With a breathy little satisfied sigh that quite frankly belonged in the bedroom she reached over a paper mountain. Her lab coat moulded to her curvaceous bottom, the hem riding upward, giving Lucas a tantalising glimpse of sculpted ankles and sleek, toned calves. Swallowing hard, he whipped his gaze back up, just in time to see her pushing those huge ugly spectacles up her nose.

Swaying between the need to rip them back off or glue them in place, he cursed under his breath. Dios, he was not meant to feel anything. And the only thing he needed from her was to damn well comply.

‘Well, I’ve no wish to see them,’ she said.

Lucas kept his tone modulated, easy. ‘That is unfortunate. They desire your hasty return to Arunthia. I have been commissioned to escort you home.’

She slammed her hands onto lush, rounded hips and her eyes fired darts full of ire. ‘Mr Garcia, I’m not an express shipment. If it’s haste you desire the door is directly behind you. Furthermore, if I wanted a vacation in Arunthia I’m quite capable of getting there myself. I don’t require an escort.’

Lucas hitched a brow. He knew exactly what she required. A damn good—

‘More importantly, I can’t leave England right now.’

‘Do you not wish to see your family? Reacquaint yourself with the country of your birth?’ he asked, trying a little guilt on for size.

‘Not particularly,’ she replied, a hint of pink dusting her sculpted cheekbones.

Was she lying or embarrassed by her callous disregard? The notion began to appease him—until her arms fell listlessly to her sides and she bit down hard on her bottom lip. A drop of blood pooled on the plump surface and she sucked the flesh. Grimaced.

Miss Verbault was either into self-punishment or underneath her chosen façade lay an emotional maelstrom. Lucas decided to go on the first theory. If she had any conscience she would have returned home months ago.

‘If they’re that desperate to see me, why aren’t they here?’

‘Unfortunately they are incapacitated at present.’

‘They usually are incapacitated, Mr Garcia,’ she said, rubbing her brow with the tips of her fingers.

His head reared. ‘Naturally. They do rule a small country. Something I’m sure is a time-consuming vocation.’ What did she want? Weekly trips? How narrow-minded could one person be?

‘Oh, I’ve noticed. For twenty-eight years, believe me, I’ve noticed,’ she said, now rubbing harder, almost punishing. As very well she should.

Any other woman would be overjoyed to have even a small taste of the privileged life she rejected. To be royalty and live in pure luxury was, for most, an impossible dream. Dios, for some, placing food upon the table or returning to their loved ones at all was an impossible dream.

The woman was a conundrum. You’re not here to crack the code, Garcia. Just do your job and get the hell out.

Lucas flexed his neck and battled on. He hadn’t forged his way through the ranks by falling at the first hurdle or being a passive negotiator. Then again, he was adept at dealing with men. Not tall, striking, obstinate females.

Ordering his voice to remain civil, Lucas persisted. ‘Regardless of their responsibilities, they look forward to your visit.’

A heavy sigh poured from her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sure. The question is, what do they want from me?’

A growl rumbled up his chest. ‘They merely want to see their daughter.’ He avoided the topic of an Anniversary Ball, celebrating her parents’ fifty years of marriage, as had been suggested. Apparently she was uncomfortable at such gatherings. It was more likely she couldn’t bear to leave her precious lab. Even Lucas could see it was the personal white fortress of an ice maiden.

‘I’ll arrange a conference call,’ she said.

‘In. Person.’

She snorted. Actually snorted. The most unladylike sound he’d ever heard. Dios, he’d met camels with more grace.

‘I don’t think so.’ Turning back to the desk, she began to stack files. Then unstack them. Yanking at the cuffs of her lab coat every so often. His eyes narrowed on her small wrists. She was either cold or the habit was a nervous tic.

‘Why now? Their timing is impeccable.’

‘You seem to be an intelligent woman. Did you honestly think you could ignore your family for ever?’ Could she not have mustered the decency to return one note from over half a dozen letters?

‘Hoped would be more like it.’ She swivelled on her heels to face him. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Garcia, but your journey has been wasted. I’ve no intention of leaving here, with you or anyone.’

