MAID FOR A PRINCE: (Book 1) (Point St. Claire, where true love finds a way)

by Robyn Grady

  The stroking on her arm slowed before starting up again. “It’s hard to lose a parent, I know.”

  “He’d just gotten back from an overseas trip,” Helene explained. “He got sick all of a sudden. Weakness. Fever. I was just a kid.”

  A totally crushed kid. But she knew her dad would have wanted her to live her life, not blame the world. So she started planning a future. Started dreaming again of the adventures the two of them had talked so much about—adventures her mother would say were foolish. Filled with risks.

  Her mom would spew when she heard about this.

  If they got out of here alive.

  “My father died last year,” Darius said. “A stroke. My mother died six months later, they said it was of a broken heart.”

  Helene’s own heart rolled over. Her mother might drive her crazy but she couldn’t bear to think of losing her. Her mom was all the family she had.

  “You have siblings, don’t you,” she said. “I always wanted a sister.”

  “One younger brother, Nikos. A bright, strong young man. And, yes, I have a sister, too.”

  Helene’s lips twitched. “Do you lord it over them like big brothers do?”

  “Not if they do as they’re told.”

  She smiled and imagined that Darius was smiling too.

  “My brother’s finishing a medical degree in the UK,” he said.

  “And your sister?”

  “A teenager who can be a handful at times, to say the least.”

  Most teenagers were, weren’t they?

  “Does she look like you?” she asked.

  “Apparently we both look like our mother.”

  “She must have been beautiful.”

  As soon as the words were out, Helene wanted to take them back. But seriously, Darius must know he was a good looking man. Compliments would be thrown at him all over the place.

  The stroking on her arm continued, lulling and warming her more.

  “You’ve stopped shaking,” he said.

  She was positively toasty now. But when he moved to release her, she snatched his hand back and held on.

  “I’m still a little shaky on the inside,” she said.

  So he brought her close again, pressing her in until wiry hair on his chest tickled her nose. Glorious warmth seeped back in, flooding her to her core. Her palm gingerly splayed over a male abdomen rung with muscles.

  “You’re pretty good at this,” she murmured, smiling.

  “I only hope I’m good enough to get us out of here.”

  As his palm slid higher up her arm, over her bare shoulder, that heat grew and grew. She had to remind herself to keep this physical contact in perspective. Trapped in a cave, they were utilizing body heat. She wouldn’t dwell on whether his lips had brushed her hair just now. Or if—her ear against his chest—she felt his heart beating harder than it had a moment ago.

  She peered up. Darius was staring straight ahead, concentrating. Then he suddenly stiffened and abruptly set her aside.

  Helene shot a glance up. “Is the roof caving again?”

  His voice rumbled out from the shadows. “Did you feel that draft?”

  Helene blinked around. Where the torchlight had seemed so bright a moment ago, now everything was dark again. Curled up against his chest, she hadn’t felt a draft but obviously it had been strong enough to snuff out the torch.

  His box of matches rattled. A scratch then a flash, and that eerie glow of light returned. Finding his feet, Darius handed over the torch.

  “Hold it high,” he said. “Time to move.”

  He picked his way over fallen rock into the deeper shadows and stopped at the far side of the chamber. His back expanded as he took a fortifying breath then reached for the figurine. He’d had trouble trying to shift her earlier. If she wouldn’t budge now, he’d have to leave her behind. If more rocks fell, she might not be so lucky next time.

  In the flickering light, the muscles in Darius’s muscles twisted and bulged. Finally the sound of stone grazing against grit filtered back. Then he turned, beaming, with the goddess free and safe in his hands.

  Crossing back over, he settled the figurine securely under one arm and took back the torch. “Follow me,” he said. “Be careful. Some rocks are sharp.”

  After she’d put on her sandals, they headed deeper into the chamber and eventually found a narrow tunnel. Somewhere ahead was the source of that draft and, hopefully, their way out of here.

