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‘It sounds so cold-blooded.’

‘It is cold-blooded, he is cold blooded, which just shows that being off-the-scale hot sexy does not make a person genuinely warm in any of the ways that count.’

‘The sexy stuff is just media hype, Elsie. I would lower your expectations if I were you.’

Elsie brought her lashes down to veil her expression. She didn’t share everything with her twin and the pool meeting was one of those things, though she’d never quite figured out her reluctance to share or admit that a kiss had literally rocked her world. The odd thing was, it had never happened since.

‘So, you agree?’

Her twin nodded. ‘I feel so guilty,’ she fretted.

‘And relieved, I hope. So, what happens next in this romance of the century? I’m presuming I will get to meet the groom before we tie the knot… To be honest, I’m hoping for a long engagement.’

CHAPTER FOUR

THE PARIS EMBASSY had pronounced itself honoured to be hosting their King, and excited at the prospect of entertaining on a suitably lavish scale.

When Leandro had explained that all he required was a private dinner for two, with the emphasis on private, the Ambassador, professional to his fingertips, had hidden his chagrin behind a professional smile which faltered slightly when Leandro reiterated that on this occasion His Excellency’s presence and that of his wife and beautiful daughters would not be required.

The obsequious smile had become slightly strained when he had added that the identity of his guest would not be leaked, making it very much a statement and not a request. He could almost hear the speculative wheels turning.

Well, if there was a leak he would know its source.

Over the years, Leandro had shamelessly leaked his own exploits, playing up to his image. Now there was an entire very efficient PR team working to curate his image, spinning every headline to his advantage, with the emphasis on his strong leadership qualities.

Should this potential deal not come to fruition he would be insulated from any fallout. His concern was for the Princess—dumped Princess—as she would inevitably be dubbed, who would find herself at the centre of a social media storm and trending for all the wrong reasons, a situation he would be at least partially responsible for.

The possibility did produce a scratch of guilt so it came as something of a relief to know that the Quindara team of negotiators were apparently awake to this danger and were looking out for their client, hence, he was assuming, the request for a private venue on neutral ground.

It was a good choice.

Or, on the other hand, the location request could be more of a personal…message? Was Paris a coincidence, or was this his potential bride’s way of identifying herself ahead of the meeting? He was fully aware that this theory was pretty ironic coming from a man who had recently claimed that identical twins were virtually interchangeable.

Whoever owned the face that drifted into his head, it had been flawless, classy. Her features delicate but not weak, her startling blue eyes expressive and disconcertingly direct.

That mouth, those lips, were the stuff of fantasy, dark fantasy.

He’d not navigated a safe path through his dissolute lifestyle by being controlled by his lust but, four years on, the image in his head mocked the iron control he prided himself on. Was it the drought in his sex life or the fact that he hadn’t followed through?

He had sensed the passion in her and yet he had hesitated… There was something of the unknown in her, the spark of challenge in her eyes, the untapped passion he sensed…the untapped, as unlikely as it was, had stopped him moving beyond that first—that only—kiss.

The frustration of that choice had stayed with him—at least he was now safe in the knowledge that the vulnerable innocence, imagined or otherwise, would not be there four years on.

He was a realist, totally prepared for the fantasy to bite the dust…but a man could hope. Who wouldn’t want to live out their dark fantasies of her perfect face, her sleek body? He had given her free space in his head, but he was no more a romantic than his father had been. Unlike his father, the romance didn’t survive the experience of waking up beside a gorgeous woman he had shared great sex with the night before, only to discover smeared make-up and stale wine.

He had solved the morning-after situation by rarely spending the entire night with a woman. He slept better in his own bed, didn’t have to make strained conversation, or no conversation at all, and awoke refreshed.

His expectations of this evening were not high so there was nothing to dash. He was simply curious—very curious…

* * *

Elsie, chin up, was escorted through the Embassy building. She didn’t really notice the décor; she just had a vague impression that someone loved gold and mirrors—lots and lots of mirrors.

She kept catching glimpses of herself, her confidence boosted by having conquered the heels. Her stride was assured and the split she had agonised over below the side twist of the Grecian-style dress was not too high, it was just high enough to show that her legs were pretty good.

The agonising over her outfit was a simple case of looking good equalled feeling good. Nothing to do with impressing anyone, this was simply about being in control.

Control…? She swallowed a self-mocking laugh and clung stubbornly to the illusion.