Passion, Purity and the Prince. Annie WestЧитать онлайн книгу.
air seemed to swirl and tickle her sensitised flesh as he subjected her to a short, all-encompassing survey. Heat blazed in her stomach and her skin tightened.
His eyes glittered and his mouth curved in welcome and her heart danced faster than it had on the squash court.
Would he look so welcoming if he knew she’d exhausted herself trying desperately to banish him from her thoughts? That she felt excited by his presence?
No. He paid her salary while she worked on loan here. He was her employer, an aristocrat living a glamorous, privileged life. A man with no interest in her or her work except that it made him eligible for the crown.
He’d be horrified by her reaction to him.
Even now her befuddled brain told her his smile wasn’t a simple welcome. That it signified a deeper level of pleasure, a hint of danger. The sort of danger a sensible woman would ignore.
See? Her instincts were awry. She couldn’t trust them.
Quickly she looked away, scared he’d read her thoughts. Patrick had read her longings like a book. She couldn’t bear to reveal her weakness to this man, too.
The fact that she felt any weakness at all after the events of the last six months astounded her.
‘Dr Connors.’ His deep voice rippled like ruched velvet across her skin. She shivered, unable to suppress voluptuous pleasure at the sound.
Seeking distraction she reached for her cardigan and glasses, holding them close to her heaving chest.
‘I hope you don’t mind me using the court,’ she murmured. ‘Your steward said I could but I hadn’t realised you might…’
‘Of course I don’t mind. It’s good to see it in use. If I’d known you played I’d have invited you to a match.’
Startled, Tamsin looked up, straight into clear indigo depths that seemed warm and inviting.
He looked serious!
Her gaze strayed across muscled shoulders, down to the deep curve of a solid chest outlined against a black cotton T-shirt. She swallowed, her mouth drying at the latent power of him. His arms, tanned and strong, reminded her of the way he’d hoisted her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing. Of how, despite her outrage, she’d revelled in his effortless he-man act.
He looked mouth-wateringly good in gym gear. As good as in uniform! It wasn’t fair.
She stepped back, her eyes flicking away nervously.
‘I don’t think I’d be in your league.’ Fervently she hoped he’d put her breathlessness down to her workout.
‘I watched you play. You’re quick and agile and know how to use your body.’ His smile changed, became almost intimate, sending tendrils of heat winding around her internal organs. ‘I’m sure we’d be very well matched.’
Tamsin’s mind filled with an image of them matched in another way altogether. Tanned skin against pale. Hard masculine muscle against female softness.
Heat exploded, scalding her throat and face at the lurid, unfamiliar picture. Horrified, she ducked her head to fumble with her glasses case.
He couldn’t know what she was thinking.
That didn’t stop her embarrassment.
‘It’s kind of you to say so,’ she mumbled. ‘But we both know it would be an uneven match.’
She cast a furtive glance at his muscled arms and wished he’d cover himself up. It was hard not to stare.
‘You underestimate yourself, Dr Connors.’ His words sliced through her thoughts. ‘Why is that? You struck me as a very confident woman when we discussed your work.’
Confident? She’d talked too much last night as they’d visited the archives. Nerves and guilt about the risks she’d taken with his books in the library had made her overcompensate. Anxiety had made her garrulous.
‘That’s different.’ Reluctantly she lifted her chin and met his gaze. Even braced for the impact, the connection sent shock waves of pleasure racing through her. ‘I’ve worked hard to develop my expertise. My work is what I’m good at. What I love.’
Tamsin had buried herself in work for years. At first because immersing herself in books had been an escape in her lonely childhood. Then from habit, especially as a student, when her age had set her apart from older colleagues. More recently it had been easier to be a workaholic than cultivate a personal life. She shivered. Her one foray into romance had been disastrous.
She waved a hand at the court. ‘I lead a sedentary life. This is just a way to keep fit.’ And a welcome outlet for troubled emotions.
He tilted his head, his gaze shrewd. ‘Yet your focus was impressive. And your speed. You’d be a formidable opponent.’
The lazy approval was gone from his face, replaced by a seriousness that made her still.
Like last night Tamsin again had the suspicion he saw her: not just her academic reputation, but whole, talents and doubts, confidence and uncertainties. Saw the real person.
The notion thrilled yet made her feel oddly vulnerable.
She shoved an arm into her cardigan, pulled it round and slid her other arm in. Its familiarity steadied her, a reminder of her everyday world, devoid of handsome princes with dark chocolate voices.
She opened the case in her hands to take out her glasses. She felt naked meeting his scrutiny without them. But the sudden intensity of his stare arrested her. She closed the case with a snap.
‘Hardly formidable, Your Highness. But thank you for the compliment.’
She made to turn away then stopped. This might be her only chance to talk to him. After today he’d probably be as elusive as before.
Steadfastly Tamsin ignored a sudden pang of disappointment. They had nothing in common. What did it matter if she never saw him again?
‘Tomorrow, could I work on the text again? I’m eager to make more progress.’
‘I’m sure you are.’ Yet there was no answering enthusiasm in his face. If he was excited about the possibility of becoming monarch he hid it. His expression was flinty.
Had she said something wrong?
Finally he nodded. ‘It will be brought to you tomorrow so you can pursue your…investigations.’
Tamsin sat absorbed, one bare foot tucked beneath her.
The more she delved into this manuscript, the more it fascinated. The choice of words, the phrasing, it was unique, even without the bombshell revelation that generations ago the wrong heir had become king. The intricate detail about life at court was incredible.
Take this word. She tilted her lamp to better view the idiosyncratic spelling. It should mean…
She paused, frowning as her thoughts strayed.
There was no sound, no movement on the periphery of her vision. Yet suddenly her focus was shot. The hairs on her arms prickled in atavistic awareness. Did she imagine a change in the atmosphere?
Tamsin focused again, trying to fathom the meaning of a convoluted sentence. Yet the more she tried to concentrate the more aware she became of…something else.
Finally in exasperation she looked up. And saw him.
The overhead lights were on against the fading afternoon. He stood under one, his black hair glossy in the spill of light. He was motionless, feet apart and hands in pockets in a masculine stance that reinforced the air of tough capability she’d noticed from the first.
Her heart throbbed an agitated tattoo. How long had he silently watched her? Why did he look so grim?
More than that, she