Читать книгу Crown Prince's Bought Bride - Maya Blake - Страница 10

‘YOUR BROTHER?’ MADDIE cringed at the squeak in her voice.

‘Technically, half-brother. We share the same father.’ His voice was coated in dark ice.

She shook her head, confused. ‘But...but his name is Jules Montagne. And he’s French.’

Whereas this man’s accent was an enthralling mix of Italian, French and Spanish.

Crown Prince Remirez...oh, my God...shrugged one rugged shoulder. ‘He’s French on his mother’s side. And the name he uses is a ruse, I suspect, to throw people off the scent.’

‘Off the scent of what?’ she asked, grappling with the alarming disclosure and the fact that everything about the man lounging like a resting panther finally made sense. As did the fact that the resemblance she’d noted was to Jules.

He remained silent, then a tiny interior light was illuminated above his head. Once again he was bathed in golden light. He seemed even larger against the dark backdrop of the car, his jet-black hair glinting, the shoulders beneath his bespoke suit broader and even more imposing.

‘Off the scent of his true identity. Off the scent of gold-diggers, con artists and hangers-on,’ he replied with icy-cold condemnation.

There was little doubt the accusation was aimed at her. And it deeply irked Maddie that even that couldn’t stop her body’s hyper-awareness of him. Couldn’t stop her noticing her clammy hands or the elevated temperature between her thighs.

‘Right. I see.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ he replied wryly.

She leaned closer to the window and flinched as her arm protested. She dragged her gaze from the view of Waterloo Bridge. ‘Where are you taking me?’

‘Where I said I would deliver you. To your home,’ he answered simply. ‘What’s wrong with your arm?’

‘Excuse me?’

His gaze dropped.

She followed it and realised she was rubbing her lower arm. She hastily dropped her hand. ‘Nothing. I’m fine. You know where I live?’

His gaze stayed on her arm for another handful of seconds before he replied, ‘Yes. I also know where you work, where you went to school and who your dentist is.’

Apprehension fizzled inside her. ‘Is that some sort of threat?’

‘I’ve merely armed myself with knowledge. After all, it is power, is it not? Did you not get into this car to do the same?’

‘I got into this car because you sent your supersized bodyguard after me.’

‘He didn’t touch you.’ The finality behind the words indicated she hadn’t been touched because he’d wished it to be so.

She forced a laugh, despite the surge of energy thrumming through her belly. ‘Oh, wow, I’ll consider myself lucky, then.’

He knew everything about her. Did he know about her father? Her mother? Greg? Was he aware of the shameful secret that dogged her every wakeful moment and followed her into her nightmares?

‘You haven’t answered my question,’ he said.

She swallowed the pulse of anger in her throat. ‘And I’m not going to. It’s insulting. I don’t know you from Adam and yet you think you can just throw money at me and I’ll do your bidding?’

He didn’t respond immediately. Not until the limo stopped at a set of traffic lights a mile from her flat. ‘I haven’t done any throwing since you haven’t given me your price. How long have you known Jules?’

Unease ramped up the vibrations in her belly. ‘I don’t see how that’s relevant—’

‘You’ve known him a little over a week. You’ve been out with him almost every night and yet you’ve never returned to his apartment with him.’

The depth of his knowledge sent a sheet of ice gliding over her skin. ‘That doesn’t mean anything.’

‘On the contrary, that leads me to conclude you’re holding out for something. What is it, Miss Myers?’

She smiled. ‘Sex, drugs and rock and roll—what else?’

Her dripping sarcasm went straight over his head as he threw a disdainful glance out of the window.

‘Jules wouldn’t be caught dead in this neighbourhood. So, unless you’ve been copulating somewhere other than his apartment, I highly doubt it’s sex. And I know for a fact that it’s not drugs.’

‘That’s ridiculous. How would you know that?’ she threw back.

Slightly narrowed eyes were the only indication that he found her questioning insolent. ‘Because it’s a condition of his remaining in my royal bursar’s good graces that he stays clean. In return for his generous allowance, he’s tested for drugs on a regular basis.’

