One Night With The Forbidden Princess

‘You’re not exactly dressed for a quick escape,’ he mused.

She almost laughed at that—almost. But being held captive by a mysterious hulk of a man had kind of dampened her infamous ability to see the bright side of every situation. As far as she could see there was nothing positive that could come of being abducted, which was the only logical solution for whoever this man was. He would recognise her any moment now and the game would be up.

Perhaps they would ransom her, she thought wildly. How much was her life worth? Hopefully not too much…the kingdom was already facing complete financial ruin as it was.

She gulped hard as she felt his hand slip just under her left armpit—a strange place to grope, indeed.

‘Don’t! Don’t you dare touch me.’ She gasped, arching her body away frantically. He tightened his hold on her slightly, barely even noticing her attempts to free herself.

‘You are in no danger from me,’ he gritted. ‘I must ensure the same can be said of you. Stand still.’

Such was the authority in his voice that she stilled herself. She held her breath as his touch moved almost mechanically to her hip. His movements were calm and purposeful as he did the same to her other side, feeling inside the pockets of her coat and underneath to slide along the indentation of her waist.

Her mind suddenly realised that he was searching for a weapon. She sucked in a breath as strong fingers brushed her ribcage, just underneath her breasts. Of all the situations in which to become excited by a man’s touch, this really wasn’t it. And yet her traitorous body had begun to respond to the intensity of the situation even as her heart thumped with fear.

His breathing did not alter at all, and nor did he show any signs of noticing her response. As his hand finally moved to her thigh Olivia could take no more. She kicked out. Partly in shock at his boldness, but mostly because of the discomfort of her own reaction.

She took a deep breath. ‘Do you honestly believe that I’m hiding a weapon in my underwear?’

The stranger cleared his throat. ‘I have known people to hide weapons in the most ludicrous places. Women especially tend towards a certain…creativity.’

‘Do not put your hands on me again.’

He was silent for a moment, and the only sound in the dark tunnel was that of their steady breaths mingling in the air between them.

When he spoke again his accent was more pronounced, his voice deep and intimidating. ‘Tell me who you are and why you are attempting to break into the palace.’

She paused at that. So he hadn’t recognised her yet. Surely if he was a kidnapper he would have come here knowing the faces of the royal family. Although it was dark, she supposed. Her choices were limited. She had no panic buttons down here—no guards within shouting distance.

She needed to get away.

She turned her head towards the door, breathing a little faster with anticipation as his shrewd gaze followed the movement and he saw the sliver of light coming through the gap.

‘You managed to find a way inside, I see,’ he said with surprise. ‘Come on, then. Let’s see what you were after, shall we?’

He held her forearm tightly, dragging her behind him up the steps and into the lavish dressing room. Her eyes adjusted quickly once again, to take in the rows and rows of her wardrobes. The room was empty, as it would be for a while, seeing as her staff presumed her to be at the races for the rest of the day.

Olivia gulped hard. She had just led an uncleared intruder right into the heart of the palace.

She took a moment to look at him for the first time in the light.

‘It’s you…’ she breathed, realising it was the man from the racetrack.

To his credit, he also looked momentarily stunned as he took in her face in the light.

He was taller this close—almost an entire foot taller than her five feet three inches. All the self-defence classes in the world wouldn’t give her a hope against such a brute. Dark hair, dark eyes and a jawline that would put Michelangelo’s David to shame. He had a fierce beauty about him—as if he had just stepped off a battlefield somewhere—and he thrummed with vitality.

Her grandmother had always said she watched too many movies. Here she was, in very real danger, and she was romanticising her captor.

‘You have taken a break from saving servants, I see.’ His eyes lowered to take in the coat that covered her cocktail dress. ‘You seem to be a woman of many talents.’

Olivia stayed completely silent as he spoke, knowing the more she said the more chance there was that he would put two and two together and guess her identity. She glanced to her left, searching the room for possible weapons for when the time came to run. If she could find something to kick at him, perhaps…

She looked down at her bare feet, cursing her own stupidity.

