Christine Rimmer - Royals - For Their Royal Heir - An Heir Fit for a King / The Pregnant Princess / The Prince's Secret Baby

His mouth quirked. ‘They’re not looking at us—they’re looking at you .’

She looked at him and blushed. ‘Oh...it’s the clothes, isn’t it? I should have—’

Alix shook his head, cutting her off. ‘It’s not the clothes...well, it is . But that’s because you are more beautiful than any other woman here and you’re putting them to shame with your sense of style. Every woman is looking at you and wondering why their finger is not on the pulse.’

Leila’s blush deepened, and it had a direct effect on Alix’s arousal levels.

‘I’m sure that’s not it at all. I’ve never seen so many beautiful people in one place in my entire life. I’ve never seen anywhere so breathtaking—the canal, this palazzo ...’ She ducked her head for a moment before looking back at him. ‘Thank you...this evening has been magical.’

Alix had to school his features. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had thanked him for taking her out.

‘You’re glad you overcame your reluctance to spend time with me?’ he queried innocently.

Her green gaze held his and Alix felt breathless for a second. Crazy . Women didn’t make him breathless.

Her mouth twitched minutely. ‘Yes, I’m glad—but don’t let it go to your head.’

An unfortunate choice of words when it made him aware of the part of his anatomy that refused to obey his efforts to control it.

Leila looked so incandescent in that moment—a small smile playing around her mouth, eyes sparkling—that Alix had to curl his hands into fists to stop himself from kissing her again.

The lights dimmed and the cast resumed their places. Alix tore his gaze from her, questioning his sanity and praying that he’d have enough control not to ravish her like a wild animal in the darkened surroundings.

* * *

After the opera had finished Alix took Leila out of the palazzo and along the Grand Canal in his boat, to a small rustic Italian restaurant where he was greeted like an old friend by the owner. They ate a selection of small starters and drank wine, and to Leila’s surprise the conversation flowed as easily as if they’d known each other for months, not days.

Something had happened—either as soon as she’d agreed to this date or on the plane, when events had become a dizzying spectacle. Or maybe it had been when she’d chosen a different perfume for herself...

She’d stepped over a line—irrevocably. She felt as if she was a different person, inhabiting the same skin. As if she’d thrown off some kind of shackle holding her to the past. She was a little drunk. She knew that. But she’d never felt so light, so...effervescent. So open to new possibilities, experiences.

She wasn’t naive enough to think that it would be anything more than transient. Especially with a man like Alix. And that was okay. If anything it was a form of protection. He was practically emblazoned with Warning! And Hazardous! signs.

She must have giggled a little, because Alix said dryly, ‘Something I said was funny?’

Leila shook her head and looked at him, all of a sudden stone-cold sober again. He was beautiful. Their mingled scents wrapped around her. Leila imagined them curling around her brain’s synapses, rendering them weak. Making her want what he was offering with those slate-grey eyes—hot with a decadent promise she could only imagine.

Leila realised with a sense of desperation that she wanted whatever he was offering. She wanted to lose herself and be broken apart. She wanted to know what it was like. She wanted to taste the forbidden.

She didn’t want to go back to her small poky apartment above her failing shop and be the same person. Looking at life passing by across the square. She wanted life to be happening to her . She’d never felt it this strongly before. It was his persistent seduction, the perfume, the wine, the opera...leaving her country for the first time. It was his kiss. It was him .

Impetuously she leaned forward. ‘Do we have to go back to Paris tonight?’

Immediately his gaze narrowed on her. She was acutely conscious of the fact that his jacket and bow tie were gone and his shirt was open at the throat, revealing the strong bronzed column of his neck.

‘What are you suggesting?’

Feeling bold for the first time in her life, Leila said, ‘I’m suggesting...not going back to Paris. Staying here...in Venice.’

‘For the night?’

She nodded. The enormity of what she was doing was dizzying, but she couldn’t turn back now. Her heart was thumping.

Alix cocked his head slightly. ‘I think you might be a little drunk, Miss Verughese.’

‘Perhaps,’ she agreed huskily. ‘But I know what I’m saying.’

‘Do you now...?’ Alix looked at her consideringly.

For a second something cold touched Leila’s spine. Maybe she had this all wrong. Maybe Alix was just toying with this gauche girl from a shop until a more suitable woman came along? No doubt he was getting a kick out of her untutored reactions to flying and seeing the opera.

And now this... Maybe the thought of bedding a virgin wasn’t palatable to a man of his undoubted experience and sophisticated tastes? She thought of how that woman had undressed in front of him and her insides contracted painfully. She could never do that.

She looked away, searching for her bag and wrap. ‘Forget I said anything. I’m sure you have meetings—’

Suddenly her hand was clasped in his and reluctantly she looked at him. He was intense.

‘Are you saying you want to stay in Venice for the night to share my bed, Leila?’

She hated it that he was making her spell it out, but she lifted her chin and said, ‘If you’re not interested—’

His hand tightened on hers. ‘Oh, I’m interested. I just want to make sure you’re not going to regret this in the morning and blame it on too much wine.’

Leila stared back, suppressing an urge to say I’m blaming it on much more than that . He wouldn’t understand. ‘I want this—even if it’s just one night.’

Alix interlaced his fingers with hers. It felt like a shockingly intimate caress.

‘It won’t be one night, Leila, I can guarantee that.’

She shivered lightly. The way he said that sounded like a vow. Or a promise.

‘Signor Alix...?’

He didn’t even look at his friend. He just said, ‘We’re finished, Giorgio, thank you.’

But it was a long moment before Alix broke his gaze from hers and let go of her hand to stand up.

Leila couldn’t remember much of leaving the restaurant, or of the boat ride along the magical Grand Canal at night. She was only aware of Alix’s strong thighs beside hers on the seat, his arm tight around her shoulders, his hand resting disturbingly close to the curve of her breast.

She was only aware that she was finally leaving a part of her life behind and stepping into the unknown.

She couldn’t believe she’d been so forward, and yet she knew that even if given a choice she wouldn’t turn back now. This man had unlocked some deep secret part of her and she wanted to explore it. She didn’t care about the fact that Alix Saint Croix was famous or rich or royalty. She was interested in the man. He called to her on a very basic level that no one had ever touched before.

And as the boat scythed through the choppy waters she reassured herself that she was going into this with eyes wide open. No romantic illusions. She was not starry-eyed any more. Pierre had seen to that when she’d let him woo her. That had been just after the death of her mother, when she’d been at her most vulnerable. She wasn’t vulnerable any more. And Leila had no intention of shutting herself away like a nun for the rest of her life.