‘Let me guess,’ he said, a sneer in his voice. ‘You want kindness, a sense of humour, and someone to want you just for you.’
Surprised that he’d hit the nail on the head, Regan was flummoxed when he started laughing.
‘I don’t see what’s so funny,’ she griped. ‘That’s what most women want.’
‘That’s what most women say they want,’ he retorted with masculine derision. ‘I’ve found that those things fall far short of the mark unless money and power are involved.’
‘Then I’d say you’ve been dating women far short of the mark. Maybe you need to raise your expectations.’
‘When I marry, Miss James, it will not be for kindness, love or humour.’
‘No,’ Regan agreed, ‘I’m sure there’ll be nothing funny about it. Or loving.’
His lips tightened at her comment. ‘I don’t need love.’
‘Everyone needs love. Believe me, I see the kids in my classroom who aren’t properly loved and it’s heartbreaking.’
‘I agree that a parent should love a child,’ he rasped, ‘but it’s irrelevant in a marriage.’
‘I disagree. My parents were deeply in love until the day they died. My father was someone who showed genuine love and affection to all of us.’
‘No wonder you have a fairy-tale view of relationships.’
Regan tilted her head, wondering where his un-fairy-tale-like view had come from. ‘What about your parents? Were they happily married?’
‘My parents’ marriage was a merger.’
‘Not a surprise, I suppose, given your attitude, but I didn’t ask why they married, I asked if they were happy.’
One minute he was sitting opposite her and the next he was standing at the windows, staring out at the darkening sky. He took so long to respond to her question, and was so still, Regan would have assumed he’d gone to sleep if not for the fact that he was standing up. Just as she was wondering what she could say to break the tension in the room he turned back to her, a scowl darkening his face. ‘Whether my parents were happy or not is unimportant. But actually they weren’t. They rarely saw each other. My mother found that she didn’t have the stamina to be a queen and spent most of her time in Paris or Geneva. My father was King. A job that leaves little time for anything else. He did what needed to be done. As my sister will. As my brother will, and as I will.’
His words painted a somewhat bleak picture of his early years.
‘That sounds a bit cold. Maybe your sister wants something different. Maybe she and my brother are in love. Have you considered that?’
If the muscle jerking in his jaw was any indication, then yes, he had considered it. And not happily.
‘You’d better hope not,’ he growled.
‘Why not? What if they’re in love and want to get married?’ God, what if they were already married? This man would probably skewer Chad like a pig on a spit-roast. ‘Would that be such a big deal at the end of the day?’
The look he gave her was dangerous. Dangerous and uncompromising. ‘Milena is already betrothed,’ he bit out softly. ‘And that betrothal cannot be broken. It will not be broken.’
‘Tell me,’ she said, narrowing her eyes, ‘are you concerned about your sister’s welfare because she’s your sister or because she might ruin your precious plans with this so-called Crown Prince?’
‘Are you questioning my affection for my sister?’ he asked with deadly softness.
‘No. I’m saying that if it’s true and she and Chad are in love, what can you do about it? I mean, it’s not like you can punish my brother for falling in love with your sister. You might not think it’s important but falling in love is surely not a crime. Even here.’
The smile he gave her didn’t reach his eyes. ‘You don’t know my country very well at all, Miss James, do you?’ He stalked towards her and leaned over her chair, caging her in with his hands on either armrest.
Regan’s heart knocked against her chest so loudly she thought he’d be able to hear it. She wasn’t afraid of him, although perhaps if she had any sense she would be, because the look in his eyes could chill lava. ‘I can have your brother executed for just looking at my sister.’
Regan drew in a shocked breath. ‘You cannot.’
His mouth twisted into a grim smile. ‘You have no idea what I’m capable of.’ His eyes drifted over her face and down to her body. Regan’s breath hitched inside her chest. He was so close, his scent filled her senses and started acting like solvent on her brain. She wanted to tell him that she didn’t care what he was capable of but neither her brain nor her body seemed to be functioning on normal speed.
‘But all that is irrelevant. If you and your brother are as close as you claim to be then he will come running soon.’
With that arrogant prediction he straightened away from her, giving her body enough respite that she could finally drag air into her lungs.
‘Goodnight, Miss James. I hope you enjoyed your dinner.’
Discombobulated by his nearness and the vacuum left by his sudden departure, Regan jumped to her feet and went after him, grabbing hold of the sleeve of his robe. ‘Hold on a minute.’ She blinked a few times to clear her head. ‘What do you mean by that? Why will my brother come running?’
‘Because hopefully he’s seen the photos I’ve had released of the two of us.’
‘Photos?’
‘Yes.’ His blue eyes glittered down into hers. ‘It seems you and I were photographed together in the hotel lobby. By now they should be splashed all over the European news networks with your name attached.’
‘You’re using me as bait,’ she whispered on a rushed breath.
‘I like to think of it as insurance.’ His superior smile did little to ease her rising temper. ‘When your brother finds out you’re here I’m hoping those familial connections you spoke so movingly about will have him scurrying out of the woodwork.’
