‘You barge into my life and proceed to conduct some sort of military operation. And now you’re going on like an interfering dictatorial knave!’

Suddenly Lucas stopped and turned on his heels to face her. ‘Do you have an aversion to authority, Claudia? Is that what this is? You don’t like being told what to do?’

The grey silken weave of his sartorial suit began to turn black as the rain seeped through his clothing. His over-long hair was already dripping and plastered to his smooth forehead and the high slash of his cheekbones. And, the sight of him, wet and dishevelled flooded her with heat. Like this he was far more powerful and dangerous to her equilibrium. He looked gloriously untamed.

‘No actually I don’t. Do you think it’s right to force someone against there every wish? To blackmail in order to do your job?’ Something dark flashed in his eyes but she was too far gone to care. ‘And because I dare to put up some sort of fight, you deem me as selfish and irresponsible. Do you have any feelings?’

‘I am not paid to feel,’ he ground out, taking a step closer toward her.

‘It’s a good job, ‘cos you’d be broke,’ she replied, taking a step back.

Lucas pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. ‘You’re the most provoking woman I have ever met.’

About the Author

VICTORIA PARKER’s first love was a dashing, heroic fox named Robin Hood. Then came the powerful, suave Mr Darcy, Lady Chatterley’s rugged lover…and the list goes on. Thinking she must be an unfaithful sort of girl, but ever the optimist, she relentlessly pursued her Mr Literary Right and eventually found him lying between the cool, crisp sheets of a Mills & Boon®. Her obsession was born.

If only real life was just as easy…

Alas, against the advice of her beloved English teacher to cultivate her writer’s muse, she chased the corporate dream and acquired various uninspiring job titles and a flesh-and-blood hero before she surrendered to that persistent voice and penned her first romance. It turns out creating havoc for feisty heroines and devilish heroes truly is the best job in the world.

Victoria now lives out her own happy-ever-after in the north-east of England, with her alpha exec and their two children—a masterly charmer in the making and, apparently, the next Disney Princess. Believing sleep is highly overrated, she often writes until three a.m., ignores the housework (much to her husband’s dismay), and still loves nothing more than getting cosy with a romance novel. In her spare time she enjoys dabbling with interior design, discovering far-flung destinations and getting into mischief with her rather wonderful extended family.

This is Victoria’s stunning debut— we hope you love it as much as we do!

Did you know this is also available as an eBook? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Princess in
the Iron Mask
Victoria Parker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Many thanks to my good friend Vicky, for all her patience and generosity in answering my questions about her son’s fight against JDMS and how the rare adolescent skin condition has affected their lives. Together, they were a huge inspiration—not only for this book, but for the way in which the power of love can protect and heal, inside and out.

For Nina and my family—thank you for sharing the smiles and hugging away the blues on my path to publication. Without your love and enduring support reaching for the stars would still be light years away. I hope you enjoy my debut.

And finally I dedicate this book to the amazingly talented Michelle Styles. You taught me to have faith in my writing voice and inspired me to believe. Without your unwavering conviction Lucas and Claudia’s love story would never have been told. So this, my dear friend, is for you…

CHAPTER ONE

‘LUCAS, MY FRIEND, I have a favour to ask of you.’

Favour?

Lucas Garcia had survived some of the worst conditions known to man, therefore a favour in his eyes involved hand grenades, automatic rifles or the calming of troubled waters on an international scale. What it unequivocally did not suggest was flying to London to retrieve a wayward snit of a girl, who disrespected the wishes of her father and showed no concern for her family or the country she’d been born to!

Anger blended with a tinge of discomfort in his gut as he took shelter beneath the green-striped awning of a coffee shop on Regent Square. Although summer approached, rain fell in heavy sheets, pooling at his designer-clad feet. Cold and inhospitable, the damp seeped through the wool of his Savile Row attire to lick at his skin.

‘Dios, this city is miserable,’ he muttered, scanning the wide glass entrance of ChemTech, London’s foremost biomedical research centre, as he awaited the arrival of his current mission.

Claudia Thyssen.

‘Bring her home, Lucas. Only you can succeed where others have failed.’

He was honoured by such high regard, and during his three years as Head of National Security for Arunthia he had successfully executed every order without question, standing by his moral code to honour, protect and obey. But this…

‘I write. I appeal. Yet she ignores my every plea.’

