Chapter Three #3
Something had changed. It had started with that smile in the car. The one that transformed her face from haughty composure to something…genuine.
If you can believe that.
But despite his ingrained doubt, Fotis had seen a different woman in that smile.
Someone impulsive and generous rather than arrogant and selfish.
Princess Rosamund didn’t want him around but it seemed she appreciated him for her brother’s sake.
As if the favour he did benefited the king rather than her. And she wanted her brother to be happy.
The shock of it had eddied through Fotis as he took his place at her door, standing between her and the crowd. He’d just regained his equilibrium when she’d slipped her arm through his, creating a quake of longing deep in his belly.
He’d been a paratrooper operating in difficult situations, then spent years carving out his business. Yet in that moment it felt as if nothing had tested his control as much as remaining aloof and alert while Rosamund of Cardona snuggled up to him.
Despite his hormonal rush, he could tell she wasn’t trying to tease him. Her touch was light and impersonal.
A pity his body didn’t think so. He’d never been so close to full, unwanted arousal in public since his teens. It should be impossible. But this woman turned everything upside down, even his instincts.
He made himself focus on the crowd, assessing body language, alert to sudden movements. But it was Rosamund’s abrupt move that surprised him as she tried to slip away. ‘I’ll be back soon.’
His reaction was instantaneous, his grip tightening. ‘Where you go, I go.’
She turned, bright eyes locking on his, and something behind his ribs tightened. Then she nodded and drew him towards the crowd on the side of the carpet away from the cameras.
It was only then that he realised some of the people calling her name weren’t press, but members of the public. Instead of waving and making her way indoors, she approached with a smile on her face.
Instinct kicking in, he held her close and pulled her to a stop as he scanned the crowd. ‘No. This isn’t a good idea.’
She sent him a sideways look under her lashes that did ridiculous things to his hormones, especially when she leaned closer and he caught that delicious spice and warm woman scent that made him forget all the reasons she was poison. ‘A few minutes. That’s all.’
He was weaker than he’d thought, nodding even as he cursed his weakness.
He released her, keeping both hands free in case something went wrong. Anyone watching would guess he was hired muscle, but it didn’t matter. He mightn’t like her but he was damned if he’d let anyone get to her on his watch.
There were smiles all around and lots of excitement as she chatted with fans. She was good with the crowd. She made total strangers feel they were seen and appreciated.
But people-pleasing was a useful tool, not evidence of a good heart.
‘If you want to get inside in time for the opening…’ he murmured.
Finally she nodded and let herself be led away.
They followed the red carpet and he recognised several famous faces. They were about to enter the grand building when a man standing to one side caught his eye, but just as Fotis paused, senses alert, the stranger disappeared into the crowd.
Then they were inside the soaring space, resplendent with brilliant chandeliers and glittering guests. The crowd parted as they entered.
Training kicked in, making him focus on individuals, movements, anything out of place. When he heard the sharp hitch of his companion’s breath, he was surprised, for he’d seen nothing to make him wary.
Her uptilted gaze was fixed on the far wall.
High up an image was projected. A stunning young woman with blue eyes and flame-red hair smiled as if the world were her playground. She wore red, a provocative dress that revealed lots of toned, honeyed flesh and clung lovingly to her sinuous body.
Of course he knew the photo. He suspected that image had featured in the wet dreams of men all around the world.
Juliette Bernard in the year she burst onto the cinema scene, causing a sensation. Tonight’s opening party was an homage to a woman who’d won resounding critical acclaim for her craft.
Juliette Bernard, the English-French actress who’d later cemented her place in public mythology with her fairy-tale marriage to the King of Cardona.
He felt a quiver rack the woman beside him and turned to see her eyes, now more grey than blue and overbright.
Without allowing himself time to think, he stepped in front of her, blocking her from curious stares, and took both her hands. They were cold, but even as he registered that, she blinked and firmed her lips.
Fotis bent his head, surprised at his surge of concern. ‘Are you all right?’
She blinked again and for a long moment emotion shimmered in that bright gaze. Grief so stark it sucked his breath away.
Then it disappeared. There was a flicker of a moment when something else softened her expression as she met his gaze. Gratitude? His hands involuntarily tightened.
But seconds later she was again the soignee socialite he’d met yesterday. A woman without a care and with the world at her feet.
‘Your Highness.’
The princess looked past him and moved to greet the man who’d approached. She was gracious and charming, as if those moments of earthquaking emotion hadn’t happened.
Fotis felt the world shift beneath his feet. It was unnerving to realise the woman he despised had hidden depths. That, despite her unforgivable actions in New York a month ago, she wasn’t simply a shallow, selfish woman who trampled anyone to get what she wanted. That she felt, and felt deeply.
Who was the real Princess Rosamund?
And why did he want, badly, to uncover her secrets?