Chapter Five
HER BACKPACK WAS zipped and stowed in his car and with nothing of hers left in her cabin, there was no choice for her but to begrudgingly settle into the passenger seat of his rental car.
But she was far from settled. She was still thinking, still trying to buy time, still trying to work out a way to escape her captor, still rattled by the strange effect he had on her setting the nerves alight under her skin.
She shivered, wishing she could forget the impact this man had on her senses, and focus on her more immediate problem.
This man had assured her that she was safe with him, but how could she believe him?
There was no safety while his goal was to return her to the prison of the Rubanestein palace and to a soulless, loveless future.
She had to get away. She just had to work out how.
She thought about all she knew about him—about the mysterious dark-eyed man who’d all but bewitched her in the restaurant with his earnest gaze, and a smile that had transformed him into warmth.
A warmth that had disappeared the moment he’d followed her to her cabin and hovered outside her door, a dark and malevolent presence.
And that was before snatching her into his arms outside her window and turning her mind to the conflict between the outrage that he had dared to do that, and the unwanted distraction of the heat she felt where their bodies had connected.
That, and his story that he was somehow now her saviour.
Surely saviours were supposed to be more recognisable.
Like a hero who catches a runaway skier before they plunge headlong into a ravine, or the firefighter who runs into a burning building to save a baby lying in its cot, or the heroine who stops her car at the scene of a car crash to give a victim life-saving CPR.
Like an angel.
The concept of saviour hardly applied to a man who insisted on taking her back to her odious brother, and to the marriage and hellish life he intended to commit her to.
Similarly, the concept hardly applied to a man who might even be acting for someone other than her brother—one of those “rogue actors” he’d implied were also after her. But if he were a rogue actor, he was making a big mistake pretending to be her saviour by promising to take her home.
Big mistake.
The sky was dark, the moon and stars hidden behind the clouds, and it was only the car’s headlights that cut a swath through the swaying palms either side to illuminate the road ahead.
The slow way forward. The speed limit ensured the car could move at little more than a crawl.
She could see from his set features in the glow of the dashboard lights that it was killing him to have to proceed so slowly.
She looked out her window. She could open her door, she mused, roll into the undergrowth on the side of the road, and run.
At this speed it shouldn’t kill her. And it would have to take him a moment to realise she’d made a dash for freedom, stop the car and come after her.
It might not be enough time for her to find a place to hide, but with the rising wind he might not hear her running over the rattle of palm leaves.
Although where she might go then…? Back to her apartment to seek cover with Inga and Sven? But that would be the first place he’d look, and she didn’t want to visit her problems onto them. Maybe she could head to the mountains and bury herself deep in the bush?
‘Don’t even think about it, Princess.’
She looked back. ‘Think about what?’
‘About running away.’
‘Who said I was thinking about running away?’
Did she imagine the tweak of his lips, or was it just the crease in the corners as he pressed them tightly together?
‘The doors are locked. You’re not going anywhere.’
‘I accept.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I don’t intend going anywhere, either. So glad you finally agree.’
He voiced a word that bore more than a slight resemblance to a curse. ‘We’ve established you’re not coming quietly, Princess. But I need you to accept that you are coming.’
‘And you, Mr Mylonakos,’ she said, abandoning all attempts at being placatory, ‘need to accept that I’m not.’
‘Princess…’
‘No. I will not go with you. I refuse to go with you.’
He sighed. ‘Yes, so you said.’
‘Then why don’t you listen to me?’
‘Because you’re not safe here. You’re not safe anywhere on the planet until you’re safely returned to Rubanestein.’
‘I’m not safe in Rubanestein! Why can’t you get that through your head? Or are you a fan of forced marriages? Is that what this is about?’
‘Princess—’
‘Princess nothing. What if it was your sister? Would you be happy to marry her off to some creep to settle someone else’s gambling debts?’
His eyes were bleak. ‘My sister is dead.’ His voice was low and thick. Gravel over pain.
Oh. Her jibe about him having a sister was meant to be nothing more than a prompt, a search for empathy if there was any empathy to be found inside the man. She hadn’t expected to find tragedy instead.
‘I’m so sorry.’
He shook his head, as if trying to shake away her words. ‘Don’t be. It was a long time ago. It’s not your fault.’
‘I wasn’t apologising. I’m sorry for your loss.’
‘Good to know,’ he said, perfunctorily, the car pulling into a driveway.
Her eyes opened wide as she realised where she was.
‘You’re staying here?’ She’d only been on the island a few days, but it was long enough to know that Capella Lodge was one of the premier accommodation providers on the island.
And one of the most expensive. ‘You must have some expense account. How much is my brother paying you?’
He looked skywards as he unclipped his seat belt.
‘Nowhere near enough,’ she said. ‘I get it.’
His head swivelled around, and she could see in his eyes that she’d answered her own question. She shrugged as she slipped her own seat belt from her shoulders. ‘You should have asked for more.’
