Olivia already sat at the table, waiting for him. He was surprised to see she had not changed after her swim; instead she was wrapped in an oversized white terrycloth robe from the pool cabana. One bare foot peeked out from where it was tucked under her. His stomach tightened at the sight of a single red-painted toenail.
‘I see you are taking your holiday quite literally,’ he said, taking the seat opposite her at the long marble table.
She looked down at his crisp white shirt and uncertainty flickered across her features, followed closely by embarrassment. ‘Your housekeeper said it was just a quick meal. I wasn’t aware that we would eat together,’ she said, standing to her feet.
‘Sit down,’ he said and sighed.
But she vehemently shook her head, promising to be just a few minutes as she hurried away through the terrace doors at lightning speed. He fought the urge to laugh. How ironic that out of both of them it was the member of royalty who felt unfit for polite company.
True to her word, she returned less than ten minutes later. He was relieved to see that she hadn’t opted for another dress, and amused that once again she wore white. The simple white linen trousers hugged her curves just as sinfully as the dress had, but thankfully she had chosen a rather sober white button-down blouse that covered her up almost to her chin.
Still, her slim shoulders were completely bare, showing off her perfect alabaster skin. He consciously lowered his gaze, to focus on filling their water glasses.
He made no move to speak. He was tired and hungry and in no mood to make her feel at ease. In fact it was better that she wasn’t completely comfortable. That would make two of them.
Ever the efficient host, Jorge soon had the table filled with delicious freshly cooked dishes. Roman loaded his plate with tender chicken, garlic-roasted baby potatoes and seasonal grilled vegetables. No matter where they were in the world—New York, Moscow or this tiny remote island—his housekeeper always managed to find the freshest ingredients. He really should give him another raise...
Roman ate as he always did—until he was completely satisfied. Which usually meant two servings, at least, and then washing his meal down with a single glass of wine from his favourite regional cantina.
‘Where on earth do you put all that food?’
Roman looked up to see Olivia watching him with open fascination, her fork still toying with the same handful of potatoes she had spooned onto her plate ten minutes previously.
‘In my stomach,’ he said, keeping his tone neutral. ‘You had better follow suit or risk offending the chef.’
‘We are not all graced with fast metabolisms.’ She smiled tightly, putting down her fork and dabbing the corners of her mouth delicately.
‘I exercise hard so that I can eat well. Good food is there to be enjoyed.’ He fought annoyance as she sat back, clearly done with her food.
‘The meal was wonderful—thank you.’
‘If you say so, Printsessa,’ he said, with just a hint of irony, considering she had barely eaten more than a child’s portion. At least she didn’t seem to be downing the wine to compensate for her self-imposed starvation.
‘Why do you call me that?’ she asked. ‘I presume it’s Russian? Printsessa?’
‘My apologies. Do you harbour a preference for the term your subjects use? Your Highness, perhaps?’
She frowned. ‘Do you enjoy mocking people for no reason?’
‘I enjoy nothing of this situation, Olivia.’ He exaggerated the syllables of her name with deliberate slowness and watched with satisfaction as she visibly swallowed.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said, sitting forward, a frown forming between perfectly shaped russet brows. ‘You are the one who offered to bring me here, remember? Nobody forced you to do that. We are practically strangers, and yet you have been nothing but rude and downright hostile since the moment we met.’
‘I offered to bring you here so that you would stop running away like a teenager,’ he gritted. ‘This is not a holiday. And I am not here to entertain a pampered royal seeking one last thrill ride before marriage.’
Her blue-green eyes narrowed with some of the fire he remembered from her dressing room the day before. ‘You have made a lot of assumptions about my character in the past twenty-four hours.’
‘Like it or not, right now you are in my charge. If I am making assumptions, it’s because I can.’
‘You think you know who I am? Please—enlighten me.’ She sat back, crossing one slim leg over the other.
Roman watched the movement, his pulse quickening slightly as his eyes followed the curve of her thigh down to the slim silver-heeled sandals on her feet. ‘I do not pretend to know who you are—nothing quite so philosophical.’
He leaned back in his chair, stretching one arm behind his neck. She followed the movement, eyelashes lowered.
‘I know your type well enough,’ Roman said darkly, and his mind surprised him by conjuring up an image of a familiar face. A pair of blue eyes that had haunted him for almost two decades.
His night of imprisonment must have affected him worse than he thought. The cold sweat from being handcuffed still seemed to coat his skin like dirt, even after the hot shower and plentiful meal.
Thoughts of his past were not a common occurrence these days. Thoughts of Sofiya even less common.
He cleared his throat, irritated at himself and his momentary lapse in keeping his own demons at bay. ‘You are young, beautiful and privileged, frustrated with the strict rules designed to protect you. So you go out in search of adventure. A little danger to shake up the monotony.’
‘So I’m just another spoilt brat looking for a bit of fun? Is that it?’
Roman shrugged noncommittally, draining the last of his wine. ‘You are telling me this isn’t about rebellion?’ he asked, knowing he had hit a nerve when her eyes darted away from his to look out at the inky darkness of the sea in the distance.
