by India Grey
‘No, please…it was my fault too. I—’ She broke off just in time, biting back the words that were in danger of tumbling out of her mouth. I wanted it. ‘I was still half asleep,’ she finished weakly.
He sighed. ‘Even so. It was…wrong.’
Was it? A cold, heavy sense of disappointment, of desolation, settled in the pit of her stomach and she turned to stare unseeingly out into the green, unfamiliar landscape. How could it be wrong when it felt so right? Impulsively she opened her mouth to say this, but one glance at his face made the words dry up and lodge in her throat.
In profile he looked as if he’d been carved from stone. Cold, hard, utterly emotionless—a tombstone effigy of the man who had kissed her with such violent passion only a few minutes ago.
But maybe he wasn’t kissing her , she thought as icicles dripped down her spine. She’d just been there .
The silence fell over them like a suffocating blanket. Gradually she became aware that she was gripping the guidebook on her knee so hard that her fingers had gone numb. She flexed them painfully back into life, and opened the book, desperate for some escape from the humiliating realization that Luis had kissed her because she was convenient, because she was a female pair of lips and he was bored and frustrated and because that was what he did. The history of Santosa was as good a diversion as any.
Portuguese explorers discovered Santosa by mistake when they were attempting to return home from their voyage around the new world. The ships, weighed down with cargoes of brazilwood, floundered on the rocky cliffs on the south-west point of the island and many sailors were lost. However, one of the survivors was Henrique Cordoba, Duke of Santosa—a flamboyant nobleman, notorious rake and favourite of the king, who had been sent on the voyage to escape gambling debts and a series of scandals involving the wives of other high-profile members of the court.
It must be a family trait. She turned the page, and felt the breath catch in her throat as she found herself looking straight into familiar, laughing golden eyes.
The Santosan royal family today, said the caption underneath. King Marcos Fernando and his sons, the Crown Prince Henrique and Prince Luis.
The photograph had been taken some years ago, she realised with a lurch of her heart. Luis’s face was younger, more open, with none of the hardness and cynicism that were etched into it today. His smile was wide and untainted by irony, and standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his brother he looked heart-stoppingly handsome.
Her gaze shifted to Rico. His colouring was darker than Luis’s, his hair shorter. He looked quieter and, compared with Luis’s dazzling charisma, almost severe.
‘What are you reading?’
‘Nothing.’ She tried to shut the book, but he was too quick for her. Taking it from her he glanced at the cover, and then turned back to the page she’d been reading. His expression hardened as he saw the photograph, but she watched his lip curl as he read out a passage from beneath it. ‘The present monarch, King Marcos Fernando, enjoys a level of popularity amongst his people that is almost unique. His eldest son, Henrique, known as Rico, has been groomed all his life to one day take his father’s place on the throne, and is held in high regard and great affection by the Santosan people. Oh, dear,’ he said scathingly. ‘Not the most up to date edition, is it?’
‘It was a present from Kiki.’
‘Very thoughtful. Clearly she didn’t think I’d be much of a tour guide, but I’ll do my best. Look—here we are approaching the gates to the palace, home of what used to be one of the most popular royal families in the world.’
His tone was mocking but Emily felt her insides freeze as she saw the chips of ice in his eyes. Mutely she turned her head away, gazing out of the window at the imposing stone gateway that loomed up ahead of them.
The car slowed and the sun was blotted out as they passed beneath it. Guards stood aside, their faces blank beneath their helmets, guns braced across their chests. Glancing upwards Emily saw the savage teeth of a portcullis rearing above them.
‘It’s like a prison,’ she joked weakly.
Luis didn’t smile. ‘Welcome to the royal household.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
JOSEFINA placed the newspaper down on the table and gave a brittle laugh. ‘It wasn’t quite the image we were hoping for.’
‘Nice picture of Tomás,’ Luis said blandly, glancing at the huge front-page photograph of him kissing Emily Balfour at the foot of the plane steps beneath Tomás’s grim gaze. ‘Very statesman-like.’
