Page 15 of Lone Spy

“I’d like that very much. We should have some privacy during lunch. I very much look forward to it. I feel we have a lot in common.” Her focus is pulled behind me before I can respond to that wild statement.

My mind whirls as the truth of her words strikes me. We share a passion for the theater, lost our mothers young, share the benefits and drawbacks of fame…but we could hardly come from more different worlds.

A trickle of awareness rides up my bare back. I turn to see Hungry Eyes making his way toward us.

The crowd parts for him the way it did for the royal couple, but there is an edge of danger to this man. The princess's family history and country’s love create the aura around her and her husband. This man…it's not that everyone knows who he is, it's that they sense his power and bend to it.

I turn back to the princess. She's offering Hungry Eyes a warm smile.

My gaze can't help but skitter to Ash where he still stands at his post. His hands are unclasped, loose at his sides, ready to grab Hungry Eyes by the throat and show him what a dangerous man really looks like.

A slight smile pulls at my lips to see so much emotion on Ash's face. Sure, it's just a deepening of the crease on his brow and a slightly different light in his eyes, but I can see it. I can read him.

I turn to Hungry Eyes with a teasing smile and a head tilt, angling my body to allow him access to our group. He eats up the space and drops into a slight bow to the princess. "Your Highness," he says, his voice a rich baritone.

"Your Highness." The princess drops into a reserved curtsey. Shit, was it rude of me not to offer one to the princess? Wait, did she just call Hungry Eyes Your Highness?

"Omar," the duke booms, his long arm coming out to clasp Hungry Eyes’ hand. "Wonderful to see you. We still on for the hunt next month?"

"I wouldn't miss it," Omar says, his slight accent sexy as fuck. His gaze tracks back to me, and it feels like being under a heat lamp.

"Omar," the princess says. "This is Angela Daniels. Angela, this is His Royal Highness, Prince Omar bin Rami of Jordan."

Our eyes meet. I offer my hand and he takes it, sliding his fingers around so that he can bring my knuckles to his lips. I stop breathing as Omar's exhale caresses my skin. His eyes continue to hold mine. Lips—soft as the silk of my dress but warm, so warm—press. His eyes close, onyx lashes fan over bronze skin, in what looks like bliss.

My whole body lights up, and it takes every skill I have to keep a blush from blooming across my cheeks. "An absolute pleasure," he says, lips and breath brushing my skin. He straightens and lowers my hand but does not release it.

A tinkling bell pulls our focus to a pair of open doors at the far end of the room.

"May I escort you to dinner?" Omar asks. "As long as your date does not mind." He turns to Zade and Hannah, his eyes going between the two to see if either is attached to me.

"That would be lovely," I say. "Thank you." He moves gracefully next to me, and wraps my hand under his elbow and around to rest on his forearm. The duke and duchess do likewise. Hannah and Zade follow suit, giving each other a look that has me suppressing a smile.

We follow the crowd out into a wide hall where voices echo and stern portraits watch our procession to the ballroom.

"Is this your first time at Buckingham Palace?" Omar asks, voice low and intimate.

"Yes," I say. "It's stunning. Do you come often?"

"Yes. I've known Victoria since we were children. I think there was a time when our parents hoped we might wed."

"Really?" I say. "And why didn't you?"

He casts a devastating smile down at me. "She likes tall, handsome actors. And I like tall, stunning actresses with violet eyes."

I let out a surprised laugh. “Do you?” I tease.

We cross the threshold into the ballroom. Round tables set for ten fill the front half of the room. Beyond them is the dance floor. Red-cushioned bleachers line the walls on either side. Two thrones sit on a stage in front of it. Crystal chandeliers bathe the room in the same faceted gold as the music room.

“Yes,” Omar says. “I’m quite enamored.”

"Is that so?" I ask. "I imagine you meet a fair number of actresses with violet eyes in your line of…work?"

His laugh is a low rumble. "I'll have you know that being royalty is quite a bit of work."

"I understand. Truly, I do." The teasing falls away from my tone. "The weight that accompanies this kind of life, the invasion of privacy, the expectations. I chose this life. You had no other option."

I glance up at him as I finish speaking. The prince is looking down at me, his head slightly cocked, as if he's examining me in a new light.

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