Page 42 of The Prince Who Loved Me

“Are you going to see the mysterious woman in black again?” Brandi’s voice held a teasing note, but there was an edge underneath.

Jealousy? Possessiveness?

“Not in the way you’re thinking.” He closed his eyes, imagining Brandi with him, her soft blonde hair tickling his arm, her body snug against his, surrounding him with her woodsy and sweet scent.

“I dunno, you looked very charming in the picture,” she said. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen you with someone.”

“How was your date with Nick?” The man with the stupid, bad-parents name.

“Nick’s tomorrow. Jackson was tonight. And it was…”

“Was he a jerk like you feared?” He hoped so.

“No, it was more… well, we went to an art studio, if you can believe it.”

Sebastien never wanted to hit a man so much in his entire life. “So he’s an artist.”

“Noooo…” Brandi said. “He was the model, actually.”

Interessante.

“He got me all set up with colored pencils and an easel, then said he’d be right back. And right back he was, nekkid as the day he was born.”

Sebastien did a quick Southern translation in his mind. “You drew him nude?”

“He was letting it aaalllll hang out there.”

That took balls for a first date. “What did you do?”

“What could I do? Picked up my pencil and drew. His face. A giant face so there was no room for… other things. He wanted to see it afterward, and seemed disappointed in my representation.”

“Sounds like a unique date.”

“Yeah, that’s one word for it.” There was a moment of silence before she spoke again. “Seriously, when are you coming back?”

Her tone had turned pensive, so he answered in kind. “Probably the day after tomorrow. Do you need me for something? I can head back tonight.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just…nothing.”

Her conversation tonight was all over the place. “What’s going on, Brandilynn?”

***

Brandi usually loved when Sebastien called her by her full name. The soft A, the second syllable caressed by his fabulous accent. Truth was, when Sebastien gave his voice its full effect, he could read a menu and have women fall at his feet. But now it made her unsettled.

She never should have called him. Not now. Not even when she realized how much she missed seeing him, hearing his laughter, being with him.

The shock from earlier had faded, but this feeling wouldn’t go away. What if he wasn’t alone? And why the hell had he planted that seed of what-could-be, then ran away?

“Are you okay?” Sebastien asked.

“Fine,” she croaked out.

“You don’t sound fine.” His voice was soft, a caress through the phone. “Do you need me to come home?”

Home. He could live in a castle or on the beach, in a cabin in the woods or a million dollar mansion, and he called their three-hundred year-old building home. “No, it’s nothing. There’s just something I wanted to talk about with you.”

“We can talk now, if you want. There’s no one else here.”