Crossing her arms tightly over her chest, she stood mutinous. His eyes dipped of their own accord, his pulse hitting one-fifty at the sight. Her pose had tightened the shapeless lab coat, offering him a hint of her rounded hip, cinching her small waist and enhancing the lush fullness of her breasts.

Blood hot as Arunthian lava seared through his veins.

‘I’m afraid you have no choice,’ he bit out, furious at his inappropriate physical reaction. ‘Responsibility and duty outweigh personal desires.’

Claudia’s luscious mouth dropped open and a fleeting image of those full lips pressing into his chest gave him momentary pause. His imagination flamed and he could practically feel her softness sliding against his strength. The heaviness of her breasts as he cupped the soft globes.

Primal lust hit with devastating impact. Sweat trickled down his spine. Torrid heat surged south. His groin pulsed once, twice, and hardened within seconds. Holy…

Lucas flexed his neck until he heard a soft click. What the hell was wrong with him? Nothing that an hour with a woman wouldn’t fix. Any woman bar this one. Preferably a blonde. With blue eyes.

Dios, when was the last time he’d engaged in no-strings self-indulgence? Months? Years? No wonder he was in such a damn state. Working night and day had obviously begun to take its toll.

Claudia’s sudden laughter crashed into his train of thought. A dark, hollow sound designed to chill the air.

‘How wonderfully droll. I live in a free country, Mr Garcia, what are you going to do? Carry me out of here?’ Laughter died on her tongue as her hand snaked up her chest to curl around her delicate throat.

The temptation to replace her hand with his made his palms itch. To caress or throttle—he’d yet to decide.

The air crackled with sweltry tension and Lucas raised one dark brow…

Claudia took a tentative step back. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

No, he wouldn’t, but she didn’t know that. Dios, he was no animal. Although he’d witnessed many in his lifetime.

Suddenly his thoughts locked as his brain malfunctioned and an image flashed in his mind’s eye. Nostrils flaring, he hauled air into his lungs and shut down the defect.

He searched for a retort. ‘I would far rather you walked.’

She shook her head slowly. ‘Not going to happen. Listen, just tell them I’ll think about it, okay?’

Lucas smiled, although he imagined it was more of a smirk. What she asked of him was not only unthinkable but impossible. He was not going home empty-handed.

‘I have to finish my work, Mr Garcia.’

Ah. He’d wondered how long it would take before she dropped the topic of her profession into the equation. The obvious chink in her armour.

‘It’s very important,’ she said.

So was the country she belonged to. Lucas glanced around her workspace, troubled by the stark environment. After spending ten minutes under the harsh flood of lighting he already felt like a lab rat.

Control began to slip once more and he closed his eyes, breathed deeply…only to inhale a strange blend of clinical sanitation and elements of her work. Bleached cleanliness punched his gut, gripped and twisted with a hard fist. Sweat bubbled on his upper lip and he turned to pace, exorcising the demons. How could she stand being cooped in this cage? The violent need to escape pumped pure adrenaline through his system, and he clamped his jaw hard enough to crack a molar.

Shrugging off the discomfort, disgusted at his own weakness, he veered towards her. ‘You may live in a free country but you were born to another and you have responsibilities to uphold. You will always have your work. But right now your family needs to take precedence. Three weeks at the most and then you may return. That is all they ask of you.’

‘All they ask?’ she flared. ‘Why should I do anything for them?’

Lucas scrubbed at his nape, smacked with the need to butt his head against a brick wall. ‘Your selfishness is astounding. Do you not feel one iota—?’

‘I have responsibilities here, Mr Garcia. Petri dishes full of them,’ she said, her arm outstretched, pointing to a wall where a bank of shelves held a legion of chemical equipment, jars and small plastic dishes of what looked like goop.

He raised a dark brow in her direction, only to be faced with one ink-smudged palm. The slight quiver of her long fingers betrayed her heightened state of anxiety.

‘I don’t expect you to understand what I do here,’ she said waspishly and somewhat degradingly.

