Page 4 of Unknown Royal Baby

Yet she wished...

Don’t even think about it! You’re too sensible to pine for what you can’t have.You and he... Inconceivable!

She grabbed her barely touched glass of red wine and stalked across to the window, not bothering to put on the shoes she’d discarded under the desk while they worked.

She’d requested a glass of wine to accompany the superb meal she’d been served, but then hadn’t had the stomach for it. It was Cilla, dear Cilla, who’d loved the occasional glass of Shiraz. It must have been sentimentality that made her order the glass.

Avril looked out across the dark street to the leafy park that made this Mayfair location so desirable. It had rained while they worked. The pavements shone, reminding her of the night Cilla died.

Melancholy filled her. She knew Cilla had been in pain. That slipping off peacefully in her sleep had been a blessed release. Cilla had wanted, insisted, Avril not mope. Her great-aunt had even made her create a list of fun things she wanted to do when the time came and Avril had more time for herself.

Her lips twisted. Cilla had been a remarkable lady. She lifted her glass in silent salute and took a long, slow sip, savouring the wine’s mellow fruitiness. It warmed her, a comforting glow settling deep inside her.

Tomorrow she’d honour Cilla by reading through that list, though she wasn’t in the mood to try new adventures yet.

Unless Isam was on your list.Then you’d be ready for adventure.

‘Avril.’

His deep voice came from so close behind her that she jumped, twisting around.

Isam stood there, dark shadows dusting his jaw, making him look even more elementally, bone-meltingly male.

She saw him in the same moment she registered the wave of red wine arc up from the glass that jerked in her hand. In slow motion she saw it collide with his pristine shirt and horror filled her.

Avril put the glass down to search for a tissue but her bag and jacket were at the other end of the imposing room. The dinner napkins had been cleared away long ago.

‘Handkerchief? Tissue?’ she rapped out.

A large handkerchief, ironed and snowy white, was pressed into her hand. ‘Thanks.’

She held it to his shirt, knowing she was probably ruining both, but unable to watch the spill dribble further. With her other hand she tugged open a shirt button then another and another. ‘You need to get this off straight away. Salt will lift the wine stain. Or soak it in cold water.’

Beneath her touch she felt the sudden flex of warm muscle. A waft of air eddied across her forehead and she realised it was Isam’s breath, soft as a caress.

Avril froze, eyes widening as she realised what she was doing. Her left hand pressed the damp handkerchief to Isam’s chest. His hard, hair-roughened, golden-toned chest.

She gulped. The fingers of her right hand were curled, immobile, around a shirt button halfway to his belt.

Only now did she register the rise and fall of his chest with each breath and the friction of chest hair against her knuckles. A tickle of excitement lifted the hair at her nape and pulled her scalp tight.

‘I can take it from here.’

There must be something wrong with her hearing. Isam’s voice sounded strained, gravelly rather than smooth. The blood pounding in her ears must be to blame.

Her flesh tingled all over and her nipples pushed hard against her bra, making her shiver.

‘Of course.’

Her gaze was glued to her hands against his chest but her synapses weren’t firing properly. She should be lifting her hands off him yet they didn’t move. Her brain was too scrambled. Or her body refused to heed its orders.

She’d dreamt of touching him, of seeing the powerful body beneath the custom-made clothes. The reality was shockingly arousing. Isam in the flesh short-circuited her ability to move.

Two large hands covered hers. But instead of dragging them off him, those long fingers wrapped around hers. Avril’s breath disappeared in a gasp.

Sensations shot through her. His scent, citrus and warm male flesh. The gentle strength of his touch. A sudden twitching movement of his pectorals. The quick thud of his heart against her knuckles. As quick as her own, surely.

‘Avril. Look at me.’

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