An Heir Fit For A King. Эбби Грин
she could lift it off the ottoman he brushed her hand aside and took it, wrapped a big hand firmly around the handle.
Leila straightened, face flushed. He extended a hand and lifted a brow. ‘After you.’
Much to her embarrassment, he insisted on escorting her all the way down to the lobby and seemed to be oblivious to the way everyone jumped to attention—not least his security guards. He called one of them over and handed the thickset man the case, instructing him to carry it back to the shop for Leila. Her protests fell on deaf ears.
And then, before she could leave, he said, ‘What time shall I send Ricardo to escort you to the hotel?’
Leila turned and looked up. She was about to assert that she’d had no problem crossing the square on her own for some two decades, but as soon as she saw the look in his eye she said with a resigned sigh, ‘Five to seven.’
He dipped his head. ‘Till then, Leila.’
* * *
Once back in his own suite, Alix stood looking across the square for a long time. Leila’s reluctance to acquiesce to him intrigued him. Anticipation tightened his gut. Even though he knew this was likely just a game on her part, he was prepared to indulge it because he wanted her. And he had time on his hands.
He felt a mild pang of guilt now when he thought of what his security team had reported to him about her.
The Verughese family were wealthy and respectable in India. A long line of perfumers, supplying scents to maharajas and the richest in society. There were a scant few lines about Deepika Verughese, who had been Leila’s mother. She’d come to France after breaking off relations with her family, where she’d proceeded to have one daughter: Leila. No mention of a father.
In all other respects she was squeaky clean. No headlines had ever appeared about her.
He felt something vibrate in his pocket and extracted a small, sleek mobile phone. Without checking to see who it was, and not taking his eyes off his quarry across the square, he answered, ‘Yes?’
It was his chief advisor, and Alix welcomed the distraction, reminded of the bigger picture.
He turned his back to the view. ‘How are the plans for the referendum coming along?’
Isle Saint Croix was due to vote within two weeks on whether or not they wanted Alix to return as King. It was still too volatile for Alix to be in the country himself, so he was depending on loyal politicians and his people, who had campaigned long and hard to restore the monarchy. Finally the end goal was in sight. But it was a very delicate balancing act that could all come tumbling down at any moment.
The ruling party in Isle Saint Croix were ruthless, and only the fact that they’d had to reluctantly agree to let international observers into the country had saved the process from falling apart already.
Andres was excited. ‘The polls are showing in your favour, but not so much that it’s unduly worrying the military government. They’re still arrogant enough to believe they’re in control.’
Alix listened to him reiterate what he already knew, but it was still reassuring. Something bittersweet pierced his heart. When he regained the throne he would finally have a chance to avenge his younger brother’s brutal death.
Alix tuned back into the conversation when the other man cleared his voice awkwardly and said, ‘Is it true that your affair with Carmen Desanto is over? It was in the papers today.’
Alix’s mouth tightened. Only because of the fact that Andres was one of his oldest and most trusted friends did he even contemplate answering the question. ‘What of it?’
‘Well, it’s unfortunate timing. The busier you can look with very unpolitical concerns the better—to lull the regime on Isle Saint Croix into a false sense of security. Even if they hear rumours of you gaining support from abroad, when they see pictures in the papers...’
He didn’t need to finish. Alix would appear to be the louche and unthreatening King in exile he’d always been. Still, he didn’t like to be dictated to like this.
‘Well,’ he said with a steely undertone, ‘I’m afraid that, as convenient a front as Carmen might have proved to be, I wasn’t prepared to put up with her inane chatter for any longer.’
An image popped into Alix’s head of another woman. Someone whose chatter he wouldn’t mind listening to. And he very much doubted that she ever chattered inanely. Those beautiful eyes were far too intelligent.
On the other end of the phone Andres sighed theatrically. ‘Look, all I’m saying is that now would be a really good time to be living up to your reputation as an eligible bachelor, cutting a swathe through the beauties of the world.’
Alix had only been interested in a very personal conquest before now, but suddenly the thought of pursuing Leila Verughese took on a whole new dimension. It was, in fact, completely justifiable.
A small smile curled his lips. ‘Don’t worry, Andres. I’m sure I can think of something to keep the media hounds happy.’
* * *
When the knock came on Alix’s door at about one minute past seven that evening he didn’t like to acknowledge the anticipation rushing through his blood. The reminder that Leila was getting to him on a level that was unprecedented was not welcome. He told himself it was just lust. Chemical. Controllable.
He strode forward and opened the door to see Leila with a vaguely mutinous look on her beautiful face and Ricardo behind her. Alix nodded to his bodyguard and the man melted away.
Alix stood back and held the door open. ‘Please, come in.’
He noted that Leila hadn’t changed outfits since earlier. She was still wearing the smart dark trouser suit and her hair was pulled back into a low, sleek ponytail. She wore not a scrap of make-up, yet her features stood out as if someone had lovingly painted her.
The pale olive skin, straight nose, lush mouth and startling green eyes combined together to such an effect that Alix could only mentally shake his head as he followed her into his suite... How did such a woman as this work quietly in a perfume shop, going largely unnoticed?
She turned to face him in the palatial living room and held up a glossy House of Leila bag. ‘Your fragrance, Monsieur Saint Croix.’
Alix bit back the urge to curse and said smoothly, ‘Leila, I’ve asked you to call me Alix.’
Her eyes glittered. ‘Well, I don’t think it’s appropriate. You’re a client—’
‘A client who,’ he inserted smoothly, ‘has just paid a significant sum of money for a customised fragrance.’
Her mouth shut and remorse lit her eyes. Alix was fascinated again by the play of unguarded emotions. God knew he certainly hadn’t revealed emotion himself for years. And the women he dealt with probably wouldn’t know a real emotion if it jumped up and bit them on the ass.
She looked at him and he felt short of breath, acutely aware of the thrust of her perfect breasts against the silk of her shirt.
‘Very well. Alix.’
Her mouth and tongue wrapping around his name had an effect similar to that if she’d put her mouth on his body intimately. Blood rushed south and he hardened.
Gritting his jaw against the onset of a fierce arousal that made a mockery of any illusion of control, Alix responded, ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’ He groaned inwardly at his unfortunate choice of words and reached for the bag she still held out in a bid to distract her from seeing her seismic effect in his body.
With the bag in his hand he gestured for her to sit down. ‘Please, make yourself comfortable. Would you like a drink?’
Leila’s hands twisted in front of her. ‘No, thank you. I really should be getting back—’
‘Don’t you want to know if I like the