Princess in the Iron Mask - By Victoria Parker Page 0,47

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