‘We are in the south wing,’ he mused, looking around the room. ‘One of the royal apartments. How did you find out about the hidden tunnel?’

She shrugged, looking down at her feet and taking one tentative step away from him while his attention wandered.

‘I saw how you slid down there. You knew exactly what you were doing. Just like you know what you are doing right now.’ He grabbed her arm, stopping her progress.

She couldn’t help herself then—she cursed. A filthy word in Catalan that would make her father blush if he heard her.

The stranger smiled darkly. ‘We’re going to get absolutely nowhere if you don’t speak to me. Why are you here?’ he asked again, releasing her arm and pushing her to sit down in the chair in front of her dressing table.

Exactly where she needed to be.

‘I could ask you the same question,’ she replied, slowly reclining backwards under the pretext of stretching her tender muscles.

‘That’s simple. I’m here for people like you,’ he said simply, crossing his arms and staring down at her.

‘People like me?’ she asked breathlessly, her hand feeling blindly along the dressing table behind her for where she knew an alert button had been placed. She tried to calm her breath and prayed he would not see what she was doing. She felt a smooth round bump and pressed it quickly, holding her breath in case she needed to run.

No sirens sounded…there were no flashing lights. She moved to press it again, only to have his fingers encircle her elbow and place her hands in her lap.

‘Keep your hands where I can see them.’

It was clear this wasn’t going to be over any time soon.

He tilted his head to one side, looking at her in such an intense way it made her toes curl into the carpet under her feet. His eyes lowered, darkening as they swept down her legs.

The way he looked at her, the blatant male appreciation on his striking features, made something seem to uncoil in the pit of her stomach. She felt warm under his gaze and turned her face away in case she blushed.

‘Whomever you think I am, I can tell you now that you are very wrong.’

His answering smile was raking, and made goosebumps break out across her arms.

The stranger bent down so that their faces were level. ‘I think that, whoever you are, beautiful, you are a lot stronger and a lot more dangerous than you seem.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘YOU SOUND LIKE quite the expert,’ she purred, her catlike eyes seeming to glow in her pale features.

Roman frowned. ‘I can tell by your eyes that you’re worried about being caught in the act, and yet you mock me.’

‘You’re quite arrogant and you deserve some mocking, I think,’ she replied sweetly.

He fought the urge to laugh at this situation. Here he was, with a thief held captive inside the palace walls, and he was enjoying their verbal sparring too much to make a decision over what to do with her.

He couldn’t simply waltz up to the King’s offices and present him with this gift. Problem one being that the King was out of the palace today, along with the rest of the royal family. Problem two being that the Palace Guard had no idea he would be here today. As far as they were concerned he would be just as much a criminal as the sharp-tongued redhead who sat staring at him as though she’d like to claw his eyes out.

He would have to call Khal and tell him that their plan had encountered a minor diversion. It was no matter, really. He had identified a serious security blind spot and provided the Palace Guard with an attempted burglar to boot. All in all, quite a success.

So why did the thought of handing her over make him feel so uneasy?

He had got where he was by trusting his gut, and right now his gut was telling him that something wasn’t quite right here. That this woman was not all that she seemed. Something made him pause, his brain weighing the situation up piece by piece.

‘You are quite possibly the most ladylike thief I have ever encountered,’ he mused. ‘Do you always go barefoot on a job, or was today an exception?’

‘You assume that I make a habit of this?’ She glared up at him.

‘Correct me, then.’ He held her gaze evenly until she looked away.

‘You have quite an intense stare. It’s making me uneasy.’

She crossed one slim leg over the other. Roman felt his throat go dry, and looked away from the expanse of creamy smooth skin below her dress.

‘I’m in the business of being observant,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘You might benefit from it yourself, then maybe next time you won’t get caught so easily.’

‘I assume you are the almighty authority on how to break into palaces?’ She raised her brows, sitting straighter in her seat.

‘Seeing as you arrived here first, I disagree,’ he countered.

‘Oh, now I see. You’re angry that you were beaten to the punch by a woman.’ She placed both feet flat on the floor, smoothing her dress over her knees. ‘This whole body-searching, intimidating act has all been one big ego-stroke for you.’

