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Clearly there was some passion in her.
‘I’m sorry, Your Highness,’ she said with only the faintest trace of apology. ‘I’ll try not to be so obvious with my expressions in future.’
Just think how much fun it would be to get her to lose her cool.
Xerxes contemplated it for a split-second. Then his better self stepped in. No, he couldn’t afford to risk stepping out of line. Not only would his brother be highly irritated, but showing interest in one of his guards wouldn’t improve his standing with the army. Especially not with the first female guard.
But you’re going to be engaged soon and then you won’t be able to do this any more.
Ah yes. As if he needed that reminder.
‘I’d advise it,’ he murmured, letting an edge of warning creep into his voice. ‘I’d hate for your father to find out you were less than thrilled with your orders.’
Her gaze sparked, that temper igniting yet again. ‘I have no feelings about my orders, Highness. I haven’t refused an order before and I won’t now.’
The second part might be the truth, but the first was definitely a lie. She did have feelings about her orders.
He stared at her, realising with a sudden start that, actually, she was far from plain. He’d got that wrong. Her forehead was high, her cheekbones sharp, and her jaw was strong. Bold features. Not pretty, nothing so anodyne, but fierce.
Possibly even beautiful.
A current of heat moved through him, a heat that shouldn’t be there.
He liked to be surprised. He liked that more than anything. But an inexplicable attraction to one of his guards was not the kind of surprise he was looking for.
Xerxes turned sharply and gestured at the designer, who was waiting patiently beside the rail of clothes. ‘The blue, I think. Let’s try that one first.’
CHAPTER TWO
CALISTA’SHEARTWASbeating uncomfortably fast and she wasn’t quite sure why.
The prince had turned from her, striding across the bedroom to where the designer stood with the rail of gowns, the play of lean muscle that moved beneath his taut amber skin making her breath catch.
She felt as if she’d been standing in the path of a blazing forest fire, preparing to be burned, only for the fire to turn abruptly at the last minute and blaze somewhere else.
What had happened? Because she was sure something had. The prince’s dark gaze had been focused so unerringly on her, so intense it had made her skin prickle and her uniform feel suddenly far too hot.
He saw your slip.
She gritted her teeth, forcing away the sudden rush of shame. She’d been certain her instinctive recoil at the sight of those gowns hadn’t shown. Certain, too, that her irritation at the Prince’s prodding wasn’t obvious. She’d never had a problem with her emotional reactions before, had always been the perfect soldier. Strong. Steady. Emotionless.
Surely a couple of gowns and one irritating prince hadn’t been able to get under her skin so quickly?
Ah, but he’s not just any prince.
Xerxes had taken one of the dresses off the rail, luminous blue silk falling over his hand and contrasting beautifully with his olive skin. The designer was saying something to him, batting her eyelashes rather obviously, and he smiled. It was practised—Calista knew by now which of his smiles were natural and which were not—but nevertheless, it was one of the most beautiful smiles she’d ever seen.
A smile should not have the power to make her feel this hot. It shouldn’t. And maybe he wasn’t just any prince, but she wasn’t just any soldier.
She was the daughter of the captain of the guard, the first woman to be appointed to the royal guard, and she had a duty to uphold. A point to prove and a promotion to earn. And no prince, no matter how gorgeous he was, would be getting in her way.
There had been an incident once, back when she’d first signed up, where some male recruits had teased her and she’d let her temper get the better of her. She’d ended up weeping tears of rage like the stupid, weak little girl she’d thought she’d left behind the day her mother had walked out. That incident had given her a reputation for being overly emotional—always a bad thing in the army—which meant she had to try extra hard to be impervious.
She couldn’t have any more slips. Couldn’t let her disapproval show. Couldn’t letanythingshow. Her father had been very clear: good soldiers never let their emotions rule them and they always obeyed their commanding officer no matter what.
Clearly she needed to try harder.
The prince laid the blue silk gown over the black velvet quilt on his bed, and glanced at her. ‘This one first, if you please. Aimee and I will let you get changed—’