Although the information allayed her earlier fears, Maddie was still disturbed by the revelations. ‘Tested? You’re saying that you pay him to stay off drugs?’

Prince Remirez’s lashes swept down. ‘Among many other things,’ he murmured.

Curiosity ramped high. ‘Really? Like what?’ she asked, telling herself it really was time she found out more about the man who’d promised to pay her to pretend to be his girlfriend.

‘Like things that are none of your concern,’ Prince Remirez returned chillingly. ‘And, just in case you’re inclined to peddle what I’ve just told you, know that I’ll sue you for everything you own if any of this makes it into tomorrow’s papers.’

‘Yeah, good luck with that,’ she replied waspishly, before she could help herself.

‘You think my caution is idle?’ he mused coolly, his stance relaxed in a way that said he found her in no way threatening.

She shook her head, smiling with more than a little relief when the limo pulled into her street.

‘Not at all. I meant good luck finding anything of value to sue me for.’

The moment the words left her lips she wanted to snatch them back. But it was too late.

Eyes like laser beams latched onto the truth. ‘You’re destitute,’ he declared after a taut pause.

Shame crawled over Maddie’s skin. Followed instantaneously by searing anger. ‘What I am is none of your business. We’re strangers to one another. So I won’t jump to the conclusion that you’re a rich, pompous royal bastard who looks down his aristocratic nose at the less fortunate, if you don’t assume I’m some worthless gold-digger who’s just itching to jump straight out of your car and into a paparazzo’s pocket.’

‘I don’t have proof that you’re a worthless gold-digger, but I’m growing certain that you’re a shameless exhibitionist,’ he replied in that charismatically accented voice that threw her for a second before his meaning sank in.

‘Excuse me? What gives you the right—?’ She glanced down sharply and gasped as flames of embarrassment shot into her face.

Oh, God.

The hem of her dress had crept up almost to her crotch, and somehow one creamy slope of a breast was exposed in the gaping neckline of her halter top. The wardrobe Jules had provided for their outings was one of the many things she’d baulked at. One of the many things he’d stated were deal-breakers.

‘I suggest you pull yourself together before that notion becomes concrete,’ he advised, with a new husk in his voice and a banked blaze in his eyes that directed the flamed inward, singeing low in her belly and then lower, in places she didn’t want to acknowledge.

She hurriedly pulled down her hem and adjusted her neckline, aware that his gaze tracked her every movement. Aware she’d been judged and found severely lacking.

When she was as adequately covered as she could be, she fixed her eyes on the door handle. ‘Are we done here?’

He sat back, master of everything he surveyed—which eerily felt as if it included her—and crossed one leg over the other. ‘That depends,’ he drawled.

‘On what?’ she asked, still unable to look him in the eye.

He didn’t respond.

More than a little unnerved at the racing of her heart, she lifted her gaze to his. ‘On what?’ she repeated.

A slow, predatory smile lifted the corners of his lips. Beneath the light his eyes gleamed, taking on an unnerving, hypnotising colour that made her believe he could see right to the heart of her. To the sensual vibrations stroking her nerve-endings. To the unsettling licks of fire in her belly.

Her fingers tightened around her bag, and she was about to demand he answer her when he gave a brisk nod to someone out of sight. The door immediately sprang open.

‘You’ll find out in due course. Goodnight, Miss Myers.’

* * *

Maddie’s nights since she had been forced to abandon her child psychology courses at university and return home to care for her father had been plagued with worrying about finding a way to keep the roof over their heads and her father from the pit of addiction. Sleeplessness had become the norm, the creaking of the cheap slats beneath her mattress the discordant accompaniment to her anxiety.

Tonight, however, other thoughts and images reeled through her mind, and agitation drove her fingers into her worn duvet as a plethora of emotions eroded any hope of sleep.

Disbelief—she’d met a true-life, drop-dead gorgeous crown prince who might have stepped off the silver screen.

Anger—he’d blatantly stated that he was threatening her because he suspected she was after something from his brother. Technically true, but still...

