But as she moaned, he broke the kiss and made himself step back to the bench.
She stared at him—her green eyes gleamed like jewels lit by an inner flame. And her expression was ever so slightly resentful.
‘Food first, remember?’ But his voice was hoarse and his resolve weak and he was a little too glad she felt this need as keenly as she did.
‘Can I help you at all?’ she asked after a moment.
He pressed his hands back on the bench, desperate to regain focus and not drag her straight to bed. ‘Do you cook in the palace?’
‘No,’ she confessed with an adorably guilty smile. ‘It wasn’t considered a necessary part of my education, which I know is terrible. It’s a life skill.’
‘That it is.’ He picked up the knife and took his frustration out on the herbs.
‘Whereas you were obviously taught well.’
Actually, he was self-taught. It had been that or go hungry. But he wasn’t giving her any more of his sob story. ‘Can you grab a couple of tomatoes from the pantry?’ He aimed for diversion.
‘Of course.’
Her heard her opening a couple of doors behind him and glanced back. She’d paused in front of the pantry and was taking in the well-stocked, perfectly ordered shelves. ‘You live alone, right?’ she asked.
And this was why he rarely had house guests—why he didn’t open the cupboards to anyone, so to speak. Because it only invited questions he had no desire to answer. ‘Always.’
She nodded but her eyes were wide.
‘I imagine your palace pantry is far better stocked,’ he pointed out dryly. ‘But from the sounds of things, you wouldn’t know.’
‘I admit I wouldn’t.’ She reached for a couple of tomatoes and gave the pantry a final glance before closing the door.
‘Cooking is a stress release for me. Plus, you know I need a bit of feeding.’ He paused; he never explained himself to anyone but somehow a sliver of truth escaped. ‘But I can’t bear the thought of not having food in the house because endless hunger is a vivid memory that, unfortunately, I can’t forget.’
She faced him. ‘I’m sorry you suffered that.’
For a second the emotion that cascaded through him was almost too strong to contain. He was glad he had to concentrate on the searing-hot grill.
‘Do you think you can you manage to open a bottle of wine?’ he asked, unable to look up from the hot plate and into her eyes. He needed anything to divert them from this moment.
‘Of course.’
She chose a bottle and poured two glasses from it, taking a seat at the table from which to watch him as he sizzled two steaks on the grill. With the herbs and tomatoes, the salad he’d begun earlier was now complete. Fresh and simple.
‘Shall we eat in here?’ He took the chair opposite the one she’d taken.
She stared at the plates with admiration. ‘It looks amazing.’
‘And yet you’re not eating.’ He sent her a laughing glance. ‘You need fuel or you’re not going to survive the night.’
‘Not survive?’
Her laughter bubbled but at the same time he saw anticipation light her face. She was curious, his petite queen. And hungry.
‘You don’t think I’m serious?’ he teased.
‘Perhaps I have more stamina than you give me credit for.’ She spoke with such regal preciseness, but it was pure challenge and they both knew it.
‘Oh, you do?’ He attacked his steak with the fierce passion he was trying to stop himself using on her.
‘Yes, I do. I might not feel the need to work out every morning and night like you, but I do exercise. And I do—generally—eat well, and rest.’ She glared at his smothered snort. ‘I think I’m fit enough to handle you.’
Happily, it wouldn’t be long ’til he found out. He just had to hang onto his sanity long enough to make it good for her. ‘I think you should stop talking and start eating.’
She loaded up her fork and tasted the salad, briefly closing her eyes as she did. ‘You want all the feedback, don’t you?’
‘Damn right I do.’
‘It’s good.’ She took in a breath. ‘It’s better than good.’
‘It’s fresh produce,’ he demurred. ‘Can’t really screw it up. So, come on, what exercise do you prefer?’
She lifted her nose primly. ‘I endure a variety of activities. Treadmill. Circuit. Laps of the pool. Gymnastics.’
‘You endure them?’
‘I’ve never really got that endorphin high,’ she admitted. ‘I blame my trainer—she’s a dragon.’
‘You have a female drill sergeant?’
‘Well, it was never going to be a guy.’ Jade laughed but that blush battled its way back into her cheeks. ‘My father would never have allowed that.’
‘He was that strict? You had no men around you at all?’
‘In a way it was good—they were aspirational figures, right? My old governess was a former university professor. My trainer is just in cahoots with the palace physician. They conspire to make life hell.’
‘You’re the Queen, Jade, can’t you just tell them to leave you alone?’
‘There are expectations I must meet. It is part of my duty. Spent so long training for it—language lessons, politics, history, philosophy, ethics, manners, meditation and a boring exercise regime.’
‘Meditation?’
‘To master emotions.’
Wow. What a regimented, prescribed life.
‘Don’t feel sorry for me.’ She smiled at him. ‘I was a privileged princess through and through. Thoroughly spoilt.’
He wasn’t entirely sure he believed her.
‘Anyway, they’re right. I need to exercise more.’ She grimaced. ‘The crown is too heavy. It doesn’t sit right.’
‘You don’t believe you can hold its weight? Because you can,’ he said reassuringly. ‘I saw you single-handedly disarm thousands of angry emails. Trust me, you can handle the crown.’
Her mouth hung open for a second and then she smiled and blushed concurrently. ‘No, I mean it’s literally too heavy. It weighs a tonne. Gives me a headache five minutes after I put it on.’
Oh. He laughed. But he’d meant what he’d said. ‘Have a new one made. I’m sure you can afford it.’