His mouth parted and he moved to kiss her again. Before she lost her heart completely, she turned and walked away, her body vibrating with arousal. She ground her jaw, determined not to look back, to see if he still stood there.
If only our stars had been different. If only the world hadn’t fallen apart. She forced the canvas shoes to push on through the unfamiliar streets, and to look for a place to call home.
At least she could say she’d kissed an angel. Not many could say that, not even royalty.
THE STREETS BUSTLED WITH COMPACT cars, old motorcycles, and even older bicycles. Twice as many pedestrians traversed the uneven sidewalks and dirt shoulders. Most of the businesses by the marina were traditional concrete block buildings, but as Alanna moved farther from the shore, they became more open air and almost rickety. Palm trees towered over the streets and large ferns sprouted everywhere, including in the cracks of parking lots.
The motel was more modest than she’d expected, but inviting. The open lobby allowed the sea breeze to pass through; one attendant sat at a bamboo desk check-in. In the corner was a small bar with a few rickety stools. An old tube-style television sat perched on a shelf in the corner, blurting out international news from CNN.
Although she couldn’t wait for a hot shower, finding a room had to wait. She tucked herself in a corner of the bar, and used the cell phone Rona’s father gave her to call her father’s private line.
So much had happened, and she’d give anything to see her family, to tell them she’d survived. The knot in her throat returned as the monotone ring continued, with no answer.
The Royal Guardsmen’s line was a busy signal. So was Rona’s number. Her brother, Tulio, didn’t answer his cell.
Maybe Dean was right. Terrorists might have taken out the phone lines first.
She called André, her eldest brother, who’d lived in Las Vegas for the last several years. “Hello, this is André. Leave me a message.”
Alanna forced down the dread commandeering her thoughts.
Everyone is fine. Stick to the plan. Hotel room, dinner, then the consulate.
A noise erupted in the lobby, and everything went quiet. The bartender turned up the volume on the television. “Breaking news. The island of Solana in the South Pacific has been taken over by terrorists. All news feeds are down, but information is coming in from off-shore sources that the royal palace has been overrun, and King Rodrigo Peralta has been assassinated.”
The phone shattered as it hit the concrete, her hand shooting to the jewels at her neck.
“Preliminary reports indicate the terrorists were hired mercenaries from the Lozano cartel in the Philippines. We can’t confirm the damage reports, but images from a grainy video obtained by the network show significant damage to the marina. The Royal Guard has also been compromised. Sources say they can see the smoke and demolition of the Royal Square from the sea…”
Legs shaking, she moved closer to the television, the video blurring the details, but the flames and smoke clear. The news anchor touched the microphone in her ear and then continued in that dreadful, solemn voice.
“The reports are confirmed. King Rodrigo Peralta, and his son, twenty-six-year-old Crown Prince Tulio, are dead.”
Alanna gasped and, pressed her fist against her teeth, suppressing the scream that would draw attention.
“There is no information on twenty-year-old Princess Alanna, who is believed to have been on Solana at the time of the attack, nor is there any report from the eldest son, Prince André, twenty-eight, who lives in the United States. Solanian military forces are still engaged with the terrorists, but the Parliament and police forces are all but obliterated. The U.N. Security Council is set to have an emergency meeting in two days to address this international crime.”
Everything went fuzzy. The television images blurred, and her legs and cheeks turned numb.
“King Rodrigo had been facilitating anti-drug operations in the South Pacific, in conjunction with U.S. drug enforcement agencies. His support of the crackdown on the illegal drug trade has significantly reduced crime over the last decade.”
She shuffled outside, sucking in a last breath of oxygen.
Salga! Get away. I can’t lose it in public. Salga!
She wound up in an alley between the hotel and a small outdoor café, the story dominating every television that blared into the streets. Her chest burned. Breathe. Breathe, now.
Finally, she uncovered her mouth.
She screamed.
