Claudia blinked as if the child were an apparition, then bent at the waist until they were at eye level. In the same rich-with-affection tone she used with Bailey—the one that made a strange yearning pour through his soul—she said, ‘How beautiful you are. I shall treasure them, for they are the first flowers I’ve ever been given. Thank you.’
A wild torrent of feeling flooded down his chest. How could that be? Had her parents never sent her flowers? Even on her birthday? Claudia turned to him, her forehead nipped, as if trying to suppress the power of her emotions. And a memory slammed into him, making the world tilt on its axis. His mind flickered...
There he was. His ninth birthday. His mother—so soft, so sad—trying to smile through the pain of a broken jaw. A small box wrapped in her favourite blue headscarf. A car—a toy Ferrari. The brightest shade of red he’d ever seen. His throat closed, his heart bleeding, when he realised the exorbitant price she had paid. Dios. Breathe, Garcia. Breathe.
‘Lucas?’ Claudia’s voice, rich with affection, tainted with concern, drifted on the sweet-scented air and he fisted his hands to stop himself reaching out, hauling her to him, burying his face in her neck, breathing her in.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Sí,’ he said, slamming the door on the past. ‘Do you like your gift?’
She tried for a smile. One that cut him to the core.
‘Arunthia holds its royal family close to its heart. And your career has made you very popular with the people.’
‘I didn’t think...’ Her husky voice cracked.
‘That you were so important?’ he asked incredulously.
With a little shake of her head, she tore at her lower lip. ‘That I would matter at all.’
Jaw slack, Lucas floundered at the severe lack of her self-worth. ‘Well, you are of high import, Claudia. So let them be awed by you. Enjoy it.’
A small huff burst from her lips. ‘Enjoy it?’ she repeated, her mood lifting, firing her back into motion to resume their walk. ‘That’s a bit of a stretch, Lucas. Two days ago I lived in a lab. And, before you say another word, you don’t care much for attention either. Every time someone bows in your direction I can hear your molars crack.’
His teeth ached just thinking about it. ‘Because it is not appropriate.’
‘Seems to me you’re a local hero, Lucas,’ she said, nudging his arm with her elbow, a small smile playing about her lips. ‘Enjoy it.’
A growl rumbled up his chest. ‘They are grateful, and I must allow them to show their respect. I have no desire to revel in success when I was merely doing my job and improving the kingdom.’ Even then he’d had his own agenda. No one would suffer in filth and violence as his mother had. Not as long as he lived.
A cluster of tables from a café spilled onto the pathway dead ahead and Claudia slid her arm through his, leaning close until he felt the full crush of her breast against his arm.
Lucas ground his jaw. His breathing grew short. ‘Let us go back to the car. Down this side street.’ Nice. Quiet. Space.
Except the tall stucco buildings seemed to curve inward and Claudia did not let go of his arm. Just curled in tighter. And, impossible as it seemed, the silence rang through his head like a ten-bell siren.
‘Lucas—earlier, when you—’ Coming to a dead stop, she tilted the brim of her hat as she lifted her gaze to a window display, licked her lips. When he finally tore his eyes from that gorgeous mouth he followed her viewpoint to—
Holy...
‘Let us move on,’ he said, trying to pull her away before his imagination provided him with a view of Claudia dressed in such a thing. But it was much like tugging on the reins of a stubborn horse.
Pressing the tip of one finger against her pout, she focused her gaze, moved a little nearer to the glass plate. ‘Do men like that kind of thing?’
Throat thick, he scratched out, ‘No...’
‘It’s pretty, don’t you think?’
‘No.’ Sexy, yes. Seductive, certainly. Erotic, absolutely. Pretty? ‘Definitely not.’
‘Maybe the white one, then?’ she said, pointing to a poster of a woman in a tight ivory basque and stockings.
‘I know little of these things, but I imagine that ensemble is more suited to a wedding night,’ he ground out, attempting another tug, desperation fuelling his force.
Claudia simply let go. And the loss of heat did strange things to his mind-set.
‘Oh. I’ll never need one of those, then. I couldn’t think of anything worse.’
