Page 12 of Prince She Shouldn’t Crave (Royal House of Halrovia #2)

She was tempted to look over at him once more, before this morning’s event ended and he wrapped himself in the confines of a suit again.

She guessed it was his uniform of sorts.

His shield. His protection. Much like her sombre professional wardrobe, which she’d decided to cast away on a whim this morning because it was a beautiful day and…

she really didn’t know. She supposed it was because she wasn’t out in public.

She didn’t have to stay in the background so as not to outshine her employer.

Even so, she’d got a little thrill putting on the dress and had fleetingly wondered whether he’d liked it when he first saw her.

Lena tried to ignore what Gabe might think of her outfit, and instead concentrated on his social media pages.

She wished she could be analytical about it all, but she always got a bit of a buzz if something she posted did well. Underneath the photograph with him and his godson, there were so many comments.

This is the sweetest!

Such a gorgeous photo.

All reflecting the majority of the news headlines, apart from some of those in Halrovia, which still tried to put a negative spin on the post. Criticising the money spent only to show these ‘homely’ moments. She gritted her teeth at the unfairness of it, on Gabriel’s behalf.

Lena grabbed a cup of coffee and took herself to a secluded part of the terrace in the shade and continued scrolling down.

There were still a few people muttering about a republic but there weren’t too many grinches today, because who couldn’t help but love a picture of Gabriel being a doting godfather?

The posts in response were emojis. Smiles, hearts.

Flames. Glancing over at him standing there with his broad shoulders, narrow waist and strong thighs, she got it.

She really did. Flames were apt. If the people who’d posted that could see what she saw right now, they’d want to fan themselves as much as she wanted to.

They’d probably need a moment to catch their breath too, because it was as if she’d been on the run, not him, the way she couldn’t catch any air.

Then there were the other posts that sent a spike of something hot and potent through her, which wasn’t about attraction.

If Gabriel were her boyfriend, she’d be sure the sensation was one of jealousy.

It had to just be indignation on his behalf, because she didn’t like being objectified, so why should he?

Talk of ovaries exploding. Things like, This picture made my heart melt, and my panties too.

Or, Forget the book. Can I get a prince like you for my birthday?

She tried not to judge. Who wouldn’t want a prince for their birthday?

Although she wasn’t sure why she was thinking that, since she’d never wanted a prince before.

She had no romanticism left in her, not after her parents.

Still, the comments made her feel something prickly she couldn’t explain, so she didn’t try.

She just kept reading. The sweet ones and the steamy.

Unable to explain the roller coaster of her emotions as she viewed them.

‘Lena.’

Gabe’s voice jolted her out of her reverie. She whipped round, heel catching on the sandstone paving of the patio, hand jerking and an arc of coffee flying as Gabriel caught her, and they ended in a complicated tangle, with her somehow in his arms and him with a splat of coffee across his shirt.

He looked down at her for a heated heartbeat.

Apart from the coffee she’d just spilled all over him, he smelled like the sea today, clean, salty, with an undertone.

Something woodsy. It was complex. Inviting.

A scent she wanted to snuggle into and stay, not moving from his strong embrace, with him looking down on her as if she could somehow answer the secrets of the universe…

till she realised where she was. In her employer’s arms, at an official function in front of a crowd of business people. She began to wriggle free.

‘Are you all right, Ms Rosetti?’

His voice sounded somehow deeper, gravelly. Except she couldn’t help notice that he was back to being formal. Putting her in her place.

‘Yes, of course. The heels. I shouldn’t have worn them out here. Silly me. I’m as clumsy as a newborn donkey sometimes.’ Her mother’s taunt was useful right now.

‘Have you ever seen a newborn donkey before?’

‘Well, no…’ What could she do? What could she say? Her heart pounded a sickening rhythm. She’d made a fool of herself, of him, in front of all his guests. Not at all demure. She tried to shut down her mother’s voice ‘But, Your Highness. Your shirt!’

She untangled herself from him, grabbed a bundle of napkins and began patting away at his chest. Trying to mop up the coffee ruining the fabric of his tee. Making it stick to what she could see were the impressive muscles underneath.