  Progress was slow, but the deeper they went, the more the torchlight flickered as oxygen fed its flame. Regularly, Darius glanced behind to be certain Helene was right behind him. Each time, she put on a brave face.

  Finally they came to a fork. Darius hesitated then took the right hand bend. When they came to a second fork, he glanced back like he was wondering if they ought to retrace their steps.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She nodded. “How about you?” Carrying that monster of a torch as well as the goddess, he must be tired. “I can carry her for a while, if you like.”

  But when she put out her arms, his brows fell together, and he pulled away. “Helene, please.”

  “I only wanted to help.”

  “You’ve helped enough.”

  Of course, he was right. They wouldn’t be stuck here if she hadn’t been in the wrong place at the wrong time. When she got back to the main island, she’d leave on the next boat out. If his subjects ever discovered the trouble she’d caused their prince, she’d be run out of town anyway.

  Darius looked back and forth then made his decision. “This way,” he said, swinging down the left tunnel this time.

  But before he’d taken two steps, the torch spat and threw sparks. The light flickered wildly and then blew completely out.

  “Reach into my pocket,” he said. “Find the matches.”

  Her heart thumping, Helene hurried to mold her palms over his lean hips and find his pocket. But after she scooped out the box, she froze. The torchlight was gone but she could see in the misted light. Then she saw it. Up ahead, a wedge of sunlight was slanting in from the ceiling like a greeting from the gods.

  She almost threw her arms around him, she was so excited! Just in time, she remembered the figurine and stepped back. Knowing her luck, she’d probably bump it right out from under his arm.

  They reached the spot and peered up. With natural light spilling on his face, Darius laughed. Helene laughed, too. She could have danced. Could have cried.

  “It’s wide enough,” he said. “We can get out.” Then his expression hardened. “Except…”

  “Except what?”

  His gaze burned into hers. “I’ll lift you up. Then I’ll hand up the figurine. Put her aside somewhere safe, somewhere she can’t possibly fall. Find a vine or a strong branch and I’ll pull myself up.”

  Helene did a double take. He trusted her with the figurine? Then again, he had no choice.

  He set the figurine aside then locked his fingers together and knelt. “Put your foot in the net of my hands. I’ll hoist you up.”

  She studied his thatched fingers, then the hole above and a thousand butterflies released in her stomach. Suddenly it looked so much higher.

  Darius waited for Helene to step up before he bit by bit straightened. She was raised up until, finally, her head poked out into the outside world. But she was taking too long to get a grip and lever herself out. She was like a cat clamoring to escape from the lip of a well, which made keeping a good hold of her near impossible.

  When her other foot balanced on his head, he called out. “Grab onto something. Anything.”

  “Almost…” She jiggled. “Almost there.”

  Finally her weight lifted and she heaved herself completely out and into the sunshine. Now came the hard part.

  “Are you all right?” he shouted up.

  Her hair fell toward him at the same time her beaming face appeared over the opening. “Uh-huh.”

  His gaze slid over to the figurine. Never in the hi
story of his country had any hand other than a royal’s or chief aide’s touched her. But today was the day for traditions to be challenged. Collecting the figurine, he sent up a prayer then raised her high.

  “Can you reach?” he called.

  Helene dropped both arms down and wiggled her hands like a child begging for a toy. He remembered the bucket crashing to the ground and an image flashed through his mind—the figurine slipping through those buttery fingers, smashing into a thousand useless pieces—and his gut kicked so hard that he groaned.

  “My leg’s wrapped around a vine,” she said. “I’m anchored. Lift her a little higher.”

  He rounded up on his toes, stretched even more. Slender fingers wrapped around the stone head. When he was certain she had a good grip, he sent up another prayer and let go.

  The figurine disappeared.

  He blinked. Frowned. Waited.

  “Helene?”

  He heard birds outside and the distant lulling wash of waves, but from Helene, not a chirp. Then the grass around the opening shifted and her face popped into view again.

  “I’ve got something rigged up.” She dropped a thick vine that uncoiled down into the cavity. “I’ll hang on here.”

