Page 86 of The Unlikely Spare
“You and Prince Nicholas seem to have developed a rapport,” Singh comments.
My mouth goes dry. “Not particularly. Unless you mean he’s always trying to wind me up.”
Singh’s expression reveals nothing. “Right.”
Before I can analyze his response, my attention is captured by movement across the room. Nicholas has extricated himself from the woman and is now approaching us, that practiced smile firmly in place.
“Officers,” he greets us. “I hope you’re enjoying the evening as much as one can while scanning for potential assassins.”
Singh inclines his head respectfully. “The security situation is well in hand, sir.”
“Excellent.” Nicholas’s eyes slide to mine, something challenging glittering in their depths. “And you, Officer O’Connell? Finding the New Zealand hospitality to your satisfaction?”
“It’s been fine, sir,” I reply carefully.
Disappointment crosses his face before his mask slips back into place. “Well, don’t let me keep you from your duties. I should get back to mingling. Diplomat’s daughter over there is absolutely fascinated by royal protocol. Can’t disappoint.”
He walks away before I can respond.
As Nicholas rejoins the woman in green, leaning in to whisper something that makes her laugh, Singh gives me a sideways glance.
“I’ll check the rear entrance.”
Left to myself, I go back to scanning the room, trying like hell not to let my eyes track Nicholas, though they seem to have developed their own bloody GPS system where he’s concerned.
He’s apparently decided his evening’s entertainment will be getting progressively more animated with the commissioner’s daughter. His hand skims her arm as he makes some point, and she takes it as an invitation to step closer.
The muscles in my jaw clench hard enough to crack teeth.
The rational part of my brain understands that this is what Nicholas does.
The irrational part of my brain wants to cross the room and put myself between them. Maybe accidentally spill something on her fancy dress while I’m at it.
Nicholas glances my way, catches me watching, and something shifts in his expression. His smile takes on a sharper edge. He leans closer to the woman and says something that makes her blush.
Feckin’ hell.
He’s doing it deliberately. Putting on a show. For me.
I don’t know if the thought makes me want to throttle him or drag him into the nearest coat closet.
But I do know that two can play that game.
I shift my focus, deliberately scanning the rest of the room as if he’s of no particular interest. When I allow my gaze to drift back to him, his eyes are on me, narrowed slightly.
Is he doing this because I told him last night that I can see through his mask? Is he trying to set fire to everything between us before it can burn him?
Or is this part of him testing the boundaries, trying to see how far he can push before I crack?
Because I know that’s what Nicholas does best. He finds the line and then dances on it, waiting to see who’ll blink first.
The standoff continues for over an hour. The tension between us feels like a living thing, growing with each minute that passes, each smile Nicholas gives the woman, each time I deliberately look away.
I’m listening to Singh’s security update in my earpiece when Nicholas suddenly leaves the commissioner’s daughter and walks directly toward one of the side exits—not the one we planned to use. Blake’s voice comes through the comms. “The Thistle is on the move, unscheduled route.”
I’m already moving, cutting through the crowd. The exit leads to a small garden terrace that’s illuminated by landscape lighting.
Nicholas stands alone at the stone balustrade. He’s looking like a feckin’ romance novel cover, all brooding aristocrat against the moonlight. All he needs is a loose shirt and a convenient breeze.
