They continued to cruise along the lake, picking up speed as they neared the cliffs. It wasn’t until she noticed Rocco begin to ease back the throttle that she felt a shift in his body language. Gone was the relaxed demeanor of before.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked, turning her head back to look at him.
“Go and sit down,” he said, lifting his arm so she could slide out from the controls and take a seat on the other side of the boat. “There seems to be something wrong with the throttle.”
A knot of fear tightened in her stomach as she did as he’d said. From her perch, she watched him jiggle the throttle lever, but there was no discernible change in their speed. The other end of the lake zoomed up ahead of them.
“Hold on!” Rocco ordered as he attempted to sweep the boat into another arc. “Dammit!”
“What is it? What’s wrong now?” She tried to sound calm, but she could hear the way fear streaked her voice.
“The steering’s not responding properly, either.” He looked up and stared her straight in the eye. “If this doesn’t work, we’re going to have to jump.”
He quickly unlooped his belt from his trousers and tried to lash the steering wheel hard to one side, but the boat seemed to have taken on a life of its own. Rocco reached for Ottavia’s arm and pulled her up. Together they staggered to the transom at the end of the boat.
“I don’t think I can do this,” Ottavia cried out.
“You have to. We’re headed straight for the cliffs. If you don’t jump we could both die.”
“You go first,” she pleaded.
“I’m not leaving you,” Rocco insisted.
He braced himself, scooped her into his arms and hefted her over the side. Ottavia screamed as she hit the lake. The water was cold, shocking her into holding her breath as she briefly sank beneath the surface. Her life jacket automatically inflated, drawing her up to the top again. Water was up her nose and she couldn’t see, all she could hear was the sudden roar of the boat’s motor and then the most awful sound as it rode full tilt into the cliff face. She flailed about and tried desperately to see where Rocco was. Had he jumped, too, or had he still been aboard when the boat had crashed?
Debris filled the water around her, some of it raining down from the air and she began to scream his name.
“It’s all right, I’ve got you!” Rocco appeared in the water beside her and wrapped one arm around her. “Hold on to me, I’ll kick us toward the shore.”
Ottavia did as he said, too stunned to do little more than be a deadweight for him to tow.
“You should be able to put your feet down now,” Rocco directed as they neared the shallows of a small beach on the edge of the lake.
Her legs could barely support her but she somehow managed to find the strength to move under her own steam and staggered up onto the beach.
“Wh-what h-happened?” she asked as tremors of shock and cold shook her body.
“I don’t know but I’m certainly going to find out,” Rocco growled. “That wasn’t just a simple malfunction.”
She looked up at him. His jaw was a determined line and there was a glint of something almost feral in his eyes. Once more she was reminded of a jungle cat. Of strength and power straining to be unleashed. It was then she noticed the trickle of blood coming down the side of his face.
“You’re bleeding!” she cried out and reached to see where his injury was. Ottavia pushed back his wet hair and discovered a small cut on Rocco’s brow, just on his hairline. “It’s not a big cut but it’s bleeding pretty hard. I don’t have anything to stem the flow, unless you can tear a strip off my blouse?”
“I have something better.”
He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a soaking wet, folded handkerchief. He squeezed out the excess of water and handed it to her. Ottavia took it and pressed it against the wound.
“Does that hurt?” she asked. “I don’t want to press too hard.”
In response he put his hand over hers. “It’s okay. Are you all right? You didn’t hurt yourself when I threw you overboard?”
“No, no, I’m fine. Shaken, obviously. Wet. Cold.” She gave him a shaky smile. “But fine. You saved my life.”
Rocco opened his mouth, about to say something when they heard the sound of approaching boats.
“It seems we have been rescued,” Rocco commented sardonically.
Ottavia wanted to say something, to thank him for what he’d done, but they were quickly surrounded by his staff, including a medic who took Rocco out to one of the boats without her. She was taken aboard a second vessel and before she knew it she was wrapped in thick towels and returned to the castle.
Once there, she was checked by a doctor and declared well enough not to require further medical attention. One of the older maids, Juliet, was appointed to accompany Ottavia to Rocco’s suite and helped her out of her wet clothes and into a shower. It seemed as if the scent of lake water still clung to her, along with the stink of fear. She rinsed off again and again, eventually stepping out of the shower stall and straight into a warmed toweling bathrobe Juliet held for her.
She felt she ought to protest at such treatment, but the older woman merely shushed her and, using another warmed towel, began to dry Ottavia’s hair. Juliet then sat her down at the bathroom vanity and gently combed out her tresses, exclaiming every now and then at how long and thick her hair was. When she was done, she extracted a hair dryer from one of the drawers and proceeded to finish drying Ottavia’s hair off.
Without styling products and a straightener, Ottavia’s hair became a wild mass of thick waves. Inwardly she groaned at the work that would be ahead of her to tame it back into its usual sleek fall, but right now she was far too tired to care.
