Royal and Ruthless

Without meeting his eyes, she directed a swift, shaken smile at him and turned into her room, nerves jumping when she closed the door. She leaned back against the carved wood, striving to force strength into her lax bones.

This whole situation was too dangerous. She shouldn’t have allowed those passionate moments in his arms, moments charged with a carnal magic that still ached through her.

Allowed them? She’d welcomed them, surrendered to them, wallowed in the erotic excitement of them, until in the end she’d had no defences left. The intensity of her emotions, the sensations Rafiq made her feel, scared her. When he touched her she lost herself, became someone different, an alien person with no shame and no control.

Lexie wrenched herself upright and walked across to a window, staring out across the lagoon to the white line of the reef.

Slowly she dragged air into her lungs. These bewildering days on Moraze were teaching her that she wasn’t capable of an easy relationship with lots of lust followed by a cheerful goodbye once it was sated.

‘Not my style,’ she said a little bitterly to the silent room. Certainly not with Rafiq…

But at least she’d learned one thing about him: he didn’t want just casual sex either. Because he could have had her right there and then, and he’d known it, yet he’d pulled back.

She set her jaw. Because her resistance was so easily breached, there must be no more of this perilous intimacy. After tomorrow she’d leave the castle. And she’d make it clear she wasn’t in the market for, well, anything. He wouldn’t press her; Rafiq de Couteveille was a sophisticated man, and there were plenty of sophisticated, experienced women who’d be more than happy to satisfy his urges.

And that sharp stab of emotion was not jealousy, or—worse still—anguish at the thought!

‘There!’ Rafiq pointed over her shoulder, his voice urgent. ‘Can you see them?’

‘Yes.’ Thrilled, Lexie lifted the binoculars he’d lent her and examined the small herd.

Not at all spooked by the vehicle, the horses lifted their heads and serenely surveyed them. A couple of skittish youngsters danced sideways, their coats gleaming in the tropical sun, only to subside and snatch another mouthful of grass. The stallion, master of his harem, clearly realised that no harm would come to them from this particular vehicle. Although he kept a watchful eye on them, his stance showed his trust. Even the wise old mare that led the herd had already dropped her head to graze again.

Lexie stole another glance at the arrogant line of Rafiq’s profile as he watched the herd. The angular lines of his face intent yet relaxed, he looked as though the sight of the herd satisfied a hunger in his soul. Her heartbeat picked up speed. How would she feel if he ever gazed at her like that?

Angry with herself at such futile longing, she lifted the binoculars to her eyes again. ‘How long have they been on Moraze?’

‘The bride of the first de Couteveille brought some of her father’s horses with her. They were set free up here, and here they’ve flourished ever since.’

Like the de Couteveilles, she thought. She said on a sigh, ‘I’ll always remember this day. Thank you so much.’

‘It has been my pleasure,’ he said calmly, and set the four-wheel drive in motion. As they started on the winding descent to the fertile lowlands, he asked, ‘Which did you enjoy most—the jungle animals in the mountains, or the horses?’

She laughed. ‘That’s an unfair question, but I was fascinated by the jungle animals, and can’t help wondering how on earth their ancestors got here.’

‘Biologists are working on their provenance,’ he told her. Without any change in tone he went on, ‘So you liked the horses better?’

Surprised at his perception, she admitted, ‘Yes. They’re so wild and free, and so lovely. I suppose I envy them.’

‘Perhaps we all do.’ He sent her a glance that set her toes tingling. ‘But you have independence. Or are you planning to give it up?’

Startled, she said quickly, ‘No.’

His glance sharpened before he returned it to the road ahead. ‘What appeals to you so much about the thought of freedom?’

‘Surely it’s everyone’s desire?’ She looked ahead to the vehicle that accompanied them, driven by a bodyguard with another by his side. Living like that would stifle her. How did Rafiq stand it?

‘Most people seem content to settle into comfortable servitude,’ he observed.

‘Perhaps. And perhaps they’re happier than those who long for freedom.’ She looked up. ‘Are you content with your chains?’

‘Tell me what you think to be my chains.’

‘Well, you’re forced to live as the ruler of Moraze. Don’t you ever have the urge to break free?’

