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‘As okay as you say everything is here.’ Erik nodded. ‘I don’t need you to protect me, Alex.’

‘And I don’t need you to stay here and play the good son any more.’ He would free his brother. ‘Call me if you need me.’

‘Ditto,’ Erik muttered as a businessman approached them both.

Alex ducked away from the conversation. The band was playing and the dance floor was empty but Alex did like to dance. He would dance with her tonight. It would be his only chance.

‘May I steal away my wife?’ he murmured, sending the elderly Frenchwoman his most charming smile.

‘That wasn’t fair,’ Tilly whispered as he guided her onto the floor. ‘You flummoxed her—’

‘I want to dance with you,’ he murmured. ‘So it sticks in his craw, right?’

Her bronze-flecked emerald eyes widened. Then she smiled.

‘You look good in royal uniform.’ She ran her hand up his chest to his shoulder.

He bathed in her fluttering tease and the naked possessiveness in her eyes. His flame-haired temptress wasn’t hiding her spark now. Nothing suppressed, nothing controlled, nothing forbidden now. Yet it was his Cinderella moment. A stolen few seconds of no responsibility. Of pure freedom to do what he wanted with the one person he wanted. Their fake marriage and the massive audience enabled him to hold her as if she were the most precious thing in his life. One night. This night.

No one dared join them on the dance floor as they swept around and around. The music ended, another piece began but even then, the crowd kept their distance. He lost track of time—utterly focused, moving closer. She smiled at him differently. His heart raced, their breathing grew rapid but in unison, he pressed closer, desperate to kiss her. Remembering only just in time. Audience. Cameras. No more of that. He didn’t want the world watching. This wasn’t a performance and shouldn’t be for anyone other than themselves.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said gruffly. ‘We’ve performed enough.’

A shadow flashed in her eyes before she looked down. ‘Of course.’

He whisked her through a side door. No goodbye to anyone. She didn’t speak as they walked along the quiet corridors all the way back to his suite. Past the guards, the footmen, the official bloody photographers. But he kept hold of her hand and when they were finally in his apartment, finally alone, he swept her back into his arms.

‘Dance with me again,’ he muttered huskily. ‘No audience.’

Finally she let him see her beautiful eyes again. Better still, her smile blossomed anew. Teasing and sweet. Honey and a touch of vinegar. ‘No music either.’

‘We make our own.’

She leaned in. It wasn’t really dancing. It was an embrace. Barely swaying.

It wasn’t meant to happen. He’d thought they could fool around—burn out the inexplicable chemical reaction between them. He wasn’t supposed to care about her. The stupid marriage was only supposed to have been an explosive end to a relationship neither had wanted nor recognised. And yet now, oh, now he wanted everything else for her. She’d been perfect tonight, but there was still a price. He’d protect her from the burden that Montaurella brought. From his father. From himself most of all. He had nothing but trouble to bring her.

She slid her hand to his face, pulling back to look into his eyes. ‘Alex?’

‘Sshh. Don’t spoil it,’ he murmured. ‘Let me have just this.’

She went completely still. ‘You can have more than this. You can have everything.’

No. Not from her. That wasn’t fair because he could not give everything back.

‘Alex—’

He kissed her. He would give and have all he could right now. Her softness, heat, spark. He kissed her until she couldn’t say anything other than his name and even then only on a breathless sigh. He knelt before her to worship her once more. One last time, ignoring the ache in his heart—long accustomed to enduring pain. But this. This.

He trembled, so desperate to please her. Her wide eyes gleamed, echoing the emeralds in the tiara glinting in her fiery hair. Just as he’d dreamed. He needed to taste her, to hear her murmur in delight, then satisfaction.

The everything he wanted was her—her skin like warm silk beneath his, her body moving in ripples of hunger and need. All of her and only her. Until he couldn’t move again. But he couldn’t sleep. He stole from the bed, leaving her drowsy warmth well before dawn, and began.

Chapter Seventeen

‘Move.’ Alex eyeballed the guard.

‘The King is not to be disturbed.’