‘I searched you because I am not so pig-headed as to believe that you pose no threat to me simply because of your sex.’ Roman shook his head in disbelief, hating himself for rising to her bait. ‘Why would you assume that the fact you are a woman has anything to do with it?’

She looked away from him then. ‘Because it always does.’

‘I think that’s far more telling of your low opinion of men than anything else.’ He raised his brows. ‘Trust me, I am an expert in assessing risks. Women are not somehow physically destined to surrender to men. I have seen it first-hand. I have trained women, watched them down men twice their size without breaking a sweat.’

‘You train women? To become…thieves?’ she said with disbelief. ‘Who on earth are you?’

Roman laughed, not bothering to correct her assumption. ‘Let’s just say I am the last person you wish to meet while you’re on a job. Not just here, in this castle. Anywhere. I know how the criminal mind works. I have made it my business to be an expert in it.’

‘So if I’m a criminal, you’ll know what I am thinking right now?’ Her eyes darted towards the door once more.

‘I’m trying to.’ Roman poised himself in case she ran. ‘Just tell me what it is you’re after and I can make this easier for you. Tell me your name.’

‘No,’ she said plainly.

Her body language was telling him that she was becoming increasingly more agitated with the situation. A flight risk if ever he’d seen one.

Even as the thought crossed his mind she jumped from the chair, her speed surprising him for a split second before he moved himself. She made it a few steps before his arms were around her waist, holding her body tightly against his as she struggled in vain.

‘Please—just let me go,’ she breathed.

The fear in her voice startled him, but his training had taught him not to release anyone until he had another means of restraining them.

‘You are making it very difficult for me to help you here. Do you know that?’ he said, holding her arms tightly to her sides and trying in vain to ignore the delicious scent of vanilla that drifted up from her hair.

‘Why…? Why would you offer to help after what you think of me?’

He thought for a moment. ‘Because I believe in second chances.’ He spoke without thought, his answer surprising even himself. ‘You always have a choice—no matter how impossible it seems.’

A strange look came over her face as their eyes locked. Her breath was coming hard and heavy against his chest but she’d stopped fighting him. Her eyes drifted away from him, settling on the distance with a mixture of resolve and deep sadness.

‘I’m not who you think I am.’

Without warning a heavy weight came down behind him, followed by what he presumed to be a palace guard shouting in furious Catalan.

Roman pushed the man backwards, holding his hands up in what he hoped resembled a peaceful motion.

‘I have authorisation,’ he began, motioning towards the lapel of his suit jacket. ‘The King knows I am here.’

Roman felt his hands being pulled behind him into handcuffs and fought the urge to laugh as he looked up into a second guard’s furious face.

‘You will regret this.’

He grunted at the pressure of a knee between his shoulder blades, knowing that they most likely did not speak a word of English. As his face was crushed against the carpet he looked sideways, just in time to see a pair of dainty bare feet appear by his side. Up close, he could see that a tiny hand-drawn daisy adorned each red-painted toenail.

The woman spoke in rapid-fire Catalan, her voice muted and fearful yet with a strange backbone of authority. The nearest guard nodded, uttering two words that made his body freeze.

‘Si, Princesa.’

Roman crushed his face further into the carpet with disbelief and sheer dread.

He had just body-searched a damn princess.

His Majesty King Fabian of Monteverre stood up as Olivia entered the private sitting room flanked by two stony-faced members of the Royal Guard.

‘Of all the days to pull one of your disappearing acts, Libby,’ her father said angrily, motioning for the guards to leave them with a flick of one hand.

Her mother, elegant and perpetually silent, did not acknowledge her entry. Queen Aurelia sat poised in a high-backed chair, her eyes trained solemnly on nothing in particular.

‘Where have you been? You were informed of the intruder hours ago,’ Olivia said, breathing hard.

‘And naturally you expected us to abandon the event? Honestly, Libby…’ The King frowned in disbelief, reaching down to take a sip of whisky from a thick crystal tumbler.

