Читать книгу Claiming His Princess: Duty at What Cost? / A Throne for the Taking / Princess in the Iron Mask - Kate Walker - Страница 14

AVA VACILLATED BETWEEN the two evening gowns laid out on her hotel bed. She could smell the fragrant Parisian air through her open window, and outside she knew the night sky was streaked with pink and orange, the Seine sparkling under the glow of the street lamps that had just gone on.

She tapped her foot in time with her favourite jazz album, blaring from the hotel’s sound system, trying to feel okay about her coming dinner with Prince Lorenzo of Triole and not to torture herself about where Wolfe had got to last night.

For a whole week he’d barely uttered a word to her—ever since he’d opened up about his childhood and she’d made that rash statement about his mother. The words had been out of her mouth before she’d thought it through, but she had felt so outraged on his behalf. And clearly he’d felt outraged by what she’d said, because he had stopped sitting beside her in meetings and had even stopped making her evening cup of tea. It was a silly, inconsequential thing to care about, but it had come to mean a lot to her. His support had come to mean a lot. Somewhere along the way she had forgotten that she was just his client. Forgotten that, although they had been lovers, they had nothing else between them.

The devil on her shoulder told her he’d been out with a woman. That he was a man with a large sexual appetite he had not slaked for weeks. Her hands knotted into fists and she forced herself not to think about the heaviness in her heart. Forced herself to concentrate on the crucial task of choosing a gown for the evening. She smiled wryly at Lucy, who clutched the ornate mahogany bedpost with a dreamy expression on her face.

Ever since Ava had submitted to the changes in her life and accepted Lucy’s help their relationship had blossomed into the beginnings of a genuine friendship.

‘Which do you think, Lucy?’

‘Depends on the look you’re going for. The silver is stylish and understated, while the red is very “look at me”. Very racy.’

Which would Wolfe prefer? The thought winged into Ava’s mind before she could stop it. The silver. He’d want her to blend into the background.

‘The red,’ she said decisively, angry with herself for wanting to dress to please Wolfe. And racy might help pick up her mood. Ava rolled her shoulders to ease the tension her warm bath had failed to alleviate.

‘Great choice.’ Lucy beamed. ‘Prince Lorenzo will find you irresistible!’

The sound of the music being clicked off made Lucy’s last words ring loudly in the sudden silence. Lucy gasped, her hand pressed against her chest. ‘Monsieur Wolfe!’

‘Leave us, Lucy,’ Wolfe commanded icily.

Lucy hesitated, her eyes darting to Ava’s.

Ava handed Lucy the red gown. ‘If you could have this pressed and return it when it’s done, Lucy, that would be lovely.’

She could tell instantly that Wolfe was in a dangerous mood; the expression on his face was as black as his clothing.

After waiting for Lucy to close the sitting room door, she turned to face him. ‘I didn’t hear you knock.’

‘That’s because I didn’t.’

Their eyes connected and Ava couldn’t have looked away to save her life. Then he prowled to the other side of the room and slammed her window closed before turning to face her. ‘Big night tonight?’ His eyes fell on the silver dress draped over her bed.

‘A state dinner is always important.’ Her heart thumped in her chest and she moved to sit on the stool facing the dressing table, started unwinding her hair from the topknot she’d put it in while she bathed. If nothing else it gave her hands something to do. Although she knew he was angry, she had no idea why. ‘Did you want something?’

Now, there was a loaded question. But it wasn’t one Wolfe was in a state of mind to answer. Not with her wearing that flimsy midnight-blue kimono that perfectly matched her eyes and most likely nothing underneath.

He was in a foul mood and he knew why. He was frustrated with the lack of progress he’d made on her case—and frustrated with himself. He’d lost focus somewhere in the middle of last week and stopped thinking of her as a job. Somewhere along the way he’d started to admire her work ethic, her commitment to master a duty she’d never thought would be hers…and then he’d gone and exacerbated the situation by spilling his guts to her.

‘Understood what, Wolfe? That you were a child who couldn’t rely on his mother’s love?’

Wolfe silently cursed as her nosy question replayed once again inside his head. That’s what you got for opening up to a woman. Psychobabble and a week-long headache.

He’d made a mistake—too many where she was concerned—but as long as he made the other night his last he could live with it.

Now all he had to do was to reinstate the cool professionalism he was renowned for and get back on task.

In some ways he had hoped taking last night off would help with that. He’d met a mate in Rome at a nightclub he’d hated before he’d even made it past the officious bouncer. When he’d hit the dance floor with a super-sexy Italian girl his head had started aching from the loud music and his body had all but yawned with boredom. Boredom? At breasts bursting out of a short dress that would send any normal man into a frenzy of desire? Ridiculous. Or so Tom had informed him.