“Good,” Juliet said when Ottavia’s hair was dry enough to earn her satisfaction. “Into bed with you and I’ll have a tray brought up for your lunch.”
“Bed? No, I’m fine, really.”
“Just a short rest then,” the woman coaxed.
“Okay.” Ottavia sighed in defeat. She really didn’t have the energy to argue.
She hadn’t been in bed long before Juliet bustled back into the room with a tray. She lifted the covers off the plates to reveal poached salmon dressed with a fragrant caper butter sauce and a small green salad on one plate, and a slice of a particularly decadent-looking white chocolate and raspberry shortcake on another.
“You will eat it all,” the maid said firmly.
Ottavia raised her brows at the other woman. “Who appointed you my keeper?”
“His Majesty,” the woman said, wiping an imaginary speck of dust off the bedcovers. “He personally said to ensure you were looked after. Now eat.”
“Is he...is he all right? His head was bleeding when I saw him last.” To her surprise Ottavia’s voice wobbled a little.
Juliet’s stern expression softened. “He is fine. He came in to change while you were showering. He said to tell you he will be in his office and will be tied up in meetings for the rest of the day.”
Ottavia could well imagine it. No doubt he’d be supervising the investigation into what went wrong out there himself.
“Well, it’s good that he’s okay.”
“Indeed. Eat your lunch then rest. His Majesty requested you remain safely here in his chambers.”
It was the word safely that persuaded her to do as she was told. He had quite enough on his plate without worrying about her. Instead, he should focus on whether the trouble with the boat was deliberate or not. And, if it was deliberate, had it been aimed at him or at her? Ottavia picked desultorily at her food. Despite the aroma and the presentation she found she had next to no appetite. When Juliet came back for the tray she tsked in annoyance.
“His Majesty won’t be pleased.”
“Please, don’t trouble him by telling him.”
It was the last thing he needed to concern himself with. After the other woman left, Ottavia pushed up from the bed and sought some clothing. She would remain here as Rocco had requested, but she didn’t have to stay in bed. Once dressed she went to the main sitting room and tried to find something to occupy her attention, flicking through magazines and then television channels until she gave up on both and allowed herself to simply sit. And to think.
She’d never considered her mortality before. Never stopped to wonder what might happen if, in the blink of an eye, her life ended. While she’d recorded instructions and left them with her lawyer as to what should happen if she predeceased Adriana, she’d never actually imagined it happening.
The reality was she could have died today. She and Rocco both. The thought sat uncomfortably—a tight knot nestled beneath her diaphragm. She got up and began to pace the room.
She thought she had control but today had proven it was an ephemeral thing at best. There was so much still that she hadn’t done—so much she hadn’t experienced. Ottavia had always imagined she’d have the rest of her life to decide when she would do the things she’d always wanted to try. She’d never watched a sunrise from the top of a mountain, or skinny-dipped in the sea. There’d been no time for travel, except at the whim of her clients, and there were so many countries and cultures she wished to explore, including revisiting the United States—the country of her birth.
Nor had she experienced the kind of love a man and woman could share. Logically, she knew it was possible. That not all men were like the man who’d attacked her fifteen years ago. But she’d never imagined for a minute that she’d want to know real love—real intimacy—for herself.
But now? In the aftermath of so nearly losing her life? It made her realize that she’d very possibly been wrong. Fear was one thing, but one had to learn to conquer it. She’d already won so many private battles, but this was one she’d always been too fearful to attempt to fight. Maybe it was time that changed. Maybe it was time to face all her demons. To be bold. To grasp life with both hands while she still could.
Ten
Rocco let himself into the suite and made his way through to his bedroom. He was exhausted. After the drama of the morning, followed by the rest of the afternoon in meetings, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed and sleep for the next twelve hours.
An investigation was underway, under Andrej Novak’s supervision, with inspectors crawling over the debris that had been pulled from the lake already. Not that there’d been much to find. That end of the lake was deep and there was talk that they’d have to bring in one of the navy’s underwater robots to find and hopefully recover whatever was left of the boat’s hull and engine. But Rocco had his suspicions about what had happened.
His fleets—whether they be air, water or road based—were always immaculately maintained. One system malfunction, well, yes—he could possibly accept that that could happen. But two major faults occurring at the same time? It had to be deliberate, which made it an equally deliberate attempt on his life and that of his courtesan. The knowledge left him with the same sick, helpless feeling of anger as he’d experienced when his sister had been kidnapped only a few short weeks ago.
It was one thing to attack him, but to attempt to take out an innocent at the same time? A growl slipped from his throat and he clenched his hands into tight fists. When he found out who was behind this, they would pay dearly, he vowed silently.
A sound caught his attention and he stiffened, listening carefully, his body poised for another threat. He was surprised to see his courtesan walk toward him from the balcony outside his bedroom—he’d expected her to be fast asleep at this late hour. She was dressed in a floor-length diaphanous white robe, her hair a tangle of wild dark curls that made his fingers flex with the need to feel their texture and dive into their glory. He fisted his hands in his pockets and drew in a steadying breath.