Lucas blinked, scrolled back through the conversation. ‘Worse than a wedding night?’
‘Getting married.’
She shuddered. Actually shuddered. Why were they suddenly talking about marriage?
Thuds began to pound at his temples. An army of ants began to crawl across his nape.
‘I’m married to my job and I always will be. I don’t want commitment. I’ve fought for my freedom and I’m keeping it.’
Lucas’s eyes narrowed. ‘Every woman wants to get married, Claudia. Surely every little princess dreams of Prince Charming?’
She laughed—mocking, dry. ‘I promise you, I’ve slept through many a dream and Prince Charming has never taken a leading role yet.’ With the tip of one unsteady finger she hooked the bridge of her sunglasses and slid them halfway down her nose. ‘Do you want to know who has?’ she asked, shooting him a look.
On the brink of being coy, that look morphed into something so catastrophically loaded he felt the bullet ricochet to his groin.
Madre de Dios!
‘No, I do not,’ he said. ‘Dreams are private things.’ If she ever found out what he did to her in his dreams she would faint dead away.
First kisses equalled purity, and so long as he had breath left in his body she was remaining as pure as new-fallen snow. Whether she liked it or not. Whether she wanted sex or not. And sex, he realised, was exactly what she had on her mind.
Dios, how could he possibly have sex with Claudia? The suggestion was absurd. There were two types of women in the world: those you could slake your carnal appetites on and come away feeling empty and those you made love to. He’d never made love in his life. He wouldn’t know how. And Claudia was one of those women. Claudia who wanted sex!
‘I’ve had enough of going slow and talking nonsense. Come,’ he said, placing his hand at the base of her spine and giving her a good push.
What she needed was a damn chastity belt. Lucas had a sneaking suspicion he had initiated her into the realms of passion, and the thought of someone else touching her made his fists clench, ready and armed to physically hurt. And just the notion that he might be capable of unwarranted violence...
‘You know, Lucas, it occurred to me earlier I know nothing about your personal life,’ she said, breaking through his thoughts with the delicacy of a sledgehammer.
‘I do not have one,’ he said, stiffening against the black twist in his guts.
‘Do your parents live nearby?’
‘Sí. In the graveyard.’ Ordering his body not to react—even as sweat trickled down his spine—he kept to the basics. Information anyone would know should she dig for dirt.
Feet faltering, she stroked her palm over her heart while her eyes brimmed with empathy. ‘I’m so sorry, Lucas.’
Ignoring the dart of annoyance, he shrugged. ‘It is the way it is.’
She smiled ruefully. Knowingly. ‘Do you miss them?’
‘Ah, Claudia, such a tender soul. I was too young. I do not remember if there was anything to miss.’ Years he’d managed to erase must remain in the past. For he knew if the floodgates opened he would surely drown.
Even now, standing here in the town his mother had loved, the town he’d rebuilt, those gates rattled on their hinges and water seeped through the cracks, whispering of hunger so deep his stomach would twist. Walls so thin he could hear every scream, every tear. Blood so thick it clotted his hair.
‘Oh, Lucas.’
Something snapped in
side him. ‘Your sympathy is wasted on me, Princesa,’ he said, with satiric bite. ‘Save it for children who deserve it.’
He wanted the fiery spark of her temper—craved it. But the little fool just looked up at him, so damn exquisite, as if she understood. She understood nothing.
For a woman who’d been through so much heartache she was astoundingly naïve. Living in her own little bubble. Which made him beyond resolute to protect her from herself. From him.
She had no idea who he really was, what he was capable of. For he too had walked on the dark side. Yet she wanted him with an incredulous passion that now seemed to ooze from her pores, fashioning her with a warm sensual glow.
Bewitching. Precious.
A warning flare—fierce, deadly accurate—discharged in his mind. Lucas had to keep his distance. No more enclosed spaces. No more touching. No more talking in hushed tones or primed glances that made his body seize with a need so fierce he shook with it.
Ignoring the knife-blade to his chest, he faced facts.
