Crowning His Convenient Princess

“Perhaps my protestations are honest,” she said.

“You find my brother attractive. Whether you want to admit it or not.”

“A spider can be beautiful in its web,” Latika said. “But that doesn’t mean I want it on my skin.”

Astrid shook her head. “But see, that’s where you have him wrong. He’s not a spider. Any more than you’re a fly. A predator, possibly. But maybe more like the wolves we have here in the mountains. Deadly if necessary, surely. But more than willing to put everything on the line to protect his pack. Gunnar is a true alpha. Leader and protector.”

“Perhaps that’s the problem,” Latika said. “It is difficult for two alphas to get involved.”

“That would be the story of my marriage,” Astrid said. “But what Mauro and I have learned is that sometimes it can be quite pleasurable to let the other take the lead.”

“Yes, well.” Latika firmed her lips into a straight line. “I will take the lead by finding some other woman for Gunnar to harass.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to wear this?” Astrid asked, gesturing to the orange gown again.

“No,” Latika returned. “I am not one of the women vying for your brother’s attention, and I will not dress like one. It would have to be a moment of true crisis in order for me to turn to him.”

“Well, let us hope we had don’t have any crises ahead of us.”

CHAPTER FOUR (#uf02e7aa5-0e8f-5c31-b9c3-4387dbaab367)

THE EVENING OF the ball, everything was going according to plan. Latika could find no fault with anything.

And she ignored the orange and gold gown that Astrid had sent up for her, in favor of a long, formfitting black dress and simple gold accessories. She would look appropriate, and she would blend.

And that was the idea.

She bustled around, making sure that everything was in place, pacing the length of the ornate ballroom, examining it from the gilt-edged ceilings, all the way down to the marble floors.

The massive, golden chandelier was lit, and it was like a sun burning brightly at the center of the room. Perfect. Gleaming and lovely. And in the next twenty minutes the ball would be full of fluttering flowers, all vying for Gunnar’s attention.

She heard footsteps on the marble floor, and turned.

And there he was.

He was devastating in that custom cut black suit, the one she had dismissed with a wave of her hand, saying that men needn’t be so concerned with such things.

There was nothing plain about Gunnar in a black suit. He was a weapon against all good sense, his broad shoulders waging war on every prudent thought.

His hair was still overlong, brushed away from his face, his beard just a bit unkempt.

And it put her in the mind of a Norse marauder, and she found that however she tried, she could not dislike the image.

And for the first time, a strange pain hollowed out her stomach.

Another woman would dance in his arms tonight. Another woman would dance with him from tonight, possibly into forever.

And she would never know what it was like to be held by those strong arms.

She clenched her teeth. That was an empty fantasy, driven by hormones. And she was not a slave to her hormones. She was a woman who never had such a luxury. She had been driven by the need to survive. By the need to press forward, always, and make for herself a life that she could not only stand, but that she enjoyed.

She had found a way to live.

It might not be her ideal life, yet. But it was wonderful.

And she was only ever proud of herself for that fact.

Gunnar served no purpose. Attraction to Gunnar served no purpose.

She did not even like the man.

“You have done a spectacular job,” he said, and she ignored the slight thrill of pleasure that went through her midsection.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Soon, I will be like a steak put out before the dogs.” The wicked glint in his eye bade her stomach turn over. She ignored the sensation.

“You will find there are no dogs here. Only a wolf,” she said, harking back to Astrid’s earlier words.

He grinned, and Latika thought it was decidedly wolfish. “Perhaps.”

“Sheep,” Latika said. “Sheep going before a wolf.”

“Very evocative. Does that make you Little Red Riding Hood in this fairytale of a metaphor? Because I must tell you, I feel my mouth is all the better to eat you with.”

And that was when she realized, he was not simply engaging in empty banter. No, there was a gleam in his blue eyes that spoke of intent. But there was no point to him making sexual promises toward her. Not when tonight, of all nights, moved any possibility of something happening between them out of reach.

She ignored the jolt of irritation that she felt over that. The intense regret.

Every time he had ever traded barbs with her she had assumed it was simply who he was, what he did.

She had never once thought that he might… That he might actually want her.

“I am not anyone’s version of a fairytale. And you would find, that I bite back.”

He moved closer to her, and a thrill shot down her spine. “Pity for you, that what you intended as a threat only sounds like a promise to me. I like a woman who gives as good as she gets.”

“Then I suggest you find one here in the room full of them.”

“I doubt there will be one sharp as you.”

“The trade-offs you make for respectability,” she said.

She turned away from him and began to busy herself with details that did not need her attention.

“Are you not respectable?”

“That depends, I suppose,” she said, “on your definition of respectability.”