A cry deep from her toes engulfed her whole body. Her knees gave out and her hands hit the dirt. A sob wracked her body, her chest heaving and certain she’d drown in the tears clogging her throat.
Do not let them find you. Her father’s words pounded in her mind.
It was too much. Never in her charmed life had she been groomed to endure this trial. Royalty and refinement melted away, and for the first time, she desperately wanted to punch something. To beat something until it fell to her feet.
As she hyperventilated, she turned her head and held up a hand, signaling to the few people who’d observed her fall that she didn’t need assistance. Like avoiding an injured lioness, they kept their distance, and finally moved on.
She’d promised the king—to the man who loved her more than his crown—that she would escape. And she did. Now she was alone.
I left them to die. Two hundred years of Peralta reign—gone in one night.
Her chest burned for air and she fell, crumpling in a small heap against the wall.
Madre de Dios, help me.
Flynn traversed up the cracked road, his gut insistent he make the trip. With the yacht refueling and only a few things left to do, Dean sent him to find a heartier dinner than fruit and beef jerky. Closer to shore, their go-to spot with the tangy pork platter was closed. Something told him to head to the first motel on Alanna’s list.
A ridiculous notion to see if she made it safely, or the even more absurd need to see the one person he could look in the eye. In just one day, he’d grown so attached to her, to that ability to stare into her perfect mocha eyes.
When she had walked away from him on the docks, he’d panicked. He wanted to follow, stop her, ask her to go to Manila with them. He had no idea how the trip would end, not thinking about anything else other than a few more days with her. She didn’t even look back. That hurt the worst. So, his pride took over and he went to work refueling the yacht.
The noisy streets and incessant unease in his gut drove him further up the small hill. When the hotel was only a block away, he noticed a small crowd gathered at the end of an alley.
“She’s fine,” commented one of the bystanders, causing the others to slowly disperse.
Flynn came closer, recognizing a sob. Unmistakably, a woman’s.
None of them are helping her?
He forced through the small crowd. In the alley, someone tiny and helpless crouched against a wall. Long brown hair braided to the side, held together with a twist-tie.
Alanna?
Flynn knelt beside her, but she didn’t look up. She just sobbed uncontrollably into her bag. “What happened? Are you hurt?” He ran his hands over her back, searching for a wound or broken bone, but she was wrapped in a ball.
“What happened here?” He whirled on the crowd of people. The remaining bystanders only replied with a stunned stare or shrug. He scooped her tiny body into his arms. She barely weighed anything. Only the lowest of creatures would attack someone so small and vulnerable. His blood almost boiled at the thought. Her hands clasped around his neck, her nails digging in like cat’s claws. She continued to sob into his shoulder.
I never should have left her alone.
Double-timing down the hill, Flynn navigated through the masses by the marina, with a few wary stares from strangers.
The yacht was on the far end of the marina, Dean visible on the bow coiling rope.
“Hang on, angel. Almost there.” He cringed at his harsh tone, his building fury on th
e verge of strangling him.
“Dean!” he barked. The man’s head lifted, and he dropped the ropes, rushing to the side.
“What happened?”
Flynn flew up the gangplank. “I found her like this in an alley.”
“Jesus. Set her down inside.”
In the salon, he laid her on the couch, but her fingers remained clasped around his neck—as though she’d drown if she let go. Flynn gently pried her hands apart and she tucked her knees into her chest.
“Alanna, look at me.” It was the softest voice he could muster. Brushing the hair from her face, Flynn avoided touching her ears. She probably didn’t have the same problem, but his childhood quirk during fits or panic attacks always made it worse when people touched his ears.
She didn’t look up, but at least the hyperventilation had stopped. Dean pressed a cold cloth on her neck and opened the first aid kit.
“Look at me, Alanna,” Flynn repeated, softer.
Finally, she lifted her head. The pain in her eyes nearly ripped him in half.
“Where are you hurt?”
Her bottom lip trembled. On a cracked whisper, she said, “Everywhere.”
