At His Majesty's Request. Maisey Yates

in front of her. “I’d love a word with you in private,” he said.

      She looked around. “As long as we don’t draw attention. I’m hardly the most recognizable face in the world but …”

      “Come,” he said. Taking her hand and striding toward the ballroom’s exit, his gait much more purposeful than it had been a moment ago.

      She snagged a glass of champagne off of a passing waiter’s tray and followed him out. “Wait. I’m in heels,” she said, taking quick, tottering steps out into the corridor. She flashed a passing guest a smile and tried to match Stavros’s pace. “Hey, Tarzan. Me not Jane. You no drag me out by the hair.”

      He ignored her, continuing to walk down the hall until he came to an ornate wood door that she recognized as the entrance to his office. She never would have found it by herself. Not in the maze of halls the Kyonosian palace boasted. He released her hand, entered in a code and pushed the door open. “Come in,” he said.

      She shot him a look and walked into the room, wiping her hand on the tulle skirt of her gown, trying to get rid of the heated feeling that his touch had left behind. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, pushed her cleavage up into prominence, then thought better of it when she realized just how prominent it was.

      She put her hands on her hips. “What’s up?”

      “None of them were acceptable,” he said.

      “None?”

      “No.”

      “But … but …” she sputtered. “What about Dominique? You touched her arm.”

      He shrugged. “I know how to flirt.”

      “Well, yeah, I know, I yelled at you for it a while back. But why flirt if you aren’t going to follow up?”

      He frowned. “Did you just imply that I am a … tease?”

      “Yeah. A marriage tease. Why feign interest if you don’t feel any?”

      “I’m not seeking to hurt anyone’s feelings,” he said dryly. “I could hardly stand there and act bored. And anyway, that begs the question why you would send me such dull women.”

      “Dull? Dominique is a beauty queen, Corinthia is a doctor, for heaven’s sake, and Samantha …”

      “Had the most annoying laugh.”

      “All right. Yes, her laugh is kind of annoying. But it’s sort of endearing.”

      “No. It’s not.”

      “You’re being unkind.”

      “Maybe. But I don’t have forever to find a wife, and you were supposed to be the best.”

      “I am,” she said. “I can find you a wife. Anyway, I didn’t think your personal preferences came into it.”

      “I don’t want to be … irritated into an early grave by a woman who laughs at all my jokes, even when they aren’t funny, or by one who can’t seem to make conversation about anything other than the weather.”

      “That’s called small talk. It’s how people get to know each other,” she said.

      “Boring.” He waved a hand as if dismissing the concept. “Talk about world events. Something other than the ‘balmy evening.’”

      “So marriage is more to you than you said. Glad to hear it.”

      “I am not glad that you presented me with unacceptable candidates. This is not about … meaning, or emotions. This is about … I have to be able to stand the woman I marry.”

      “You really are being ridiculous. They weren’t unacceptable. What’s the problem? You didn’t find them attractive?”

      “They were attractive. But I was not attracted to any of them.”

      “You say that like it’s my fault.”

      “It is,” he said, whirling around to face her. His dark gaze slid down to her breasts and her own followed.

      She looked back up at him. “Elaborate,” she said, teeth gritted.

      “You expect that you can show up in that dress, and I can focus on other women?”

      “What’s wrong with my dress?” She gripped the full, tulle skirt reflexively.

      “Other than the fact that you’re showing off much more of your breasts than any straight man could be expected to ignore? It also shows your legs. This was a formal wedding. Every other woman, including the ones I was speaking to, had on long gowns. You … you …”

      “This dress comes to my knees. And I didn’t realize you were a fourteen-year-old boy masquerading as a prince.”

      The insult rolled off her tongue, because what he was saying felt far too good. She wanted to turn it over in her mind, to savor it. To pretend that it was for her and that it mattered. To bask in being seen as pretty instead of broken.

      The thought made her so annoyed with herself she wanted to scream.

      He took a step toward her, and she sucked in a breath, holding her ground. He leaned in, his face close to hers, dark eyes intense. “I can assure you, I am not a boy.”

      She swallowed, fought the urge to put her hand on his cheek and see if the faint, dark shadow there was rough yet. “I believe it.”

      “Then do not test me.” His eyes held hers, her heart threatening to beat clean through her chest. She pulled away, her breathing shallow.

      Stavros turned away from her. She stood in the middle of his office as he paced, each movement languid and deadly. Her heart was pounding, her body shaking. She’d known that he couldn’t possibly be so easy, so relaxed. Beneath that charm lurked the soul of a predator. The deadliest sort, because he knew how to portray an air of complete and utter harmlessness.

      Stavros Drakos was anything but harmless. How had she not seen it? How had she assumed he was all flirtation and ease?

      And had he … had he really just confessed to finding her cleavage distracting? She looked down again and felt a small flush of pride creep into her cheeks. It had been a long time since she’d been able to feel anything overly positive in connection with her body.

      It was nice to have a man look at her and simply see a woman.

      It might be a facade, a trick, but it didn’t really matter. Stavros would never have to get closer. Would never have to know the truth, or deal with the fallout of it.

      But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t enjoy it. Just for a moment.

      “I wasn’t intending to,” she said.

      He stopped moving. “You cannot be ignorant of how you look. You outshone the bride.”

      She couldn’t believe that. Not seriously. Princess Evangelina was a great beauty. Olive skin, long dark hair and a slender figure. In her wedding gown, she was unsurpassable. Plus, the princess was only twenty-one. She didn’t have the years Jessica had on her body. Didn’t have the scars.

      “I doubt that,” she said.

      “My eyes were on you most of the time.”

      Heat rushed up her neck and into her face, then spread down over her breasts. “We should not be having this conversation.”

      “We should. Because if you’re going to be present at all of my meetings with potential fiancées, you need to dress more suitably.”

      “I will dress how I please, Prince Stavros,” she said, feeling her hackles rise. She really didn’t do backed into a corner well, and, at the moment, she felt backed into a corner.

      Stavros felt his pulse pounding in his neck, all of his blood rushing south of his belt. He’d been fighting to urge to go and pull Jessica into his arms and kiss her