Nothing had changed . . . but him. He was no longer that uncertain boy who had taken his broken heart and wounded pride and vanished from her life, determined to make something of himself. Eleven years of making his own way in the world and building his fortune had taught him much. He no longer took “no” for an answer. He had learned anything worth having in this world was worth fighting for. And he had learned to fight for what he wanted. And what he wanted now, what he’d always wanted was Camille. And she wanted him as well. She could deny all she wished, but she had kissed him back then and she had kissed him back tonight. And that told him all he needed to know.

He smiled and returned to his room. Win was right. He would have to win her friendship again before he could win her heart. Certainly, it would not be easy. Along with her friendship, he would have to earn her forgiveness. He had made a start of it, in the corridor, before he had kissed her. Afterward, well, she was an excellent actress. Regardless of what she had said, she had been as affected by that kiss as he had. And he had no doubt that she remembered their first kiss. Yes, indeed, it was a start.

The first thing he needed to do, as her friend, was save her from this prince, whom even her sister found suspicious. And save her from herself as well. He suspected she was already beginning to doubt her desire to marry Prince Perfect. Fanning that doubt would be tricky; he would have to be subtle, but surely it was not impossible. Especially if it became more and more difficult to carry off her farce. Oh, he wouldn’t do anything overt. However, throwing a twist into the proceedings now and then, just to muck things up the tiniest bit, was not a bad idea. Admittedly, given the peculiarities of her actors, it was entirely possible they could manage to mess up this production without any help from him. Still, he would take advantage of any opportunity that came his way.

Besides, what play didn’t benefit from a few unexpected twists?

Spice and heat and desire. Of course she remembered how he had tasted eleven years ago. She remembered everything.

Camille leaned back against her closed door and struggled to regain her composure. Struggled to breathe.

She remembered how his heart had beat against hers even through the layers of clothing between them. She remembered the heat of his body, the excitement of being enfolded in his arms. She remembered how her blood had pounded through her veins, how her knees had seemed too weak to support her. She remembered the yearning that filled her for more, for him. And she remembered how she had never wanted it to end.