by Maya Blake
‘No!’ She whirled towards him, fury and an emotion she refused to name flaming through her veins at the realisation that she was alone, secluded and stranded, on an island with Zak Montegova.
‘Yes,’ he countered smoothly. ‘Calm down, Violet.’
‘No, I won’t calm down. You want another reason? How about the simple fact that I don’t want this? That what you’re doing is plain wrong?’
He simply shrugged, unfazed by her outburst. ‘As you can see, it’s going to take more than the seductive promise of a temper tantrum to change my mind about this.’ His voice was low, deep, sexy in an authoritative way that highlighted his innate masculinity.
A shiver danced through her.
Seductive? Did Zak actually want her to throw a tantrum? Recalling that their last two arguments had ended up with varying degrees of intimacy, the second achieving the ultimate, she fought a blush and decided then and there to do the exact opposite.
She was paying the ultimate price for her folly in Tanzania. There was no need to throw more fuel on a fire that had almost consumed her once already.
And how could she have forgotten that mere hours after the fact he’d done a disappearing act on her? That he wouldn’t be taking this course of action if he didn’t have a selfish reason in mind.
By flailing and protesting at every turn, was she playing right into his hands? Several scenarios tumbled through her mind, each one as disturbing as the last. She slowly sucked in a calm breath, ignoring her thundering heart.
After one last longing look at the aircraft, which was now a tiny speck in the sky, she turned back to him. ‘Very well. You want to play this game? Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
The raw glint that lit his eyes for a few stomach-hollowing seconds sent a wave of panic through her. It reeked of relished anticipation. Of the kind of marauding conquests his ancestors were renowned for and Montegovans were intensely proud of. He didn’t exactly say the words, bring it on, but they flamed in his eyes for those seconds before Zak rose, all litheness, power and blood-quickening animalistic grace, to stride assuredly to where she stood. And up close, she saw something else.
Sexual attraction.
He may have avoided her for weeks after Tanzania, may have pretended she didn’t exist at his brother’s wedding. But Zak still desired her.
And, damn her, her body’s wild and fierce surging to life announced that the feeling was intensely mutual. But feeling was one thing. Acting on those feelings quite another. She intended to deny every ounce of this fevered attraction if it was the last thing she did. She’d already spent far too many nights dwelling on why she couldn’t get this man out of her damned head.
‘Now that we’ve established you’re staying for the foreseeable future, would you like to familiarise yourself with the property?’ he asked, all arrogant charm and effortless masculinity.
About to snap that she wasn’t in the mood to tour her prison, she swallowed the heated words.
Self-containment.
Aloofness.
Grace.
She would epitomise the very word if it killed her. ‘Maybe later. I’m rather tired. Just point me in the direction of where I’m to sleep and I’ll get out of your hair.’
Wary suspicion narrowed his eyes. She would’ve laughed if she wasn’t terrified he would see through her intentions, somehow find a way to dismantle them. Hadn’t he done that very thing by that waterfall in Tanzania?
After an interminable minute, he gave a curt nod. He curled his fingers around her wrist and Violet fought a wild, frenzied battle not to pull away. That would be admitting his touch seared her deep, awakening sensations she was absolutely loath to admit she’d missed—even craved—in the weeks of his absence.
Nevertheless, she didn’t intend to allow him such careless courtesies. So, under the pretext of returning to her seat to retrieve her clutch, she smoothly eased her hand from his.
The merest flaring of his nostrils was the only indication that he’d noticed. Making sure to keep a few necessary feet between them, she walked with him to the door.
Together they climbed a wide, sweeping staircase, at the top of which were hallways that branched out in two directions. Zak took the east hallway, leading her to the farthest set of doors.
He threw them open and Violet barely suppressed a gasp. The suite was tasteful magnificence personified. A different level of luxury from the rooms at the Montegovan palace but jaw-dropping nonetheless. Eggshell-blue walls and white muslin curtains gave the room a light and airy feel. Cleverly accented with pale gold fixtures and furnishings, she felt as if she was floating in the sunlit sky.
The grounding force in the form of the solid, powerful man who was watching her with a steady gaze brought her back down to earth.
‘A tray of refreshments will be brought up to you. We will have dinner at seven. If you need me before then, the staff will tell you where to find me.’
‘Why on earth would I need you?’
A mocking smile twitched the corner of his sensual lips. ‘To give me your answer, of course.’
In all the furore surrounding her kidnap, she’d momentarily forgotten that he’d asked her, no, decreed that she marry him.
A pulse of shock ricocheted through her. She curbed a hysterical snort. If anyone had told her just yesterday that Zak would demand that she wed him, and that she would actually forget that demand, she’d have crowed with laughter.
She raised a hand to her head as it threatened to spin. Instantly, he was before her, cupping her shoulders in a firm hold and frowning down at her. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked tersely.
‘I’m just...a little dizzy.’ And the warm, seductive fire of his touch wasn’t helping.
His lips flattened. ‘You’ve worn yourself out.’
