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So what was she going to do about it? Make some excuse and move halfway round the table? Wouldn’t that seem rude? Wouldn’t that be ridiculous, considering they were the only people at the table? Her heart thundered as Tyr’s mouth slanted in a smile.
‘So, what have you been doing with yourself while I’ve been away, Jazz?’
She stared into a pair of eyes that had always been able to devastate her nervous system. ‘Where to start?’ She gave a shaky laugh.
‘Jazz?’
Tyr’s voice sounded as if it were coming to her from a long way away, down an echoing tunnel. She should not be here. She should not be talking to a man. And this was not just any man, but Tyr Skavanga, a man who demanded every woman’s attention, especially Jazz’s, and to the point where, having stared into his eyes, she couldn’t look away. ‘It’s been a long time, Tyr.’
Tyr’s mouth curved with wry amusement at this comment. And no wonder, when that was probably the lamest thing she could have said. They’d been friends for years and she couldn’t think of a single question to ask him? Not even when she was so hungry to know every detail of Tyr’s missing life.
Sharing none of her reserve, Tyr continued to study her face as if he would like to record every tiny detail. This made her deeply uncomfortable, though thankfully, Britt was heading towards them at speed. And then out of the blue her courage returned, and, holding Tyr’s gaze, she accepted the connection, as she told him with her eyes that things could never be the same between them again, and that he mustn’t tease her and flirt with her as if she were still ten years old.
‘Tyr?’ Britt’s voice sounded brittle as she hovered over them. ‘Have you changed my place cards around?’
‘Would I?’ Resting back in his chair, Tyr cast a lazy glance up at his sister, which made Britt huff impatiently, but it was too late for Britt to change them round again as some important guests had arrived and were waiting to be seated.
Neither Sharif nor Tyr could ever be said to have forgotten their manners. They were both round the table in an instant, holding chairs out for their visitors. Sharif even put a restraining hand on Britt’s arm when she would have changed places with Jazz. ‘The ambassador,’ he murmured discreetly.
Damned by etiquette, Jazz thought as Tyr sat down at her side. The ambassador and his wife were Britt’s guests of honour tonight, and as Britt and Sharif were hosting the party it was unthinkable that the ambassador would sit next to anyone but Britt.
When everyone was seated and chatting happily, Britt managed a discreet word while Tyr was talking to the ambassador. ‘Are you sure you’re all right sitting here next to Tyr, Jazz?’
Smiling, Jazz confirmed, ‘Of course I am.’
What else could she say?
* * *
Was she the only one to feel the tension building around the table? Jazz wondered. She was doing everything she could to ignore Tyr, but he was sitting so close, her whole body was tingling with awareness. How could she remain insensible to his heat, or to the compelling presence of the big Viking at her side? She had forbidden herself every sensual delight reality could offer, and exploring the forbidden in her mind had become a favourite pastime. But not tonight. She must not allow her thoughts to wander tonight. Gathering her robe a little closer, she forced the direction of her thoughts away from the devastating man at her side.
For around five seconds.
‘Would you like some water, Jazz?’
Staring into Tyr’s eyes made her heart race. ‘Yes, please.’ She sounded so formal and distant. Which was good, she reminded herself, even if it was directly opposed to what was happening inside her.
‘Will you be staying in Skavanga long, Princess Jasmina?’
She turned with relief to the woman sitting on her other side, but even that didn’t help, because her mind had taken a photograph of Tyr that meant she could chat intelligently enough, while studying every detail of Tyr in her mind. His hair was thick and tawny, and sun-bleached around his face where it hung in rebel tousles no matter how many times he swept it back. His stubble was sharp and black, and thick, though he must have shaved before he came to the party...and she could smell his cologne. Everything about him spelled danger. Everything about Tyr Skavanga was what she had vowed to avoid. He was wearing black on black tonight, when every other man at the table, apart from Sharif in his ceremonial robes, was dressed in a conventional dinner suit, with a conventional shirt and a conventional tie. Tyr had always bucked the trend, she remembered.
