Page 33 of Twelve Nights In The Prince's Bed

‘Well, we can have many thoughts,’ she said after a beat. ‘But not all of them reflect how we truly feel.’

‘A fascinating comment, Poppy. I’m tempted to analyse that further and ask how you really feel about me.’

He turned to face her, but Poppy had grown pale. He was pushing her too far, teasing her. Reaching out, he curved his fingers over her knee and she startled. Yes, he was glad no chauffeur was around to witness this.

‘Hey.’ If they weren’t being followed by a pesky photographer on a bike, he’d have been tempted to pull over and kiss all these nerves away. ‘I promise, this is going to be fun. I know this isn’t real, but, for tonight, let’s pretend we’re actually dating. I think we could both enjoy that, hmm?’

That was the problem! If Poppy wasn’t very, very careful, the lines between reality and make-believe would get woefully blurred and she’d wake up half in danger of believing that Adrastos actually cared for her.

With a heart rate that wouldn’t slow, she waited as Adrastos pulled the car into the sweeping drive of a five-star hotel in the city centre. She’d heard of it, but never been.

‘A hotel?’

‘The bar,’ he said with a nod. ‘Come with me.’ He stepped out of his side of the car at the same time a hotel valet opened the door to hers. It was only as she exited that Poppy became aware of the security presence—four men emerging from a car behind them—and then, several motorbikes with paparazzi. But Adrastos was right there, a reassuring arm around her waist drawing her close to his side so she forgot about everything and everyone and was conscious only of how well she fitted against him, of how warm and masculine he was, how hard and strong. His arm was like a clamp, his body a brick wall, and she was water, melting and liquid, filling in the gaps.

Once they stepped into the foyer, the paparazzi disappeared—no one followed them inside except for his security guards, who travelled up in the lift with them. Even then, Poppy was barely aware of their presence, because once inside the lift Adrastos seemed so much bigger and stronger, his body wrapping around her, if not physically, at least in terms of presence.

The doors pinged open and the security guards stepped out, two on either side, forming a passage for them to exit. But instead of leaving, Adrastos turned his body, shielding Poppy from the view of the bar.

‘Adrastos?’ She blinked up at him, her mouth as dry as the desert. He was looking at her in a way that was now familiar to Poppy. She bit down on her lip, blinking up at him. ‘You’re going to kiss me again, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘You look to need it.’

‘I’m not sure if that’s true.’

‘But, Poppy, haven’t we established I’m the expert on all things kissing?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You know, your ego is—’ She didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence. He kissed her and she smiled, because he was right. She had needed it, and being kissed by him like this, being held by him, was enough to burn her soul to the ground in the best possible way.

The bar was so super exclusive that paparazzi access was forbidden, and the clientele was high-profile enough to assure a degree of anonymity. Though, no, Poppy reflected, leaning back in their booth seat. Anonymity was not quite the right word. Adrastos could never truly be anonymous. He was recognisable to anyone in the world who didn’t live under a rock, and even here, in a bar crammed full of billionaires, celebrities and nobility, there was Adrastos, a wholly different species.

Poppy tried not to focus on how many women ogled him.

Nor to think about how many of these women he’d ogled back. Or more.

But it was impossible to blot those thoughts, impossible not to reflect on how active his love life had been, nor to think about how active it would be again after this.

So even though they sat in a private booth with exquisite views over the city, and Adrastos did an excellent job of acting as though she were the only woman in the entire world, Poppy couldn’t help folding a little in on herself as the night went on.

He ordered a beer and she a champagne, and her nerves eased slightly, but it just took the passing by of one glamorous woman for Poppy to be reminded of the fact she didn’t belong here. She wasn’t a part of Adrastos’s world.

‘Tell me about your work,’ he commanded, fingers trailing her shoulder then drawing circles, reminding her of the way he’d eased her to sleep the night before. She shivered, a tingle of pleasure, of warmth and awareness, then cleared her throat, trying to focus.

‘My work can be a depressing topic.’

He dipped his head. ‘Yet you do it anyway.’

‘Someone’s got to.’

‘Why you?’

‘You think I should be doing something else?’

He narrowed his gaze. ‘I didn’t say that.’

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