‘I have never been out in public away from the Palace Guard for this length of time. It’s nice...not being surrounded by an entourage.’
‘You want a taste of freedom,’ he said plainly, and the sudden realisation was like clouds parting to reveal blue sky after a storm.
‘Isn’t that what all runaways want?’ She smiled sadly. ‘But we both know how that has worked out for me so far.’
‘I can’t just let you walk away from me, Princess. You know that.’
He pondered the situation, despising his own need to problem-solve. Khal needed this marriage to go ahead. That was his directive here. There was no point returning the Princess only for her to reject the marriage completely. But maybe he could offer a solution that would benefit everyone involved.
Everyone except him, that was.
He frowned, hardly believing he was even entertaining the idea, but words escaped his mouth and he knew he had to trust his instinct. ‘What if I could offer you a temporary freedom of sorts?’ he asked slowly, watching as her face tipped up and her eyes regarded him with suspicion.
‘I would ask what exactly you mean by “temporary”.’
‘I can offer you some time alone in which you can come to a decision about your marriage.’
‘Or lack thereof?’
‘Exactly.’
‘How would you do that?’ she asked. ‘And, more importantly, why would you?’
‘Don’t worry about how—just trust that I am a man of my word. If I say you will be undisturbed then I mean it. But you would have your side of the bargain to hold up.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘All I ask is that you take time to consider all aspects of the union. I believe that you would be making a mistake in walking away from this engagement. Khal is a great man,’ he said truthfully.
He was careful not to mention the small fact that she was a flight risk who would likely end up in real trouble if the situation wasn’t contained. This was containment at its most extreme. He had somehow gone from holding a princess hostage to volunteering to take one on as his guest.
He waited while she visibly weighed up her options before him, worrying at her lower lip with her teeth. Her mouth was a dusky pink colour, he noticed. No lipstick or gloss, just pure silky rose flesh. She flashed him a glance and he quickly averted his gaze, looking back out at the view.
In that moment he instantly regretted his offer to salvage his friend’s union. He had the sudden uncomfortable thought that perhaps he had just voluntarily offered to step out onto a tightrope with everything hanging in the balance.
But even as he began to regret his offer she nodded her head once, murmuring her acceptance.
And just like that the deal was done.
He had never gone back on a deal in the past, and he wouldn’t be starting now. Self-doubt held no place in his life. He trusted his own self-control, his own loyalty to those he cared for. And so he walked her back to the car and dutifully avoided looking down at the swell of her curves as she sashayed in front of him.
‘I still don’t understand why you are doing this for me.’ She looked up at him through long russet lashes, and he saw a smattering of freckles appearing high on her cheeks in the evening sun.
‘Consider it a wedding gift,’ he gritted, shutting the door with finality and steeling himself for the drive ahead.
* * *
Olivia stepped out on the deserted deck of the yacht and watched as they drew nearer and nearer to land. The evening was fast fading to pink as dusk approached. She wondered if maybe she should be worried that she had no idea where Roman was taking her, but really the destination itself didn’t matter. So long as it was far enough away from the palace for her to be able to breathe again.
With every mile that had passed since they’d set sail from Puerto Reina harbour she had felt the unbearable tension begin to ease and a sense of sharp relief take its place. But her newfound sense of freedom still held an unpleasant tinge of guilt around the edges. As if a dark cloud was hovering somewhere in her peripheral vision, just waiting to spill over and wreak havoc on her fleeting sense of calm.
She was doing the right thing, wasn’t she? Taking time away from the royal bubble in a controlled manner was the mature course of action. Despite what others might think, she knew she had a very important decision to make. This wasn’t so simple as making the best choice for herself—putting the rest of her life first and repercussions be damned. She had been raised always to hold Monteverre in greater esteem than herself. To value the people more than she did her own family. But what happened when her own family didn’t seem to value her happiness at all?
Her eyes drifted across the deck to where her slim black handbag sat atop a sun lounger. Inside that bag she held all the information she had found about the foundation that her grandmother had left in her name. Information on all of the amazing work that it had carried out since her passing ten years ago.
She wasn’t quite ready to share what she had uncovered with anyone just yet.
At the moment, the bottom line was clear. Her father had said that she had no alternative but to marry the Sheikh and she had agreed with him, Going against a union arranged by the King now would have very real, very severe ramifications. Either way, her life was about to change drastically.
It was no big deal, really, she thought with a slightly panicked intake of breath. Sign her life away to a loveless marriage in order to save her kingdom or have her title stripped away for ever. No big deal at all.
She closed her eyes, breathing in the cool sea air and willing her mind to slow down. She had spent two days going around and around in circles already, and the effect made her temples feel fit to burst. Was it any wonder she had made such a rash decision to run away from it all?
