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‘You make the wine?’
‘It’s a hobby of mine.’
I blink at him in surprise.
‘You didn’t expect this?’
‘Frankly, no.’ I take another sip. Somehow the fact this man has been involved in its creation adds even more depth to the wine, so it hums as it moves through me.
‘Why not?’
‘I suppose I see you as someone with more frivolous hobbies.’
One of us, or perhaps both of us, has moved closer; there’s barely any gap now. The air is thick.
‘You think I’m frivolous?’
‘No. I think you’re...’ I search for a word, shaking my head in frustration when one won’t come to me. ‘Your lifestyle is well documented.’
‘A few photographs of me on a yacht and you think you know everything about me?’ The question is light in tone, his manner seeming easy and amused, but I understand the depth beneath his question, and there’s a hint of something in his eyes that makes my skin prick with goose bumps.
‘Is that image wrong?’
His smile is laced with tension. ‘No, querida.’ Now it’s definitely Santiago who moves closer, his powerful body dwarfing me, framing me, making me feel whole and laced with adrenalin. ‘I like women.’ He takes a sip of his wine then places the glass on the counter top. ‘I like sex.’
I gasp at the truth of that statement, and the way it sets off a chain reaction of desire all through my body. Fascination spears through me.
‘I also like making wine.’
The final sentence comes to me as if from a very, very long way away. I nod, but I can barely focus.
‘And what are your hobbies?’ he prompts in a gravelled tone that makes me wonder if he cares what my answer is. After all, are words necessary now? Everything between us is sparking and my body is throbbing like the beating of a drum, its urgent tone pushing me forward.
‘I don’t have any hobbies,’ I say simply.
One dark brow quirks in surprise. Somehow he moves closer, and now we’re almost touching.
‘I don’t believe that.’
‘I’m not lying to you.’
‘Everyone has hobbies. Interests outside their work.’
‘My work is my life,’ I say softly. ‘Or perhaps I should say, my life is to work?’
He tsks under his breath. ‘That sounds very dull.’
‘Of course it’s not,’ I lie. ‘I take my responsibilities very seriously.’
‘As evidenced by your squeaky-clean reputation,’ he says with a nod.
‘Have you been googling me?’
‘Of course.’
My heart thumps. It’s been a long time since I’ve searched myself on the Internet but I can imagine what’s written there. Nothing. No speculation about my love life, no speculation about anything, because I never, ever stray outside the lines of the palace that have been drawn for me, lines my parents stressed the importance of observing.
‘You are an excellent princess, much loved by everyone.’
