I'm about ninety-nine percent sure that Eva had absolutely no idea how much effort it took to hold back that night. I wasn't used to holding back with women, not one bit. And there she was, leaning in against me, her body lush and inviting and her dark eyes alight with something I knew I wasn't going to be able to keep turning away from for much longer. I lay back down on the cool wooden floor of Smythson House and looked up at the ceiling, taking a few deep breaths. What the hell was happening to me?

So far in my life, women had generally fit neatly into one of two categories. Friends or fucking. I didn't have any issues with either, as long as I kept them far apart. There had been one girl, back when I was eighteen, a redhead from a very prominent Irish family. We were both so young, but I did have feelings for her. Of course my parents shut it down before it could go too far – prominent or not a background check had found some possibly damaging business dealings in her father's past and that had just been that.

Lying there on the floor next to Eva, the memories of what that felt like – to be with a woman I was interested in on every level – came rushing back. Not memories of the girl, memories of the emotion. It was almost shocking. Had it really been that long? And then I looked up and saw the look on Eva's face and I knew what she wanted. Her lips were parted slightly, begging to be kissed. Even as I pushed myself up on my elbows my mind was screaming at me to stop, not to rush into it, to let something burn slowly for once in my life. It didn't feel possible – to wait, I mean. She nestled her cheek into my hand when I placed it gently on her face, closing her eyes when I pulled her in for a kiss.

I usually don't even like kissing – why waste time pretending we don't know exactly where things are leading? But Eva – I could have kissed her for hours. Her soft lips tasted like champagne and our bodies were so close I felt her breath quicken a little when I slid my tongue into her mouth. She was so sweet, so guileless. Women are usually aggressive with me, in a way they're not with other men, but Eva wasn't doing that – she wasn't shoving herself at me, she didn't reek of desperation. When we paused for a moment, she looked at me.

"We shouldn't be doing this."

And she was right. We both knew it. The problem was the disconnect between my mind knowing she was right and my body not wanting anything but her. I was uncomfortably hard by that point, too, and part of me sensed that we were closer than we thought to the point of no return. I forced myself to sit up and put my head in my hands, chuckling.

"I'm not used to this, you know," I told her. "I'm not used to stopping."

Eva grinned. She was audibly out of breath. Jesus. If the universe was trying to test me, it couldn't have sent a better person to do the job. "I bet you're not," she replied, inhaling slowly, trying to calm herself down. "I bet you don't have to hear the word 'no' very often."

"Not from women," I admitted. "That's true. But if you think I don't hear 'no' every goddamned day of my life I've got news for you."

Eva moved away from me. Just a few inches, but enough so we weren't touching anymore. We both knew it was necessary if we were going to manage not having sex with each other right there on the hardwood. "Really?" she asked, latching onto the conversation as much-needed distraction.

I wanted to catch her eye, but I didn't even trust myself to look at her. I just kept my gaze on the floor, tracing one finger over a scratch that hadn't been completely buffed away. "Yes, really. What do you think? That because I'm royalty – that because my family is rich – that I can do anything I want? I'm probably less free to do that than you are."

She scoffed, assuming I was joking.

"No, really," I continued. "It's true."

"How can that be true?" Eva queried, obviously skeptical. "You have the money to go anywhere you want. You can have any woman you want –"

"Not any woman," I interjected. She smiled, taking the point.

"OK, not any woman. But most of them, Killian. You have to admit that! I saw photos of you with that swimsuit model – what's her name, the one with the boobs – in the Maldives three weeks ago!"

Ha. The 'one with the boobs.' I knew exactly who she was talking about. "Do you want to know what actually happened there?" I asked, trying not to sound defensive.

"Sure."

"I don't even know that girl, but she's friends with someone I know, and she just wormed her way into that trip. And those photos? She was the one who tipped off the press. It was all a publicity stunt for her – she got what she wanted. She ruined the whole holiday hanging all over me like a bad actress, pissing everyone off, and I ended up getting into a shouting match with one of my closest friends. Then when I got back to Rhenland, of course the press were all over it, the 'bad boy Prince, ooooh, what terrible thing has he done now?' My parents were furious, my sister was furious, my father even sent one of his assistants to give me an hour long lecture on the damage I was doing to my family's image. I didn't fuck that girl. I'd never even met her before that holiday. And none of that matters, does it, because this whole fake narrative gets created and once that snowball starts rolling, no one can stop it. So no, Eva, I can't do whatever I want."

