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After an interminable minute, he gave a curt nod. He curled his fingers around her wrist and Violet fought a wild, frenzied battle not to pull away. That would be admitting his touch seared her deep, awakening sensations she was absolutely loath to admit she’d missed—even craved—in the weeks of his absence.
Nevertheless, she didn’t intend to allow him such careless courtesies. So, under the pretext of returning to her seat to retrieve her clutch, she smoothly eased her hand from his.
The merest flaring of his nostrils was the only indication that he’d noticed. Making sure to keep a few necessary feet between them, she walked with him to the door.
Together they climbed a wide, sweeping staircase, at the top of which were hallways that branched out in two directions. Zak took the east hallway, leading her to the farthest set of doors.
He threw them open and Violet barely suppressed a gasp. The suite was tasteful magnificence personified. A different level of luxury from the rooms at the Montegovan palace but jaw-dropping nonetheless. Eggshell-blue walls and white muslin curtains gave the room a light and airy feel. Cleverly accented with pale gold fixtures and furnishings, she felt as if she was floating in the sunlit sky.
The grounding force in the form of the solid, powerful man who was watching her with a steady gaze brought her back down to earth.
‘A tray of refreshments will be brought up to you. We will have dinner at seven. If you need me before then, the staff will tell you where to find me.’
‘Why on earth would I need you?’
A mocking smile twitched the corner of his sensual lips. ‘To give me your answer, of course.’
In all the furore surrounding her kidnap, she’d momentarily forgotten that he’d asked her, no, decreed that she marry him.
A pulse of shock ricocheted through her. She curbed a hysterical snort. If anyone had told her just yesterday that Zak would demand that she wed him, and that she would actually forget that demand, she’d have crowed with laughter.
She raised a hand to her head as it threatened to spin. Instantly, he was before her, cupping her shoulders in a firm hold and frowning down at her. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked tersely.
‘I’m just...a little dizzy.’ And the warm, seductive fire of his touch wasn’t helping.
His lips flattened. ‘You’ve worn yourself out.’
‘No, you’ve worn me out. Leave, please. I really want to be alone.’
He didn’t release her. As he’d done when they’d left the plane, he swung her up into his arms, strode a few steps to where the huge, queen-size bed, festooned with pillows, waited. With a gentleness belying the bristling purpose stamped on his face, he set her down in the middle of it, slid the cover from beneath her and, with one sizzling scrutiny from head to toe, settled it back over her.
‘I’d offer to help remove that dress, but I’m guessing you’re going to oppose me on principle,’ he drawled.
‘Give the Prince a prize,’ she responded drily.
For a moment he froze, his eyes narrowing ominously. She held her breath, a curiously hot and heavy anticipation oozing through her belly.
Then, instead of the sharp retort she’d expected, he extended his hand, trailed his forefinger down one cheek in a silent, electrifying caress.
Violet was glad the covers hid her body’s reaction. And while she was battling the pearling of her nipples and the damp neediness between her thighs, he stepped back.
‘Rest now. We will pick this up again later.’
She chose silence. Because all of a sudden she wasn’t sure she wanted him to leave. Actually felt curiously bereft in the pit of her stomach as his broad-shouldered frame headed for the door.
And when she winced at the gentle but definitive snick of the door shutting, she feared how deflated she felt, as if he’d taken her very vitality with him. As if he’d dimmed the sun with his absence.
More than anything that’d happened since she’d stepped onto the plane what felt like a lifetime ago, it was what terrified her the most.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHE WAS STILL choosing silence two weeks later.
A fact, she was very pleased to note, that had increasingly aggravated the hitherto unflappable Prince Zak Montegova. He didn’t overtly display his displeasure at her attitude, but it was there in the flattening of his sensual lips when she left the table immediately after a civil but silent meal.
I
n the brisk stride of his departure when her monosyllabic answers stifled his attempt at conversation.
