The Princess Seductions

Abruptly she turned her head, catching his stare. Alex felt their gazes mesh, a palpable connection, and wondered if it had been so long since he’d been with a pretty woman that his brain had turned to mush in the interim.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ He shook his head. ‘It will be easier to transfer them from the other side. I’ll go round and help George if you can stay here and reassure them.’

‘Of course.’ Her voice had a lilt that tugged at something deep inside and told him English wasn’t her first language. He wondered how his name would sound on her lips.

Alex swam around the canoe. First her eyes, now her voice. Had it really been so long since he’d been with a woman?

He banished the thought as George cut the engine and the pair of them worked to get the kids aboard. Once more his golden-haired mermaid proved quietly efficient, easing their burden.

‘Here.’ He beckoned her over when the others were aboard the small boat. ‘I’ll give you a boost up.’

‘No need.’ She flashed him a smile and his pulse kicked hard.

Number three. First the eyes, then the voice. But that smile surpassed the rest. It turned his cool, capable, impervious mermaid into a beckoning sea sprite. That smile was pure mischief and again he felt that draw in his belly, hard and urgent.

Before Alex knew what she intended, or George could offer her a hand, she planted her hands on the side of the tender and pulled herself up smoothly and easily.

He was treated to a view of neat breasts against a saturated T-shirt, a slim waist, baggy shorts and long, shapely legs of pale gold.

Four. Alex clutched the boat, breathing hard. Despite the cool water, this time his response wasn’t belly-deep but lower, stirring his groin. He’d always had a weakness for great legs.

‘Want some help?’ She leaned out, ready to offer a hand, that smile dancing at the edge of her lips.

In that instant Alex knew if he was still the impulsive guy he’d once been, carefree and unencumbered by a crown, he’d have curled his hand around her neck and tugged her close. He’d have kissed her till she planted those small, capable hands on his chest and begged for more.

And he’d have given it.

‘I can manage.’ He hauled himself up.

It was as her eyes rounded that he remembered he’d dived naked into the sea. With the yacht’s crew on shore leave and only he and George aboard, he hadn’t bothered dressing when he woke.

Her gaze stayed low on his body a fraction too long, making his blood surge south in response.

Her eyes flashed to his. ‘I’m guessing you weren’t expecting company.’ Her lips twitched.

Five. Most women he met these days lacked a sense of humour. He missed that. In his old life he’d been part of a close-knit team where humour made a demanding job easier.

‘I was thinking about an early morning dip, but not like this.’ He was responding way too much to the glint of humour in her bright eyes and the husky edge to her voice.

He moved further into the small boat and stood. Alex was fully aware the movement laid his back and buttocks bare to her gaze—he’d swear he could feel the prickle of her regard right now. But it was better than presenting her with what could too easily turn into a promising erection.

He hunkered down at the side of the boat, motioning for George to start the motor. One of the kids had a gash on his temple and there was a first aid kit on the yacht. To his relief though, they seemed to be improving by the minute.

By the time the five of them were on the yacht Alex knew they’d be okay. He got the first aid kit then left it in George’s capable hands while he went below to dry off and dress.

Yet as he tugged on old jeans and a shirt, Alex could recall exactly how he’d felt when the mermaid’s gaze dropped to his chest, lingered a second and then kept moving to his abdomen and groin. The prickle under his skin was a prelude to something he could not afford to give in to.

The timing was all wrong.

So was the place. The person.

Imagine the complications if he followed his instincts and pursued an affair with her right here, offshore from the palace! Especially when there were so many people in both countries promoting a royal wedding.

Alex shuddered and zipped his jeans. Marriage was not on the agenda.

* * *

‘There’s Alex now,’ George said and Cat looked up. Alex, the owner of the beautiful vintage yacht, strolled towards them. His gait was loose-hipped and easy, shoulders back as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Definitely the walk of an assured man. One too sexy for his own good.

Fire spiked in her blood as she recalled his lazy, half-lidded expression when she’d seen him naked. The devastatingly attractive way the corners of his mouth curled up, the gleam in those indigo eyes.

She liked a confident man. One assured enough not to bolster his ego at the expense of others.

