His Majesty's Secret Passion

by Christina Hollis

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Praise for Christina Hollis

  His Majesty’s Secret Passion

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  “Blushing suits you, Sara.”

  “It’ll look a whole lot better when my skin’s lost this pasty white colour.”

  Leo clicked his tongue. “A woman like you should be sophisticated enough to accept compliments with better grace.”

  “Sorry, but I don’t take orders from a guy who looks like a pirate.” She lolled back against the rail. It felt good to let the sun pour over her body. “Stop laughing, Leo.”

  “If I’m a pirate, then the sea should be my only mistress. Is that what you want?”

  Praise for Christina Hollis

  “Christina Hollis is a terrific writer who creates likeable characters readers take to their hearts...”

  ~Nas Dean, Romance Book Paradise

  His Majesty’s

  Secret Passion

  by

  Christina Hollis

  Millionaire’s Club Series

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  His Majesty’s Secret Passion

  COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Christina Hollis

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Champagne Rose Edition, 2015

  Print ISBN 978-1-62830-753-5

  Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-754-2

  Millionaire’s Club Series

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To Martyn,

  who makes all my dreams come true.

  Chapter One

  It’s not every day James Bond swims right underneath you.

  The experience propelled Sara out of the water like a missile. It wasn’t 007 who met her on splashdown, but he was a water-slicked vision all the same. His perfect teeth, bronzed skin, and flashing dark eyes almost made up for giving her the fright of her life—but not quite.

  With the sapphire Aegean Sea attacking her like CPR, Sara didn’t have enough breath left for tact. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “You screamed, so I dived in.” His voice lilted with a European accent Sara couldn’t recognize.

  The stranger lifted his arm to point at the crag high above. Water gushed from the sleeve of his sodden white shirt. Dragging the cuff across his face, he blinked the last droplets from his lashes. Long, thick black lashes.

  Sara cursed herself silently. Surging hormones weren’t to be trusted. They’d dragged her out of her depth before.

  Her toes brushed sand. With a few frantic strokes toward the shore, she found her feet and waded up the beach. “You mean you saw blood in the water, and made like a shark.” She winced as salty breakers licked the gash on her shin.

  “Blood?”

  “Something bit me.” She bent to check the wound. There were no tooth marks on her leg, only a long jagged cut. She felt a blush spread like her bruises. Fancy thinking she was being attacked by a man-eating shark, in the privacy of a place like the Paradise Hotel! Late-night TV had a lot to answer for.

  “That’s unlikely. A rocky outcrop runs under the mouth of this cove. You probably scraped against it.” Her self-appointed rescuer studied her legs with interest. “You’ll live.”

  Sara dug her toes into the sand. “Rock or shark bite, it’s still pretty painful.”

  He gave her a calculating look. “The way you screamed, I suppose Jaws was on television again last night.”

  She avoided his gaze. “I have no idea. There should be warning notices around here, telling people to take care.”

  “They’re pinned up inside the summer house.” He nodded toward a building at the head of the beach.

  “Then there should be warning flags out here too.”

  “Why? This inlet is safe enough. There’s a good depth of water at high tide. You got too close to the rocks, and the swell did the rest.”

  His sodden, transparent shirt clung to his muscles. They were rock hard. Sara wondered about the other parts of his body. If there was a Mr. Wet Tux competition, this guy would win it hands down.

  Her thoughts revealed themselves in a smile. It got wider at the sight of his disapproval.

  The points of Sara’s nipples pushed against the thin fabric of her bikini top. She told herself it wasn’t a reaction to this gorgeous guy. It must be the effect of cooling breezes on wet skin. She started some warm-down exercises as a distraction. Then she noticed the effect her stretches were having on him.

  Casually, he dropped his hands in front of him like a professional soccer player facing a penalty. “I haven’t noticed any of Nick’s guests swimming out here before. Until now.”

  “Oh, come on! Everyone staying at the spa must love this beautiful bay.” Sara straightened up, looking around at the cliffs. Rising from cleaned and sifted golden sand they towered against a clear blue sky.

  “Lounging on the beach or swimming in the sea would get the paparazzi circling. The people who come here are trying to get away from it all. Calling it a spa lets them pretend they’re here on doctors’ orders.”

  Sara groaned. “Tell me about it! Relaxing is for people with time on their hands. That’s what I told my doctor. But he still made me take this break.”

  The stranger had been sizing her up, but stopped. “You must have a heart of stone not to appreciate staying in a place like this.”

  “You aren’t the first person to say something like that. I’m just not keen on enforced idleness. And far too many people think they know what’s best for me.”

  “You didn’t look to be idling. You were swimming like there really was a shark after you. The only exercise most of the guests take here involves lifting cutlery and glassware. I’ve never seen anyone in the water before.”

  “You saw me.”

