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He’d made his sexual interest in her known.
Blatantly.
It had been a lot easier to think of him as King Nikolai’s kid brother when Jenna had thought the desire was one-sided. Not that she hadn’t noticed him looking at her over the years, but she’d convinced herself she’d been mistaken about the heat she’d seen in his gaze.
Why would he be interested in a woman five years his senior and not the supermodel type that usually vied for his attention?
At five-foot-six, with an average figure and a little above average bra size, Jenna would never be described as tall and willowy. Elegant.
She could dress that way, of course, but her default was more relaxed fashion, not to mention sustainable. Jenna wouldn’t be gracing the covers of any glossy magazines, but that didn’t mean she wanted Dima to look at her and see nothing but average.
Not usually so lacking in confidence, Jenna glared ruefully at the pile of discarded clothes on her bed.
All of this for Dima? Her best friend’s kid brother? Or as good as.
He was no less off-limits in terms of a relationship than ever, but then, Dima wasn’t offering her a relationship.
He was offering sex.
And if her instincts were on target, he was offering really good, really satisfying sex.
The kind of sex she hadn’t had in too long.
Maybe since meeting the youngest prince.
Not that Jenna had been celibate, but physical intimacy was never as satisfying as she expected it to be anymore.
She’d dated guys who were tall like Dima. Well-built like Dima. Even men with the same espresso-brown hair and gray eyes like Dima. Men who were older than Dima, more experienced.
Or so she convinced herself.
And not one of them had made it past a few dates and maybe a night or two in her bed.
None had held her interest. None invaded her dreams. None made her ache with wanting in the middle of the night when no one was there to see.
Not like Dima.
And today Dima had made it clear he was looking back. He wanted her.
He wasn’t looking for long-term, and she was glad. Even if Jenna could stomach the idea of being royalty, she could never be the wife Dima needed her to be.
She would always be five years older than him.
Sterile, she would not be able to give him children, heirs the throne required.
Even as third son to the former king, Dima was expected to have children. His father, Prince Evengi, talked about it enough.
Dima had a responsibility to both the throne and to his family in that regard. Her sterility was something she simply could not and would not change.
So his lack of desire for anything serious was in her favor.
If a tiny part of her heart that Jenna had shut off long ago grieved that truth, she ignored it. Like she’d been doing for most of her adult life.
What she could not ignore was her need to look her best tonight. She wanted to make it hard for Dima to keep his eyes off her.
She looked once again at her nineties-inspired outfit.
The vintage jeans she’d picked up at a consignment shop from a top-label designer had strategic rips and aging, but what they did to her butt was amazing. Her rust-colored short T-shirt clung to her body, but it was saved from being too sexy for a family dinner by the blue plaid shirt she wore over it.
