Damn! Damn! Damn!
Anger consumed Mackenzie the following day as she stared at the daily newspaper. Of all the irresponsible, inconsiderate … Temper consumed her. The legs of her chair scraped loudly against the marble floor as she stood up abruptly from the breakfast table.
‘Excuse me. When will Prince Devereaux be at breakfast?’ she asked a maid.
The maid glanced at her watch. ‘If the prince is coming down, he won’t be here until eight-thirty at the very earliest. He often doesn’t attend breakfast at all.’ She glanced at the newspaper. ‘It’s common for him to sleep until lunch time.’
The hell with that! Devereaux knew damned well they had work to do, and now she’d read about his latest exploits in the newspaper, she wanted to confront him immediately. ‘Where are his rooms?’
The maid looked truly taken aback. ‘Miss Roberts, I’m not sure I should pass on that information.’
‘I need to see him at once. Please direct me to his rooms, or I’ll have to disturb the King’s assistant and have him direct me.’
Indecision was evident in the way the young woman transferred her weight from one foot to the other and bit down on her lip. Eventually, she relented and gave Mackenzie the directions she needed.
Mac grabbed up the newspaper and marched from the room. She’d probably hit the prince over the head with the rolled up paper. By God, she hoped it’d hurt him because she doubted it’d knock any sense into him.
In the five minutes it took to walk from the breakfast room to the prince’s suite of rooms, her anger intensified. She paid no heed to the masterpieces adorning the walls of the lengthy corridors, nor to the priceless sculptures that probably belonged in antiquities museums. Instead, she spent the entire journey cursing her client. Either Prince Devereaux worked with her, or she’d have no choice but to tell the King the whole assignment was a waste of time.
Breaking all protocol, she knocked twice on the door to his apartment, then entered. The incredibly opulent surroundings didn’t even make an impression as she looked around the entry room of the suite and wondered which door led to the prince’s bedroom. He was in for a rude awakening, and if the woman who’d been plastered to him in the newspaper photo was still in his bed, she’d be in for a rude awakening too!
‘Hans?’ the prince called.
Not bothering to reply and tell him she wasn’t the personal assistant she’d met yesterday, she followed the direction of the prince’s voice and walked towards one of the open doors. When she reached the doorway, she halted. The angry words she’d rehearsed on her way died on her tongue. The scene which greeted her was far different from any she’d imagined. This wasn’t the prince’s bedroom. It was his study.
She’d envisaged he’d still be sleeping off the excesses of what the paper had reported was one more late night of partying at an exclusive nightclub in Santaliana. Instead, Prince Devereaux was dressed in a pair of dark blue trousers and a crisp white shirt. Rather than being bleary eyed, he was seated behind a desk, focused on a computer screen as he tapped away at the keyboard.
‘Thanks, Hans. Just leave the coffee and bring back some fruit and yoghurt in about half an hour, please.’
What the hell was this? The prince was clearly engrossed in whatever he worked on. Too engrossed to even look away from his screen.
Intrigued, she remained silent but moved further into the room to find out just what captured the prince’s undivided attention.
There were a few papers to the right of his keyboard. Everything was neat and orderly. If the papers were taken away, it’d look like the desk was never touched.
She stepped closer and just made out the letterhead of the Ploutos Corporation atop a spreadsheet of figures, before the prince’s hand shot out and turned the paper face down. A microsecond later, Devereaux was on his feet.
‘Miss Roberts.’ In record time, he stood between her and the desk, obscuring her view of the paperwork.
Looking up, she met his eyes. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Isn’t it I who should be asking you that question?’ he asked pointedly. ‘This is my private apartment.’
‘I knocked.’ She should feel guilty at having entered his suite uninvited and unannounced. Her cheeks should be blushing with embarrassment to have been caught snooping and to be in possession of such bad manners. Instead, a hundred questions hammered at her brain. Curiosity held her firmly in its grasp drowning out her conscience and her normally impeccable manners.
Sheer intuition told her something wasn’t right here. It didn’t make sense the prince was already out of bed working, when staff expected him to be asleep. Moreover, from what King Gabriel had said, the prince simply didn’t work—on anything. The King would probably be just as surprised had he walked in on his brother and found him at the computer early in the morning—or at any other time of the day.
So, what was Devereaux doing working through financial documents from … she searched her visual memory … the Ploutos Corporation?
‘Well, Mackenzie? What brings you to my suite?’