She exhaled slowly, opening her eyes to find that the yacht was now sailing alongside the coast of the seemingly deserted island they had been approaching. The place looked completely wild—like something from a movie. But as they rounded an outcrop of rocks she was suddenly looking at a crescent-shaped coastline formed out of ragged black rocks and golden sand. A tall white lighthouse stood on the far coast in the distance, atop a lush green cliff. And a small marina was situated at the furthest end of the bay, in the shade of the cliffs.
She gradually felt the yacht lose speed until it began the process of mooring at the end of the long white floating dock.
Roman was still nowhere to be seen, she thought as she scanned what she could see of the upper decks. The yacht was huge, and he had disappeared almost immediately after depositing her in one of the lower deck living rooms.
She was still not quite sure why he had decided to give her this time in the first place. She doubted he felt pity for her, considering his disdain for ‘pampered royals’, as he had so delicately labelled her. But he had seemed genuinely surprised to hear that the marriage situation was not all that it seemed.
She was not naïve enough to believe that he was on her side, but she hoped that he understood her motivations a little more at least.
Still, she would do well to remember where his loyalties lay. He was determined to see her accept Sheikh Khal’s proposal—there was no doubt in her mind about that. She imagined that Roman Lazarov was not the type of man to give up on something without putting up a good fight first.
Surprisingly, the thought of debating her future with him didn’t fill her with the same dread that she had felt in her father’s presence the day before. She couldn’t quite explain it... He spoke to her like a person, not as someone lesser. Or, worse, as a princess. He wasn’t afraid to look into her eyes as he spoke, unlike most others who met her.
He had listened to her today. She would never let him know how much that had meant to her. He was not a friend—she knew that. But maybe he didn’t have to be her enemy.
As though conjured by her thoughts
, Roman suddenly emerged from a door to her right, speaking to someone on the phone in a deep, throaty language she presumed to be his native Russian. He had made no move to interact with her in the hours since they had set sail from Monteverre.
He looked tired, she noticed, and yet his dark shirt and trousers barely held a single crease. She, on the other hand, was rumpled and in dire need of a shower and a full night of sleep. She smoothed the front of her dress self-consciously and turned herself to face him, shoulders held high.
He ended the call with one click and took a moment to tilt his face up to the view of the vibrant overgrown landscape around them. For a moment the harsh lines around his mouth relaxed and his eyes seemed to glow silver in the evening light. She realised with surprise that the look on his face was something very close to contentment. She’d not yet seen him with anything but hostility in his features, and she had to admit the man had very inviting lips when he wasn’t smirking or insulting her.
‘We still have a short drive from here,’ he said, taking a quick look at his watch and motioning for the single cabin porter to take care of their luggage. ‘I hope you don’t get motion sickness.’
Before she could question that statement, he gestured for her to follow him down the steps onto the whitewashed boards of the marina. She practically had to run to catch up with him.
‘Where are we?’ she asked, her short legs struggling to keep up with his long strides.
‘My very own island paradise,’ he said simply, not bothering to slow down until they’d reached a dirt road at the end of the dock. Roman stopped beside a small, open-sided white Jeep and turned to face her, one hand braced lazily on the mud-spattered door frame as he held it open for her.
‘Jump in, Princess.’ His lips quirked.
That was a challenge if ever she’d heard one. He likely expected her to throw a fit of pique, demanding transportation that better befitted her station.
She smiled sweetly, holding up her white skirt to protect it from the worst of the dirt, and hoisted herself up into the cab without complaint. Within minutes the engine was roaring loudly and a cloud of dust flew around them as they began a steady climb up the cliffs.
‘When you said you could guarantee privacy, I didn’t realise you meant to maroon me on a desert island.’ She forced an easy tone, trying to hide the breathlessness from her voice.
He didn’t immediately respond, so she filled the silence by commenting on the views of the coast below as they drove higher and higher, weaving in and out of the treeline. As they bounced over a particularly rough stretch of terrain her shoulder was jammed hard against the window and she let out a little squeak of alarm.
She turned to see that he was smirking once more. She fought the sudden, irrational urge to punch him in the bicep.
‘Judging by the transportation, am I to expect a rustic mud hut for my stay?’ She gripped her seatbelt with all her might, her resolve slipping fast.
‘I’m not here to act as your tour guide.’ He shrugged, uninterested, his jaw tightening as he shifted gears and the terrain seemed to level out. ‘I’ll be sure to have your tent inspected for cockroaches, at least.’
She had never actually slept in a tent. It would be a drastic change from her usual surroundings, but she rather thought she might enjoy the novelty.
Just as she turned to say this to him she caught sight of something sparkling in the distance. The land began to slope downwards towards the lower terrain again, revealing a spectacular side view of a very large, very sleek, modern villa.
As they descended a short driveway Olivia felt her breath catch at the view that spread out before them. She could see the entire island from this vantage point. The evening sky was tinged pink and orange as the sun sank lower and lower towards the jade-green sea.
‘Wow...’ she breathed, her awestruck brain not quite able to form anything more eloquent after the stunning visual onslaught.
