Page 11 of Promoted To His Princess

So, really, a second strip show shouldn’t have either surprised him or affected him, yet it did both. The former because he’d thought she would have remembered him telling her to be circumspect and she hadn’t, and the latter because she was beautiful. Her figure, as he’d seen already, was long and lean, and toned. Athletic. Powerful.

His groin hardened as she bent to pick up the golden gown, wearing nothing but black briefs and that determinedly practical sports bra. Golden skin and strength. A fierce, warrior beauty. Like Artemis, the huntress his ancestors had used to worship.

He could worship her. He’d be her most attentive priest. He’d shower her with glory and all sorts of other...pleasures.

Stop.

He took a deep, slow breath. Yes, he should very definitely stop. Yet his mind kept drifting to his engagement and the feeling of that cage closing around him. It reminded him of things he didn’t want to think about—pain and betrayal—and a capsule in his hand that he hadn’t swallowed.

A capsule that would have killed him.

A capsule that had ultimately led to his banishment and exile, that had saved him and condemned him at the same time.

He didn’t want to go back to that and yet here he was. For his brother’s sake. Committing himself to a life of duty and responsibility, and a marriage with no passion and no chemistry. Not even any friendliness or camaraderie.

Since when do you care about that?

He wasn’t supposed to, yet the cold feeling inside him was there all the same. Oh, he would do this; he wouldn’t shirk his responsibilities to his brother, but...didn’t he deserve something for his sacrifice? Surely one last taste of freedom wasn’t asking too much?

Calista had picked up the golden fabric and was already stepping into it, drawing it up; clearly she didn’t need his help this time, even managing to get the zip up herself.

He forced that little disappointment away. ‘The mirror, please.’

Obediently, she went over to stand in front of the mirrors while he prowled up behind her. Again, she didn’t look at herself, her gaze off to the side.

He came to a stop, staring at her reflection, his breath catching.

Yes, he was right to think of her as a goddess. That was exactly what she was. A tall, golden goddess, the colour of the gown highlighting her lovely skin and deepening the clear amber of her eyes.

It would have been perfect except for the black sports bra getting in the way.

‘The straps again,’ he said. ‘They ruin the line of the gown.’

Her gaze flicked to her reflection and away again. Then before he could say anything more, she reached behind her, undid the zip a little, then tugged the sports bra up and over her head before discarding it on the ground.

Looking away would have been the decent thing to do, but he’d never been decent, and he certainly wasn’t now. He actually couldn’t. He was riveted by the glimpse of her breasts, round and full, her nipples a deep rose, before she tugged the gown up, reaching for the zip once again.

Desire swept through him, his groin aching, his muscles tight. He was standing very close behind her and her scent was fresh and a touch sweet, like a bouquet of freshly cut wildflowers. He wanted to curve his hands over those beautiful breasts, bury his face in her hair and inhale her.

It had been too long and he was weak.

You’ve always been weak, though, haven’t you?

The thought echoed in his head as he caught her watching him again in the mirror.

She felt the charge between them; he knew she did. And yes, he was weak.

‘Why won’t you look at yourself?’ he asked to break the agonising tension.

‘I don’t need to look at myself.’ Her chin lifted as if he’d challenged her. ‘I’m a soldier, not a socialite.’

She didnotlike him insisting. Why was that?

‘There’s nothing wrong with socialites. Nothing wrong with putting on a pretty dress and enjoying a few parties.’

‘That’s not my purpose.’

‘I see. And what is your purpose?’

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