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‘No need.’ Calista strode towards the bed, ignoring the fact that she’d just interrupted a prince. ‘I’ll get changed here.’
She didn’t wait for him to reply, lifting a hand to undo the buttons of her jacket and pulling it open. She had no hang-ups about her body. Military training had stripped away any self-consciousness she might have had about it. Her body was a machine that did her bidding, that required fuel to keep it running and exercise to keep it performing in top condition, but that was all.
You’re not at all trying to prove something to him.
Of course not. He wanted her to try on a ridiculous gown and so she would. All she was demonstrating was her obedience. It didn’t matter that the gowns reminded her of the times her mother would let Calista try on her dresses, smiling as she pirouetted and turned in front of the mirror, telling her how beautiful she was and what a heartbreaker she’d grow up to be. Those memories no longer had the power to hurt her, especially now she’d turned herself into something better than a useless, pretty creature who broke men’s hearts. Something better than her mother.
She had turned herself into a hardened soldier. She could kill men instead.
Tossing her jacket down onto the bed, Calista then kicked off her boots. Unfastening the buttons on her black trousers, she pushed them down, stepped out of them and put them on the bed, too. Someone—the designer probably—made an inarticulate sound, but Calista ignored her. She unbuckled the body armour she wore under her jacket and quickly pulled off the tight-fitting black T-shirt that was under that.
Then, standing in nothing but a pair of black briefs and a black sports bra, she turned and faced the prince head-on. ‘I’m ready, Your Highness.’
He said nothing, and if she hadn’t known better she would have said it was shock that flickered over his ridiculously handsome features. Shock that disappeared almost as soon as she’d seen it, to be replaced by what looked oddly like anger. Which was strange. What did he have to be angry about?
The gold flecks in his eyes gleamed brightly as he stared at her and her breath caught, unfamiliar self-consciousness creeping over her. Making her aware that no matter how hard she tried, she was still a woman. And he was very much a man...
‘Out,’ he ordered in a low voice.
It took a moment for Calista to realise that he was talking to the designer, not her.
The woman scurried off, but Calista wasn’t watching, held captive by the prince’s dark gaze as it raked over her. The self-consciousness intensified, but she fought it, standing straighter, taller.
She wasn’t a coward and there was no reason for her to be self-conscious. Her body was only a machine, and his looking at it didn’t mean anything. She was a soldier, impervious to emotion.
And physical excitement.
‘Excuse me,’ the prince enquired silkily, ‘but what the hell do you think you’re doing?’
Calista didn’t know what was annoying him so much, especially when she was only doing what he’d asked her to do. ‘I’m obeying your orders, Your Highness.’ Turning, she picked up the blue silk gown that he’d laid across the quilt and gingerly began to pull it on. The fabric felt fragile in her hands. She’d probably rip it the second she stepped into it.
He made an irritated sound as she clumsily tried to put the gown on, striding over and taking hold of the material himself.
‘Let go,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll hold it for you.’
She did as she was told, shocked as he crouched down in one fluid motion, holding out the gown so she could step into it.
Royalty was not supposed to be at her feet. She was supposed to be at his.
He looked up at her and a pulse of heat shot through her. ‘Put your hands on my shoulders.’
Calista caught her breath. ‘I’ll be fine—’
‘The gown is very expensive and I’ll be very unhappy if you tear it.’ Iron edged his voice. ‘So put your hands on my shoulders. That’s an order, soldier.’
Her hands itched and she wasn’t sure why. Touching royalty was forbidden, yet he’d ordered her to, which meant she had to obey, didn’t she?
You didn’t have to take your uniform off though.
No, she hadn’t. She could have waited until he and the designer had left the room. She hadn’t needed to strip down in front of him.
What are you trying to prove?
Nothing. Well, maybe her obedience. Plus, he’d threatened to tell her father, which had flat out made her angry. It had been one minute slip, nothing more, but her father would definitely have something to say about it if he found out. She couldn’t have that.
Ignoring the voice in her head, Calista shoved away the tension snapping and crackling in the air around them and followed orders, putting her hands on his broad shoulders to balance herself.
His bare shoulders.