‘You know, insulting me and my motivation is hardly going to send me running back to accept your friend’s proposal.’
‘The only reason you feel insulted is because you are likely used to always hearing what you want to hear.’
Olivia sighed, leaning her head back for a moment and pinching the bridge of her nose. ‘I am simply taking a brief reprieve before making one of the most important decisions of my life. No big deal, really.’
‘I hate to tell you, but that’s just a fancy way of saying you’re running away.’ He couldn’t help but smirk.
‘So you have me all figured out, then?’ She crossed her arms over her chest, meeting his eyes head-on. ‘It must be nice, being so untouchable and faultless.’
Roman shrugged. ‘It is not my fault that you dislike being told the truth.’
‘What I dislike, Mr Lazarov, is that you find it so easy to shove all my class into one pile, simply because we were born with money.’ She exhaled heavily. ‘In my opinion, that says far more about you than it does me.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Yes, it is. I may have been born into wealth, but that does not automatically take away the fact that I am human.’ She stood up, pacing to the stone ledge of the terrace before turning back to him. ‘You know nothing of my life—just as I know nothing of yours.’
Roman watched as she looked out at the distant black waves for a moment, with that same faraway look in her eyes that he had seen the night before. He almost felt guilty for goading her.
He cleared his throat loudly. ‘We are getting off-track here. This is about repairing your trust in Sheikh Khal.’ He sat a little straighter and laid one leg over his knee. ‘Not that it will pose much difficulty. Khal is a good man.’
‘I appreciate the vote of confidence,’ she said, her voice rasping slightly. ‘But I believe the point of this time away is for me to come to a decision alone.’
‘No one know
s him better than I do. Allow me to put your mind at ease.’
‘You are not my friend. And I would do well to remember that. I am taking advantage of some time to clear my head—nothing more. I won’t speak of this marriage business with you again.’
Roman raised a brow in question, getting to his feet and walking to stand beside her. ‘“Business...” An interesting word choice.’
She shrugged one slim shoulder, still looking away from him. ‘It’s the reality.’
‘It is a very complex arrangement, from what I know—it’s not just about you.’
* * *
It was as though he were reading straight from a script her father had written. The sudden reminder of her dilemma settled painfully like a dead weight in between Olivia’s shoulders. She was so tense she could scream. She had barely slept in the past twenty-four hours, and that coupled with being in this man’s presence made every nerve in her body feel completely on edge.
She felt her throat tighten. ‘I may be more sheltered than your average twenty-six-year-old woman, but I know what kind of situation I am in.’ She cleared her throat, steeling herself. She would not show weakness. ‘It’s never been about me—that’s the point.’
‘Are you telling me you feel you truly have no choice in the matter?’ he asked, a sudden seriousness entering his eyes. ‘Because a woman being forced into marriage is something I know Khal would never condone. Nor would I.’
Olivia looked up, taking in his broad stance and the furrow between his brows. Logically, she knew that his concern was for his friend, and not for the inconvenient charge he had been landed with. But for a moment she imagined what it might be like to have that kind of protectiveness completely to herself. She imagined that when a man like Roman cared for a woman he would do it fiercely—no prisoners taken. It seemed that he brought intensity into all aspects of his life.
She shook off the fanciful thoughts, suddenly hyper aware of his broad presence looming mere feet away from her. The warm headiness of his cologne teased her nostrils on the night air. His was the kind of scent that made a girl want to stand closer, to breathe it in. It was dangerous, that smell. It made her want to do dangerous things.
‘Your silence doesn’t exactly give me any insight.’ He leaned back on the stone ledge so that he faced her, his grey eyes strangely dark and unreadable in the warm light of the outdoor lamps.
Olivia sighed, shrugging one shoulder with practised indifference. How could she tell him that the only alternative she had to this marriage was to walk away and lose everything she had grown up to value?
‘I am not going to be handcuffed and frogmarched up the aisle, if that’s what you mean.’
He raised a brow. ‘But there would be consequences if you refused?’
She nodded once, unable to stand still in the face of his intense gaze and unwilling to discuss those consequences with a man who’d made it clear he was firmly on the opposite side. She might have escaped her father’s imperious presence, but it seemed she had simply swapped one judgemental know-it-all male for another.
She suddenly felt more alone than ever. Her restless feet took her to the end of the terrace, where the stone tiles gave way to soft, spongy grass.
‘I can’t remember the last time I walked barefoot in the grass,’ she said, more to herself than him, and she took a few tentative steps and sighed with appreciation.
One look back showed her that he was still watching her with that same unreadable expression. It was as though he were trying to categorise her, to pin down exactly what he needed to do to fix the very problem of her.
He had said the Sheikh trusted him to problem-solve. That was all she was to him—a problem. It seemed that was all she was to everyone these days, unless she shut her mouth and did what she was told.