‘I wasn’t sure you’d be awake,’ she replied absently. Momentarily she forgot why she’d come as she still grappled with the prince’s activity.
His short laugh was one of disbelief. ‘You’re here to see if I’m awake?’
Clearly he had been for some time. The masculine scent of soap and the clean line of his jaw told her he was freshly showered and shaved. He didn’t look remotely like he’d spent the evening drinking, gambling and womanising as the morning paper suggested.
‘That’s interesting.’ His tone was mildly flirtatious. ‘What would you have done if you’d found me still in bed?’
‘Wished I had the forethought to bring a bucket of iced water with me to help you wake up,’ she said sternly before thrusting the newspaper towards him. ‘Explain this to me.’
‘Yesterday you thrust a feather duster at me, this morning it’s a newspaper,’ he said with a grin. ‘I wonder what will come up between us tomorrow morning.’
Annoyance began to replace curiosity. ‘I can’t believe you’ve ended up with your photo in the paper again this morning. After we achieved so much yesterday afternoon, I’d hoped—’
‘You’d hoped I’d still be in bed, but there’s no need to be disappointed, sweetheart. That’s a situation easily remedied. My bed is very close by and I don’t believe it’s been made yet.’
If she could throttle him and get away with it, she’d be tempted. ‘You don’t look like you’ve had a dissolute night.’ Surely if he’d spent the entire night as the paper suggested, his eyes would at least be bleary or puffy, or there’d be some sign he’d partied hard?
‘How do I look?’ he drawled as he took a step closer, took the newspaper from her fingers and threw it behind him onto his desk.
Sexy as hell.
Oh damn!
She took a step backwards, unable to stand her ground against him as he unleashed a lethal smile which made her thighs tremble and had her weakening at the knees. ‘You look …’ She searched for a word so as not to flatter him.
‘What were the words you used yesterday? Drop-dead good-looking, wasn’t it?’
She resisted the urge to hit him. ‘I was thinking you look far more rested than you should after all your reported nightly activities.’
‘Rested? How boring.’
Her heartbeat was irregular as she regarded his handsome features and wished she could find just one tiny imperfection.
‘Surely you can come up with a better description?’ he suggested in a hopeful tone.
‘Don’t flatter yourself.’
‘I’d far rather flatter you. You look absolutely stunning, even though your business suit is way too formal for what I have in mind.’
It was almost conceivable a team of carpenters had taken up tools and started hammering close by, such was the racket her pulse made as it thundered past her eardrums.
He reached out and brushed her hair away from where it caressed her cheek and she wanted to close the distance between them.
‘Ravishing.’ His fingertips trailed over her cheek, and her lips parted as her mouth dried. ‘Very kissable.’ His thumb traced over her lower lip. ‘Come to bed with me, Mackenzie.’
God help her. She wanted to.
Somehow, he’d unleashed a raging need in her and it almost obliterated everything else as it demanded to be fed. One foot took a half-step forward. She teetered at the edge of an abyss, almost taking the step that would have her freefalling into what promised to be a valley of mindless passion. Self-preservation only just kicked in. She recalled the newspaper photo and knew there’d be no soft landing if she took the jump. His suggestion was an insult when he’d only just spent the night with the woman he’d been photographed with. Taking a step away from him she vented angrily, ‘You’re arrogant beyond belief if you think for a second I’d fall into bed with you. Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—’ Liar! ‘—I would never jump into bed with a man whose sheets had just been warmed by another woman.’
His hand dropped back to his side. ‘I can have the sheets changed.’
‘You’re despicable!’ If her eyes contained throwing knives, he’d be skewered where he stood.
‘If it makes you feel any better, I can’t even remember her name.’
Her lip curled in disgust. ‘How can you possibly think that’s better? It makes it worse!’
‘I remember your name, Mackenzie.’
‘Listen well, Prince Devereaux. I am your image consultant. I—am—not—your—toy,’ she told him firmly.
‘But, you’d like to play. I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it in the way your body wants to sway forward and press intimately against mine. Admit it, Mackenzie. You want to be in my arms, and most of all, you want to be in my bed.’
I was Grayson’s toy. I won’t ever be a plaything again to any man.
‘I’m your boss, remember?’ she demanded. ‘I’ve been appointed by your brother to change your image. You’re supposed to be cooperating and yet you go out again last night. You flagrantly ignore our objectives and you behave appallingly.’
‘A leopard can’t change his spots, sweetheart.’
