Chapter Seven #3
‘But it is. Do you realise Lord Howe Island is one of Tripadvisor’s top ten places to visit in the entire world?’
‘And your point is?’
‘And you would have had, what?—if this weather event hadn’t intervened—just twenty-four hours to experience the island’s magic. At least now you have the chance to experience more of what the island has to offer.’
He glanced out the window again. The wind was mad, palm trees lashed from side to side, their fronds buffeting and slapping together in the wind.
‘What exactly did you have in mind, Princess? A climb around the cliffs and up to the heights of Mt Gower? A glass-bottom boat tour of the coral reef? Or maybe a scenic flight over the island?’
She put her hands on her hips, slowly shaking her tilted head. ‘You are such a fun person, you know that?’
He moved his head from side to side. Slowly. Deliberately. ‘I’m not here to have fun. I’m here to do a job, Princess. And I fully intend to carry it out.’
Her smile slid away, her eyes dropped. His words had hit the mark and he’d just reminded her what the end goal was.
Good.
He didn’t need the taunting. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what fun was. He remembered fun. He remembered good times.
Even if none recently.
The fun times, the good times, had ended when Sophia had. When he looked back, he couldn’t think of any good times he’d had since then.
Now he didn’t look for fun.
Instead, what he’d found in its place was the satisfaction he’d taken from his work. Reuniting kidnapped children with their desperate families. Finding lost and missing and amnesiac adults who appeared to have fallen off the face of the earth without a trace.
He’d been too busy seeking justice to look for fun. Too busy trying to atone for what had happened.
Too busy.
The Princess huffed into the silence. ‘Then what are we supposed to do? I’m going to be stuck here in this apartment with you for hours.’
He had no sympathy. He was going to be stuck here in this apartment with her for hours too. Did she really think it was going to be a cakewalk for him?
With one arm he gestured towards a stacked bookshelf.
‘Try reading a book,’ he said, sitting at the dining table attempting to find a shred of wireless signal to log into his office.
He needed to contact Prince Rafael to let him know their return was delayed, and it was frustrating that there was a part of the world that didn’t boast superfast Wi-Fi capabilities, and that was where he was now.
Whereas Lord Howe Island’s isolation had proved advantageous when he’d been tracking down the Princess, it was also proving to be a curse.
It was all well and good to sell the island’s lack of connectivity as the perfect excuse to chill out and wind down, but when you were trying to work, it was a positive handicap.
Eventually he heard the Princess huff. A glance of his eyes was all it needed to tell him that she was walking towards the bookshelf.
Then somehow, he didn’t even need to glance to know that she stayed there a minute or two, selecting and rejecting the options—his senses told him that, seemingly becoming hyper aware where this woman was concerned—before apparently finding something that caught her interest, taking it back to the sofa and flopping down on her back to read it.
At last. He let go a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.
Feeling relief. At least for now. Finally, she’d found something to take her mind off their circumstances.
And at least now he could think about something other than a hovering bundle of platinum-blonde nervous tension pacing around the apartment.
All too sexy platinum-blonde nervous tension. He felt that tension vibrate through him, almost like she’d emitted it purely to mess with his nerve endings.
Outside the clouds finally unleashed the promised flood of rain, adding to the cacophony of noise battering the roof and windows. Wild. Primal.
Elemental.
Like the friction building up between them. An attraction unwanted and yet seemingly unavoidable. An attraction coupled with confusion. It made no sense to him.
He looked up to see what was left of the view of the mountains disappear in a cascade of grey.
So, the forecasters had been right about the weather worsening?
Maybe he should be glad the authorities had closed the airport and their tiny plane wasn’t currently trying to struggle its way through this weather.
Then again—he glanced over at the Princess, looking like she was trying to get involved with whatever she was reading.
He was relieved she’d stopped pacing. Though that hadn’t stopped the gnawing in his gut or the uncomfortable bristling awareness of her.