‘Olivia, come back from there.’ Roman’s voice boomed from behind her. ‘This time of night it’s—’
‘You know, I think I can make that decision for myself,’ she said, cutting him off mid-speech. It was rude, but she was too irritated to care. ‘If I want to walk in the grass, I will. I don’t need someone to manage every second of my day.’
She took a few more steps across the grass, putting some space between herself and the surprised, strangely amused smirk that had suddenly spread across his face.
‘Suit yourself,’ he said quietly, looking down at the expensive watch on his wrist. ‘But you’re going to regret changing out of that bathing suit.’
She frowned at the cryptic statement, turning to face him. Just as she opened her mouth to question that statement the heavens seemed to open above her. Thick droplets of ice-cold rain fell hard and heavy onto her face, making her gasp as the cold spray got heavier and heavier, spreading through her clothing and down her neck and spine.
She was instantly wet through, and her mind took at least ten seconds before telling her to sprint back towards the house. After a few feet the rain suddenly stopped, and she was left looking into Roman’s laughing face.
‘I would have warned you about the sprinklers,’ he said, crossing his arms. ‘But I didn’t want to manage your day too much.’
She gasped as the cool night air hit her sodden skin. She looked down at her wet clothes and, to her surprise, felt hysterical laughter bubble up her throat.
Roman frowned, also with surprise, ‘What? No angry tirade about my appalling lack of consideration?’
‘I’m done with being angry today.’ She shook her head. ‘If I don’t laugh right now I might cry. And I make a point of never doing that.’
She leaned to one side, laughing once more as she began to squeeze the water from her hair. A sudden wicked urge grabbed her, and before she could stop herself she pooled the excess liquid in the palm of her hand and threw it in his direction, watching as it landed with a satisfying splash directly in his face.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly, trying to curb her laughter as she took in his thunderous expression.
He took a step towards her and she felt her breath catch.
‘You can’t throw the first punch and then retreat with an apology.’ His voice was dark and silky on the night air. ‘You sell yourself short. That was an excellent aim.’
‘I’m not sorry, then.’ She smirked, realising with a sudden jolt that she was flirting with him. And that he was flirting back.
The way he was looking at her coupled with the silent darkness of the night surrounding them made her almost imagine that this was a different moment in time entirely. That they weren’t just strangers forced into each other’s company by circumstance.
She imagined normal people laughed like this and poked fun at one another without fear of making a faux pas. It felt good, being normal.
‘You’ve got quite a wild temper hidden underneath all those royal manners.’ He took another step closer.
‘I manage to keep it in check most of the time.’
‘But not around me.’ It was a statement, not a question.
‘Don’t flatter yourself.’ She smiled nervously.
He stood little more than a foot away now, his warm scent clouding around her. She was wet and bedraggled, but she didn’t want to leave just yet. She didn’t want to end this—whatever it was that was passing between them. After a day filled with confrontation and being on the defensive, it was nice to lose the serious tone—even if for a brief moment.
She crossed her arms under her breasts, feeling the cold air prickle her skin into gooseflesh.
‘Khristos, why didn’t you say you were freezing?’
He reached out to touch her arm, the movement shocking them both as their eyes met in the half-darkness. It was a touch too far. They both knew it. And yet his hand stayed, gripping the soft skin just above her elbow. She shivered again, and this time it was nothing to do with the chill.
She noticed his expression darken suddenly. The air b
etween them filled with a strange sizzling energy and his fingers flexed against her skin just a fraction.
She realised his gaze had moved below her chin. Self-consciously she looked down—and felt the air rush from her lungs in one long drawn-out breath.
Her white blouse.
She might as well be standing in front of him completely naked for all the coverage the wet piece of fabric was offering her. Of course tonight had to be the night when, in her haste to dress, she had decided a bra wasn’t necessary. And of course the cool breeze had resulted in both taut peaks standing proudly to attention.
‘Oh, God...’
She took in another breath, silently willing herself to laugh it off, but her mind stumbled clumsily over itself as she took in the obvious heat in his gaze. His eyes were dark and heavy-lidded as they lifted to meet hers. There was no mistaking it now. The silent strum of sensual heat that thrummed in the air between them.
It was a strange feeling—wanting to hide from the intensity of his gaze and bask in it all at the same time. He made her feel warm in places she hadn’t known she could feel heat. It was as though her body was silently begging her to move towards him.
What would she do if he suddenly closed the gap between them and laid his lips hungrily on hers? Would he taste as sinfully good as he smelled?
She could suddenly think of nothing else.
What felt like hours passed, when really it was a matter of minutes. All the while his hand remained where it was, scorching her skin. Branding her.
When he finally turned his face away she fought the urge to step closer. To take the moment back. But then she followed his gaze and spied the housekeeper, quietly tidying their dinner dishes away nearby, with all the practised quietness of a professional.
She took one deliberate step away and crossed her arms over her chest, covering herself. His hand fell to his side and the haze of open lust disappeared from his features almost as quickly as it had come.
She wondered how he managed to look both furious and guilt-ridden at the same time. What would have happened if she had given in to that impulse and simply leaned forward to close the gap between them?
One Night with the Forbidden Princess Page 7