Lucas flexed his neck to relieve the coil that had been tightening there ever since he’d left the office of his crowned employer two days ago.

What kind of person turned her back on her heritage, her birthright? Who would give up the luxurious warmth and beautiful lush landscape of Arunthia for a perilous city built of glass and thriving on iniquity?

As soon as the thought formed the answer came stumbling out of a traditional black London cab, weighed down with enough paperwork to make a significant dent in the Amazonian rainforest. Smothered in a long grey Mac, with her slender feet encased in nondescript black pumps, she blended into the dour backdrop seamlessly. Yet his avid gaze lingered on the wide belt cinching her small waist, enhancing the full curve of her breasts. Her dark hair was scraped back, gathered at her nape in a large lump, yet Lucas could almost feel it lustrously thick and heavy in his hands. Hideous spectacles covered a vast proportion of her oval face. But that didn’t stop his imagination roaming with the possible colour of her eyes.

Princess Claudine Marysse Thyssen Verbault.

Hunched under the punishing thrash of rain, with the elegant sweep of her nape exposed, she seemed…vulnerable. Swallowing hard, he could almost taste her flurried panic as she grappled with her purse, fighting against the clock to be on time for a meeting he’d ensured would never take place.

Lucas ground his heels into the cement—stand down, Garcia—and stemmed the impulse to rush to her aid, erase her panicked expression. Instead he called upon years of training, focused on doing his job and concluded that her appearance was neither his care nor his concern.

Flipping back one charcoal cuff, he glanced at his Swiss platinum watch. With a jet on standby he’d estimated a four-hour turnaround, and frankly it was all the time he was willing to spare.

Taking one last look at the reluctant royal as she stormed through a deluge of puddles, bedraggled and unkempt, Lucas stroked his jaw in contemplation.

Trained in warfare, and adept at finding the enemy’s weak spot, he should be confident this assignment would be a stroll on the beach. After all, she was a biochemist—he’d captured mass murderers in half the time. Still…

‘Oh, my God, no.’ Claudia Thyssen glanced at the wall clock, swaying on her feet as she stood at the entrance to her lab. Her. Very. Empty. Lab. Instinctively she reached for the doorframe and gripped so hard a dull ache infected her wrist.

On any other day she would have been grateful for the isolation. So it was rather ironic that when she needed a room full of heavy pockets to fund her research the place was as deserted as an office on Christmas Day.

Her face crumpled under the sting of frustration burning her throat.

She was too late. Twenty minutes late, to be precise. Unable to avoid a visit to the children’s ward at St Andrew’s, where she’d been collating data for weeks, she hadn’t banked on a monsoon and the entire city shuddering to a standstill.

It had taken her days to psyche herself up for this visit. Long days, considering she’d prepped through the night. Even her walk today came with a rattle, courtesy of a bottle and a half of stress-relieving tablets. But through it all she’d managed to convince herself that twenty minutes of spine-snapping social networking would be worth it.

Hot and wet, a single teardrop slipped down her cheek, and each framed article covering the walls—announcing her as a top biochemist in her field—blurred into insignificance. Because she was mere weeks away from a cure for JDMS—a childhood condition close to her heart—and her budget had careened into the red. Now fifteen months of development and testing would scream to a juddering halt. And the fault was hers alone.

Before the habitual thrash of self-loathing crippled her legs, she commanded her body to move and stumbled through the sterile white room, throwing the contents of her arms atop the stainless steel workbench. Shrugging out of her coat, she let the sodden material fall to the floor in a soft splat and collapsed onto one high-backed stool. Ripping the glasses from her face, she hurled them across the table and buried her head in ice-cold hands.

‘Could this day get any worse?’

‘Excuse me, miss …?’

Claudia bolted upright, swivelled, and nigh on toppled off her perch.

‘Who are you?’ Slamming a hand over her riotously thudding heart, she slid off the plastic seat and righted her footing before the mere sight of the man, almost filling the doorway, all but knocked her flat on her back. Hand uneasy, she brushed at her lab coat until the damp cotton fell past her knees in a comforting cloak. ‘And how on earth did you get in here?’

She was surprised the floors hadn’t shaken as he’d walked in. In fact it was quite possible they had. Because Claudia felt as if she were in the centre of a snowglobe, being shaken up and down by an almighty fist.

Of course it was just shock at the unexpected interruption, blending with the disastrous events of the morning. It had absolutely nothing to do with the drop-dead gorgeous specimen in front of her. Claudia had never been stirred by a man, let alone shaken.

