Roman Lazarov lowered himself casually into the seat beside her and lazily propped one ankle on the opposite knee.
‘You really didn’t think this through.’
From this angle, all she could see were powerful thighs encased in designer trousers and a pair of expensive leather shoes. She exhaled slowly, realising from the sound of his voice that he must have his face turned towards her. Watching to gauge her reaction.
He was probably congratulating himself on finding her so easily, the brute.
He cleared his throat loudly, waiting for her response.
Olivia pursed her lips and kept her eyes focused straight ahead. She wondered if, perhaps if she waited long enough, he would simply disappear into thin air.
‘You have ten seconds to give up your silent act before I announce your presence to this entire airport.’ He spoke low, his voice a barely contained growl.
She stiffened. ‘You’re bluffing.’
‘Look at me.’
She turned her head at his demand, hardly realising she had obeyed until it was done. His eyes were focused on her, steel-grey and glowing, just as she remembered them. His lips, so full and perfectly moulded, seemed to quirk a little at the sides as his eyes narrowed. It took a moment for her to realise he was silently laughing at her.
‘I was bluffing.’ He smiled in triumph, showing a row of perfectly aligned white teeth.
His smile was aggressively beautiful, just like the rest of him, she thought, with more than a little frustration. She noticed the rather delicious hint of dark stubble that lined his jaw. It somehow made him appear rugged and unrefined, even in his finely tailored clothing. She felt her throat go dry and silently cursed herself.
‘If you’re wondering how I found you, I simply followed the enormous trail of breadcrumbs you left in your wake, Printsessa.’
‘Don’t call me that here,’ Olivia murmured. The hum of noise in the airport was loud enough, but she didn’t want to draw any more attention than was needed.
He raised one brow, but nodded.
Olivia took a sharp breath, a slight tremor audible in her throat. ‘If I asked you to go, and pretend you’d never found me...’
‘That will never happen.’ He half smiled as he spoke the words, a small indentation appearing just left of his lips.
The man had dimples, she thought wildly. That was hardly fair, was it?
Before she could react, he had reached down and grabbed the small document she had been holding tightly in her hands. As she watched, he opened it, tilting his head to one side as he read.
After a long moment he looked up, meeting her eyes with disbelief. ‘You planned to use this?’
‘Initially, yes. But then I thought better of it.’
‘A wise choice, considering identity fraud is a very serious crime. Even for princesses.’
Olivia remained silent, staring down at the red mark on her fingers from where she had clutched the maid’s passport so hard it had almost cut off her circulation.
It had been a careless plan from the start, one borne of desperation and anger. If she had got caught... The thought tightened her throat. Fraud simply wasn’t something that was in her nature, luckily. Meaning that she had come no closer than eight feet from the check-in desk before she had turned on her heel and run. Leaving her sitting on this damned chair for the past two hours, frantically wondering where to go next.
Olivia shook off the ridiculous self-pity and forced herself to get a handle on her emotions. She was emotionally and physically exhausted. Any sleep she had got last night had been plagued by dreams of being trapped in tunnels with no way out, and a man’s voice calling to her from the darkness. When she had finally got up this morning it had been with the grim intent of getting as far away from Monteverre as possible, and yet here she was, less than an hour’s distance from the palace and already captured.
The entire plan had been stupid and impulsive from the start. Honestly, where had she really thought she would go once she’d walked out of the palace gates? She didn’t even have the right to hold her own passport, for goodness’ sake. Everything in her life was planned and controlled by others. She didn’t even have enough freedom to run away properly.
Roman was still looking at her intently. She could feel the heat of his gaze on the side of her face, almost as though he burned her simply by being near. He made her feel as though she were on show and he was the only person in the audience. The intensity of his presence was something she simultaneously wanted to bask in and run far away from.
‘I’m not running from my title.’ She spoke solemnly, knowing he could never understand.
‘Then what are you running from?’ His voice was low and serious, and his gaze still pinned on hers with silvery intensity.
Olivia took a deep breath, knowing this conversation had to end. He was not on her side, no matter how sympathetic he pretended to be.
‘It’s not safe for you to be wandering alone.’ His voice took on a steely edge. ‘I feel responsible for your decision to leave the palace. Perhaps you felt that yesterday reflected badly on your future husband—’
Again the ‘future husband’ talk. Olivia stood up, feeling her blood pressure rise with sheer frustration.
Roman’s hand took hold of hers, pulling her back down to a sitting position. His voice was low, somewhere near her right ear, as he spoke in chilling warning, ‘Don’t make any more impulsive moves, Printsessa. I might seem gentle, but I can assure you if you run from me again I might not be quite so civilised in hauling you back where you belong.’
Her heart hammered hard in her chest, and the skin along her neck and shoulders tingled and prickled with the effects of his barely veiled threat.
‘My car is parked at the door. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.’
Olivia briefly considered her options—or lack thereof. Was she really prepared to risk what might happen if she resisted? The memory of his powerful arms encircling her in her dressing room sprang to her mind. For a moment she sat completely still, wondering if the frisson of electricity that coursed through her veins was one of trepidation or one of something infinitely more dangerous.
