Duty At What Cost?

‘I am Princess Ava de Veers of Anders and I demand you let me down from here immediately.’

Wolfe ran his eyes over her again, just for the sheer pleasure of it and because he knew it would put her on the back foot. ‘What are you doing on a wall, Princess? Learning to fly?’

‘I am a guest at this wedding and you are likely to lose your job if you insist on leaving me up here. I’m probably sunburned by now.’

‘By this watered-down version of the sun?’ And on that golden skin? ‘Unlikely. And honoured guests usually approach by the main gates. What outlet do you work for?’

Her brow crinkled. ‘I don’t—’

‘Newspaper? Magazine? TV station? Nice camera, by the way. Mind if I take a look?’

‘Yes, I do.’

He dumped her handbag on the grass and started checking through her photos.

‘I said yes, I do mind.’

‘Whether I look or not isn’t contingent on whether you mind.’

‘Why bother asking, then?’

He nearly smiled at the exasperation in her voice. ‘Manners.’

She made a cute noise that said he wouldn’t know what manners were if they conked him on the head.

Frowning at the photos on her camera, he glanced up at her. ‘Nice celebrity shots on here. I repeat—what rag do you work for?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘I am not a member of the paparazzi, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’

‘No?’

‘No. I own an art gallery. Those were taken at a recent opening night. Not that it is any of your business.’

Wolfe rubbed his jaw and pretended to consider that. ‘Really? Given your current predicament, I’d say it’s very much my business.’

She looked as if she was holding on to her temper by a thread. ‘I do understand how this looks. And I even appreciate how efficient your men were at spotting me—’

‘I’m so happy to hear that.’

‘But—’ she carried on as if he hadn’t interrupted ‘—I am who I say I am. My car is a couple of hundred metres that way, and your men would already know this if they had bothered to go and find it instead of holding their weapons on me as if I was a terrorist.’

Wolfe handed the camera to Eric. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ He didn’t bother to hide the contempt he felt for her type. Haughty princesses—real or imagined—who thought their needs took preference over everybody else’s. ‘Did I forget to tell you? My men take orders from me, not you.’

Her pout turned even sexier. ‘Convenient.’

He wasn’t in the frame of mind to appreciate her wisecrack and nearly reconsidered his need to verify her identity before tossing her back over the wall.

‘Eric. Dane. Take the Jeep and find her car. If it exists.’

She sniffed at his instructions and shifted her bottom on the wall. She must be completely uncomfortable by now. Serve her right.

‘I told you to keep your hands where I could see them.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Do you think it might be at all possible that I could wait on the ground for your men to return? I promise not to overpower you while they are gone.’

The air seemed to buzz with the antagonistic heat she imbued him with, and her accent lent her sardonic words a sexy edge. She was a wicked combination of beauty and spirit, and not even the way she spoke down to him was enough to keep his libido at bay. A truly annoying realisation.

‘I think I can handle you.’

Her eyes dropped to his mouth and Wolfe felt a kick of lust all the way to his toes. He waited, breathless, for the heat in his groin to dissipate, but if anything it got worse. Then her eyes blazed into his and the chemistry he’d been trying to ignore sparked like a live wire between them.

The way her eyes widened he thought perhaps she had read his thoughts, but that was impossible. Fourteen years in the business and Wolfe knew how to hide what he was feeling—hell, he’d learned how to do that by the time he could walk.

Perhaps she’d just felt the same burn he had. And had liked it just as little, if her wary gaze was anything to go by. Which gave him a moment’s pause. If she was a journalist—or, worse, some sort of political stalker—she’d have already used that connection to manipulate him, not shy away from it as if she’d just been singed.

His eyes took in wrists that looked impossibly slender within the cuffs of her masculine-style shirt, then moved down along fine-boned hands and nails buffed to perfection. She didn’t do hard labour. That much was obvious.

He knew instinctively she was who she said she was. It was in her regal bearing, the swanlike arch of her neck, in her sense of entitlement and the way she looked at him as if he was staff. His mother had often looked at his father like that and Wolfe had always felt sorry for the poor bastard.

She shifted again, her eyes on the ground. ‘Do you have any suggestions on how I might get down from here?’ And with a degree of dignity, her tone seemed to imply.

‘Perhaps you’d like me to unfold my trusty ladder from my back pocket?’ Wolfe mocked. ‘Oh, dear. Left it at home.’ He opened his hands, palms facing upwards. ‘Guess you’ll just have to jump into my arms, Princess. What a treat.’