Strikingly handsome, smothered in bronzed skin and topped with wavy dark hair, he stood well over six feet tall. Dressed to kill in a dark grey tailored suit and a white shirt with a large spread collar, he exuded indomitable strength and authority. But it was the silk crimson tie—such a stark contrast—wrapped around his throat and tied in a huge Windsor knot that screamed blatant self-assurance. Her stomach curled. Whether with fear or envy she couldn’t be sure.

‘Apologies for the intrusion. You left the door open when you came in just now,’ he said, in a firm yet slightly accented drawl that shimmied down her spine, dusting over her sensitised flesh like the fluff of a dandelion blowing in the breeze.

Gooseflesh peppered her skin and she glanced down at her soggy lab coat, convinced her strange reaction was nothing more than the effect of rotten British weather.

With a deep, fortifying breath, she raised her gaze to meet his. Perfectly able to look a giraffe in the eye, she felt a frisson of heat burst through her veins at the mere act of looking up to a man. Yet the chilling disdain on his face told her she was wasting vital body heat and energy reserves.

Who on earth did he think he was? Coming into her lab and looking at her as if she’d ruined his day?

‘You shouldn’t be in here,’ she said, her tone high, her equilibrium shot.

Claudia had not only ruined the day for thousands of children, she’d gambled with their entire future, their health and happiness. Unless she could think of a way to reschedule the meeting. Oh, God, why had they left so soon? Twenty minutes wasn’t so long, and—

Her brain darted in three different directions. ‘Wait a minute. Are you here for the budget meeting?’

Maybe he was one of the money men. Claudia could appeal to his better nature. If he had one. Because the customised perfection of his appearance couldn’t entirely disguise a nature that surely bordered on the very edges of civilised.

His jaw ticked as he shook his head, the action popping her ballooning optimism.

‘My name is Lucas Garcia,’ he said, striding forward a pace and announcing his name as a gladiator entering the ring would: fiercely and exuding pride. With the face of a god—intense deep-set eyes the colour of midnight, high slashing cheekbones and an angular jaw—he seemed cast from the finest bronze. Beautiful, yet strangely cold.

A stinging shiver attacked her unsuspecting flesh and she wondered if there was a dry lab coat in the room next door. ‘Well, Mr Garcia, I think you’ve lost your way.’

An arrogant smile tilted his mouth. ‘I assure you, I lose nothing.’

Oh, she believed him. His mere presence pilfered the very air. She was also sure Lucas Garcia wouldn’t have just lost the chance of three and half million pounds.

An unseen hand gripped her heart. What was the point of her life if she couldn’t save others from what she’d gone through? Oh, she realised most of the children she met had families who cared for them, loved them—unlike Claudia, who’d been abandoned at twelve years old. But they still had to suffer the pain, the pity. The bewildering sense of shame. As with most childhood diseases, when adolescence gave way to adulthood the side effects waned. But she knew firsthand that was altogether too late to erase the emotional scars etched deep in the soul.

Eyes closing under the weight of fatigue, she inhaled deeply. She was so close to success she could taste musky victory on the tip of her tongue. Or was that his glorious woodsy scent? Good grief—she was losing it.

‘I need to speak with you on a matter of urgency,’ he said, the deep cadence of his voice ricocheting off the white-tiled walls.

God, that voice… ‘Have we met before?’ There was something vaguely familiar about him.

‘No,’ he said, standing with his feet slightly apart, hands behind his back, just inside the doorway.

Claudia suppressed an impulse to stand to attention. He was the most commanding man she’d ever seen. Almost military-like. Not that she had much to compare him to. One of the downfalls of self-imposed exile: she didn’t get out much. The upside was that she rarely broke out in hives and she didn’t get close to anyone. Claudia had no one and that was exactly how she liked it. No touching of her body mind or soul and there’d be no tears.

‘I’m extremely busy, Mr Garcia,’ she said, tugging at the cuffs of her coat, covering her wrists. ‘If you don’t mind …’

The words evaporated from her tongue as she caught the searing intensity in his blue eyes as he followed her every move, a frown creasing his brow.

Her stomach hollowed. Stop fidgeting and he’ll stop staring! ‘What exactly is it you want?’

‘May I come in?’ he asked, moving closer.

