He gently dropped his forehead to hers, keeping his hands on her face. They shared a few gasps of air, an exchange of scent, a possessive touch. He was content to stand there with her but sensed her need to get control. Like synchronized swimmers, they released their grips on each other, their hands a perfect dance of accord as they fell away. Their foreheads separated, and then their feet moved back a half-pace before following with a full step.
Tristan watched, seeking some affirmation of the past moments. But Eleanor’s eyes remained closed, providing a barrier to the tension between them. When they fluttered open, he saw the mortification first before her hands flew to her flushed cheeks, and she stutter-stepped farther away.
“I’m so sorry,” she breathed out.
“Eleanor, uh … Your Highness—”
“Please don’t call me that,” she begged.
“We haven’t really gotten around to what we should call each other,” he said lightly, an attempt to defuse the awkwardness.
Eleanor shook her head, like the notion of exchanging names was problematic.
“So, Princess Eleanor?”
Again, with a denial, the shake chagrined.
“Your Highness is out, and apparently, princess isn’t on the table either. You’re going to have to help me out here.”
He could tell she wanted to roll her eyes. But she didn’t.
“Ele,” she finally said.
He was touched. “Is your PPO going to want to shoot me if I call you Ele?”
The question startled a giggle out of her, but just as quickly as it’d erupted, her hand was on her mouth, stuffing it back in. Without any intention to do so, Tristan’s fingers looped around her wrist and gently pulled her hand away.
She reddened instantly, and Tristan was completely charmed. Their fingers automatically fit together. He strolled unhurriedly to the exit.
“Your Highness,” the bodyguard intoned.
Tristan jumped like a cat in a cartoon. Ele and Robert pretended not to notice.
“Thirty minutes.”
“Have you been here the whole time?” Tristan asked, incredulous.
He’d thought the room was empty—and he’d looked. Either the guy was a master of stealth—probably—or Tristan had been completely oblivious—most likely.
“Yes, sir,” Robert answered even though Tristan had meant it to be rhetorical.
“Right.” He looked back at Ele. “Keep going?”
“Yes,” she answered without delay.
He nodded. They turned toward the on-site hotel, Tristan playing the dutiful tour guide. He tried hard to stay the course, but he was rattled.
When have I been so focused on a woman, I didn’t notice things around me? And what am I doing, kissing the Ice Princess?
Although how the public could think of her as cold didn’t make any sense to him. Her warmth and gentleness wrapped around you like a cozy blanket.
Warmth and gentleness—when the bloody hell have I ever valued that? Unless I was embedded in that warmth.
Suddenly, he wanted the tour to end. He’d planned to walk her through the hotel before he showed her some of the outdoor training areas and the recreation room.
But then she started talking, “Is this state-of-the-art, or is your team facility similar?”
“Yes,” he said.
“It wasn’t a yes or no question,” she chided.
He couldn’t help but tease her. “I know, but the answer is yes. It is state-of-the-art, and my team facility is similar.”
She squeezed his hand—a reprimand, he thought.
He grinned.
“You’ve shown me what you thought I would want to see.”
He kept smiling at her perceptive comment.
“Now, take me to your favorite place.”
He jerked to a halt, and she came to a stop two strides later. When she turned back to him, they studied each other.
This tour had begun as a distraction, an impulse. Nothing personal, but rather a duty he’d taken too far. Now, she wanted something different, some piece of him. He knew if he offered it, she would hungrily lap it up. And she would greedily guard it.
He tugged on her hand, and she came to him like a tether. He dropped his forehead to hers, his free hand landing on the nape of her neck. They stood for a moment.
Tristan kissed her on the top of her head. “This way then.”
A mischievous glint twinkled in Tristan’s eyes, like some impulsivity had been set free.
“Trainers tied tight?” he asked. At Ele’s nod, he grasped her hand and tugged. “Let’s go then.”
He took off at a jog with Ele in tow. When she didn’t hesitate, he flashed a smile at her. He set an easy pace, and Ele, whose only athletic achievement was an ability to run far, met him stride for stride. They looped through the halls until they reached a door that took them outside. They burst through it into a dappled gray light. Sprinkles from the sky misted over them, but they kept at it. Ele looked over her shoulder to see Robert about to step over the threshold. She held her free hand up, stopping his progress. Although his eyes widened, he did as she had bidden and allowed the door to close in front of him.
It was slick under their feet, and when Ele slid, Tristan’s hand tightened on hers.
“I’ve got you,” he assured her.
For the first time in twelve years, Ele felt safe with someone other than her security team and her brother. She wasn’t positive, but she thought if Jamie could see her now, he would be smiling indulgently at her. It made her giggle. With her hand clasped in Tristan Davenport’s and the misting rain shimmering around them and the bright green of the endless pitch as a backdrop, Eleanor Ann-Juliet Josephine Altamirano, second in line to the throne, was running through the rain.
She stopped abruptly, her hand loosening on Tristan’s, and tilted her face to the sky. A broad smile spread across her face. She enjoyed the unencumbered feeling. She didn’t know how or why, but she knew Tristan understood because he waited quietly, letting her have her moment. In a way she couldn’t remember, she was happy.
She turned her head and enjoyed the picture of Tristan at her side. Ele knew it was an anomaly, a fissure in the space-time continuum, if you would. A perfect moment that couldn’t be scheduled or predicted or scripted in any way. Who knew that when she’d stepped out of the Range Rover this morning, she would find this accord with such an unlikely person?
He was glorious. He wasn’t classically handsome. His features not regular enough for that. But those catlike eyes were striking, and against his dark skin, they glowed with intelligence and mirth. He seemed to always be smiling and maybe silently laughing at everything and everyone. Even now, as he studied her, the right side of his mouth curved upward like he might be fighting a smile, and his eyes were bright with unsuppressed amusement. She’d bet Tristan Davenport suppressed nothing.
When their gazes met, the look in his changed. They darkened with something that sent heat seeping through her.
Then, his hands were on her face, and he was angling her head to receive his mouth. Lush, damp from the rain, and hot, his lips landed on hers. Her hands flew to his wrists, anchoring her. Without any ask, her mouth opened under his, and their tongues tangled—exploring, tasting, memorizing. It ended as abruptly as it’d started. Tristan backed away from her. She fumbled half a step as her hands fell to her sides. Tristan caught her, holding her by her shoulders.