His gaze flicked across her face, then returned to the road ahead. ‘Sometimes,’ he said, shrugging. ‘And you? What chains hold you?’

Lexie bit her lip. Like him, servitude to her forebears, but she wasn’t going to tell him about her father. ‘Oh, nothing really,’ she said lamely, wishing she hadn’t embarked on this.

She stared around, then said, ‘Oh! I recognise this place—it’s where we crashed!’ Frowning, she leaned forward to examine the road and the grassy bank as they passed the spot. ‘I wonder why I didn’t see the animal that ran out in front of us.’

‘It’s possible you did see it, but because of the shock you don’t remember,’ Rafiq said coolly. ‘The driver has recovered completely, by the way.’

‘I still feel guilty because I didn’t go to see her,’ Lexie said without thinking.

He shrugged. ‘You have high standards of behaviour. She did not expect it.’

Something in his tone made her say crisply, ‘Simple courtesy isn’t exactly a high standard.’ And without finesse she steered the conversation in another direction. ‘Tell me, what should I wear to the hotel party? I don’t know the sort of thing that would be appropriate.’

He sent her another enigmatic glance, almost as though she’d surprised him. ‘The dress you wore the night we met would be perfect.’

The flame-shot silk Jacoba had bought for her? Lexie loved that dress, and not just because the colour brought out a richness in her hair, and gave her skin a glow it didn’t normally have. In it she felt like someone else—a different, bolder, more confident person.

Torn between a desire to look her best and a cowardly caution, she hesitated, fixing her gaze on the scenery as Rafiq steered the vehicle around a set of hairpin bends.

When they’d been safely and skilfully negotiated, she asked, ‘Are you sure?’

‘I am,’ he said, and smiled, a slow, amused curl of his beautiful mouth that sent excitement flickering through her. ‘Colour is important here,’ he went on. ‘It seems to be a tropical thing. In cooler climates, people wear more subdued hues.’

‘Possibly because we have paler colouring, and vivid shades tend to wash us out.’

‘But not you,’ he told her with the confidence of a man who saw nothing unusual in discussing clothes with a woman.

The crisp note of challenge in his tone brought up her chin. ‘Then I’ll wear the dress.’

Only to stop there, because she didn’t know what to say next.

Although he didn’t seem to be flirting with her, there was definitely an appreciative glint in the greenstone gaze when it skimmed her face before returning to the road.

‘Whatever you wear you will look good,’ he said almost dismissively as he guided the vehicle around another hairpin bend.

Lexie didn’t know whether it was a compliment or a sop to her rare lack of confidence.

‘Thank you,’ she said spiritedly, wishing she’d dated more often, even indulged in a couple of affairs. Surely experience would have given her some idea of how to deal with him?

Probably not, she thought with a touch of cynicism, watching the trees flash by—a coastal forest sparser than the jungle. Rafiq de Couteveille, ruler of Moraze, was no ordinary man.

‘The jungle reminded me of New Zealand,’ she said absently. ‘Those massive trees with their huge trunks reaching for the sky, each notch and fork filled with epiphytes—just like home!’

‘Rain forest looks similar the world over. I’ve seen photographs of New Zealand trees; I was most impressed with the size and the majesty—the authority—of those huge trees that grow in the north. Kauri, are they not?’

‘Yes. Northern New Zealand’s iconic tree, along with the coastal pohutukawa, and true lords of the bush.’

She looked away again, longing to be safely back home, away from all this perilous beauty, the constant sensation of being watched and somehow under siege.

Sheer imagination, of course. And although she was out of her depth with Rafiq she wasn’t green enough to take his embraces seriously, no matter how powerfully she was affected by them.

Yes, he’d been kind—well, taking her into his home after the accident was more than simple kindness—but that didn’t mean anything. He’d probably have been just as considerate—without the kisses!—if she’d been fifty and grey-haired.

The road straightened once they reached the fertile plains, rich with sugar cane plantations and farms where flowers grew in ribbons and rainbows of saturated colour—seductive, scented orchids, the polished brilliance of anthuriums, and the erect, surreal stems of ginger in all their bold, vibrant hues.

