Page 60 of Tabloid Princess

He nodded and then turned to the rest of us. He swiftly introduced us to the rest of the group, and she shook hands, for all the world seeming genuinely interested. “And this is Leia Lawrence.” To my utter horror he reached forward, his hand cupping my elbow as he guided me closer.

I curtsied, my knees locking almost, but he guided me back up. “Your Majesty.”

“Leia. So pleased to meet you. I understand you’ve had some unfortunate problems with the press this week?”

My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and I nodded wordlessly.

Prince Oliver had dropped his hand, but I could still feel him in the space next to me. That magnetic energy that shifted between us hummed against my skin and the layers of my full skirt. “It was an unfortunate incident.” His voice rumbled through me. “I’ve tried to smooth things as quickly as possible for Leia so she can return to work.”

The Queen nodded thoughtfully. “My son captures a lot of media attention worldwide. It’s a regret for us all that these things spiral out of control.” Her gaze flickered over her son. “If he made better choices, I do believe the headlines would be slightly kinder.”

A hard line of a frown creased his face for a split moment until he smoothed it away and offered her a wide smile. “I can but try, Ma’am.”

I wondered if he always had to call her that. Was she ever just Mum?

I shrugged off the thought. It wasn’t my business or a question I’d ever likely get answered.

He glanced at his watch. “I have a speech in fifteen minutes.” A smile flickered across his lips. “I believe I have time for a dance.”

Sonya almost catapulted herself in his direction. I could hardly blame her. In the black tuxedo, with his dark hair, olive skin, and vibrant eyes, he could almost have made me want to dance. Actually, he could have made me want to do many things.

My body, usually so dead and unresponsive, almost screamed with longing at the prospect.

The little magnetic sliver between us seemed to charge hotter, denser.

“Leia, would you do me the honour?”

My mouth popped open and I struggled to form a sentence. “That’s a kind invitation,” I mimicked his speech pattern. “But dancing doesn’t agree with me.”

He turned his body flush with mine. My breath puffed out of my chest. “Humour me.”

What could I say? No thank you. I’d rather sit on the chairs like a wallflower.

Molly’s curious gaze burned into my skin, but I couldn’t glance in her direction. As I stepped up and took Prince Oliver’s offered hand, I noticed a flash of frustration flicker across the face of The Queen.

Another bad choice by her son.

Thirteen

He guided me to the dance floor. As if under some previous instruction, the band faded out the song they were only partway through, and slipped effortlessly into a tune with a slow tempo.

His hand slipped into the space at the bottom of my spine, his other hand holding mine.

“Are we going to foxtrot?”

His smile lit the entire room. “Can you?”

“No. Can you?”

Everyone had their attention on us. The chatter in the room had dropped to barely a whisper.

His lips hovered millimetres to my ear. “I’ve been told it’s one of my better skills.” The tone of his voice, his breath on my skin, his hand against my spine—all of them made me shudder in a way I’d never experienced.

Wild darts of fiery desire zoomed through my body and I swallowed nervously.

“I really can’t dance,” I said.

“Let me lead.” His voice flicked a switch with me. I knew I’d do what he asked. Relaxing my body, trying to still the trembling, I let him fit me against his chest, and then we were moving, gliding, twirling in perfect time with one another.