The King's Bride By Arrangement - Annie West Page 0,13

thought of walking down these deserted streets back to the palace...

Eva marched to where Paul stood holding the car door open. Her high heels clicked smartly on the cobbles. She kept her chin up, clutching her small shoulder bag to her side, and got into the passenger seat without once brushing against him or meeting his eyes.

Paul seethed, the satisfaction he’d got from downing the man who’d dared touch her already fading.

Her precious Fabrice.

He hadn’t believed his ears when Eva had asked how he was. The man had assaulted her and yet she was concerned about him. It had been there in her voice.

Had she known him before tonight?

Was there something between them?

Paul had assumed they were virtual strangers but...

‘If you take your hand away I’ll shut the door.’ Her voice came crisply but otherwise uninflected from inside the car.

Belatedly Paul stirred, realising he was making her a target for curious eyes with the door open and the car’s interior light on. He stepped away and closed the door gently, concealing the roiling anger inside him.

No one had ever made him so furious. Except his late, unlamented father. But then King Hugo had been monstrous—narcissistic, venal and with a wrathful temper that had scorched anyone who disobeyed him.

Was it any wonder Paul had made it his life’s work to contain his temper? To ensure he was as unlike his father as possible?

He shook his head and stalked round the car. Sliding inside, he shut his door and started the engine, plunging them into darkness.

But not soon enough to blot out the image of Eva’s long, pale legs stretching out beside him from under that short dress.

Why hadn’t he known she had legs like that? Legs that dragged a man’s eyes down then up again even when his thoughts were still half with the guy he’d left sprawling in the alley. When she’d walked down the street, chin up and hips swinging... No, not walked. Sashayed. Her rump twitching, hips swaying and those legs...

Stifling a growl of frustration in the back of his throat, he reached for his seat belt and eased the car into gear.

‘Buckle up.’

But of course she already had. Princess Eva of Tarentia always followed the rules. Her grasp of court etiquette was second to none, her willingness to do what was expected of her one of the reasons she’d been put forward as a royal bride.

Except when she didn’t do what was expected. Like tonight.

Another thing he’d only just discovered. The fact that the woman who was still his fiancée was a rule breaker, skiving off to a night club notorious as a venue for discreet hook-ups wearing a dress that barely covered the essentials.

Then, when some chancer had tried to take advantage, had she thanked him, Paul, for rescuing her? No, she’d worried about the man who’d tried to undress her in an alleyway, all but accusing Paul of wrongdoing.

The car shot forward with a growl and the squeal of rubber on wet stone, forcing him to focus on his driving.

The way things had gone so far, he just needed to smash the car to round off a terrific evening.

Her voice cut through his turbulent thoughts. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine.’ Belatedly he recalled she’d been concerned for him earlier. Or so she’d said. Had she been more worried about how Fabrice emerged from the encounter with Paul’s fists?

‘You’re not acting like you are.’

Paul clenched his teeth, easing his foot off the accelerator. ‘Perhaps I’m just tired. It was late when I came out to rescue you.’

Which wasn’t strictly true. It had been late but he’d been wide awake, working his way through reams of paperwork. He hadn’t bothered going to bed because his conversation with Eva had left him unsettled and discomfited. He wasn’t used to his carefully laid plans being upended.

His mouth twisted grimly.

All these years he and so many royal advisors had considered Eva the perfect, conformable, comfortable royal spouse. None of them had realised her hidden, troublesome depths.

He shot her a sideways glance, caught sight of gleaming pale flesh in the darkness and registered the now-familiar grab and twist of desire low in his belly, and even lower, in his groin.

Even the sight of all that lustrous hair disturbed him. It was loose down her back and around her shoulders, and slightly dishevelled.

He couldn’t help but wonder if that was how she looked in bed.

Sultry, delicious and rumpled.

He sucked in a sharp breath, trying and failing to banish the thought.

There was something