The Prince's Cinderella Bride. Christine Rimmer

didn’t want that. And arguing with her over whether that unforgettable night should or should not have happened was getting him nowhere, anyway. They didn’t need arguing. They needed to reestablish their earlier ease with each other.

      So in the end he answered mildly, “Of course you’re right. It won’t happen again.”

      She blinked in surprise. “I don’t… What are you saying?”

      “I’ll make an agreement with you.”

      She narrowed her eyes and peered at him sideways. “I don’t want to bargain about this.”

      “How can you know that? You haven’t heard my offer yet.”

      “Offer?” She sneered the word. He held his silence as she nibbled her lower lip in indecision. Finally, she threw up both hands. “Oh, all right. What, then? What is your offer?”

      “I’ll promise not to try to seduce you,” he suggested with what he hoped was just the right touch of wry humor, “and you’ll stop avoiding me. We can be…” He hesitated, remembering how she’d scoffed when he’d called them friends. “…what we used to be.”

      She aimed a put-upon look at the single beam in the rough-textured ceiling. “Oh, come on. Seriously? That never works.”

      “I disagree.” Light. Reasonable. Yes, just the right tone. “And it’s unfair to generalize. I think it can work. We can make it work.” Until she admitted that being what they used to be wasn’t nearly enough. Then they could make it work in much more satisfying ways.

      She hovered there in front of the door, staring at him, unblinking. He stared right back, trying to look calm and reasonable and completely relaxed when in reality his gut was clenched tight and he’d begun to lose hope he would ever get through to her.

      But then, at last, she dropped her gaze. She went to the rustic dinner table, where she ran her finger along the back of one of the plain straight chairs. He watched her, remembering the cool, thrilling wonder of her fingers on his naked skin.

      Finally, she slanted him a look. “I love Montedoro. I came here with Sydney thinking I would stay for six months or a year, just for the life experience.” Sydney was his brother Rule’s wife and Lani’s closest friend. “Two years later, I’m still here. I have this feeling, and it’s such a powerful feeling, that Montedoro is my real home and I was only waiting to come here, to find the place I was meant to be. I want to write a hundred novels, all of them set right here. I never want to leave.”

      “I know. And no one wants you to leave.”

      “Oh, Max. What I’m trying to say is, as much as I love it here, as much as I want to stay forever, if you or any of your family wanted me gone, my visa would be revoked in a heartbeat.”

      “How many times do I have to tell you? No one wants you to go.”

      “Don’t pretend you don’t get it. Love affairs end. And when they end, things can get awkward. You’re a good man, a kind man. But you’re also the heir to the throne. I’m the help. It’s…well, it’s hardly a relationship of equals.”

      Why did she insist on seeing trouble where there was none? “You’re wrong. We are equals in all the ways that really matter.”

      She made a humphing sound. “Thanks for that, Your Highness.”

      He wanted to grab her and shake her. But somehow he managed to remain still, to speak with calm reproach. “You know me better than that.”

      She shook her head. “Don’t you get it? We went too far. We need to back off and let it go.”

      Let it go—let her go? Never. “Listen. I’m going to say it again. This time I’m hopeful you’ll actually hear me. I would never expect you to leave Montedoro, no matter what happened. You have my sworn word on that. The last thing I would ever want is to make things difficult for you.”

      Heat flared in her eyes again. “But that’s exactly what you’ve done—what you are doing right now.”

      “Forgive me.” He said it evenly, holding her dark gaze.

      Another silence ensued. An endless one.

      And then, at last, she spoke again, her head drooping, her shining, softly curling hair swinging out to hide her flushed cheeks. “I hate this.”

      “So do I.”

      She lifted her head and stared at him, emotions chasing themselves across her sweet face: misery, exasperation, frustration, sorrow. After a moment she confessed, “All right. It’s true that I miss…having you to talk to.”

      Progress. His heart slammed against his rib cage.

      She added, “And I adore Nick and Constance.” His son, Nicholas, was eight. Connie was six. Lani was good friends with Gerta, Nick and Connie’s nanny. Rule’s children and his often played together. “I…” She peered at him so closely, her expression disbelieving. “Do you honestly think we could do that, be…friendly again?”

      “I know we could.”

      “Just that and only that.” Doubt shadowed her eyes. “Friendly. Nothing more.”

      “Only that,” he vowed, silently adding, Until you realize you want more as much as I do.

      She sighed. “I… Well, I would like to be on good terms with you.”

      Light, he reminded himself as his pulse ratcheted higher. Keep it light. “All right, then. We are…as we were.” He dared to hold out his hand to her.

      She frowned. He waited, arm outstretched, arching a brow, trying to appear hopeful and harmless. Her gaze darted from his face to his offered hand, and back to his face again. Just when he was certain he would have to drop his hand, she left the table and came and took it. His fingers closed over hers. He reveled in the thrill that shivered up his arm at her touch.

      Too soon, she eased her hand free and snatched up her book. “Now, will you let me go?”

      No. He cast about for a way to keep her there. If she wouldn’t let him kiss her or hold her or smooth her shining hair, all right. He accepted that. But couldn’t they at least talk for a while the way they used to do?

      “Max?” A slight frown creased her brow.

      He was fresh out of new tactics and had no clue how to get her to let down her guard. Plus he had a very strong feeling that he’d pushed her as far as she would go for now. This was looking to be an extended campaign. He didn’t like that, but if it was the only way to finally reach her, so be it. “I’ll be seeing you in the library—where you will no longer scuttle away every time I get near you.”

      A hint of the old humor flashed in her eyes. “I never scuttle.”

      “Scamper? Dart? Dash?”

      “Stop it.” Her mouth twitched. A good sign, he told himself.

      “Promise me you won’t run off the next time we meet.”

      The spark of humor winked out. “I just don’t like this.”

      “You’ve already said that. I’m going to show you there’s nothing to be afraid of. Do we have an understanding?”

      “Oh, Max…”

      “Say yes.”

      And finally, she gave in and said the words he needed to hear. “Yes. I’ll, um, look forward to seeing you.”

      He didn’t believe her. How could he believe her when she sounded so grim, when that mouth he wanted beneath his own was twisted with resignation? He didn’t believe her, and he almost wished he could give her what she said she wanted, let her go, say goodbye. He almost wished he could not care.

      But he’d had years of not caring—long, empty years when he’d told himself that not caring was for the best.