“ALANNA, YOU NEED TO DRINK something,” Flynn cooed.
She’d curled herself into a ball on the bed, shoved in the corner with her back to the world. She didn’t acknowledge his presence, or even move when he sat on the edge. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was asleep. The slight rise and fall of the waves had always nursed him to sleep. That and the fresh sea air. If he could convince her to go on deck and breathe in the night, maybe she’d open up. Or at least stop crying.
The sun had dissolved into the shimmering cerulean waters over an hour ago, and Alanna still refused to come out of her cabin. She’d been so incoherent, and inconsolable after they brought her on board, that Flynn had to carry her below. They couldn’t find any injuries, not even bruising. After thirty minutes of letting her calm down followed by no response from her door, they chose to keep to their tight schedule and leave Palau.
Flynn paced outside her door for twenty minutes, her intermittent sobs ripping at his brain worse than being touched by strangers. Worse than an unfinished project. The kind of thing that would’ve driven him into uncontrollable fits as a kid. If only she’d tell him what happened. Where it hurt. He could fix it. That was what he did best. His whole job in the Navy. Fixing things. Engines and marine parts were his specialty, but anything they gave him he’d figure out.
This was different. A crying woman had no manual, no definitive movable parts. And he couldn’t walk away. He couldn’t avoid her, even though this wasn’t as predictable or concrete as numbers. The only option remaining was nurturing, something with which he didn’t have much experience.
He laid his hand on her back. The warmth of her skin permeated his hand. Her broken soul was still warm. But she didn’t move. No other words came to his mind. What do you say to a hurt woman? Words had never helped him before. Only actions.
“We left Palau, so whoever hurt you won’t ever touch you again. You’re safe here. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He’d risk everything to make sure of it. She was defenseless like this. Someone had hurt her, maybe taken advantage of her beauty and youth. But beneath that smooth tan was the fire of the sun. He saw it every time he looked into her walnut eyes. A will stronger than his own. Maybe that’s why he could see her straight on.
But even the strongest will needed protection now and then. Hers was definitely in self-preservation mode.
He pulled her hair away from her neck, smoothing the strands that were so silky and shiny when they first met. Now even its luster looked bruised. Her collar was askew and wrinkled, with a glimmer underneath. He wiped the last few sweaty hairs off her neck and his finger rubbed along something hard and rigid. With a discreet peek under her collar, Flynn’s jaw fell open.
A necklace. A damn big one—with gems larger than his thumb—tracing that delectable V of her collarbone, into her cleavage. As they went further in, the gems grew larger and more brilliant. A streak of light from the open door spread across her torso, revealing an incredible blue and light purple tinge he’d never seen before.
There’s no way those are real. If they are…
Flynn stared at her sleeping face, the long black eyelashes fanned like a cherub’s. Yet everything about her had changed in an instant. She wasn’t hurt or mugged on Palau, or those suckers would’ve been the first to go. Which meant she was a con artist.
No one could afford jewelry like that, not even from Solana. Especially not someone that young. She’d stolen it. A beautiful and gifted thief sleeping right in front of him.
And he fell for it, like a fucking anchor.
The rain stung her cheeks as the seas swirled higher and the clouds blackened. The beach was empty, save for her father’s throne perched on a solitary dune. The crown on her head weighed her steps, making each one sluggish and uncoordinated. She tripped over the sapphire coronation gown that had belonged to her mother. Though it draped over her like a tent, the tight corset suffocated her.
The wind ripped at her skirts as the rising waters forced her to retreat to the empty throne, the highest point on the tiny, solitary sandbar. Nothing was visible beyond the few feet to the edge of the island, but she searched for her family anyway. Especially her father. The king would know what do to. But all she could hear were the roaring waves and the relentless squealing wind.
A single beam of light haloed around her. The clouds parted and the light grew blinding.
“Daddy?”
The wind raged more, scattering the word and forcing her to her knees. She hid her face from the gale, curled on the seat of the throne, gripping the edges. The diamonds encrusted into the gold backing pierced her hands.