  “The figurine?”

  “Lying beside a tree. She wants me to say she’s enjoying the sunshine.”

  His grin was wry. Enjoy it while it lasts. He’d be a basket case until the goddess was locked away again.

  “If this doesn’t work,” Helene said, “I’ll run and get that ladder from the stables.”

  But he was already climbing, his movements swift and sure. Soon he was crawling out, filling his lungs. Fresh air had never smelled so good. The world had never looked so bright.

  Crouched on his hands and knees, Darius laughed. On her knees beside him, Helene laughed too, so much that she toppled sideways. He half caught her and then they were rolling together on the ground. They’d escaped. Thank the heavens, they were alive!

  By the time their laughter petered out, they lay side by side, face to face in the grass, with their chests pumping from exertion and relief. His arm had fallen over her waist. One long leg was carelessly thrown over his. The late afternoon sun streamed down, warming their skin, and her crystalline-blue eyes were so close that her pants for air brushed and teased his lips.

  Out the corner of his eye, he spotted the figurine lying on her side, a reflection of how he and Helene also lay. Her stone eyes were sightless and yet they seemed to see so much.

  As if she knew.

  Irrespective of the trouble she’d caused, he wanted to bring Helene close again…much closer than he had in the depths of the cave.

  Not happening.

  Getting to his feet, Darius collected the figurine. He was inspecting her in the light when Helene got to her feet, too.

  “You know, I think she’s smiling, too.”

  A breeze lifted the sarong around and between her legs. A bikini top covered breasts. Mussed hair flowed, blue eyes shone, and every cell in his body demanded to touch her again.

  He took his time studying the smudges on her brow and jaw and then, giving in to the urge, he smiled softly, reached across and cupped her cheek.

  The man wanted her to stay.

  The prince knew she needed to go.

  Chapter 4

  “It’s been, what―maybe two hours since the cave in?” Helene asked as she followed Darius over a landscape that, given his stride, he knew very well. “Alexio should be here by now. Or maybe when he couldn’t find us, he decided to go back. Get help.”

  “I’ll make the call when we get to the villa.”

  Helene wasn’t sure what he meant. “When you left me by the stables, you did contact the palace, right? You told someone I needed to be picked up?” Taken away.

  With his stride picking up more, he blew out a loud breath. “Don’t worry. You’ll be off this island soon enough.”

  Unlike that moment of celebration after their escape, laughing and rolling around on the grass, this trek “home” was weirdly reserved. Understandable. In the short time they’d known each other, she’d nearly dropped a bucket on his head and had almost led him to his death. Now he only wanted to see the back of her. She didn’t want to cause any more hassles either. The sooner she was off this island, the better.

  By the time they reached the villa, Helene was hungry, thirsty, and completely exhausted. She made it through the front door with barely enough energy to drag a gaze around. But her new surroundings were too beautiful to ignore.

  High cool ceilings, an ornate spiral staircase and heavy wooden furniture welcomed her in. A bubbling indoor fountain, bougainvillea-laced trestles, and a lengthy cream and blue couch were a few paces away from a balcony. With the doors open, a warm breeze stirred the gossamer-light curtains.

  “How old is this place?” she asked.

  Darius stood before a massive gilt-framed entrance mirror, inspecting the figurine yet again.

  “The foundations predate the start of the Roman Empire,” he said. “It’s been refurbished many times. Some of the original stonework is still in place.”

  She swallowed against a dry throat. Questions later. Right now she was dying of thirst. “Do you have anything to drink? I’m bone dry.”

  He looked over and his tense look melted with apology. After crossing to a bar, he paused and glanced around. Gingerly, he set the figurine on a massive wooden table. When he was certain she was steady, he saw to drinks.

  They downed two glasses of water each before he filled goblets with wine. “I’ll leave you for a moment,” he said, and nodded at the figurine. “I need to put her away.”

  In a vault, locked away for safekeeping? What a waste.

  But, sure. None of her business.

