His Majesty's Temporary Bride. Annie West
crossed to the rear of the vessel. The shower must have masked the sound of the motor.
‘There you are.’ That deep, smooth voice tantalised, trailing along her skin like a caress. ‘Coffee or fresh juice?’
‘Neither, thanks. It’s time I left.’ She glanced at her waterproof watch. It was still early.
Racked by doubts, she’d got little sleep and had gone running through the palace’s private grounds as the first glimmers of dawn appeared.
She swung round and caught Alex’s eyes on her bare legs.
Slowly, so slowly it must be deliberate, his gaze rose from her feet to her knees, then her thighs, lingering at the hem of the shirt before surveying her body so thoroughly she knew the shirt was transparent. By the time those blue eyes collided with hers, her arms were crossed over her breasts and her mouth was pursed.
‘Do you do that to every woman?’ Her chin hiked. She chose to ignore the little shiver of excitement that stirred in her belly at his obvious appreciation. For once the attraction was mutual.
He shook his head and Cat caught the curl of his mouth at one corner. ‘Never. I’m making an exception with you.’ His lips stretched into a full smile that did devastating things to her pulse. She should be furious at such a sexist attitude but strangely her anger was hard to hang on to. ‘I’m returning the favour. You took your time looking at me.’
His stare defied her to argue and Cat clenched her jaw. She had got an eyeful of bare, some would say awesome, masculinity and she hadn’t been eager to look away. She was in no position to object that he gave as got as he got.
Except that standing here in a brief bikini and see-through shirt, she felt vulnerable in a way she hadn’t felt with any man.
Cat had spent a lifetime ensuring she was unassailable, emotionally and physically.
‘Where are the others?’
‘George is taking them to the recreation camp further up the coast. It turns out they took the canoe without permission and they started to think the staff might worry when they found it and them gone.’
‘So how do I get ashore? Is there another boat?’
Alex shook his head. ‘Just the tender. But George won’t be long. In the meantime I’ll get breakfast.’
‘I really need to get ashore.’
‘Well.’ He tilted his head, appraising her. ‘You could swim to the island. But you’d get wet all over again. Why don’t you relax and let me cook for you?’
Cat turned, calculating the distance to the shore. She’d already run ten kilometres before shucking her shoes and diving in to help the boys. But she could swim back easily.
There was no reason to remain, not when she’d made up her mind to resign and turn her back on St Galla once and for all.
It hit her with a punch of disbelief that the only reason she hesitated was the man behind her.
She’d never known such instantaneous, full-on attraction. The humour in those stunning eyes and his upfront attitude appealed as much as his hunky masculine body. Even the dark stubble shading that hard jaw made her want to touch him.
Cat had spent a lifetime learning how to keep guys at a distance, as colleagues or friends rather than lovers. This surge of awareness, the sudden feeling of connection was unique.
She turned back and found he’d moved closer, his bare footsteps silent. He was a mere arm’s length away.
Cat hauled in a sharp breath. The combination of that half smile, the hint of citrus and warm male skin in her nostrils, and the certainty he felt the spark too, froze her to the spot.
It was there in the dilation of his pupils and the widening of his nostrils. He leaned towards her as if forced by the same compulsion for nearness. Yet he didn’t touch.
The air vibrated as if an invisible cord tightened between them. Cat swallowed, her throat dry.
Abruptly he stepped back and the air emptied from her lungs in a whoosh.
‘Breakfast? I do an excellent pancake.’ His smile was easy, the intensity wiped from his expression. Yet his eyes were watchful. For all his overtly casual stance, he was alert, aware of every tiny tell-tale movement she made.
Like a predator scoping its prey.
It would be out of character but so easy for her to respond to his sexual pull. To laugh over breakfast and fall under the spell of that indigo gaze. For once in her life not to be prudent but to dive into what she knew instinctively would be a hot, steamy, thoroughly satisfying affair.
But it was out of character.
Plus she had enough on her mind with the need to escape the claustrophobic confines of the palace and the role she’d accepted. She wasn’t cut out for deceit—masquerading as her half-sister and hiding her very personal reasons for wanting to visit the palace.
As much as her suddenly active hormones protested, Cat had to focus on setting things right.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, not bothering to hide her regret. ‘But I can’t stay.’
She dropped her wet clothes and grabbed the hem of the shirt she wore, reefing it over her head then tossing it to Alex. He caught it one-handed against his chest.
His gaze didn’t drop from her face but she knew he was aware of her every contour. She was aware of him from the soles of her feet to her peaking nipples and hammering pulse. And everywhere in between.
‘I have to go.’ Forcing herself to break his gaze, she turned, raised her arms and dived into the clear depths of the azure sea.
LEAVING ST GALLA wasn’t as easy as Cat had hoped. How had she thought, after the lengths they’d gone to, and the money promised, they’d release her from her contract?
‘Impossible.’ The Prime Minister’s voice over the phone was severe. ‘I expect you to finish the job.’
‘I’ll return the first payment. Since arriving I’ve realised I can’t pull this off. I’m a security professional, not an actor.’
‘As a professional you’d know we wouldn’t resort to this charade unless absolutely necessary. There’s no other option.’
Silence hung between them.
‘Princess Amelie isn’t in danger, is she?’ She’d asked before but got no answer.
The nation was still mourning the death in an accident of Amelie’s younger brother, King Michel, and his wife. Cat had been stunned by the emptiness she’d felt after hearing the news, knowing she’d never have an opportunity to know her half-brother. Not that she’d anticipated ever meeting her half-siblings. Yet she’d followed the news with a fascinated dread, reading how, after the double funeral, Princess Amelie had cancelled her public appearances to spend time with her orphaned nephew, Sébastien.
Where were Amelie and the young Prince? Given the freedom Cat had to explore the beautiful Belle Époque palace and its grounds, they weren’t here.
Cat regretted never knowing her brother. That sense of loss only strengthened her longing to meet her last living relatives: Amelie and Prince Sébastien.
‘That need not concern you, Ms Dubois. Concentrate on the task for which you’ve been employed.’ He paused. ‘Remember the penalty clauses in your contract.’
Oh, she remembered. Massive financial penalties should she divulge the secret of what she was doing here. And for leaving before the requisite period was over.
But she hadn’t yet begun the masquerade. ‘Surely it’s better to pull the plug now than when people realise