Читать книгу His Majesty's Temporary Bride - Annie West - Страница 11

CHAPTER ONE

ALEX STRETCHED, STARING out over the azure depths of the Mediterranean.

He hadn’t wanted to come. If he’d been able to avoid the celebration in St Galla he’d have done it, especially as his mother had stitched up a half-baked proposal that Princess Amelie would make him the perfect bride.

He was only thirty-two, had only been King for three years. He had more important things to grapple with than marrying, no matter what his advisers thought.

Giving up a career he loved to rule Bengaria hadn’t been in his plans. Alex’s fists clenched as he leaned on the gleaming rail of the yacht.

It should have been his cousin, Stefan, on the throne. Except for the accident that had snuffed out his life and propelled Alex’s father into his place. His late and unlamented father. The man who’d almost bankrupted Bengaria in the years he’d been Stefan’s Regent and later the King. The man whose chicanery and double-dealing had milked the nation almost to a standstill, leaving Alex to haul an economic nightmare out of the red and into the black.

No wonder everyone wanted Alex to marry Amelie. St Galla was wealthy and could help Bengaria, even though he was hopeful his country was beginning to recover now.

He sighed and forked a hand through his hair. He’d only agreed to the visit because of his mother. She’d suffered long and hard through her marriage. Alex had at least escaped his father’s control by leaving Bengaria and pursuing a career as a pilot. She’d been stuck in a loveless marriage to a despicable man.

A familiar chill rippled down his spine at the thought of his father.

In the circumstances, meeting Amelie, the daughter of his mother’s best friend, was little recompense for all she’d put up with. He’d attend the reception to commemorate five hundred years of friendship between their countries then return home and report that Amelie wasn’t the woman for him.

Now, with the early sun warming his bare back and the prospect of no civic duties, he felt a lightness he hadn’t known since he’d given up flying. These couple of days were his first vacation in three years. Even though he’d spend most of it working from his office on the yacht, it felt like freedom. Temporary but glorious.

He sauntered along the deck, contemplating a dip, when a shout rang out. He swivelled to face the shore.

Another shout. A splash.

Alex narrowed his eyes against the sun’s golden dazzle. In the distance he made out a capsized canoe and flailing arms. Another shout and a submerging head.

‘George!’ He raced along the deck. ‘Get the tender! Someone’s in trouble.’ For the people—two of them—weren’t swimming. One floated near the hull of the canoe and a second floundered mere metres from it.

Alex dived, the cool water a shock after the warmth of the sun. He surfaced and powered towards the accident.

How had they capsized in such still waters?

Why weren’t they wearing life vests? Obviously they weren’t since one was sinking.

Hauling in air, Alex forced himself to concentrate on the quick, hard rhythm of his strokes, forging through the water with a speed that might, he hoped, save a life and hopefully two.

A gurgling cry told him he was close and he stopped to discover he was only metres away.

A third head bobbed in the water but he realised with relief this woman could swim. She held a boy under the chin, propping his face above water as she sliced back through the water towards the canoe.

‘You’re okay?’ he gasped.

Her head lifted and his gaze collided with gleaming green, the colour of mountain meadows.

‘We will be,’ she said through gritted teeth, ‘when he stops fighting me.’ The teenager was flailing, one long, thin arm reaching back, grabbing at her head.

Alex moved towards them but she was already disengaging the kid’s grasp, telling him firmly but calmly to lie still and let her do the work. Seeing she had things under control, he turned to the canoe where another dark head bobbed precariously low in the water.

Swearing under his breath he raced across, hauling a body up under the arms till the kid started coughing water. No hope of righting the canoe with a dead weight in his hands. Instead he shoved the kid high, so high he lay sprawled over the hull, arms flopping down its other side.

Satisfied he was safe, Alex turned and found the other swimmer had successfully brought the second boy up behind him.

‘Let me give you a hand.’

She nodded and told the kid what they were going to do, again in that clear, calm tone. Then she held the canoe steady while Alex hauled him up onto the hull beside his companion.

Alex’s chest and shoulders burned from the effort. Both teens were lanky and getting purchase in the water had taken a lot of strength. He grimaced. He needed to get out of the office a whole lot more.

‘You’ll be okay.’ He blinked and realised the woman wasn’t reassuring him but the two boys. She’d moved round to the other side of the canoe and was inspecting them.

Alex joined her, relieved to see both kids breathing, albeit in rough gasps.

In the distance he heard a motor start. ‘Help’s on its way. That’s the tender from the yacht.’

She nodded, her attention fixed on the youngsters, and Alex found his gaze dwelling on her high-cut cheekbones, straight nose and plump bow of a mouth. Mermaids were supposed to be beautiful and this one didn’t disappoint.