‘Which, with respect Your Highness, is more than can be said for you.’ Tomás looked pained. ‘We talked about this. We’re trying to present you to the people of Santosa in a new light, as responsible and—’
‘Caring. I know. And there I am, being caring. Miss Balfour was far too hot and I was helping her to cool down.’
Tomás’s eyebrows shot up. ‘By undressing her on the tarmac?’
‘By taking off that awful jacket, yes. I’d say that was very caring of me,’ Luis said in a bored voice, turning the paper over and ostentatiously flicking through the back pages to the football scores. Despite his outward display of nonchalance a pulse was beating in his temple and he could feel knots of tension tightening in his shoulders.
‘But, sir,’ Tomás persisted, ‘I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t—’
Luis laid down the newspaper with exaggerated care. His patience hung by a thread. ‘It wasn’t planned, Tomás,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘It was just…’
What? a small voice in his head taunted. Unavoidable? Irresistible? Inevitable? Because that was how it had felt at the time. And if his own guilt and the ghosts of Rico and Christiana hadn’t been able to stop him, then Tomás and Josefina and the dictatorial demands of the bloody press office had no chance.
‘Sir.’ Josefina’s deliberately placating voice broke into his thoughts, dragging him back to the present. Across the table she clasped her hands together, her long, shiny, scarlet nails reminding him of the blood-stained talons of some bird of prey. ‘Sir, I hate to discuss your private life like this, but—’
‘Really?’ Luis arched an eyebrow. ‘I thought you loved discussing my private life. You’ve made a career out of it, in fact. You and many of the world’s gossip columnists, tabloid journalists, newspaper editors and the entire Santosan government.’
Her painted mouth shaped itself into an apologetic smile. ‘Well, sir, you must understand that it’s now a political matter rather than simply a personal one. Unless we can persuade the people of Santosa that you’ve left the mistresses and fast cars and wild parties behind you, the Royal House of Cordoba’s five hundred years of rule could be in serious jeopardy. The people want a king they can look up to, Your Highness. Someone…regal .’
‘Maybe we should advertise for the position.’ Luis idly coloured in the bikini pants of the winner of this year’s Miss Santosa contest, who was staring mistily out from page three in her tiara and a sash.
Josefina stood, pacing along the length of the polished table and giving him a great view of her lush curves, encased today in a tight emerald-green dress. ‘Sir, it’s not a job. It’s your heritage. Your birthright. Your destiny.’
Luis opened his mouth to argue, but shut it again, throwing down his pen and leaning back in his chair with a resigned sigh. What was the point? It didn’t matter what Josefina called it, or how she and the palace press team packaged it; it couldn’t alter the truth.
It had been Rico’s birthright. Rico’s destiny. It was Luis’s punishment. His prison term.
He rubbed a weary hand over his face and looked up at Josefina with a chilly smile. ‘Of course. Thank you for reminding me. So what do I need to do?’
‘“The time has come for you to be married,” the queen told the handsome young prince. “Tomorrow night, all the eligible young ladies from every high-born family in the kingdom will gather here for a ball, and you must choose your wife from amongst them .”’
Emily paused, holding out
the book so that the little girl could see the picture. Luciana was sitting at the opposite end of the window seat, her dark eyes fixed warily on Emily’s face, but now she looked down at the book and edged a tiny bit closer. Encouraged, Emily pointed to the picture and said softly, ‘There’s the prince, in his smart clothes for the party. Isn’t he handsome?’
Solemnly Luciana nodded. ‘Like Uncle Luis,’ she said in a voice so quiet Emily had to lean right down to hear it. ‘Uncle Luis is the Prince of Santosa. He’s handsome.’
Straightening up abruptly, Emily cleared her throat. ‘Yes, yes, he is, isn’t he?’ she said brightly, picking up the book again and resisting the urge to hold it right up in front of her face so Luciana wouldn’t see her discomfort. ‘Anyway, let’s get back to Swan Lake . Where were we…? Oh, yes. Prince Siegfried was angry and frustrated. He didn’t like the idea of marrying a girl of his mother’s choosing, no matter how elegant her manners or how noble her birth. He wanted to marry for love. The queen looked sad. “You are a prince, my son, and a prince has many luxuries, but choice is not one of them. And neither, I’m afraid, is love. You must—” ’
‘Stop whining and just enjoy the fast cars and the champagne,’ interrupted a familiar ironic voice from the doorway.
