won by... Angelique Sauveterre!”
The applause was polite, the knives in her back proverbial, but she felt them. She privately smirked, then blushed as Xavier showed no surprise. Was he so sure of her?
“I’m flattered.”
“You should be. I promised to double the next highest bid. You had better dance well enough to be worth it.”
“I do,” he assured her, rising to help with her chair, doing that erotic thing of speaking against her hair so tingles raced all over her skin. “For that sort of generosity, bella, I’ll give you the whole night.”
Oh, he was good. Lightheadedness accosted her every time he called her bella, the same nickname her family called her. Her pulse pounded so hard she thought it would bruise her throat, but it fed the thrilling excitement washing over her. He made her feel so alluring. Sexy.
He made her feel as though he wanted her.
That was beyond captivating. She had spent a lot of dark nights telling herself how flawed she was, how she didn’t want men anyway, so she didn’t care if they didn’t want her. She did want, though. She wanted to feel normal and alive. Happy and desirable.
The touch of his hand on the small of her back had a terrific effect on her. The awareness that had been teasing her all evening became a suffusion of deeply sensual lethargy. Dear Lord, was she becoming aroused?
It was what she’d envied her sister for—which was when it struck her what was happening. She and Gili had a twin connection. They didn’t read each other’s thoughts or anything so intrusive, but they picked up hints of the other’s emotions despite whatever physical distance might separate them. The preternatural sense was stronger on Gili’s side. Trella had been so messed up for years, taking anti-depressants to quash anxiety attacks, she hadn’t been as receptive to her sister’s moods.
Lately, however, she’d become more aware, particularly if Gili was restless or having an off day. Tonight, her sister was with a man who truly excited her. She was usually so careful, so rarely selfish, yet she was basking in something that made her incredibly happy.
Her sister’s buoyant heart lightened Trella’s. She was happy for Gili, happy her sister wasn’t weighed down by all the things Trella had put her through. It added another lift of carefree joy to her own evening.
“You dance well yourself,” Xavier said as he spun her in a waltz.
She was too exhilarated to respond. The sparkling ballroom circled around her in a kaleidoscope of colors. His embrace was confident and reassuring, making her feel light as a fairy.
“I feel like Cinderella.” It was too true. She was the smudged sister who had escaped from the attic, wearing borrowed clothing to dance with a prince.
“You look like something out of a fairy tale.” The line of his brow twitched and the corner of his mouth deepened, like he both surprised and disparaged himself for saying. “You’re very beautiful,” he added gruffly.
Gili was the beautiful one. Trella had fought hard to get back to the same weight as her sister, wanting to feel as good as Gili looked. She had let her hair grow out to her sister’s length so she could impersonate her for her dry runs going out in public, but she never thought of herself as beautiful. She too often thought of herself as broken.
Not tonight. She diverted herself away from any thoughts other than how glorious this was. Around and around they went. His thighs brushed hers, his fingers splayed as though trying to touch more of her. She let her fingers trail closer to his collar so she could rest the side of one finger on the hot skin of his neck. It was electrifying. The magnetic sensations grew as he kept her dancing into the second song, tugging her toward an unknown crescendo. When someone tried to cut in, Xavier shrugged him off.
“The