The Playboy Prince by Nora Roberts

something he experienced rarely, particularly when it had to do with a woman. Patience.
    “You can pin it up, Hannah. But now that I know what it looks like down, I’ll see it that way whenever I look at you.” When they reached the seawall, he again lifted her over, but this time stood, his hands around her waist and the wall between them. “Knowing this one secret makes me wonder how many others you have, and how soon I’ll find them.”
    Anxiety and desire were a powerful combination. She felt her heart thud with both. “I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed, Bennett. I have no interesting secrets.”
    “We’ll see,” he said, before he vaulted easily over the seawall.

Chapter 5
    It wasn’t often Hannah yearned to be beautiful. Her work had given her a fine appreciation for the beauty of being unremarkable, even forgettable. Over the years, she’d experienced a twinge now and then, but only a twinge when she thought of soft colors and filmy dresses. It had always been possible to release the urge when she was off duty and out of the country. Then her appearance could be changed with a more discerning choice of color and cut and a few clever strokes with a makeup brush.
    There could be no release now, and no yearning.
    Hannah knew everyone would look wonderful for Eve’s dinner party. An affair at the palace was meant to be elegant, even extravagant. Hannah had no doubt every woman who attended would strive to live up to the occasion. Every woman, of course, except her.
    She’d already seen Eve’s glittery black dress with its swirls of material from waist to ankle and its daring draping back, Gabriella would no doubt wear something delicate that would accent her fragile, feminine looks.
    Then there was Chantel O’ Hurley. Hannah was certain the actress would be stunning whether she chose silk or sackcloth. Remembering how Bennett had looked at her as he’d started down the stairs in the Center took no effort at all.
    It shouldn’t have mattered.
    It mattered too much.
    Lecturing herself, Hannah chose the best of the worst in a pale lavender gown with a fussy bodice that played down her curves. With her hair unpinned, it gave her the look of a wanton puritan. An image, she knew, that wouldn’t go unnoticed. With only the smallest of sighs, she drew her hair back to begin the laborious job of braiding it into submission.
    When it was neatly coiled at her neck, Hannah was satisfied that all traces of sexuality were tamed. She looked presentable, perfectly proper and sexless.
    There could be no regrets, Hannah told herself as she slipped her pistol into her evening bag. Duty came above personal desire, and certainly far ahead of vanity.
    *   *   *
    He’d been waiting for her. The guests were being entertained in the Salle des Miroirs where they were served aperitifs by short-coated waiters. Both the cast and the crew of Eve’s production had been invited so that conversation was a babble of noise underlaid with excitement.
    Though impatient and distracted, Bennett performed his duty without a ripple. There were always polite questions to be asked, a hand to kiss and a joke to laugh at. Under usual circumstances, the party would have amused and entertained him, but . . .
    Where was she? He found himself straining against the evening clothes he usually wore without a thought. All around him women glittered. Their scents mingled and mixed into one exotic fragrance that did nothing to tempt him. He wanted a moment alone with Hannah. He hadn’t the least idea why it was so important, but he wanted it desperately.
    He kept one eye on the doorway while he spoke with the wardrobe mistress. His gaze paused briefly on the ormolu clock while he listened to the director expound on the potential of Eve’s play.
    “Looking for me?” The sultry voice sounded in his ear just ahead of a cloud of scent.
    “Chantel.” Bennett kissed both her cheeks before drawing her back for a survey. “Stunning, as