She was halfway to believing him. ‘What are you? A serial sex addict? An alcoholic? Both of the above?’
‘Let’s not forget my addiction to gambling.’
He made too light of her suggestions. He was relaxed now, mocking himself and her, and drawling his words in the same lazy way he’d behaved yesterday. Yet, when he’d been working at his desk there’d been an intelligent intensity about him which was now nowhere in sight. Something niggled at her brain.
When he’d been aware of her scrutiny, he’d turned over the spreadsheet to hide it from her view and had been up out of his chair like a shot. He’d moved purposefully. In that brief moment in time, he’d positioned himself quite deliberately between her and whatever it was he’d been working on. He hadn’t wanted her to see it.
All the time they’d talked, her subconscious had replayed the scene and tried to make sense of it. When she’d surprised him, the way he’d moved and the expression in his eyes had been at odds with the way he’d presented to her yesterday. There’d been concentrated purpose to whatever he’d worked on. Now, the playboy prince was back.
A wild, crazy thought struck her and for a moment it paralysed her.
Her eyes narrowed and she tilted her head as she tried to work through her thought processes and the mad conclusion she’d drawn, but she couldn’t shake it.
It was as though he wore a mask for the world.
Intuition shrieked that he showed her only what he wanted her to see!
Logic argued with her gut feeling. Why? Why would he do that? It was nonsensical. Yet, it resonated at some fundamental intuitive level.
‘Why were you at your computer?’ she asked.
Just for a second, his eyes hardened. Then he turned one hand up as though her question was inconsequential. ‘Unfortunately, I have to deal with a never-ending stream of emails from women who wanted to be more than just one-night stands. I try to let them down gently, of course.’
Bullshit. Her lips pressed together tightly in contempt for his answer. As if he’d bother emailing past lovers. As if they’d even have his email address.Anyway, she’d seen spreadsheets which had nothing to do with rejected lovers.
Trying to be as subtle as possible, she moved in an attempt to see past him—to catch another glimpse at his desk. She wanted to see if any papers still faced upward—whether there was anything more she could discover.
As though aware of her intent, he took her by the elbow and steered her towards the door of his study.
His personal assistant appeared at the doorway carrying a silver coffee pot and porcelain mug on a silver tray. ‘Prince Devereaux, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you had company.’ He looked utterly surprised and more than a little uneasy. More telling was his slight frown as he glanced quickly towards the prince’s desk. ‘Shall I bring another cup?’
Whatever was going on, she’d lay bets Hans was party to it. But, what could it be?
The prince flicked his eyes at the gold Rolex watch he sported on his wrist before he said to her, ‘You and I are due to meet in an hour. Would you like to stay for a coffee and begin our talks here?’
‘Yes.’ Definitely. She wanted to see more of the prince in his own environment. ‘Thank you.’
‘We can sit outside on the balcony. It faces the inner courtyard, so there’s minimal risk of being spotted together by the paparazzi,’ he explained.
Hans backed out of the doorway and Devereaux herded her out of the room.
‘Why don’t we stay in your study?’ It might give her an opportunity to sneak a closer look at his paperwork—maybe to spill something on the documents so she got a chance to turn them over and glean what it was they were about. ‘It’s probably a more conducive environment for work.’
‘I prefer the fresh air.’
Did he? Or was he just trying to keep her away from whatever he’d been working on? Her curiosity was definitely piqued.
‘Have you had breakfast?’ he asked. He wasn’t giving her any option to backtrack into his study as he led her towards the balcony.
‘I sat down to eat, but your photo in the morning paper rather put me off my food.’
He opened the balcony door and indicated she should walk out ahead of him. ‘I’m not going to change my ways, Mackenzie. Anyway, if I did change overnight people would see through it as a publicity stunt.’
He had a point. All her successes had been achieved gradually, but she was impatient to get this assignment finished. The newspaper photo was a stark reminder of the magnitude of her task.
‘The trade talks are the week after next. Would it hurt you to lie low at least until then?’
‘I suggested the same thing to my brother. I agreed to keep out of the papers if he abandoned this plan to transform my image. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t agree.’
She let out a long breath and felt her shoulders slump a little in frustration. ‘I doubt he would’ve gone to the trouble of hiring an image consultant had he not been committed to his cause.’
‘I’m happy with my life as it is.’ He flicked his hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘I’m not about to change to fit in with Gabe’s plans for me to attract a suitable candidate as a royal bride.’