He had to kill her feelings dead.
CHAPTER TEN
CLAUDIA LOUNGED ON heaps of velvet cushions atop her bed and pressed ‘send’ on her latest e-mail to Bailey. The news that the little girl’s father was back from the rigs had been the only moment of bliss in an otherwise wretched three days. Days of awkward lunches with her mother. Days since her gauche attempt at seducing Lucas had failed miserably and he’d plonked a barrier the size of the Great Wall of China between them.
If he walked into a room where she was he walked straight back out again. A seemingly impossible feat in a glasshouse, but he always managed to find some place to go. No doubt his office, which was always locked, or the kitchen, which actually boasted walls.
If he didn’t have a two-million-pound painting hanging on one of them she would think he couldn’t afford plaster divisions at all. Not for the first time she pondered how he was as rich as Croesus. Unless you were the President of the United States no government official could live like this. If he’d ever speak to her in more than one disgustingly polite syllable she would ask him.
Closing her eyes, she banged her head on the silk cushioned headboard. It wasn’t that she missed the man—heavens, no—but at home she worked such long hours and here she was just...plain bored. So he didn’t want to sleep with her? Fine. His version of agony was obviously in a different league to hers. But did that mean they couldn’t talk? God, she missed that. And, truly, what was the harm in taking pleasure from his company while she was here?
Swinging her legs off the bed, she surged to her feet. She was going to find the gorgeous brute, act completely normal and convince him to have dinner with her tonight.
Grabbing one of the boutique bags from the floor, she upended the contents atop the bed. And groaned aloud at the final laugh at her expense as something slipped from between layers of frothy tissue paper. A swathe of black satin and lace that she swatted to the floor. ‘C’est la vie, negligée.’ Then she lifted a coffee-coloured splash of Lycra from the pile and braced her chest for a panic attack.
Bikini.
The beach. Sand, sun, sea and sensitive skin. Just the thought made her pores prickle and her nails beg to scratch but, honestly, she needed air. She could never remember needing air before. Then again, she’d never lived with a prime specimen of six-foot-plus virile male before. And maybe, a little voice whispered, he would offer to take her down to the beach.
After donning the frighteningly tiny scrap and a sheer mocha cover-up, avoiding every mirror in the room, she padded down the stairs, heading for his office...when she rocked back on her heels. The door to his off-limits space was swung wide, the dark-wood-lined expanse human-free.
‘Lucas?’
Only the sound of metal clanging against wood drifted from deeper inside. Without conscious thought she followed the noise through his office, across the plush ivory carpet towards another door at the far side. Several steps led down to another room and, barefoot, she crept down, coming to a dead stop on the last wooden plinth.
She gasped, eyes wide. So this was where he hung out. Another vast expanse, with one wall lined with aluminium cases, locked and bolted to within an inch of their life. A shiver scuttled through her as she envisaged their contents, yet it wasn’t fear for herself that tore through her—it was fear for Lucas. Being in the military must have placed him in serious danger over the years, and her throat caught fire just thinking about it. Had he ever been hurt? Her stomach ached at the very thought.
Biting hard on her lip, she let her gaze meander to heavy boxing bags hanging from the ceiling, to state-of-the-art gym equipment, the sight of which made her veins throb in an entirely different way and then turn even thicker, even hotter, as she spotted the man himself. He was working his awesome half-naked body so punishingly her heart cracked in two. Why did he do this to himself?
Claudia counted the powerhouse thrusts of his torso up and down, press-up after press-up. The temperature in the room spiked. Her body dissolved in a long, slow melt. She lost count at the two hundred mark as sweat poured off his honed frame, running in rivulets down his temples, trailing over the indentation of his spine as his muscles flexed and bunched.
Oh, my, he was divine.
Snag went her gaze on his left shoulder, where black ink stroked his flesh with the Arunthian crest.
Her molten core spasmed so hard a moan catapulted up her throat. Palm slapped over her mouth, she backed up the stairs. She shouldn’t be in here. He’d expressly told her that his office was off-limits. And being someone who hated to be stared at, who loathed the violation of privacy, she was bang out of order watching him at all.
