Even in anger her voice carried the slow Texas drawl he’d learned to recognize. It breezed soft over his skin until the muscles in his stomach contracted. Carefully, relying on the control he’d fought to develop all his life, Alexander crushed out his cigarette.

“If you’ve finished, Miss Hamilton?”

“Eve, for Lord’s sake. We’ve known each other for years.” Out of patience she stalked over to the balcony doors and shoved them open. Facing the outside, she didn’t notice Alexander’s brows raise at her breach of protocol, or the slow smile.

“Eve,” he said, then let her name hang on the air a moment. “I think we’ve misunderstood each other. I’m not criticizing your company. That would be difficult, because, as I said, I’ve never seen them perform.”

“At this rate you never will.”

“Then I’d have to deal with Brie’s temper. I prefer not to. Sit down.” When she merely turned and looked at him, he checked his impulse to command and gestured to her chair. “Please.”

She obeyed, but left the doors open. The sea could just be heard. The scent of rose, vanilla and spice wafted up from the gardens. “I’m sitting,” she said, and crossed her legs.

He disapproved of her curt, one-to-one manner. He admired her independence. At the moment Alexander wasn’t sure how the two could be mixed. He was sure that she stirred, as she always did, something more than polite emotions in him. Slowly he took his seat again and faced her.

“As a member of the royal family and as president of the Fine Arts Center, I must be very discreet and very circumspect in whom I choose to perform. In this case I’m trusting Gabriella’s judgment and asking you if we can come to an arrangement.”

“Perhaps.” Eve was a businesswoman first and last. Personal feelings had never swayed her decisions, and they wouldn’t now. “I’ll have to see the theater again, check out the facilities. I’ll have to be assured contractually that I and my company have artistic freedom—and adequate lodging during the run. Because the performances would be for a charity, I’m willing to negotiate our fee and expenses. Artistically, however, there is no negotiation.”

“I’ll see to it that you have a tour of the center. The center’s lawyers and yours can deal with the contract. Artistically …” He linked his fingers on the desk. “Because you are the artist, I’ll respect your judgment, but I’m not willing to toss myself blindly into your hands. The idea is for your company to perform four plays, one week each. The material will have to be approved by the center.”

“By you.”

It was a negligent, imperial shrug. “As you like.”

She didn’t like, and didn’t bother to pretend otherwise. “What are your qualifications?”

“I beg your pardon?”