Princess in the Iron Mask - By Victoria Parker Page 0,17

rain beaded on her long lashes like black diamonds, and as her eyes fluttered the rare gems lost their precarious hold and trickled down her beautiful face.

She slowly opened her eyes and focused on his mouth. She rose on her toes and her breasts grazed up his chest. His groin hardened to titanium as the moisture sizzled on his skin.

Dios, what was she doing? More to the point, what was he doing? She made him lose his mind, his self-control, and at this rate he would be sans all honour by Monday next.

Retreat, Garcia. Retreat. Now!

She stilled, flicked her big amber eyes up to his, and what he saw nearly shocked his heart into cardiac arrest. Fear. She was scared. Of him.

Animal.

‘No.’ Never.

This was his idea of protection? Crowding her against the side of a car in the sheeting rain?

‘Apologies, Your Royal Highness,’ he said, pushing off the car and taking three large paces back.

‘Don’t call me that,’ she whispered.

A deep V creased her brow as she searched his face, then took a keen interest in her feet. If it were anyone else he would think she was disappointed but, Dios, the fear.

He had to remember who she was, even if she didn’t quite grasp the fact. Why the hell was she living in this cesspool? For the sake of a twenty-minute taxi-ride to work? No, he doubted it. But now was not the time to cause further animosity. He needed her to listen and obey him. If she could just do as she was told for five minutes things would get a hell of a lot easier.

‘Claudia, get in the car. I need to get you dry. Away from this place.’

‘I don’t mind being wet. I love the rain. So pure and clean.’ Chin lifting, she tipped her face skyward. ‘I can’t remember the last time I did this.’

His eyes traced the graceful line of her throat and his heart thumped back to life. The abysmal weather had failed to diminish the colour of her lustrous gold-toned skin—her Arunthian heritage.

‘I am very glad,’ he murmured, his fingers howling to stroke her silken cheek. Claudia’s face plummeted back to his and he realised he must have spoken out loud. Damn. ‘I do not think delivering you home with a bout of pneumonia would go in my favour.’

Her lips curved ruefully. ‘Of course.’ She stood tall, swiped her forehead with the back of her hand to brush tendrils of hair from her temple, and glanced up to the building behind him. ‘I can go and change, but I haven’t got anything for you, I’m afraid.’

The tense muscle in his shoulders eased as she inadvertently gave away her lack of live-in-lover status. Of course that didn’t mean she was single. And collating all the facts was his job, was it not?

‘My clothing is of no consequence.’ Compared to being caked in three months’ worth of dirt sweat and blood, a little water was exiguous. ‘Please—lead the way.’

She swung her gaze back to him, eyes wide. ‘I can manage perfectly well myself. Just give me five minutes—’

‘No. I will accompany you. You’ll need more than five minutes to pack. Then we’ll spend the night in the Thames apartment.’

Her eyes grew impossibly larger. ‘We can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well...because it’s empty.’

He groaned, long and low, clenching his fists to stop himself from giving her a damn good shake. ‘And your post? Letters? They are forwarded...yes?’

She nibbled on her plump bottom lip. ‘No. Come to think of it, I haven’t picked them up for months. I’ve been so busy.’

Dios, little wonder her father’s letters had gained no reply. But why warmth rushed through him at the realisation he had no idea.

‘No matter. I will extend my stay at the Astoria. We’ll stay there for the night.’

‘I don’t want to stay there.’ Tugging at her cuffs, she tossed her head in an aggravating lofty flounce. ‘I can just stay here.’

Head snapping upright, he gave her The Look. The look designed to command hundreds of soldiers and stop assassins in their tracks.

And what did she do? Rolled her amber eyes!

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘But for heaven’s sake don’t use that look on me again. It will never work.’ She caught a yawn in her small fist. ‘I’m just so tired I can barely think straight, let alone argue with you.’

She looked past tired, but he had no intention of taking the blame for her ferocious work ethic or any other night-time activities she indulged in.

‘This is progress indeed. Keys?’