Olivia’s eyes widened, her face rapidly warming with embarrassment. ‘I simply meant that I’m not accustomed to making the first move,’ she said quickly, her eyes wide with mortification.
‘Chert voz’mi,’ Roman cursed under his breath, suddenly despising his own ability to see through to the truth. ‘You have never had a lover, have you?’
He watched as her shoulders tensed and she tightened her grip on the rail in front of her. She hid her face from him but he could read the signs in her body. Surprise rapidly turned to self-defence. She didn’t speak, but she didn’t have to. He already knew he was right.
She was a virgin.
As if there weren’t enough reasons already for this attraction to be the worst kind of wrong...
He turned, bracing one hand on the balcony rail and gripping it with all his might. ‘Have you any idea what kind of game you are playing?’ he gritted.
‘I was not playing a game.’ She turned her face to him, her shoulders stiff and unyielding.
‘How would you even know what you were doing?’ he said harshly. Anger raged in him—towards her, towards himself. He felt as if he was drowning in it. ‘What did you think? That you could use me as a damned test run? Lose your virginity with the rough and tumble ex-con before I sent you back to your royal fiancé’s bed?’
Her eyes narrowed, her fist flying out to thump him squarely in the middle of his chest. ‘How dare you?’
He grabbed her hand in his fist, stopping her movement and inadvertently pulling her closer to him.
‘You are angry at me because it is the truth. You think you are attracted to me? You don’t even know me. You’re attracted to my lack of refinement, Olivia. You see me as some big, uncivilised fool who you can charm with your delicate skin and innocent eye-flutters.’ He shook his head, his mouth hardening into a cruel line.
‘I don’t think of you that way.’
‘Well, maybe you should start. I might come from the gutter, but that doesn’t mean I make a habit of living like a street thug. I do not sleep with virgins or with other men’s fiancées. I have morals, Olivia.’
‘What? And I don’t? I am not engaged. I have done nothing wrong here.’
‘You are as good as spoken for,’ he ground out.
She looked up at him. Eyes that moments ago had been blue-black with desire were now wide and blazing with anger. ‘I will never be spoken for. Never again.’ A tremor passed through her throat. ‘I am not another man’s property, to be protected and transported.’
‘You are going back to the palace as soon as possible.’
‘Roman, is it so hard to believe that I am just as overwhelmed as you?’
‘Don’t flatter yourself, Princess,’ he said cruelly. ‘It would take a lot more than an innocent’s clumsy kisses to overwhelm me.’
Her face fell and he knew he had gone too far.
But she was already turning to walk out through the door. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to walk back alone.’
He made to walk after her but stopped, thinking it might be best if they both had some time to calm down.
‘Fine. You can take the time to prepare your explanation. I will deliver you to your fiancé tonight.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
OLIVIA REGRETTED STEALING Roman’s boat almost as soon as she had set off, but stubbornness kept her from turning back. As the wind pulled her hair around her face and the salty air filled her lungs she felt the awful tension inside her loosen a fraction.
She hated him.
Every single word that Roman had thrown at her had swum around in her head as she had hiked across the craggy woodland towards the villa. His indignant accusations. His refusal to see the truth in their situation. He seemed determined to power through any argument she had.
It was the thought of his final words that had cemented her decision to change course and hightail it for the marina. ‘I will deliver you to your fiancé tonight.’
She gripped the wheel even tighter, steering the boat as the mainland drew nearer on the horizon. The distance between Isla Arista and the small mainland town of Puerto Arista was a mere fifteen minutes, but as the small dock came into view she contemplated turning around.
What was it about her breaking the law when she was around this man? Once again she had proved him right by giving in to an emotional impulse without a thought for the consequences.
Still, pride kept her from doing the intelligent thing and returning with her tail between her legs. She busied herself with mooring and disembarking safely, taking pleasure in the manual work.
She had always enjoyed her national sport—there was something quite peaceful about letting her mind wander as she followed through all the steps.
This small speedboat was much more streamlined and modern than the complex sporting sailboats she was used to, so before she knew it she was climbing the limestone steps up from the dock and emerging into a busy little Spanish village. Thankfully she had worn large sunglasses and a floppy-brimmed hat on her hike, to protect her from the sun, both of which now helpfully concealed her face from possible recognition.
The streets were cobbled and sloped upwards towards the impressive white cliffs that dominated the landscape. A long row of whitewashed houses and shops lined the seafront, with terracotta roofs and vibrantly coloured windows. The village was small, and seemed almost pristine in its appearance.
It was quiet. There was none of the hustle and bustle of the coastal spots in Monteverre. It was like stepping into a well-kept secret. People smiled as they walked past, shopkeepers tipped their sunhats in her direction. No one approached her or called her name. No one cared.
It was a revelation.
After she had walked to the top of the hill and back down her stomach began to growl. The thought of returning to the island—to Roman—filled her with trepidation. Without a second thought she walked into a nearby café and eyed the delicious selection of handmade pastries and freshly cut fruit. The smell of warm butter and melted chocolate permeated the air and made her stomach flip.