  “You’re pretty unmissable.” His dark chocolate eyes were penetrating.

  Unsettled, Sara tried to laugh. “Oh, please! I’m sure a charmer like you can do better than that, Sir Galahad!” The intensity of his gaze softened as she spoke, but he didn’t smile. Not yet.

  “My name’s Leo, not Galahad. Leo Gregoryan,” was all he said.

  “It was a joke, Leo Gregoryan.” She hesitated, but in spite of his words he didn’t have the air of a man trying his luck. “I’m Sara Astley.” She planted her hands on her hips, waiting for him to say something more.

  He didn’t. With time to think, she wondered if his surname rang a bell. She tipped her head on one side, and eyed him. “Should I know you?”<
br />
  “I hope not. Nick assured me his spa is reserved for those who are keen to spend time away from the public eye. I want to make the most of my freedom while I still can.”

  His face was unforgettable, but that didn’t help Sara place him. “Well, I’m sorry, Mr Gregoryan, but in my line of work I don’t have time to watch TV. I’ve met a number of celebrities, though, and I haven’t liked any of them.”

  “Good for you.”

  “You dived fully clothed off a rock, and you’re saying it wasn’t a publicity stunt?”

  “Correct. I don’t like celebrities either. There’s a world of difference between tellystocracy and true aristocracy.”

  His charm was effortless. That made puncturing it irresistible for Sara. “I assumed you’d done it on the excuse of making an online splash.”

  “No, I did it because I thought you were in trouble. I’d been watching you from the terrace. That was much more interesting than yet another champagne reception.”

  “Ah.” Sara nodded. “That explains your clothes. I thought only bridegrooms wore monkey suits at eleven o’clock in the morning.”

  He grinned, flexing like a tiger anticipating a chase. “No woman makes a monkey out of me.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Champagne and chivalry—that’s a heady combination.”

  “I said I was at the reception. I didn’t say I was drinking the stuff. Dom Perignon at this hour? I’ve got to keep a clear head for Nick’s thoroughly respectable charity auction in the ballroom later.”

  Water dripped from his dress shirt and the hems of his formal black trousers. “Will they let you in looking like that?” she asked.

  “No. Which is why I’m off to change, right after I’ve done something about your leg.”

  “Such as?”

  “Taking your weight off it, for a start.”

  Before Sara had time to argue he swept her off her feet—but being Sara, she argued anyway. “Put me down! I can walk!”

  “Relax, for goodness sake. I’m a doctor. Well, nearly.” He set off across the beach. Cradling her against his body, he moved like a man who made away with women every day of the week.

  Which is why he’s not going to make away with me! Sara thought. “What do you mean, you’re ‘nearly’ a doctor? Anyone from an English swot to Strangelove can call themselves doctor. And how can a doctor afford to stay at a place like this?” she asked, before Leo Gregoryan’s intoxicating masculinity could silence her.

  It was an essence no amount of seawater could dilute. “Now that would be telling,” was all he said.

  Leo had the perfect bedside manner. He carried Sara into the summerhouse and laid her on an upholstered lounger. While she looked at the expensive coffee-table books on display in the sun-warmed retreat, he pulled a large first-aid kit from a discreet cupboard.

  “I shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier, Leo. I’m allergic to men who throw their weight around, and you seemed like a prime example. Sorry.”

  “You’re forgiven. I’ll put your reaction down to shock.”

  “I suppose you prescribe tea, hot and strong for that?” Sara asked, although he supplied enough of those qualities himself. “If that’s the case, I take it with skim milk and no sugar.”

  His cheeks developed some interesting contours. A drop of seawater trickled down one on a voyage of exploration. “Because you’re sweet enough as it is, I suppose.” He sighed.

  “You’ve heard that line before?”

  “Once or twice.” Breaking the seal on a pack of antiseptic wipes, he flicked it open. “Now, I’ll be as gentle as I can...”

  Sara gripped the arms of the lounger. Her stomach tied itself in a knot. She couldn’t stand the sight of blood—especially her own—but everyone expected her to be tough. This gorgeous stranger wasn’t breaking through that veneer. She stared at the sleek blue triangle of her bikini bottoms, unable to look up at him in case he spotted her nervousness. He knelt, bending over the wound on her shin. She was glad his dark curly head obscured what he was doing. When his fingertips ranged far and wide over her skin, she cleared her throat. “It’s a leg, nearly-a-doctor Gregoryan.”

  “Thanks, but you don’t have to tell me that. I came top in anatomy.” His fingers slid around her calf. The action gave Sara a vivid flashback, and she winced, but the smooth skin of Leo’s palm was unlike anything she’d felt before. It was amazing, and she shivered.

  “You’re cold.” He stood and went to where Sara had spread her towel over a rock before her swim. “This is warm from the sun. Sit forward.”

