An Heir Fit For A King. Эбби Грин

came closer, rolling his sleeves up further as he said, with a definite glint in his grey eyes, ‘On the contrary, I have all the time in the world.’

      Leila’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. She boiled inside at the way he’d so neatly caught her and longed to be able to storm out...but to where? Back to an empty shop? To polish the endless glass shelves? He’d just suggested a lucrative personal consultation—even if his actions were nefarious. Not to mention the wad of cash he’d left her the other day...

      Swallowing her ire, and not liking the way he was getting under her skin so easily, she forced a smile and said, ‘Of course. Then, please, sit down.’

      Leila was careful to take a chair at a right angle to the couch. Briskly she took out some of her sample bottles containing pure oils and a separate mixer bottle.

      As he passed her to sit down she unconsciously found herself searching for his scent again, and it hit her as powerfully as it had the first time. Leila had a sudden and fantastical image of herself having access to this man’s naked body and being allowed to spend as much time as she liked discovering the secret scents of his very essence, so that she could try to analyse them and distil them into a perfume.

      She cursed her wayward imagination and said, without looking at him, ‘Had you any particular scent in mind? What do you usually like?’

      She was aware of strong thighs in her peripheral vision, his trousers doing little to hide their length or muscularity.

      ‘I have no idea,’ he said dryly. ‘I get sent new perfumes all the time and usually just pick whatever appeals to me in the moment. But generally I don’t like anything too heavy.’

      Leila glanced at him sharply. His face was expressionless, but there was an intensity in his eyes that made her nervous. For a moment she could almost believe he wasn’t talking about scents at all, and felt like telling him to save his breath if he was warning her obliquely that he wasn’t into commitment—because she had no intention of getting to know him any better.

      She couldn’t deny, though, how her very body seemed to hum in his presence.

      Instinctively she reached for a bottle and pulled it out, undoing the stopper. She sniffed for a moment and then dipped a smelling strip into the bottle and extracted it and held it out towards him. ‘What do you think of this, Monsieur Saint Croix?’

      ‘Please...’ he purred. ‘Call me Alix.’

      Leila tensed, her hand held out, refusing to give in to his unashamed flirtation. Eventually, eyes sparkling as he registered her obvious struggle against him, he took the sliver of paper and Leila snatched her hand back.

      He kept his eyes on her as he smelled it carefully, passing it over and back under his nose. She saw something flare in his eyes, briefly, and felt an answering rush of heat under her skin.

      Consideringly, he said, ‘I like it—what is it?’

      ‘It’s fougère—a blend of notes based on lavender, oakmoss and coumarin: a derivative of the tonka bean. It’s a good base on which to build a scent if you like it.’

      He handed her back the tester and lifted a brow. ‘The tonka bean?’

      Leila nodded as she pulled out another bottle. ‘It’s a soft, woody note. We extract ingredients for a scent from anything and everything.’

      She was beginning to feel more relaxed, concentrating on her work as if there wasn’t a whole subtext going on between her and this man. Maybe she could just ignore it.

      ‘It was developed in the late eighteen-hundreds by Houbigant and I find it evocative of a woody, ferny environment.’

      Leila handed him another smelling strip.

      ‘Try this.’

      He took it and looked at her again. She found it hard to take her eyes away as he breathed deep. Every move this man made was so boldly sensual. Sexy. It made Leila want to curl in on herself and try not to be noticed.

      ‘This is more...exotic?’

      Leila answered, ‘It’s oudh—quite rare. From agarwood. A very distinctive scent—people either love it or hate it.’

      He looked at her, his mouth quirking slightly. ‘I like it. What does that say about me?’

      Leila shrugged minutely as she reached for another bottle, trying to affect nothing but professionalism. ‘Just that you respond to the more complex make-up of the scent. It’s perhaps no surprise that a king should favour such a rare specimen.’

      Immediately tension sprang up between them, and Leila busied herself opening another bottle.

      Alix Saint Croix’s voice was sharper this time. ‘A king in exile, to be more accurate. Does that make a difference?’

      Leila looked at him as she handed him another sample and said, equally coolly, ‘I’m sure it doesn’t. You’re still a king, after all, are you not?’

      He made a dissenting sound as he took the new tester. Leila wondered how much more patience he would have for this game they were playing. As if someone like him really had time for a personal perfume consultation...

      She looked to see him sniff the strip and saw how he immediately recoiled from the smell. He grimaced, and Leila had to bite back a smile.

      ‘What is that?’

      She reached across and took the paper back. ‘It’s extracted from the narcissus flower.’

      His mouth curled up slightly. ‘Should I take that as a compliment? That I don’t immediately resonate with the narcissus?’

      Leila avoided looking at him and started packing up her bottles, eager to get away from this man. ‘If you like any of those scents we tested I can make something up for you.’

      ‘I’d like that. But I want you to add something I haven’t considered...something you think would uniquely suit me.’

      Leila tightened inwardly at the prospect of choosing something unique to him. She closed the case and looked at him. ‘I’m afraid I will be bound to disappoint you. Perfume is such a personal—’

      ‘And I’d like you to deliver it personally this evening.’ He cut her off as if she hadn’t even been talking.

      Leila stood up abruptly and looked down at him. ‘Monsieur Saint Croix, while I appreciate the custom you’ve given me today, I’m afraid I...’

      He stood up then too, and the words dried in her throat as his tall body towered over hers. They were too close.

      His voice was low, with a thread of steel. ‘Are you seriously telling me that you’re turning down the opportunity to custom make a scent for the royal house of Isle Saint Croix?’

      When he said it like that Leila could hear her mother’s voice in her head, shrill and panicked, Are you completely crazy? What was she doing? In her bid to escape from this disturbing tension was she prepared to jeopardise the most potentially lucrative sale she’d had in years? The merest hint of a professional association with a king, no less, and her sales would go through the roof.

      In a small voice she finally said, ‘No, of course I wouldn’t turn down such an opportunity. I can put a couple of sample fragrances together and deliver them to the hotel later. You can let me know which you prefer.’

      His eyes were a mesmerising shade of pewter. ‘One scent, Leila, and I want you to bring it to me personally. Say seven p.m.?’

      Her name on his lips felt absurdly intimate, as if he’d just touched her. She glared at him but had no room to manoeuvre. And then she told herself to get a grip. Alix Saint Croix might be disturbing her on all sorts of levels but he was hardly going to kidnap her. He wouldn’t need to. That was the problem. Leila was afraid that if she had much more contact with him, her defences would start to feel very