A Bride For The Playboy Prince. Sandra Marton

he also wanted to dance with her—an idea which filled her with both excitement and dread. She knew she should refuse, but what could she say? Sorry, Luc. I’m terrified you’re going to hit on me and I’m not sure I’ll be able to resist.

      The trouble was that everyone was looking at her and the other women weren’t even bothering to hide their envy. Or maybe it was disbelief that such an eligible man wanted to dance with a too-small brunette with an overdeveloped pair of breasts. She wanted to make a break for it, to run towards that copse of trees at the end of the lawn and to lose herself in their darkness. But she hid her insecurity behind the serene mask she’d perfected when her mother had married her stepfather and overnight their world had changed. When she’d learnt never to let people know what you were thinking. It was the first lesson in survival. Act weak and people treated you like a weakling. Act strong and they didn’t.

      ‘Okay,’ she said carelessly. ‘Why not?’

      ‘Not the most enthusiastic response I’ve ever received,’ he murmured as they moved out of earshot. ‘Do you get some kind of kick from making me wait?’

      Her eyes widened. ‘Why? Is it mandatory to answer immediately when spoken to by the Prince?’ she mocked.

      He smiled. ‘Something like that.’

      ‘So why don’t you just enjoy the novelty of such an experience?’

      ‘I’m trying.’

      ‘Try harder, Luc.’

      He laughed as they walked across the grass to the terrace and up a flight of marble steps leading into the ballroom, from where the sultry sound of jazz filtered out into the warm night air. Lisa’s chest was tight as Luc led her onto a quiet section of the dance floor, and as he drew her into his arms she was conscious of the power in his muscular body and the subtle scent of bergamot which clung to his warm skin.

      It was hard not to be overwhelmed by his proximity and impossible to prevent the inevitable assault on her senses. This close he was all too real and her body began to stir in response to him. That pins-and-needles feeling spiking over her nipples. That melting tug of heat between her thighs. What chance did she have when he was holding her like this? I haven’t danced with a man in a long time, she realised—and the irony was that she’d never actually danced with Luc before. He’d never taken her to a party and held her in his arms like this because their affair had been conducted beneath the radar. And suddenly she could understand why. The hard thrust of his pelvis was achingly evocative as it brushed against her. Dancing was dangerous, she thought. It allowed their bodies to be indecently close in a public place and she guessed that Conall’s tight security was the only reason Luc was okay with that. Anywhere else and people would have been fishing out their cell phones to capture the moment on camera.

      Yet somehow, despite her misgivings, she couldn’t help but enjoy the dance—at least up to the point where her throat suddenly constricted and her breathing began to grow shallow and unsteady. Had he pulled her closer? Was that why the tips of her breasts were suddenly pushing so insistently against his chest? And if she could feel her nipples hardening, maybe so could he.

      ‘You seem tense,’ he observed.

      She moved her shoulders awkwardly. ‘Are you surprised?’

      ‘You don’t like dancing? Or is being this close to me again unsettling you?’

      Lisa drew her head back to meet the indefinable expression in his eyes. ‘A little,’ she admitted.

      ‘Me, too.’

      She pursed her lips together, wishing she could control the thundering of her heart. ‘But you must get to dance with hundreds of women.’

      ‘Not at all. I’m not known for my love of dancing.’ His finger stroked distractingly at her waist. ‘And no woman I’ve ever danced with makes me feel the way you do.’

      ‘That’s a good line, Luc.’ She laughed. ‘Smooth, yet convincing—and with just the right note of disbelief. I bet you hit the jackpot with it every time.’

      ‘It’s not a line.’ His brow furrowed. ‘And why so cynical?’

      ‘I’d prefer to describe it as having taken a healthy dose of realism and I’ve always been that way. You never used to object before.’

      Reflectively, his finger stroked her bare arm. ‘Maybe I was too busy taking off your clothes.’

      ‘Luc—’

      ‘I’m only stating the truth. And please don’t give me that breathless little gasp and look at me like that, unless you want me to drag you off to the nearest dark corner.’

      ‘Carry on in that vein and I’ll walk off all by myself.’

      ‘Okay.’ He sucked in a deep breath before moving his hands to her waist—the slender indentation of her flesh through the delicate silk feeling almost as intimate as if he were touching her bare skin itself. ‘Let’s keep things formal. Tell me what’s been happening in your life.’

      ‘You mean the shop?’

      A faint frown arrowed his dark eyebrows together, as if he hadn’t meant the shop at all. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Tell me about the shop.’

      Lisa fixed her gaze on the tiny buttons of his dress shirt. Did she tell him about how empty she’d felt when they’d split, which had made her throw herself headlong into her work—not realising that her ambition was outpacing her and that by aiming so high, she’d made the potential crash back to earth all the harder? ‘People kept telling me I ought to expand and so I found myself a backer,’ she said. ‘Someone who believed in me and was willing to finance a move to a more prestigious part of the city.’

      ‘Who?’

      His voice had suddenly roughened and she looked up into his face. ‘Is that really relevant?’

      ‘That depends.’ There was a pause before he spoke again. ‘Is he your lover?’

      She screwed up her nose. ‘You’re implying that I started a relationship with my new backer?’

      ‘Or maybe it was the other way round? Your change in fortune seems a little...dramatic,’ he observed. ‘It would make sense.’

      Her feet slowed on the polished floor and Lisa felt a powerful spear of indignation. Was Luc really coming over as jealous—when he’d told her from the get-go that there was never going to be any future in their relationship? Was that what powerful princes did—played at being dog in the manger, not wanting you themselves, but then getting all jealous if they imagined someone else did? But she wasn’t going to invent a closeness with her backer which did not extend outside the boardroom door. She and Martin were business buddies and nothing more.

      She gave a laugh. ‘Everyone knows you should never mix business and pleasure, and I’m afraid there hasn’t been time for much in the way of recreation.’

      ‘Why not?’

      Again, she moved her shoulders restlessly. ‘The stakes are much higher now that I’ve got the shop and then there’s Brittany...’

      Her words trailed off but he picked up on her hesitation.

      ‘Your sister?’

      Amazed he’d remembered the little sister he’d never even met, Lisa nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘She had a baby.’

      He frowned. ‘But she’s very young herself, right?’

      ‘Yes, she is and...’ Her voice faded because Luc wouldn’t be interested in hearing about Brittany’s choice of partner. And even though part of her despised Jason and the way he lived, wasn’t there still some kind of stubborn loyalty towards him because he was Tamsin’s father? ‘I’ve been pretty tied up with that,’ she finished.

      ‘So you’re an aunt now?’ he questioned.

      She looked up at him and Luc watched her