Arousal? No, she wasn’t going to touch that.

And anxiety—‘You will find out in due course.’

Did he mean the agreement she’d made with Jules? If so, how?

It was clear he held a great deal of sway over his younger half-brother, despite Jules’s defiant attitude. Would he stoop to denying her what Jules had promised her?

That last thought kept her awake for the rest of the night until, giving up on sleep, she dragged herself out of bed just before her alarm went off at six.

Her father was already up, although not dressed, when she reached the kitchen. Maddie paused in the doorway, breath held, and examined him. His gauntness was even more pronounced than it had been a month ago—the result of his failing kidneys on top of the strong painkillers he’d become addicted to when his thriving property business had failed in the crash a decade ago.

He’d hidden his addiction for years, in a misguided attempt to keep up appearances and hang on to a wife who had made no bones about the fact that she expected to live a certain lifestyle and demanded her husband provide it.

A near overdose had brought everything to light three years ago, showing the shocking damage Henry Myers had done to his body. It had also been the start of many promises to get clean that had resulted time and again in relapse, and the raiding of their meagre finances to seek help for him that had pulled them deeper into destitution.

Eventually the fall from affluent lifestyle to nursing an addict in a tiny flat in one of the poorest neighbourhoods in London had become too much for her mother.

Once upon a time her father had been healthy, outgoing, a pillar of a man his peers had looked up to. Maddie’s childhood had been pampered and carefree, if a little emotionally unrewarding. She’d learned not to complain early on, when she’d realised her father loved her but was always busy and her mother was more preoccupied with retail therapy than her daughter’s emotional well-being. Even when the distance between her and her mother had widened, Maddie had been secure in her father’s abstract affection.

All of that had ended with Priscilla Myers’s three-minute phone call to Maddie at university. She’d had enough. Maddie needed to come home and take care of her father because she wasn’t prepared to live in poverty and disgrace. Any guilt about abandoning the husband she’d promised to stand by in sickness and in health hadn’t been reflected in her voice. She’d walked away without a backward glance or a forwarding address.

Maddie bottled up the still ravaging anguish now as she fully entered the kitchen. ‘You’re up early.’ She kept her voice light and airy.

Her father shrugged half-heartedly. ‘Couldn’t sleep,’ he muttered.

‘Do you want breakfast? Toast and tea?’ she asked hopefully.

He shook his head. ‘I’m not hungry. Maybe later.’

He was avoiding her gaze—a sure sign that the demons of addiction were snapping at his heels again. Her heart dropped. Had she owned more than the couple of hundred pounds she kept for emergencies in her bank account she would have taken the day off and stayed home to offer the support he baulked at but clearly needed.

Pushing back the despair, she pinned a smile on her face. ‘Mrs Jennings will look in on you later. She’ll fix you lunch if you’re hungry. There’s food in the fridge.’

His mouth compressed but he didn’t reply. Maddie pushed past the bite of guilt. Although her father suspected it, she hadn’t confirmed that desperation had driven her to pay their next-door neighbour a small sum to look in on him a few times a day.

After he had been bumped from the transplant list twice after relapsing, she’d resorted to desperate ways of keeping an eye on him. The last barrage of tests had revealed he was weeks away from full renal failure.

The doctors had advised that they wouldn’t sanction her father’s operation unless he remained clean for at least six months. He’d waved away her worries when she’d talked to him about it but so far he’d stayed clean.

All she needed to do was come through with the funds required for his operation. Funds entirely dependent on whether she finished her stint with Jules Montagne. Correction: Jules Montegova. Half-brother to Crown Prince Remirez Alexander Montegova.

The latter’s image rose up, large and imposing, dragging a small shiver down her spine as she finished her breakfast.

By the time she was done with the morning rush hour customers at the café where she worked near Oxford Street, the seed of worry that had taken root in the small hours had grown into a bramble bush.

Jules normally sent her a text in the early hours before he went to bed, telling her where and when to meet for their next ‘date’. When midday came and went without a word from him, her worry escalated to full-blown anxiety.

