Princess in the Iron Mask (14 page)

She smiled ruefully. Knowingly. ‘Do you miss them?’

‘Ah, Claudia, such a tender soul. I was too young. I do not remember if there was anything to miss.’ Years he’d managed to erase must remain in the past. For he knew if the floodgates opened he would surely drown.

Even now, standing here in the town his mother had loved, the town he’d rebuilt, those gates rattled on their hinges and water seeped through the cracks, whispering of hunger so deep his stomach would twist. Walls so thin he could hear every scream, every tear. Blood so thick it clotted his hair.

‘Oh, Lucas.’

Something snapped inside him. ‘Your sympathy is wasted on me, Princesa,’ he said, with satiric bite. ‘Save it for children who deserve it.’

He wanted the fiery spark of her temper—craved it. But the little fool just looked up at him, so damn exquisite, as if she understood. She understood nothing.

For a woman who’d been through so much heartache she was astoundingly naïve. Living in her own little bubble. Which made him beyond resolute to protect her from herself. From him.

She had no idea who he really was, what he was capable of. For he too had walked on the dark side. Yet she wanted him with an incredulous passion that now seemed to ooze from her pores, fashioning her with a warm sensual glow.

Bewitching. Precious.

A warning flare—fierce, deadly accurate—discharged in his mind. Lucas had to keep his distance. No more enclosed spaces. No more touching. No more talking in hushed tones or primed glances that made his body seize with a need so fierce he shook with it.

Ignoring the knife-blade to his chest, he faced facts.

He had to kill her feelings dead.

CHAPTER TEN

C
LAUDIA
LOUNGED
ON
heaps of velvet cushions atop her bed and pressed ‘send’ on her latest e-mail to Bailey. The news that the little girl’s father was back from the rigs had been the only moment of bliss in an otherwise wretched three days. Days of awkward lunches with her mother. Days since her gauche attempt at seducing Lucas had failed miserably and he’d plonked a barrier the size of the Great Wall of China between them.

If he walked into a room where she was he walked straight back out again. A seemingly impossible feat in a glasshouse, but he always managed to find some place to go. No doubt his office, which was always locked, or the kitchen, which actually boasted walls.

If he didn’t have a two-million-pound painting hanging on one of them she would think he couldn’t afford plaster divisions at all. Not for the first time she pondered how he was as rich as Croesus. Unless you were the President of the United States no government official could live like this. If he’d ever speak to her in more than one disgustingly polite syllable she would ask him.

Closing her eyes, she banged her head on the silk cushioned headboard. It wasn’t that she missed the man—heavens, no—but at home she worked such long hours and here she was just...plain
bored.
So he didn’t want to sleep with her? Fine. His version of agony was obviously in a different league to hers. But did that mean they couldn’t talk? God, she missed that. And, truly, what was the harm in taking pleasure from his company while she was here?

Swinging her legs off the bed, she surged to her feet. She was going to find the gorgeous brute, act completely normal and convince him to have dinner with her tonight.

Grabbing one of the boutique bags from the floor, she upended the contents atop the bed. And groaned aloud at the final laugh at her expense as something slipped from between layers of frothy tissue paper. A swathe of black satin and lace that she swatted to the floor.
‘C’est la vie, negligée.’
Then she lifted a coffee-coloured splash of Lycra from the pile and braced her chest for a panic attack.

Bikini.

The beach. Sand, sun, sea and sensitive skin. Just the thought made her pores prickle and her nails beg to scratch but, honestly, she needed air. She could never remember needing air before. Then again, she’d never lived with a prime specimen of six-foot-plus virile male before. And maybe, a little voice whispered, he would offer to take her down to the beach.

After donning the frighteningly tiny scrap and a sheer mocha cover-up, avoiding every mirror in the room, she padded down the stairs, heading for his office...when she rocked back on her heels. The door to his off-limits space was swung wide, the dark-wood-lined expanse human-free.

‘Lucas?’

Only the sound of metal clanging against wood drifted from deeper inside. Without conscious thought she followed the noise through his office, across the plush ivory carpet towards another door at the far side. Several steps led down to another room and, barefoot, she crept down, coming to a dead stop on the last wooden plinth.

She gasped, eyes wide. So
this
was where he hung out. Another vast expanse, with one wall lined with aluminium cases, locked and bolted to within an inch of their life. A shiver scuttled through her as she envisaged their contents, yet it wasn’t fear for herself that tore through her—it was fear for Lucas. Being in the military must have placed him in serious danger over the years, and her throat caught fire just thinking about it. Had he ever been hurt? Her stomach ached at the very thought.