“Ottavia, how are you?”
“More to the point, how are you?” she asked, flicking on one of the bedside lamps before coming nearer and lifting a hand to his brow where a stark white dressing covered the five tiny stitches the doctor had insisted upon.
“Tired, angry, frustrated,” he answered in all honesty. He caught her hand in his and pressed a kiss into her palm. “I hope you are suffering no aftereffects?”
“I am quite fine,” she said, gently pulling free from his clasp but not before he saw the light flush on her cheeks.
She could try as hard as she liked, but she wasn’t immune to him.
“Can I pour you a drink?” she asked, moving toward the ornately carved wooden sideboard that stood against one wall of the bedroom.
“Thank you, I could definitely do with one.”
He watched her graceful movements as she selected two crystal glasses, tumbled ice in each and then poured two generous measures of his finest whiskey.
“Do they know what happened?” she asked, handing him his glass.
“Not yet, but they will,” he said firmly.
He took a long draft and relished the flavor on his tongue before swallowing.
Ottavia put a hand on his arm. “It wasn’t an accident, was it? Someone tried to kill you today.”
“They tried,” he acknowledged and forced himself to tamp down the anger that continued to boil beneath the surface. “But they did not, and will not, succeed.”
“I never really thought about dying before today,” she said in a voice that reflected the shock she so valiantly hid behind her elegant composure. “I thought I had it all worked out. My future, what came next—I never stopped to think, what if there is no future?”
“For as long as I draw breath, I will make sure you always have a future, Ottavia. You have my solemn promise.”
“That is more than a courtesan deserves.”
She took a sip of her whiskey and the ice clinked against the side of the glass as her hand trembled ever so slightly. He hated to see her like this and hated knowing the attack against him was responsible for putting the cracks in the fabric of her existence.
“It is what every one of my subjects deserves, no matter their profession.”
He took the glass from her and put it on the table with his own before grasping her hand and raising it to his face. He brought her fingertips to his lips and pressed a kiss against them. “There, I have sealed my pledge to you. Nothing can break it now.”
“A kiss, on my fingers?”
“You’re right,” he murmured, letting her go. “I think that is probably not quite enough. I should release you from your contract. Allow you to leave. To go somewhere safer.”
A look of determination came into her eyes. “I was thinking along different lines.”
He raised an eyebrow in question. “You were?”
“I was thinking, specifically, of the new contract you offered me.”
Rocco’s breath caught in his lungs. “In what way...specifically?”
He watched as Ottavia turned and gathered up papers from the bed. She handed them to him. He looked at her for a moment before turning his attention to the contracts—to her neatly inscribed initials on each page and to her signature at the bottom. In silence, she handed him a pen. Without a second thought he initialed and signed the documents, then let them fall to the floor as he reached for her.
She came willingly to him, raising her arms and sweeping her hands to the back of his head before pulling his face down toward hers. Her lips took his in a caress that sent his senses soaring to dizzying heights. There was no subtlety about her demand that he open his mouth, the same way there was no denying the way his body reacted. Every cell jumped to attention, focused on the woman in his arms—on the tug of her teeth on his lips, the stroke of her tongue.
When she pulled away h
e was breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest.
“I want to make love with you, Sire. Will you allow me?”
There was a roaring sound in his ears. He nodded, or at least he thought he did. Right now he felt a little as though he’d stepped into an alternate universe. One where dreams possibly did come true.
“Let me undress you,” she whispered and her hands tugged at the buttons of his shirt, but he lifted his own to grab hers—to still them in their task.
“Ottavia, wait.”
“Rocco, please. Let me.”
“No.”
“You don’t want me?”
“Want you? Of course I want you,” he ground out. “But answer me this. Was your decision made out of a sense of duty or recompense for what happened today?”
She hesitated and moved away from him. He instantly regretted ruining the moment, but in the next second she undid the robe she wore and let it slide off her shoulders, revealing her body clad in only a sheer white nightgown. His mouth dried as his eyes feasted on her. Through the gauzy fabric he could that see the dark areolae of her nipples had tightened into peaked buds. And, lower, the neatly shaped triangle of hair at her mound. She moved and her full breasts swayed a little with the motion, her nipples momentarily clearer then enticingly hidden behind the folds of the nightgown.
“If I tell you that I do not give myself to you out of some misguided sense of duty but simply as a woman who wants a man, what would you say?”
“I would say that it was the shock speaking. That you might regret your actions come morning.”
“I am beginning to understand why you are so beloved by your people. You really do place the needs of your subjects first,” she said with a smile before reaching for one of his hands and holding it, palm down, against one breast. “Feel me,” she urged him. “Does this feel like shock to you?”
Contract Wedding, Expectant Bride Page 11