Chapter Seven
THEO SAT AT the dining room table nursing both a thick head and a third mug of black coffee.
Caffeine had never been so essential, and if he could find a way to take it intravenously, he would.
He’d not allowed himself to more than doze the rest of the night, afraid to fall asleep while on princess watch.
He didn’t trust her an inch. He didn’t trust her assurances that she would come with him.
He didn’t believe that she wouldn’t try to run the first chance she got.
The sooner he got her on the plane out of here the better.
And then maybe, once they’d got to Sydney and she was on board the private jet that would whisk them back to Rubanestein—maybe then he could get some sleep.
Until then, coffee—and a bucket load of it—would have to suffice.
He heard her light footfall skipping down the stairs before she emerged into the room.
‘Good morning,’ she said, looking bright-eyed and way too pleased with herself for his liking.
She was still wearing the shortie pyjamas, but at least she’d had the good sense this morning to add a robe.
Because she was cold? At least he could thank the weather for something.
Although she might have thought to tie the robe around her waist instead of leaving it undone and exposing her legs. He looked away.
‘Morning,’ he answered, rising from the table to pick up the plunger of coffee he’d made ten minutes earlier.
Because as far as he was concerned, there was little good about it.
He’d already heard the news, that the storm had changed track again, and that there was a chance the airport would be closed today.
Which meant at least another twenty-four hours in this woman’s presence. AKA, disaster. ‘Coffee?’
He was already pouring it when he heard, ‘You might be my captor, but you don’t have to wait on me.’
‘You’re not my captive,’ he said. ‘And no, I don’t have to wait on you.
I was merely being polite.’ He put the cup down in front of her and went to stand with his back against the kitchen benchtop.
‘There’s bread in the toaster waiting for you.
The milk’s in the fridge. The sugar’s in the dish over there. Help yourself.’
‘Thank you, but I take my coffee black.’
He growled under his breath. He didn’t like that they had something in common, even if it was as simple as how they took their coffee.
‘You don’t sound very happy,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you sleep well?’
When he didn’t answer, she continued, ‘I had the best sleep.’
A burst of rain lashed the windows. The building seemed to rattle on its foundations.
She looked at the windows, to where the palm fronds bent and swayed in the wind and rain. ‘Is the storm getting worse?’
‘Looks like it. That’s why we’re getting out of here while we still can.’
She looked at him, all trace of smugness or smarts gone from her face, and what he was left with was cold hard determination. ‘I’m not going back.’
He sighed. ‘Princess, face the facts. You are going back.’
‘No,’ she said, jumping from her chair. ‘I will not. Not if it means getting married off to someone my brother chose so he can get his debts paid off.’
‘You’re a princess. You have duties.’
‘I’m a woman, first and foremost. I’m not my brother’s chattel to be sold off to whoever can offer him the most. It’s wrong. It’s barbaric—and if you can’t see that, then you’re just as much a barbarian and misogynist as he is.’
He was losing his patience. There was no arguing with this woman, no way to make her see sense. ‘If I were a barbarian, as you say, things would have ended very differently last night. And you wouldn’t be looking quite so smug right now.’
She angled her head, as if weighing up his words. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I might be looking even more smug.’
He growled again, tossing the dregs of his coffee into the sink, wishing he could rid himself of this troublesome princess just as easily. ‘Get dressed,’ he said.
‘Why? We’re not going anywhere. The flight isn’t for hours.’
He wanted her out of those shortie pyjamas. No, that was wrong. He wanted her out of those pyjamas, and into something thoroughly more all-encompassing. But he was sick of arguing with her. ‘Just do it,’ he said, and stalked from the room.
God, if it wasn’t bad enough that he’d been awake since she’d ambushed him, afraid to fall asleep in case she tried something again.
Afraid that next time he might not be strong enough to turn her down.
It had been eight years since Sophia had died, and despite plenty of women trying, he’d felt nothing for any of them.
But last night that had changed. Last night he’d wanted a woman.
This woman.
The wrong woman, in every way.
And yet still he hungered for her. Found himself almost regretting the fact he’d come to his senses before the unthinkable had happened. The unthinkable—and yet—the very much wantable.
What was that about?
Unless his body was finally rebelling about the long drought that had followed Sophia’s death? A shame, if that were so, to randomly pick this woman to awaken his desire. She was a rescue. Attraction wasn’t an option.
He heard her footfall going up the stairs.
At last. He returned to the kitchen and helped himself to more coffee, and just as quickly drained the cup as he paced the suite and watched the rain coming in bursts against the windows.
He was going to need all the caffeine he could get before he got on that plane.
He heard the pad of her bare feet coming down the stairs and turned, relieved to know she’d be out of those shortie pyjamas at last. Except… ‘What the hell? I thought I told you to get dressed.’
She held out her arms and looked down at herself, as if he were crazy. ‘I am dressed.’
Not in his book. She was wearing a bikini, a tiny bikini that left little to the imagination.
It was strapless and red, with a little ruffle at the top of the bandeau.
If it had ruffles anywhere else, he didn’t want to know.
And he’d thought her shortie pyjamas were provocative.
He closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer for strength.
‘Where do you think you’re going in that?’
‘I thought I’d take a swim.’
‘Outside? Where it’s blowing a gale?’
‘But it’s not cold, Lord Howe Island is a subtropical island so it’s not cold, is it? Just a bit windy. And it would be a crime to waste a plunge pool like that, don’t you think?’
He didn’t think. He couldn’t right now. Instead, he rubbed his whiskered jaw with his hand. He needed to shave. He needed more coffee. He needed this woman gone. Out of his sight. Out of his life.
‘Go then,’ he said, his voice sounding rough and gravelly, unrecognisable even to his own ears. ‘Go have your swim.’
She smiled and gave a little curtsy. ‘I wasn’t actually asking your permission, but thank you anyway.’
He didn’t dare look at her as she walked to the door, didn’t want to see the sway of her hips or the curves of her body so open to his gaze, didn’t want to be reminded of how close he’d been last night.
But when the door opened and the storm front gusted in, his eyes found her paused in the open doorframe.
For a moment she hesitated, as if she were having second thoughts.
But then her shoulders lifted, and she pushed into the swirling air and tugged the door closed behind her.
It was wild outside. The wind swirled around her, tugging at her hair, threatening to blow her sideways at times, but no way was she retreating.
Not until she’d wound him in so many knots that he couldn’t untie himself.
She lowered herself into the plunge pool, exaggerating the sway of her hips as she made her way one slow step at a time.
She could feel his eyes on her. She could feel their heat.
And she was determined to stoke it.
What was wrong with the man?
She knew he hadn’t been unaffected by her.
And he was all man. So strong. So firm. Even in sleep his body was hard, his belly taut with muscle.
And she hadn’t imagined the impact of his heat.
One touch and her senses had surged, like she’d plugged herself into a battery pack and felt the energy flare inside her.
This man was neither stone nor metal. No robot.
This man was made of flesh and blood, the same as her—and yet so very different.
It was almost a shame that he’d woken before she’d had the chance to experience more.
But even in her limited experience with men and with this man in particular, she recognised that she’d planted the seeds of desire, and now it was her job to nurture them.
If only she could get him onside. If only she could create some kind of rapport between them that wasn’t based on his job description and her situation.
Then she might have a chance to reason with the man.
What else could she do?
Which was exactly why she was here.