The book jerked violently in Emily’s hands and her throat closed instantly, stopping her midsentence. At least a dozen acerbic responses to his comment jumped into her head, but all of them died on her lips as she looked up and saw him coming towards them, his hands in his pockets.
‘Hello, Luciana, how are you? I haven’t seen you for ages.’
And Emily hadn’t seen him since yesterday, which had been enough time for her to play down his gorgeousness in her mind and have a good go at fooling herself that kissing him had been no big deal. Seeing him now, shockingly attractive in a soft, pale blue collarless shirt and faded jeans, was seriously unsettling.
Luciana quailed a little, as if she’d like to hide behind Emily, but dutifully she slid down from the window seat and bobbed a small, shy curtsy before shrinking back again. A bolt of shock and anger shot through Emily, but Luis’s bland smile didn’t falter.
‘Please, carry on with the story,’ he said tonelessly. ‘I’d quite like to know what happens.’
Emily kept her attention focused on Luciana. Someone had to, she thought stiffly. She’d barely met her, but it was obvious that the child was seriously troubled. No wonder. From what she’d seen so far it appeared that the royal method of dealing with an orphaned child’s grief seemed to be to hide it behind etiquette and protocol.
‘It’s fine,’ she said briskly. ‘We can finish it later. I’m sure you’d like to talk to your niece, as you haven’t seen her for a while.’
Just for a second she saw alarm flare in his eyes and felt a perverse sense of satisfaction. He could overlook her, and treat her as if she was insignificant, but she wasn’t going to let him do the same to Luciana.
‘What book is it?’ he asked politely, looking down at her.
‘Stories from famous ballets,’ Luciana whispered, twisting her fingers together. ‘Emily gave it to me.’
‘Well, it was from Uncle Luis, really,’ Emily said quickly. ‘And all the other things.’
‘Thank you, Uncle Luis.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Luis said, raising an eyebrow at Emily. ‘Other things?’
She lifted her chin and met his eye. ‘Ballet clothes. Leotards and tights and shoes.’
‘Proper ones, not just for dressing up,’ Luciana added, pride momentarily overcoming her shyness. ‘Ones that real dancers wear, like Emily.’
‘So I see.’ He looked briefly at Emily, taking in the soft grey footless tights she wore, the little plum-coloured wrap-around cardigan and short, fluid skirt. ‘So that’s what you bought instead of proper clothes when you went shopping.’
‘Yes.’ She hesitated awkwardly. ‘But the things you ordered were waiting for me in my room last night. Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.’
He made a small sound of impatience. ‘Judging from the dreadful things I’ve seen you in so far, I’m afraid I’d have to disagree. Yesterday’s funeral suit should be burned, and you can’t go out to a restaurant wearing a leotard and tights.’
Emily got to her feet, not meeting his eye as adrenaline pumped through her. He kissed her when it suited him, and yet he could barely disguise his contempt when he spoke to her. ‘Well, since I’m here to teach ballet, not go out to restaurants, that shouldn’t be a problem,’ she said with exaggerated courtesy, ‘but thank you anyway. Come on, Luciana, shall we go down to the gym and get started on your first lesson?’
‘Wait.’
They were almost at the door but the word stopped her in her tracks. She noticed the way Luciana’s grip on her hand tightened when he spoke.
‘Yes?’
She tried to keep her tone neutral, but failed spectacularly. The word might only contain three letters but every one of them bristled with defiance.
‘Has someone shown you the gym?’ he asked, crossing the room towards her. ‘I understand from Tomás that a barre has been fitted for Luciana’s ballet lessons.’
‘Yes, thank you. It’s perfect.’
‘And your room? Is your room all right?’
She laughed, thinking of the suite she had been shown to last night with its own sitting room and little sunny balcony. ‘You saw where I was living before, so, yes, thank you. My lavish suite of rooms is perfectly acceptable. Now, if that’s all—’
‘It isn’t.’ He came to a standstill in front of her, leaning against the doorway, his expression offhand. ‘I came here to ask you to have dinner with me tonight.’