She stood, spine straight, and began walking towards the entrance. He followed, as she’d expected, his muscular frame falling into step by her side. His hand cupped her elbow, steering her out into the daylight towards a gleaming white luxury model car with privacy-tinted windows. Not the kind of car she would have expected from a new money playboy with a taste for danger.
Her silent captor slid into the driver’s seat across from her, his warm, masculine scent filling the small space. He didn’t look at her as he manoeuvred the car out of the airport and through the maze of roads that led to the motorway.
She covertly glanced at him from behind the safety of her sunglasses. Strong, masculine hands handled the wheel with expert ease. She noticed the top two buttons of his black shirt lay open and his sleeves had been rolled up along forearms that practically bulged with muscle. Strange black markings encircled his skin just above his shirt cuff—tribal, perhaps, but she couldn’t see more than the edge.
Of course he had a tattoo, she thought, biting her lip as she wondered just how many he might have. And where they might be...
‘You are staring. Something you’d like to say?’
His low, accented voice jolted her and she averted her eyes, looking straight ahead, curling her fingers together in her lap. ‘I was simply wondering if you will be delivering me to my father or to the Sheikh.’
‘So dramatic.’ He sighed. ‘You make it sound like you are a shipment of goods.’
‘I might as well be,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘It’s hard not to feel like a piece of livestock. Being traded from one barbarian to another.’
His hands seemed to tighten on the wheel. ‘I’d prefer if you didn’t us
e your pity party to insult my friend in that fashion. “Barbarian” is not a term he would take lightly.’
‘Mr Lazarov, at this point I can’t say that I particularly care.’
‘I suggest that you start caring,’ Roman gritted, moving the car off the motorway and towards the mountain range that separated them from the Grand Palace.
Twenty minutes in this pampered princess’s company and he was tempted to stop the car and make her walk the rest of the way.
She was a puzzle, this fiery redhead. A spoilt, impulsive, dangerous puzzle, all wrapped up in one very tempting package. He would not feel guilty for being attracted to Khal’s fiancée. A man would have to be blind not to see the raw sensual appeal in Olivia Sandoval. But, unlike her, he had his impulses under control. It was not hard to brush off attraction when he could tell that all that lay beneath her flawless skin and designer curves was a spoilt, bored little royal on the hunt for a thrill.
‘Your father has asked that you be returned to the palace as soon as possible,’ Roman said, noticing how her body seemed to tense at the mention of the King. ‘But I feel that you and your fiancé need to speak first.’
‘He is not my fiancé,’ Olivia gritted.
‘Oh, so that’s what is going on here. You decided to break the engagement by running away. How very mature.’
Roman felt his jaw tighten with anger for his friend, for the future of two nations that was hanging in the balance all because of one woman.
‘No, I haven’t decided anything. That’s the point!’
Roman heard the slight tremor in her voice and turned briefly to see she had her head in her hands. ‘Look, if this is bridal jitters, I’m sure there’s plenty of time before the wedding—’
Her head snapped up and she pinned him with the most ferocious icy blue-green gaze. ‘Do you honestly think I would risk my reputation, my safety, over a little case of bridal jitters?’
‘I only met you yesterday.’ He shrugged.
It was true—he didn’t know very much about her except that she had a deep-rooted mistrust of men and a mean left hook.
‘This isn’t something to speak about with a stranger.’
‘At least you’re listening...somewhat.’ She sighed. ‘Even if you think the worst of me.’
He said nothing, concentrating on the road as they edged around the mountain face. He could have taken the new, modern tunnel that bisected the mountain entirely. But this was a new country for him and he enjoyed the scenic routes.
Olivia lay her head back on the seat, her voice low and utterly miserable. ‘How can a woman suddenly have a fiancé when she hasn’t heard or even decided to accept a marriage proposal?’
‘You mean...Khal didn’t formally propose? This is what’s upset you?’
‘No. He did not formally propose,’ she said, mocking laughter in her voice. ‘I only met the Sheikh yesterday for the first time—at the races. Five minutes after my father informed me that I would be marrying him.’
CHAPTER FOUR
ROMAN FELT HIS brain stumble over her words. ‘That is impossible.’
‘Welcome to my life.’ A deep sigh left her chest. ‘Apparently Monteverre has reverted to the Middle Ages.’
‘The Sheikh assured me that all the arrangements have been made. That he is simply here to make the formal announcement of your intended marriage.’
‘The only arrangement that has been made is a business one. Evidently the bride was not important enough to be let in on the plans.’
She laughed once—a low, hollow sound that made Roman’s gut clench.
‘I’m twenty-six years old and suddenly I’m expected to tie myself to a stranger for the rest of my life.’
A tense silence fell between them and Roman took a moment to process this new information. Khal had not been honest with him. And if there was one thing that Roman Lazarov despised it was being taken for a fool. Khal had said the Princess was his future bride, leaving him with the assumption that the woman had consented to the marriage. Now, knowing that she hadn’t...