  Once he was gone, Helene drifted around the room. Like he’d said, much of the villa and its contents dated back years, in some instances centuries, but a lot of the touches were contemporary. A stereo and CD system. In an adjoining room, a laptop on a massive wooden desk.

  A portrait of the Tierenias royal family hung on the main wall. The late king’s hand rested on his wife’s shoulder as she posed on an ornate chair with two teenage sons and a younger daughter clustered around. Darius had said that after his father had passed, his mother had died of a broken heart. When her father had died, Helene’s mom had become a nervous wreck, anxious about every little thing, especially where her only child was concerned.

  Muscles aching, dragging her feet, Helene found a bathroom and washed up. With Darius still not back, she drifted out onto the balcony.

  Looking out over the ocean, she stretched her arms high and breathed in the heady scent of briny air while two wrens darted, chasing each other an arm’s length away.

  “It’s like standing at the beginning of time,” she murmured, soaking up the glittering azure waters, the sun-drenched open space.

  She thought about the figurine―the goddess―and her fate of being locked up forever. Obviously a block of stone had no feelings. Still, Helene couldn’t help but sympathize. Why exist if you couldn’t breathe and have all the freedom you could find?

  She wandered back inside. Her untouched goblet waited, but wine would only make her eyelids droop more. She walked around a comfy-looking sofa and sat down. Setting an elbow on the armrest and her cheek in her palm, she settled in and yawned again.

  Darius allowed himself time to admire the figurine and dwell upon their lucky escape before he carefully placed her in the vault. Now he would make that phone call and have his adventurous guest taken away. No more surprises or distractions.

  He couldn’t afford it.

  Still, for all the drama that seemed to surround her, he wasn’t angry. Or, at least, he wasn’t angry anymore. Helene Masters felt bad enough.

  There was a phone extension in his bedroom, but he preferred to use his cell, which he’d left on the balcony before rushing off to find Helene. Moving through the main room, he stopped when he spotted his guest. Helene
was passed out on the sofa—eyes closed, mouth open. Her breathing was deep and regular.

  Asleep she looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. He pitied the poor guy who fell in love her. But, hell, he envied him as well. The man Helene Masters married was in for quite a ride.

  As the palm holding up one cheek began to slide, Helene’s head lowered, coming to lie on her forearm hung over the armrest. Darius fetched a pillow and a light throw-over. After carefully slipping the pillow under her head and covering her with the blanket, he stood back and ran a hand through his hair. She was as peaceful as an angel and just as beautiful, in a lost puppy, bedraggled kind of way. But he wouldn’t put off the inevitable.

  He needed to make that call.

  Helene stretched and blinked open her eyes. Then she recognized the room, remembered the cave—the prince—and she cringed. She’d caused that poor man so much grief, and then she’d made herself right at home by falling asleep on his couch.

  And where was Alexio, her ride out of here?

  Sitting up, she pushed a throw-over aside and glanced around. A black satin sky, laced with stars, glittered back at her from beyond the open balcony doors. A corner lamp filtered soft yellow light over the space inside. She pushed back hair that had fallen over one eye. How long had she slept?

  A noise came from behind her. Helene stood, spun around. Darius Vasily was sauntering toward her.

  “I wondered when you might wake up,” he said, grinning. “You must be hungry.”

  Her stomach answered with a rumbling growl. She shrugged. “Guess I am.”

  He wore a white casual button-down and clean trousers. As he drew nearer, she inhaled delicious, freshly-soaped male. It only made her own sweat-and-dirt smell more obvious. She so needed a bath.

  “Why did you let me sleep so long?” she asked.

  “You weren’t causing any harm—for once.”

  He grinned again, slow and slanted. This close—in this light—her breath was taken away. He was larger than life—sizzling with sex appeal and so comfortable in his own skin. Her fingers itched to graze the bristles on his jaw, the smooth sweep of his lips. Then he disappeared down a hallway—the one where he’d taken the figurine hours ago—and she let out that pent up breath.