The deep, sombre voice made her jump, her thoughts making her flush with anxiety when she turned to face him. Faced the decision she’d made in the cathedral while watching another Domene claim his woman.
Shewanted to be claimed by this intensely magnetic man wearing his House of Domene wedding tuxedo that elevated his beguiling good looks to stratospheric levels. Who’d honoured her sister and kept his word to look after a near stranger even though he’d been grieving and suffering his own shattered dreams. Who’d left women slack-jawed and starry-eyed up and down the aisle when he’d stood next to his twin. Heavy residues of those sensations pranced through her now as she faced him.
‘Yes? Did you want me?’
His eyes darkened, then blazed in that way she so yearned for. But far too soon, the barricades descended.
‘I’m required to dance with every member of the bridal party, I’m told. It’s your turn.’
Her heart pinched hard, but she summoned a smile. ‘Let’s do it then.’
If he clocked her false gaiety, he didn’t comment on it, merely held out his hand and waited for her to come to him. To place her hand in his, touch him for the first timein weeks, and confirm to her thrilled dismay that the galvanised magic he wrought within her hadn’t waned one iota.
Breath lodged firmly in her throat, she followed him onto the dance floor. Quivered from head to toe when he pulled her close and began to sway with suave ease that should’ve been surprising considering his eternal sombreness, but somehow wasn’t because he was Prince Valenti, the man who could click his fingers and have his every wish delivered.
Lotte wanted one of his wishes to be her. And…perhaps she knew the path forward to achieving that goal?
‘You look breathtaking.’
Shock jolted through her, her gaze flying up to meet his. From the gruff delivery, she wondered if he hadn’t meant to say that. Just as he hadn’t meant to be caught looking at her like that in the photo?
Nerves consuming her, she licked her lips. ‘Thank you.’ Another minute passed, then she cleared her throat. ‘Umm, there’s something you should know…or more like, see?’
One dark eyebrow arched, the flashes of reserve building in his eyes even as he seemed to step closer, his warm body imprinting against hers, his scent invading every corner of her being.
This was her chance. She couldn’t blow it.
‘Sí?’ he prompted at her prolonged silence.
‘I…posted a picture today without realising…you were in it. Until it was too late.’
He stiffened momentarily, then continued gliding her across the floor, his eyes fixed on her face, gauging her every emotion. ‘I don’t recall taking a photo with you. So I fail to see how this is problematic,’ he drawled in the end, effortlessly unbothered.
It struck her then that she was perhaps reading too much into it. That as virile, rampantly male as Valenti was, he would see nothing wrong with looking at a woman the way he did in that picture. That with his vast worldly experience, he would shrug it off. Because she meant nothing to him.
Her stomach dipped in dismay. Her smile felt brittle as spun glass. ‘Fine.’
She fixed her gaze over his shoulder, willing the song to end, willing whatever machinations gleamed in his eyes as he continued staring fiercely at her not to manifest.
‘But clearly you’re fretting about it, so perhaps I should see this picture,’ he stated unexpectedly, just as the last strains of the music echoed in the grand ballroom. ‘Come.’ He held out his hand again.
‘Don’t you have to dance with other women?’
His gaze remained on her, that drilling intensity building. ‘No, I saved the last dance for you.’
Lotte told herself she really hated him for the ease with which he controlled the rollercoaster of her emotions. It didn’t stop her from taking his hand again, walking him back to the terrace where she’d left her clutch.
Hands shaking, she fished out her phone. Displayed the picture.
Watched his nostrils flare and his jaw ripple. His eyes widened slightly when he saw the millions of views.
Thin-lipped, he raised his head and held out the phone. ‘Is there a reason you’ve waited this long to show it to me? Or why you didn’t delete it in the first place?’ he enquired, his voice silk wrapped in a scimitar.
‘I didn’t see it myself until a short while ago.’ She pulled a shrug out of her dwindling composure bag. ‘Deleting it now will only fan the flames.’
‘There are no flames to fan,’ he said in an octave so low and deep, she stepped closer to hear him.
Her heart dropped, but she refused to be cowed. ‘Are you sure?’
