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‘Apparently the Prince is interested in my plastics recycling initiative.’
‘The Prince is not going to be interested in anything you have to say. If his security team have discovered that your father is a convicted criminal, they probably won’t let you near him.’
Arielle was stung by Tamara’s comments. She had endured years of being made to feel worthless by her father. Anger and resentment bubbled up inside her. She had done nothing wrong but nevertheless she’d been ostracised by the villagers. Her conscience pricked that she should have tried harder to discover the truth about her father’s shady business dealings. The smallholding where he’d kept mainly sheep had not been profitable, but once Arielle had found a holdall stuffed full of bank notes hidden behind some hay bales. When strangers had come to the cottage, she had locked herself in her bedroom as her father had told her to do.
Automatically she lifted her hand and traced her finger over the faint ridge of a scar on her cheek. Her father was serving a life sentence in prison, and she no longer had to fear him, but she was haunted by his scandalous crimes.
Tamara was right. Prince Eirik would not be interested in anything she had to say, Arielle thought bleakly. The Prince’s jet-setting lifestyle was one long round of lavish parties, from what she’d read about him. He was feted and adored wherever he went, and his legendary charm attracted women like bees to honey. But not this woman, she told herself.
‘Prince Eirik is walking this way,’ Tamara said excitedly. ‘I can’t believe I’m going to meet a real prince.’
Arielle watched the Prince stride across the lawn. He ignored Tamara and made a beeline for her. His tall figure blocked out the sun and she had to tilt her head to look at his face. Her eyes crashed with his glittering gaze, and she saw a flash of recognition in their blue depths.
‘You!You’re the mermaid.’ He sounded stunned. He stepped closer to her, his eyes searching her face intently. ‘Whoareyou?’ Before Arielle could answer, Prince Eirik glanced over his shoulder and cursed when he saw his retinue of aides hurrying across the lawn after him. ‘I told myself that I had imagined you. But you are a real woman.’ He ran his eyes over her, and something in the way he looked at her sent a rush of heat through Arielle’s veins.
He was even more gorgeous than she remembered from three nights ago. She had cradled his head in her lap and there had been a vulnerability to him then that had tugged on her heart. Now he appeared to be fully recovered from his ordeal in the sea and his male potency stirred an age-old feminine response low in her pelvis.
She estimated that he was three or four inches over six feet tall. The pale blue shirt stretched across his torso was unbuttoned at the throat to show a sprinkling of blond chest hairs. Arielle lowered her gaze and made a quick inventory of his narrow hips and long legs encased in slim-fit navy blue trousers. His whipcord body exuded strength and power. She lifted her eyes to his face once more and the gleam in his eyes made her heart miss a beat.
‘You saved my life.’ He swore softly when he saw the commodore bearing down on them. ‘I want to talk to you,’ he told Arielle in a low tone. ‘But not here. Is there somewhere where we can be alone?’
‘I don’t think so,’ she murmured, thinking that the press photographers who were at the yacht club would be wildly curious if Prince Eirik took her off for a private conversation.
He hid his frustration with obvious effort when Charles Daventry halted next to Arielle’s table and made introductions.
‘Your Highness, this is Arielle Tremain, who is involved with the Clean Sea organisation.’
Arielle held out her hand to the Prince and murmured, ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Your Royal Highness.’
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Charles frown and belatedly remembered that she had been instructed to curtsey to the Prince. But before she could attempt the manoeuvre, Prince Eirik curled his strong fingers around her hand and a sensation like an electrical current shot up her arm.
‘Arielle...’ His husky accent was spine-tinglingly sexy. ‘You have a beautiful name. It suits you.’
His smile stole her breath, and the tingling sensation spread to her breasts. Her nipples tightened and she was conscious of her lacy bra scraping against the sensitive tips. For once she was wearing a dress instead of jeans and a shapeless sweatshirt, which were her usual choice of clothes. She spent most days alone in her workshop, but for her visit to the yacht club she had dug out the only dress she owned. It was a bit tighter over her bust than she’d remembered and a hasty downwards glance revealed the faint outline of her nipples beneath the clingy material.
Arielle wished she could cross her arms over her chest to hide her body’s unbidden response to Prince Eirik, but her hand was still trapped in his firm grasp. Sensual heat suffused her as he roamed his eyes over her figure. She was surprised by her reaction to him. It was two years since she’d finished with Jack and sworn off men.
The Prince was an exceptional man, and she could be forgiven for being dazzled by his stunning good looks and charisma, Arielle consoled herself. He was a notorious womaniser and flirting was second nature to him.
Their eyes met and she felt a jolt of awareness. It was as though time were suspended, and the crowd of people in the garden disappeared, leaving her and the Prince beneath the wide blue sky. He was a work of art with those sculpted cheekbones and a mouth that was blatantly inviting.
She knew about his mouth; the sensual curve of his lips and the way they had fitted against hers. He had been semi-conscious, and she had acted to revive him. It was unlikely he remembered, she reassured herself, but the wicked gleam in his laser blue eyes caused her heart to crash against her ribs.
A discreet cough from the commodore broke the spell that Prince Eirik had cast on Arielle and with a faint gasp she snatched her hand out of his. To her relief he released her from his mesmerising stare, and she quickly moved away to stand behind her table. The Prince looked down at the items on display.
‘You made all these things from recycled plastic? I’m impressed,’ he murmured when she nodded.
‘I mostly make small items such as key fobs, coasters and jewellery.’ She picked up a pair of cufflinks and offered them to him. ‘It’s hard to believe that these were once crisp packets or other unrecyclable plastic. The plastic waste is processed through a granulator into a fine aggregate, which is mixed with a plant-based resin binder before it can be cast into the products you see here.’
The Prince lifted a necklace from a display stand. It was one of Arielle’s favourite pieces, and had an intricate chain interspersed with tiny teardrop resin pendants. ‘Who is responsible for the silverwork on the jewellery?’
‘Me.’ Her face grew warm beneath his intent gaze. ‘I taught myself silversmithing through trial and error. Mostly error at first,’ she admitted ruefully.
Prince Eirik leaned across the table and stretched out his hand to touch the green glass earring dangling from Arielle’s earlobe. ‘Did you make the pair of earrings you are wearing? They match the colour of your eyes.’
His face was so close to hers that she felt his warm breath on her cheek. The spicy scent of his cologne teased her senses. ‘Yes.’ Her voice emerged as a smoky whisper. She cleared her throat. ‘As well as plastic I collect sea glass from the beach and use it to make jewellery, which I sell online.’
‘You are full of surprises, Arielle,’ he drawled.