Eva coughed and I closed my eyes, immediately regretting the mini-rant. "Fuck, Eva. I'm sorry. I'm just – I can get a little vehement about this. I didn't mean to –"

"No, Killian," Eva cut me off, putting her hand on my arm before pulling it away again, as if she was afraid of where even a small touch would lead us. "I'm sorry. I totally bought it. The fake narrative. I bought it without even thinking. That was stupid of me. And I completely understand why you would be upset."

"I'm not upset with you," I reassured her – because I wasn't, because being upset with Eva seemed impossible. "I just know there's this idea out there that I don't do anything except jet around the world with supermodels without a care in the world and it just isn't true. Everything I do is scrutinized – by my family, by the court, by the press and by the public. I know I've got it easy in so many ways, but it's not all easy. I should have been born three hundred years ago."

"Why's that?"

I grinned. "Because three hundred years ago I could have scooped you up off the street and kept you in a tower, away from any other man who wanted to get his filthy hands on you."

"Is that what you want?" Eva giggled. "To keep me in a tower, away from everyone except you?"

I wanted to kiss her again. Damnit. "Yes," I told her. "Away from everyone except me. Don't worry, it would be a nice tower, very luxurious. All the latest chamber-pots and lace nightgowns."

We were quiet for a few seconds, smiling to ourselves about an eighteenth century tower that was never going to be. Eventually she spoke up. "I should go."

I knew why she was saying it. She knew why she was saying it. And neither of us wanted it to happen.

"Yeah," I agreed, sighing internally. "I'll have Dan take you back to your place. Is that alright?"

The moon was gone when we walked out into the courtyard, the night dark and wet with dew. I opened the back door to the car and kissed her one more time, savoring the moment as she wrapped her arms around my neck and all the blood in my head rushed downwards.

"I don't want to go," she whispered in my ear, her voice tight with the anxiety of confession.

I took her face in my hands and looked into her eyes. "I don't want you to go, Eva. Let's do something this week, I'll clear some space in my schedule. Can I call you?"

She offered me a shy smile. "Of course you can call me."

"Good, then I will. Good-night."

She kissed me once more, on the cheek that time, and I stood there in the deserted courtyard watching the car drive away with the ghost of that kiss hanging in the air. When the red tail-lights had disappeared around the corner I stayed where I was, breathing deeply. Something was happening with Eva James. Something I didn't know if either of us was ready for.

Before I could get too lost in my own thoughts, Tristan's drunken bellow broke the silence.

"Oi, Killian! You fucking wanker! Get back in here, we're gonna play strip poker!"

I walked back up the steps to Smythson House, turning to Tristan at the door. "It's a crime to insult your prince, dickhead."

He opened his mouth to fire back a retort but tripped over the heavy red carpet before he could do so. Rhenland is a country known for its drinking culture but even I was beginning to think Tristan was taking it a bit too far.

"Did you have any coffee?" I asked. "I think Millie made some. You should have a cup. Or ten."

"Fuck coffee," Tristan slurred, "we're gonna play poker. Pinky's creaming her panties just thinking about getting a look at the royal D."

I strong-armed my friend into the kitchen to get him something to drink that wasn't more alcohol. "I'm not playing strip poker. Now please fucking drink some coffee."

I poured a cup and handed it to Tristan. He sniffed it, made a face and put it right back down on the counter. "Not playing strip poker? Why? Is it that girl? Where's she from, anyway? What's her family name?"

Before I could reply, Millie strolled in, looking slightly disheveled herself. She took one look at her brother and rolled her eyes. "Tristan, come on. Let's get you upstairs. Killian can you grab a bucket from under the sink? He threw up on the carpet last week."

"No!" Tristan protested when she tried to lead him away. "No! I want to talk to Killian! About that – that girl. You saw her, didn't you? Look at him, he's gone all googly-eyed over some stupid little secretary. It's gonna end badly, Killian. Trust me, it's all gonna go straight to –"

"She's not a secretary," I said quietly, "and even if she was, it's not really any of your concern."

Tristan roughly shrugged his sister's arm off his shoulder and focused his red-rimmed eyes on me. "Not my concern? Not my concern?! I'm your best friend! Of course it's my concern! It's everyone's concern! It's the whole country's concern!"

Millie tugged on one of his shirtsleeves but he shook her off again and continued his tirade. "I may be drunk, Killy-boy, but don't think I don't see that look in your eye. Don't think I didn't see you standing in the courtyard like a goddamned lovesick puppy. You think your parents are going to be OK with a girl like that? A girl with no family name? Where's she from, anyway? Buttfuck, USA? No, no, it won't do. Nothing good is gonna come of this –"

"Tristan," Millie interjected. "Please, come on. You need to get some sleep."

