by Nina Milne
The punch bag seemed to swirl with images—images she wanted to destroy, to pound into oblivion. Again and again.
Then suddenly she was being held back, contained. ‘Whoa. Time to stop, April.’
The images faded and she blinked the sweat from her eyes, pulling herself back into the present, where Marcus held her in a loose grip.
‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘No need to apologise. I only stopped you because I was worried you were overdoing it. I don’t want you to damage your wrists. How are you feeling now?’
He released her and stepped back as she turned to face him, tried to assess how she felt.
‘Drained.’
The anger and grief had gone. She knew they’d be back, but for now they had released their hold.
Meeting his gaze, she ventured a small smile. ‘Better, I think.’
His lips turned up in answer. ‘Good. I think you may be a natural.’
Was it his smile, or his proximity, or the fact that she had just exposed something of herself? Who knew? All she did know was that awareness had started to swirl around them.
Realisation dawned that she might have punched out her anger, but her desire hadn’t got the message and had clearly manacled itself inside her. And now it burgeoned into the knowledge that all it would take was one step and their bodies would touch. One movement and she could rest her hand on his chest, feel the wall of muscle through the thin material of his T-shirt.
Bad idea.
But she didn’t care.
One step—that was all it took.
Marcus’s gaze didn’t waver from hers, and his dark eyes burnt with a desire that matched her own. Without a word he reached for her. His hands curved round her waist in a possessive grip that thrilled her as he tugged her even closer. He lowered his head and his lips met hers, their touch so new, so wonderful, it pierced her very soul. At first it was feather-light, and then, as she parted her lips in a small moan, he deepened the kiss and backed her against the wall. April slid her hands under his T-shirt. Her head spun in the sheer soar and swoop of desire.
‘April...’
His voice was ragged now, and she stared at him wide-eyed, bereft because his lips had left hers.
‘You said earlier that you didn’t want this. If you still feel the same way, now is the time to say so.’ He hauled in a breath. ‘Before stopping this becomes even harder than it is right now.’
The words took a while to permeate the fog of desire and her emotions warred. How did he have the control to stop? Yet she had to appreciate the fact that he had—that he hadn’t taken advantage of the situation and was giving her a choice. A choice she didn’t know how to make.
‘I—’
At that instant the buzz of his phone saved her, and she watched as he tugged the phone from his pocket, glanced at the screen and answered it. He moved away, and she wondered if he had taken the call simply to give them both some space.
April closed her eyes and felt a sudden hit of mortification—she had behaved like some idiot adolescent, had got carried away by lust in a basement gym, for heaven’s sake.
He ended the call and headed back to her.
‘I’m sorry,’ April said. ‘That was a mistake.’
‘Yes.’
Hurt twanged as he stepped closer.
‘If we decide to act on this attraction I want us both to be happy with the idea and understand the parameters—and I’d rather the setting was not here.’
Oh.
Her heart pounded her ribcage as she pondered his words. ‘So you don’t think it’s a mistake in principle?’
‘I don’t know.’ His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘What I do know is that it’s not just going to vanish, and we need to work out a way to deal with it. But not here and now.’
‘No.’ It occurred to April how late it was. ‘Shall I meet you at the office tomorrow morning?’
‘Actually, there’s been a change of plan. That’s what the call was about. Frederick and Sunita are considering possible honeymoon locations and I’m vetting them for security purposes. Tomorrow we’ll go and check out one of them.’
Great! A trip to a honeymoon resort—exactly what they needed. But maybe it was. After all, there would be plenty of people there—staff, guests, chaperones galore. How hard could it be?
‘OK. That sounds good. Where is it?’ Somehow her attempt at normal conversation had induced a false sense of calm within her, allowing her to pretend the kiss hadn’t happened.
‘In the middle of the ocean. Eden Island, to be precise. It’s about four hours from Lycander. Apparently the island was originally owned by a Greek tycoon—he built a single dwelling on it for his wife, who was an artist, and she would go there to paint. He died a few years ago and she died recently. The heir is some distant relative who can’t decide whether to sell it or turn it into a resort. In the meantime he has offered it to Frederick and Sunita.’
Single dwelling? So much for the hoped-for staff, chaperones and guests.
April gave a sideways glance at the punch bag. Perhaps she should ask Marcus if they could bring it with them.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MARCUS WAITED FOR April to settle herself into the helicopter cockpit, watching as she glanced around with a visible hint of trepidation. She was clearly in strict writer mode: notebook in hand, pencil tucked endearingly behind one ear, looking slightly uncomfortable in a black-and-white sundress rather than the inevitable trousers, T-shirt and blazer combo.
Sidetracked, he couldn’t help but comment, ‘Nice dress. Another one?’
The hint of a blush touched her cheek even as she glared at him. ‘Thank you. Courtesy of Sunita. It was hand-delivered to my hotel room this morning. During our interviews we’ve discussed clothes and my wardrobe—or lack of it—a lot. Her note said that she was pretty sure that I wouldn’t have a dress suitable for a tropical island. So...’ She gestured downwards. ‘Anyway, I didn’t expect a helicopter.’