Inexplicably her stomach hollowed. ‘Realistically, it would be very difficult for any woman to trust you to remain faithful during marriage.’
He regarded her intently.
‘I’ve told your brother you’d need to lose your heart completely to someone to give up your playboy ways.’ She shrugged. ‘For someone with your track record, it’s unlikely to happen. Even then, it probably wouldn’t last.’ She spoke the words matter-of-factly and yet her chest tightened.
He opened his mouth and a glint in his eye told her he was about to argue with her. It didn’t happen. His expression altered and he nodded his head briskly. ‘You’re right. It’s not going to happen.’
‘You don’t believe in love and marriage?’ Crazily, she hung on his response.
‘I don’t believe in a marriage formed to provide an heir for the kingdom. Do you believe in marriage, Mackenzie?’
I did once.
She looked away from him and out towards the beautiful garden of the courtyard below. Once upon a time … it was the way all fairytales started. Once upon a time, she’d been naive and optimistic. Too bad nobody ever emphasised the point that the happily-ever-after ending was complete fiction—that love was a fantasy and wasn’t meant for her.
‘Well?’ His prompt reminded her she hadn’t responded.
‘What I believe doesn’t matter.’
‘I disagree.’ His regard was intense. ‘How can you sell something to me without believing in it?’
‘I’m not selling love to you! I’m selling a different side of you to the world.’
‘There is no different side of me.’
‘Garbage! I don’t believe it.’
‘You don’t want to believe it because you’re selling a lie,’ he challenged.
She squared her shoulders. ‘I’m selling the qualities that make you a great yacht racing captain. They’re obviously a real part of you even if the responsibility and commitment you exhibit while on board your yacht don’t follow you when you step ashore.’
‘God, but you’re harsh. What made you so tough, Mackenzie?’
‘Working with spoilt brats who need their arses kicked.’
‘I don’t think so.’ He gave her a considering look. ‘I think it was something far more personal.’
‘Are you calling me a liar?’ It took all her willpower to stay perfectly still instead of moving restively as his gaze penetrated hers and he seemed to see right into her soul.
‘You’ve lied to me before,’ he said softly.
The insult made her spine stiffen. ‘I’m very honest.’
‘You lied when you told me you didn’t want to kiss me.’ His eyes became as smoky as his voice.
The hiss of breath she released was a sign of her frustration. ‘You’ve got tickets on yourself.’
‘Maybe, but don’t try to tell me you don’t want to buy one. You’re attracted to me.’
Her hands clenched. ‘Even if I were, it wouldn’t matter. I don’t become personally involved with my clients.’ It was a bit hard to when they’d all been female, but that was beside the point!
Hans arrived with an extra cup and a tray of fruit, yoghurt and pastries. Mackenzie used his arrival to take a deep breath, relax her hands and steer the conversation to a much safer topic. ‘There’ll be six races in the series. Your brother has said he’d like the first and last to be in Santaliana as a boost for tourism. Where should the others be?’
Thankfully the prince took the hint. He rattled off a list of possible places without any hesitation whatsoever. If she could keep his mind on work, they’d be finished planning these races far more quickly than she’d hoped. The faster she put this assignment behind her and returned to England, the better.
‘Would you excuse me for just a moment?’ the prince asked as his mobile phone began to ring.
‘Of course.’
The prince left the balcony to take the call, and Mackenzie sat back to wait for him.
Hans was setting up a small table in front of her. Although he had the rigid bearing of an English butler who worked for the upper classes, his shoulders more resembled those of a rugby player.
‘Have you worked for the prince for very long?’ she asked.
‘For the last three years.’
There were a stack of questions she wanted to ask him, but she got the impression he’d be unswervingly loyal, making any questions a waste of time.
The minute Hans left the balcony, she looked over her shoulder and watched him exit the suite. There was no sign of Devereaux.
She didn’t hesitate. If she was going to complete her job successfully, she needed to know more about Devereaux and what he was hiding.
She poured a cup of coffee quickly, then walked as quietly as possible back through the balcony doors and towards the prince’s study to see if she could peek at what he’d been working on. It was nosy in the extreme, and her conscience berated her, but she couldn’t help herself.
‘Club Tango. Friday. Manager’s office. Midnight. I’ll be there.’ The prince’s hushed words barely carried to where she stood just outside his study. Each word was clipped. It certainly didn’t sound as though he was organising a social occasion, yet she remembered reading on the flight to Santaliana that Club Tango was a popular nightclub.
