The Irresistible Prince. Lisa Laurel Kaye
the moment at least. He was watching her, waiting for an answer to his question. He didn’t want her to be his princess, but he did want her to be his...matchmaker?
Looking at him, Annah found it hard to believe that the man sitting across from her needed anyone’s help in finding a bride. True, the matrimonial clock was ticking for him; but he was arguably the most eligible bachelor in the world. He was rich, handsome—and he was a prince, for gosh sakes! International scuttlebutt had it that he was putting off choosing a bride until he had made the most of his last few months of bachelorhood, and Annah had never doubted that. There were legions of women stalking him: famous women, beautiful women—princess wanna-bes who would gladly trade their names and whatever virtue they could claim for the allure, luxury and power of a regal lifestyle. If he wanted to get married to save his throne, all he had to do was turn around and let himself be caught by one of them. Unless...
She looked at him carefully. He was staring out of the window now, his mouth set in a grim line. Suddenly she understood why Erik and Whit had sent him to her, of all people. “Your Highness, you want more than just a bride for the throne, don’t you?” she said softly.
“Yes,” he said, giving her a direct gaze. “I want more.”
Annah sat back in her seat in the booth. Now it all made sense. The gossip had been wrong, and so had she. He had delayed choosing a bride not to enjoy the countdown of his bachelor days, but for the simple reason that he hadn’t found the right woman. And the friends who had nudged him her way knew about her “gift”—her mysterious insight for recognizing true love. On paper, that made her the ideal matchmaker.
How was she supposed to answer him? Her insight wasn’t exactly something she could control, or even understand. It might not even work for him. She looked at him then, really looked at him, and a smoky feminine awareness caressed her insides in a curl of warmth. It had nothing to do with his being a prince, and everything to do with her reaction to him on a far more elemental level. In his mid-thirties, he carried himself with the unselfconscious assurance of a fully mature man. The power she had sensed within him was manifest in his rugged build. His touch-me brown hair and the well-trimmed beard that matched it rippled with mahogany. And deep in those sensual gray eyes lived an intensity that was compelling. His inner vibrations were strong, but that didn’t mean they’d be easy to read. Again those warm chills passed over her body, unbidden and mysterious.
She excused herself and got up from the booth, fanning herself with her hand. In the hallway, she checked the thermostat to see if it had been accidentally bumped up by one of the girls, but it was at the usual setting. Seeking solace in the familiar, she busied herself getting a rag from behind the counter and wiping the tea she had spilled. Then she righted her cup and refilled it.
What could Lucas do, except wait for her answer? He gritted his teeth, feeling his patience stretch thin. And it wasn’t just the waiting. Everything about this situation went against the grain. It was hard enough for a man like him to have to ask for anything, but this—this was an insult to his masculinity. What kind of a man needed help in finding his own bride?
A man who had played with fire and gotten himself burned, that’s what kind. Only a fool would be anything but careful after that. Lucas would be very, very careful.
Still, as hellish as the wedding deadline had made his life, Lucas had to applaud the decision of the council of elders. His marrying was in the best interest of the country he loved, which had a long history as a representative monarchy. As its prince, he had a duty to preserve the succession and carry that history into the future. He had to provide heirs to the throne. Marriage was inevitable. But the deadline had been a stroke of genius, focusing the attention of the world on his little country—and on its finely crafted jewelry, unique scenery and old-world hospitality. Yes, the elders had their eyes nobly focused on the past and the future—and their fingers wisely wrapped around the present, tightly gripping the collective pocketbook of the Constellation Isles. Tourism had swelled, even during the off-season. You had to love that. And the deadline served another purpose. Although none knew why, the elders were wise enough to see that, at thirty-five, their prince needed a little push toward the altar. He could still feel their fingers in his back, all the way across the ocean.
Annah returned to her seat. “Is the tea all right, Your Highness?” she asked him, gesturing toward his untouched cup.
He looked at it as if just now noticing its existence. “Yes. It’s fine, thank you,” he said, and concentrated on taking a drink. She could feel the tension in him.
Annah was a toucher. She felt the strongest impulse to reach out and pat him on the arm, but an even stronger instinct told her that he wouldn’t appreciate that kind of reassurance. And in truth she didn’t know how well she could handle her own reaction if she laid a hand on him again. “You...you’ve taken me a little by surprise,” she said truthfully. “I’m not sure what to say.”
A look flickered across his face, almost of pain. “There is some irony, is there not, in a prince having to ask for help in such a matter?” he said, with a twist of his mouth that passed for a smile. “But being a prince does not make me an expert in this area, Miss Lane.”
His lack of confidence in matters of the heart was typically male, and thoroughly endearing. Just talking about it was costing him, that much was obvious. But she was no expert herself!
He went on. “I have only one chance, and precious little time. I don’t want to make a mistake that I will pay for the rest of my life.”
“No, of course not.” Annah thought that was an odd way of putting it. Not wanting to choose the wrong woman, instead of wanting to choose the right woman.
“That’s why I am willing to put myself—my future—into your hands. Miss Lane, with or without your help, I will be married in two months. That is a fact of my life, because of a circumstance that I cannot change.” He paused. “But whether I will be happily married depends upon whether or not you will help me.”
She knew—oh, did she ever know!—that there was only one way he would be happy in marriage, and that was if he found true love. Without knowing why, she sensed somehow that behind his wariness, beneath his jaded exterior, that was what he was really looking for, whether or not he knew it or wanted to admit it. But she of all people knew that love was a tricky thing. She could match him up with every woman in town and see true love if it was there—but if it wasn’t, she couldn’t conjure it out of thin air. She bit her lip, stymied. How could she explain that to him?
He seemed to take her silence as discouragement. She could almost feel him pluck up his courage before he made one last appeal. “Miss Lane, I need your help,” he said, his voice resonant with feeling. “If not for my sake, then for the sake of the children I am depending upon this marriage to give me.”
Children. He not only wanted a happy marriage, but he wanted children, too. The undisguised hunger in his voice set off a vibration of longing deep inside Annah, a feeling whose strength surprised her, given how long it had been since she had last allowed herself to indulge in it. Once upon a time, she too had wanted it all.
He lowered his voice to a raw whisper. “Please don’t refuse me.”
She swallowed once, painfully, and put the errant memory back in its place. Then she looked up, and their eyes caught and held. It was as if she were looking into the deep shadows of those gray eyes for the first time, her vision untainted by preconceived notions of who he was or what he wanted. Something in that silent exchange made Annah feel as though a match had been struck somewhere deep inside her, and the flame had caught hold in her innermost self.
No, it couldn’t be—no—it must be empathy that had engendered this sudden bond. For who better than she could understand the yearning and the uncertainty in his gaze? The prince was chasing a dream, an oh-sobeautiful fairy tale. It had eluded Annah, but it could come true for him. The growing warmth inside her seemed to fire her very being. In that moment of shared romantic hope, all her reservations turned to ash. Far from refusing his request, she knew she would move heaven and earth and Anders Point itself, rock by rock, in order to help him.
He