Chapter Six
‘Merde!’ Freya swore as her boots skidded across the icy wall and her hands lost purchase on the rope again. She landed on the ground, caught between temper and tears.
Her frantic heartbeat rammed her throat.
She had a ticket for the last ferry at eleven-thirty.
If she missed it, there wouldn’t be another until tomorrow morning.
She had to be on that ferry—it was the only way out of the principality that wouldn’t alert her father.
But scaling the back wall was taking an eternity.
She had needed several attempts to get the grappling hook she’d left in the underbrush to hit the top of the wall and catch.
And now, with the temperature dropping to freezing, the snowfall was turning the wall she had to climb into an ice rink.
She’d been building muscle in her arms for months—by doing push-ups in her bedroom every morning and evening.
Rappelling down from her balcony had been surprisingly easy, but what if she wasn’t strong enough to make this climb?
Stop being defeatist. You can do this!
Holding the rope, she hauled herself up for what felt like the ten-thousandth time. Widening her stance for purchase, she began the arduous climb again.
One step, two, three. Her shoulders strained, her biceps aching now from so many futile attempts. One foot slid sideways, but she tensed, her fingers cramping around the rope, and breathed through the spurt of panic. Then kept going.
Step four, step five…
She stopped to take a breather halfway up the wall.
She was six feet off the ground, less than six to make the top.
The hazy moonlight cast shadows in the treetops on the other side, the thick flakes of snow eerily silent.
Her shoulders wept from the effort and sweat dripped from under her beanie, to freeze on her cheeks.
Just keep going. You’ve got this.
She froze, detecting the low hum of engine noise through the heartbeats throbbing in her eardrums. Her rasping breaths cut off.
A beam of yellow light appeared on the wall arcing towards her. A headlight?
She attempted to scramble upwards to avoid it and her feet slipped from under her.
She struck the wall. Dangling from the rope, she bit her tongue to hold onto the curse, the panic so huge it was consuming her.
The rumbling of the engine stilled. And the light beam caught her feet, then moved up her legs.
They’d found her, whoever they were.
She blinked back tears, peering over her shoulder.
The headlamp light blinded her. She could make out the dark silhouette of a motorbike and the tall shape of the man riding it.
Her panicked mind tried to conjure an explanation for why she might be dangling from the back wall.
Perhaps she could say she had been outside working on her upper-body strength, in the middle of the night, in the snow, with the flu?
But then a gruff voice permeated her panic and shot her heartbeat straight into the red zone.
‘Going somewhere, Your Highness?’
She blinked. She knew that voice. That accent.
Theo Caras!
But what was her nemesis doing here, in the palace grounds, away from the party? Perhaps he was a figment of her anxiety?
But her panic dissolved into a wave of fury… And humiliation as the silhouette of the man detached itself from the bike, hooked a helmet on the handlebars, then strolled towards her, illuminated by the headlamp.
She pressed her forehead into the wall, still clinging to the rope, and cursed again as her nipples pebbled into hard peaks. What even was that? Stress arousal? Because she didn’t even like this man.
‘G-go away!’ she whispered through gritted teeth. ‘I’m busy…’
Caras let out a gruff chuckle that had her temper snapping. ‘Yeah, I can see that—busy doing what exactly?’
‘What does it look like, you moron? I’m trying to get over this wall, so I never have to see you again.’ It wasn’t entirely true, of course, as it wasn’t him she’d been trying to escape. Specifically. But it felt true in that moment, as all the reasons she had to hate him came flooding back to her.
She was stuck up a wall, freezing to death and he wasn’t helping. Just as he hadn’t helped her cause when he’d chosen to turn her into a molten mass of throbbing hormones then declared he would never marry her loud enough so her father could overhear him three months ago.
He tsked loudly, as if she were a naughty child who needed disciplining. ‘Now really, Your Highness, is that any way to address one of your guests?’
She ground her teeth together so hard it was a miracle she didn’t crack a tooth.
She actually wanted to murder him.
Ignore him and keep going.
She strained, managing to wedge her feet back on the wall. She did not have time to let him infuriate her. She had to get over this blasted wall.
‘Either rat on me or get lost,’ she snarled over her shoulder, staggering as she struggled to get enough purchase. But as she took another step, she lost her footing again on the frozen surface. She smacked against the wall, knocking the air from her lungs.
‘Ouch!’ he murmured as she swore viciously.
She tried again, her eyes watering, her ribs hurting now, as well as her cheeks and her shoulders and her arms. And her pride.
‘Come down, dammit,’ he said, the amusement gone from his voice. ‘You’re not strong enough to make that climb.’
‘Why are you still here…?’
She heard him swear. But she ignored him some more, still struggling, still straining. Her panic increasing—and almost managing to obliterate her fury with him. Almost.
She couldn’t go back, she just couldn’t. All her planning had been geared towards tonight.
But then a hand clamped on her ankle. ‘Get down, before you fall down and hurt yourself.’
She kicked out, to force him to let go of her ankle, but her hands lost their grip on the rope, and suddenly she was falling backwards.
He caught her as they tumbled backwards together into the snow.
His muffled grunt registered under her yelp as she landed on top of him, in a heap of legs and arms and injured pride.
It took her a moment to gather her shattered wits about her, the feel of his hard body cradling hers not helping.
His breath brushed her frozen cheek, triggering more humiliating sensations.
But then she got a clue.
This was Theo Caras. Her enemy. Just like every man who wanted to use her for his own stupid scheme.
She tried to scramble off his lap, but his arms clamped around her waist like steel bands, holding her in place. The headlamp of his bike illuminated them both… Would it be visible through the trees? What if the security detail came to investigate?
‘Release me, you bastard.’