Lucas allowed the insult to slide, since he understood perfectly what her job entailed. If she thought him beneath her level of intelligence he was not only unperturbed—for it would be a cold day in hell before he valued the opinion of one so selfish and irresponsible—but his apparent ignorance would only serve to work in his favour later on. While he understood her motivations, her priorities were clearly misaligned.

‘So,’ she said, tearing her spectacles off her face, flaying him with amber fire. ‘You can stop pacing like a caged animal, trying to figure out your next move. I’ve seen them all and I’m immune.’

Lucas clenched his teeth to avoid his jaw dropping to the floor. Incredible! She fought as a warrior. He’d never seen anything like it. Or felt anything like it. Because his entire body seethed with the need to haul her into his arms and kiss her pert, insolent mouth.

He scoured her face. Flawless apricot skin, huge distinctive amber eyes begging him for something he couldn’t place. Understanding? Or to be left in peace?

Lucas could give her neither.

Failure was not in his vocabulary. He’d built his life, its very foundations, on honour, duty and protection. Not even an act of providence would steer him off his chosen path. Nor the most beautiful self-centred woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

Damage limitation was futile.

It was time to change tactics and up the pressure.

Because, come nightfall, Claudia would be returning to Arunthia.

CHAPTER TWO

IT MIGHT HAVE been nanny number four who’d told her not to play with fire, Claudia reflected as she took a tentative step back. But for the life of her she couldn’t remember the woman who had screamed the warning never to provoke animals. Such a shame she hadn’t listened and taken the same diligent approach to her safety as she had to her reading materials.

Standing no more than five feet away, Lucas locked his fierce blue eyes on her. Blatant intent slashed colour on his high chiselled cheekbones and her heart thumped against her ribcage. Without a doubt he would throw her over his shoulder and haul her out of here given half the chance.

Ignoring the ridiculous frisson of excitement that thought evoked, she focused on what was quickly becoming one of the most surreal days of her life.

Lucas, this dark, devastating brute, was by moral nature a carbon copy of her parents. Only thinking of their beloved country, of duty and responsibility. Uncaring of Claudia’s desires or, more importantly, her needs.

Why should she do anything for them? What had they ever done for her, apart from abandoning her in a foreign country? Twelve years old and so sick she could barely walk. So unsightly they’d secreted her away. The loss of everything and everyone she’d ever known had soaked her pillow at night. So frightened. So very alone.

Throat swelling with the sting of past hurts, she swerved back to the workbench and fumbled with the paper disarray for fear he’d see too much.

‘I would like you to leave, Mr Garcia,’ she said, the sheet in her hand quivering as violently as her voice. Please just go.

‘You ask me the impossible, Your Royal Highness,’ he replied in that delicious tone that licked at her senses like a hungry cat. Which only made her hate him even more.

She slapped the paper atop the stainless steel and braced her arms on the squared edge.

Trust her parents to send in the big guns. Lucas Garcia was proving to be as immovable as Big Ben, and she could hear the tick, tick of the clock. Don’t be ridiculous. They’ve sent for you before. You can get rid of this guy just as easily.

Their last threat had been the abolition of her living funds. ‘Go ahead,’ she’d told them, and promptly moved out of her swanky three-bedroom apartment on the banks of the River Thames. The bluff had backfired spectacularly, because the vast space lay empty to this day. But she loved her kitsch one-bed studio because it was hers alone, flying the flag of her hard-won independence.

Stiffening her spine, she turned in time to see Lucas finger his over-long hair back from his forehead and her insides liquefied. Must be a chemical reaction linked to irate frustration.

‘And please don’t call me, Your Royal whatever. I know perfectly well what you’re doing. Your tactics won’t work with me.’

‘Regardless of your preference, that is your title,’ he said, his voice toughened like steel, brow etched with exasperation. ‘When will you acknowledge the fact and behave accordingly?’

‘Behave? I’ve always been the upstanding daughter, Mr Garcia. I work hard and, more importantly, I make no ripples that will reach Arunthian shores to embarrass or disgrace.’ An implausible feat for Claudia, but he didn’t need to know that.

The dark glower he fired her way said he was far from impressed.