Her father was the only one who still called her Libby. It reminded her of being five years old and being scolded for trying to sneak chocolate from the kitchens. But she was not a child any more, and she was damned tired of being treated like one.

‘I was attacked,’ she said slowly. ‘A man held me hostage in my own dressing room. And yet I’ve been left to pace my apartments completely alone for the past five hours.’

‘The matter has been resolved. It was a simple misunderstanding.’ King Fabian avoided his daughter’s eyes. ‘Best to forget the whole business.’

Olivia felt all the outrage and pent-up frustration freeze in her veins as she registered her father’s words. Had he actually just told her to forget this afternoon? She opened her mouth, then closed it, completely at a loss as to what to say in response.

‘Your absence was noticed by Sheikh Khalil,’ he said, scolding, his brows drawing down as they always did when he was unimpressed.

‘Well, as I have just said, I was rather busy being held against my will by a dangerous intruder.’ She took a deep breath, looking briefly across to her mother’s uninterested blank features before returning her furious gaze to her father. ‘Have I gone mad? Or are you both completely unaffected by today’s events?’

‘I understand it might have been…alarming…’ King Fabian began solemnly.

‘“Alarming” hardly covers it.’ Olivia fumed. ‘Why are you both so calm?’

The last word came out in a disbelieving whisper. She fought a distinct urge to walk over and bang her fist on her father’s chest, to knock over her mother’s glass, to make them both react in some way other than with this muted nothingness.

Today’s events had shaken her to her core, and yet she felt as though she were intruding on their peace with her inconvenient outrage. Surely her own father should be shocked and outraged that his daughter’s safety had been at risk inside their own home. Unless… Unless he wasn’t shocked at all.

‘What do you mean by a misunderstanding?’ she asked, not bothering to hide the challenge in her voice.

‘Libby…’ Her father sighed, raising a hand for her to quieten.

‘Please, don’t “Libby” me.’ She placed one hand on her hip. ‘Tell me exactly what is going on. Did you know about this man?’

The King twisted his mouth in discomfort. ‘Well…not directly, no.’

‘Indirectly, then. You knew that someone would be here today? In our home.’

King Fabian strode to the window, placing one hand on the sill and looking out in silence. ‘The man you met today was Roman Lazarov, founder of The Lazarov Group, an international security firm.’ Her father sighed heavily. ‘He is a very close friend of Sheikh Khalil and I have been assured that he is the authority on high-class security operations. But after the complete muddle he made today, I’m not so sure of his expert status…’

He laughed weakly, his voice trailing off as he took in her expression of horror.

‘Don’t look at me that way. It was a gift from Sheikh Khalil—very thoughtful of him to want to ensure your safety, I thought.’

Olivia felt a headache begin at her temples. This was all becoming too much. She closed her eyes a moment, unable to bear her father’s apparent disregard for his daughter’s privacy or independence.

‘No, Father. In fact I find it horribly thoughtless. And intrusive, among other things.’ She felt her breath coming faster, her temper rising like a caged bird set to take flight. ‘This is the last straw in a long line of things I have overlooked since you began vaguely mentioning a possible marriage. I am not a piece of livestock to be insured and fenced in, for goodness’ sake.’

He sighed. ‘You are overreacting.’

‘No, I’m really not. Did anyone consult me before all my charity events were cancelled? Was I informed when I was assigned five new bodyguards for all trips outside the palace?’ She shook her head, her knuckles straining with the tightness of her fists by her sides. ‘And now this. Did you even think to ask me before you sent a bloody mercenary into my room? I’ll never feel safe there again!’

‘Lazarov was simply going to attempt to gain entry to your rooms. To find any weaknesses in our security. Besides, you were supposed to be at the races with your fiancé.’

The tightness in her throat intensified. ‘I have not yet agreed to this marriage. Until today I had no idea that you were truly serious about it! And if this is how the Sheikh shows his concern…’

She tightened her lips, willing herself to say the words. To tell her father that the whole deal was off. She didn’t want this. Any of it.

King Fabian’s voice lowered in warning. ‘Olivia, these negotiations are months old—we have discussed why this is a necessary step.’

