Annie West - His Majesty's Temporary Bride

But to convince a king? Cat shook her head and pushed open the door to the next room.

On the threshold she stilled. Someone stood, silhouetted in the vast arched window.

A sensation, as if she rode a runaway roller coaster, plunged her stomach to the floor. Her hand clung to the door as she took in the tall figure, straight-shouldered, slim-hipped, long-legged.

Over his shoulder through the window a familiar yacht, streamlined, vintage and luxurious, lay anchored in the palace’s private cove.

‘You!’ Cat’s eyes rounded as he turned and that dark blue gaze snagged hers.

She’d told herself memory had exaggerated yesterday’s sizzle of attraction. She’d been wrong. One look and sparks flashed under her skin, igniting heat deep within.

The instant of recognition stretched out and out.

Intriguingly, he now looked like an ad for some exclusive men’s fashion house instead of a laid-back, sinfully sexy beachcomber. His dark hair was brushed back in a severe style that made her gaze linger on the sculpted perfection of his even, chiselled features. From head to toe he was suavely elegant, assured and breathtakingly male. Only the light dancing in those indigo eyes betrayed a hint of something else.

Despite her shock and instinctive caution, delight quivered through her as she read that look. He’d watched her that way yesterday. As if she were a delicacy he wanted to bite into.

‘What are you doing here?’ Her voice was stretched and too high as she stalked across the room, for once ignoring the sensation she was walking on stilts. ‘How did you get in?’

‘Through the front entrance. The butler asked me to wait here.’ He smiled, a slow curl of the lips that fed a silly little shiver under her skin.

‘I mean, why are you here?’

He lifted a hand, holding out a paper bag.

Hesitantly Cat took it and peered inside. Within lay her old running shorts. She recognised them from the frayed hem, and her ancient T-shirt, not only folded but ironed, if she wasn’t mistaken. George had washed and ironed her gear. She couldn’t imagine Alex doing anything so mundanely domestic.

Her gaze shot to his as she put the package down on the grand piano a few steps away.

‘Thank you.’ She paused, wondering how to handle this. ‘That’s very thoughtful.’ Could she get rid of him quickly? She wasn’t ready to play the part of Princess Amelie and admitting her real identity was impossible.

But how had he known where to find her? She’d said nothing about staying at the royal palace. She’d been running through the private royal reserve but assumed he’d think she’d trespassed, like the boys in the canoe who’d ventured into the palace’s private zone.

Anxiety stirred. This scenario was wrong. There’d been no reason for Alex to look for her here.

‘You don’t look pleased to see me.’ His voice was easy, low enough to hum through her bones in a way that disturbed as much as it appealed.

Cat was no pushover when it came to men. It took more than a dark velvet voice and a hint of humour to win her over. Far more than a sexy, athletic body and stunning eyes. Yet there was something about Alex that broke through a lifetime’s reserve. She didn’t like it one bit.

‘I’m...surprised.’ She drew a quick breath. ‘I didn’t expect to see you again.’ If circumstances had been different she’d definitely have wanted to pursue their acquaintance. But not like this.

If anyone discovered who she was the fallout would be disastrous.

Something about the lazy speculation in his eyes told her Alex saw far too much.

‘I’m afraid the palace is closed to visitors at the moment.’

‘So I gathered. The butler seemed surprised when I arrived.’ Yet Alex made no move to leave. That speculative gaze was heavy as it took her in from head to toe.

Instinctively Cat drew herself up. She’d have to usher him out the door. ‘I think it best if—’

‘Why Cat?’ He spoke at the same time.

‘Sorry?’

‘Your name. Is it a nickname because of your eyes?’ When she didn’t immediately answer he went on. ‘I’ve never seen eyes quite that colour.’

‘Cat’s eyes?’ She blinked. She’d never thought of that. People told her she had beautiful eyes but she’d never been convinced. Probably because through her early years they’d been the bane of her life. Such a distinctive colour, always commented on. Royal St Gallan it was called here because every member of the royal family for generations had inherited eyes that colour. Yet it was extraordinarily rare in the rest of the population.

When her mother had given birth to a girl only seven months after her hasty marriage to a man she’d never shown a preference for, and when that baby had eyes of Royal St Gallan green, there had been talk. People commented on how suddenly she’d left her job at the palace, and how it was whispered that the King had a roving eye despite his gorgeous wife and obviously happy family life.

‘Cat?’ He’d moved closer. The fresh scent of citrus and warm flesh invaded her nostrils. It sent tendrils of feminine pleasure curling through her.

She stiffened. This was so not good.

‘It’s what my friends call me.’ That at least was true. She’d never been Catherine except to her stepfather, the man who’d treated her mother as a drudge and her as a disgusting burden despite the largesse he’d received for giving them his name.

‘An unusual choice, but it suits.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. Even in heels she was no match for his rangy height. Cat found herself wondering why she even noticed. She worked with guys all the time, some even taller than Alex.

‘It was lovely of you to take so much trouble. Really.’ Her muscles stretched taut as she forced a smile. ‘But this isn’t really a good time.’ She stepped away, holding his gaze, inviting him to accompany her as she moved to the door.

‘I understand.’ Abruptly the hint of humour in his gaze disappeared. ‘I should have begun by saying how very sorry I am. It must have been a tough time for you.’

‘Sorry?’ Cat frowned. From the moment she’d crossed the threshold nothing had made sense. Not seeing Alex here, looking urbane and remarkably at home, nor his interest in her name, nor the trouble he’d taken to return her ratty old running gear. And now he was sorry...?

‘For your loss.’ His mouth flattened and he raked a hand back through his hair, which immediately fell back into place. ‘I’m not doing a very good job, am I? I should have offered my condolences when we met but you left so abruptly.’

The hair at Cat’s nape rose as she read the sympathy in his eyes, the sincerity in the grim expression bracketing that generous mouth.

Anxiety stirred and doom-laden foreboding.

A large hand captured hers, long fingers enfolding it, warm and reassuring. ‘You must be going through a hellish time, losing your brother and sister-in-law. You have my sympathy and my mother’s. If there’s anything I can do—’

He broke off when Cat stepped back, heart thundering, tugging her hand from his.

He thought she was Amelie.

The knowledge pressed down on her, stopping her breath, making her ears buzz and her head whirl as she stared up into that handsome, now sombre face.

Finally, hand to her sternum, she managed to gasp in air, sucking it deep and filling starved lungs.

Did he know Amelie? How well? How long before he realised Cat was an imposter?

And somewhere deep in her psyche, buried so deep she almost didn’t register it, was a part of her that wanted to reach out and grab his hand again, feel that rush of heat and fortifying strength, because, absurdly, she did feel grief for the half-brother she’d never known and would now never know. Even though she had no right to feel anything.