‘Wolfe?’

His name falling from Ava’s delectable lips was like a husky invitation to his senses. In his mind’s eye he imagined her rising gracefully from the cushioned stool on which she sat. Saw her loosen the sash on her robe, knew that it would fall halfway open, catch on the crest of her nipples and hold, revealing the temptation of her flat belly and the brunette curls he longed to bury his face in. She would hold his gaze, tilt her cute nose and saunter towards him. Then she’d arch her imperious brow, wrap her arms around his neck and pull his mouth to hers.

Of course she didn’t do any such thing.

Instead she picked up her hairbrush and ran it through her hair in long, languid strokes. Wolfe glanced sideways and saw the discarded jodhpurs and billowy white shirt she had worn riding earlier that day with suitor number two hundred and one, and all he wanted to do was ride her. Hard.

For nearly three weeks he’d held it together. Held his desire for her at bay. Held his self-control in check. Why was it pulling at him now? Making him sweat?

But he knew, didn’t he?

Lorenzo, the urbane Prince of Triole, wanted her—and her father had decided he was the one. He’d asked Wolfe to do a special security check on him to clear the way. Tonight Lorenzo would no doubt try to stake his claim on her. Knowing how much she sought her father’s approval, how much she wanted to do the right thing by her country, he was very much afraid she’d go along with it. Not that he should care. It wasn’t as if he had made a claim on her himself.

‘Wolfe?’ Her voice had risen with concern at his delayed response to her question. ‘Do you have news about who caused Frédéric’s accident?’

‘No.’ Wolfe grated harshly, holding up the crumpled piece of paper he’d printed out five minutes ago. ‘I’m here about this.’

She glanced at the document before cutting her eyes back to him. ‘Am I supposed to know what “this” is?’

‘Your itinerary.’

‘Oh, that.’ She turned back to the mirror dismissively. ‘You told me to tell you in advance when I planned to make changes to it.’

‘I remember telling you it was dangerous to change it.’

Her nonchalant shrug ratcheted up his tension levels. ‘It’s going to be a lovely day tomorrow and—’

‘You’ve been to Paris before,’ he interrupted impatiently. ‘Hell, you lived here for eight years. Why do you need to go on some convoluted walking tour?’

‘I have not been here for nearly a month. I want to see the city again.’

Wolfe bit back a string of curses at her determined expression. ‘Look out of the window.’ He gestured to the one behind him without really seeing anything. ‘To the right the Eiffel Tower, to the left Notre Dame.’

‘Actually, that’s Hôtel de Ville to the left. You cannot see Notre Dame from that window.’ She regarded him steadily. ‘Have you ever actually walked around Paris before, Wolfe?’

‘Sure. I’ve strolled from the airport to the car and from the car to whatever building I needed to enter.’

‘Well, that at least explains why you don’t understand my need to reconnect with the city,’ she said. ‘I might not be back here for some time and I want to wander up through Montmartre to Sacré Coeur, have lunch, and check out the new installation in my gallery before it is disassembled.’

‘You agreed to let me decide when you could visit your gallery.’

‘I’ve changed my mind.’

‘You’re angry because I’m calling the shots.’

‘That has nothing to do with it. Did you have fun last night?’

The unexpected question threw him, and he watched through narrowed eyes as she rose and slowly approached the bed, gripping the bedpost in a provocative pose he wasn’t even sure she was aware of.

‘I can fit in Sacré Coeur, but you’re not walking around Montmarte and your gallery is off-limits until I say so.’

He had leaked a fake itinerary to a couple of key suspects and the one she had devised for herself came too perilously close to it for comfort. Letting her have her way would put her in danger, and he couldn’t live with himself if something happened to her. If she should—

‘Look at you,’ she said testily, her knuckles white where she gripped the bedpost. ‘You are frustrated and angry with me and yet you won’t show it. So controlled. So cool under pressure. Maybe the rumours are true and you are made out of ice.’

She turned, flicking her hair back over one shoulder in a quintessentially feminine gesture that dared a man to follow through with his baser instincts. Wolfe was not in the mood to let such a direct challenge go uncontested.

Within seconds he was on her, the flat of his hand slamming loudly against the wardrobe door as she was about to open it. ‘You think I’m made out of ice, Princess? How quickly you forget.’

She spun around, her eyes wide, her breaths punching the air. Was that fear or anticipation he read in her dilated pupils?