The word no was eclipsed from her mind as his body loomed impossibly larger. Within two seconds self-preservation kicked in and she edged her way around the desk to ensure a three-foot metal barricade. Back off, handsome.

Showing some degree of intelligence under all that ripped muscle, he paused mid stride, then devoured her face as if his eyes were starved. After he’d looked his fill their gazes caught…held. Claudia stared, mesmerised, as black pools swelled, virtually erasing the blue of his irises.

Pulse skyrocketing, the heavy beat echoed through her skull. After a few tense moments she blinked, trying to disconnect and sever the pull, unsure of what was happening. But no matter how hard she tried things just seemed to get worse: the temperature in the room soared and her spine melted into her pelvis under the scorching intensity.

‘Why are you staring at me?’ she whispered.

‘You look like …’ He blinked rapidly, his face morphing into a mixture of amazement and disgust as if he couldn’t quite make up his mind what he was feeling or thinking.

The past slammed into her and she stumbled back a step. She’d seen that look on too many faces as they’d stared at her juvenile muscle-fatigued body, ravaged by skin rashes as unsightly as they were unfair. Yet the most destroying memory of all was the black-hearted response from her own flesh and blood.

Oh, God, why was she thinking about that now?

‘What?’ she asked, reaching behind her to pat the desk, searching for her glasses.

Lips twisting, almost cruel, he said, ‘You look like your mother.’

Her hand stilled together with her heartbeat.

The glass door, the stark overhead lighting—all seemed to implode, raining shards of glass to perforate her carefully controlled, sanitised world.

Such a fool. So preoccupied with work. So pathetically enraptured by this man. She’d missed the signs staring her in the face.

His name. His deep, devastating voice. His fierce, powerful demeanour.

‘My parents sent you,’ Claudia breathed in a tremulous whisper.

No, no, no. She couldn’t go back to Arunthia. Not now. Maybe never. It was a place she was only willing to visit in her imagination during moments of agonising loneliness. If only to reassure herself she was better off on her own.

‘Yes,’ he said, with a cool remoteness that made her shudder and remember all at once. For her childhood years had been made up of her parents’ haughty detachment and hostile impatience.

It was their impatience that had condemned her, because Claudia had been an enigma no doctor could diagnose. Their detachment had sentenced her to extradition because she was an embarrassment—she’d been swept off to England, placed under the care of tutors, governesses and an army of paediatric specialists while her so-called loving parents forgot she’d ever existed.

They had betrayed her in the most unforgivable way.

The ache in her chest crawled up her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut.

It didn’t take a brainiac to decipher their message. This man said it all. They wanted something and this time they were deadly serious. Just fight, Claudia. You’ve done it before and you can do it again.

She just wasn’t entirely sure she had the strength.

Exhaustion pulsed through her weak leg muscles and her hand shot out to grip the edge of the desk as she begged her body to stand tall. Come on, Claudia, fight. They don’t need you. They didn’t want the imperfect child you were. Don’t give them the chance to hurt you again.

Memories gushed like a riptide, flooding her psyche with such speed they threatened to break through the dam and obliterate her every defence.

Within the blink of an eye Claudia’s day veered from bad to apocalyptic.

Lucas recognised shock when he saw it, and for the first time in his adult life the same emotion coursed through his veins, hot and unfathomable. While it blanched her exquisite flawless face, and widened her huge cat-like amber eyes, it completely severed his vocal cords from his brain.

Sans hideous spectacles, with wispy damp ebony curls framing her oval face, Claudia Thyssen was much like her mother. But where Marysse Verbault was strength personified, her daughter appeared almost…frail. The sight of her bending forward, her small hand pushing into her flat stomach, resurrected a dark tonnage of guilt that sat on his chest like an armoured tank.

Vulnerable. Undoubtedly timid. Traits he associated with the cold sweat of nightmares.

Yet his internal reaction to this woman was the complete opposite of chilling. The instant thrash of desire was so strong it knifed him in the gut.

She radiated supreme intellect, and Lucas would be the first to admit he preferred his women to be like uncomplicated candy. Covered from neck to calf in a frumpy lab coat, Claudia was more geek than glamour puss. So why did the mere sight of her raise his body temperature, thicken his blood?

Lucas frowned as his lethargic pulse slowed his every reaction and his mentally prepared speech drifted to the melamine floor in tatters.

Dios, why the bland exterior? She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Even the Queen’s striking beauty paled in comparison to her second-born.