A small white-haired man appeared at the door as they stepped out of the car. He looked immediately to Roman with raised brows.
‘You did not mention a guest, sir,’ he said, his smile forced and pointed.
‘Jorge, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me sir just because we are in company?’ Roman grunted.
‘It’s more professional.’ Jorge shrugged, trying and failing to keep his voice low.
‘You are far from professional.’ Roman smirked, clapping the other man on the shoulder with friendly familiarity. ‘Ridiculously capable and efficient? Of course. But not professional in the least. That’s why I hired you.’
The two men looked back to see Olivia watching the odd exchange with interest.
‘Olivia, this is my right-hand man, Jorge. He travels with me to my homes as housekeeper and chef.’
Roman seemed suddenly preoccupied as he took out his phone and clicked a few buttons.
‘Show her around and set her up in the white guest room.’
Olivia frowned as he began to walk away without another word. ‘You mean you won’t be giving me the grand tour yourself?’ she called, half joking but actually quite shocked at his blatant disregard.
A harsh laugh escaped his lips as he continued to power across the hallway, away from her. ‘I am not in the hospitality business. I thought you would have noticed that by now.’
And with that he disappeared through a doorway at the end of the hall, leaving her alone with his very apologetic housekeeper.
Roman ended the call with a double-click and laid his phone down hard on the marble patio table. In almost ten years of friendship he had never heard his friend curse.
Khal had been stunned at the revelation that the Princess was being strong-armed into their union by her father. But, ever practical, he had asked if there was a chance she might go ahead with it. Roman had answered truthfully—saying that he believed the Princess was just seeking a break from the heightened security measures.
‘Give her time,’ he had said. ‘I will ensure she returns to accept your proposal.’
Khal trusted him to guard his future bride. There wasn’t another person on this earth that Roman would be doing this for. He was not a personal bodyguard. He specialised in hard security. Elite risk assessments, intruder prevention, high-tech electronic systems and such. He did not have the refined people skills that were needed to work one-on-one in this kind of setting.
And yet here he was, babysitting a runaway princess on the island that he made a point to keep free of unwelcome guests.
If he had ever been a drinker now would be an excellent time for copious amounts of alcohol in which to drown his dark mood. He leaned heavily against the glass rail that lined the balcony of his master suite, looking out at the horizon where the sun had begun to dip into the Mediterranean Sea.
A sudden splash from below caught his attention and he looked down to see a creamy silhouette cutting easily across the bottom of the pool.
She had started her holiday straight away, it seemed, he thought darkly as his fist tightened on the rail.
Her head and bare shoulders broke the surface of the water as she reached the infinity ledge. Her red hair was dark and heavy on her shoulders; she hadn’t bothered to tie it up. She leaned against the side of the pool, pale shoulders glistening with moisture above a bright red one-piece bathing suit. He could see the outline of long, slim legs under the water.
Roman felt the darkness inside him roar to life.
He wanted her.
He growled to himself, turning away from the tantalising view with a jaw that suddenly felt like iron. He stalked across his suite into the large white and chrome bathroom. The large floor-to-ceiling mirror showed his frustration in high definition. His pupils were dark, his nostrils flared with anger as he began unbuttoning his shirt.
It had been a while since he had been with anyone—that was all this was. His body was reac
ting to its recent deprivation in the most primal way possible. He had never been good at denying himself something he wanted with this kind of intensity.
A more emotionally charged person might say it had something to do with a childhood full of being denied, he thought darkly. He knew better. It was simply a part of him—a part of how he was put together. It was what drove him to the heights of success, always wanting more.
All he knew was that his wealth had brought along with it the delicious ability to gratify his every whim instantly. Whether it was a new car or a beautiful woman, he always got what he wanted with minimal effort.
But not her.
She was not his to think about, to look at, to covet.
He was long past his days as a thief, he thought dryly as he divested himself of the rest of his clothing and stepped under the white-hot spray of the shower, feeling the heat seep into his taut shoulder muscles and down his back.
Another man might have opted for a cold spray, but he had spent too much of his life in the cold. He had the best hot shower that money could buy and damn it, he would use it. Even if it only spurred on the heat inside him.
He was unsure whether he was angry with his friend for trusting him so blindly or angry that he did not fully trust himself. He was a sophisticated man, well capable of resisting flimsy attractions. And yet he felt a need to keep some distance between himself and the fiery-haired Olivia, with her sharp wit and unpredictable nature.
He had built his fortune on trusting his own instincts, and everything about Olivia Sandoval signalled danger.
CHAPTER FIVE
AS WAS USUAL when he stayed on Isla Arista, Roman had instructed Jorge to prepare an evening meal to be served on the terrace. The scent of aromatic rosemary chicken filled his nostrils as he stepped outside and his stomach growled in anticipation.
One Night with the Forbidden Princess Page 6