He was athletic too. That tall body was strong and taut and oh-so attractive, with powerful thighs and sinewy forearms and a classic male outline that tapered from wide shoulders. She had a sudden recollection of the bunch of his rounded, perfect glutes as he’d walked away. Cat forced her attention back to the bandage she was securing.

‘There, that should do.’

‘Good work, Cat.’ George, the yacht’s captain, closed the first aid kit.

‘Cat?’ The lazy drawl was like fingertips dancing down her spine. She told herself it was the breeze cooling her ancient T-shirt against her skin but she feared it was his luscious baritone.

‘Alex, this is Cat. Cat, Alex.’

‘Nice to meet you... Cat.’

She looked up to read curiosity crinkling his broad brow. A flare of his nostrils brought that chiselled, patrician nose to life and his dark blue eyes narrowed as he surveyed her.

Was that tension in the pulse flicking beneath his squared jaw? No, she’d imagined it. His body language spoke of easy confidence. And a bone-deep, almost indolent sex appeal that played havoc with her hormones.

‘Nice to meet you, Alex.’ She kept her voice blank. The fact he’d obviously towel-dried his black hair and not bothered to comb it, leaving it appealingly dishevelled, shouldn’t make her itch to touch. As for the fact he was still barefoot, and hadn’t buttoned his shirt, which showed a tantalising strip of taut skin...

‘How are you boys feeling?’ It was easier to concentrate on them than this sudden rush of attraction.

They murmured that they were okay, one even venturing a smile. They’d be fine, now the fright wore off. But she’d feel better when a professional checked them.

Alex stopped before her. ‘Why don’t you dry off while we take care of the boys and rustle up a warm drink? Downstairs, second cabin on the left. There’s an en suite shower and I put out clean clothes you can wear till yours dry.’

Cat was about to refuse then thought better of it. George could put her ashore using the tender so she didn’t have to swim back. She’d feel better knowing she didn’t look like a drowned rat. Especially as her nipples were peaking insistently against her bra and she suspected her white T-shirt was transparent.

‘Thanks. I will.’ With a smile for George and the boys, she made her way downstairs.

The yacht was unlike any she’d seen. In her years as a bodyguard she’d been on massive, ultra-modern motor cruisers. Huge edifices several storeys high that housed not just a small boat, but a car and even a helipad. Those cruisers were built for socialising, for glamorous parties and sybaritic self-indulgence.

This yacht was nothing like that.

Cat passed through a wide cabin that was comfortable and stylish rather than look-at-me trendy, though no expense had been spared. Her hand slid down a polished teak rail as she followed the stairs into a roomy corridor. On either side were gleaming timber doors finished with brass touches. Everything was pristine yet the style belonged to an earlier, more gracious era.

She pushed open the second door and found an exquisite cabin, more wood on the walls, a deep plush carpet of dusk blue and a vast bed covered in crisp white and blue.

Wary of dripping onto the carpet, Cat moved quickly into the bathroom, where the luxury continued with marble and mirrors. It was hard to believe she was on a yacht, till she looked out the window and saw the sea and the shore bright in the early light.

Quickly she stripped and showered, tying back her hair with a band she found in the cupboard. There were clothes too. A brief black bikini and an oversized white shirt.

Cat frowned. But her shorts were sodden and she rejected the idea of putting on her wet T-shirt, knowing how it clung.

The bikini fitted surprisingly well and Cat felt a moment’s annoyance that Alex had calculated her size then raided his private store of women’s swimwear, no doubt kept especially for his lady friends.

Shoving her arms through the shirt sleeves, she rolled them up to her elbows, relieved at the way the oversized garment fell well down her thighs. Cat hadn’t missed the way Alex’s eyes had gleamed as he surveyed her.

In other circumstances she might have been interested. But not now, not here, not while she was in St Galla on the most challenging job of her life.

Not while she was impersonating her royal sister.

Cat shivered and she hugged her arms around herself, rubbing away prickling gooseflesh and grateful for the soft fabric of the shirt she sincerely hoped was George’s and not his boss’s.