The heat roared into her cheeks.

‘Ms Rosetti…’

Lena couldn’t stop. She was desperate to clean up the mess she’d made. She kept patting, the white napkins staining with coffee, but it didn’t seem to make a difference.

‘Lena.’ He put his hand over hers. She stopped, defeated, looking up at him.

His pupils were huge and dark in the pale, icy blue of his eyes.

Nostrils flaring. Lips parted. ‘A new shirt is on its way.’ She didn’t know how, since she’d only just flung a coffee over him, but sure enough Pieter had arrived carrying a fresh shirt.

Gabriel released her and took it from his efficient valet.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I—’

He held up his hand. She noticed how broad the palm was, how long and elegant the fingers. Remembered how it had felt when those hands had cradled her. Had she imagined how gentle he’d been? Yes, she must have. He didn’t want her to fall, that was all.

‘Accidents happen. Why don’t you go and put on some safer shoes for this surface? When you return someone wants a photograph with me. They were meant to come to dinner at the ambassador’s residence tonight and can’t make it.’

He gave her a short sharp nod as he headed inside. She looked around her, but no one had seemed particularly bothered by her moment of clumsiness. It was only her, wanting to die inside from embarrassment, all the while unable to forget what it felt like to be in his arms.

This evening had been a long one. Gabriel strolled down the dimmed hallway of the Lauritanian home, trying to stay quiet as everyone appeared to be asleep.

He understood there were people here who’d be at his beck and call should he so desire, but he didn’t need anyone. Or perhaps he needed only one person.

A woman who was his employee. One who’d felt far too good in his arms when he’d held her this morning. In that glorious dress, showing off her feminine side. Lips like wine. The scent of her, delicious, as if she’d bathed in honey and chocolate.

If he’d been any other man he might have kept on holding her. Might have tried to kiss her, even though his sensible side told him that was impossible. Yet after a long evening, he’d begun to wonder why.

He needed to get her out of his head. However, he couldn’t stop thinking about their conversations.

What made her different? That slight irreverence for his position she tried to hide.

The sense of freedom about her that led him to consider that life might not be as constrained as his family believed.

Her defence of him, her seeming belief in him as a man, and as Crown Prince.

In her insightful photographs of him, showing a side of himself he’d forgotten.

He liked it, far too much. Craved it. Which was why he hated lying to her about his reading. About his glasses. Did he trust her enough to disclose what the real problem was? Would she judge him for it, for not being truthful?

He couldn’t be sure. His own staff didn’t care.

He’d adapted, and technology made things so much easier there was no need to tell anyone outside his immediate circle because it was irrelevant.

Wasn’t it? Right now, he didn’t have a good answer to that question whereas once, he wouldn’t have thought twice about it.

Tonight, it was as if the world weighed him down.

He’d been to dinner at the Halrovian ambassador’s home—a routine event when visiting another country, to drop in on the person flying Halrovia’s flag.

It had been a tedious kind of evening, because he’d seen it for what it was: conversations about the state of Halrovia, the press’s views on the royal family, and the ambassador giving his own advice, because he was a good friend of Gabriel’s father.

But the hints had come thick and fast about the benefits to a population’s mood from a royal wedding.

As if it weren’t enough that Cilla was to be married in a few months, and that Anastacia had married only a few months earlier herself—although that hadn’t been a royal wedding.

It was a private function at her fiancé’s chateau.

Whilst his parents might have looked down on the occasion because it didn’t meet their lofty expectations, Gabriel found something about it to be strangely satisfying.

She’d married a commoner, someone she was in love with.

Someone who had made her deeply happy. It was all he could ever have asked for both of his sisters.

As for himself, he’d been quietly reminded tonight of where his duty lay and, for once, he wanted none of it.

He’d begun to realise that Lena’s success was vital, if nothing else to ensure that more pressure wasn’t put on him to marry.

It wasn’t that he believed he couldn’t withstand it.

He was his own man and wouldn’t succumb to the whims of others, but over the past couple of weeks something had made him question life as he knew it.

He had rounded the corner towards his room when the unmistakable light tap of footsteps behind him made him stop and turn.