Catherine Mann - Her Christmas Prince

But he was taking their conversations and the business of organizing these fund-raisers seriously. Taking her seriously.

It was a welcome change after being made the butt of any number of jokes and cruel jibes back home once the rumors had spread that she’d been sleeping with a married man.

Despite the cup of coffee she’d just consumed, Alandra found herself blinking tired eyes and covering her mouth to stifle a yawn. And maybe she was off her game, maybe her defenses were down, because it seemed sensible, almost natural, to join Nicolas when he moved closer to the fire.

She reclined beside him, letting the flickering flames and the opulence of her surroundings lull her. Keeping company with a gorgeous prince didn’t hurt, either, even if she had to steel herself against his charms, his looks, the spicy scent of his cologne.

And he was about as handsome as a man could be. If he weren’t already a prince, she would think he should be. A prince or perhaps a movie star.

“What are you thinking?” he asked softly from only inches away.

He had a nice voice, too. Low and slightly husky, it rumbled up from his chest and straight down her spine, causing her bare toes to curl.

If he wasn’t a royal, constantly being followed by paparazzi, and if she hadn’t recently been slandered and torn apart by vicious rumor and innuendo, she might just be willing to throw caution to the wind and sleep with him, after all. Not become his mistress—that was a bit beyond even her—but spend one passionate, sure-to-be-glorious evening making love with a man who had the power to turn her knees to jelly.

Thank goodness he didn’t know that. Thank goodness he couldn’t tell exactly what she was thinking. Otherwise all her good intentions, her insistence that her presence here was purely business, with no possibility of pleasure being thrown into the mix, would drift away like a wisp of fog on the ocean breeze.

Thank goodness.

“Only that this is nice,” she replied. “Relaxing. I should still be working, but I think I’m too tired.”

He turned, and she found her own shimmery image reflected in his pupils.

“Would you like to go to bed?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say, “Yes, very much,” before her hazy brain identified the danger his question posed.

“Clever,” she said with a chuckle, feeling just tranquil enough to find his attempt to trap her amusing. “But while I would like to go to bed… eventually…I won’t be doing it with you.”

“What a shame. Although there’s always tomorrow.”

There it was again, that calm, cajoling tone. The voice that thickened her blood and sent warm, tingling sensations to areas she’d rather not have tingling in his presence.

“I didn’t come here for that,” she replied quietly.

He was only an inch away now, his heated breath dancing over her cheeks and eyelashes. His mouth looked incredibly inviting, sexy and about seven kinds of sinful.

Surely one little kiss wouldn’t hurt anything. One tiny peck to satisfy an overwhelming curiosity.

It wasn’t smart. Was, in fact, ludicrous.

Before she had a chance to decide if she could afford a momentary lapse of sanity, Nicolas made the decision for her.

O h, my .

He tasted of wine and the strawberries and cream that had been part of their dessert, with a hint of the coffee he’d sipped afterward. Sweet and tart and smoky all at the same time.

It was a heady mixture, but nothing compared to the feel of his tongue sweeping into her mouth, tasting, stroking, claiming.

His hands gripped her shoulder and the side of her face, gently pulling her up. She wasn’t sure how it happened, had no conscious memory of moving, but suddenly she was on her knees, pressed chest to chest with Nicolas and kissing him back with equal vigor.

While his hands kneaded and caressed her upper arms, hers clutched at his shirt, desperately holding on and pulling him closer. Her breasts were squashed between them, but she could still feel her nipples beading. Heat gathered and pooled low in her belly, and her heartbeat was a thunderbolt blasting in her ears.

She’d been wrong about keeping her distance, wrong about trying to convince herself she wasn’t interested in this man. He was hard and strong and self-assured, and brought to life emotions she’d never felt before, at least not to this degree.

Her fingers trailed upward to tangle in the short strands of his silky hair. The two of them were already mouth to mouth, body to body, as close as they could be while still clothed, but that didn’t keep her from exerting a small amount of pressure at the back of his skull and—if it was possible—taking the kiss even deeper.

With a groan, Nicolas moved his hands to skim the undersides of her breasts. He cupped them in his palms, measuring their fullness and weight before letting his thumbs slide up and over the tight peaks of her nipples.

The caress, made even more erotic by the thin layer of cool, slick material between her flesh and his fingers, gave her shivers.

As she wriggled in his grasp, her knee bumped into the coffee cup she’d set aside earlier. The rattle of the porcelain on the saucer startled her out of the haze of passion and arousal she’d been lost in.

She pulled back slightly, breaking the kiss even though her body cried out for more. Her lungs heaved, straining for breath. Her arms and legs quivered, overcome with a lassitude she couldn’t remember ever feeling before.

Good Lord, what had she almost done? How could she have gotten so wrapped up, so swept away by a single kiss?

His hands remained at her breasts, his fingers lightly brushing the rigid peaks. His eyes blazed a deep, dark sapphire in the firelight, no less heated than a moment ago.

Did he not realize she’d pulled away, or was he as blinded by desire as she’d been?

Regardless, she had to stop this, had to make it clear to him that what had just taken place between them was a mistake. A mistake of monumental proportions that could not, would not happen again.

“Stop,” she gasped.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in a ragged voice. Though he dropped his arms to his sides, he clenched his hands, betraying the tension vibrating through him.

“This is not going to happen,” she said, though her tone was less firm than she’d have liked. Still on her knees, she inched away, afraid that he might reach for her again and she wouldn’t have the conviction to fend him off.

One dark eyebrow hitched upward. “I thought we were off to a fairly adequate start,” he replied.

Without looking at Nicolas, she rose to her feet. “I told you before that I didn’t come to Glendovia to become your latest conquest. I’m here strictly for business purposes. That kiss was a mistake. It never should have happened, and it won’t happen again. Things only got as far as they did because I’m tired and let my guard down.”

But Nicolas wasn’t ready to walk away, not quite yet.

He also got to his feet, then touched her elbow, stroking the satin fabric of her sleeve. “I could stay,” he whispered smoothly, seductively. “Make sure the rest of your evening is both restful and enjoyable. Infinitely enjoyable.”

The spark in her eyes let him know he’d overstepped his bounds. She shrugged out of his hold and moved passed him. Wrenching open the door, she stood back, body rigid, and glared.

“Good night, Your Highness,” she said, her tone only a shade shy of disrespectful.

If he weren’t such a patient man, intent on his goal, he might have taken exception.

But he was a patient man, and he knew that pushing Alandra was not the way to win her over, not the way to lure her into his bed. Better to take things slowly, to woo and seduce her properly.