He looked at her. At the silvery striations in her dark eyes and the tiny row of freckles that lined one side of her upper lip. Unable to help himself, he slid a hand into her hair and tilted her face up to his. Their eyes clashed in a battle of wills. He told himself to back off, settle down, but his gaze dropped to her soft mouth and he couldn’t think of anything else but kissing her. Taking her.

Her nostrils flared as if sensing his need, and instead of crushing her lips beneath his he lightly brushed against them.

Once.

Twice.

She moaned and tried to draw his tongue into her mouth, but he’d thought about kissing her like this for weeks and now he didn’t want to be rushed. He slipped his other arm around her waist and drew her against him, all the while teasing her lips with his. She twisted in his hold, her mouth moving beneath his as if she was as desperate for the contact as he was. As if she’d thought about this as often as he had. His hands swept over her back, cupping her firm butt and bringing her in closer against his pulsing hardness.

Her own hands were just as busy, roaming his chest, curving around his shoulders, burning him wherever she touched.

The sensation of her velvet tongue flicking against his threatened to drive him to his knees, and he pressed her against the wardrobe and wedged his leg between her thighs to keep them both upright. Her head thudded lightly against the wardrobe door and he cupped the nape of her neck and urged her mouth to open wider. She was like molten silk in his arms, sliding against him, urging him on with her husky whimpers for more.

Wolfe had felt his control slipping the moment he walked into the room. Now he had none. Even the thin barrier of their clothes was too much between them, and his hands stroked over her, shifting the slippery fabric aside as he sought the sweet perfection of her breasts.

For God only knew how long he was lost. A slave to sensation. A slave to her soft scent and even softer body. A slave to her heat, to the tug of her feminine fingers in his hair. If there was some reason he shouldn’t be doing this he couldn’t think of it.

Behind him he heard the snick of the latch as the door was quietly opened.

Thrusting Ava behind him he spun, his gun drawn, but even as he did so he knew he was at least two seconds too late.

The maid gasped softly and nearly fainted, but other than the sound of his own ragged breathing you could have heard a feather float to the floor.

So much for not making any more mistakes, Ice.

Hell.

If he needed a clearer example of just how poorly he was doing at the job of protecting her he didn’t want to know what it was.

Wolfe stood motionless at the back of yet another extravagant ballroom and knew that despite donning yet another squillion-dollar tux he was doing nothing to blend into the glitterati of Paris. He was too angry with himself to care.

He should never have kissed her.

Now it was not only uncomfortable to watch her in the arms of another man, it was downright impossible. How his father had taken his mother back time after time Wolfe didn’t know. He only knew he couldn’t do it. If Ava chose someone else—Lorenzo—then she could have him.

Hell.

Of course she was going to choose someone else. That was the whole point of these elaborate tea parties and gala events. She was husband hunting and he thanked God he wasn’t on her list.

Didn’t he?

Of course he did. Even posing that question was a sign that he needed to step back. A very long way back.

And he would. In fact he already had. In—he checked his watch—fifteen minutes everything would have changed for the better. He blew out a long breath and dragged in some perspective with his next inhalation.

He knew how it felt to feel that someone you loved didn’t love you, and…Oh, hell. He couldn’t keep thinking like this. It felt as if his precious rules were in tatters, and he’d already thought and spoken more about his past in the last week than he had in twenty years. Next he’d be imagining that lust was love, and then where would he be? Hung out to dry like his old man, that was where. Talk about perspective.

It was a cliché that the client often fell for the bodyguard. It was just a hot mess if the opposite occurred, and he fixed hot messes—he didn’t create them.

Telling himself she was just like any another woman wasn’t working either. He wanted her. Not just any woman. Her.

When he had taken this gig his arrogant fat head had led him to believe he could control himself around her. Yeah, right. He’d proved in her hotel room two hours ago that he showed about as much control around her as a shark in a blood bath.

As a special ops soldier he had been trained to dig deep when every bone, muscle and tendon in his body was screaming for rest. He was trained to hold his line under extreme forms of torture no man should ever have to face. Apparently they hadn’t thought to train him to resist desire of this magnitude. Of course in reality he could resist her—there was simply some part of him that didn’t want to. And that was the part that scared him the most.

Ten minutes.

He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and searched the baroque-style ballroom for her. She wasn’t hard to find in that showstopper of swirling scarlet that hugged every inch of her lush curves—those it managed to contain anyway. If she’d wanted to make a statement of availability she’d succeeded. And Lorenzo was in the market and had the correct weight to buy.

But not Wolfe. his life was mapped out just as surely as hers. Work, women and play—in that order. It was a great life. A life any man with his head screwed on right would envy. A life he had never questioned before and, dammit, still didn’t. That soft, sexy sound she made every time he slipped his tongue into her mouth was nothing he wouldn’t forget with time.