‘And I have two sisters,’ she said, suppressing any girlhood nostalgia and focusing instead on the little she’d gleaned of them by searching their names on the internet. Just to see if they were well…happy. If the thousands of glamorous photographs and articles were anything to go by they were more than well. They were true royalty in every way. ‘My parents don’t need me.’ Which was just as well because the mere notion of life at the palace, evermore in the public eye, made her skin crawl as if the venom of a scorpion pulsed through her veins.

‘Good grief, I’m as far away from being a princess as you are from being Prince Charming!’

Lucas coughed around a closed fist, then uncurled his long fingers to stroke his jaw. ‘I’ve noticed,’ he said, searching her face as if looking for an answer to the question hovering in the air.

Why? Let him come to his own conclusions, she mused. Claudia owed him nothing.

In thinking mode his face almost softened, and for the first time she noticed beautiful long thick lashes surrounded eyes so dark, so intense, they glittered like sapphires.

‘Then how would you like to be addressed?’ he asked.

Claudia frowned, blinking over and over, scrolling through the past few minutes of conversation, slightly disturbed by his silky intonation.

‘Just Claudia is fine,’ she said warily.

‘Very well, Just Claudia.’

Oh. My. Giddy. Aunt. Something hot and sultry splashed through her midsection. His accent thickened when he said her name. His full mouth formed a perfect O as if he’d kissed it past his lips: Cllowtia.

Kissed it past his lips?

She gave her head a quick shake. Twenty minutes in his company and she’d lost hundreds of brain cells, waxing poetical. This was what happened when a romance novel thrust itself into her hands during a spontaneous visit to the charity bookshop at St Andrews.

Claudia preferred to base her life on facts and scientific evidence.

And the fact was Lucas Garcia wouldn’t give her a second glance if he passed her in the street. The idea of mutual attraction was laughable. She wasn’t only socially inept but also the strangest-looking creature on earth. They were quite literally worlds apart. Or they would be as soon as she got rid of him.

From the way his long blunt fingers trailed down the lapel of his charcoal single-breasted jacket and deftly unpopped the button, it didn’t look as if he felt the need to go any time soon.

Mid-exasperated sigh, the air locked in her throat as he rolled his broad shoulders, revealing a wide panel of crisp white shirt stretched taut over his rock-solid physique, and strolled over to where her qualifications hung on the wall, filling the white expanse.

‘I understand you are a biochemist?’

Claudia’s eyes narrowed on his fluid gait, lithe for a man of his stature, and her traitorous mind imagined all kinds. ‘Mmm-hmm.’ Oh, lovely—she couldn’t even speak, her mouth was so dry.

‘What exactly does your work involve?’

Was he really that interested? She gave a little huff. Of course he was interested. It was his job to be interested.

‘At the moment I’m studying a childhood auto-immune disease and developing drugs to reduce the side-effects—along with a cure, of course.’ Claudia just had to think of a child suffering from the same condition and her life made a strange kind of sense. She was here for a purpose. One that didn’t include sitting around looking impossibly pretty, cutting ribbons at galas and chatting to foreign dignitaries.

Lucas paused before the largest frame. Her second Masters. ‘You feel strongly about your work.’ Reaching up, he straightened the gilt-framed plaque with tensile fingers and ran the tip of his index finger across the black lettering of her name.

The gesture was so unexpected, so intimate, it felt like a physical touch.

Without conscious thought she reached up and brushed her lips in a continuous circular motion, wondering what his too-large hands would feel like against her skin—rough and purposeful or seductively thrilling?

‘The strength of my dedication is unimaginable, Mr Garcia,’ she said softly, her hand plunging to her side.

Because suddenly, like the instant flare of a Bunsen, it occurred to her that he couldn’t possibly understand her avoidance of going home. Your selfishness is astounding. In his opinion she was being awkward and highly unreasonable. Having no idea why the notion weighed so heavy on her heart, she wanted to explain. Would she see pity in his beautifully fierce gaze or scorn because she’d yet to overcome the lingering effects?

‘That is quite understandable in the circumstances,’ he said, with a cool sincerity that snuffed out her burning desire to elucidate.