‘I promise I’m a fully qualified and experienced pilot.’
‘I’m sure you are. It’s just that in my head we were going by boat.’
‘This is faster. We should get there early afternoon, have a few hours on the island, then be back late evening.’
‘I’ve read that storms are predicted. Though it’s hard to imagine that now.’ Outside the heat shimmered with a glaring intensity.
Marcus nodded. ‘They are—but not for a couple of days.’
Once airborne, as always, Marcus entered a zone of his own—one in which the power of the aircraft and the sheer magic that enabled him to control its flight through the air took over.
To his relief April was the perfect companion, making no effort to attempt any form of conversation, given the noise levels, and seemingly content to look out of the window, headphones in place. Every so often she would scribble down some notes.
Within two hours they approached Eden Island, the aerial view a panoramic vista. Marcus brought the helicopter to land on the helipad, his sense of achievement at a smooth, perfect landing always a boost.
‘I really enjoyed that.’ April turned to him, and her smile twisted something in his chest. ‘You fly beautifully.’
‘Thank you.’
‘When did you start?’
‘As soon as I could afford it. I’d always dreamed of being able to fly.’
The reason was ludicrous—stemming from the one time he’d believed his father to be sharing something genuine with him. For a minute the memory was so real he could visualise it...
He could see the six-year-old boy he had once been...remember that rare occasion when his father had seemed to feel affection towards his son. The tendril of pride and happiness he’d felt that he was at his father’s feet.
‘Son, right now it’s like I’m soaring over peaks and mountains and it
feels so damned good.’
Then his own voice: ‘I wish I could do that. Will you teach me how?’
There had been the raucous sound of his mother’s laughter. ‘Let him try some.’
But his father had shaken his head. ‘You never know—maybe there’ll be a chance for him to fly in a different way.’
That evening had soon dissolved into misery, but still Marcus treasured that memory, had given it significance because it had been one of the only kindnesses his father had ever shown him—not putting his son on the path to addiction at such a tender age.
‘Marcus?’
April’s voice tugged him back to the present and he blinked, focused on her face, freshly aware of the beauty of her features.
‘Sorry. Yes. Flying was a childhood dream, and when I set up Alrikson Security I decided to make it reality. Now you could say it’s a bit of a hobby.’
‘An expensive hobby!’
‘Sure. But one I can afford.’
She nodded in acknowledgement. ‘I know. It’s common knowledge that you made your first million well before you were twenty-five.’ She paused. ‘Does it ever bother you?’
‘What?’
‘That you have so much when others have so little? Kids like Gemma and Blake?’ She raised a hand. ‘Don’t get me wrong—I know you’ve earned your money fair and square, that you set up Alrikson Security and made it a global success, but you also had the benefit of a privileged upbringing.’
Also common knowledge. He’d been educated at a prestigious school, had hobnobbed with royalty, no less. Her words tapped into his reservoir of guilt, took him back to the questions that had always dominated his life.
If a fire hadn’t ended his parents’ life, where would he be? If he’d gone back into the flames and rescued them, would he still have achieved success? Or would he be in prison? Would he have learnt to fly only in his mind, with the aid of drugs?
‘Yes, it does bother me. But it wouldn’t really benefit Gemma and Blake if I handed my entire fortune over to them. What will help them is change—social change, governmental change—but also I want to give them choice. Because there is always choice in life—an instant where you make a decision. An opportunity when you can say yes or no.’
‘What if you make the wrong choice?’
Her question was quiet, and he sensed it held a wealth of meaning—regret, wistfulness, despair—and somehow he knew that at some time she, too, had made a decision that caused demons to eat away at her soul.
‘Then you have to live with it, and live your life to the very best of your ability.’ As he had done for Elvira’s sake—his need to make his sister’s life worthwhile had always ruled his actions.
Her head tipped to one side as she considered the words, and he wondered what thoughts were crossing her mind. Whatever they were, it seemed she had no intention of sharing them.
Instead she pulled out the notebook. ‘Any other hobbies?’ she asked.
‘I don’t really have time for much more than boxing and flying. What about you?’
‘No.’ As if realising the paucity of the syllable she continued, ‘I used to play tennis and the guitar.’
‘Did you sing?’
‘A little.’ She made it sound as if it was so far back in a dim and distant past that she couldn’t really remember it. ‘But I’m meant to be interviewing you, remember?’
And he was here to assess this potential honeymoon location’s security risk.
With a nod of acknowledgement he unclasped the seatbelts and they clambered out onto the Tarmac helipad. The heat hit him, enveloped him in a sultry blanket, and next to him April caught her breath.
‘It’s...incredible. It’s every stereotypical island paradise rolled into one. It’s got the works—white sand, turquoise waves, palm trees and glorious sunshine.’
Marcus nodded, but in reality all he could see as he stared at the swathes of sun-baked sand broken up by clusters of palm trees were the potential security risks. Frederick’s plan was to bypass security altogether—which was clearly not viable. There was nothing to prevent any would-be assassin from simply tooling up in a boat. As for the admittedly less dangerous threat of paparazzi—he might as well put up a welcome banner and serve refreshments.