Lexie let out her breath on a soft sigh. ‘This is so beautiful.’

‘Indeed,’ he said calmly, and sent her another sideways glance. ‘Are you tired? There is a place you might like to see a little farther on.’

‘I feel fine.’ An understatement if ever there was one; her mind and senses were at full stretch, intensely stimulated by his potent, compelling presence.

He touched a button and spoke in the local language to the car in front. A few moments later he slowed the car, took a sharp intersection and headed up into the mountains again through jungle that got more and more dense as they climbed.

‘We are going to a lake that occupies an extinct volcanic crater,’ he told her. ‘The islanders believe it is the home of a particularly beautiful but extremely dangerous fairy, who has been known to amuse herself by seducing young men and then sending them away. They become afflicted with love for her, and drown as they try to swim back to her arms.’

Lexie repressed an odd little shiver to ask lightly, ‘And does this happen often?’

He sent her an amused glance. ‘Not within living memory, but that may be because most young men are careful not to go there until they are married. She isn’t interested in married men, apparently.’

‘You’re not afraid?’ she asked with a teasing smile, then wished she hadn’t.

His response was sardonic. ‘Not a bit,’ he said coolly. ‘I have yet to meet a woman I’d drown for.’

Her heart clamped tight. He was warning her off—why?

Last night when he’d stopped their lovemaking she’d been impressed because she’d thought it meant he didn’t want just sex from her. Had she misread his consideration?

Perhaps his blunt statement of a moment ago was intended to convey that he didn’t plan a serious relationship.

Was there a sophisticated way to tell him flatly that she wasn’t foolish enough—even in her dreams—to have hoped for that…?

No, she thought, mentally cringeing. But he knew that she wanted him. Last night her wild response to his kisses had shocked her into planning a retreat, but that had been cowardly. Rafiq was the first man she’d ever wanted—sexy as hell, considerate, intelligent, compelling and trustworthy.

Who better to be her first lover?

And Lexie made a decision—a reckless, possibly even dangerous decision—one she knew might well cause her heartbreak.

But she also knew that, no matter the grief, she’d never regret making it. Just once in her life she’d throw away caution and follow her desires.

It would be worth it, she thought, controlling the breath that came too rapidly. She turned her head, pretending to be contemplating the scenery, and knew that next time they kissed she’d— Well, she thought nervously, she’d let him realise that she didn’t need to be cosseted. She was a free and independent woman, and she wanted him.

The crater lake was almost round, surrounded by thick jungle, and on one side a semi-circle of cliffs. In spite of the sunlight a faint mist hovered over it, and the only sound was bird song, faint and eerily distant.

‘I can see why the legend grew up,’ Lexie said, glancing around. ‘It’s a very potent place. Is the water still hot?’

‘No, but that mist is nearly always there.’ He looked down at her, ignoring the security car that had preceded them, and the bodyguard standing with his back turned as he swept the jungle with binoculars. ‘I imagine crater lakes are not unusual in New Zealand.’

‘There’s a dormant volcanic field not far from where I live, and one of the extinct volcanoes has a crater lake, with eels as thick as your arm in it.’ She gave a lopsided smile. ‘It’s an evocative place too, but that might be because by the time people have climbed its very steep sides they’re exhausted!’

He laughed and took her elbow, steering her back to the car. ‘We must go now. I have a meeting I can’t miss tonight.’

They had nearly reached the castle when he said casually, ‘I won’t be in for dinner tonight, but tomorrow night I know of a charming little restaurant where we can eat, if you’d like to go. The chef is a genius.’

Hiding her disappointment, she told him, ‘That would be lovely, thank you.’

Safely up in her room, she sighed, hugged herself, and went into the opulent bathroom to run a shower. She should, she thought, make it a cold one; for a few seconds she’d wondered whether there was any chance that Rafiq was courting her—to use an old-fashioned term.

Fortunately common sense soon banished that hope. But he couldn’t fake the hunger he felt. That was genuine.

Excitement burned in the pit of her stomach, completely different from the way she’d felt when she’d realised Felipe was interested in her. She’d been flattered, and she’d enjoyed his company, had found him attractive, but it now seemed very pallid and ordinary compared to the way Rafiq affected her.