‘Oh, you are t-truly awful,’ she stammered furiously. ‘Your sister has run away because you’re mean and trying to marry her off to someone who is probably just as horrible as you, and you’re going to scare my brother in the process.’
‘Your brother will pay for his sins, Miss James, and if you two are as close as you say you are he’ll come running.’
Regan shook her head. ‘I’ve never met a man as cold and heartless as you. Something you’re no doubt very proud of.’ She shoved her hands on her hips and stared him down. ‘You can’t keep me here like this. When I tell the American consulate what you’ve done you’ll be an international pariah.’
The look he gave her was cold and deadly, not a shred of compassion on the stark planes of his beautiful face. ‘Are you threatening me, Miss James? You do know it’s a crime to threaten the King?’
Regan tossed her hair back from her face. ‘It’s no doubt a crime to hit him as well but if I had a baseball bat handy, Sheikh Hadrid, or King Jaeger, or whatever your title is, I’d use it.’
She saw his nostrils flare and she suddenly realised how close together they were standing. If she took another step forward they’d be plastered up against each other. She told herself to do the opposite and step back but once again her body and her brain were on divergent paths.
‘The correct title is Your Majesty,’ he said softly. ‘Unless we’re in bed. Then you can call me Jaeger, or Jag.’
Oh, God, why had he said that?
And why was he looking at her as if he wanted to devour her? As if he wanted to kiss her as much as she wanted to kiss him?
This is stupid, Regan, she warned herself. Step back. Step back before it’s too late.
But she didn’t step back; instead she poked the bear. Quite literally, with her pointer finger. ‘Like that will ever happen,’ she threw at him. ‘I hate you. The only time I would ever sleep with you is in your dreams.’
‘Is that so?�
�
He grabbed hold of the finger she was using to jab him and brought it to his mouth. Regan’s breath backed up in her lungs as he ran the tip of her finger back and forth across his lower lip. Heat raced through her, consuming every ounce of good sense she’d ever owned. ‘Don’t do that,’ she begged, her voice husky.
He looked down at her, his blue eyes blazing. ‘Don’t fool yourself. You don’t hate me, little America. Far from it.’
CHAPTER FOUR
THE FOLLOWING MORNING Regan was still incensed by the King’s high-handedness. Clearly nothing was beyond him: imprisonment, trickery, sexual domination.
‘Don’t fool yourself. You don’t hate me, little America. Far from it.’
She did hate him. Of course she did. He was autocratic...arrogant... He was... The memory of the way his warm breath had moistened the tip of her finger, hinting at the dark heat of his mouth, made her shiver. He was unbelievably sexy!
Not that she was thinking about that. Or her response. She liked men who saw themselves as equal with women. King Jaeger obviously saw himself as equal with no one. Not even the gods!
‘I make the rules here,’ she muttered under her breath, completely oblivious to the beautiful, sultry day outside. ‘You’ll do as I say.’
How could she find a man like that sexy? Stress. Lingering jet lag. Inconvenient chemistry.
If only he were a rational man you could reason with. But he wasn’t. He had decided her brother was guilty, and appealing to reason wasn’t going to work.
Which left her with no option but to get away, or at the very least get word to Chad that she was fine and that he needn’t worry about her. As much as she wanted to find out what was going on with him, she couldn’t bear it if he panicked and did something crazy. Such as put himself in King Jaeger’s path.
She glanced around the high walls that surrounded the gardens. She had thought about scaling them but had almost immediately dismissed the idea. They were about twenty feet high and smoothly rendered. There wasn’t a foothold anywhere. She had also tried brazening it out and simply walking out of the door on the first day but it was always locked. The only time it wasn’t was when the maid was cleaning, as she was now, but on those occasions a security guard was stationed outside the door.
Regan knew because she had tried to sneak out the day before and been met with his implacable, blank stare. Maybe the King trained them personally.
Frustrated at how utterly helpless she felt, she strode back inside. Had the photo of her in the King’s arms been released to the media yet? Probably. She hated the thought that Chad had seen it and was worried about her, but more, she hated the thought of what would happen once King Jaeger got hold of her brother.
Good God, what had her brother been thinking, running off with a princess? Was he personally involved with her? And could the King really have him executed? More importantly, would he? He definitely seemed ruthless enough to do it but something told her that he wasn’t as bad as he made out. Closed, yes. Bad...no.
Regan fought back a wave of helpless frustration, absently watching the maid enter something into her tablet before picking up the feather duster again. Regan didn’t know what she could possibly be dusting—the room was immaculate. The maid was young, no more than twenty, at a guess, and seemed sweet enough. Unfortunately she spoke limited English, totally clamming up that first day when Regan had informed her that she wasn’t a guest of the King and needed to leave the palace as quickly as possible.
The girl had given her a confused, shy smile and told her in broken English how wonderful the King was, at which point Regan knew she wouldn’t be getting any help from her direction.
But if King Jaeger thought she would sit back while he planned her brother’s demise he was very much mistaken. As soon as she was free she would contact the American Embassy and demand that they...that they...what? Put in place economic sanctions against Santara? Ban tourism to the smaller nation? Most likely Jaeger would laugh and shrug those impossibly broad shoulders with a care factor of zero.