She didn’t want to waste her precious phone minutes calling him, but the inkling that something was wrong wouldn’t ease. Too much hinged on finishing what she’d started with Jules for her to prevaricate about this. She decided she would call him during her break.

The café was quieter, but still half full. Besides her, two other waitresses were busy delivering dishes to customers, with a third, Di, cleaning the table next to where Maddie was sorting cutlery.

‘Holy cow, it’s Prince Remirez!’ Di screeched.

Maddie almost jumped out of her skin, nearly dropping the two dozen forks in her hands. ‘What?’

Di pointed, wide-eyed, at the window.

Heart slamming against her ribs, Maddie turned and watched the man she’d spent far too many precious hours thinking about examining the café sign and the pavement with the same dripping disdain he’d shown for her neighbourhood last night.

The late March sun burst through the clouds in that moment, outlining his upturned haughty face in jaw-dropping relief.

Last night, in the dark nightclub and darker limo, she’d thought his breathtaking male beauty too good to be true. Now, with the sun caressing every spectacular feature, Maddie was left in no doubt that from head to toe the man next in line to the throne of Montegova was a magnificent male specimen.

She managed to drag her gaze from that rugged jaw and captivating face long enough to glance at her colleague. ‘You know who he is?’

Di rolled her eyes. ‘Duh! Every female with a pulse over the age of fourteen knows who he is. His brother Zak is equally hot. I wonder what the Crown Prince is doing here, though. I would’ve thought Bond Street was more his speed if he’s shopping. Hey, don’t royals have minions to do that sort of—? Oh, my God, he’s coming in here!’

Maddie turned away, praying Di was wrong. He wasn’t here for her. He couldn’t be. In the dark of a nightclub, in the midst of minor celebrities and royalty, it was easy to explain away a crown prince’s fleeting interest in her—even to herself.

Here, among the cheap plastic furniture and even cheaper food of a street corner café, it was difficult to rationalise why the hottest man alive would seek her out.

But what were the chances that he was here on some other mission?

Di continued to chatter away. Maddie kept her back to the door, despite the mocking voice that said she was burying her head in the sand.

Moments later she heard the hush in the café, heard the firm, confident footfalls of a man who believed he owned the very ground he walked on—right before she felt the mildly earth-shaking vibrations of his presence behind her.

‘Miss Myers.’

Dear God, she hadn’t imagined the impact of that voice. Nor had she imagined its pulse-destroying effect on her.

She tried fruitlessly to fight the shivers coursing through her as she turned around. And promptly lost her grip on the forks in her hand.

The clatter was astounding.

Face flaming, Maddie dropped to her knees, furiously scrambling for the forks. Before her, a pair of polished hand-stitched shoes remained planted. Unmoving. She refused to look up, refused to acknowledge the existence of the man clad in an expensive, dark navy pinstriped suit that probably cost more than her year’s salary. She crawled around him, snatching up the utensils as her face grew hotter. When she had them all she sat back on her heels, prepared to rise.

‘Miss Myers?’

Maddie bit her lip, knowing she couldn’t avoid looking at him. She tilted her head, her breath strangling all over again when her eyes clashed with his silver-grey ones. They were ferociously intense, even as one eyebrow slowly lifted mockingly and he examined her flushed face.

‘Um...yes?’ She was sure embarrassment was what had rendered her voice a husky mess, not the charged volts shooting through her pelvis and the stinging awareness that she was at eye level with his crotch.

She blinked, her brain emptying of everything but one single, breath-stealing erotic image.

‘You missed one.’

A throat cleared. Hastily she glanced down, saw one cheap scratched fork held between his long, neatly tapered fingers.

She snatched it from him. ‘Thank you.’

Still on her knees, she placed the forks on the nearest table, then froze when Prince Remirez extended one elegant hand towards her.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she considered the many ways she could refuse his assistance without causing offence.

There were none.

So she placed her hand in his, felt his fingers glide across her palm on their way to gripping hers. She’d once read a novel in which the heroine described feeling pure electricity when she touched the man of her dreams. Maddie had rolled her eyes then.