He carried her bag into a suite that was decorated in a calming palette of navy blue and white, broken by cool timber trims and furniture.
‘Your bedroom is upstairs,’ he said. ‘I sleep down here.’
‘In case I try to run away?’
‘You can try, but what would be the point? There’s nowhere to run on this island and there’s no way you’ll get off it.’
‘Isn’t that what I already told you?’
‘Sure, but if I have to watch you, I’d rather you were here, sleeping upstairs, than at your apartment with me sleeping on your floor waiting for you to jump out the window at any moment.’
She looked around, taking in the décor. It was a world apart from her humble cabin.
The suite oozed luxury, the floor-to-ceiling-length windows drinking in the view.
In a break in the cloud, a glimmer of moonlight, there was no missing the shadow of the twin mountains looming ominously over them, while the fronds of the kentia palms provided the musical score, chattering and clapping in the breeze.
The wind was rising, but that had been expected given the route of the cyclone passing to the north.
‘I guess it might be a fraction more comfortable.’ She turned to him. ‘Now, about my shift tomorrow evening…’
He shook his head. ‘Not happening. We’re leaving tomorrow.’
‘It’s just one day,’ she pleaded. ‘Twenty-four little hours. Where’s the harm in that?’
‘No chance,’ he said. ‘With that cyclone brewing off the coast, I’m not risking the airport closing and getting stuck here on the island with no way off.’
‘I heard it’s changed direction and veered away. Please, let me work this one shift. And then I’ll come with you.’
Like hell she’d come with him. When she was no doubt already thinking of a plan to get away and continue her little escapade somewhere else.
She must have read the doubt in his eyes.
‘I’m not planning on running away again, if that’s what you’re worried about.
I just don’t want to let my friends down.
They were good enough to give me a job when I had no experience, and I won’t leave them in the lurch, just because you have an overblown sense of responsibility. ’
He didn’t bother responding. She wasn’t going to listen anyway.
‘For goodness’ sake,’ she went on, trying to make him see reason and bend even just a little. ‘It’s just one more day. Where’s the problem with that?’
There was a problem. No, there were two. The first problem was that the Prince had been informed, and Theo would not risk losing the Princess. Not after she’d already embarrassed him and his firm by evading discovery for so long.
The second was more disturbing. There was something about the Princess—something that set alarm bells ringing under his skin.
It was bad enough that she was attractive.
But he didn’t need to know how well she felt in his arms. He knew she was a danger to him—someone he needed to keep his distance from.
The sooner he was rid of her, the better.
The Princess was impatient for his reply. ‘Check out the weather radar if you don’t believe me. The island isn’t in the path of the storm.’
He didn’t answer. Simply turned away to stash his bag in his room.
‘Please,’ she said, chasing after him. ‘It’s important to me. Don’t make me let them down.’
He turned back on a sigh. ‘It’s not up for discussion, Princess. Now, how about you go upstairs and wash out whatever the hell that cacophony of colour is that you’ve got going on in your hair?’
Izzy was beyond frustrated. She stepped into the rainforest shower and tilted her head under the cascade of water. She didn’t need shampoo at first, the chalk washed freely from her hair, turning the floor of the shower stall into a crazy shifting kaleidoscope.
As the colour bleached away, Izzy felt like she was losing the identity she’d been so enjoying.
The free-wheeling backpacker adventurer she’d been pretending to be was being washed away, and more and more it felt like she was being forced back into her previous life.
The life of the Princess Isabella. Bound by protocols. Restricted by rules.
Sold to the highest bidder.
And her captor thought nothing of forcing her back to the hell-hole she’d escaped.
And yet she was no minor who’d run off in a snit.
She was an adult. And if there were rogue actors out there who were after her for their own gain, as he’d claimed, maybe it was preferable to risk her future with them.
She’d successfully avoided her pursuers until now, and why shouldn’t she keep avoiding them?
There was no safety awaiting her in Rubanestein.
It was clear she was going to have to come up with a new strategy.
Dealing with Theo was like dealing with a block of granite.
The man didn’t respond to reason—he had not one ounce of empathy in his entire body.
He thought she was lying, he thought she was confecting her reason for running.
He had clearly drunk her brother’s Kool-Aid.
That, or he was being paid so much that his head wasn’t about to be turned.
Whatever the reason, clearly, he wasn’t about to change his mind any time soon.
Which meant she had to up her game.
If she didn’t, she’d be on that plane to Sydney tomorrow and heading back to Rubanestein and a fate and a future she couldn’t bear. All she needed was a plan.
From the far edges of her mind random thoughts and possibilities drifted in and out of view, until like jigsaw pieces, some of them fitted together, forming a scheme that she would never before have considered, let alone dared.
But these were extraordinary times. Desperate times.
And as someone very wise a very long time ago said, desperate times called for desperate measures.
The only question was, was she brave enough to carry out her crazy plan?