Читать книгу The Dreaming Of... Collection - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 32

CHAPTER FOUR

One month later

APRIL HAD BROUGHT an abrupt end to the cold snap and incessant rain that had engulfed London and most of the country for months.

Jasmine stepped out of Temple tube station into brilliant sunshine and stumbled past a group of tourists debating which attraction to visit. Their excited conversation barely touched her consciousness. Arms folded around her middle, she struck a path through the crowd towards the building that housed her office, clinging to the near fugue state she’d inhabited since returning from Rio. A blank mind meant she didn’t have to think. Didn’t have to feel.

Didn’t have to remember Reyes.

Or what she’d done.

Most of all, she didn’t have to acknowledge the fact that the past she’d thought she’d left behind was still with her, buried underneath her skin, ready to rear its ugly head and reveal itself in all its glory.

Naïve. She’d been so naïve. To imagine that she could escape unharmed.

A lance of pain shot through her chest. By now Reyes Navarre would know her for what she was. And despise her for it.

Despite the thousands of miles separating them, Jasmine could almost feel the weight of his disappointment.

‘I’ve trusted you with more tonight than I have anyone in a long time.’

A moan rose in her throat. With a shake of her head, she ruthlessly suppressed it, sucking in a deep breath as she neared her office building.

Her boss had been sending her anxious looks over the past few days. Twice this week, she’d forgotten it was her turn to get the coffee and muffins.

Yesterday she’d returned from a hurried trip to the coffee shop with a serious case of nausea. One she hadn’t been able to shake since.

Numbness and absent-mindedness when she was alone was fine...welcome in fact. But she couldn’t afford to let it affect her work—

Her thoughts scattered as a body slammed into her.

Jasmine grasped the nearest solid thing to break her fall, but it was too late. She slid sideways, taking with her half of the contents of the small newsstand as she stumbled.

‘For goodness’ sake, miss, watch where you were going! Now look what you’ve done!’

Glaring at the retreating back of the man who’d barrelled into her, Jasmine regained her feet and started gathering the magazines. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she muttered.

‘It’ll take me ages to sort out the newspapers,’ the kiosk owner grumbled.

‘It’s fine. I’ll pay for—’ Jasmine’s words dried in her throat.

From the numbed state she’d lived in for the past four weeks, the fiery bolt of electricity that smashed through her body made her reel. Her heart thundered, sending a rush of blood roaring through her veins so she didn’t hear the concerned voices around her as she grabbed the newspaper, her gaze riveted on the picture on the front page.

Reyes!

Her fingers shook, wildly fluttering the paper as she stared. Reyes...the reclusive crown prince...on the front page of an English newspaper. The why slammed into her brain a split second before her eyes sought the headlines.

Santo-Valderra Trade Treaty In Chaos... Economy Threatened!

An anguished moan scoured her throat, her heart lurching so painfully she had visions of it stopping altogether.

‘Miss, are you all right?’ the kiosk owner’s voice finally impinged.

Trembling, she dug into her bag and paid for the newspaper, mumbling at the seller to keep the change to pay for the damage she’d caused.

Clutching the paper, she darted through the crowd, breaking into a full run as fevered urgency flooded her bloodstream.

In her office, she sank into her seat, her shaking fingers spreading open the newspaper.

She blinked eyes that stung, forced back her panic and focused on the words of the story.

The Santo-Valderra talks had broken down after Prince Reyes Navarre had been unable to produce his part of the treaty. Prince Mendez of Valderra had agreed to continue treaty talks on condition his further demands were met.

Mendez had walked away from the negotiation table when his demands had been refused. Now both kingdoms were at an economic stand-off.

Acid churned through her gut as she turned over the pages to find the rest of the story. But things only got worse.

Unable to keep the bile down, Jasmine stumbled from her desk and barely made the toilet before she emptied the meagre contents of her stomach.

Oh, God, this was all her fault!

Shakily, she returned to her desk, read the story one more time, and fished out her phone. The small part of her brain that could function sent a small prayer of thanks that her boss had left last night for an overseas assignment.

After sending a quick email taking the day off, she entered a search into her computer. Locating Santo Sierra’s embassy in London, she jotted down the address, slipped it into her bag and left her office.

By the time the taxi delivered her outside the embassy in Kensington, her shaking had abated. Her insides still trembled, but outwardly she projected the picture of calm she’d strived so hard to achieve over the last few years.

Striding into the opulent reception, she made a beeline for the receptionist. Jasmine wasn’t sure exactly what her game plan was, but she had to do something.

Maybe she could speak to the ambassador, convince someone to let her try to fix the chaos she’d created...