Call him old-fashioned, but he believed a woman had a right to her own freedom, her own mind. Growing up on the streets, he had seen first-hand just what happened when men decided simply to assume a woman’s consent.
The Princess had called Khal a barbarian, but Roman knew that was the furthest thing from the truth. He wanted to believe that this was all a misunderstanding—that Khal had been misled by the King into believing his intended bride was a willing participant in all this. However...he knew the single-minded ruthlessness that possessed the Sheikh whenever his nation’s future lay in the balance.
He had said himself that this marriage was vital to Zayyar’s future. Perhaps it was vital enough to overlook a reluctant bride?
They rounded a particularly sharp bend and the road began to descend towards the lush green valley that spread out below. This country had its own particular charm—there was no denying it, he thought as he took in the glittering sea in the distance.
A small lay-by had been built into the outer curve of the road—a safe place for people to stop and take photographs while stretching their legs. Making a snap decision, Roman slowed down, manoeuvring the car into a vacant spot in the deserted lay-by and bringing them to a stop.
‘What are you doing?’ Olivia’s brows furrowed.
‘I need a moment,’ he said, taking the keys with him as he stood away from the car, just in case his passenger had any ideas. The lay-by was deserted, and the road far too steep for her to get anywhere on foot.
He braced his hands on the glittering granite wall and took a moment to inhale the fresh mountain air deeply. There was something about the sight of completely unspoiled nature that deeply affected him. He had spent far too much of his youth surrounded by concrete buildings and garbage-scented air.
The sea beckoned to him in the distance. His yacht was ready to leave the moment he returned—ready to sail out into the open sea, where he would be free of this troubled royal family and their tangled web.
All he had to do was drop her off at the palace and he was home free.
Why he was hesitating all of a sudden, he did not know, but something was stopping him from completing his directive without questioning it further. He heard the car’s passenger door close gently and turned to see the Princess come to a stop at the wall beside him.
‘This is my favourite view in all of Monteverre,’ she said. There was not a hint of sadness in her voice. It was just fact, stated without emotion.
He realised that since the moment he had held her captive in the tunnel he had not seen her resort to tears once. No one, including him, would have judged her for breaking down in the face of an unknown captor. She had a backbone of steel, and yet she had not been able to follow through with her plan to use the fraudulent passport. She clearly drew the line at breaking the law, and could not blur her own moral guidelines even in apparent desperation.
‘What exactly were you hoping to achieve by running?’ he asked, directing his question to the side of her face as she continued to stare out at the distance.
‘I don’t know.’ She nipped lightly at her bottom lip. ‘I just needed the chance to come to a decision myself. Some time to weigh up my options. I have no idea what life is like away from my guards and my responsibilities, and yet here I am, expected to blindly trade one set of palace walls for another.’
He couldn’t disagree with her logic.
‘When I agreed to perform the security operation yesterday, I presumed that your marriage had already been arranged.’ He ran a hand across his jaw, the memory of his handling of her raw and uncomfortable. ‘Had I known the situation was not what it seemed I would not have agreed to it.’
She shrugged, defeat evident in the downward slope of her slim shoulders.
‘I will take you to Khal. You can address your concerns
to him directly. That is generally how adults resolve such situations.’
Olivia stared at him with disbelief. ‘I am not a child. Despite being treated like one time and time again.’ She braced her two hands on the wall, her perfectly manicured nails in stark contrast against the stone. ‘I have no interest in pleading my case to a man I do not know. Besides, do you think I would have done this if I wasn’t already completely sure that my voice will hold no weight in this situation?’
Roman pinched the bridge of his nose, a low growl forming in his chest. ‘Damn it, I do not have time for this. I could have been halfway across the Mediterranean by now.’
She turned to him, one hand on her hip. ‘I’m sorry that our political situation is such an inconvenience to your playboy lifestyle, Mr Lazarov.’
She took a step away, her shoulders squared with frustration, before she turned back to face him.
‘You know what? I’m tired of this too. You may as well just take me to the Sheikh right now, so that I can reject his proposal in person. If his choice in friends is anything to go by, I’m sure I won’t be missing out on too much.’
‘You presume I care how you pampered royals resolve your issues?’
‘You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.’
‘The only reason I am here is because you chose to be a coward rather than face the situation head-on.’
Hurt flashed in her eyes and he suddenly felt like the world’s biggest heel.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said honestly, her eyes meeting his with sudden vulnerability. ‘I know that marrying the Sheikh is the right choice for my people. Despite what you might think, I do care about this kingdom—very much. If I didn’t, I would have already said no.’
The silence that fell between them was thick and tension-filled, although the air was cooling down now, as the sun dropped lower in the sky and evening fell across the mountain.
She had accused him of tightening her cage yesterday, and today it couldn’t be more true. The idea of pretending he hadn’t found her in the first place was tempting...but no matter how much it would simplify his life he knew that a woman like her wasn’t safe alone in the world. He knew more than anyone that there were far too many opportunistic criminals out there, just waiting for a chance at a high-class victim. Keeping rich people safe was his business, after all.
One Night With The Forbidden Princess (Monteverre Marriages Book 1) Page 5