Raucous laughter from somewhere behind him brought him out of his daze. Where the hell was she? The ever-moving crowd kept blocking his view, but even so his sixth sense told him she wasn’t there.

An icy chill slid down his spine.

Glancing to the left, he caught the eye of one of his team acting as a waiter. Jonesy subtly signalled towards the patio doors leading to the gardens. His mouth tightened. He’d told her not to leave the room. No doubt the perfect Prince of Triole had taken her outside, and that wasn’t going to happen on his watch.

Furious with himself for yet another lapse in concentration, Wolfe wove a determined line through the throng of guests until he was outside. Giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light, he strained his hearing for the sound of her voice. Then he saw the flash of her strapless gown through the trees and the matching red stripe down the side of the Prince’s trousers. His and hers. Perfection in the making, he thought acidly.

Lorenzo had caught her hands in his, the expression on his face one of earnest concentration. Was he about to propose? Wolfe didn’t wait to find out.

‘Nice night for a stroll, ma’am.’

Ava stiffened at the sound of Wolfe’s voice behind her and tugged her hands out of Lorenzo’s. She knew Wolfe was reprimanding her for going against his orders, but she didn’t care.

Since he’d walked out of her hotel room she’d been more determined than ever to find Lorenzo attractive. She didn’t want Wolfe to be the only man who could make her melt with mindless passion, because she knew he was determined to stay unattached for ever and she needed the opposite. She wanted the opposite! And wanting something more with him was just asking for heartache. Especially when the look on his face as he’d stormed out of her hotel room had left her in no doubt as to how appalled he was by the attraction that still simmered between them.

He moved now, blocking her way, his legs set wide apart, his hands clasped behind his back. He was so intensely male he took her breath away and, try as she had all night, she couldn’t forget the way it felt to be pressed up against all that hard muscle.

Previously she would have said she wasn’t a woman who could get turned on by a powerful man. But of course previously she hadn’t met Wolfe. Hadn’t felt this explosion of chemistry that made her tingle and burn. Hadn’t felt such a strong need to be with someone not just sexually but…always.

She let out a silent, shaky breath she hoped he wouldn’t notice and stared him down.

‘Prince Lorenzo and I would like some privacy, Wolfe.’

‘I need to talk to you.’

Ava shook her head. Talking was a bad idea. Forgetting about what had happened in her hotel room was what was required. ‘Not now.’

Wolfe cut his eyes to Lorenzo and she knew he was on the verge of ordering him to leave. Only Wolfe would consider doing that with a man who was second in line to the throne.

‘Wolfe, please.’ She hated the way she sounded as if she was begging but she was. She couldn’t do this any more. First thing tomorrow morning she was going to contact her father and tell him to organise another bodyguard. Wolfe could still head up the case if he liked, but she knew there was absolutely no way she could feel anything more than friendship for any man she met while Wolfe was by her side. Even when he wasn’t with her she thought of him, ached for him. She was starting to fear that no one would measure up to him. Ever.

His jaw clenched, as it always did when he was annoyed with her, and if possible his expression grew even more remote.

God, he was impossible! That kiss back in her hotel room…Her lips parted…

Don’t think about it, she ordered herself.

Not easy when he blocked her path, giving her no choice but to either wait for him to step aside or turn around with her tail tucked between her legs and retreat back inside as he wanted her to do.

Ava knew which option she wasn’t going to take.

Stepping closer to him was a mistake, though, as her senses became immediately overloaded with the faint trace of musk and man—a combination that instantly flooded her body with heat and need.

She shivered and Lorenzo placed his hand on her shoulder. Straight away her undisciplined mind compared its size and texture to Wolfe’s. It felt cool, where Wolfe’s always felt so warm it bordered on hot, and it didn’t make her want to wind herself around him until she didn’t know where she ended and he began.

‘Are you cold, piccolina?’

For a minute Ava thought Wolfe might do Lorenzo damage, and she quickly smiled her reassurance at Lorenzo before throwing Wolfe a baleful stare. ‘We can talk later. Right now I need you to move out of my way.’

In more ways than one, her mind quipped unhelpfully.

Ava waited, remembering the time he had threatened to toss her onto his horse. Back then she hadn’t believed he’d really do it. Now she knew better. Wolfe always got the job done, no matter what.

He glanced at his watch and then stepped aside, but it didn’t feel as if she had won a major victory.

In a fit of frustration she tightened her hold on Lorenzo’s arm in an attempt to disconnect her senses from Wolfe.