Abruptly she turned her head, catching his stare. Alex felt their gazes mesh, a palpable connection, and wondered if it had been so long since he’d been with a pretty woman that his brain had turned to mush in the interim.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ He shook his head. ‘It will be easier to transfer them from the other side. I’ll go round and help George if you can stay here and reassure them.’

‘Of course.’ Her voice had a lilt that tugged at something deep inside and told him English wasn’t her first language. He wondered how his name would sound on her lips.

Alex swam around the canoe. First her eyes, now her voice. Had it really been so long since he’d been with a woman?

He banished the thought as George cut the engine and the pair of them worked to get the kids aboard. Once more his golden-haired mermaid proved quietly efficient, easing their burden.

‘Here.’ He beckoned her over when the others were aboard the small boat. ‘I’ll give you a boost up.’

‘No need.’ She flashed him a smile and his pulse kicked hard.

Number three. First the eyes, then the voice. But that smile surpassed the rest. It turned his cool, capable, impervious mermaid into a beckoning sea sprite. That smile was pure mischief and again he felt that draw in his belly, hard and urgent.

Before Alex knew what she intended, or George could offer her a hand, she planted her hands on the side of the tender and pulled herself up smoothly and easily.

He was treated to a view of neat breasts against a saturated T-shirt, a slim waist, baggy shorts and long, shapely legs of pale gold.

Four. Alex clutched the boat, breathing hard. Despite the cool water, this time his response wasn’t belly-deep but lower, stirring his groin. He’d always had a weakness for great legs.

‘Want some help?’ She leaned out, ready to offer a hand, that smile dancing at the edge of her lips.

In that instant Alex knew if he was still the impulsive guy he’d once been, carefree and unencumbered by a crown, he’d have curled his hand around her neck and tugged her close. He’d have kissed her till she planted those small, capable hands on his chest and begged for more.

And he’d have given it.

‘I can manage.’ He hauled himself up.

It was as her eyes rounded that he remembered he’d dived naked into the sea. With the yacht’s crew on shore leave and only he and George aboard, he hadn’t bothered dressing when he woke.

Her gaze stayed low on his body a fraction too long, making his blood surge south in response.

Her eyes flashed to his. ‘I’m guessing you weren’t expecting company.’ Her lips twitched.

Five. Most women he met these days lacked a sense of humour. He missed that. In his old life he’d been part of a close-knit team where humour made a demanding job easier.

‘I was thinking about an early morning dip, but not like this.’ He was responding way too much to the glint of humour in her bright eyes and the husky edge to her voice.

He moved further into the small boat and stood. Alex was fully aware the movement laid his back and buttocks bare to her gaze—he’d swear he could feel the prickle of her regard right now. But it was better than presenting her with what could too easily turn into a promising erection.

He hunkered down at the side of the boat, motioning for George to start the motor. One of the kids had a gash on his temple and there was a first aid kit on the yacht. To his relief though, they seemed to be improving by the minute.

By the time the five of them were on the yacht Alex knew they’d be okay. He got the first aid kit then left it in George’s capable hands while he went below to dry off and dress.

Yet as he tugged on old jeans and a shirt, Alex could recall exactly how he’d felt when the mermaid’s gaze dropped to his chest, lingered a second and then kept moving to his abdomen and groin. The prickle under his skin was a prelude to something he could not afford to give in to.

The timing was all wrong.

So was the place. The person.

Imagine the complications if he followed his instincts and pursued an affair with her right here, offshore from the palace! Especially when there were so many people in both countries promoting a royal wedding.

Alex shuddered and zipped his jeans. Marriage was not on the agenda.

* * *

‘There’s Alex now,’ George said and Cat looked up. Alex, the owner of the beautiful vintage yacht, strolled towards them. His gait was loose-hipped and easy, shoulders back as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Definitely the walk of an assured man. One too sexy for his own good.

Fire spiked in her blood as she recalled his lazy, half-lidded expression when she’d seen him naked. The devastatingly attractive way the corners of his mouth curled up, the gleam in those indigo eyes.

She liked a confident man. One assured enough not to bolster his ego at the expense of others.

He was athletic too. That tall body was strong and taut and oh-so attractive, with powerful thighs and sinewy forearms and a classic male outline that tapered from wide shoulders. She had a sudden recollection of the bunch of his rounded, perfect glutes as he’d walked away. Cat forced her attention back to the bandage she was securing.

‘There, that should do.’

‘Good work, Cat.’ George, the yacht’s captain, closed the first aid kit.

‘Cat?’ The lazy drawl was like fingertips dancing down her spine. She told herself it was the breeze cooling her ancient T-shirt against her skin but she feared it was his luscious baritone.