She had one arm behind her head, holding the book with her other hand, and perched up on her chest. Her fine knitted top clung to her curves, showing off the pronounced line where her ribcage ended, before sweeping down to her flat belly to meet her slim fitted jeans.
She’d kicked off her shoes and now the nearest leg was bent, showing off the line of her under leg from knee to the sweet curve of her butt where it rested on the sofa.
He dragged his eyes away. He knew he should be relieved she’d finally stopped complaining. But it would be a damned sight easier if the Princess didn’t look the way she did. Theos. He’d tracked her to the island and found her the first day, only for a simple extraction to be stymied by the weather.
Why couldn’t anything be simple?
He turned back to his search to find a wisp of internet to see if his enquiry about drilling down further into the Prince’s gambling habits had turned up anything but came up a blank.
Damn it. Maybe it would have been preferable to take their chances with the weather after all.
Not an hour later she sighed theatrically and tossed her book aside. She got up from the sofa and again started pacing the rain-lashed windows back and forth like a caged lion. Then she suddenly stopped, hands on hips, staring out at the palms thrashing in the cyclonic winds and teeming rain.
‘I’m bored,’ she stated bluntly.
He didn’t bother looking up. He knew exactly what she was doing. ‘How’s the book?’
‘Didn’t I just tell you? I’m bored. It’s boring. Aren’t you bored?’
He was frustrated, yes. Annoyed at the delay, certainly. Impatient to get this woman back to Rubanestein and out of his life, hell yes! And then there was that niggling discomfort in his gut that she seemed to somehow trigger just by her mere presence.
But bored didn’t factor. Not where this woman was concerned.
Not when this woman was proving to be one surprise after another.
A princess who’d found work as a waitress and who seemed to enjoy it so much that she was insisting to do one last shift.
A princess who’d traded gowns and tiaras for flip-flops.
A princess who’d sneaked into his bedroom last night in an attempt to—what? Seduce him? So he’d be swayed to relent and not to take her home? Whatever other motive could she have had?
She was also a princess who looked too damned good from the rear for his liking. No, that wasn’t right. A princess who looked too damned good from any angle and any way you looked at her.
Why the hell did she have to stand there in front of the window that way? It gave him the perfect view of her hourglass figure.
‘Maybe,’ he said, his voice huskier than he’d intended, ‘you picked the wrong book.’
She shook her head, setting her blonde waves dancing. She lifted one hand to her hair and smoothed it back. ‘Maybe I’m just not in the mood for reading.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘In that case, I see that one of the bookshelves is overflowing with games. Maybe you could find a deck of cards and amuse yourself that way.’
She suddenly spun around, ignoring the puzzle shelf, before pulling up a chair opposite him at the table. ‘How old are you?’
‘What?’
‘I said I’m bored. So, since we’re stuck here together, maybe we could find out more about each other? So, how old are you?’
He shook his head. ‘Princess—’
‘Oh, that’s not fair. I bet my darling brother has provided you an entire dossier on me.
I bet you know everything there is to know about me.
Birth date, schools I attended, friends I had, shoe size, probably even my dental records.
And yet, here I am, knowing next to nothing about you.
Or even if you’re one of these rogue actors you’re supposedly saving me from.
Maybe you might try to persuade me a little that you’re who you say you are. ’
Theo didn’t want to admit that it wasn’t just her body, it was the sound of her voice that stirred him.
Her voice was melodic and elegant, evidence of her principality’s Mediterranean connections with its linkages to both France and Italy.
Theo also didn’t want to admit that the Princess was spot on.
Theo had been given all those details and more.
‘It’s not usual procedure for a recovery expert to divulge details to a recoveree. ’
‘I doubt I’m your usual “recoveree”. But I’d really appreciate those details. I’d like to know who it is who is abducting me. I’d like to know who that man is.’
‘I’m not abducting you. I’m taking you home, before something untoward happens to you.’
‘Oh, that’s right. You’re rescuing me before someone else finds and kidnaps me for whatever nefarious reasons they might have. I forgot.’
