Princess in the Iron Mask - By Victoria Parker Page 0,57

had gone on a full-on attack over some keypad in his office. But she’d hazard a guess that had more to do with a delivery from the palace—a rack of dresses for the ball tomorrow night and an official-looking parcel for him. ‘Business,’ he’d said. One of the few words he’d spoken all day.

Feet bare, the chill of each wooden plinth penetrated her feet as she tiptoed down the staircase. Did Lucas blame her for hardening her heart to her parents? It was the hardest thing she’d ever done, and here she was doing it once more.

Thankfully she had more sense than to fall for a man who could make love to her with such glorious passion, then wrap her in one of his dark grey sheets and carry her to her room. Oh, and the real pièce de résistance had been the words, ‘Go to sleep.’ Before the door clicked shut with deafening finality.

He’d walked away—just as he’d warned her he would. So she’d no right to be hurting—none.

But...

Sleep? Wrapped in satin that smelt of sex and Lucas?

And still she could smell him—the musky potency that oozed from his every pore. Raw, addictive and utterly tormenting.

A moan snuck past her lips. She just wished she’d never told him the things she had. She might as well have ripped her heart from her chest, sliced it open with a scalpel and laid it on the table for his inspection. Obviously he hadn’t much liked what he’d seen.

Pausing on the bottom step, she peered through the darkness, eyes slowly adjusting at the wide rack standing by the window, weighted with a colourful array of cloth. With sleep a pipedream tonight, she’d nothing better to do than make her choice.

Risking a glance at Lucas’s office, she saw a thin sliver of light under the door; imagined him sitting there. Honestly, he was such a cold brute at times. Yet it was that very darkness that engaged her—locked her on target and drew her in.

The ivory moon hung low, casting the room in silver swathes—just enough light for her to take a peek at the dresses. When they’d arrived today her bruised heart had demanded they be returned. She could buy her own dress—one that wouldn’t come with any stipulations. But then, thankfully, the red haze had cleared and the fact she’d been thought of at all was something. Despite everything they were her parents. And her mother was trying.

Trailing her fingers over the array of satin, silk and lace, she closed her eyes. Pale gold ruched satin whispered to her, called her name. Gripping the arch of the clothes hanger, she pulled it from the rack, held it up to her body and swayed gently, watching the frothy skirt swish around her legs. So beautiful. Created for a princess of the realm.

Ramming the dress back on the rail, she picked another. A vibrant aquamarine colour with a low dip at the back, a straight skirt. Full sleeves.

‘Ah, Claudia, have I taught you nothing?’

The heavy weight rustled to the floor as she spun around and slapped her hand over her cantering heart.

Lucas lay sprawled on one huge aubergine sofa, where he had a prime-time view of every move she made. One arm bent, he propped up his head, wearing an expression that bordered on dark torment. Hair damp, the dark locks clung to his brow. The lack of light shadowed his blue eyes, transforming them to obsidian depths that drilled straight through her.

His other arm dangled off the edge of the seat, his hand a claw, holding a whisky glass from his fingertips. The crystal tumbler swayed back and forth lazily. Legs wide, one bent knee was resting on the back cushion, the other was long and straight in front of him.

To anyone else it was the insolent pose of a devil-may-care, but Claudia could feel the anguish rolling off him in waves. This devil did care, and something powerful held him in thrall.

She feasted on his bronze chest, the rippled curve of his abs and the tight waistband of his black hipsters...and lower to the snug, thick ridge of his erection. A shiver that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature whistled through her.

Eyes fluttering shut, she bit hard on her lip, trying to remember why she was so angry with him, shovelling deep to dredge up hurt. She’d been dumped into her cold bed as if nothing had happened between them, then ignored, all day, and lest she forget he’d