His horse snickered and her eyes used the excuse to glance at the stallion before returning to his. ‘Channelling your inner Zorro?’ she asked sweetly.

His lips twitched. ‘Only because I left my Batman tool belt at home.’

‘With Robin?’

Despite his less than stellar mood he chuckled. ‘Cute. Toss down the boots first.’ The last thing he wanted was to be stabbed by one of those dangerous-looking heels, and by the gleam in her eyes that was exactly what she was considering.

‘I have a better idea. Why don’t I just go back down the way I came up?’

‘No.’

Her lips tightened. ‘It makes perfect sense. I can—’

‘Try it and I will shoot you.’

‘You don’t have a gun.’

‘I have a gun.’

She paused, her stillness telling him she was weighing up whether he was telling the truth or not. Her eyes slid down his torso and over his legs and he felt a rush of unexpected excitement, as if she’d actually touched him.

‘You are being overly obnoxious about this,’ she fumed.

‘Not yet, I’m not.’ Wolfe barely managed to suppress his rising aggravation at this physical response to a woman he already didn’t like. ‘But I’m getting close.’

‘If you drop me I’ll sue you.’

‘If you don’t hurry up and get down from that wall I’ll sue you.’

Her dark brows arched imperiously. ‘For what?’

‘Trying my patience. Now, pass down the boots. Nice and easy,’ he warned softly.

With an audible sigh she dropped her boots one after the other into his outstretched hands. The kid leather was warm from her touch.

‘Now you.’ His voice had grown rough—a clear indication that some part of him was looking forward to holding her in his arms. And what was wrong with that? He might not be interested in starting up another affair straight after his last one had ended so tastelessly, but he was male and this woman was beautiful.

‘I’d rather wait for a ladder.’

So would he.

‘Then you’d better settle in. I run security, not rescue.’

Again she glanced dubiously at the ground. ‘It didn’t seem like such a big drop when I was younger. And What happened to the chestnut tree that used to grow here?’

‘Now you’re mistaking me for a gardener, Princess. What next?’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Certainly not for a nice man. Rest assured of that. And my correct title is Your Royal Highness.’

He knew the correct title. He might not be royal himself, but he’d met enough in his lifetime to know how to address one. ‘Thanks for the tip. But I don’t have all day. So let’s go.’ Time to stop thinking about the tempting swell of her breasts and her hot mouth.

‘You don’t have all day? Thanks to you, I’m impossibly late now,’ she complained.

He beckoned her with his fingers. ‘My heart bleeds.’

‘You’re really very rude.’

‘Want me to leave you up there?’ he prompted, fresh out of patience.

‘Excuse me for being a little uneasy.’

Wolfe sighed and held his hands up again. ‘I’ve never dropped a princess before.’

‘You’ve probably never had the opportunity before now.’

He shook his head. ‘You sure do know how to make yourself vulnerable, Princess.’

She muttered something in French, making him want to smile. she was all fire and…attitude!

Balancing on her hands, she carefully swung her leg over the wall, so that she was perched on it like a little chipmunk, her fingers turning white as she gripped the edge. Still she hesitated, lifting first one thigh and then the other to make sure the fabric of her jeans didn’t catch.

‘Want me to count to three?’ he drawled.

She threw him a dark look, her eyes fixed firmly on his, and then they snapped closed and she launched herself off the wall.

Wolfe felt her svelte torso slide through his hands as he caught her, his arms winding around her before she hit the ground. Her rib cage heaved as she dragged in an unsteady breath, the movement flattening her soft breasts against his hard chest.

Her arms clung tight around his neck, holding his face against the warm pulse at the base of her neck. His senses instantly filled with her heat and sweet perfume. He usually found perfume cloying. Hers wasn’t, and was probably the reason he held her longer than he needed to. Held her moulded against him as if he’d been doing it his whole life. Held her long enough to wonder how it would feel to fit himself deep inside her.

Tight. Hot. Wet.

Wolfe’s head reared back as his senses took over and he found himself staring into exquisite, wide-spaced navy blue eyes that made him feel as if he’d been hit by a land-to-air missile.

‘You can put me down now,’ she said a little breathlessly.

He could slide his hands down to her butt and wrap her legs around his waist, as well.

As if he’d spoken out loud the air between them thickened, and he felt every hot inch of her go impossibly still against him.