‘No, you’ve worn me out. Leave, please. I really want to be alone.’
He didn’t release her. As he’d done when they’d left the plane, he swung her up into his arms, strode a few steps to where the huge, queen-size bed, festooned with pillows, waited. With a gentleness belying the bristling purpose stamped on his face, he set her down in the middle of it, slid the cover from beneath her and, with one sizzling scrutiny from head to toe, settled it back over her.
‘I’d offer to help remove that dress, but I’m guessing you’re going to oppose me on principle,’ he drawled.
‘Give the Prince a prize,’ she responded drily.
For a moment he froze, his eyes narrowing ominously. She held her breath, a curiously hot and heavy anticipation oozing through her belly.
Then, instead of the sharp retort she’d expected, he extended his hand, trailed his forefinger down one cheek in a silent, electrifying caress.
Violet was glad the covers hid her body’s reaction. And while she was battling the pearling of her nipples and the damp neediness between her thighs, he stepped back.
‘Rest now. We will pick this up again later.’
She chose silence. Because all of a sudden she wasn’t sure she wanted him to leave. Actually felt curiously bereft in the pit of her stomach as his broad-shouldered frame headed for the door.
And when she winced at the gentle but definitive snick of the door shutting, she feared how deflated she felt, as if he’d taken her very vitality with him. As if he’d dimmed the sun with his absence.
More than anything that’d happened since she’d stepped onto the plane what felt like a lifetime ago, it was what terrified her the most.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHE WAS STILL choosing silence two weeks later.
A fact, she was very pleased to note, that had increasingly aggravated the hitherto unflappable Prince Zak Montegova. He didn’t overtly display his displeasure at her attitude, but it was there in the flattening of his sensual lips when she left the table immediately after a civil but silent meal.
I
n the brisk stride of his departure when her monosyllabic answers stifled his attempt at conversation.
In her ability to project an outwardly cool and dismissive demeanour when she caught him staring at her with blatant heat in his eyes, while every cell in her body thrilled to that electric look.
In the flaring of his nostrils when he asked, ‘Are you ready to give me your answer?’
And was met with an even-toned, ‘Yes. It’s still no.’
For the most part Violet congratulated herself on maintaining a decent enough composure. The only moments of vulnerability happened six days into her enforced stay, when she woke to hear the sound of a different sort of engine. The sleek speedboat had delivered a distinguished-looking Montegovan doctor and his two assistants, and myriad quantity of medical equipment, including a state-of-the-art portable ultrasound machine.
She hid her joy, unwilling to show Zak how much she’d been yearning to hear her baby’s heartbeat for the first time.
He threatened to ruin the moment when, watching the equipment being set up, he leaned low to rasp in her ear, ‘If you’re thinking of spilling your guts to the doctor or his team, don’t bother. He’s been my personal physician since birth. I trust him implicitly. But should he even consider being disloyal, trust that I have far more extensive resources to secure his discretion than you could ever dream up.’
She hated herself for her sharp, vulnerable intake of breath. For the arrow of hurt that lodged in her midriff. More than anything, she hated herself for having considered doing exactly that, then instantly dismissing it with no clear reason why she’d abandon such an expedient route off the island. ‘You’re a bastard, do you know that?’ she hissed.
His face hardened as he stared down at her. ‘I’m a lot of things, mia carina, but that label isn’t one of them. It’s also a label I wish to prevent my child from wearing, if only you’d see sense,’ he sliced at her, the edge in his voice momentarily setting hers aflame.
That she was absurdly glad for that glimpse of a deeper reaction from him only intensified when, stretched out in her bed minutes later, she watched the monitor in awe as she looked at the grainy picture of her child, and then redirected her gaze to Zak at his unfettered intake of breath.
His raw, naked expression, his inability to look away from the monitor or his complete unawareness that he’d grasped her hand, wrapped dangerously tender strings around her chest. She clung to him, aware that her guard had disintegrated, that she yearned to ask him how he truly felt about the baby she was carrying.
‘Everything is precisely as it should be,’ the doctor announced then, shattering the moment. ‘Congratulations, Your Highness.’ He turned to her, his professionalism not quite hiding the speculation in his eyes. ‘And to you, Lady Barringhall.’
Zak started, his stormy gaze dropping down to hers. The next instant, he’d reclaimed his composure, directing a dark frown at their entwined hands before calmly disengaging his. Then, arms stiffly folded, he proceeded to direct questions at his doctor.
Despite his withdrawal, Violet hadn’t been able to quite catch her breath, the notion that Zak might feel something deeper for his child other than as his heir threatening her composure.
Made her pause for a millisecond to consider...possibilities. Rationally, she knew his imperiously worded proposal was because of the child she carried. That he intended to wrap the tight cloak of royalty and privilege and years of history around his child.
But was there something more?
And what about her?
If she’d learned anything from her mother’s feverish ambitions to marry her daughters off to rich, titled husbands for her own selfish ends, it was that those kinds of marriages were shockingly common. And, more often than not, it left one or both participants jaded and miserable within a few years, resulting in infidelity or the kind of open marriages whispered about at dinner parties.