Her ears strained as she tried to determine whether she’d hear anything more. Silence followed. Her nerves stretched knowing the prince could emerge from the room at any second and catch her eavesdropping.
Papers rustled. A drawer slid open and closed. The computer ping told her it’d just been turned off. The phone call must’ve ended.
She took several quiet steps back towards the balcony, and willed herself to relax and appear calm. Then, so he’d hear her approach, she walked back towards the prince’s study with heavier than normal footsteps. From the doorway, she proffered a polite smile as she extended the coffee cup in his direction. ‘I don’t know about you, but I hate cold coffee.’
All the papers on the desk had been cleared away and she was just in time to see him drop a key into the pocket of his trousers. So, the paperwork hadn’t just been cleared away, it’d been locked away the first opportunity he’d had. That was telling.
‘I hope you take it black?’
Mac longed to be able to get the key and discover exactly what the prince was hiding. There wasn’t much chance of that, but what she could do was research the Ploutos Corporation at the first opportunity she had.
The intensity of his piercing regard held suspicion. ‘Actually, I take my coffee with cream and sugar.’
‘Bad for your arteries.’
‘I like living dangerously.’
The way in which he moved towards her made her believe she was the one who lived dangerously. Yet, something in his statement resonated. ‘Why do I feel like that’s the first honest thing you’ve said to me?’
He took the coffee cup out of her hand and put it down on the surface of a low filing cabinet. ‘I’ve been very honest with you. I told you, you’re very kissable. But, maybe if you don’t believe I’m honest, I should show you the truth of it.’
The air between them charged with delicious temptation and corporeal possibilities. Mackenzie’s heart skidded to a halt and a shiver ripped through her body at the glint of sensual intent in his eyes. The dangerous undercurrent of attraction which had been an ever-present force humming between them—thrumming in her very veins—dragged through her. It made every cell come alive, sensitised every erogenous zone she possessed and made her aware of molten heat between her legs.
Anticipation swirled in her belly and her legs quivered as he reached for her. Quite without thinking, she took a half-step towards him.
His hand at the small of her back propelled her forward one more step until she was held flush against him. Never had she been more aware of the masculine potency of his body.
Oh, God. She felt so utterly feminine against that masculinity—so soft against the hard planes of his chest and so defenceless against his strength. How was it possible to feel vulnerable and powerful in her femininity simultaneously?
Her heart thundered. One of his hands trailed down her spine and over her hip while the other threaded through her hair, encouraging her to look at him.
‘You’re delectable, Mackenzie.’ The words were uttered with deep conviction, and there was a sincerity in his eyes that made her believe him.
A second later, his lips claimed hers in a kiss like none she’d ever experienced. Rather than the domineering, crushing kiss she expected, his lips nibbled softly at hers, arousing hers in their tender questing until she opened her mouth on a needy moan of surrender which came right from the back of her throat.
Instantly, he took advantage of her parted lips. He traced the tip of his tongue along her lower lip, teasing hers with a skill and mastery that sent her senses spiralling and made her yield whole-heartedly to his expertise. Passion sparked low in her stomach as his kisses wreaked havoc on every sense. Her nipples formed tight, desperate buds of need and she kissed him back with a hunger she didn’t recognise.
‘Mm,’ was all she managed as they broke apart for a microsecond so they could each drag in a breath.
The sound had barely emerged when his lips closed over hers again. Their tongues duelled, then his swept into her mouth with tantalising, practised strokes that engulfed and consumed her and made her want to dissolve against him—into him. God, but she wished their clothing would miraculously disintegrate so they could be flesh to flesh and she could run her hands over the hard strength of his muscles without the barrier of fabric.
Her arms reached up to drape around his neck and she allowed her fingers the luxury of running through his thick, silky hair before they pressed against his scalp, demanding he increase the intensity of his kisses.
His hand found the swell of her breast and she wished he’d undress her so his mouth could feast on her while she pressed kisses all over him and became intimately acquainted with the flavour of him. ‘Too many clothes,’ she complained.
His hungry groan into her mouth vibrated all the way through her and right down to her calves.
Mackenzie strained to get closer to him, to signal that she needed him to ease the ache of emptiness which rose within her on a tide of need. She made a small sound—a plea for greater intimacy—as she moved her hands and tugged his shirt out of the waistband of his trousers.
‘Yes, Mackenzie. Don’t hold back.’
Don’t hold back.