Now she sent a silent apology to the maligned character.

Crown Prince Remirez would never be the man of her dreams, and she wasn’t going to waste her time counting the many ways why, but the reality that singed and branded and claimed that small portion of her body promised that she would never shake another hand without remembering this captivating moment.

Her insides liquefied as he tightened his grip and tugged her to her feet. The slight tautening of his face and the flare in his eyes told her he wasn’t completely unaffected by what was happening. Nor did he miss her wince as her arm twinged in pain.

The moment she felt steady on her feet she tried to snatch her hand from his. He kept hold of her for a moment longer before he released her.

When she could breathe again Maddie threw a furtive glance around her. As suspected, every single gaze in the café was fixed on her, including her boss’s—although his curiosity was beginning to dissolve into annoyance.

‘Would...would you like a table, um... Your Highness?’ Was that the correct form of address? Or was it Your Grace? ‘You can pick any one you like. I’ll be with you as soon as I finish putting—’

‘I’m not here to dine, Miss Myers.’ He cut across her, not bothering to keep his voice down. Or the disdain out of it.

She reminded herself that she needed this job and therefore couldn’t afford to be rude to patrons or non-patrons. ‘In that case I can’t really help you, since I’m working. Maybe we can—’

‘It’s in your interest to make time. Now.’

About to refuse, because her heart rate didn’t seem interested in slowing down, and because he really was a little too potent to her senses, she paused. Something in his voice warned her against it.

Belatedly she remembered that he’d summoned Jules to breakfast this morning. Had Jules divulged their connection? Was that why he was here?

She searched his face and came away with nothing but further evidence of his heart-stopping gorgeousness.

A quick glance at the clock showed it was a quarter past eleven. The lunchtime rush hour wouldn’t start for another half hour. ‘Jim, can I take my break now? I’ll make it up later.’

The head chef, who also happened to be the café’s owner, glanced from her to Prince Remirez and then, barely hiding his irritation, nodded. ‘I s’pose so.’

She flashed him a grateful smile, then dived into the small cubicle that doubled up as a changing and break room to get her bag. Slinging it crossways over her shoulder, she hurried through the café and out onto the pavement.

Where a small crowd had gathered, their camera phones ready to capture the image of the most captivating man on earth.

‘We’ll have more privacy in the car,’ Prince Remirez pronounced smoothly, a second before his hand arrived at her waist and nudged her firmly in the direction of the open back door of a limo.

Maddie entered, immediately noting the different configuration of the seats from last night’s car. There was no bench seat on the far side behind the driver. Which left her no choice but shuffle along the seat as Prince Remirez slid in after her.

The door shut behind him and instantly the atmosphere closed in around them. The push of air wrapped his scent around her, triggering that insane urge to bury her face in his neck and drown herself in his scent.

Whether it came from a bottle or it was a specially branded scent, it was lethal enough to be seriously addictive to women.

Addictive.

The word brought her up short, flinging her foolish ruminations into harsh reality. ‘Okay, Your Highness. You have fifteen minutes.’

He adjusted his cuffs, rested his elegant hands on his thighs before fixing his ferocious eyes on her. ‘Your business with Jules is over,’ he stated bluntly.

Maddie tried not to panic, but fear raced up her spine and threatened to paralyse her all the same.

After forcing herself to take a few slow, rib-bruising breaths, she pulled her phone from her pocket. ‘With all due respect, I want to hear it from him.’

Prince Remirez glanced at her phone. ‘He’s already on a plane to Montegova. You won’t see him or talk to him again. Your number has been blocked from his phone permanently so save yourself the trouble.’

A cold shiver ploughed through her. ‘Why are you doing this?’

He reached into his breast pocket and extracted a dark burgundy card with sleek gold numbers embossed on the front and back. ‘I came here to tell you that if you wish to salvage anything from this I am prepared to hear you out.’ He nodded at the card. ‘My address and private number are on the back. You have twenty-four hours to use it. Then I too will be out of your reach.’