Chapter Ten
THEO WAS UP before dawn because lying in bed and not sleeping was getting old. A crew came out at first light to clear the road of the fallen palm, Tom delivering the news that the airport would remain closed another day.
It didn’t matter that Theo had been half expecting it, given the weather, but the complications of this case were grating on his nerves. Never before had he felt so many conflicting emotions in carrying out a recovery, none of them wanting to be resolved any time soon.
The storm was no longer above and around him. The storm was in his head. A royal storm, named Isabella, occupying his headspace, blotting out reason, testing his patience along with his willpower.
He should never have kissed her. That one thought had played on a loop through his head throughout the night. He should never have touched the Princess. There was no greater truth.
The woman was trouble. She threatened his equilibrium at every turn. She tested his resolve. Worst of all, holding her had felt like someone had turned on a light in his life. Kissing her had felt like hope.
It was so long since he’d felt hope.
So merely telling himself again and again that he shouldn’t have kissed her—knowing it—didn’t make it any easier to accept it. Didn’t make it any easier to regret it.
The woman was trouble all right.
No wonder she was messing with his head.
He was sitting at the dining room table on his second pot of coffee when the Princess appeared in the kitchen looking bright-eyed and well-rested. He sighed. Of course she was.
‘Sleep well?’ she asked, helping herself to a cup.
It was all he could do not to growl. And not just at the sight of her in her robe, untied of course, and no doubt designed to show off her shortie pyjamas and her perfect legs.
What she lacked in height, she made up for in shapeliness, all sweet curves and toned flesh.
He turned his eyes away. ‘I suspect you know the answer to that.’
‘Shame,’ she said, covering her mouth with her free hand on a yawn. ‘I slept really well.’ She moved to the window and stood staring out at the view a while. ‘Wow, I can see the tops of Mt Gower and Lidgbird. The weather seems to be clearing.’
‘Just not enough.’
‘Oh,’ she said, taking a sip of her coffee. ‘Bad news for you, then. Although I have to confess not being sorry.’
He grunted. ‘I didn’t think so.’
‘So,’ she said turning back, ‘what are we going to do today?’
‘Why do we have to “do” anything?’
‘Because we can’t spend the entire day inside.’
‘I’m perfectly happy spending the day inside.’
‘Okay, so there’s always the pool, I guess. I could soak in there a while.’
He squeezed his eyes shut. Not the pool.
Not the strapless bikini with that little ruffle at the top.
Please god, not the tiny bikini again. He was supposed to be reminding himself of all the reasons he needed not to touch her.
He was supposed to be keeping his distance.
He didn’t need a refresher of those sweet curves.
But how attractive could the plunge pool actually be after the storm?
‘I’m sure the pool will be uninviting—it no doubt needs cleaning after all the debris from the storm landing in it. ’
‘Hmm.’ She seemed to weigh that up as she looked out the window to the deck and the pool outside. ‘There is a lot of rubbish in it.’
‘There you go,’ he said, wanting to sigh in relief.
She turned and pulled out a chair opposite his at the table. ‘In that case, I guess we’ll just have to chat.’
He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. ‘Or you could get dressed.’
‘I will. After breakfast.’ She looked around. ‘What is for breakfast by the way?’
‘I don’t know. The maid must be taking a day off. Why don’t you look in the pantry and fridge to see what there is to eat?’
‘Wow. Somebody got out of bed on the wrong side this morning. Or have you just been taking cranky pills again?’
The smile she added at the end of the sentence was the kicker.
His chair scraped on the floor as he pushed it back, rising to his feet to put more than a table’s width between them.
‘I’m not cranky,’ he said, his turn to look out the windows to the incredible mountain vista that lay beyond.
Okay, so it was a lie, but what did she expect, making out that everything was sweetness and light between them when she knew—she damned well knew—that she was goading him, torturing him, with her every appearance, her every word.
She must know that kiss last night was a mistake. She must know the danger she was putting him in—acting in his own interests instead of his client’s, and messing with a rescue, a princess no less. He had no place. He had no right.
And yet she seemed so carefree. Almost as if she took delight from tempting him. Had her conquests in Sydney given her confidence and licence to explore her new-found skills while she still had some say?
