‘Which is?’
‘Not important for you to know.’ He pivoted, at once eager to escape and reluctant to leave. He forced himself to do the former. ‘And just so you know, the front door won’t open without a personal code. And no one can get up here without my express authority.’
‘Great. Is the treat-Lotte-like-a-prisoner session done yet? I’m getting worn-out here.’
He froze, glanced over his shoulder. The defiance was there, but in the arms she’d folded in outrage, he caught her defensiveness. Her lingering hurt. And frowned.
He was being overbearing. It was a fault Teo called him out on very often. It wasn’t a trait he could shut off easily. Something moved from his chest into his throat as his gaze travelled over her once more. As he accepted that part of his gruffness was a defence mechanism.
Lotte Lillegard had turned into a woman when he wasn’t looking. No. He exhaled harshly. Perhaps that wasn’t the entire truth. Maybe he’d refused to look. Refused to accept it.
But there was no denying it now.
Her slender form curved in all the right places, the hip she’d cocked in irritation demanding a second, third, fourth look. Which he most certainly wasn’t going to do. The previous hints of chubbiness in her face had long settled into beautiful angles of pert nose, strong delicate jaw and high cheekbones that made his fingers tingle once again.
And those legs.
Valenti halted his gaze from tracking them, then ruthlessly smashed the heat attempting to rise when she rocked from one foot to the other, changing her stance in a mesmeric slide of thighs.
No.
‘I haven’t treated you any differently to how I’d treat a client in the same situation,’ he half lied. He wouldn’t have jumped onto a fighter jet to halve the time he reached an ordinary client. His heart rate most certainly wouldn’t have been strained to hit Mach one for any other client, no matter how needful or exclusive.
It’s because she’s Helga’s sister.
True. But…that was another half lie.
Her impetuous visit to Cartana on her nineteenth birthday resurfaced. An inconvenience at the very least because he’d had duties requiring attention, but he’d still created a short space in his schedule to entertain his late friend’s little sister. Perhaps let her beat him in a game of chess she liked so much.
Until he’d seen her.
Valenti suspected the shock of registering that Lotte wasn’t a child anymore, that she’d blossomed into a stunning, sexy woman, had shattered his benevolent intentions. Had turned his plan on its head so he was ordering her out of his sight, berating her for giving her security the slip.
He shook his head briskly. Focused to find another flash of anguish crossing her face. He gritted his teeth.
‘Well, in that case, thisclientwants to be left in peace. If it’s not too much to ask?’
‘Lotte…’ He stopped when he caught her tiny flinch.
Enough. Very much unlike any client he’d dealt with, his every word and gesture seemed to make things worse.
And as he turned and walked away, Valenti also admitted a disconcerting truth.
Just like her womanly body triggered forbidden sensations, the sight of Lotte’s distress rubbed him in several wrong ways.
CHAPTER THREE
Lottecalledhimmany very bad names as she munched on her third sublime sushi roll. She wanted to hate herself for having even a crumb of an appetite right now, but it would be a waste of time. And dammit, as much as she wanted to deny it, he was right. She hadn’t eaten since lunch, and she was starving.
Cutting off her nose to spite her face wasn’t her thing. What would be the point?
But buried beneath the satisfying name calling was the well-deep pain of having her suspicions confirmed.
She meant nothing to Valenti Domene.
He’d rushed over here because she was neatly slotted into the pigeonhole ofclient. And as her brother, Gunnar, had pointed out the last time she’d protested about the whole guardian/ward situation, Prince Domene’s oath to her dead sister was the reason she was trapped with the royal prince as her guardian until she turned twenty-five. She didn’t even register as the most tenuous link of almost family, despite being legally his ward.
Even worse was that flash of bleakness when he’d referred to sackcloth and ashes. Valenti was still very much caught up in her dead sister’s memory and the promise he’d made. He was visibly desolate every time her name came up. Knowing that raked over her already bruised feelings, which was enraging and confusing.