She blinked. Months old? ‘For the kingdom, yes. I understand what we stand to gain from a political union.’ She cleared her throat, her voice sounding all of a sudden smaller. ‘But what about for me?’

Her father’s brows rose imperiously. ‘You will be serving your kingdom.’

‘I don’t see why I must get married to a complete stranger in order to serve Monteverre. I am doing good work with Mimi’s Foundation—I am making a difference.’

‘Your grandmother and her damned charities…’ Fabian scowled darkly, draining the last of his whisky. ‘You think teaching a handful of scrawny kids to read will change anything about our situation?’

‘My grandmother taught me that charity is not always about money. It’s important to nourish the youth as well as to do our best to help those in need. She was beloved by this kingdom.’

‘Ah, yes, the eternally perfect Queen Miranda! My mother spent so much time on her charities she didn’t even notice her country’s economy crumbling beneath her feet.’ His mouth twisted cruelly. ‘Don’t you see, you silly girl? We are facing financial ruin without this union.’

Olivia opened her mouth to protest, only to have her father’s scowl stop her as he continued on his own personal rant.

‘The Kingdom of Zayyar is overflowing with wealth, thanks to this man. He is an economic genius. But the civic history of his country still stands in the way of true acceptance from the west. To put it bluntly, they need our political influence and we need their money.’

‘Money…’ Olivia bit her lip, wanting to ask just how much she was worth, considering he was essentially trading her body for cash.

‘Sheikh Khalil has the capabilities to take Monteverre back to its glory days—surely you want that for your people? What good is being able to read if they have no money to feed themselves?’

She had never heard her father speak so frankly, and his eyes were red-rimmed with half-madness. Olivia knew that Monteverre was in trouble. A series of bad leadership decisions and banking crashes had left them neck-deep in debt and with many of the younger generation emigrating to greener pastures. They were bleeding, and it appeared that this Sheikh had come offering a magic bandage. At a particular cost…

‘Trusting an entire country’s economic future to one man’s hands? That seems a bit…reckless. Surely there is another way without the marriage—?’

‘No,’ he cut across her, his voice a dull bark in the silent room. ‘There is no going back on this. I won’t hear another word.’

Her father’s eyes were dark in a way she had never seen them before, as though he hadn’t truly slept in months.

‘Everything you have had since birth is thanks to your position. It’s not like you have an actual career to think of—you spend most of your time looking pretty and waving. None of that would even change. Your life would continue just as it has been—only as the Sheikha of Zayyar.’ He took a breath, smiling down at her as if he had just bestowed upon her some enormous gift. ‘This is your duty, Olivia. To Monteverre. It’s not about you.’

She felt his words sink into her skin like an icy breeze, setting off goose pimples down her bare arms. Did being born a Sandoval really mean surrendering every aspect of your life to the good of the kingdom?

As the second daughter she had naïvely believed that her life would be different from her older sister’s. She was not first in line to rule Monteverre—she didn’t bear that crushing weight of responsibility and she had always been infinitely glad of it.

‘The Sheikha of Zayyar…’

Her mother’s melodic voice intruded on her thoughts, sounding absurdly serene.

‘Sounds like something from a film…’

‘I don’t even know where Zayyar is,’ Olivia said numbly, almost unable to speak past the tickle of panic spreading across her throat.

‘Somewhere on the Persian Gulf,’ Queen Aurelia offered, twirling the liquid in her glass. ‘They have a hotel shaped like a boat sail.’

‘That’s Dubai.’ King Fabian rolled his eyes. ‘Zayyar is halfway between the desert and the Arabian Sea. Gorgeous scenery—you will love it.’

‘Thank you for the sales pitch, Father.’ Olivia sighed, looking across to her mother, who had once again turned to gaze into the empty fireplace.

It was customary for her mother to permanently nurse a glass of the finest cognac after midday. In Olivia’s memory no one had ever questioned it or raised any concern. There had always been an unspoken understanding among the Sandoval children that their mother and father each did whatever they pleased and things would always be that way. They did not welcome personal discussions.