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Her heart lurched at the thought of what such loss would have done to a man living in the public eye. And not just any man. A crown prince with a duty to his kingdom and future throne. A crown prince who’d lost his princess.
No. Despite the fiery insanity of that kiss, she couldn’t fool herself into thinking it was anything but a throwaway reaction for Remi. And henceforth her best course of action would be to have minimal, only strictly necessary contact with Remi, and keep her father at the forefront of her mind.
But as sleep took her she knew that task might be easier said than achieved.
* * *
Kissing her had been a mistake.
Remi grimaced as he swallowed a mouthful of cognac. The smooth heat did nothing to burn away the guilt riding him. Nor did it lessen the pounding arousal flooding his manhood.
To make matters worse, his desperate scramble to recall Celeste’s voice, her laugh, her gentle manner, had failed him for a few shameful seconds. Replaced with vibrant green eyes, a husky laugh, a defiant chin and bee-stung lips.
He shouldn’t have kissed her.
Telling himself he had done it for the cogent reason of freeing himself from unwanted attention so he could preserve Celeste’s memory felt hollow in the aftermath of the savage hunger it had awakened in him.
He’d enjoyed the sensation of holding another woman in his arms. Tasting her warm, willing flesh. Hearing that hitch in her breathing that signalled an arousal that matched his.
Worst of all was his inability to wrestle that beast of arousal under control. But what he’d done might have worked. No doubt there would now be a scramble to find out who the woman was who’d made Crown Prince Remi Montegova act so out of character.
Because even with Celeste he’d resisted even simple public displays of affection, never mind giving in to the ravaging lust that clawed through him.
His skin tightened with guilt as the silent promise he’d made to his dying fiancée returned to haunt him. His fingers tightened around his glass. He hadn’t sinned yet. Hadn’t taken another woman into his heart.
But you’re thinking about taking another woman to your bed.
A necessity. For the sake of his kingdom.
Excuses.
The cold blanket of grief and guilt settled more heavily as his gaze skated over the view of night-time London. The simple truth was that he’d let Celeste down. She was dead because he’d failed her.
Remi veered away from his censorious reflection in the living room window.
His mother’s second phone call this afternoon, questioning his motives, had riled him. He was already aware that his inability to fully control himself around Maddie Myers might reap unpalatable consequences. His mother pointing it out hadn’t pleased him. Only his assurance that he was returning home in another day had appeased her.
As for her insistence that he choose a wife...
If he rid himself of his hunger with Maddie, then on his return home he could focus on the more rewarding task of governing Montegova.
Celeste had understood what sacrifice meant. Would she have understood this decision?
He headed for his bedroom, his every step dogged by duelling emotions of guilt and arousal. But through it all the thrill heating his blood only grew hotter.
It was still present the next morning as he flicked through the financial section of the morning paper. Sunrise had brought more coverage of him in the social pages and another call from his mother.
It had taken exactly one minute of examining the front page and its breathtaking picture of Maddie to stoke the fire in his groin and deepen the decision that had taken hold of him somewhere between dawn and sunrise.
She was a beautiful woman. There was no denying that. In his world, women like her were a dime a dozen. But there was something more about her that snagged his attention. Something that compelled his gaze now, as she approached the dining table. Something unsettling that wouldn’t let him ignore the hypnotic sway of her hips and the proud rise of her breasts.
It was deeper than common lust and, whatever it was, it armed itself in preparation to battle his unrelenting guilt.
‘Good morning,’ she murmured when she reached him.
Re
mi folded the newspaper, took time to wrestle himself under control—because duty and loyalty demanded precedence over blind, red-hot lust—then took his time to assess her. She wore a blush-pink off-the-shoulder sweater that bared one creamy shoulder and a grey knee-length skirt that cradled her hips before flaring at the knees. Tasteful clothes, which somehow managed to look sinfully decadent on her body.