That time, when he went to shrug her off, Tristan moved a little too quickly and sent Millie flying backwards into one of the counters.

"OK," I said, taking a step towards him. "That's enough. Let's go. Come on, right now."

"NO!" he bellowed, trying unsuccessfully to twist away from me. Two of my security officers, hearing the ruckus, strode into the kitchen and got Tristan under control, looking to me for instructions.

"Take him upstairs," I told them. "Put him in bed and lock the door from the outside."

When he was gone, his howls of protest still ringing down the halls, Millie shook her head and sighed. "I'm sorry, Killian. You know how he is."

"Yeah," I replied, a little heatedly. "I do know. But he's getting worse, isn't he? Everyone can see it. Why aren't your parents doing anything?"

Millie wrung her hands. "What can they do? He's twenty-eight years old, he knows he's going to inherit this place and he knows no one can tell him what to do."

"Is this about Isabella?" I asked, straightening my shirt and pouring myself a cup of coffee. "How long has it been? Over a year?"

Isabella was a Spanish girl Tristan had met in Majorca about a year and a half previously, a maid at the Smythson family property on the island. She was also beautiful and sweet and completely enchanted by the beefy Rhennish aristocrat who'd taken an ill-advised shine to her. His parents had shut it down as soon as they got wind of it, of course. Tristan had tried to keep seeing her but in the end his father had threatened to fire her entire family and run them out of town. That had done the trick. Millie and I both knew he'd loved her, though. And that he'd taken the forced break-up very, very badly. In typical Rhennish fashion, I think we were all waiting for him to just get over it, and it was increasingly starting to seem like that wasn't going to happen.

"Yes," Millie replied sadly. "Just over a year. He never talks about her, you know. I tried a couple of months ago and he just stormed out of the room. There's no talking to Tristan. Maybe you could have a word with him?"

"I've tried," I told her. "But I'll try again, when he's sobered up."

"That's why he's giving you shit over that girl – Eva." Millie's tone was cautious, careful. "And in a way, he's not wrong, is he? She seems very sweet, very innocent."

"What do you mean?" I asked, making an effort to sound casual.

"Come on, Killian. You know what I mean. You saw what my parents did with Isabella. What do you think the King and Queen would do if their son started dating a commoner? An American commoner? Do you know what a feeding frenzy that would cause with the media? Do you really think that girl is prepared for that – or for us, for our world?"

A familiar instinct was rising up in my chest. The instinct to just state once and for all that everyone could go to hell, that I was going to do what I wanted. And with it came the equally familiar knowledge that doing such a thing was impossible. I swallowed hard. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Millie. It was just a party. I barely know her."

But Millie knew I was lying just as well as I did. She didn't push it, though. "OK, Killian. I'm not telling you what to do. I'm just saying be careful."

"I know. And thank-you. I'll call Tristan tomorrow, see if he wants to go stay at Annesly for a few days. Clear his head a little."

Annesly Hall was a small country estate in Woaden, on the southwest coast of Rhenland. I'd inherited it when my great-grandfather died and it was far enough away from the Capital to make visiting an inconvenience. I lent it out from time to time to friends or family members who needed to get away for a little while. Sometimes, in the summer, I'd take a week there myself, surfing on the deserted beaches and eating seafood for every meal. As soon as I mentioned it to Millie the idea of taking Eva there popped into my head, completely unbidden. She would love it, I knew she would. I pictured taking her to the lighthouse on one of the headlands during a storm, standing up at the very top with her as the waves crashed over the rocks below. Or taking her fishing in one of the streams that crisscrossed the property, showing her how to cast the line, the way she would smile when she caught her first fish...

"Killian?"

"Huh?" I looked at Millie, shaken out of my little reverie. She was waiting for me to say something else. "Oh, right. Uh. Yeah, I'll call Tristan tomorrow. I think I'll head back to the Capital now – not really up for strip poker tonight, I'm afraid."

She smiled and gave me a hug. "Alright. I'll see you soon. I'm always here if you need someone to talk to."

So, uncharacteristically sober, I returned to the Capital. Instead of bantering with my security guys like I usually do I mostly spent the trip sitting silently, watching the countryside speed by and thinking about Eva. Beautiful, funny, warm, smart Eva. What the hell was I going to do about her? Because Millie was right, there was no way my parents were going to be happy about me seeing an American girl – especially one with the temerity to come from a humble family.