Almost embarrassed by a stupefyingly strong urge to crush her mouth beneath his, which had held him spellbound for—God—he hoped only seconds, he none-too-gently set her on her feet and stepped back from her.

It was only then that he noticed the slight swelling above her right temple.

‘You should get that looked at,’ he instructed roughly.

Her eyes licked over his face before meeting his, her breathing as uneven as his heart rate. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Put your shoes on. It’s time to go.’ He busied himself with collecting Achilles while his mind came back on line. By rights he should search her, to make sure she was clean, but, hell, he wasn’t touching her again. Bad enough he’d have to put her on the back of the horse since Eric and Dane had yet to return.

He frowned, wondering what was taking them so long.

‘I’d rather walk.’ Her eyes flitted from the stamping stallion and back to him.

Realising he was functioning below par, and that had he been on a real military expedition he might well be dead now, Wolfe re-engaged his instincts and gave her a hard stare. ‘You can try my patience, Princess, but I wouldn’t recommend it.’

She blinked, as if she hadn’t expected his curt tone. ‘Unlike your men, I don’t take orders from you.’

Wolfe widened his stance in a purely dominant move he knew she hadn’t missed. ‘We have yet to establish your real identity, so you either get on that horse or I’ll use one of these reins to bind your hands and drag you behind.’

‘I’d like to see you try,’ she invited him coolly.

He couldn’t believe this posh piece of work was calling his bluff. ‘Would you, now?’

She balled her hands on her hips and drew his sight to her slender curves. Not a clever move in his currently cantankerous state of combined anger and arousal. Of course he wouldn’t drag her, but he’d subdue her and throw her over his saddle.

He saw the moment she realised his threat wasn’t entirely idle.

‘Only men with very small appendages play the tough guy.’

‘And only women who are incredibly stupid challenge a man they’ve never met to prove his masculinity. Fortunately for you, I don’t feel the least threatened to prove myself by shrewish females.’

‘What can I say?’ She cocked her hip towards him insolently. ‘You bring out the best in me.’

Wolfe breathed deep at her intentionally provocative manner. ‘I’m sure that’s very far from your best, Princess,’ he drawled.

Her brows slowly rose and Wolfe realised he’d inadvertently revealed how attractive he found her. No doubt it was something she was used to and, like all women in his experience, would take absolute advantage of it given half the chance.

Something he didn’t plan to do.

Aggravated by his one-track mind, he was about to end her rebellious stance by physically dumping her onto the horse when his phone rang.

‘We found the car, boss. She’s legit. Her purse must have been thrown from her bag because it was lodged under the front seat.’

Wolfe grunted a reply and told his men to meet him at the cottage.

He looked up in time to catch her superior expression and knew that she’d overheard his conversation. ‘Seems you are who you say you are. Next time use the gate.’ He brought Achilles alongside her and grabbed the stirrup. ‘Give me your leg.’

‘You’re not even going to apologise?’

Her tone spoke of generations of superiority that made any apology Wolfe might have given die on his lips.

‘Your leg?’ he repeated, his eyes cool and guarded against the fire pouring out of hers.

Moving forward, she tossed her ponytail over her shoulder, caught her heel on a rock and pitched straight into his arms.

Already highly sensitised to her touch, and not sure if the move had been deliberate, to throw him off balance, Wolfe immediately set her away from him. ‘And don’t try using that sexy little body to garner any favours, Princess.’

‘Trust me when I say that touching you is the last thing I would want to do.’

She presented him with her stiff back, gathered the reins up in one hand and stamped her foot into his hand. Wolfe didn’t know whether to be amused by her or angered, and perhaps if he hadn’t been about to head off after Gilles’s wedding to oversee an important software installation he might have hung around to test her lofty challenge. But he was, and he wasn’t stupid enough to get involved with another highly strung female.

‘Shift back,’ he grated. No way was she riding in front, where she would be cradled between his hard thighs.

‘You know, all that masculine muttering is entirely uncalled for. You are unquestionably the most irritating individual I have ever had the misfortune to come across.’

Wolfe was just about to tell her the feeling was entirely mutual when she twisted the reins out of his slack hold and dug her heels into Achilles’s side. The horse responded like the thoroughbred it was and sprang into an instant gallop.

Wolfe couldn’t believe it!

Not only had the little spitfire turned him on just by breathing, she had completely got the better of him. Neither of which had happened to him in…It had never happened before!

‘Dammit!’

Cursing under his breath, Wolfe whistled sharply. If Gilles had trained his animals correctly the horse should come to a complete stop.

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