Princess's Pregnancy Secret. Natalie Anderson

She might just get away with this after all.

      ‘Coming?’ She looked back and asked him, refusing—yet failing—to flush.

      He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow, saying nothing, but everything, with a sardonic look. The rock-hard heat of his biceps seeped through the fine material of his tailored suit and her fingers curled around it instinctively. He pressed his arm close to his side, trapping her hand.

      He walked slowly, deliberately, the length of the colonnades. To her intense relief, he didn’t stop to speak to anyone, instead he kept his attention on her, his gaze melting that cold block of nervousness lodged in her diaphragm.

      It turned out she’d been wrong to worry about recognition. Because while people were looking, it was not at her.

      ‘All these women are watching you,’ she murmured as they drew near the final column. ‘And they look surprised.’

      A smile curled his sensual lips. ‘I haven’t been seen dating recently.’

      ‘They think I’m your date?’ she asked. ‘Am I supposed to feel flattered?’

      His laughter was low and appreciative. ‘Don’t deny it, you do.’

      She pressed her lips together, refusing to smile. But the sound of his laugh wasn’t just infectious, it seemed to reach right inside her and chase all that cold away with its warmth.

      ‘There.’ He drew her into the last alcove, a mirror of the first, and she was appallingly relieved to discover it too was empty at this early hour.

      ‘Was that so awful?’ he asked, not relinquishing her hand but walking with her to the very depths of the respite room and turning to face her.

      Inwardly she was claiming it as a bittersweet victory. A date at last.

      ‘Who are you?’ She felt foolish that she didn’t know when it was clear many others did. ‘Why do they look at you?’

      He cocked his head, his amusement gleaming. ‘Why do you look at me?’

      Eleni refused to answer. She was not going to pander to his already outsize ego.

      His lazy smile widened. ‘What do you see?’

      That one she could answer. She smiled, relishing her release from ‘polite princess response’.

      ‘I see arrogance,’ she answered boldly. ‘A man who defies convention and doesn’t give a damn what anyone thinks.’

      ‘Because?’

      She angled her head, mirroring his inquiring look. ‘You don’t wear a mask. You don’t make the effort that’s expected of everyone else.’

      ‘And I don’t do that—because why?’ His attention narrowed—laser-like in its focus on her.

      ‘Because you don’t need to,’ she guessed, seeing the appreciation flicker in his eyes. ‘You don’t want their approval. You’re determined to show you don’t need anything from them.’

      His expression shuttered, but he didn’t deny her assessment of him. Her heart quickened as he stepped closer.

      ‘Do you know what I see?’ Almost angrily he pointed to the mask covering most of her face. ‘I see someone hiding more than just her features. I see a woman who wants more than what she thinks she should have.’

      She stilled, bereft—of speech, of spirit. Because she did want more and yet she knew she was so spoilt and selfish to do so. She had everything, didn’t she?

      ‘So what happens at midnight?’ That tantalising smile quirked his lips, drawing her attention to the sensuality that was such a potent force within him.

      She struggled to remind herself she was no Cinderella. She was already the Princess, after all. ‘Exactly what you think it will.’

      ‘You’ll leave and I’ll never see you again.’

      His words struck deep inside her—sinking like stones of regret.

      ‘Precisely,’ she replied with her perfectly practised princess politeness.

      She shouldn’t feel the slightest disappointment. This was merely a fleeting conversation in the shadows. Five minutes of dalliance that she could reminisce over a whole lot later. Like for the rest of her life.

      ‘I don’t believe in fairy tales,’ he said roughly, his smile lost.

      ‘Nor do I,’ she whispered. She believed in duty. In family. In doing what was right. Which was why she was going to marry a man she didn’t love and who didn’t love her. Romance was for fairy tales and other people.

      ‘You sure about that?’ He edged closer still, solemn and intense. ‘Then flip it. Don’t do the expected. Don’t disappear at midnight.’ He dared her with that compelling whisper. ‘Stay and do what you want. You have the mask to protect you. Take what you want.’

      She stared up at him. He was roguishly handsome and he was only playing with her, wasn’t he? But that was...okay. Intense temptation and a totally foreign sensation rippled through her. The trickle soon turned into a tsunami. From the deepest core of her soul, slipping along her veins to ignite every inch of her body.

       Want.

      Pure and undeniable.

      Couldn’t she have just a very little moment for herself? Couldn’t she have just a very little of him?

      He couldn’t hide his deepening tension. It was in his eyes, in the single twitch of the muscle in his jaw as the curve of his smile flatlined. That infinitesimal edge sharpened. But he remained as motionless as the marble column behind him, hiding the ballroom from her view. Waiting, watching.

       Take what you want.

      That dare echoed in her mind, fuelling her desire.

      She gazed into his eyes, losing herself in the molten steel. She parted her lips the merest fraction to draw in a desperate breath. But he moved the moment she did. Full predator—fast, powerful, inescapable—he pressed his mouth to meet hers.

      Instinctively she closed her eyes, unable to focus on anything but the sensation of his warm lips teasing hers. Her breath caught as he stepped closer, his hands spanning her waist to draw her against him. She quivered on impact as she felt his hard strength, finally appreciating the sheer size of the man. Tall, strong, he radiated pure masculinity.

      He took complete control, his tongue sliding along her lips, slipping past to stroke her. Never had she been kissed like this. Never had she kissed like this, but his commanding passion eviscerated any insecurity—and all thought. Lost to the sensation she simply leaned closer, letting him support her, pressing her into his iron heat.

      Heavy, addictive power flowed from him to her as he kissed the very soul of her. His arms were like bars, drawing her against the solid expanse of his chest. A moan rose in the back of her throat and he tightened his hold more. She quivered at his defined strength—not just physical. It took mental strength to build a body like his, she knew that too.

      Her legs weakened even as a curious energy surged through her. She needed him closer still. But his hand lifted to cup her jaw and he teased—pressing maddeningly light kisses on her lips instead of that explosive, carnal kiss of before. She moaned, in delight, in frustration.

      At that raw, unbidden response, he gave her what she wanted. Uncontrolled passion. She clutched at him wildly as her knees gave out—swept away on a torrent of need that had somehow been unleashed. She didn’t know how to assuage it, how to combat it. All she could do was cling—wordlessly, mindlessly begging for more. The intensity of his desire mirrored her own—she felt him brace, felt the burning of his skin beneath her fingertips as she touched his jaw, copying his delightful touch.

      But now his hand stroked lower, pressing against her thigh.