Yes, this was exactly what she needed.
‘Can I help you, miss?’ A middle-aged man smiled jovially from behind the counter, his white apron smeared with powdered sugar.
Olivia smiled in response, really enjoying not being recognised. ‘Yes—what’s good here?’
‘It’s all good, of course.’ He laughed. ‘We have a special on today: three magdalenas for the price of two.’
Olivia looked down at the elegant golden-brown pastries and instantly felt her stomach drop.
She had no money.
With a murmured excuse she practically ran from the shop, embarrassment fuelling her as she walked swiftly down the hill back towards the marina. She stopped on the promenade, taking a seat on a bench that overlooked the small inlet.
As her breathing slowed, a heavy sadness replaced her embarrassment. She had no idea how to prepare for living in the real world. For all her thoughts of leaving her bubble and making a difference, the reality was that she had absolutely no idea how to function outside the privilege of royal life.
Her father had been right.
She had told herself that she would find a way to become the woman she wanted to be outside of her parents’ expectations and royal obligations. She had believed she could fulfil the vision her grandmother had had for the foundation alone. But she didn’t have a business mind—she didn’t have that kind of common sense or leadership skill. She certainly didn’t have the kind of innate intelligence and passion that could support her, as her siblings did.
Maybe she was delusional. Maybe her father was right and she should stick to where her strengths lay. Just another Sandoval princess, destined to stand and smile by her husband’s side.
But one thing was for sure: she was not what Roman had accused her of being. She had not seen him as
some sort of base creature to use for her own amusement. The thought that he saw her as someone capable of such cruelty...it bothered her.
She ambled towards the marina with the intention of returning and paused, watching as a familiar sailboat moored itself next to her smaller vessel. The name Sofiya was emblazoned across its hull.
Roman jumped down athletically onto the boards of the jetty before striding purposefully in her direction.
She turned away quickly, not quite ready for the confrontation she knew was bound to happen. He was likely furious, and he had every right to be. But she had hoped for more time to compose herself before the inevitable. Even now, the memory of his hands on her bare skin made her short of breath.
She shook off the heated thoughts, walking along the promenade at a brisk pace.
A man was walking towards her—the man from the pastry shop, she realised suddenly. He was walking quite fast and had a slightly odd expression on his face. Olivia paused, feeling suddenly very exposed on the empty promenade. As he neared her he reached into his jacket, his large hand fumbling for something in his breast pocket.
A loud growl erupted from somewhere over her left shoulder. Roman was running past her in a matter of seconds, moving to stand in front of the older man with ferocious agility and strength. His large body manoeuvred the man to the ground and he shouted to Olivia to move away. She could hear the man calling out underneath him—a strange muffled cry of one word, over and over.
Finally Roman moved from his position and the other man managed to gasp. ‘Camera! Camera!’
Olivia spied the small black object that lay shattered near Roman’s left knee. She rushed forward. ‘Roman, it’s just a camera!’ She gasped, tugging at his sleeve for his to remove his body from the man. ‘Roman, please stand up. He’s not dangerous,’ she urged, pulling at his shoulder.
* * *
Roman looked into the blue-green depths of Olivia’s eyes and something inside him shifted. All at once he became aware of the man’s fleshy paunch beside his knee. The roar of the waves hitting the promenade to his left. He could hear Olivia’s panicked tone and his own fiercely ragged breathing.
Khristos, it had happened again.
He stood to his feet, looking away from where his unsuspecting, seemingly innocent victim had stood up and shuffled away. The roaring in his ears was deafening, the hammering in his chest making him feel as though he might pass out.
Without thinking of the lack of logic in his actions, he grabbed Olivia roughly by the wrist, ignoring her protests. Eventually she gave in and allowed him to lead her down to where his sailboat lay in wait. Within moments they were on board, and he closed the door of the spacious interior saloon with a harsh exhalation of breath.
‘Sit down,’ he commanded, watching confusion enter into her eyes.
‘Roman, what on earth—?’
‘Just sit down,’ he repeated harshly, his breath still raw and uneven in his chest as he fought to control the ridiculous racing of his treacherous mind.
Sofiya.
His mind whirled against the onslaught of terrible memories threatening to overcome him as his sister’s face broke through to his consciousness. As if in slow motion he could see the life leave her baby-blue eyes as the bullet tore through her body, silencing her scream.
He shook his head, swallowing past the dryness of fear in his throat.
Olivia moved in front of him, concern in her wide eyes as she placed her hands on his chest.
‘You’re shaking,’ she said softly, in the kind of placating tone one used when trying to soothe a wild animal. ‘Has this happened before?’
Her warm hands on his chest both irritated and calmed him. ‘Don’t push me, Olivia,’ he warned. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, too.’
‘You won’t hurt me, Roman.’
She shook her head just a fraction, her innocent eyes so wide and confused it made him want to growl with frustration and bask in her concern all at once.