Irritated, she watched as the maid returned to her trolley and retrieved a cloth and cleaning agent before heading into the bathroom, leaving the trolley behind. Wandering around the room like a caged tiger in need of exercise, Regan passed the trolley and abruptly stopped when she realised that the maid had not only left her trolley unattended, but she’d left the tablet on it as well.
Heart thumping, she glanced towards the bathroom, where she could hear the maid singing softly to herself, and grabbed the electronic device. Praying that it wasn’t password-protected, she nearly gave a cry of relief when the screen lit up at her touch.
Ignoring her sweaty palms, she quickly connected to the internet and chewed on her lip as she thought about what to do next. Not having expected to get access to the web, she had no idea who to contact. The American Embassy? Did they have an emergency email on their website? But even if she contacted them they would have no way of telling Chad that she was fine. That she wasn’t at the mercy of King Jaeger. Worse, they might not even believe her.
Thinking on her feet, she pulled up her social-media account and had a brainwave. Rushing over to a sun lounger, she quickly unbuttoned her shirt so that her bra looked like a bikini. With trembling fingers she angled the tablet, plastered a bright smile on her face and took a photo of herself with the pool in the background. Then she quickly captioned a message underneath.
Having fun chez King Jag. Hope you are too. The King is a wonderful host! ❤️❤️❤️
She grinned as she added the three heart emojis. They were a fun joke between her and Chad that she had started when he had been an easily embarrassed teenager. It was something her mother would have taken great joy in doing to both of them.
Before she could reconsider her actions she hit ‘post’ and watched it come up on her home page. It wasn’t much, and she had no guarantee that Chad would check the site, but it was a way they had kept up with each other’s lives after he’d gone to university. With any luck he would check it before panicking about what the heck she was doing in the King’s arms.
Spiked with adrenaline at having outsmarted His high-and-mighty Majesty, she was about to write Chad a private message when she heard a noise in the room. Not wanting to alert the maid to what she had done, Regan quickly closed down the page she was on and strolled back inside, the tablet behind her back.
The maid didn’t even look her way and Regan only realised that her whole body was shaking after she quickly put the device back on the trolley. She exhaled a rushed breath and tried to calm her heartbeat. The tablet wasn’t in the same place as where she’d found it, but with any luck the maid would think that she had moved it herself.
Glancing at Regan quizzically, the young girl returned to the trolley and gave her a small smile as she wheeled it out of the room.
A shiver snaked its way down Regan’s spine. She had managed to thwart the King. She only hoped he never found out. A small smile touched her lips. But, even if he did, it wasn’t as if he could do anything about it. The man didn’t control the world.
* * *
Jag pounded his opponent so hard the man’s knees nearly buckled beneath him.
He should never have gone to her suite. Never have argued with her and certainly never have brought her fingers to his lips.
He swung hard again, grunting as his gloved fists connected with solid muscle.
From now on she would stay on one side of the palace and he would stay on the other.
His opponent groaned loudly. ‘Either I’m in really poor form, or you’re in extremely good form today, boss-man.’ Zumar winced as he prodded the side of his jaw. ‘If I’m lucky I might get out of this bout still standing.’
Jag rolled his aching shoulders and waited for Zumar to resume his fighting stance. Zumar was six feet six, built like an iron tank, and the head chef in the palace. He�
��d once been a black belt in karate and a kick-boxing champion before injury had forced him into another career as a street fighter. Many years ago Jag had assisted him in a five-against-one street brawl and given him a second chance. Zumar had studied as a chef, and could now run a Michelin-star establishment if he so chose. He didn’t. Instead he’d made a life for himself in Santara and remained loyal to Jag. Loyal until they faced off in the ring during their regular training sessions.
‘Stop complaining,’ Jag growled. ‘I can’t help it if you’re going soft on all those pastries you bake.’
‘Soft, is it?’ Zumar laughed. ‘Bring it on, boss-man.’
Jag did...taking out his pent-up energy and frustration in the ring rather than on the woman currently occupying his garden suite.
He still couldn’t believe how close he’d come to kissing her again last night. The woman did things to his equilibrium he didn’t want to contemplate. Because, for a man who was used to being in the utmost control at all times, it was a sad indictment to admit that when he’d taken one look at her in those cut-off shorts he’d nearly forgotten his own name.
Then there was all her talk of love and happiness...as if they were goals that motivated his life!
What did motivate him was success, position, power. Providing for his country and his family. Making sure everything ran smoothly and that Santara would never be in an inferior political position with its neighbours—Berenia and Toran—again. And if that made him a—what had she called him?—a stubborn, autocratic, overbearing tyrant, then so be it.
Usually steady on his feet, he felt Zumar’s fist connect with his right cheekbone. He staggered sideways and scowled at his chef’s ecstatic expression.
‘Lucky shot,’ he growled.
‘I’ll take it, boss-man,’ Zumar chortled, raising his fists again.
Jag feinted a right hook to his jaw and then did a kick-boxing manoeuvre that brought the other man down.
‘You learn too fast,’ Zumar complained. ‘I’m calling time.’
Bound to Her Desert Captor Page 6