She’d had a bad feeling about this contract from the first. But it was only when she was installed in an exquisite guest apartment a corridor away from Princess Amelie’s that Cat realised how completely she was out of her depth. They might share their father’s royal blood but that was all.

No one would believe she was Amelie, not for a second.

Worse was the awful ache-in-the-belly certainty that it had been a mistake returning to the country where she’d been so desperately unhappy. Or to have anything to do with her distant family. She’d never belonged to them and they’d brought her nothing but trouble.

Buttoning the shirt as high as it would go, she avoided the mirror and swivelled away, grabbing her sopping wet clothes.

She’d tell the Prime Minister she couldn’t go through with it. He could have his deposit back. She hadn’t spent a cent. He’d probably be grateful—the lady-in-waiting who’d been trying to tutor her in etiquette, deportment and the like had made it clear Cat wasn’t fit for the role.

It would be a relief to get out of this place where even the scent of the sea and the pines crowding the rocky slopes evoked painful memories.

Cat emerged on deck with a determined step but pulled up when she found it deserted.

Everyone had gone, and so had the tender, she saw when she crossed to the rear of the vessel. The shower must have masked the sound of the motor.

‘There you are.’ That deep, smooth voice tantalised, trailing along her skin like a caress. ‘Coffee or fresh juice?’

‘Neither, thanks. It’s time I left.’ She glanced at her waterproof watch. It was still early.

Racked by doubts, she’d got little sleep and had gone running through the palace’s private grounds as the first glimmers of dawn appeared.

She swung round and caught Alex’s eyes on her bare legs.

Slowly, so slowly it must be deliberate, his gaze rose from her feet to her knees, then her thighs, lingering at the hem of the shirt before surveying her body so thoroughly she knew the shirt was transparent. By the time those blue eyes collided with hers, her arms were crossed over her breasts and her mouth was pursed.

‘Do you do that to every woman?’ Her chin hiked. She chose to ignore the little shiver of excitement that stirred in her belly at his obvious appreciation. For once the attraction was mutual.

He shook his head and Cat caught the curl of his mouth at one corner. ‘Never. I’m making an exception with you.’ His lips stretched into a full smile that did devastating things to her pulse. She should be furious at such a sexist attitude but strangely her anger was hard to hang on to. ‘I’m returning the favour. You took your time looking at me.’

His stare defied her to argue and Cat clenched her jaw. She had got an eyeful of bare, some would say awesome, masculinity and she hadn’t been eager to look away. She was in no position to object that he gave as got as he got.

Except that standing here in a brief bikini and see-through shirt, she felt vulnerable in a way she hadn’t felt with any man.

Cat had spent a lifetime ensuring she was unassailable, emotionally and physically.

‘Where are the others?’

‘George is taking them to the recreation camp further up the coast. It turns out they took the canoe without permission and they started to think the staff might worry when they found it and them gone.’

‘So how do I get ashore? Is there another boat?’

Alex shook his head. ‘Just the tender. But George won’t be long. In the meantime I’ll get breakfast.’

‘I really need to get ashore.’

‘Well.’ He tilted his head, appraising her. ‘You could swim to the island. But you’d get wet all over again. Why don’t you relax and let me cook for you?’

Cat turned, calculating the distance to the shore. She’d already run ten kilometres before shucking her shoes and diving in to help the boys. But she could swim back easily.

There was no reason to remain, not when she’d made up her mind to resign and turn her back on St Galla once and for all.

It hit her with a punch of disbelief that the only reason she hesitated was the man behind her.

She’d never known such instantaneous, full-on attraction. The humour in those stunning eyes and his upfront attitude appealed as much as his hunky masculine body. Even the dark stubble shading that hard jaw made her want to touch him.

Cat had spent a lifetime learning how to keep guys at a distance, as colleagues or friends rather than lovers. This surge of awareness, the sudden feeling of connection was unique.

She turned back and found he’d moved closer, his bare footsteps silent. He was a mere arm’s length away.

Cat hauled in a sharp breath. The combination of that half smile, the hint of citrus and warm male skin in her nostrils, and the certainty he felt the spark too, froze her to the spot.

It was there in the dilation of his pupils and the widening of his nostrils. He leaned towards her as if forced by the same compulsion for nearness. Yet he didn’t touch.

