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Narrowing her eyes, she erased the vision of a naked Stefan and snapped her fingers in an aha movement. ‘When you went for that estate agent interview all those years ago, what did you wear?’
‘A suit.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I needed to show respect. I needed to project the right image because I was the seeker, the supplicant.’
‘Well, like it or not, that’s what you are now. Not with the people who will hate you regardless, but the people who are willing to give you a chance. Show them that you care what they think—give them a good first impression. Once they get to know you then you can go lumberjack whenever you want. This isn’t about proving you’re a prince—it’s about showing them what sort of prince you are.’
His jaw clenched and she sensed her words had hit home, though she didn’t know why.
Then he shook his head. ‘Point taken. But I didn’t pack a suit.’
‘Lucky for you, I did. Or rather I got Marcus to sort one out. It’s in the back.’
There was a pause and she braced herself, then he huffed out a sigh. ‘You’re good. I’ll be back in five
.’
‘Me too.’ No point in Stefan looking the part if she didn’t too.
Holly grabbed her case and headed towards the bathroom. Half an hour later she surveyed herself with satisfaction. She loved the outfit she’d chosen for her debut appearance as the exiled Prince’s fiancée. Not too over the top, she’d blended designer with High Street. A pretty floral dress, with a matching cardigan over the top.
Right. Time to rock and roll.
As she re-entered the seating area her feet ground to a halt. The man was gorgeous in his uniform of checked shirt and jeans, but this...this was something else. The grey of the suit echoed his eyes, seeming to enhance their intensity, and the snowy shirt was unbuttoned to reveal the strong column of his throat. All she could think about was the encased power of his body, the shape of his hands, the unruly black curl on the curve of his neck...
Oh, God.
She swallowed the whimper that threatened to emerge. ‘I approve.’ Wholeheartedly.
The pilot’s voice came over the intercom, announcing their imminent landing, and she hauled in a breath. For a moment their gazes held and she saw the sudden skitter of vulnerability in his.
No matter what he said, his nerves must be making their presence felt. Soon enough he’d set foot on Lycandrian soil for the first time in nigh on a decade. What had happened between him and Alphonse? Why hadn’t he returned for his father’s funeral or his brother’s wedding? How was he feeling?
No doubt if she asked he’d say ‘fine’. So there was no point.
Instead she stepped forward, placed her hands on the wall of his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart through the silky shirt material. She stood on tiptoe and gently brushed her lips against his. Stepped back and smiled.
He tipped her face up gently, the touch of his fingers against her chin soft and sensuous, and then he lowered his lips to hers, gently brushed them with his own. The sensation was so sweet, so tender, that she closed her eyes.
The plane jolted onto the runway, lurching enough to bring her to her senses even as his arms steadied her, ensuring she had her balance before he released her.
Then he held out his hand. ‘Let’s do this.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
AS THEY DESCENDED onto the tarmac the smell hit Stefan with an intensity he hadn’t expected. Lemons and citrus blossoms mingled with the tang of fuel, floating towards him on a breeze that had a lightness found nowhere else in the world. Familiarity hit him, and his head whirled with a miasma of repressed memories.
For an instant he froze—couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe—his gut lurched and he set his defence barriers at maximum in an attempt to quell the tumble of emotions that swirled inside him.
Images of his younger self—the iniquities and bleakness of his formative years, the anger and the pain and the dull ache of grief. The determination that the moment he could escape his father’s control he would turn his back on being a prince.
And now he was back. Perhaps this had been a mistake.
A pressure on his hand tugged him back to reality. Holly’s warm clasp offered comfort and gave him the impetus to move forward. Hell—he’d be damned if he’d show weakness. The exiled Prince would return in style.
A glance down at Holly strengthened that resolve, caused the fake rictus on his lips to morph into a genuine smile. He was back for a reason—to regain his rights, and most of all to vindicate his mother, set the record straight. He’d walked away from Lycander with nothing—he sure as hell could walk back in now. Stand tall in his mother’s memory.