She raised her chin, trying to hide her shock. ‘Is that a request or a royal command?’
He smiled, a thin smile that didn’t reach his expressionless eyes. ‘Would it make a difference to your answer?’
‘Yes.’
He sighed, and suddenly he looked very tired ‘Then it’s whichever will make you agree.’
For a heartbeat she didn’t reply. She was aware of Luciana’s tight hold on her hand. But mostly she was aware of Luis—the now-familiar, perennially intoxicating smell of him, the dark smudges beneath his eyes, the stubble on his hard jaw. ‘OK, then.’ She spoke in a low reluctant voice, as if the words were being drawn from her against her will. ‘If you’re asking as a human being, then we’d like to, wouldn’t we, Luciana?’
Emily just had time to register the flare of surprise in Luis Cordoba’s topaz-coloured eyes before she tore her own gaze away and turned her attention to the little girl at her side. Luciana blinked, biting her lip, clearly unsure how to react, so Emily dropped down to her level, smoothing a strand of dark hair back from her face. ‘It would be fun. We’ll dress up in something nice, and Uncle Luis can take us out for dinner,’ she said softly, taking hold of Luciana’s hands. ‘We can have burgers and chips and a cola float. Do you know what one of those is?’ Luciana shook her head mutely. ‘It’s a fizzy drink with ice cream on the top, and it’s my absolute favourite. What do you think?’
‘It sounds…nice.’
Emily straightened up, letting her gaze skim over Luis’s long legs, his hard stomach, as she did so.
‘Thank you. We’ll be ready at six.’
‘Excelente.’ Once more his smile stopped short of his eyes and his voice was cool and tinged with irony. ‘It looks like I have a date with two beautiful girls. Even by my standards that’s quite a result.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
LUIS would have said that his knowledge of Santosa’s night-life was pretty much second to none, but the Purple Parrot was one restaurant that wasn’t on his personal radar.
The manager, almost hyperventilating with excitement at having the patronage of the Crown Prince, had shown them to a table on the veranda over the beach as agreed earlier with palace security, and while Emily studied the menu with Luciana, Luis looked around. At this hour the restaurant was busy with families; hi
ghchairs were stationed at nearly every table and toddlers knelt up on chairs, eating with their fingers. Luis shuddered, grimacing slightly at the plastic palm trees that held up the raffia-fringed canopy above them, the soft-toy parrots and monkeys and snakes that hid in their branches. It wasn’t the kind of place he’d usually choose to bring a woman for a date.
Not that this was a date, he reminded himself acidly. It was another duty; a PR exercise, order of Josefina and the press office.
He looked across at Emily. She was wearing a short indigo-blue cotton dress, presumably one of the things selected by the girl in Harvey Nichols. It was loose, falling in soft pleats from a low neckline and, unlike any of the other stuff he’d seen her in, it suited her to perfection. She looked young and incredibly pretty as she sat beside Luciana, her head bent over the menu, her ponytail falling over her shoulder and exposing her delicate collarbone and the back of her neck. The rapier-sharp arrow of lust that skewered him caught him off guard and made his breath catch in his throat.
Emily straightened up and smiled warily across at him. If she knew what he was thinking she wouldn’t be smiling at all, he thought acidly.
‘Thank you for bringing us,’ she said with clipped English courtesy. ‘It’s a great place.’
‘I might have known you’d like it.’
The Balfour blue eyes held his for a moment, the darkening in their clear depths showing her anger, but then they were hidden by a sweep of her dark, thick lashes as she looked back down at Luciana.
‘Have you decided what you’d like to eat, sweetheart?’
Guilt came down on him like the night as he watched Luciana lean closer in to Emily’s side, pointing shyly at the menu. Guilt was his default emotion as far as his niece was concerned, and from the moment Emily had added the little twist to his dinner invitation earlier he’d known this wasn’t going to be a relaxing evening. But that comment about this being Emily’s kind of restaurant had been below the belt.
