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The light danced in the room, painting his skin gold. Rafe’s eyes dark and sultry. She sank into her end of the couch. He sprawled next to her, feet bare and propped on the coffee table in front of them. She’d never seen a man’s naked feet. An odd sort of realisation that she’d always been faced with men in suits and polished shoes. Something about that made the evening seem even more intimate.
‘I can see why you come here,’ she said, trying not to think about any part of Rafe naked. There was no sound bar the pop and crackle of the flames in the grate. She tipped her head back and stared up at the ceiling, the rough-hewn beams and white plaster in between, that had seen his family raised here. The man himself, this place that made him. Something about that was real, and grounding. A connection to the past she seemed divorced from, even though her family had ruled the country for centuries.
‘As I’ve said, the mountains are my home. No matter where in the world I am, it’s here I think of.’
He stared into the flames, took a sip of his wine. She watched the masculine bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.
She nodded. ‘It’s why I skied. I could get away from myself. The mountains don’t allow any ego.’
‘They don’t accept mistakes. And they’ll be here long after we’re gone.’
‘It’s the one time I could feel alone. Challenge myself.’
He turned to her, his eyelids low and shuttered. ‘What have you replaced the challenge with?’
‘Isn’t Queen enough?’
‘That’s a duty for others. What about for yourself?’
She remembered that day, the day everything had been set in train. When she’d only thought about herself and nothing else. She hadn’t realised, in those moments, what she’d lose.
‘There isn’t anything more.’
He reached over and placed a hand over hers. She wanted to pull away, but somehow couldn’t move, relishing the solidity of his touch.
‘To be a good ruler you must allow something for yourself, or you’ll cease to care. Not today, not tomorrow, but some day. Then the decisions you make won’t come from the good of your heart, and they’ll be the wrong ones. For your country. For your people. For you.’
What was he alluding to here? Her vow that the monarchy died with her? Lise shook her head. She didn’t know what to take for herself. How was there anything left when everything had been stolen from her family? Where did she even start? With wine, perhaps. Maybe with another sip, a simple choice. She could do that, in the glass that Rafe seemed to ever fill.
The man in question left the couch and moved over to the cheese board close to the fire and cut off a now molten piece. He slathered it onto some crusty bread and held it out to her.
She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t.’
Though the glistening, molten cheese and bread looked tempting...
‘One bite. My family made it,’ he said. ‘I’ll eat the rest if you don’t want to.’
Lise took a bite, teeth crunching in the crisp white bread. The cheese oozing everywhere. She gave a low moan of pleasure at the salty tang, then handed the bread back to him. His eyes darkened as he ate the rest himself.
‘It’s my idea of dessert,’ he said. ‘You can keep crêpe Suzette and bombe Alaska to yourself.’
‘You don’t like sweet things?’
He sat on the coffee table in front of her. Their knees brushing, sending a thrill through her. The fire flickering, glowing like a halo behind him.
Except the man was no angel.
‘I indulge in some.’ Rafe’s voice was soft and smooth, like silk against her skin. He didn’t take his eyes from her, as if he were trying to stare deep inside. Into all her secrets. He didn’t need to do that; he knew enough of them to be a danger to her. Her heart beat a thready rhythm, and the breath caught in her throat. She reached round him to take her glass of wine, breaking eye contact.
‘I’ll keep that in mind. Any time I want to cook, it won’t be dessert.’
‘I didn’t say I didn’t like dessert, Lise. I’m merely selective in my choice of indulgence.’
He moved away from her now, and she let out a long, slow breath. Trying to forget the feel of him holding her as she fell apart this afternoon. Weaving her a floral crown, holding her hand as they walked to the house. The closeness that didn’t feel feigned. In her deepest heart that was what she wanted for herself.
Rafe cut off more cheese, held it up. She shook her head. The room was warm, the couch soft and deep. Everything here cushioned her from the reality outside. The sharp edges of life a bit rounder, burnished smooth. And Rafe. The black curls gleaming in the low light. His hair all unruly as if it never behaved. A lot like the man himself. A passionate man, from all the envious whispers she’d overheard when he’d begun to pay her exclusive attention. A warm flush bled over her. She closed her eyes, to block him out, but it didn’t work. Felt the couch dip, the heat of him closer. He slid an arm round her shoulders. She opened her eyes and glanced at the hand casually sitting along the back of the couch near her. The sprinkling of hair. The square-cut nails with perfect half-moons. When had a hand held so much fascination? He eased her closer, till she leaned on the side of him, tucked under his arm.
‘Relax, Lise. Close your eyes if you want.’
