Afraid of her reaction to him, she took a moment to cover the petals with oil. Then, bracing herself, she wiped her hands on a dishcloth and turned to face him.

Oh. My. God. It was one thing to see him outside, when she was all worked up over the meadow; another thing entirely to have him consuming all the space in her hotel room.

His dark brown hair looked as if he’d just scraped a hand through it, and his blue eyes zeroed in on her with such intensity she got a jolt to her chest.

“Good morning.” Her voice actually shook.

That’s embarrassing.

“Hey.” He gave her a chin nod. “The Princess around?” He glanced around the large living area of the three-bedroom suite.

She and her bodyguards shared a look before they all grinned. In St. Christophe—or anywhere in the world she might be photographed or recognized—she dressed like a princess. But, in her lab, she wore plain clothes, no accessories, and very little make-up. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Princess Rosalina.” In America, people shook hands, so she reached for his.

His big hand engulfed hers, and the rough, calloused texture came as a surprise since the men in her world had smooth palms. Everything about him threw her off-kilter. He was just so rugged, so big and charismatic. He looked her straight in the eye, his grip firm and sure, and it made her feel as giddy as meeting her celebrity crush in person.

The way he held her gaze—as if he didn’t need a search engine to take her measure—unearthed something foreign…something so primal and raw, it made her skin go clammy.

What would those hands feel like on her skin?

Scraping over my nipples? A current of electricity ripped through her, as images filled her mind. Her hands full of all that thick, silky hair, her legs wrapped around his hips, her breast stuffed in that hot, wet, expressive mouth.

His virility shook her.

And scared the heck out of her.

He released her hand. “I thought you said you were a chemist and a perfume maker?”

Hoping to calm down, she forced a princess smile. “I’ll bet you’re more than a hotel owner, a bulldozer driver, and a home builder?”

“You got me there.”

“What can I do for you? Please tell me you’ve reconsidered and are here to sign an exclusive contract for your lyantha?”

“Ah, no such luck.” He did a quick sweep of her body, taking in the beige capri pants and striped boat-neck T-shirt. “Knox asked me to stop by, make sure you’re okay. She was expecting you at the fitting. Apparently, you haven’t returned her texts.”

She clapped a hand over her mouth. “I completely forgot.” The wedding gown.

The wedding.