LITMIR.BIZ

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      Jazz’s voice was a fierce whisper, his was a lazy drawl, and her little growl of anger could have come straight from the old days, and that made him smile. Then she must have decided that if he was going to provoke her, she was going to lob back some polite and wholly innocuous conversation, and as he continued to study Jazz at his leisure, he was so engrossed he barely heard her question.

      When he’d computed it, he frowned. ‘Did I manage to bring water to that village?’ he repeated. ‘Yes, I did. How do you know about that?’

      ‘Don’t worry. Sharif didn’t betray you. I happened to see the invoice for aqua-cleaning machinery come in, and I knew Sharif didn’t have any current projects running, so I put two and two together.’

      ‘And came up with me?’

      ‘I do have some original thoughts that aren’t stamped approved by my brother.’

      ‘I’m sure you do. And was that a hint of amusement in your voice I detected, Princess?’

      She raised a brow. ‘Am I so dull?’

      He paused. ‘You’ve changed.’

      ‘Don’t mock me, Tyr. I’m not sixteen any longer.’

      ‘This I can see for myself.’

      ‘Then you shouldn’t be looking.’

      They were silent for some time after that.

      The speeches ended and the prizes had all been handed out. The lights went up and Britt returned to their table to be congratulated by Sharif. His friend was a different character when he was with Britt, Tyr noted. Britt was a soothing hand on the warrior brow—something Tyr badly needed.

      Anything that could distract him from his feelings for Jazz—feelings that clawed at his senses—would be good.

      ‘You’re like a seething volcano of pent-up energy,’ Eva commented, picking up on his tension. ‘Thor minus the hammer, unless you’re keeping that under the table?’

      He hummed with amusement as he settled back. Eva knew him too well. She could sense his hunting instinct. He was the wolf. Jazz was the petal in danger of being trampled underfoot. Watching Britt persuade Sharif to dance, he felt his hunting instinct sharpen as one by one the other couples at the table joined them, leaving just one elderly man and woman to chaperone him and Jazz. And as the elderly couple were currently engrossed in their own conversation...

      ‘So, Princess Jasmina.’

      Taking a deep breath, Jazz turned to stare at him. ‘Can the Sunday title, Tyr. You don’t need to pretend with me. You’ve called me Jazz from the first time we met, and I’m still Jazz to you.’

      Mentally, he reeled back with surprise, then rebuked himself for forgetting that Jazz might have changed outwardly, but inwardly she was the same girl. He searched her eyes, but she turned away, then tensed when a group passed by and bowed to her in respect for her rank. ‘You can’t blame people,’ he pointed out as Jazz chewed her lip unhappily. ‘You’re not the tomboy to them you always were to me. You’re a princess.’

      ‘But that’s just it, Tyr. I can’t buy into the title when I haven’t done anything to deserve it.’

      ‘But you will,’ he said confidently, relieved that at least they were talking.

      ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Jazz admitted with a sigh. ‘But I don’t feel any different from anyone else. Except...’

      ‘Except?’ he prompted, angling his chin to stare into her eyes.

      ‘Except I think you should bow to me.’

      She said this with all the old humour and, sitting back, Tyr laughed with relief to think the girl he used to know was still in there somewhere. ‘Now, why should I bow to you, Princess?’

      ‘Viking warlords need to be put in their place by a princess of the desert.’

      ‘And what place is that?’

      Jazz’s cheeks flushed attractively with heat. ‘A dungeon, preferably,’ she said as if realising that this conversation had already gone too far.

      ‘But I didn’t think you were frightened of anything?’

      She fixed him with an unwavering gaze. ‘You’re right. I’m not.’

      ‘So if there’s any little service I can offer you, at that time and that time only, I will be sure to bow.’

      For once in his life he broke eye contact first. If any other woman had looked at him the way Jazz had so briefly looked at him, he would have anticipated a very different outcome to this evening. High time for a reminder that when it came to the mating game, Jazz was so innocent she didn’t know the rules.

      But he couldn’t ignore her for long. ‘You look good, Jazz. Life is obviously treating you well.’

      ‘Very well, thank you,’ she said primly. ‘You look good too.’

      He huffed with amusement. ‘There’s no need for you to be polite with me.’

      As Jazz’s eyes clouded with concern, he warned, ‘Don’t get into it. This is a party, remember?’

      ‘A party in your honour, Tyr, so I’m afraid you have to accept that people care about you. I don’t suppose anyone knows how to behave around you when you’ve been away for so long.’

      He sat back. He liked this new Jazz. She was as much of a challenge beneath that prim exterior as she had ever been, but he liked the wild child from the past better. This new version of Jazz was a tightly strung instrument that only played to Jazz’s self-imposed restrictive tune.

      ‘It might help if you talked about things that matter to you, Tyr, like the ideals you were fighting for.’

      ‘Like what?’ He tensed. She had hit a nerve. It was Jazz that had the problem, not him.

      ‘Like freedom, Tyr,’ Jazz said calmly.

      ‘Freedom?’ He laughed incredulously as he stared at her. ‘And what do you know about that?’

      ‘What do you mean?’ she protested. ‘I’m free.’

      ‘Are you, Jazz?’

      She couldn’t meet his eyes, and then she whispered, ‘You always represented freedom to me, Tyr.’

      ‘I did?’ An invisible hand grabbed his heart. Years of feeling nothing had hit the buffers tonight, he realised, and all thanks to Jazz Kareshi.

      ‘You’ve always done what you wanted, Tyr,’ she explained. ‘You could go where you wanted, do what you wanted to do, when you wanted to.’

      ‘You can too,’ he insisted, staring hard into Jazz’s eyes. ‘This is the twenty-first century.’

      ‘Not in Kareshi.’ Jazz smiled. ‘And we should stop talking like this before someone takes a photograph of us having this conversation.’

      ‘Britt wouldn’t allow the paparazzi within a hundred miles of here,’ he reassured her as Jazz flashed an anxious gaze around.

      ‘Please don’t tease me, Tyr.’ There was real concern in her voice. ‘You’ve got no idea what it’s like for Sharif in Kareshi. He’s doing everything he can to help our people, but a strident minority still continues to rail against progress. I’m doing all I can to reassure that section of our society.’

      ‘Public opinion will do that,’ he argued. ‘Sacrificing yourself will hardly be noticed in the grand scheme of things, but your life will have been ruined—and all by you.’

      ‘And if I want to do this?’

      When he remained silent, Jazz shook her head. ‘I should have known you wouldn’t understand. You’re too like Sharif. He says I’m going too far.’

      ‘Well,

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