Royals: A Dutiful Princess. Leanne BanksЧитать онлайн книгу.
suppose.’ And then she fell silent. ‘You should never have come here,’ she said at last in a strained voice.
‘I’m supposed to pretend nothing happened back there?’ He jerked his head in the general direction of the village hall.
‘Can’t you see how bad you’re making things look by coming here, Tyr?’
‘Your safety comes first. And considering you weren’t supposed to be here when I arrived, that’s rich, coming from you. But we are where we are, Jazz, and it’s no use looking back.’
‘If you’d left me on that dune as I asked you to, this wouldn’t have happened.’
‘If I’d left you on that dune, you’d be dead. And if one of my sisters was stranded in the middle of a sandstorm when Sharif was close by, I would expect him to do exactly what I’m doing for you.’
‘But this is different, Tyr.’
‘Why? Because you’re a princess of Kareshi? You’re also a human being, aren’t you?’
‘I’m alone with a man.’
‘Who is here to make sure you’re safe, and for no other reason, Jasmina.’
‘You can’t even call me Jazz now?’
‘You’re a princess,’ he reminded her coldly.
But there was more to it than that. Jazz was the woman he wanted to take to bed, while Princess Jasmina was the innocent sister of his closest friend, and therefore untouchable. Princess Jasmina had nothing to worry about where Tyr Skavanga was concerned. Another tense silence hung between them. And just like the old days, neither one of them was prepared to back down first.
‘Well, I might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb,’ Jazz said finally. ‘You’re here, and, as you say, we’re in this situation, so I might as well offer you a drink.’
He slanted a wry smile at her. ‘Charmed, I’m sure.’
‘Juice?’
‘Thank you.’
While Jazz was arranging things, he took the chance to stare around at all the rich hangings and the jewel-coloured rugs. The Wadi people had really pushed out the boat to show their love for Jazz by offering her the best of everything they had. The smell of precious incense rose from brass burners, while a honeyed light shone from intricately pierced brass lanterns, which were almost certainly centuries old. And there were enough sumptuous throws and hand-sewn silk cushions to make up ten beds.
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ she commented, seeing his interest and perhaps relieved for another chance to move onto safer ground. ‘Though you forgot to secure the storm sheet when you came in.’
Surprised, he glanced around.
‘You were too busy lecturing me,’ Jazz observed dryly as he corrected his mistake.
As he returned and tugged off his jacket, he noticed Jazz staring at him. It occurred to him that in Jazz’s ultra-protected world even the flash of a naked biceps would be disturbing. She was staring now at the tattoo that wound around his arm, which was a brutal reminder of his proud Viking heritage and another warning of the many differences between them.
What on earth had persuaded her to allow Tyr Skavanga inside the pavilion? When he’d touched her lightly on the arm with his hand at the meeting, it had felt as if the voltage of the entire national grid had shot through her body. And now she was in lock-down with him? She couldn’t allow him to risk his life outside. That was the only reason this was happening, Jazz told herself firmly. But Tyr filled the tent. His aura of power and command surrounded her. He was so brazenly male and so frighteningly virile.
No one could be this close to Tyr and feel nothing, Jazz reasoned sensibly. The ferocity of the storm had unsettled her, but that wasn’t an excuse for her imagination to run riot. They were stuck here. They hadn’t chosen to be here.
But to be alone with Tyr, when she was never alone with any man apart from her brother? She didn’t know where to look, how to act, where to sit.
Look anywhere except at this man mountain, Jazz concluded. Don’t stare at Tyr’s hard muscled body covered in scars, and wonder how he came by them. Just accept Tyr for who he is, and what he was when you were both younger and could call him a good friend. Don’t stare into Tyr’s shadowed eyes and ache to know his past. Don’t even begin to think of how it felt when he touched you. Concentrate on practical matters instead, like locking down the pavilion together in preparation for the storm, and everything else will sort itself out. She hoped.
It was a relief to have something practical to concentrate on, Jazz reflected as she started to move anything breakable out of danger as the wind battered the sides of the pavilion. She was an observer, and a fantasist who had dreamed about Tyr constantly since she was a teen.
But having him here, brutally male and frighteningly close—
‘Would you mind if I have a piece of fruit to go with my drink, Jazz?’
Well, that sounded like a threat—not. ‘Of course I don’t mind. Help yourself.’
Just because Tyr was worldly and she wasn’t, it didn’t mean he expected anything from her. She’d known him half her life, and Tyr had never done anyone any harm.
Until he became a trained soldier.
Under orders, Jazz reminded herself as she refilled Tyr’s goblet and handed it back to him. She blinked when he reached for the dagger at his belt. She remembered exactly when Sharif had given him the dagger. It was the same deadly curving khanjar her brother wore hanging from his belt. Sharif had said the gift of a dagger bound Tyr and he as close as brothers, and there was no one in the world he trusted more. As if hypnotised, she watched Tyr slice the fruit into slim pieces with that same lethal blade and put some on a plate to tempt her.
‘We could be here for hours, Jazz. You should eat something.’
Hours? One crucial word broke through. How was she going to remain calm and sensible for hours alone with Tyr when her heart was already going crazy?
Jazz accepting the plate of fruit was a turning point. It was a small but significant step towards her relaxing around him. If she couldn’t do that, this was going to be a long night for both of them.
‘Good?’ he prompted as she lifted a sliver of fruit to her lips.
‘Thank you.’
She was so prim, so tense, so frightened of him. This was a new Jazz indeed, though her black eyes and perfectly sculpted features had never seemed more beautiful to him.
‘Why are you staring at me?’ she demanded suspiciously.
‘Am I staring?’
‘You know you are.’
She blushed and turned away, then moved at the same moment he did for a second piece of fruit. As their arms brushed, she took in a swift gulp of air. The jolt to his own senses stunned him. This was crazy. Sheltering from the storm had become an exercise in restraint he hadn’t expected.
Only when Jazz had put half a pavilion’s distance between them did she start talking to him again. ‘I’m glad you’re back, Tyr.’
He stabbed another piece of fruit. ‘Glad I’m back from my travels?’ he enquired, biting the succulent fruit from the tip of the knife. ‘Or glad I’m here?’
‘Both,’ Jazz admitted frankly, hugging herself tight as the wind threatened to tear the roof off the pavilion.
‘So, what do you suggest we do now?’
‘What do you mean?’ Her eyes widened as she stared at him.
He gave a short laugh, but there was no humour in it. ‘Do you tell the emir we spent the night together, or do I?’
‘Do you mind if we talk about something else?’