Nicola Marsh - Princess Australia

‘You mean the way I kissed you?’

With a glint in his eyes, his gaze dropped to her lips, which tingled at the memory of his wonderful technique, how he’d made her forget every worry she had.

‘Yes, that.’

Heat seeped into her cheeks, scorching with embarrassment. It wasn’t so much the fact he’d kissed her but how she’d responded, like a woman who enjoyed it. Way too much. And she had an awful suspicion he knew that.

‘Like I said, a spur of the moment thing, an impulse,’ he said, a hint of laughter in his voice. ‘I apologise if it wasn’t right.’

‘Oh, no, it was fine,’ she blurted, before clamping her lips shut in horror.

He’d meant it wasn’t the right thing to do; she’d responded about his technique. Could the ground just open up and swallow her now—please?

Thankfully, he didn’t call her on her monstrous gaff. He just stood there, looking way too sexy with his smile, his tousled hair and those gorgeous blue eyes sparkling with humour.

‘Thank you for rescuing me,’ he said, giving her another of those quaint little bows that must have been standard for royalty in Calida. ‘Shall we retire?’

Natasha nodded and managed a sedate ‘Uh-huh,’ before she made a total ass of herself and took his question as an invitation to go up to his room and tuck his royal pain-in-the-butt in.

As they entered the elaborate lobby, and she caught site of herself in the huge ornate mirrors lining the pillars, Natasha stifled a groan. Grey sweatpants, a pale blue hoodie and navy beaded flip-flops did little to accentuate her make-upless face and wet ponytail.

She looked like a bedraggled waif next to a tanned god, and for a split second chastised herself for wishing things were different, annoyed that she cared.

Forgetting his royal status, she wondered what would it be like to stroll into a hotel with a guy like Dante by her side? A guy who protected his woman, a guy who looked like every woman’s walking talking fantasy, a guy who could kiss like the prince in a fairy tale?

‘In your dreams!’ she muttered, grateful when the lifts came into sight.

‘Pardon?’

She forced a tight smile. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Sleep well,’ Dante murmured, planting a quick kiss on her cheek before she could move. ‘And thank you once again.’

Natasha whirled on her heel and entered the lift for the apartments, her cheek tingling, her emotions in turmoil. She waited till she heard the zing of the lift for the hotel before turning around, hitting the button for her own floor and sinking against the side wall, grateful for the support.

She needed it. With her head spinning from encountering Clay, kissing Dante and the pathetic way she’d tied herself up in knots, she was a mess.

Definitely time for that choc-fudge ice-cream. Though, after the last half hour she’d had, nothing less than the tub would do now.

DANTE shrugged out of his leather jacket, tossed it on the bed and headed for the bathroom. He needed a shower, a cold punishing shower, considering what he’d just done.

You didn’t play fair, he muttered to his unshaven reflection in the huge mirror above an equally large marble basin as he braced himself against it.

Then again, who’d said anything about playing?

Adjusting the mixer, he splashed icy water on his face and dabbed it with a baby-soft towel which smelt like freshly squeezed lemons. Only the best for Telford Towers. And that extended to its stunning stand-in concierge who took her job to extremes.

He shouldn’t have kissed Natasha.

He knew that.

She knew that.

But he’d gone ahead and done it anyway, giving her some lousy excuse about using her as his girlfriend to put that crazy jerk who’d been following him off the track.

He’d had it all worked out: get her to meet him out the front of the hotel, slip a casual arm around her shoulders, give her a quick peck on the cheek and stroll to the nearest café like they’d intended on meeting all along.

Instead, the minute he’d caught sight of her, all fresh faced and righteously indignant, his plans for a quick peck had taken on a life of their own and he’d swept her into his arms before he could think twice.

At least the ruse had worked.

But at what cost?

He’d sensed a connection between Natasha and her ex, some unfinished business. Unresolved feelings, perhaps?

If he’d jeopardised something for her, he should feel bad. Instead, the thought of that supercilious creep anywhere near the petite brunette made him want to order a royal head-lopping—if they still went in for that sort of thing in the twenty-first century.

The jerk had been rude, arrogant and condescending, and he couldn’t see a feisty woman like Natasha putting up with him. Then again, what did he know about women? His sister Gina was driving him mad, and his mother would have him married off the second he stepped back on Calida.

Speaking of Gina, the way Natasha had handled the situation earlier could make her the perfect candidate for what he had in mind. After today, Dante couldn’t handle Gina and her idiosyncrasies alone, that much was clear.

He needed the help of a woman, a very astute woman.

Thankfully, he had a good feeling that Natasha could be just what he was looking for.

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