Beauty and the Reclusive Prince / Executive: Expecting Tiny Twins. Barbara Hannay

realized what was happening.

      “You listen to me,” she demanded, jabbing a finger against his naked chest. “It wasn’t easy doing this. It wasn’t easy coming all this way and climbing the hill with all these supplies, or finding the right time to come here when I would be able to get in, and preparing myself and putting together a proper case to make to convince you. You can at least pay me the respect of hearing me out.”

      He grabbed her hand to stop the jabbing and ended up holding onto it. “Why should I hear you out? Your problems have nothing to do with me.”

      “Yes, they do,” she insisted, trying to free her hand from his grip. “You own the hillside where the basil grows. That herb is the linchpin of my family’s existence. Without it, our restaurant is over and my father’s lifework is in ruins.”

      She finally yanked her hand away and jabbed him again. “You will listen,” she demanded, her eyes fierce.

      Max hadn’t been around many people for a good long time, but he’d always had a knack for understanding a lot about human psychology. One thing he knew was that, faced with someone who was almost overwrought with passionate intensity, the worst thing you could do was to laugh. It drove the person crazy and it made you look like a jerk. He knew it was all wrong. Not to mention, if your goal was to calm the person down, it just plain didn’t work very well.

      But he couldn’t help it. She looked so cute. Her curly hair was flopping down over her huge eyes and her cheeks were bright red and her lips looked lusciously swollen. And she was so earnest.

      He started to try to answer her, but the words didn’t come out right. What did come out was a choking laugh, and once it got started he had a hard time getting it stopped again.

      Laughing. It was something he never did. As he tried to analyze it later, he decided it was a release of sorts. He’d spent so long being so tense, so filled with anguished guilt, and Isabella had reached into his life and pulled aside the curtain, letting in a ray of sunshine that helped open the floodgates to emotions he had kept bottled up for too long. But once those gates had opened, it was hard getting them closed again.

      She stood back, stunned, her blue eyes bewildered. Next she was going to look hurt and he knew it. He didn’t want her to be hurt. He had to stop that. He had to tell her, had to explain…

      But he was laughing and, for the moment, all he could do was reach for her and fold her into his arms.

      “How dare you?” she cried, struggling against him.

      “Hush, hush,” he was saying, stroking her hair and leaning down into the crook of her neck to drop a kiss on her tender skin, his lips lingering a moment or two too long. His whole purpose was to calm her down, of course, and to reassure her that he wasn’t laughing at her. Not really. But her neck was so inviting and her skin tasted so sweet and he found himself dropping more kisses than he’d ever meant to, dropping them lightly at first, then with more and more intensity, letting his tongue flicker on her skin.

      “I’m sorry, Isabella,” he murmured against her warmth, still racked with humor. “I don’t mean to laugh. It’s not that I’m laughing at you. Honestly, I’m really not…”

      “I hate you!” she cried, still trying to break free. “You’re mean and arrogant and—”

      “No,” he said, finally getting control of the laughter and pulling up to look at her. “No, listen…”

      She shook her head and her hair flew around her face. There were tears in her eyes. His heart melted at the sight.

      “Oh, Isabella,” he said gruffly, full of regret. “No, I didn’t mean to laugh.”

      Her lower lip was trembling. He cupped her face in his hands. She was beautiful and he moved purely by instinct. She had a spirit that had to be soothed, a mouth that had to be kissed. There was no stopping it. Nature had taken over.