Belatedly, reality infiltrated her brain with piercing clarity. She had to hold back. This kiss wasn’t anything out-of-the-ordinary for him. It wasn’t even a meaningful interlude to him except that he meant to use it to control her. He might tell her she was delectable, but she didn’t feel half as good-looking as those women he was photographed with in the papers. These kisses had to be all about control. Logic asserted itself with devastating simplicity. The prince didn’t want to cooperate with her plans and he thought by kissing her senseless he’d be able to bend her to his way of thinking!
He was wrong.
With a mighty shove, Mackenzie pushed herself out of Devereaux’s embrace.
For several seconds, they stood looking at each other, each drawing in ragged breaths.
‘That shouldn’t have happened.’ She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
He shook his head. ‘Of course it should. More to the point it had to happen. With this sexual awareness of each other, it was just a matter of time.’ He rubbed the tips of his fingers along his brow. ‘This needs to reach its natural conclusion or it’ll hold us both in its thrall and control our every waking moment—and probably most of our sleeping ones as well.’
Yeah. Right. Like he’d spend sleepless nights replaying their kisses. He’d be too occupied kissing someone else.
The thought stung.
‘This isn’t going to control me, but I think you want it to. You think if you take me to bed I’ll be yours to command.’ She shook her head and tried to ignore the pulsing in her lower lip which told her it was swollen from his kisses. ‘It’ll never happen, Prince Devereaux.’
Each word was laced with impatience as he demanded, ‘Why are you running away?’ Immediately afterward his tone softened and he asked, ‘Who hurt you?’
The gentle inquiry caught her off-guard. Immediately distressed as the ache of past betrayal swelled in her chest and threatened to overpower her, it took all her strength to respond. ‘What makes you think I’ve been hurt?’
‘The barrier you keep erecting against me despite your body begging me to make love to you.’ He gestured to her and his eyes ran over her clothing. ‘You’re all buttoned up in your business suit, but beneath those clothes there’s a sensual woman begging to be set free—begging for release from this tough-woman, take-no-prisoners act—so she can find a mate she can lean on.’
Dear Lord. How did he know? He articulated needs she didn’t even want to acknowledge to herself—needs she couldn’t afford to yield to.
Summoning her most scathing look and her chilliest voice, she hit back. ‘According to the information I have on you, your degrees are in commerce and law, not psychology. Then again, I realise I don’t have a full brief on you because clearly you’ve also majored in arrogance.’
His laugh told her the insult hadn’t found its mark. ‘I’ve known enough women to know when a woman wants me.’
She just refrained from stamping her foot. ‘As far as I’m concerned, the number of women you’ve known is no recommendation! In fact, it’s a complete turn off!’
His phone beeped. ‘Excuse me.’ He reached into the same trouser pocket where he’d dropped the keys, and extracted it. He read the message then told her, ‘My brother’s in the room he jokingly refers to as my office. He knows we’re scheduled to meet this morning and is asking what time we’ll be there. Shall we have breakfast before we join him? I can tell him we’ll be another half hour or so.’
The interruption to the highly charged personal exchange between them was a relief. ‘No. Let’s not keep him waiting. I’m not particularly hungry anyway.’
His knowing smile told her he guessed she didn’t want to spend any more time alone with him. ‘I’ll let him know we’re on our way.’
‘I need to grab my laptop from my suite. I’ll see you there.’ Not waiting for him to respond, Mac fled.
Fleeing the scene of the crime, a voice taunted inside her head.
She owned that was exactly what she did. Although she needed her laptop, what she needed more was space away from Devereaux. Time to pull herself together in the aftermath of the most sensual experience of her life. His touch had not only left a lasting brand on her flesh, it’d seared its way right through to her bones. Being in his arms was exhilarating and exciting. Every cell in her body was finely attuned to his potent brand of masculinity and still clamoured for fulfilment, even while she knew she could never give in and claim the lovemaking he offered.
Devereaux de la Croix was both her client and a seasoned womaniser.
Remember Grayson. Remember the heartache you knew from that relationship and never leave yourself open for more of the same.
The prince had found and exploited chink in her armour. She needed to strengthen her defences against him. If there was a next time—and logic told her that with a man like Devereaux, there would be—she needed to remember her brief affair with Grayson. The devastating fallout from that affair had nearly destroyed her. Her parents had urged her to allow her scars to heal and to move on with her life. As far as she was concerned the scars carved into her heart were there to remind her never to be so foolish again.