Princess in the Iron Mask. Victoria Parker
the additional three point five million pounds of necessary funding if certain conditions were met. By you.’
‘You … You …’ The lab swirled before her eyes, gaining speed as if she were in the centre of a whirlwind. No. No. She was not going back. ‘I’ll find another way to get the money,’ she said, desperation blurring her mind. Don’t be stupid, Claudia. You need the money. Take the money. You just asked yourself what your parents have ever done for you…let them do this. But at what cost? Her heart? Her hard-won independence and the little pride she had left? ‘I will not be bought.’
The sides of his face pulsed as he clenched his jaw. ‘Then I shall withdraw the offer. You can go to Ryan Tate and explain your actions. Neither of you will find such a large sum of money within the next few days. I guarantee it. So tell me,’ he said, drawing it out, encompassing the room with one sweep of his hand, ‘just how important is your work, Claudia?’
Stomach cramping, she forced her heels into the ground to stop her body from doubling over.
The man was heartless. He knew how important her research was to her. Knew of her personal connection. And still he was nigh on blackmailing her! No, he was using her weakness against her. Bizarrely, instead of hatred she felt utter disappointment. In both of them. Why in Lucas she had no idea. But in herself it was the heart-pumping, blood-fizzing desire that brought her such misery. So there ended her life lesson on physical attraction. She couldn’t even trust her body to decipher the good from the bad. Then again, her body had let her down since she was ten years old.
‘What exactly are these conditions?’ she asked, proud of her unwavering voice.
‘Three weeks’ leave. Effective from nine this morning. Coupled with your return to Arunthia.’
Claudia shook her head slowly. ‘Have you no conscience?’
Whether it was his words—spoken like an automaton, as if he were programmed—or his face—a picture of haughty detachment—her heart was torn wide open.
‘I have a duty, Claudia. As do you. The choice is yours.’
CHAPTER THREE
DON’T YOU DARE crumble in front of this man, Claudia. Don’t you dare.
An hour ago she’d prayed for a miracle and, as if the gods were playing tricks on her, they’d sent a warrior hell-bent on her destruction. The stronghold she kept on her emotions teetered precariously and her bones throbbed with the effort to stand tall.
Three weeks in exchange for three and a half million pounds.
Breathing in and out, slow and even, she locked her knees so tightly, a sharp pain shot up her thighs. But it was nothing compared to the blood dripping from her heart.
Lucas, the blackmailing beast, stood in the centre of the room, a dark lock of his hair falling over his brow in bad-boy disarray. Tall and gladiator-strong, he waited patiently—no doubt for a sign of her surrender. If she didn’t loathe him so much she would melt at the sheer sight of him. He’d played her since the moment he’d arrived.
‘Choice?’ she said, and thank God her voice didn’t falter. ‘My so-called choice is either to follow you or lose my job, Mr Garcia. I’m fairly certain my refusal to comply with your conditions would land me in the unemployment line.’ Oh, she could beg Ryan Tate to give her time to find the money elsewhere, but it would be a useless pursuit. There was a reason he was known as a hard-ass among her colleagues. Ryan Tate would question her sanity. Tell her to swallow her damn pride and think of the bigger picture. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all that. ‘Then again, you knew that, Lucas, didn’t you?’ she said bitterly.
His throat convulsed and after a few seconds he relaxed his stance and rolled his broad shoulders. The fact that he didn’t answer made her madder still.
‘Who on earth do you think you are?’ she said, her control slipping a notch. ‘You went to Tate’s office without even consulting me. Is this what I have to look forward to? A life of being coerced, controlled and dictated to?’
A light flashed in his intense stare before his face contorted with stunned incredulity. ‘Since when does three weeks equate to a lifetime?’
It might seem a measly three weeks to him, but what would they demand after that? It didn’t bear thinking about. ‘Since you’ve given me a taste of the new regime!’
Lucas scrubbed his palm over his mouth, his chest heaving. ‘Claudia,’ he growled, his hand dropping into a large fist by his side, ‘I am attempting to do my job, but your obdurate attitude leaves me with few options. Instead of focusing on how this happened, why not take some pleasure from what you will benefit from. Three and a half million pounds, to be precise.’
‘But at what cost to me?’ she asked. Then immediately bit her lip when the words echoed through the room.
‘Three weeks of your time. It is nothing,’ he said, with a savage slash of his hand.
A pitiful laugh broke through her thick throat. How wrong he was. Lucas had no idea of the personal price she’d pay. He was oblivious to her inner turmoil. But that didn’t excuse his behaviour in her eyes. She was dedicated to her job, but did she go around blackmailing people? No.
‘You speak of the strength of your dedication. Your work taking priority. Yet if that were true the money would make your decision in an instant. Or,’ he continued, his mouth twisting, ‘is it a case of you using your job as a convenient excuse?’
‘No!’ she cried.
Lucas’s head reared at her outburst and she winced inwardly.
‘No,’ she tried again—softer, quieter. But it was altogether too late. The hitch to his brow told her so. And to some extent he was right.
When the effects of her illness had waned in her late teens her parents had visited once, maybe twice. Other times they’d sent messengers, and for years she’d declined everything from a short vacation to a simple dinner on her own turf, using her work as an excuse. Avoiding her own parents because they’d hurt her, betrayed her, cast her aside. When she’d needed them the most. If she took the money this day she would be giving them the power to destroy her all over again. But you can keep your distance, Claudia. You’re adept at doing just that.
Three weeks of God knew what, in exchange for her funding.
Taking short ragged breaths to ease the pain in her lungs, she squeezed her eyes shut. In the space of two seconds her mind began its attack, assaulting her with a multitude of visions and images.
Arunthia—a world in which she’d been deemed unworthy and dispensable.
St Andrew’s Hospital—where she could make a real difference. And—oh, God—the children trying to smile through the pain, the misery. If she lost her job work on their case would scream to a halt. Claudia was their advocate. They needed her. Could she ever look at them in the face again, knowing she could have helped if only she’d faced her past?
Pain cracked through her mind and her eyes pinged open. Lucas was staring, his eyes curiously hot and heavy, fixed on her mouth where she tore at her bottom lip. Gooseflesh pimpled every inch of her skin and she shuddered ferociously. Why did he have to stare at her so much? It was as unnerving as it was confusing. Made her want to reach up. Touch. Check her skin. Bury her face in her hands. Hide. But she couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
As if he’d caught himself, he scrubbed his hands over his face and combed his glorious hair back from his brow with long blunt fingers. Heat flushed through her core and her breasts grew strangely heavy. She stroked her clavicle and felt the burn sear her palm. Oh, great. Her body wasn’t complying with the new hate programme.
‘Accompany me to Arunthia, Claudia,’ he said, in a persuasive drawl that made her quiver. How was she meant to stay sane with a man who made her spontaneously combust? ‘Despite what you think, I understand your