To Dance with a Prince Read Online Free Page B

His reputation had escalated from that of a man who was coolly remote to a man who was a heartless love-rat.
    There would be no more losses of control.
    And while it was not high on his list of priorities to be popular, he did see performing the dance as an opportunity to repair a battered image. His and Tiffany’s breakup was a year ago. It was time for people to see him as capable of having a bit of fun, relaxing, being human.
    Was that why he’d said yes? A public relations move? An opportunity to polish a tarnished image, as Adrian had suggested?
    No.
    Was it because of the girls, then? He had been moved by Miss Whitmore’s description of the goals of No Princes. Kiernan had felt a very real surge of compassion for underprivileged young women who wanted someone they perceived as important to value them, to recognize what they were doing as having merit.
    But had that been the reason he had said yes? The reason he had been swayed to this unlikely cause that was certainly going to require more of him than signing a cheque, or giving a speech or just showing up and shaking a few hands? Was that the reason he’d said yesto a cause that had his staff running in circles trying to rearrange his appointments around his new schedule? Again, no.
    So, was it her, then? Was Meredith Whitmore the reason he had said yes to something so far out of his comfort zone?
    Kiernan let his mind go to her. She had astounding hazel eyes, that hinted at fire, unconsciously pouty lips, a smattering of light freckles and a wild tangle of auburn locks, the exact kind of hair that made a man’s hands itch to touch.
    Add to that the lithe dancer’s body dressed in a leotard that clung to long, lean legs, and a too-large T-shirt that hinted at, rather than revealed, luscious curves. There was simply no denying she was attractive, but not in the way one might expect of a dancer. She was at odds with the dance he had witnessed, because she seemed more uptight than Bohemian, more Sergeant Major than free-spirited gypsy.
    Beautiful? Undoubtedly. But the truth was he was wary of beauty, rather than enchanted by it, particularly after Tiffany. The face of an angel had hidden a twisted heart, capable of deception that had rattled his world.
    Meredith Whitmore did not look capable of deception, but there was something about her he didn’t get. She was young, and yet her eyes were shadowed, cool, measuring.
    Not exactly cold, but Kiernan could understand why Adrian had called her Dragon-heart, like something fierce burned at her core that you would get close to at your own peril.
    So, he had said yes, not because it would be a good public relations move, which it would be, not wholly on the grounds of compassion, though it was that, and notbecause of Meredith’s beauty or mystery. It was not even her very obvious emotional reaction to her disappointment and her valiant effort to hide that from him.
    No, he thought frowning, the answer to his agreeing to this was somewhere in those first moments when she had been dancing, unaware of his presence. But what exactly it was that had been so compelling as to overcome his characteristic aversion to spontaneity eluded him.
    So, the astounding fact was that Prince Kiernan, the most precise of men, could not pinpoint precisely what had made him agree to do this. And the fact that he could not decipher his own motivations was deeply disturbing to him.
    Now, he paused at the doorway of the ballroom, took a deep breath, put back his shoulders, and strode in.
    He hoped to find her dancing, knowing the answer was in that, but she was not to be caught off guard twice.
    Meredith was fiddling with electronic equipment in one corner of the huge ballroom, her tongue caught between her teeth, her brow drawn down in a scowl. She looked up and saw him, straightened.
    â€œMiss Whitmore,” he said.
    She was wearing purple tights today, rumpled leg warmers, and a hairband of an equally hideous shade