  Instinct and experience made Sara wary about being ordered around, but her body obeyed before she could think of an excuse. As Leo swirled the candy-striped towel around her, she relaxed into its soft folds. He wasn’t sending out any of the little warning signals she’d come to know all too well. If this man knew what he was doing and wanted to take charge of the situation, she was more than happy to let him.

  When he cradled her leg again, Sara could hardly keep her breathing steady. She told herself all men were trouble, but how could one with hands as gentle as this have anything in common with the man she’d left behind in England?

  “This may sting,” he announced.

  Sara tensed, but still flinched at his first touch.

  “Did that hurt?” He looked up, his beautiful dark eyes serious.

  “No. The wipe was cold, that’s all.”

  He dipped his head back to his task. Sara felt his fingers slide around to cup her calf again. She had never been pampered like this before, and loved it. As the cool, moist tissue trailed over her skin, it drew a sigh from her lips. He looked up.

  “You made a good job of this abrasion,” he murmured, going back to his work.

  Sara was relieved enough to manage a slow smile. “I didn’t notice.” Because of the way the water wrapped that smart suit around you, she added in the privacy of her head.

  Her rescuer seemed to be a mind reader as well. His intense gaze moved over her thigh, up the sleek lines of her body, then rose to fix on her face with an expression that pinned her to the lounger.

  Sara cleared her throat and checked her watch. “Shouldn’t you be working a bit faster, if you’re expected back at that champagne reception?”

  “I’d rather be doing this. I like to help people. The auction thing doesn’t kick off for a while yet, anyway.”

  “You’re not looking forward to it. I can tell.”

  “For me, doing something like this is worthwhile. Schmoozing rich people feels like pointless hard work. It’s too much like the job I’ll be taking on when I get back home from this holiday.”

  Sara leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “Want to swap? I’d give anything to exchange all this time-wasting for a bit of shallow public relations.”

  He sat back on his heels, in exasperation. “How can you call staying at a five-star hotel in a beautiful place like this ‘time-wasting’?”

  “Because I’m offline on medical advice. That’s how!”

  “Then why don’t you go home?”

  “Because...” She gave him a calculating look. There didn’t seem any point in holding back. He’d already had his hands on her. “Because my firm has swallowed the doctor’s line that I could keel over with exhaustion at any time. They won’t risk being sued if I die on them, and I’m not risking my job by kicking up a fuss, so here I am.” She looked out at the bay. “But I’m determined to make the most of it. I’ll file a report about my stay here. The executives need to know my job is still the most important thing in my life. Who knows—they may even recommend this venue to their clients.”

  He wasn’t impressed. “I’m sure all the talk around your early grave will be about how hard you worked. Right up until the moment you dropped dead in harness.”

  “Not working is being dead. I was top in income generation and client satisfaction ratings for the third year running, but instead of a promotion to the board, they awarded me a holiday here ‘for my outst
anding contribution to the firm’s success.’” She sighed. “I’ve been putting it off...you know how it is with work. Nobody can do my job as well as I can, but when my doctor ordered me to rest and the board backed him up, I had to give in.”

  He pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “If your directors are paying for you to stay here, they must think a lot of you.”

  She didn’t react to his compliment in the way he expected. Instead, she scrunched up her face as though in pain. “I wish I could believe you. I’m determined to get that promotion, but now I’ve been sent here, I’m right out of the loop.” She searched his expression. “For the first few hours, I was glad of the excuse to unwind. Now, with nothing else to think about, I’m beginning to wonder. Who’d want me on their board of directors, if I admit to being stressed out?”

  “Any company would rather have a live employee who takes care of herself, than a dead one who’s no use at all. There’s no better place for a rest cure than here, that’s for sure.”

  Sara ground her teeth. “A few days is all I need, but I’m trapped here for weeks. The company slogan is ‘Want a job done properly? Let Apis Concierge Services do it.’ Well, so far as I’m concerned, if you want a job done properly, get me to do it.”

  Leo’s expression hardened. “I understand.”

  Caught up in her own worries, she ignored his change in mood. “I’ve clawed my way up from nothing, Mr Gregoryan. Now I’ve got the executive suite of ACS in sight. I’m never going back to skip-diving, believe me.”

  Her grim determination startled him. “You prefer swimming in the management goldfish bowl?” He shook his head in disbelief.

  “It doesn’t matter whether I enjoy it or not, Mr Gregoryan. My hard work keeps the name of ACS in the public eye. I’ve helped them build a multi-million pound business. When the other employees heard about my stay here, they all wanted to earn a break like it too. Which is funny, when you think about it...” She pushed out her lower lip and thought for a minute. “It’s not doing me any good. I’m going mad with boredom.”

  “I guessed that by the way you keep looking at your watch. And if you value your phone, I wouldn’t bring it onto a sandy beach with you.”