To Dance with a Prince by Cara Colter Page B

known the hunger grew in her, waiting for something, someone to touch it off, to show her she was ravenous.
    She was ravenous, and Kiernan was a feast of sensation.
    Everything about him swirled around her—the light in his sapphire eyes, the line of his hard body against hers, the taste of his lips, the hollow of his mouth—all those broken places within her were being touched by sensation that was fulfilling and healing and exhilarating.
    It was madness. Exquisite, delicious, compelling mad ness.
    And she had to stop it. She had to.
    Except that she was powerless, in the grip of something so amazing and wondrous she could not have stopped it if her very life depended on it. She was just not that strong.
    But he was.
    He pulled back from her, she saw strength and temptation war in his eyes, and she was astounded—and saddened—when his strength won. He pulled himself away from her, hesitated, dropped back down and placed one more tiny kiss on the corner of her lip, and then pulled his weight completely off her and stood gazing down at her.
    Meredith saw control replace the heat in his eyes.
    She watched awareness dawn in his eyes, saw his reluctant acquiescence to the guard he always surrounded himself with.
    She knew, with a desperate sadness, this moment was over.

CHAPTER SIX
    K IERNAN COMPOSED HIMSELF, held his hand to her. She took it, and her body made an unattractive slurping sound as he tugged, and then yanked hard to free her from the mud.
    If he said he was sorry, she felt she would die.
    But he did not say that, and she felt a strange sense of relief that she could tell he was not sorry. Not even a little bit.
    And neither was she, even though the consequences of what had just happened hung over her.
    Neither of them spoke, looking at each other, aware with an awareness that could not be denied once it had been acknowledged.
    He dropped her hand, but not her gaze.
    â€œThank you,” he said softly.
    She knew exactly what he meant. That moment of being so alive, so incredibly vibrantly alive had been a gift to both of them.
    She had not even been aware how much she lived in a state of numbness until she had experienced this wonderful hour with him. It had been carefree, and laughter-filled, wondrous. Meredith felt as if she had been exquisitely and fully alive in a way she had not been for a long, long time.
    If she ever had been that alive, that fully engaged, that spontaneous, that filled with wonder for the simple, unexpected miracle of life.
    Still, leaving the utter and absolute magic of the moment, Meredith felt as if she was going to cry.
    She covered the intensity of the moment by pasting a smile on her face. “You’re welcome. People pay big money for the mud treatment at the spa.”
    â€œYes,” he said, watching her closely, as if he knew she was covering, as if he knew exactly how fake that smile was. “I know.”
    And of course he would know. Because that was his world. Spas and yachts and polo ponies.
    His world. He had playfully said he would take her prisoner, but the truth was his world was a prison in many ways.
    And he could not invite her into it.
    She did not have the pedigree of a woman he would ever be allowed to love.
    Love . How had that word, absolutely taboo in her relationship with him, slipped past all her guards and come into her mind?
    But now that it had come, Meredith was so aware how this moment was going to have a tremendous cost to her. Because, she had ever so briefly glimpsed his heart. Because she had seen the coolness leave his eyes and be replaced with tenderness. Yes, this moment had come at a tremendous price to her. Because she had let her guard down, too.
    For a moment she had wanted things she could not have. Ached for them.
    Still, if she had this choice to make over, how would she do it? Would she play it safe and stay in the ball-room, tolerating his wooden performance, allowing his mask to remain impenetrable?
    No, she