Royals: A Dutiful Princess. Leanne Banks

lit with a disturbing understanding of her inner turmoil. He had always been able to read her mind. It was a skill that had made her mad when she was younger, and which now made her uncomfortably aware. And that firm mouth that she had all too often imagined kissing her.

      She must forget that now.

      She must!

      ‘Are you sure? No more water?’ he prompted.

      Her cheeks flamed red. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Frowning, she looked at him with what Jazz realised was the type of black look she would have given him when they were both younger, which was far too intimate a reminder of how close they’d once been.

      ‘Your napkin, Jazz?’

      She dragged in a sharp breath as Tyr leaned towards her. Shaking out her napkin, he moved to lay it on her lap. His face was so close to hers, her cheeks were burning. The brush of starched linen against her skin sent shivers of arousal streaking through her. The whisper of its touch against her thigh shocked her to think that she could be so easily seduced. Tyr was a force of nature, Jazz reassured herself. Anyone would feel as she did. She should leave now and have nothing more to do with him.

      ‘You look beautiful tonight, Jazz.’

      You can’t say that!

      But how she wanted to hear it.

      Tyr’s eyes were warm and amused when she didn’t reply. Didn’t he know how dangerous this was? Didn’t he care?

      Eva saved the day, taking control of the conversation around the table. Smiling at her brother proudly, Eva proceeded to tell everyone that Tyr had been born with a map and compass in his hand, and when everyone laughed, Jazz was able to relax as the spotlight swung away from her.

      But not for long.

      ‘How do you feel about wanderlust, Jazz?’

      Why did Tyr have to ask her that question? Why did he have to speak to her at all? She stared into his eyes. This was her opportunity to make her position clear to him. ‘I’ve always believed there’s no place like home, and so far I’ve had no reason to change my mind.’ Unless a marriage organised by Sharif took her to a new country, and a new family, where Jazz had no doubt she would be treasured like one of the hard, blue-white diamonds her brother and Tyr mined. She experienced a chill of apprehension at that thought. And then with everything inside her warning her to leave it, she turned back to Tyr. ‘I have never felt your desire to keep moving and searching.’

      ‘Maybe because you’ve never given yourself that chance,’ Tyr cut in, resting his chin on his hand as he stared at her with amusement.

      ‘Tyr’s dangerous to know and even more dangerous to love,’ Eva confided across the table, laughing as everyone else laughed with her.

      Jazz laughed too, thankful to Eva for diluting the tension with a joke. Joining in with the laughter seemed safest, and she thanked her lucky stars she would never be in a position to find out just how dangerous Tyr Skavanga could be.

      ‘We never know when Tyr’s going to disappear again,’ Eva continued, capturing everyone’s attention again. ‘He might not be there if I blink.’

      More laughter followed this, but Jazz felt a pang of loss as if Tyr had already left them.

      ‘Don’t worry. I’m sticking around,’ he confided, but why couldn’t he say that to the whole table, instead of just to her?

      He pretty much kept his promise to leave Jazz alone right up to the moment when Britt mounted the rostrum to deliver her speech of welcome and the lights dimmed. This left Britt alone in the spotlight and the rest of the room in shadow. Sharif had turned his chair around to listen to his wife, encouraging everyone else at the table to do the same.

      ‘What?’ Jazz murmured when she felt his interest switch to her. ‘Will you please stop staring at me, Tyr?’

      ‘No.’

      Jazz’s voice was a fierce whisper, his was a lazy drawl, and her little growl of anger could have come straight from the old days, and that made him smile. Then she must have decided that if he was going to provoke her, she was going to lob back some polite and wholly innocuous conversation, and as he continued to study Jazz at his leisure, he was so engrossed he barely heard her question.

      When he’d computed it, he frowned. ‘Did I manage to bring water to that village?’ he repeated. ‘Yes, I did. How do you know about that?’

      ‘Don’t worry. Sharif didn’t betray you. I happened to see the invoice for aqua-cleaning machinery come in, and I knew Sharif didn’t have any current projects running, so I put two and two together.’

      ‘And came up with me?’

      ‘I do have some original thoughts that aren’t stamped approved by my brother.’

      ‘I’m sure you do. And was that a hint of amusement in your voice I detected, Princess?’

      She raised a brow. ‘Am I so dull?’

      He paused. ‘You’ve changed.’

      ‘Don’t mock me, Tyr. I’m not sixteen any longer.’

      ‘This I can see for myself.’

      ‘Then you shouldn’t be looking.’

      They were silent for some time after that.

      The speeches ended and the prizes had all been handed out. The lights went up and Britt returned to their table to be congratulated by Sharif. His friend was a different character when he was with Britt, Tyr noted. Britt was a soothing hand on the warrior brow—something Tyr badly needed.

      Anything that could distract him from his feelings for Jazz—feelings that clawed at his senses—would be good.

      ‘You’re like a seething volcano of pent-up energy,’ Eva commented, picking up on his tension. ‘Thor minus the hammer, unless you’re keeping that under the table?’

      He hummed with amusement as he settled back. Eva knew him too well. She could sense his hunting instinct. He was the wolf. Jazz was the petal in danger of being trampled underfoot. Watching Britt persuade Sharif to dance, he felt his hunting instinct sharpen as one by one the other couples at the table joined them, leaving just one elderly man and woman to chaperone him and Jazz. And as the elderly couple were currently engrossed in their own conversation...

      ‘So, Princess Jasmina.’

      Taking a deep breath, Jazz turned to stare at him. ‘Can the Sunday title, Tyr. You don’t need to pretend with me. You’ve called me Jazz from the first time we met, and I’m still Jazz to you.’

      Mentally, he reeled back with surprise, then rebuked himself for forgetting that Jazz might have changed outwardly, but inwardly she was the same girl. He searched her eyes, but she turned away, then tensed when a group passed by and bowed to her in respect for her rank. ‘You can’t blame people,’ he pointed out as Jazz chewed her lip unhappily. ‘You’re not the tomboy to them you always were to me. You’re a princess.’

      ‘But that’s just it, Tyr. I can’t buy into the title when I haven’t done anything to deserve it.’

      ‘But you will,’ he said confidently, relieved that at least they were talking.

      ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Jazz admitted with a sigh. ‘But I don’t feel any different from anyone else. Except...’

      ‘Except?’ he prompted, angling his chin to stare into her eyes.

      ‘Except I think you should bow to me.’

      She said this with all the old humour and, sitting back, Tyr laughed with relief to think the girl he used to know was still in there somewhere. ‘Now, why should I bow to you, Princess?’

      ‘Viking warlords need to be put in their place by a princess of the desert.’

      ‘And what place is that?’