Suddenly everything stopped. No wind, no rain, no sound. Merely a light breeze and enduring warmth. From above, Flynn smiled at her. His shirt fluttered open, his muscular torso like a sea god or merman sent to melt women’s hearts. His bare feet slid through the dry sand as he stepped closer. He held out his hand, oblivious to the raging storm just beyond an invisible bubble.
She grabbed his hand and threw herself against his chest, holding onto him for dear life. Flynn, her guardian. Her savior.
“You’re safe here,” he said, in that silky voice that tamed seas. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Lord, she believed him. She wanted to soak in his words, his warmth, the way his eyes hypnotized her. His body smelled of coconut rum and sunshine, and she rubbed her cheek against his chest.
Tingles raced through her body as his hands moved up her back and cupped her neck, tender and loving. He curled her long hair around his hand.
Achingly slow, he lowered his lips to hers. When they touched, she swooned and threw her whole self into the kiss. Devouring and passionate, their tongues danced and explored every inch. She pressed her body against his, desperate to be closer, to rid herself of the overbearing clothes and feel his skin. His hands moved from her head to her shoulders, and then finally to her aching breasts. Heat surged through her, pooling between her thighs.
When she finally stepped back, his smile was gone. Replaced with a hooded, ravenous look. She wanted to dive into him again, but he stepped back, lifting the crown from her head and dangling it off his fingertips.
The tension on her sore neck released. Glorious. She smiled and basked in the freedom, only to feel the warmth recede with Flynn’s footsteps. As he moved beyond her reach, the bubble evaporated, and the cold wind slapped her face. Water rose in a flash and toppled the throne behind her. The tide rolled at her feet. Flynn stared at her, dazed. When a large wave crested over his head, she screamed. It crashed on top of him and he disappeared.
Another wave knocked her over from behind, and the sandbar dissolved beneath her feet. Kicking for the surface with everything she had, it only rose further away. The beam of light faded. The oversized dress dragged her down with every kick.
Her lungs burned. She reached above her one last time, and the crown flitted into view, tumbling and circling in the riptide. It skimmed her outstretched fingers, and then disappeared into the beyond.
Alanna felt like she’d slept a thousand years away and still couldn’t muster the energy to raise her head from the pillow. The world could’ve collapsed around her and she wouldn’t have noticed. Because it already had.
Every limb was heavy and numb, like they weren’t hers. She opened her sore eyes to shadows wrapping her in a blanket of misery. Facing the truth was too painful to think about. If only the waves would swallow her whole and take away this emptiness.
Waves.
In a rush, she sat up and recognized the cabin. The same yacht that took her from home. And it was moving, fast. How did I end up on the yacht? She was on Palau, saw the news…
A boulder lodged in her throat. Don’t say it. Don’t think it. It can’t be real.
She covered her face, sticky and sweaty from tears. The pillow was soaked with them. Alanna gasped, her fingers reaching at her neck.
Luna de Azul was gone.
The world spun around her. She searched the bed sheets and covers, and under the bed. Nothing. Her bag was missing too. She remembered clutching the satchel and drowning her tears into it. Falling asleep with it only to awaken in sobs several times with the fabric soaked in her tears. Her bag was with her on the ship.
Which meant Dean or Flynn took it.
Alanna forced her feet across the floor and to the door. She didn’t even make it to the end of the hallway before Flynn’s massive form filled the stairway.
A twinge of relief washed over her nerves. He was still there for her. Of course, he must have found her and brought her back.
But as she looked again, her guardian was clearly not happy. When he stared at her, nothing about him softened. He didn’t move toward her either. Just continued to block her path.
“Flynn,” she croaked. Her throat felt dry and cracked. Only the overhead running lights were on, leaving much of him in shadows, including across the lower half of his face. But his turbulent eyes unnerved her most. “What happened?”
Jewel of Solana Page 6