God, she was grasping at straws. But she couldn’t cower away—

‘Can I help you?’

She focused on the receptionist. ‘Yes.’ She stopped and cleared her throat. ‘Can I see the ambassador, please?’

The receptionist’s eyebrows rose. ‘Do you have an appointment?’

‘No...but I...this is important...’ Jasmine ventured, her voice trailing off when the neatly dressed woman shook her head.

‘Perhaps you’d like to leave your name and the reason for your visit and I’ll arrange an appointment...?’

Jasmine smothered a grimace. ‘My name is Jasmine Nichols. And it’s about the Santo-Valderra treaty.’

The other woman’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘What about it?’

‘I just read in the paper about it breaking down. I wanted to offer my help in any way I can...?’

The receptionist stared at her in silence, her scepticism turning to downright incredulity as the seconds ticked by. The phone rang. She picked it up. The conversation in rapid Spanish flew over Jasmine’s head.

She focused when the receptionist gasped. ‘Sí. Sí. Su Alteza.’

Her eyes widened as she replaced the handset. ‘Please take a seat, Miss Nichols. Someone will be with you shortly.’

The flood of relief that surged through Jasmine nearly crippled her. Reaching out, she gripped the edge of the desk. ‘Oh, thank you. I know he’s busy, but I really appreciate it.’ She started to walk towards the plush seats, then froze when her stomach heaved.

Swallowing, she turned. ‘Can I use your bathroom?’ she asked, alarm rising when her stomach roiled harder.

The receptionist was still staring at her as if she’d grown extra limbs, but Jasmine was too desperate not to heave onto the polished floor to decipher why. Eyes wide, the other woman pointed down a small hallway. ‘Through those doors.’

Nodding, she rushed into the bathroom and locked the stall. Five minutes of wretched heaving later, she stared at her reflection in the mirror and groaned.

How did she expect anyone to take her seriously when she looked like an electrified corpse? She dampened another roll of hand tissues and pressed them to her cheeks. Whatever was ailing her would have to be investigated later.

Drying her hands, she pinned a confident smile on her face, exited the bathroom. And came face to face with Prince Reyes Navarre.

* * *

The pounding in Reyes’s head when he’d learned that Jasmine Nichols was in his embassy had subsided to a dull throb.

For a single moment his rage had been total. All-encompassing. The feeling had been followed closely by shock at her sheer audacity.

It’d been several moments before he’d realised the ambassador was about to turn her away. His countermand had raised several eyebrows around the conference table where he’d been conducting his meeting. He hadn’t explained his reason.

He didn’t need to.

His plan for retribution where Jasmine Nichols’s betrayal was concerned was no one’s business but his.

He watched with satisfaction as she paled. That prim little smile on her face disappeared and her eyes rounded.

‘Reye—Prince Navarre!’

Was that a tremble of fear? Good.

‘You will address the prince as Your Highness.’ His ambassador spoke sharply from beside him.

Jasmine’s gaze swung from him to the short, fatherly figure, and back to him. Noting for the first time that they had an audience, she blinked. Reyes noted her drawn features.

If she had a conscience, he hoped it was eating away at her. But he knew women like her possessed no conscience. They seduced and betrayed with no thought for anyone else but themselves.

His jaw tightened as her lashes swept down in a false gesture of apology.

‘Of course. My apologies, Your Highness. I wasn’t...expecting you here.’ Her hand shook as she clutched her handbag. When she bit her lip, Reyes smothered the memories threatening to awaken.

Turning to where his bodyguards hovered, he waved one forward. ‘I have confidential business with Miss Nichols. Take her down to the basement. Until I say so, she’s not allowed to contact anyone or leave the premises under any circumstances.’

‘What? You can’t do that!’ She’d paled further and her breaths jerked out in shallow pants.

Reyes smiled. ‘You’re on Santo Sierran soil. I can do whatever I please with you.’

‘But I came here to help. Please, Reyes—Your Highness!’ she screeched as Reyes stepped back. Her fear was very real.

Reyes steeled himself against it and walked away. Never again.

He’d failed his people because of this woman.

Remembering brought a burn of pure white rage that obliterated any lingering mercy.

Even before he’d come fully awake the next morning on the yacht, he’d known something was wrong. The silence had been deafening. Complete. Where he should have heard the soft breathing and felt the warm, supple body of the lover he’d taken to his bed, there’d been a cold, empty space.

His instinct hadn’t failed him. Even faced with the discovery of the theft, he’d hoped he was hallucinating. For endless minutes, he hadn’t believed what he’d let happen. How much he’d let his guard down.