Biting hard on her lip, she let her gaze meander to heavy boxing bags hanging from the ceiling, to state-of-the-art gym equipment, the sight of which made her veins throb in an entirely different way and then turn even thicker, even hotter, as she spotted the man himself. He was working his awesome half-naked body so punishingly her heart cracked in two. Why did he do this to himself?

Claudia counted the powerhouse thrusts of his torso up and down, press-up after press-up. The temperature in the room spiked. Her body dissolved in a long, slow melt. She lost count at the two hundred mark as sweat poured off his honed frame, running in rivulets down his temples, trailing over the indentation of his spine as his muscles flexed and bunched.

Oh, my,
he was divine.

Snag
went her gaze on his left shoulder, where black ink stroked his flesh with the Arunthian crest.

Her molten core spasmed so hard a moan catapulted up her throat. Palm slapped over her mouth, she backed up the stairs. She shouldn’t be in here. He’d expressly told her that his office was off-limits. And being someone who hated to be stared at, who loathed the violation of privacy, she was bang out of order watching him at all.

Claudia hit the hallway and ran down the stairs. Suddenly the cool waters of the ocean had never sounded so good. She wouldn’t be gone for long.

Lucas would never know.

* * *

What was this? The Bermuda triangle?

Fresh from the shower, and after searching the house for over seven minutes, Lucas hurtled back up the stairs, two steps at a time.

‘Claudia!’

Had she finally had enough and ordered Armande to take her back to the palace? It wouldn’t surprise him, and in reality he should be pleased. And he
was,
he told himself. But, dammit, she should have told him she was leaving. Just so he knew she was safe.
That
was the reason for the maelstrom of emotion clattering in his chest. Had to be.

Palm flat, he pushed her bedroom door wide, eyes assaulted by the sight before him.
Dios,
the woman was messy. But surely if all her clothes and feminine junk were strewn over every surface she hadn’t left him.

Ignoring the warm flush inside, he turned his back on the chaos and strode down the hall to his office. He would ring Armande and see if his right-royal-pain-in-the-ass had asked him for one of her
favours.
The more distant Lucas became, the more she became pally with his second-in-command. And there came another emotion altogether.

Lucas scrubbed his nape. Five days she’d been living under his roof, and already the hair at his temples had turned grey.

Passing the window by his desk, a light flickered in his brain and he turned, looked out onto the private cove. And the air rushed from his lungs....

Dios,
the woman was going to be the death of him.

There she was, flirting with the ocean, sheathed in a long-sleeved filmy top that stopped halfway down her thighs. He raked his gaze over her sleek toned legs. Made-for-sex legs. Long enough for her to wrap them around his waist, hook her ankles behind his back and draw him into her hot, tight, wet heat.

Lust punched his groin, the impact jolting him forward. Bracing his hands against the glass pane, he crunched his abs in an effort to stop the blood rushing from every extremity. It didn’t help. Not one iota. Watching her play was not in his remit. Her safety, however, was.

Her feet sloshed through the foamy crush as she danced and skipped along the water’s edge, using her toes as tiny shovels and kicking the sand high in the air.

With a shake of his head Lucas smiled. For the first time since they’d met she appeared carefree. Almost happy. It suited her. Elevated her beauty in a way he’d never thought possible.

She faltered, faced the vast expanse of water looking out to sea—and that tiny action made his fingers ball into fists against the glass.

‘Do not even think about it, Claudia,’ he said, unclenching one hand and stretching for the keypad that operated the high security doors. His hand froze in mid-air as she took a step back, then another, heading back to shore, fingering the hem of her sheer tunic.

Lucas shuttered his eyes against the view, suddenly filled with the notion that he was becoming a voyeur, but his eyes weren’t playing the gentleman and opened regardless.

Her fingers still toyed with the hem, as if uncertain, then began to lift the material up her thighs until he could see the low-cut edge of her bikini as it scooped the cheeks of her heart-shaped bottom.

A growl rumbled up his chest. They were like shorts—far sexier than any skimpy triangle he’d ever seen litter a beach. Demure, yet sensual. Head twisting, she looked left and right, as if checking her privacy, then whipped the top clean off her body and tossed it to the sand behind her.

Swallowing hard, he traced the flare of her hips, the small indentation of her waist.
Back off, Garcia. Turn away.

One of her arms rose, bent at the elbow and pulled a stick—no...a pencil from the huge bun atop her head. His heart stalled for one, two, three beats as her glorious dark bitter-chocolate locks tumbled down her back in a heavy swathe of curls. Falling, falling until they swished around the base of her spine.