The air vibrated as if an invisible cord tightened between them. Cat swallowed, her throat dry.

Abruptly he stepped back and the air emptied from her lungs in a whoosh.

‘Breakfast? I do an excellent pancake.’ His smile was easy, the intensity wiped from his expression. Yet his eyes were watchful. For all his overtly casual stance, he was alert, aware of every tiny tell-tale movement she made.

Like a predator scoping its prey.

It would be out of character but so easy for her to respond to his sexual pull. To laugh over breakfast and fall under the spell of that indigo gaze. For once in her life not to be prudent but to dive into what she knew instinctively would be a hot, steamy, thoroughly satisfying affair.

But it was out of character.

Plus she had enough on her mind with the need to escape the claustrophobic confines of the palace and the role she’d accepted. She wasn’t cut out for deceit—masquerading as her half-sister and hiding her very personal reasons for wanting to visit the palace.

As much as her suddenly active hormones protested, Cat had to focus on setting things right.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, not bothering to hide her regret. ‘But I can’t stay.’

She dropped her wet clothes and grabbed the hem of the shirt she wore, reefing it over her head then tossing it to Alex. He caught it one-handed against his chest.

His gaze didn’t drop from her face but she knew he was aware of her every contour. She was aware of him from the soles of her feet to her peaking nipples and hammering pulse. And everywhere in between.

‘I have to go.’ Forcing herself to break his gaze, she turned, raised her arms and dived into the clear depths of the azure sea.

CHAPTER TWO

LEAVING ST GALLA wasn’t as easy as Cat had hoped. How had she thought, after the lengths they’d gone to, and the money promised, they’d release her from her contract?

‘Impossible.’ The Prime Minister’s voice over the phone was severe. ‘I expect you to finish the job.’

‘I’ll return the first payment. Since arriving I’ve realised I can’t pull this off. I’m a security professional, not an actor.’

‘As a professional you’d know we wouldn’t resort to this charade unless absolutely necessary. There’s no other option.’

Silence hung between them.

‘Princess Amelie isn’t in danger, is she?’ She’d asked before but got no answer.

The nation was still mourning the death in an accident of Amelie’s younger brother, King Michel, and his wife. Cat had been stunned by the emptiness she’d felt after hearing the news, knowing she’d never have an opportunity to know her half-brother. Not that she’d anticipated ever meeting her half-siblings. Yet she’d followed the news with a fascinated dread, reading how, after the double funeral, Princess Amelie had cancelled her public appearances to spend time with her orphaned nephew, Sébastien.

Where were Amelie and the young Prince? Given the freedom Cat had to explore the beautiful Belle Époque palace and its grounds, they weren’t here.

Cat regretted never knowing her brother. That sense of loss only strengthened her longing to meet her last living relatives: Amelie and Prince Sébastien.

‘That need not concern you, Ms Dubois. Concentrate on the task for which you’ve been employed.’ He paused. ‘Remember the penalty clauses in your contract.’

Oh, she remembered. Massive financial penalties should she divulge the secret of what she was doing here. And for leaving before the requisite period was over.

But she hadn’t yet begun the masquerade. ‘Surely it’s better to pull the plug now than when people realise we’re trying to fool them? I’ve tried, but my tutor will tell you I’m a disaster in the role.’ The woman made that clear with each sniff of her thin patrician nose.

‘On the contrary, I’ve heard you’re a quick study and you’ve made good progress.’

‘Nevertheless—’

‘Let me be clear, Ms Dubois.’ Monsieur Barthe’s voice was glacial. ‘You will complete this assignment. If not, by the terms of the contract you have seven days to pay the penalty.’

Seven days to pay money she didn’t have. The penalty payment was even larger than the total she’d earn.

‘I trust you’ll see the wisdom of staying.’ He paused, but Cat couldn’t think of a thing to say. ‘Good. I’ll see you at the reception.’

The phone went dead. Cat put it down, her stomach cramping. There was no way out. She shouldn’t have agreed to take this on. Hadn’t she known it from the first?