‘Let me help you,’ she whispered, moving her hand uncertainly to rest on his face.
The touch of her soft, feminine hands on his skin undid him completely.
He leaned forward, capturing her words roughly with his mouth, showing her just why she needed to run from him.
Her lips were soft against his, trying in vain to offer him comfort even as he plundered and deepened the kiss. He wound one hand around the back of her neck and twisted the fine silk of her hair in his hands. His rough touch anchored her to him while his other hand bunched into a tight fist by his side.
This was wrong, he told himself. He was using her in the aftermath of his own weakness, losing himself in her, and it was so wrong he hated himself. She was innocent to situations like this, he reminded himself, talking himself down from his own madness. She deserved better than this—than him.
He moved to away an inch and she looked up at him, lust clouding her vision.
‘I can’t keep my hands off of you,’ he gritted, running his fingers down one side of her face and wincing as he noticed the small patch of blood staining the front of her dress.
Logic told him that the blood was likely from his own cut knuckles, but the sight of her pale skin next to the red smear was enough to sober him just for a moment. He tried to fish though the haze of his memory but drew up nothing but blankness.
‘Roman, I need to know what happened back there.’ She spoke slowly, as though afraid she might set him off again.
‘I don’t want to talk right now.’ He shook his head, pulling himself away from the heat of her, inch by inch, even as his body screamed in protest.
It was colder without her in his arms, but safer.
‘Talk to me,’ she said simply.
‘I’m not good at talking, Olivia.’ He turned to sit heavily on the leather sofa of the saloon. ‘Guns trigger something inside me. Even the thought of guns, apparently.’ He laughed cruelly.
‘There was no gun, Roman,’ she said. ‘No danger.’
He stood, his anger boiling over to the surface. ‘You think I don’t know that?’ he asked. ‘But in that moment, when my mind goes there...’
‘You are powerless to stop it?’ she offered helpfully.
Powerless. God, how he hated that term. Was there anything in the world more terrifying than being out of control of your own mind and body, even if only for a few moments?
Olivia moved to sit beside him, her thigh brushing his on the small settee.
‘You can talk about it with me, if it helps,’ she offered.
‘We are not all built for flowery conversations and sharing our dreams.’
Her eyes dropped and he realised he was doing it again—being needlessly cruel.
‘None of this would have happened if you hadn’t run off with my damn boat,’ he continued, seemingly unable to stop himself.
‘You deserved it,’ she said harshly.
‘For trying to protect your reputation?’ he said incredulously.
‘I don’t think my reputation has a thing to do with it, Roman. You attacked a stranger, dragged me back here like the hounds of hell were chasing you and then you kissed me like your life depended on it.’
She met his eyes without hesitation.
‘I kissed you to shut you up,’ he argued, turning towards the bridge that housed the control panel so they could get the hell out of here and he could find some space.
‘Now who’s running away?’ she challenged.
‘You’d prefer to wait around until local law enforcement arrives to question us both?’ he said darkly. ‘I didn’t even stop to see if I had hurt him.’
‘He was fine—just shaken. You don’t remember any of it?’ She frowned. ‘I got the chance to apologise quickly before you pulled me away.’
‘If you think an apology is enough to stop him from pressing charges...’
‘I told him that you were just a jealous lover.’ She winced, half smiling with embarrassment.
Roman took a moment to look at her, and the situation suddenly replayed in his mind like a bad movie. He pursed his lips and then, before he knew it, dark laughter erupted from his chest.
Olivia smiled, also seeing the humour in their situation, and soon she was laughing too. She had a great laugh, he thought to himself as they both returned to silence after a moment.
‘Thank you,’ he said, looking deeply into her eyes for a moment.
He wasn’t accustomed to thanking anyone for anything quite so personal; he made a point of not needing anyone enough to necessitate heartfelt apologies. But this woman had lied for him—protected him in a way. After he had treated her horribly.
It was a strange feeling—one he didn’t want to examine too closely. For now, the ability to laugh it off was a novelty in itself.
Olivia nodded once—a graceful acceptance.
He took a step away from her, looking out at the harbour around them. It was late; the sky was already in full darkness around them. He suddenly did not want to return to the island—to the silence of the villa and the self-imposed exile he had placed himself in.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asked hopefully.
* * *
Simply named Faro, the small restaurant was partly built into the rocks that stood proudly at the tip of the peninsula. Olivia felt butterflies in her stomach as Roman’s hand encircled hers, helping her down the steep steps to the low wooden door of the entrance.
‘It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but I assure you it’s the best paella in all of Spain.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
She smiled, following him into a small hallway. Roman led the way down a corridor and out onto a large terrace that overlooked the coast as far as the eye could see. Warm glowing lanterns adorned the walls and brightened the space, making it seem like the terrace at the back of someone’s home rather than a restaurant.
One Night With The Forbidden Princess (Monteverre Marriages Book 1) Page 10