Lucas groaned, pushed off the glass, turned...then snapped his head upright. The sudden question of
why
she was stripping darted through his brain and sent his heart into cardiac arrest. Again.

‘No. Do not. I warned you,’ he said, reaching for the keypad again to unlock the security alarm on the sliding doors, keeping one eye on her as she tentatively stepped out to sea.

His heart slammed against his ribcage. ‘You unthinking, senseless...’ He punched in the code, eyes darting back and forth from the panel to her. Back to the panel.

Red.

Dios,
what was wrong with him?

He tried once more, wondering if the damn thing had jammed, and calculated the time and distance to run through the house. No contest. One more try.

His fingers flew across the pad.

Red.

‘Dammit.’

She was thigh-deep, almost at the ledge, and his hands were goddamn trembling.

Sloppy, Garcia, very sloppy.

He closed his eyes, breathed deep, found the higher plain he often visited in the dead of night. Focused on the pad once more. Punched the code a little slower, more controlled.

Green.

Grabbing the lever handle, he pulled the heavy door wide enough to slide his frame through the gap. Then he gripped the steel rail surrounding the terrace with one hand and launched over the side to drop twelve feet down onto the sand, ignoring the shard of pain slicing through his foot.

Lungs tight, he ran for the shoreline. ‘Claudia, do not go any further!’

But the closer he got the more he could see she was nowhere near the sheer drop. Yet.

‘Claudia!’ He hit the water, feet pounding, the sand sucking at his loafers. ‘Damn woman,’ he muttered, lifting one foot to yank off his shoe, then the other, and throwing them over his shoulder. ‘Claudia!’ he repeated, closing the distance.

She spun around, her eyes...
alight?
A huge smile illuminated her face. Curls bobbed, caressing her smooth, honeyed shoulders.

‘Lucas, look!’ she said. ‘Fish.’

Bending forward, she pointed to her feet with both forefingers, ramping her cleavage to a lush slit, and his vision blurred.

‘I’m in the sea and I can feel squillions of teeny fish tickling my legs. It’s amazing.’

She hopped, breasts bouncing, and desire slammed into him with the force of a tidal wave—which did
not
help his current state of mind

‘Fish!
Madre de Dios—fish,
Claudia!’ he said, balling his hands before he hauled her into his arms, because the need to touch her was so violent he quaked with it. ‘What the hell are you doing all the way out here? I told you the sea was off-limits!’

Eerily slowly she straightened, narrowed her eyes, and folded her arms across her taut stomach—the action bunched those incredible breasts above her bikini top, making them threaten to spill over.

‘No, you didn’t. You told me—and these were your exact words—“No swimming in the sea,
Cllowtia. Comprende?
There is a ledge beyond which a fierce undercurrent could suck you under.” That is what you said.’

His chest heaved, ‘
Sí.
That is exactly what I said.’

‘So I’m paddling.’

‘Paddling is also forbidden!’

‘Forbidden?’
she yelled, arms dropping to her sides, hands fisting for a fight, her tone as angry as her gorgeous face. ‘What do want me to do, Lucas? Stay in the house while you ignore me or bark instructions as to where I’m going next. Don’t I obey your every command? Well, I’ve had it. It’s driving me crazy!’

Getting turned on even more by her temper was probably a bad sign, he thought. ‘Quiet and solitude never bothered you in London!’

She seemed to think about that. ‘That was then. And I was working. Really, Lucas, don’t you think you’re overreacting?’

‘No.’ Although he had to admit from his office she’d seemed a lot farther away.

‘For God’s sake, can’t you forget about your blasted job for one minute?’ she hollered.

‘My
job?
’

‘You aren’t going to deprive the country of an apparent national treasure by letting me paddle! And... Oh!’

She scrunched her nose in that cute way she did sometimes.

Cute? Dios,
he was losing the plot. She was senseless and selfish and— Wasn’t she?

‘Ow!’ she said, wincing as she looked down. Lifted her foot.

Before she could blink, he shot forward, grabbed her waist and lifted her clean out of the water. ‘What is it?’

Her hands clamped on his shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh, and either he pulled or she jumped, because the next thing he knew her breasts were crushed against his chest and her legs were wrapped tight around his waist, hooking at the small of his back.

Madre de Dios!

‘Something was getting a bit too friendly,’ she said, a little tremble in her voice.

‘
Sí.
I do not blame them,’ he muttered, distracted by the feel of the soft skin sheathing her decadent curves.
Bad, bad idea, Garcia.
The only thing missing from his earlier erotic fantasy was his carbon-steel erection sliding inside of her. ‘You are killing me, Claudia.’