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‘More water, Princess?’ Tyr’s gravelly voice shook her round. ‘Or something else, perhaps?’
‘No, thank you.’ How prim she sounded. But those wicked eyes— How dared he look at her like that? Storm-grey and darkening, Tyr’s eyes were lit with a disturbing understanding of her inner turmoil. He had always been able to read her mind. It was a skill that had made her mad when she was younger, and which now made her uncomfortably aware. And that firm mouth that she had all too often imagined kissing her.
She must forget that now.
She must!
‘Are you sure? No more water?’ he prompted.
Her cheeks flamed red. ‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Frowning, she looked at him with what Jazz realised was the type of black look she would have given him when they were both younger, which was far too intimate a reminder of how close they’d once been.
‘Your napkin, Jazz?’
She dragged in a sharp breath as Tyr leaned towards her. Shaking out her napkin, he moved to lay it on her lap. His face was so close to hers, her cheeks were burning. The brush of starched linen against her skin sent shivers of arousal streaking through her. The whisper of its touch against her thigh shocked her to think that she could be so easily seduced. Tyr was a force of nature, Jazz reassured herself. Anyone would feel as she did. She should leave now and have nothing more to do with him.
‘You look beautiful tonight, Jazz.’
You can’t say that!
But how she wanted to hear it.
Tyr’s eyes were warm and amused when she didn’t reply. Didn’t he know how dangerous this was? Didn’t he care?
Eva saved the day, taking control of the conversation around the table. Smiling at her brother proudly, Eva proceeded to tell everyone that Tyr had been born with a map and compass in his hand, and when everyone laughed, Jazz was able to relax as the spotlight swung away from her.
But not for long.
‘How do you feel about wanderlust, Jazz?’
Why did Tyr have to ask her that question? Why did he have to speak to her at all? She stared into his eyes. This was her opportunity to make her position clear to him. ‘I’ve always believed there’s no place like home, and so far I’ve had no reason to change my mind.’ Unless a marriage organised by Sharif took her to a new country, and a new family, where Jazz had no doubt she would be treasured like one of the hard, blue-white diamonds her brother and Tyr mined. She experienced a chill of apprehension at that thought. And then with everything inside her warning her to leave it, she turned back to Tyr. ‘I have never felt your desire to keep moving and searching.’
‘Maybe because you’ve never given yourself that chance,’ Tyr cut in, resting his chin on his hand as he stared at her with amusement.
‘Tyr’s dangerous to know and even more dangerous to love,’ Eva confided across the table, laughing as everyone else laughed with her.
Jazz laughed too, thankful to Eva for diluting the tension with a joke. Joining in with the laughter seemed safest, and she thanked her lucky stars she would never be in a position to find out just how dangerous Tyr Skavanga could be.
‘We never know when Tyr’s going to disappear again,’ Eva continued, capturing everyone’s attention again. ‘He might not be there if I blink.’
More laughter followed this, but Jazz felt a pang of loss as if Tyr had already left them.
‘Don’t worry. I’m sticking around,’ he confided, but why couldn’t he say that to the whole table, instead of just to her?
He pretty much kept his promise to leave Jazz alone right up to the moment when Britt mounted the rostrum to deliver her speech of welcome and the lights dimmed. This left Britt alone in the spotlight and the rest of the room in shadow. Sharif had turned his chair around to listen to his wife, encouraging everyone else at the table to do the same.
‘What?’ Jazz murmured when she felt his interest switch to her. ‘Will you please stop staring at me, Tyr?’
‘No.’
Jazz’s voice was a fierce whisper, his was a lazy drawl, and her little growl of anger could have come straight from the old days, and that made him smile. Then she must have decided that if he was going to provoke her, she was going to lob back some polite and wholly innocuous conversation, and as he continued to study Jazz at his leisure, he was so engrossed he barely heard her question.
When he’d computed it, he frowned. ‘Did I manage to bring water to that village?’ he repeated. ‘Yes, I did. How do you know about that?’
