In Pursuit Of A Princess. Donna Clayton

expression just as straight as he could, he said, “When is the last time you saw anyone dance the foxtrot?”

      “That’s the same thing I said to—”

      She paused, seeming to realize the humor he found in her story.

      “Okay,” she told him. “Go ahead and laugh. It is pretty funny.”

      “Oh, no.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t dream of laughing at your expense.”

      Her nose wrinkled, and Etienne thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen in his life.

      “It’s just that I have no rhythm,” she complained.

      He felt compelled to say, “That’s not it at all.”

      Her perfectly arched brows lifted a fraction in silent question.

      “It’s the fear you have to conquer,” he told her.

      “Fear? Why, as far as I know, I’m not afraid of much of anything.”

      Before full insult could set in, he rushed to further explain, “It’s clear to me that you don’t trust your partner. You’re afraid you’re going to be led into disaster. The moment you realize that your partner is competent in his role, then your concerns will dissolve like sugar in water. Here, let me show you.”

      She balked, but he took her into his arms. Immediately, her spine arched and she stood tall, just as she’d been taught.

      He settled his hand low on the curve of her spine, murmuring, “You have great form.”

      Great form, he wanted to repeat. He felt heated tendrils sprout and curl in the deepest depths of his gut.

      When they were in position, her gaze unconsciously dipped downward.

      “Oh, no,” he softly chided. Tucking his bent knuckle gently under her chin, he tipped up her jaw. “Look me in the eyes. Relax. Don’t even think about the steps. Don’t give your feet—or mine—another thought. Just listen to the music. Let it roll through you. And trust me.”

      Iridescent moon rays cast half of her features in shadow. Her prominent features were highlighted by the pearly glow: cheekbone, brow, chin, nose. And what a perfect nose it was. Etienne had to force himself not to plant a quick kiss on its tip.

      He gazed down into her beautiful face, their gazes locking…and something extraordinary happened.

      “Trust me,” he repeated in a whisper, pushing off into the first step of the dance.

      The next few minutes seemed laced with magic. A mysterious je ne sais quoi that he’d never before experienced in his life. He couldn’t tell if it was the silky night air, or the soft strain of the orchestra…or the gorgeous young woman who stared up into his face.

      Her dark eyes never left his. Not for a second. And the atmosphere seemed to heat up with each step they took, each dip and sway and turn they made. They may have been under the open sky, but Etienne had the strange sense that time itself was drawing around them like a warm and protective blanket.

      The waltz they performed on the stone terrace was nearly flawless. There could be no other way to describe it.

      Finally, the music faded, and the two of them stood there in that dancers’ stance seemingly hypnotized. She studied his face as if she was seeing him for the very first time. The heat of her penetrated the silk of her dress, and he was sure his fingertips would be scorched. The muscles of her elegant, milky throat convulsed as she swallowed. Still they stood motionless, silent.

      Of course, what seemed a hushed eternity couldn’t have been more than the span of five or six heartbeats.

      There was an intensity in the moment that called to Etienne. And it would have been so very easy for him to bend toward her. To place his lips against hers. To taste what he thought must be the delectable honeyed sweetness of her mouth.

      But the part of his brain housing his common sense flickered to life. Doubts about this woman flooded into his thoughts. He was certain she’d been playacting all night. Pretending to be something she was not. And he couldn’t help but wonder why.

      In the end, he released her, clasping his hands behind his back so as not to surrender to the overwhelming desire he felt to kiss her, to touch her.

      When he released her, she blinked slowly, once, twice. There was a lethargic sleepiness in her expression, and Etienne got the feeling that she was waking from a trance. He knew exactly how she felt. Then he noticed that her chest rose and fell as if she were out of breath…or physically reacting to the high intensity of the moment. Heaven could attest to the fact that he certainly was.

      “I can’t believe it.”

      The awe expressed on her face only made her all the more beautiful.

      “I can’t believe I waltzed without crushing your toes.”

      Her chuckle was filled with both giddiness and delight, and Etienne had to make a conscious effort not to reach out to her, then and there.

      “Dancing won’t ever be my favorite pastime,” she remarked. “But at least now I know I can do it.” Seemingly without thought, she added, “With the right partner, of course.”

      Her aside only seemed to heighten the thick atmosphere that swirled around them in the night air. He couldn’t help wondering if she was as conscious of it as he was.

      “I-I’m suddenly feeling exhausted,” she whispered abruptly. “I hope you’ll forgive me if I bid you good-night.”

      He nodded a single, silent farewell, but she strode away from him so quickly that he doubted she even saw it.

      The rusty quality of her voice coupled with the blatant fact that she was so obviously fleeing the scene told him that—yes—she had realized the magic that the two of them had conjured in those short few minutes under the stars.

      Ariane came awake slowly, stretching on the luxurious bedding like a languid kitten. Sunlight streamed into the airy room and the warbling of birds, muffled yet melodious, could be heard even though the windows were closed against the morning chill.

      All through the night she’d been plagued with dreams of pewter-gray eyes so fiery that she’d become consumed by them, of an embrace so secure that it had robbed her of all thought, of skin so hot that she felt burned by its touch, of a jaw so strong it was mesmerizing, of a mouth so perfect and kissable that she’d become thoroughly obsessed by the idea of tasting—

      Stop!

      Opening her mouth, Ariane gulped in a head-clearing breath as she pressed her palm flat against the base of her throat. She didn’t want to think about what had happened between Etienne and herself at the ball last night. And she certainly didn’t want to dream about the man.

      Okay, so they had shared a few minutes together out under the silky night sky.

      A few surprising—no, amazing—minutes.

      Ariane did all she could to ignore this more precise description of the time she’d spent on the terrace with the prince.

      Her trip to Rhineland held a solitary purpose. To glean political information for the head of her country’s security force, Luc Dumont, who had been none too happy that she’d insisted on coming on this mission. But insist she had. She must remember her goal. She must remember that Etienne was a convenient motive for her visit. That was all he was. She refused to allow him to become anything more than that.

      To allow fanciful thoughts to frolic around in her head would be useless. She and Etienne would never—could never—be anything more than they already were—mere acquaintances.

      And the reality of her life was the reason.

      Not only remembering, but focusing on the practicality of this fact made it all that much easier to clear the sweet but hopeless dreams from her head.

      Movement at the window drew her gaze,