‘Calm down. What the hell is wrong with you…?’ he whispered in her ear.
‘I’ve got to get over that wall,’ she snapped back, suddenly not caring if he knew how desperate she was. Why did it matter any more? Nothing mattered now except getting away. Tonight.
‘Why do you need to get over the wall?’ he asked, still with a death grip on her midriff.
She swung round to stare at his handsome face, which was far too close.
Even in the stark light from the headlamp, with his glossy hair damp from the snow and a frown furrowing his brow, he looked… Striking. Breathtaking. The bastard. Although maybe her breathlessness was the six-foot tumble she’d just taken off the wall, thanks to him. She certainly hoped so.
‘Because my father is about to make me marry a man I don’t love,’ she whispered furiously, looking back at the wall and grabbing his hands and trying to dislodge them.
‘You don’t want to marry Faron?’ he asked, having the gall to sound incredulous, as his grip loosened.
Her head jerked around, her fury tempered with disbelief.
‘Of course I don’t want to marry him. He’s a hundred years old, all he talks about is finance and I barely know him. And anyway, I told you, I don’t intend to marry any man.’
The smile that split his features was so fierce and so unexpected, it was her turn to gape. Then he started to laugh.
She huffed and struggled to get free of him again, getting angrier by the second… What was so funny? This was her life, her future. But then his arms tugged her closer and he buried his face in her hair.
‘Quit wriggling,’ he murmured, the gruff approval in his tone surprising her. ‘I’ll help you escape. And without you having to kill yourself getting over that wall.’
She stopped struggling. But when he let her go, then bounded to his feet and offered her his hand, she refused to accept it.
She clambered up on her own, slapping her hands on her hips as he strolled to the bike and lifted the helmet off the handlebars.
‘Put this on,’ he said, offering it to her.
She folded her arms over her chest. ‘Why on earth would I trust you?’
She doubted Theo Caras ever did anything without an ulterior motive.
And she didn’t want to go with him… Did she?
This was her chance to be independent, to strike out on her own, to be her own woman, not to rely on any man…
Least of all a man who had helped make everything worse for her in the past three months.
And who had that weird effect on her body that she was unable to control, even now, even knowing how damned infuriating he was.
Because her nipples were like bullets, and her breathing so ragged her lungs were starting to hurt—as well as her bruised ribs.
Without answering, he deposited the helmet on her head and fastened the strap under her chin. ‘Do we really have time to argue about this?’
She dragged her phone out of her pocket to check the time.
She had less than forty minutes until eleven-thirty.
She swore. Damn him. She hated to rely on anyone, and this man most of all.
But what choice did she have? She had to make that ferry.
And she didn’t have enough time now to get over the wall, let alone get to the terminal on foot.
‘How will we get past the security?’ she asked. If she was spotted leaving with him, her father would be informed immediately. She didn’t know what the prince would do if he discovered she had defied him, but she knew it would be bad.
‘Let me worry about that,’ he said.
Going to the wall, he grabbed the rope and yanked it outwards. He caught the grappling hook with one hand, then flung her escape kit into the underbrush and kicked snow over it.
‘Take me to the ferry t-terminal.’ Her teeth chattered. The thin jacket she wore not doing much to warm her now the adrenaline from her aborted climb was starting to wear off. ‘Drop me off on one of the back streets by the port, so no one sees us together.’
He climbed aboard the huge bike and held out his hand. ‘Stop stalling and mount up. We don’t have all night.’
She hesitated. He hadn’t answered her… And his large gloved hand had inappropriate yearning joining the conflagration of sensations going off inside her tired, aching body.
That hand reminded her of that night, when he had slid his callused palm around her waist and tugged the panel of her dress to one side, to expose her nipple.
Another shudder ran through her, which had not one thing to do with the frigid cold and everything to do with the memory of his hot, callused palm on her waist.
The determined look on his face was exhilarating, and exciting, but also dangerous. She couldn’t trust him. She knew that. But something about the wild, untamed quality that clung to him made her feel sure if anyone could get her past her father’s guards, it would be this man.
‘Fine, I’ll go with you, because I don’t have a choice now. But don’t expect any thanks,’ she said.
He only laughed. ‘Spoken like a true princess, Your Highness.’
She clasped his hand, ignoring the shudder of reaction when his large palm closed around hers. She stuck her booted foot on the exhaust pipe and flung her leg over the high seat.
Suddenly she was squeezed up against his strong back, her thighs forced to bracket his hips.
The reverberations from the bike’s powerful engine rocketed through her core, adding to her breathlessness as her breasts flattened against his muscular back.
She planted her hands on the bike seat, to lean back, away from that hard body, which was both intimidating and compelling at the same time…
‘Put your arms around my waist, get as close to me as you can, and don’t look round when we pass the checkpoint,’ he demanded. ‘I’ll do the talking.’
She sighed. Merde.
So much for keeping a safe distance from all those distracting muscles. But he was right, she couldn’t afford to have the guards recognise her.
She leaned into him and folded her arms around his waist. With her cheek pressed against him the scent of new leather and bergamot soap filled her nostrils and added to the sensation overload.
It was as if she could feel every muscle and sinew—bunching and flexing—his body rippling with barely leashed energy.
She wanted to hate him in that moment, wanted to hate the fact she needed his help because he had delayed her escape, but she couldn’t ignore the rush of exhilaration.
Or the wave of gratitude. Or the light-headedness at the thought of her freedom, which was so tantalisingly close now, after being so long denied.
The bike sprang to life and rumbled down the road.
But as they rode together towards the palace’s east gate, he glanced over his shoulder and murmured, ‘And don’t worry about thanking me, because I always collect a debt, Your Highness. And a simple thanks isn’t going to cut it.’