“I looked at you a great deal.” He took her hand and began to walk toward the sand. Her fingers were stiff in his, resisting. He ignored the feeling. It was easier for him when she held herself back, challenged him to outmaneuver. Her one moment of absolute surrender had terrified him. “I prefer the beach in the evening, when the tourists have gone in to change for dinner.”

“That’s absurd.”

His smile was friendly, and sweeter than she could ever remember seeing it. “It’s absurd to prefer a quiet beach?”

“I wish you’d stop twisting things around that way.” Eve shook her hand free and stepped back a few paces. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing.”

“What kind would you like?” He stood where he was, pleased, even relieved to see her confusion. It made it easier somehow to get closer without taking a step.

“Alexander, you did not spend a great deal of time looking at me. I know because—” She cut herself off, appalled that she’d been about to admit how she’d mooned over him.

“Because?”

“I just know, that’s all.” She brushed the subject away with the back of her hand and started toward the water. “I don’t understand why you’ve suddenly decided you find me attractive or available or whatever.”

“Finding you attractive is not sudden.” He put a hand on her shoulder and with the slightest of pressure made her turn. The sun would be setting soon. She could see it behind him, spreading golden light. The sand beneath her feet was white and cool, but she discovered as she stared up at him that it was far from solid. “Whether you are available or not no longer matters. I want you.” He paused, letting his hand slide over her shoulder to her nape. “I find that matters a great deal more.”

She shuddered and crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyes were as blue as the sea now, but more, much more turbulent. “And because you’re a prince you can have whatever you want.”

The breeze over the sea blew her hair around his fingers. He forgot the beach, the guards, the sun that had yet to set. “Because I’m a prince it’s more difficult for me to have what I want. Particularly when what I want is a woman.”

“An American woman.” Her breath came quickly, erratically. It would have been so easy not to question, but to accept. She wanted to accept, to move into his arms, maybe into his heart. Discovering that was what she wanted most changed everything and compounded the questions. “An American woman who makes her living in the theater. No rank, no pedigree. Not as suitable for an affair as another aristocrat, another European.”