Was he saying he already knew?

‘This condition that you study?’ he went on. ‘JDMS?’

‘Juvenile Dermatomyosytis. I’m surprised you’ve heard of it. It’s not a particularly common affliction.’ Hence it was a constant fight to keep money rolling her way. Fingers of suspicion stroked her throat, curling like a noose around her neck. ‘Did my parents tell you?’

‘No.’

One word—sharp as a scalpel and just as ominous.

Claudia frowned. Was he deliberately being evasive?

Having reached the far corner, Lucas unclasped his hands and began to swivel on his heels. Before he made the full turn she braced her weight against the edge of the desk, clenched her fists, determined not to fidget and calling upon years of practice in the art of facial indifference.

Despite all her efforts her eyes still flared at the indomitable calculating expression on his face.

‘Like you, I take my position seriously, Claudia. I would not be doing my job correctly if I stumbled into a situation without all the relevant facts to hand.’

Meaning he’d pulled her files. Not full medical—he wouldn’t have had the authority—so his information would be brief. ‘So you understand my reasons?’

‘I understand perfectly,’ he said, his voice weighted with dark power.

A sinking sensation tugged at her limbs and she pushed her spine into the blunt edge of the bench.

‘What I cannot comprehend is your reluctance to travel home. As far as I can tell, you are using your job as a convenient excuse. Luckily I had been forewarned of any possible obstacles.’

Panic pounded at her heart and Claudia bit her inner cheek to prevent an untimely sniping retort.

‘With that in mind,’ he continued, ‘my first port of call this morning was with your manager. A Mr Ryan Tate.’

Her stomach lurched so violently her wheat-bran flakes threatened to reappear. But that didn’t stop her brain firing synapses faster than the speed of light.

‘That’s how you gained access to this floor,’ she whispered.

‘Correct.’

‘How dare you …?’ Her voice cracked, failing her miserably. ‘How dare you intrude on my life this way? What was discussed at this meeting?’

Lucas flexed his neck, his unease a palpable thing, but Claudia was far too busy stemming hysteria to take comfort from the sight.

‘I enquired if you were free to take annual leave,’ he said. ‘The answer was yes.’

Oh …

‘I asked him if there was anything standing in the way of your returning home immediately. The answer was yes. You have five days to secure additional funding before the work on your project is terminated.’

My …

‘I questioned if there was anything I could do to relieve the time pressure and pave the way for your return home. The answer was yes.’

God.

She’d underestimated him. Badly.

Directing her voice to match the cool detachment in his face, she said, ‘When you arrived I asked if you were here in connection with the budget meeting. While you didn’t lie outright, you deliberately withheld facts which would have a profound effect on me. Why?’

‘I had hoped we would come to an understanding without the need for—’

‘Blackmail? Coercion?’ she cried, her entire body trembling with panic and frustration.

Forget cool detachment. He was icily cruel—from his glacial blue stare to the hard line of his mouth.

‘This is not personal, Claudia.’

‘You’ve just made it personal, Lucas!’ God, she had to control herself. Tears stung like tiny daggers but she swallowed every one even as they sliced at her throat. She refused to cry in front of this man.

For the first time his eyes flicked away from her. ‘Do you or do you not require funding to complete your work?’

‘If you’ve discussed this with Tate, then you already know I do.’

‘Then consider it a favour for a favour,’ he said amiably, his gaze returning, eyes narrowed on her face.

‘A favour? What was the outcome of this meeting?’ Stupid, stupid question—but she needed him to say the words before she gave up all hope.

‘I informed Mr Tate that I would certainly consider providing the additional three point five million pounds of necessary funding if certain conditions were met. By you.’

‘You … You …’ The lab swirled before her eyes, gaining speed as if she were in the centre of a whirlwind. No. No. She was not going back. ‘I’ll find another way to get the money,’ she said, desperation blurring her mind. Don’t be stupid, Claudia. You need the money. Take the money. You just asked yourself what your parents have ever done for you…let them do this. But at what cost? Her heart? Her hard-won independence and the little pride she had left? ‘I will not be bought.’

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