Princess in the Iron Mask - By Victoria Parker Page 0,46

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