How spectacularly he’d failed in his duty to protect his people. That was what made the burn sting that much deeper. The full realisation that he’d taken a stranger to bed, a stranger who’d turned out to be a thief, had pointed to a singular lack of judgement, preyed on his mind like acid on metal for the last four weeks.

In the time since then Reyes could’ve hired a team of investigators to find and bring her to justice. But that would’ve served no purpose besides granting him personal satisfaction. Seeking personal vengeance, although tempting, had been relegated very low on his list. Rescuing the trade talks with Valderra had been paramount.

Of course, Mendez, handed the perfect opportunity to sink his hands deeper into the Santo Sierran coffers, had sought to do exactly that.

Relentless greed had threatened to destabilise the economy. Jasmine Nichols’s actions had accelerated the process as surely as if she’d lit a fuse to a bomb.

Reyes breathed in and out, forced himself to focus through the rage and bitterness eating at him. There was no time for recriminations. For the sake of his father, for the sake of his people, he had to put personal feelings aside.

First, he would salvage the economy.

Then he would deal with Jasmine Nichols.

* * *

Jasmine pushed away the tray of tea and sandwiches. The thought of eating or even taking the smallest sip of tea made her stomach churn. She took a deep breath, folded her hands in her lap and silently prayed for strength.

The room she’d been brought to was comfortable enough. Sumptuous sofas were grouped in one corner, centred round a low antique coffee table. A conference table took up a larger space and, mounted on the far end of the wall, a large screen TV and a camera.

The red light blinked, telling her she was being observed. The memory of Reyes’s cold rage slammed into her mind. Unable to sit, she jumped up. She’d been shown into this room two hours ago. Luckily, her nausea had abated but her shock and anxiety had risen in direct proportion as the realisation of what she’d walked into ate at her.

She paced, twisting her hands together. Reyes was angry and disappointed with her. No doubt about that.

She’d foolishly thought she, a junior mediator in a small-sized firm, could help rectify the situation she’d caused. Make amends for what she’d done...

Jasmine’s heart lurched, a feeling of helplessness sliding over her. Reyes was probably laughing his head off at her audacity. And for all she knew, he could’ve already left London. The newspaper article had mentioned he was visiting several European countries to garner economic support for Santo Sierra.

If he’d truly left her to be dealt with to the fullest extent of the law, she would probably be prosecuted for treason and thrown in a Santo Sierran jail.

Her legs threatened to give way, but she forced herself to walk towards the camera. Swallowing, she looked up at the black globe.

‘Can I speak to His Highness, please? I won’t take up much of his time, I promise. I just... I need five minutes. Please...’

The light blinked at her.

Feeling foolish, she whirled about and paced some more. Another hour passed. Then another.

Jasmine was ready to climb the walls when the door swung open. Breath stalling, she rushed towards it. Only to stop when confronted by yet another bodyguard bearing a tray.

It held several tapas dishes, fragrant rice and a tall carafe of pomegranate juice.

‘Your lunch,’ the guard said in heavily accented English.

As violent as the nausea had been, the hunger cloying through her now, when the appetising smells hit her nostrils, was equally vicious. But she forced herself to shake her head. ‘No. I won’t eat until I speak to His Highness.’

The thickset guard blinked. Pressing home her advantage just in case she was being watched on camera, she pushed the tray away, sat on the far end of the sofa, and crossed her legs.

The door shut behind the guard. Hearing the lock turn, her insides congealed. Another half an hour passed in excruciating slowness before the handle turned again.

Reyes stood in the doorway.

The shock of seeing him again slammed into her. But she took advantage of the wider distance between them to observe him.

His face had grown haggard since Rio; perhaps it was the short designer beard he sported, his hair a little longer, shaggier. But his body was just as masculine and breathtaking as before, or even more so with the added angle of danger thrown in.

Or she could be going out of her mind, dwelling on superficial things when there was so much at stake.

‘You wanted to see me.’ He stepped into the room and the door shut behind him.

Now that he was here, Jasmine wasn’t sure where to start. I’m sorry seemed so very inadequate.

So she nodded, struggling to hide the guilt eating her up inside. ‘Yes. I think I can help with your...situation.’

He sucked in a sharp breath. His fingers opened and closed in a gesture of restrained control. ‘Help! You don’t think you’ve helped enough?’ he snarled.

‘Please, I’m trying to make things right any way I can. Please tell me what I can do and I’ll do it, Reyes—’

His eyes turned to dark pools of ice. ‘You will address me as Your Highness. Addressing me by my first name was a one-time privilege. One you abused with the coarsest atrocity. And Miss Nichols?’

‘Yes?’

‘I suggest you eat. You won’t be enjoying luxuries such as three-course meals for very much longer.’