Free The Princess and the Billionaire by Barbara Bretton Page B

that. He even welcomed it. All of her rage, all of her heartache came together as the crack of her palm against his cheekbone rang out in the still night air.
    He winced and moved his jaw back and forth with comic deliberation. “Not bad,” he said, touching the curve of his jaw.
    “Not half good enough,” she retorted. “I only wish I’d helped you part company with your teeth.”
    “I’m not the one you hate,” he said quietly. “I’m just the one who’s around.”
    * * *
    She wanted to hate him. With every fiber in her being she wanted to despise the air he breathed, the ground he trod upon. Only Maxine had ever talked to her the way Bronson had, with so little concern for who she was and her station in life.
    Or with so much honesty , a voice inside her added.
    Her eyes filled with another appalling flood of tears, and she held them back with the sheer force of her will.
    She turned her empty crystal flute upside down on the marble bench. “I need more champagne.”
    ‘What’s wrong? Reality rearing its ugly head?”
    “That’s exactly what’s wrong,” she said with an attempt at gaiety. “This is a wedding. Everyone knows that weddings and champagne go hand in hand.”
    “You’ve had enough.”
    “My dear Mr. Bronson, I have yet to begin.” She narrowed her eyes and looked at him. “Gianni Vitelli was only too happy to fetch more champagne for me.”
    “I just saw him dance by with Margot Hofmaier. Want me to whistle for him?”
    “The only thing I want is for you to disappear from the face of the earth.”
    “Will you settle for me disappearing from Perreault?”
    “With pleasure.”
    He had started to say something when Maxine, in her best dress, appeared in the doorway.
    “You’ve lost your mind, is it, lovey? Your father has been looking for you, and I’ve exhausted my excuses.” Maxine glanced over at Bronson, who’d stepped further back into the shadows. “You needn’t try to hide, Mr. Bronson,” said Maxine. “Everyone knows you’re out here with my girl.”
    Isabelle’s spirits lifted. “Everyone?”
    Maxine looked from Isabelle to Bronson, then back again. “’Tis a romance in the making to those who wouldn’t be knowing the truth.”
    A chance to make Eric jealous! It was all too perfect. She met Bronson’s eyes. “You owe me a dance.”
    He didn’t say anything at all. The moment stretched like an overused elastic band. Maxine coughed politely, but still he said nothing. Isabelle knew he was capable of just about anything. He could refuse her as easily as not, but she knew somehow deep in her soul that this time he would come to her rescue.
    * * *
    Daniel told himself he was doing it strictly for the shock value, but he couldn’t make himself believe it. There was something about walking into a glittering ballroom in an ancient castle with a beautiful, dark-eyed princess on your arm that could turn the most hard-headed Yankee into a believer.
    Every eye in the place was focused on the two of them as they made their way to the center of the dance floor. Prince Bertrand, his brow furrowed, watched from the corner of the room where he’d been engaged in conversation with Honore Malraux and the minister of finance, a laughable title, considering the economic situation.
    With a courtly bow, Bronson swept the dark-haired princess into his arms. She favored him with an enticing smile. The exuberant strains of a Strauss Waltz swelled all around them as they began to move together to the music. Her color was unnaturally high, her laughter brittle. The sparkle in her eyes could only be described as dangerous.
    “He’ll never make you happy,” Daniel said as they spun past the hapless Eric and Juliana.
    “And to think I had believed you to be a clever man,” she said in her sweetly accented English.
    “You’ve got a lot going for you, princess. A hell of a lot more than you think.”
    “There’s no reason to be nasty.”
    He laughed. “You’re so damn used to