Oh, who was she kidding? She’d done it to send a message to Wolfe that his rejection of her hadn’t affected her in the slightest. That she didn’t need him. But silently she accepted that if Lucy hadn’t interrupted them they’d have made love again. And she couldn’t dislodge the sensation that it just felt so right to be in Wolfe’s arms.

‘Ava?’

‘I’m sorry, Lorenzo. I was…you were telling me about how we could integrate the telecommunications networks between Anders and Triole?’

Ava let him fill her head with possibilities and murmured appropriately, but her heart wasn’t in it and, feeling Wolfe’s steely silence behind her, she experienced an overwhelming need to escape both men and take stock. And she would have done exactly that if Wolfe hadn’t cleared his throat and stepped forwards again.

‘Ma’am.’ His voice was dark and official. ‘We need to have that talk now.’

Ava glanced from Wolfe to the burly man in an expensive suit and with a grim expression standing beside him. Did he have news about her situation?

Excusing herself from Lorenzo, Ava waited for Wolfe to speak.

‘Ma’am, this is Dan Rogers. He’s a security specialist who has worked for me for a number of years. He’ll be taking over your security detail from now on.’

It took a minute for Wolfe’s words to sink in, and when they did Ava’s stomach bottomed out. ‘You’re quitting?’ She couldn’t believe it. He’d told her he would never quit, and she realised with a start that she’d come to rely on that.

‘Not quitting. I’m rearranging the team to better utilise our skill-set.’

Ava heard what he said but she didn’t believe it. This wasn’t about skill-sets. This was about that kiss in her hotel room.

With her thoughts and feelings swirling around inside her like leaves in a whirly wind, she said the first thing that came to mind. ‘My father won’t like it.’

Wolfe’s jaw clenched and released. ‘I’ll deal with your father.’

Before she could think of anything else except the sick feeling growing in the pit of her stomach he turned to the other man.

‘Take care of her. Once she’s secure for the night call me and I’ll come and give you a complete brief.’

The man nodded.

Wolfe nodded and then turned his eyes briefly to hers. ‘Goodbye…ma’am.’

Ava closed her eyes and leant her head back against the butter-soft leather seats inside her limousine. She was alone in the car, having forbidden her new bodyguard from riding with her. He hadn’t liked it, but she’d given him the super-special superior look that had never worked on Wolfe and he’d acquiesced.

Now she felt horribly alone and hankered for something familiar. Something to anchor her in a world that kept moving and changing at a pace she was struggling to keep up with. She’d had so many decisions to make lately she was completely exhausted. No wonder she felt so out of sorts. Life-changes usually happened one at a time and with some sense of order. Didn’t they? At least that had been her experience to date. But these past few weeks nothing had been as it should. Least of all her.

In a split-second decision she knew Wolfe would call a ‘spontaneous reaction’ Ava instructed the driver to take her to her gallery, and immediately felt better.

The restless energy flowing through her was somewhat appeased at the thought of seeing Monique’s new works. They’d been installed two weeks ago, and viewing them on her smartphone wasn’t the same as standing back and inspecting them in person.

She smiled as her change in plans was relayed to the other two cars. No doubt Wolfe would have a kitten…but he had chosen to abandon his post and there was nothing he could do about it. She imagined the conversation they might have if he were here. Was it wrong to enjoy their mental tussles with each other so much?

When the car stopped Ava didn’t wait for her chauffeur to open her door but did it herself, breathing in the sweet damp air of Place des Vosges.

Her new bodyguard stopped beside her. ‘Ma’am, I’d like you to wait a few minutes before heading inside.’

Ava considered that briefly and then realised why. ‘Is Wolfe on his way?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Ava cursed. ‘I thought you were in charge now?’

‘I am. However—’

‘Never mind. And, no, I won’t wait for your boss to join us.’

Pivoting on her heel, she set off across the square to the row of shops she knew like the back of her hand. Her footsteps echoed in the quiet night that was only broken by the low hum of fast-moving cars on the main road and the squeak and clunk of a garbage truck as it rattled along the cobbled streets.

Dan reached the solid metal door to her building before her and held his hand out for the key. ‘I’ll do that, ma’am.’

A car door slammed somewhere close behind her but she ignored it.

‘I can do it.’ It might be the last time she ever did, and she wanted to take in every moment.

‘Ava!’

Wolfe’s hard, angry voice made her fingers fumble the key, and that made her mad. He wasn’t going to ruin this for her by muscling his way in. She wouldn’t let him.

Of course her stupid key chose that moment to become stuck and, frustrated, she twisted it in the opposite direction. Wolfe’s harsh, ‘Get back!’ confused her, and then a strong arm wrapped around her middle and yanked her sideways seconds before a deafening bang exploded in her ear.