Theo closed his laptop and squeezed the bridge of his nose. ‘Downplay it all you like, Princess. Just be thankful I found you first.’
‘In that case, tell me, who did find me first?’
‘I did.’
‘And who are you exactly?’
‘You know who I am. My name is Theo Mylonakos.’
‘And you’re a bounty hunter, right?’
He blinked. Slowly. ‘I’m a recovery expert.’
‘A bounty hunter, I get it.’
He shook his head. He knew of such agents, who prioritised money before the safety of their clients. He had no regard for them. They cluttered up the field, messing with the tracks, getting in the way.
‘You mean you’re not getting paid? You’re doing this as some act of charity?’
‘Do you seriously think I’d be putting up with all this—and with you—for free?’
She snorted. ‘So, not a bounty hunter. Just in it for the money. That’s so much better.’
‘If you say so, Princess.’
She sniffed and looked away, and he wondered if she’d been trying to bait him, looking for a bigger reaction. ‘So how much did my charming brother pay you? What’s the deal?’
‘I’m not going to tell you that.’
‘What if I offered to pay you more than he did?’
‘It doesn’t work that way.’
‘How does it work?’
‘I find you and return you home. That’s how it works, Princess. End of story.’
She sat back in her chair, clearly unsatisfied, but any respite didn’t last longer than it took to work out her next line of attack.
‘So where do you come from? Where were you born?’
‘I’m Greek. From a town called Sparta.’
‘Sparta? Isn’t that the place where they used to train boys to become tough and battle hard and become the best warrior soldiers in Greece?’
‘In ancient times, yes.’
He watched her digest that detail, before she added, ‘And you’re descended from those people. The tough guys of Greece. Is it that warrior mentality that led you to become a bounty hunter—I mean, “recovery expert”?’
‘No.’ His choice to become a recovery expert had its origins in an entirely different sphere. ‘My parents are humble orchardists, like their parents and their parents before them. They still live there.’
She nodded, as if summing up his answers. ‘And so how old are you? You never said.’
He sighed. ‘Is this entirely necessary?’
‘No, but I think it’s fair, given you probably know details about me down to my shoe size and whether I squeeze toothpaste from the middle or the end of the tube.’
‘I’m thirty-four. And no, I don’t know how you squeeze your toothpaste. Nor do I particularly care.’
‘Ha, but shoe size, you know!’
He pushed his chair back and stood, unable to sit opposite her any longer.
This wasn’t about him, but she was like a heat-seeking missile and her interrogation was only serving to ramp up his temperature, rendering him a more susceptible target.
He moved to the windows, watching the blurred fronds of the palm trees being pelted by the tempest outside.
Curse this weather. A glance at his watch told him that they should be in Sydney by now, boarding his private jet and a mere twelve hours or so away from landing in Rubanestein.
Whereas right now he was stuck here on this island, with an ungrateful princess who seemed to want to needle him any chance she got and no guarantees that the weather would be any better tomorrow.
‘Feeling better?’ she asked.
‘Define “better”.’
She laughed. And he cursed that even her laugh held that accent that seemed to want to coil its way into—not just his hearing—but through his skin and into his bones.
‘So, do you have a wife—or a lover—at home?’
He spun around. ‘That sounds odd coming from the woman who didn’t seem to care last night that she could invade my bedroom and throw herself at me. And only now you think to ask if I was in a relationship.’
‘I didn’t throw myself at you. I was worried about you.’
He put a hand to his brow. She had a point. It was he who’d had to resist pulling her into the bed and tumbling her beneath him. But it was she who’d put herself into that situation. It was she who’d made his body react.
‘So, is there someone special in your life? Are you married?’
His eyes swept the ceiling. ‘I was.’
‘You were? Separated or divorced?’
He ground his teeth together. ‘I’m—a widower.’
She looked sideswiped. ‘Oh. I didn’t mean—’
Theo didn’t wait to hear what it was she didn’t mean. He shoved his chair back and stood. ‘Now, if you’re done with the questions? Because I sure am.’