As she dried herself down she wondered what Felipe was doing. Since the accident she’d thought very little about him—when she was with Rafiq she didn’t have room in her mind for anyone else.

And she was still angry with Felipe for thinking he could railroad her into sleeping with him.

Still, perhaps she should try to contact him, to tell him finally that it was over. But then he’d made no attempt to get in touch with her, and since he’d only planned to stay a couple of days, he might even have left Moraze. She’d probably never see him again, a thought that brought an unexpected sense of relief and freedom.

And as she ate her solitary dinner she recalled the warning Rafiq had delivered while they were at the perilous pool.

‘I have yet to meet a woman I’d drown for…’

Odd how much that hurt.

Get used to it, she thought staunchly, because she wasn’t going to play the coward’s role again and change her mind.

Lexie spent the next morning in luxurious laziness with a couple of books Rafiq had sent up to her room via the maid, with a brief note apologising for his absence. One was a novel written by a famous author from Moraze, the other a beautifully produced guide to the island with fabulous photographs and a very entertaining history. She then tired herself by swimming lengths in the pool, and napped in the heat of the day, determined to be alert that night and prove that she was fully recovered from the very minor results of the accident.

For dinner she wore a sleek resort dress in a subdued gold that brought out the lights in her hair. She didn’t look too bad at all, she decided, adjusting the neckline. The skirt fell to her ankles, and the sash belt clung to her narrow waist.

Tiny hot shivers tightened every nerve in her body. Later she and Rafiq would be alone together. Perhaps they’d kiss, and she’d know once more that aching, bittersweet delight in his arms.

And this time, instead of following his lead, she’d let him know—subtly, she hoped—that she was ready for the next step.

Whatever that might be…

Rafiq drove them to the restaurant in an unmarked car. By mutual consent they kept the conversation light, speaking mostly of the island and its beauty. A few miles inland they came to a large building throbbing with lights, and almost jumping with music. Lexie was glad when they passed it by.

He said, ‘Since the sugar industry was rationalised years ago, some of the old mills have been transformed into places like this where the locals can get together to sing and dance and play music. They’re now being discovered by tourists, but I thought that you might prefer somewhere smaller and more intimate. You agree?’

It was a good sign that he’d read her so accurately, though right this minute she’d probably have agreed if he’d told her the moon was falling into the sea. Sedately she said, ‘It sounds perfect.’

The rest of the short journey was made in silence, although a vibrant awareness hummed between them as Rafiq turned the car down a narrow road that led back towards the coast again. Palms swayed languidly above, and the salty tang of the sea mingled with the flower perfumes that saturated these coastal lowlands. Lexie kept her eyes on the white line of the reef around a headland that jutted like a giant castle, gaunt against the star-dazzled sky.

She could wait; in fact, this slow build-up would make their kisses even sweeter, more fiery. Half eager, half apprehensive, she wondered if tonight…?

Rafiq’s car was clearly well known; they were met by a man who indicated a secluded parking spot away from the small courtyard.

How many other women had Rafiq brought here? Lexie squelched the jealous little query. Live for the moment, she advised herself fiercely as she went with him into the vine-hung restaurant.

Afterwards, looking back, Lexie would always remember it as an evening of enchantment. They ate superb seafood and drank champagne, and he honoured her with his plans for the future of his country, although he first warned her, ‘I’m likely to bore you.’

Lexie’s brows rose. Nothing about him would bore her—and she suspected he knew it. Furthermore, she’d had enough of protecting herself. She didn’t care any more. ‘As a citizen of another small island nation—with about a million fewer people than Moraze—I’m interested in how you see its future.’

‘I hope it will eventually be an independent and self-sustaining country under its own prime minister,’ he said promptly. ‘But there is some time to go before we reach that point. Democracy isn’t well-established here; my father and grandfather were benevolent autocrats of the old school, so it’s been left to me to introduce changes, and old habits die hard. It will probably take another generation before the reforms are so firmly bedded in that the citizens of Moraze will both choose and be their own rulers.’

‘And you don’t regret giving up power?’

He shrugged. ‘No.’ He scanned her face and said, ‘The band’s striking up. Would you like to dance?’