He was sure her time back in the palace in Rubanestein would be more regulated, more controlled. Even if she tried, she would be known and recognised by the populace. There would be no more casual encounters with someone at the beach or in a café somewhere.
Was this her final fling?
Did she have him lined up as her final fling?
If that’s what she’d planned, she was way out of luck, because there was no way he was falling for that. No way he’d give in to her. Sure, she’d felt like light and hope in his arms, but that was an illusion. Something she’d wanted him to feel. Because there could be no light. There was no hope.
Not after Sophia.
Not with anyone.
Especially not with Princess Isabella.
The beguiling scent broke him out of his thoughts. Of onions browning, of capsicum, tomatoes, mushrooms and more. A toaster pinged. He turned to see her adding scrambled eggs to a skillet filled with sauteed vegetables.
She saw him looking at her. ‘Hungry?’ she asked as she added grated parmesan to the mix.
His stomach growled. Coffee could only go so far. ‘You cook?’ he asked.
‘Of course, I cook. I’m a multitasking princess. Is the concept unfamiliar to you?’
It was out of context. Nothing in the information he’d been provided had pointed to her having a fondness for cooking.
It made no sense. When given a dossier on a rescue, everything on the rescue was disclosed.
Every like and dislike was listed. Everything that could give insight into where a recovery expert could trace them. Everything.
Who had prepared this dossier? Someone working for her brother? Someone who didn’t know her?
‘You’re frowning,’ she said, as she served up three-quarters of the skillet onto a plate for him.
His eyebrows shot north. ‘I’m still getting used to the fact you can cook.’
She smiled. ‘My father taught me.’
‘The Prince?’
‘He loved being in the kitchen with my mother. After her influence, he told me that if he hadn’t been born a Prince, he would happily have become a chef. Simple food mostly, but good food.’ She pointed to his food. ‘Sit down. Try it.’
Theo duly sat. Picked up his fork. Sampled a mouthful. And was blown away by the simple yet perfect combination of the ingredients. ‘To think I wasted your talents yesterday by serving you a piece of toast.’
Her smile permeated all the way into his bones. ‘Don’t beat yourself up. It was good toast.’
And even his bones felt happy until he thought about what she was doing.
Why was she trying to please him? What was her angle?
He couldn’t afford to let down his guard now.
Tomorrow by all accounts they would fly out of Lord Howe Island.
A scant two hours later they would be back in his jet en route to Rubanestein.
He had to keep his guard up. He wasn’t about to be waylaid now, not so close to closing this deal.
The frittata was delicious. Another cup of coffee washed it down. Theo was feeling fully satisfied and replete.
And the best thing? The Princess had gone upstairs to shower and change after breakfast.
One more day, he told himself. Twenty-four hours. He’d suffered through worse. The airport was expected to open tomorrow and he’d pulled strings to make sure they were on the first plane out. The end was in sight.
And once he’d delivered her home, he might even be able to forget about this woman’s beguiling accent and her fresh citrusy scent and the too-sweet curves of her body. He might even be able to stop thinking about her twenty-four hours of the day.
He could hardly wait.
Isabella looked at her scant wardrobe. She’d brought only basic items with her to Lord Howe Island. Beachwear. Casual clothes. Sundresses. Along with shorts and jeans and T-shirts to get her through any days of work.
She surveyed her meagre collection, wanting something that Theo hadn’t seen.
That might just tip him over the edge. He was close.
She hadn’t had much experience with men, but she could see that he was battling his own inner demons.
Trying to pretend she didn’t affect him when she was clearly driving him crazy.
Otherwise, why would he be so awkward around her?
A jumpsuit caught her attention. A jumpsuit she’d found at a Saturday market on the Sydney coast that spoke of summer and would be a forever reminder of her time down under.
Cap-sleeved and short legged with a printed fruit salad pattern, watermelon, pineapple, dragon fruit on a white woven cotton background.
Now that the weather had moderated, she knew it was the perfect choice for the day ahead.
Theo was drinking yet another cup of coffee when she reappeared downstairs.
He looked up. Took her in. Immediately looked down again.
‘You probably shouldn’t drink so much coffee,’ she said.
‘Thanks for the advice,’ he said. ‘Next time, wait until I ask for it.’
She snorted. ‘I did tell you, you’ve been taking cranky pills.’
‘I’m not cranky.’
‘So you say, and yet, you seem so defensive.’