eyes, or that uncertain smile, but suddenly Europe’s most beautiful princess looked so very alone and vulnerable that Zale reached for her, putting his hand low on her back and finding bare skin.
Her head tipped back, her blue gaze finding his. Zale’s hand slipped lower, his palm sliding down warm satin skin.
He heard her soft intake of breath as he drew her closer, holding her against him, her full, soft breasts crushed to his chest. He dropped his head, covering her mouth with his.
It was to have been a brief kiss, a good-night kiss, but when her lips trembled beneath his he felt a rush of hunger. Desire.
Power.
He drew her closer still, molding her to him with pressure in the small of her back.
She shivered against him and his pulse quickened, blood pounding in his veins, making his body hot, and hard.
The need to possess her filled him, consuming him, and ruthlessly he deepened the kiss, taking her as if she already belonged to him.
The insistent pressure of his lips parted hers, and the tip of his tongue flicked the softness of her inner lip making her squirm. The urgent press of her hips against his made blood roar in his ears and he nipped at her mouth, small bites that made her shudder with pleasure.
God, she was sensitive. Responsive. Her body trembled against him, and he slid his hand from the small of her spine down, lower, over the pert curve of her backside, which made her gasp, her nipples hardening, pebbling against his chest through the thin silk of her gown.
Blood coursed through him.
Desire pounded through his veins.
She was deliciously smooth, deliciously curved and he wanted more of her, all of her. His body throbbed.
God, she was hot and tasted sweet. He wanted to rip her gown off her, strip her voluptuous body bare and explore her curves and hollows—like the dip of her spine, the space behind her knee, the softness between her thighs.
He wanted between her thighs. Wanted to part her knees as wide as he could—
Reality returned. What the hell was he doing? They were in the hall. In full view of the hidden cameras broadcasting images to his security detail.
His hand stilled on her hip. He removed the other from beneath her breast.
Slowly he lifted his head to look into her eyes. They were dark and cloudy, her lips swollen, her expression dazed.
“I’m afraid we’ve given my security a show,” he said, voice pitched low and rough.
Color rushed into her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
He brushed a blond tendril from her flushed cheek, finding her nearly irresistible. “I’m not. Good night, Your Highness.”
She looked at him for an endless moment. “Goodbye.” Then she slipped into her room and closed the door.
ENTERING her suite Hannah gently closed and locked the door, heart racing, body shaking.
For a long moment she leaned against the locked door, a hand pressed to her mouth.
She’d kissed him. Kissed him madly, passionately, kissed him as if she were drowning, dying, and maybe she was.
How could she go tomorrow? How could she leave and never see him again?
But there was no way she could stay. He didn’t want her, Hannah, he wanted Emmeline.
And even that hurt. How could he want Emmeline when the princess didn’t care for him, would never care, while Hannah already cared too much …?
That was the part that confused her, infuriated her, most. How could she care already? She’d only met Zale today. She’d spent what—five hours with him? Six? Barely enough time to be infatuated. So why did she feel sick? Panicked?
Desperate?
Why did she think when she left here she’d never forget him?
Hannah choked back a frustrated cry and pressed her hand harder to her mouth to stifle the sound.
Her eyes burned and her throat ached and she hated herself for wanting something—someone—she couldn’t have.
She wasn’t the type of woman to set herself up for failure.
“Your Highness,” Celine, Hannah’s maid, said breathlessly, emerging from the dressing room, with Hannah’s nightgown and robe. “I didn’t hear you return. Have I kept you waiting?”
Hannah blinked back tears and pushed away from the door. “I just returned,” she said, mustering a watery smile. “But I’d love your help getting out of this gown.”
Leaving Emmeline, Zale forced himself to put her from his mind and focus now on other things—like Tinny.
He headed toward his own wing of the palace but first stopped at his younger brother’s room. He never went to bed without a last check on Tinny.
Opening the door to Tinny’s sitting room he saw that all the lights were out except for the small lamp on the top of the bookshelf on the far wall.
Tinny’s night-light. He couldn’t sleep without it.
Zale felt a rush of affection for his twenty-eight-year-old special-needs brother, a brother who’d needed him even more after their parents’ death.
Constantine—or Tinny, as he’d always been called within the family—was to have been on the plane with his parents on that ill-fated flight, but at the last minute he’d begged his parents to let him fly to St. Philippe, their private Caribbean island, with Zale the next day instead.
Even five years later, Zale gave daily thanks that Tinny hadn’t been onboard. Tinny was everything to him, and all the family he had left, but Tinny still missed his parents dreadfully, still asked for them, hoping that maybe today his beloved mama and papa would come home.
“Your Majesty,” a voice whispered from the dark, and Mrs. Sivka, Tinny’s evening nurse, emerged from the shadows in a dressing gown. “He’s doing well. Sleeping like a lamb.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t come to say good-night earlier.”
“He knew you wouldn’t be coming. When you were here at tea this afternoon you told him tonight was a very important night.” Mrs. Sivka smiled. “How did it go, Your Majesty? Is she as beautiful as they say?”
Zale felt a strange tightness in his chest. “Yes.”
“Tinny can’t wait to meet her. It’s all he talked about today.”
“He shall meet her as soon as possible.”
“Tomorrow?”
Zale pictured Emmeline and then his brother, and knew that innocent, idealistic Tinny would immediately place her on a pedestal. He’d adore her, worship her and give her the power to break his heart. “Not tomorrow, but soon, I promise.”
“He’ll be disappointed it’s not tomorrow.”
“I know, but there are a few wrinkles to still iron out.”
“I understand and Prince Constantine will meet your bride when the time is right.” Mrs. Sivka smiled. “I’m proud of you. Your parents would be proud, too. You deserve every good thing coming, you do.”
“But you have to say that, Mrs. Sivka,” he said, teasing her gently, forever grateful she’d come out of retirement to help with Tinny after his parents’ accident. “You were my nanny, too.”
“That I was. And now look at you.”
He smiled crookedly. “Good night, Mrs. Sivka.”