He glanced around, suddenly uneasy... The heat was almost too oppressive—a reminder of the possibility of an impending storm.
‘Let’s go and check out the house.’
As far as he was concerned there would need to be a minimum of three security officers patrolling the helipad and any place where a boat could dock. Plus they’d have to rig up some extra temporary accommodation.
April looked at him with curiosity. ‘You look distinctly grumpy. Surely when you see a place like this it makes you feel appreciative of its sheer tranquillity?’
‘Not right now. Right now all I see is a potential security risk and a forthcoming argument with Frederick. He wants no security, and that is not possible.’
‘Well, you can hardly blame him for wanting privacy on his honeymoon.’
‘Unfortunately privacy and royalty rarely go hand in hand.’
They reached the house—an idyllic beach villa on stilts, with whitewashed stone walls, a thatched roof and vast windows.
They stepped inside and April gazed around. ‘Wow!’
She had a point, and he wasn’t surprised that she had her notebook out and was scribbling notes at breakneck speed.
Marcus had known what to expect, but even so the interior impressed him. The front door opened onto a spacious lounge area that led out to a covered veranda, where a woven hammock stretched invitingly next to a two-seater wicker swing chair. The furniture was simple, but solid, and it oozed comfort.
The lounge led into a corridor, from where one door led to a well-equipped white-walled kitchen. As he circled the room he noted that there was egress from this room as well as the front door. He checked the locks and sighed at their simplicity, then opened a door to a huge and well-stocked larder before leading the way back to the corridor and through another door.
The bedroom. They both halted. There was little point in trying to avert his gaze from the four-poster bed that dominated the room—it was a glorious, decadent piece of furniture. White lacy gauze hung from the top and sumptuous pillows beckoned. The whole damn thing positively screamed, Use me, please!
They both stood as if transfixed, and he felt awkwardness engulf him.
Really, Marcus?
He was thirty years old and embarrassed by a bed simply because he was with a woman.
He needed to get a grip, but it took an immense effort to step into the room, open the wardrobe doors, then exit onto the outside veranda—yet another security headache. And all made worse by the fact that when he went back inside April was actually inspecting the damn bed. As he watched she ran her fingers over the covers, leant forward to inspect the headboard. The black-and-white dress moulded to her body and desire leapt inside him, clenching his gut even as he reminded himself of the impossibility of acting on it.
She stood up straight, saw him, and jumped backwards from the bed, pulling the pen from behind her ear and starting to scribble once more.
‘I’ll need to vet those notes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because if they do honeymoon here the last thing I need from a security point of view is a detailed description of the honeymoon location.’
‘OK.’
‘No argument?’
To his chagrin he realised he wanted an argument. For real, Marcus? Was he actually looking to pick a fight out of sheer frustration? Because here and now, in this cosy, intimate honeymoon setting, it seemed important to remember that April and he were closer to adversaries than friends, let alone anything more?
‘Of course not. I like Frederick and Sunita—I don’t want to compromise thei
r security.’
‘If you like them so much, how can you contemplate contributing to toppling their life?’
‘Because this isn’t personal. It’s about whether or not the people of Lycander have a right to know the truth about their ruler.’
He shook his head, suddenly sure that it was more than that. ‘I think it is personal. This is about you and your belief that Frederick should pay for the decision he made, regardless of his motivations for making it.’
‘That makes me sound punitive—as if I am setting myself up to be judge and jury.’ Her voice shook with pure anger.
‘Aren’t you?’
Suddenly he was no longer angry; instead he was wondering why she felt such a need for the absolute truth.
‘And if you are, then perhaps you need to consider the mitigating circumstances. If Brian Sewell’s claims are true, all Frederick did was go along with a white lie—originally told by Axel himself—in order to prevent a possible revolt which would have overturned everything Axel believed in and would have been disastrous for Lycander. From a personal viewpoint, Frederick was perfectly happy with the life he had—he didn’t want to rule. But now he is doing everything in his power to be a good ruler, to turn his country around. If you choose to make him pay for that, then that is your choice to make. Just be sure you can live with it.’
April stared at him, eyes wide, and he wasn’t sure which emotion was uppermost in her mind—anger or perhaps shock. And still desire urged him to kiss her. Stupid.
It was time to go. He turned to close the door to the balcony, and paused to glance up at the sky. Late afternoon and nary a cloud—and yet there was an oppressive feel to the heat.
‘We need to go.’
Perhaps the storm was more imminent than expected—but even so Lycander was only a four-hour flight away. It wouldn’t break before then.
‘Fine.’
There was both anger and hurt in the word, but Marcus refused to react. He’d called it as he’d seen it.
They crossed the beach to the helipad and climbed aboard in silence. Marcus carried out the routine checks, forcing himself to be thorough even as his instinct told him to make haste. It was an instinct honed in childhood to alert him to incipient danger—either on the streets, where gang warfare had been rife, or in his home where his parents’ actions had been rendered unpredictable by their addictions.
