“Dream,” he murmured. “Or memory?”

She whirled around, her eyes passionate again, her hands balled into fists inside her pockets. “I don’t know. How can I? Do you think I can snap my fingers and say, ah, of course, I remember now?” She kicked at the little white stones along the edge of the path. “I walked with Bennett in the garden and all I could think was what a charming man. Damn! Is that the way I should think of my own brother?”

“He is a charming man, Gabriella.”

“Don’t patronize me,” she said between her teeth. “Don’t you dare patronize me.”

He smiled at that, because whether she knew it or not at that moment, she was all princess. Royalty flowed through her—somehow admirable and amusing to a man who’d seen his share of aristocrats. Still, he rose and spoke gently. “Who thinks you should snap your fingers, Brie? No one’s pressuring you but yourself.”

“I’m pressured by kindness.”

“Don’t worry,” he said with a shrug. “I won’t be kind to you.”

“I can depend on it.” She paused a moment, frowning at him. “You said once before that I was selfish. Why?”

Without thinking, he ran a finger between her brow where the line of temper formed. “Perhaps the word should be ‘self-absorbed.’ You may have a right to be at the moment.”

“I’m not sure I like that any better. You also said spoiled.”

“Yes.” He let his hand fall away so that they faced each other without touching.

“I refuse to accept that.”

“Sorry.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re sorry because you said it?”

“No, because you refuse to accept what you are.”

“You’re a rude man, Reeve MacGee. Rude and opinionated.”

“True enough,” he agreed, and rocked back on his heels. “I also said you were willful.”

Her chin came up. “That I accept,” she told him coolly. “But you haven’t the right to say it to me.”

He gave her a very slow, very arrogant bow. It wasn’t difficult when she chose to play the princess for him to play the pauper. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness.”

Fire flared, in her blood, in her eyes. She found the fingers in her pockets itched to make solid contact with his face. Breeding hampered her, and she found she didn’t care for the restriction. “Now you’re mocking me.”

“We’ll add ‘astute’ to the list.”

Amazed at how quickly the anger rose, she took another step toward him. “You seem to be going out of your way to insult me. Why?”

There was something irresistible about her when she was haughty, angry, icy. Reeve took her face in one hand, holding it firmly when her mouth dropped open in surprise. “Because it makes you think of me. I don’t give a damn how you think of me, Gabriella, as long as you do.”

“Then you have your wish,” she said evenly. “I do think of you, but I don’t think well of you.”

He smiled slowly. She found this made her throat dry and her skin hot. “Just think of me,” he repeated. “I won’t strew roses on the floor when I lead you to bed. There won’t be any violins, and satin sheets. What there’ll be is you and me.”