‘Alex, this is Cat. Cat, Alex.’

‘Nice to meet you... Cat.’

She looked up to read curiosity crinkling his broad brow. A flare of his nostrils brought that chiselled, patrician nose to life and his dark blue eyes narrowed as he surveyed her.

Was that tension in the pulse flicking beneath his squared jaw? No, she’d imagined it. His body language spoke of easy confidence. And a bone-deep, almost indolent sex appeal that played havoc with her hormones.

‘Nice to meet you, Alex.’ She kept her voice blank. The fact he’d obviously towel-dried his black hair and not bothered to comb it, leaving it appealingly dishevelled, shouldn’t make her itch to touch. As for the fact he was still barefoot, and hadn’t buttoned his shirt, which showed a tantalising strip of taut skin...

‘How are you boys feeling?’ It was easier to concentrate on them than this sudden rush of attraction.

They murmured that they were okay, one even venturing a smile. They’d be fine, now the fright wore off. But she’d feel better when a professional checked them.

Alex stopped before her. ‘Why don’t you dry off while we take care of the boys and rustle up a warm drink? Downstairs, second cabin on the left. There’s an en suite shower and I put out clean clothes you can wear till yours dry.’

Cat was about to refuse then thought better of it. George could put her ashore using the tender so she didn’t have to swim back. She’d feel better knowing she didn’t look like a drowned rat. Especially as her nipples were peaking insistently against her bra and she suspected her white T-shirt was transparent.

‘Thanks. I will.’ With a smile for George and the boys, she made her way downstairs.

The yacht was unlike any she’d seen. In her years as a bodyguard she’d been on massive, ultra-modern motor cruisers. Huge edifices several storeys high that housed not just a small boat, but a car and even a helipad. Those cruisers were built for socialising, for glamorous parties and sybaritic self-indulgence.

This yacht was nothing like that.

Cat passed through a wide cabin that was comfortable and stylish rather than look-at-me trendy, though no expense had been spared. Her hand slid down a polished teak rail as she followed the stairs into a roomy corridor. On either side were gleaming timber doors finished with brass touches. Everything was pristine yet the style belonged to an earlier, more gracious era.

She pushed open the second door and found an exquisite cabin, more wood on the walls, a deep plush carpet of dusk blue and a vast bed covered in crisp white and blue.

Wary of dripping onto the carpet, Cat moved quickly into the bathroom, where the luxury continued with marble and mirrors. It was hard to believe she was on a yacht, till she looked out the window and saw the sea and the shore bright in the early light.

Quickly she stripped and showered, tying back her hair with a band she found in the cupboard. There were clothes too. A brief black bikini and an oversized white shirt.

Cat frowned. But her shorts were sodden and she rejected the idea of putting on her wet T-shirt, knowing how it clung.

The bikini fitted surprisingly well and Cat felt a moment’s annoyance that Alex had calculated her size then raided his private store of women’s swimwear, no doubt kept especially for his lady friends.

Shoving her arms through the shirt sleeves, she rolled them up to her elbows, relieved at the way the oversized garment fell well down her thighs. Cat hadn’t missed the way Alex’s eyes had gleamed as he surveyed her.

In other circumstances she might have been interested. But not now, not here, not while she was in St Galla on the most challenging job of her life.

Not while she was impersonating her royal sister.

Cat shivered and she hugged her arms around herself, rubbing away prickling gooseflesh and grateful for the soft fabric of the shirt she sincerely hoped was George’s and not his boss’s.

She’d had a bad feeling about this contract from the first. But it was only when she was installed in an exquisite guest apartment a corridor away from Princess Amelie’s that Cat realised how completely she was out of her depth. They might share their father’s royal blood but that was all.

No one would believe she was Amelie, not for a second.

Worse was the awful ache-in-the-belly certainty that it had been a mistake returning to the country where she’d been so desperately unhappy. Or to have anything to do with her distant family. She’d never belonged to them and they’d brought her nothing but trouble.

Buttoning the shirt as high as it would go, she avoided the mirror and swivelled away, grabbing her sopping wet clothes.

She’d tell the Prime Minister she couldn’t go through with it. He could have his deposit back. She hadn’t spent a cent. He’d probably be grateful—the lady-in-waiting who’d been trying to tutor her in etiquette, deportment and the like had made it clear Cat wasn’t fit for the role.

It would be a relief to get out of this place where even the scent of the sea and the pines crowding the rocky slopes evoked painful memories.

Cat emerged on deck with a determined step but pulled up when she found it deserted.

Everyone had gone, and so had the tender, she saw when she 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.