On Moraze, it seemed, ballroom dancing was the established mode. Fortunately Lexie had accompanied a friend to classes while they were at high school. If she’d known then that someday she’d be dancing a waltz with the ruler of an exotic island in the Indian Ocean, she’d have paid much more attention to the steps, she thought as she got up with him.

Heart thumping, she went into Rafiq’s arms, felt them close around her, and gave herself up to the sensation. He moved with the lithe, powerful grace of an athlete, keeping perfect time. In his strong arms, his body only an inch or so away from hers, Lexie found the sexual magnetism that crackled between them both compelling and dangerously disturbing.

Part of her wanted to get these preliminaries over and go back to the castle to lose herself in this voluptuous recklessness. Another part treasured this subtle communication of eyes and senses, this aching, unsatisfied physical longing that promised an eventual rapturous release in each other’s arms.

At first they talked, but eventually both fell silent; Rafiq’s arm tightened across her back, and her breath came faster and faster between her lips as their bodies brushed and swayed and were taken hostage by the music.

Lexie forgot there were others there, that although the lights were dim and subdued they could be seen. Eyes locked onto Rafiq’s darkly demanding ones, she danced in a thrall of desire.

He said, ‘Let’s get out of here.’

In a voice she didn’t recognize, she said, ‘Yes.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

BUT once in the car Lexie sat still, hands clasped tightly in her lap, until Rafiq ordered, ‘Do up your seatbelt.’

‘Oh,’ she said, feeling stupid, and fumbled for it.

He said something harsh, leaned over her and found it, slamming the clip into the holder.

Lexie’s breath locked in her throat while she waited for him to straighten up. Instead he bent his head and kissed her, and fireworks roared into the sky, wiping everything from her mind but this delicious, intolerable need. Her hands came out to grasp his shirt as her mouth softened beneath the hungry demand of his lips.

Until faintly the sound of an engine percolated into her consciousness. Lights flashed across her closed lids. She realised they were real lights, not the fire in her blood, and reluctantly opened her eyes.

Rafiq lifted his head. After an incredulous second he said in a raw, goaded voice, ‘This is—not my usual style.’ When she didn’t answer he gave a ghost of a laugh and finished, ‘Not yours, either?’

‘No,’ she admitted.

He set the car in motion, saying grimly, ‘I think you must be sending me mad.’

‘I know the feeling.’

He flashed her another fierce glance, then smiled, reached for her hand, and tucked it beneath his on the wheel, only releasing it when they reached a small town on the way home. Lexie let it rest in her lap, oddly chilled by the subtle rejection. Of course, it might merely be that he needed to concentrate more—but what if he was ashamed of wanting her?

Was that why he’d taken her to the tiny, out-of-the-way restaurant? After all, she was the daughter of one of the century’s most despised dictators…

Oh, for heaven’s sake, she thought, angrily resentful of the hurdles her mind kept setting up for her heart, he almost certainly doesn’t know who your father is! And you’re not responsible for Paulo Considine’s actions.

Why should Rafiq be ashamed of her? She scrubbed up quite well, and the gown she was wearing made the most of her slim, athletic figure and her colouring. Jacoba would make her look very second-rate, but then Jacoba had that effect on every woman!

Rafiq had simply chosen somewhere discreet, and she was grateful to him for being so understanding.

And soon she’d be in his arms and her reservations would be banished.

The thought should have filled her with dismay, but although it was strange to realise that she’d lost her control so completely to a man she barely knew, she felt nothing but happiness, deep and sure and powerful.

Anyway, she was beginning to find out more about him. He was kind and thoughtful, as well as being incredibly sexy. He was also extremely intelligent, and he wanted the best for his country and his people.

She sat up straight and looked through the side window at the starlit night. Pride was a hard thing to deal with, she thought with a wry smile, but at the moment it was all she had—pride and this unwanted, out-of-character desire that had blossomed so swiftly.

And would, she knew, come to nothing; the best thing she could hope for was for it to burn out in the fierceness of passion. She didn’t expect Rafiq to reciprocate. He’d be embarrassed if he knew just how eager she was to discover what making love with him was like.