Claudia hit the hallway and ran down the stairs. Suddenly the cool waters of the ocean had never sounded so good. She wouldn’t be gone for long.
Lucas would never know.
* * *
What was this? The Bermuda triangle?
Fresh from the shower, and after searching the house for over seven minutes, Lucas hurtled back up the stairs, two steps at a time.
‘Claudia!’
Had she finally had enough and ordered Armande to take her back to the palace? It wouldn’t surprise him, and in reality he should be pleased. And he was, he told himself. But, dammit, she should have told him she was leaving. Just so he knew she was safe. That was the reason for the maelstrom of emotion clattering in his chest. Had to be.
Palm flat, he pushed her bedroom door wide, eyes assaulted by the sight before him. Dios, the woman was messy. But surely if all her clothes and feminine junk were strewn over every surface she hadn’t left him.
Ignoring the warm flush inside, he turned his back on the chaos and strode down the hall to his office. He would ring Armande and see if his right-royal-pain-in-the-ass had asked him for one of her favours. The more distant Lucas became, the more she became pally with his second-in-command. And there came another emotion altogether.
Lucas scrubbed his nape. Five days she’d been living under his roof, and already the hair at his temples had turned grey.
Passing the window by his desk, a light flickered in his brain and he turned, looked out onto the private cove. And the air rushed from his lungs....
Dios, the woman was going to be the death of him.
There she was, flirting with the ocean, sheathed in a long-sleeved filmy top that stopped halfway down her thighs. He raked his gaze over her sleek toned legs. Made-for-sex legs. Long enough for her to wrap them around his waist, hook her ankles behind his back and draw him into her hot, tight, wet heat.
Lust punched his groin, the impact jolting him forward. Bracing his hands against the glass pane, he crunched his abs in an effort to stop the blood rushing from every extremity. It didn’t help. Not one iota. Watching her play was not in his remit. Her safety, however, was.
Her feet sloshed through the foamy crush as she danced and skipped along the water’s edge, using her toes as tiny shovels and kicking the sand high in the air.
> With a shake of his head Lucas smiled. For the first time since they’d met she appeared carefree. Almost happy. It suited her. Elevated her beauty in a way he’d never thought possible.
She faltered, faced the vast expanse of water looking out to sea—and that tiny action made his fingers ball into fists against the glass.
‘Do not even think about it, Claudia,’ he said, unclenching one hand and stretching for the keypad that operated the high security doors. His hand froze in mid-air as she took a step back, then another, heading back to shore, fingering the hem of her sheer tunic.
Lucas shuttered his eyes against the view, suddenly filled with the notion that he was becoming a voyeur, but his eyes weren’t playing the gentleman and opened regardless.
Her fingers still toyed with the hem, as if uncertain, then began to lift the material up her thighs until he could see the low-cut edge of her bikini as it scooped the cheeks of her heart-shaped bottom.
A growl rumbled up his chest. They were like shorts—far sexier than any skimpy triangle he’d ever seen litter a beach. Demure, yet sensual. Head twisting, she looked left and right, as if checking her privacy, then whipped the top clean off her body and tossed it to the sand behind her.
Swallowing hard, he traced the flare of her hips, the small indentation of her waist. Back off, Garcia. Turn away.
One of her arms rose, bent at the elbow and pulled a stick—no...a pencil from the huge bun atop her head. His heart stalled for one, two, three beats as her glorious dark bitter-chocolate locks tumbled down her back in a heavy swathe of curls. Falling, falling until they swished around the base of her spine.
Lucas groaned, pushed off the glass, turned...then snapped his head upright. The sudden question of why she was stripping darted through his brain and sent his heart into cardiac arrest. Again.
‘No. Do not. I warned you,’ he said, reaching for the keypad again to unlock the security alarm on the sliding doors, keeping one eye on her as she tentatively stepped out to sea.
His heart slammed against his ribcage. ‘You unthinking, senseless...’ He punched in the code, eyes darting back and forth from the panel to her. Back to the panel.
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