Page 20 of Twelve Nights In The Prince's Bed

He put a hand on her thigh, and she almost jumped out of her skin. ‘Poppy.’ His voice held a warning. ‘You can’t look like a deer in the headlights every time we touch.’

She stared at his hand, tanned, large, strong, commanding, and remembered the way it had felt for him to touch her body, to slide his fingers inside her, to pleasure her so skilfully, and felt as if the air were being dragged from her lungs.

He was right. She had to make this more natural, but that was hard to contemplate when he was capable of setting her on fire with the lightest of touches.

He lifted his hand to her chin, tilting her face towards his and, just like the deer in headlights he’d accused her of being, she stayed perfectly still, incapable of movement.

‘Are you about to kiss me?’

His eyes showed surprise. ‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘You need to relax.’

‘I don’t think kissing you will relax me.’

‘Let’s see,’ he murmured, moving closer, his lips brushing hers, so Poppy’s eyes flared wider and she looked at him for one terrified moment before her eyes swept shut and she found herself leaning further forward, inviting the kiss. For the benefit of whoever might be watching, she told herself reassuringly as her lips parted and she held her breath.

It was a totally different kiss from any they’d shared before. On previous occasions, his mouth had taken hers as if driven by the fires of passion, but now, he kissed her slowly, gently, tentatively, a kiss of idle exploration and inquiry, a kiss that unfurled desire in her belly like a snake stretching on a hot rock, rather than a torrent of lava, but desire was there, nonetheless. As his tongue flicked hers, she moaned, leaning further forward, hands lifting to his shirt, fingers bunching the fabric together, mind in tangles as she tried to cling to reality, to remember that this was fake, even as her body’s response was very, very real.

He pulled away, eyes glinting with purpose as they met hers and held. ‘Are you ready?’

Was she imagining the throaty quality to his voice? The huskiness?

‘I think so.’

He nodded his head once, the implied approval doing something to Poppy’s heart.

She tried not to take it as anything other than it was, a gesture of agreement, but her insides trembled and she experienced a little burst of something a bit like a shooting star in the cavity of her chest, an unfamiliar sensation of pleasure lightening her heart.

‘Yes, I’m ready,’ she said breathily. ‘Let’s go.’

CHAPTER FIVE

USUALLYPOPPYSATbeside Eleanor at the dinner table, with the King and Queen at either end. When Adrastos was in the palace he took one end, and Queen Clementine moved to sit opposite Ellie and Poppy. Tonight, Adrastos had been placed beside Poppy, Eleanor and Clementine opposite, and a watchful King Alexander at the head.

Watchful because he didn’t believe their relationship was real? Or because he didn’t trust Adrastos not to hurt Poppy?

Poppy flicked a glance at her best friend, guilt assaulting her in waves whenever she contemplated the lie they were telling. But Eleanor had no idea: she was as happy as always, her love for Christmas evident in the joy she showed at this time of year, on a snowy Christmas night in the stunning royal Palace.

Champagne glasses were brought to the table, filled with ice-cold, fizzing liquid. Poppy took a quick sip of hers, even before a toast could be made, because she needed something to calm her fractured nerves.

She replaced it quickly, tilted her face and caught Adrastos watching her, his expression unreadable, but somewhere near ‘thunder’ on the scale of faces and moods. She lifted a brow, questioningly, and he winced out a smile—the kind of smile that would freeze ice.

Suddenly, it occurred to her that pulling this off would be harder than she’d realised. He’d said they’d need to be convincing, but he was acting as if he were heading in for a root canal.

‘Well.’ Alexander’s voice broke the awkward silence. ‘Here we are. Family.’

Poppy’s eyes shifted now to Queen Clementine, whose smile was bittersweet, and then to the empty chair at the head of the table, where, in an alternate reality, Nicholas would have sat. His absence was, as always, everywhere.

‘To family,’ Clementine echoed.

‘And new beginnings,’ Eleanor drawled with a single arched brow. Poppy’s heart pumped fast.

‘Yes.’ Clementine turned to the supposedly happy couple.

But there was a hint of doubt in her voice, a look of worry around her eyes, as if she had major reservations about this too. Poppy sipped her champagne again. They’d decided to play out this ruse and so they had to make it a success. Beneath the table, she pressed her hand to Adrastos’s thigh and, despite what he’d said in the car only an hour earlier, it was he who flinched at her touch, his powerful leg reacting to the simple, meaningless contact. She squeezed his thigh, hard, and shot him a warning look.

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