The very thing she’d striven for years to get away from.
But had this gone beyond her?
Was she holding out for what she wanted in complete disregard for the needs of her child? Would her baby despise her one day for the choices she’d made? For choosing her own path instead of bowing down to the decree of its father?
Was she allowing her own childhood experiences to cloud her judgement to the detriment of her unborn child? But wasn’t that what parents were supposed to do? Carefully weigh options and decide what was best for their child?
Was that what Zak had been doing? It occurred to her then that everything she knew about Zak had been mostly second-hand.
Except for that kiss.
Except for that unforgettable episode in Tanzania.
But that was just sex. She didn’t actually know the man. And...some of that blame lay with her. Didn’t it?
Do you even know anything about his childhood?
She pushed the thought away, the notion that she was beginning to make excuses for her chilly silence these past two weeks eating at her.
He’d kidnapped her.
Yes, but it hadn’t turned out to be the nightmare she’d envisaged, had it? While she’d refused to explore the island on principle, she’d availed herself of the extensive library adjoining Zak’s study, been secretly thrilled to discover a wealth of conservation books she’d been dying to read.
Not to mention the personal treats he’d showered on her.
For the first week, a new delivery had arrived by boat every day, starting with two dozen boxes stuffed with designer wear perfect for idling about on a tropical island. Light, airy sundresses, tasteful bikinis and sandals, sunglasses and wide-brimmed hats in every shade. No detail had been left unsatisfied.
Then came the daily delivery of flowers, each time with a different gift.
A diamond tennis bracelet. A large basket of cashmere knitting yarn following her brief conversation with the housekeeper about wanting to pick up the hobby. Expensive exquisitely scented candles specially crafted for expectant mothers. A pen drive containing a drone’s-eye view of the completed project in Tanzania.
But best of the lot had been the small, framed photo of the ultrasound image of her baby. A photo she kept propped up on her bedside and the first thing she saw each morning.
It was that gesture that had triggered her questioning the unshakeable no she’d delivered every time Zak had asked her to marry him. Or perhaps it was more the fact that he hadn’t asked in the last three days?
She massaged mildly throbbing temples. Was she suffering some weird form of Stockholm syndrome? Softening just when she needed to harden her heart against her captor?
She looked around her now, at the sparkling pool and the pristine beach beyond. At the stunning beauty all around her. It didn’t look or feel like a prison. The staff were friendly and courteous with her, treated Zak with a respect and reverence that went beyond employee/prince boundaries.
Impatient with her thoughts and unable to concentrate on the book she was reading, she rose from the sun lounger that had become her outdoor refuge. She would’ve stayed in her room the whole time had it not signalled weakness. Instead, she’d flaunted her calm indifference in his face, let him taste her triumph, the way she had when he’d walked in on her opening the clothing boxes after their arrival.
He’d studied her with those piercing eyes, probably expecting her to gush her gratitude or throw a tantrum at her incarceration. Instead she’d calmly thanked him, instructed the staff to deposit the clothes in her dressing room, then, after sliding into the most provocative bikini she could find, she’d returned downstairs.
She knew she’d succeeded in scoring a point when he’d inhaled sharply at her appearance in the library with a shockingly large surface area of her body on display. Ignoring him, she’d sashayed to the extensive bookcase, taken her time to select a psychological thriller, then made her exit, head held high.
So why was she faltering now?
Because this stand-off couldn’t continue for ever.
Her mother’s emails were getting more frequent and strident and she wasn’t being mollified by Violet’s evasive replies. It was only a matter of time before Margot connected the dots and did something foolish. Like pick up the phone to her favourite tabloid magazine to voice her concern for her daughter’s whereabouts.
With a sigh, she turned away from the breathtaking view, her mind whirling as she entered the living room.
And came face to face with Zak.
They stared at each other. No, it was more than that. They absorbed each other. The air thickened with a heavy, crackling awareness, churning displeasure and...sex in a volatile mix that quickened her heartbeat.
Or was it the vitality and pure, raw masculinity that brimmed from him, the mouth she couldn’t stop thinking about kissing even as she remained steeped in her role of indifference, and the blinding white linen lounge clothes he’d taken to wearing on the island that was severely wrecking her equilibrium?
Whatever it was, it locked her in place. Until her lungs burned, and her senses screamed for self-preservation.
They snapped into motion at the same time, Zak heading for her with ferocious determination etched into his face. She attempted to bypass him by skirting the sofa. And failed when he cornered her a few feet from the door, his towering body barring her way.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, cringing when her customary coolness emerged hot and husky.
‘No, cara, you’re not excused.’
He blocked her escape by the simple act of placing his hands on the exquisite Venetian-papered wall on either side of her, caging her in, making her shockingly aware of how much of her skin was exposed in the orange bikini and the matching sarong that only covered her hips and upper thighs.
‘What are you—?’
