An Heir Fit For A King. Эбби Грин
had had a penchant for giving their perfumes enigmatic names. As soon as Leila had sprayed a little on her wrist she’d heard her mother’s voice in her head: ‘This scent is for a woman, Leila. The kind of woman who knows what she wants and gets it. You will be that woman someday, and you won’t be foolish like your mother.’
She felt the scent now, deep in the pit of her belly. Felt its dark sensuality, earthy musky notes and exotic floral arrangement. It was so unlike her...and yet it resonated with her. But she felt exposed wearing it—as if it would be obvious to everyone that she was trying to be something she wasn’t.
The doorbell sounded... Too late to remove it now, even if she wanted to.
She made her way downstairs, her heart palpitating in her chest. She thrust aside memories of another man she’d let too close. It had been as if as soon as her mother’s influence had been removed Leila had automatically sought out proof that not all men weren’t to be trusted. But that had spectacularly backfired and proved her very wrong.
Walking through the darkened shop, Leila forced the clamouring memories down. She’d learnt her lesson. She was no fool any more. She still wanted something different from her mother’s experience, but Alix Saint Croix was the last man to offer such a thing. So, if anything, she couldn’t be safer than with this man.
She sucked in a big breath and opened the door. The sky was dusky outside and Alix blocked most of it with his broad shoulders. He was dressed in a classic black tuxedo and white bow tie under his overcoat. Leila’s mouth went dry. That assurance of safety suddenly felt very flimsy.
She wasn’t even aware that Alix’s eyes had widened on her when she’d appeared.
‘You look beautiful.’
She stopped gawking at him long enough to meet his eyes. And those nerves gripped her again as she gestured shyly to her outfit. ‘I wasn’t sure... I hope it’s appropriate?’
Alix lifted his eyes to hers. ‘It’s stunning. You look like a princess.’
Leila blushed and busied herself pulling the door behind her and locking it to deflect his scrutiny.
The outfit was a traditional Indian salwar kameez with a bit of a modern twist. The tunic was made out of green and gold silk, with slim-fitting trousers in the same shade of green. She had on gold strappy sandals that she’d bought one day on a whim but never worn. A loose chiffon throw was draped over her shoulders and she’d put her hair up in a high bun. She wore ornate earrings that had belonged to her mother—like a talisman that might protect her from falling into the vortex that this man created whenever he was near.
The driver of the sleek car parked nearby was holding the door open, and Leila slid into the luxurious confines as Alix joined her from the other side. She plucked nervously at the material of her tunic as they pulled away.
Alix took her hand and she looked at him.
‘You look amazing. No other woman will be dressed the same.’
Leila quirked a wry smile, liking the feel of Alix’s hand around hers far too much. ‘That’s what I’m suddenly afraid of.’
He shook his head. ‘You’ll stand out like a bird of paradise—they’ll be insanely jealous.’
Leila gave a small dissenting sound and went to pull her hand back, but Alix gripped it tighter and lifted it up, turning her wrist. He frowned slightly and bent to smell. Leila’s heart thumped, hard.
He looked at her. ‘This isn’t your usual scent?’
Damn him for noticing. Leila cursed her impetuosity and felt as if that scarlet letter was on her forehead for all to see. She pulled her hand back. ‘No, it’s a different scent—one more suitable for evenings.’
‘I like it.’
Leila could smell his scent too. The one she’d made him. She knew that it lingered on his skin from when he’d put it on much earlier that day—it didn’t have the sharp tang of having been recently applied. She thought of their scents now, mingling and wrapping around one another. It made her feel unbearably aware of the fact that they were so close. Aware of the warm blood pumping just under their skin, making those scents mellow and change subtly.
It was an alchemy that happened to everyone in a totally different way, as the perfume responded uniquely to each individual.
She finally looked away from Alix to see that they were leaving the confines of the city and heading towards the grittier outskirts. Nowhere near the Paris opera house.
She frowned and looked back at him. ‘I thought we were going to the opera?’
‘We are.’
‘But we’re leaving Paris.’
Alix smiled. ‘I said we were going to the opera. I didn’t say where.’
Flutters of panic made her tense. ‘I don’t appreciate surprises. Tell me where we’re going, please.’
His eyes narrowed on her and Leila bit back the urge to lambast him for assuming she was just some wittering dolly bird, only too happy to let him whisk her off to some unknown location.
Alix’s voice had an edge of steel to it when he said, ‘We’re going to Venice.’
‘Venice?’ Leila squeaked. ‘But I don’t have my passport. I mean, how can we just—?’
Alix took her hand again and spoke as if he was soothing a nervous horse. ‘You don’t need your passport. I have diplomatic immunity and you’re with me. The flight will take an hour and forty minutes. I’ll have you back in Paris and home by midnight. I promise.’
Leila reeled. ‘You said flight?’
Alix nodded warily, as if expecting another explosion.
‘I’ve never been on a plane before,’ she admitted somewhat warily. As if Alix might be so disgusted with her lack of sophistication that he’d turn around and deliver her home right now.
He just frowned slightly. ‘But...how is that possible?’
Leila shrugged, finding to her consternation that once again she was loath to take her hand out of Alix’s much bigger one. ‘My mother and I...we didn’t travel much. Apart from to other parts of France. We went to England once, to visit a factory outside London, but we took the train. My mother was terrified of flying.’
‘Well, then,’ said Alix throatily, ‘do you want to go home? Or do you want to take your first flight? We can turn around right now if you want.’
That was like asking if she wanted to keep moving forward in life or backwards. Leila felt that fire reaching out to lick at her with a tantalising flash of heat. Alix’s thumb was rubbing the underside of her wrist, making the flash of heat more intense. Leila thought of the car turning around, of returning to that square and her shop. She felt nauseous.
She shook her head. ‘I’d like to fly with you.’
Alix brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it lightly before saying, ‘Then let’s fly.’
Leila might not be half as sophisticated as his usual women, but even she knew that they were talking about something else entirely—just as the flames of that fire reached out to consume her completely and Alix moved close enough to slant his hard sensual mouth over hers.
She’d been kissed before—by Pierre. But his kiss had been insistent and invasive. Too wet, with no finesse. This was...
Leila lost any sense of being able to string a rational thought together when her mouth opened of its own volition under Alix’s and she felt the first electrifying contact of his tongue to hers. She was lost.
THE ONLY THING stopping Alix