Never had the massive chasm between herself and the siblings she’d never known seemed wider. And her little nephew. Her heart had gone out to the tiny mite she’d seen on the news. His big, troubled eyes had tugged at her, but she was crazy to think she could help either of them.

Cat shook her head. She’d let sentiment and curiosity overcome sense.

Now she had to face the consequences.

She stared out the huge arched window of her room. Beyond the manicured gardens, the pools and fountains and arbours, lay the wooded private royal reserve that encompassed the whole southernmost peninsula of the island nation. Beyond that was the sea.

Where Alex had his beautiful yacht.

For a second she let herself imagine she could simply walk out the door, swim to him and ask him to take her away. For she couldn’t shake the bone-deep fear that in coming here she’d opened a door that should have remained firmly bolted. Like Pandora opening her box and releasing forces she’d never imagined.

Cat shivered, as if someone walked over her grave.

Nonsense. She didn’t like it here because it reminded her of the father who’d rejected her before she was born. And the shame she’d been made to carry through no fault of her own.

But she was strong and capable. She’d do the job, then leave without a backward glance. Simple.

* * *

Twenty-four hours later Cat walked carefully down the long ground-floor corridor, heels tapping on the beautiful parquetry floor. At her tutor’s insistence she wore stockings, heels and a silk dress that swirled to her knees. Lady Enide had declared Cat would never convince anyone till she learned to walk in a dress.

Apparently she walked like a boy. Even if she did keep her shoulders back and her chin up.

Cat set her jaw and concentrated on balance. Teetering on stiletto heels was harder than parcours. Harder than karate. No wonder Lady Enide had left her to it, informing her crisply that they’d meet in forty minutes, by which time she expected to see Ms Dubois moving like a lady.

Cat’s mouth curved in a mirthless smile. She’d always been a tomboy, rebelling against the inevitable comparisons between her and the graceful, ultra-feminine Princess who lived at the far end of their island nation.

It was easier for tomboys to pretend not to hurt when insults and innuendos rained down. And tomboys gave as good as they got when the insults became blows.

She didn’t fancy her chances of convincing anyone she was an elegant lady.

Butterflies the size of kites twisted in her stomach. The Prime Minister had lied. Cat had just learned next week’s event wasn’t the simple affair he’d said.

Restlessly she pushed open a door and entered a grand reception room. It was white and gold, with ornate couches that looked as if they’d break if you sat on them. The mirrors were huge antiques, the chandeliers, she’d learned, brought from Versailles centuries ago. The paintings...she tried to recall which monarchs were in the paintings and failed.

Another black mark against her. She had to memorise everything about these rooms for the reception to celebrate five hundred years of amity between St Galla and distant Bengaria. It would be a glittering event.

And she’d been told minutes ago that the King of Bengaria would attend!

Her stomach cramped in horror. How did the Prime Minister expect her to fool a royal? It was madness. If she’d known she’d never have come. Which was no doubt why Monsieur Barthe hadn’t broken the news earlier. He’d even tried to convince her their royal guest wouldn’t see through her disguise since he’d never met Amelie!

As soon as she got a chance she’d look up the Bengarian King. For the first time her avoidance of all things royal worked against her. She shunned celebrity gossip about aristocratic families. She could so easily be fodder for those stories!

Cat shuddered. If she’d needed proof that this masquerade was desperately important for Amelie, this was it. Clearly Cat was covering for a crisis of some sort.

Maybe she could stand at the top of the elegantly curling staircase and wave her hand at the King without getting close? If she could keep her distance, and not talk, there was the slimmest chance she could bring off this charade.

Cat grimaced. From a distance no one would notice she was a smidgeon shorter than Amelie, her nose not quite as straight and her mouth a fraction wider. Or that she was smaller in the bust.

But to convince a king? Cat shook her head and pushed open the door to the next room.

On the threshold she stilled. Someone stood, silhouetted in the vast arched window.

A sensation, as if she rode a runaway roller coaster, plunged her stomach to the floor. Her hand clung to the door as she took in the tall figure, straight-shouldered, slim-hipped, long-legged.

Over his shoulder through the window a familiar yacht, streamlined, vintage and luxurious, lay anchored in the palace’s private cove.