‘Well, Mr Garcia,’ she said, her voice firming together with her backbone, until she stood at her full height and he was almost bowled over by her stature and regal bearing. ‘If my parents sent you, no doubt you have a message for me.’ Her tone—now cold enough to reawaken the memory of frostbite—delivered the final blow. ‘Consider it delivered.’

And if that wasn’t a sharp swift kick out through the door, he didn’t know what was.

What the…?

Realisation hit him square between the eyes, easing the tightness in his chest. Her façade was an illusion. An ingenious cloaking device to ensure she was hidden within a society who knew nothing of her real identity. For her resemblance to the Verbault line was astounding.

Grateful for the reminder of the real reason he was here, and of how beauty was only skin-deep, Lucas clenched his fists until spears of pain lanced up his forearms. Needing the dull ache winding through his body to regain control.

‘You would be correct on the first count,’ he said. ‘Your parents have many things to say to you.’ They were so anxious they had written countless letters over the last two months, begging for her return to Arunthia. Letters she had ignored. ‘But this time, I assure you, their words will be spoken.’

Had she honestly thought she could ignore her family for ever? He’d been astounded to learn of her defiance. Such blatant disregard for her parents and the country of her birth.

The woman had no honour.

Treading lightly, as if flirting with a minefield, Lucas considered his next move. ‘My apologies, Your Royal Highness.’ No matter what he thought of her character she was above him in station, and he purposefully used her title, intent on her reaction. Her pale face remained impassive, which only served to prove his point. ‘As I mentioned, my name is Lucas Garcia and I am the Head of National Security for Arunthia.’

‘Congratulations. I’m very happy for you,’ she drawled, raising one perfect dark brow.

Mesmerised, he watched the residual skittishness fade to be replaced with an emotion bordering on acerbity.

Twenty-four hours ago this was the woman he’d expected. This he could deal with.

‘Your sentiment is appreciated,’ he said, his silky tone forced for maximum impact.

Claudia focused those stunning eyes on him, her full mouth a moue as she sized him up. Lucas returned her glare, caught in an odd battle of wills, determined not to give an inch. It would be exceptionally easy to stand and look at her all day. If it were a power-play she desired he’d be a worthy opponent.

‘How are my doting parents?’ she asked overly sweetly, veering away, breaking the spell.

Before satisfaction could swell his gut, she began to shuffle around the table, shifting files from one place to another as she scoured the surface.

‘King Henri and Queen Marysse wish to see you,’ he said, somewhat distracted, his curiosity mounting as she searched the desk.

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.’

The sides of his face pulsed as he clenched his jaw. ‘Then I shall withdraw the offer. You can go to Ryan Tate and explain your actions. Neither of you will find such a large sum of money within the next few days. I guarantee it. So tell me,’ he said, drawing it out, encompassing the room with one sweep of his hand, ‘just how important is your work, Claudia?’

Stomach cramping, she forced her heels into the ground to stop her body from doubling over.

The man was heartless. He knew how important her research was to her. Knew of her personal connection. And still he was nigh on blackmailing her! No, he was using her weakness against her. Bizarrely, instead of hatred she felt utter disappointment. In both of them. Why in Lucas she had no idea. But in herself it was the heart-pumping, blood-fizzing desire that brought her such misery. So there ended her life lesson on physical attraction. She couldn’t even trust her body to decipher the good from the bad. Then again, her body had let her down since she was ten years old.

‘What exactly are these conditions?’ she asked, proud of her unwavering voice.

‘Three weeks’ leave. Effective from nine this morning. Coupled with your return to Arunthia.’

Claudia shook her head slowly. ‘Have you no conscience?’

Whether it was his words—spoken like an automaton, as if he were programmed—or his face—a picture of haughty detachment—her heart was torn wide open.

‘I have a duty, Claudia. As do you. The choice is yours.’

CHAPTER THREE

DON’T YOU DARE crumble in front of this man, Claudia. Don’t you dare.

An hour ago she’d prayed for a miracle and, as if the gods were playing tricks on her, they’d sent a warrior hell-bent on her destruction. The stronghold she kept on her emotions teetered precariously and her bones throbbed with the effort to stand tall.

Three weeks in exchange for three and a half million pounds.

Breathing in and out, slow and even, she locked her knees so tightly, a sharp pain shot up her thighs. But it was nothing compared to the blood dripping from her heart.

Lucas, the blackmailing beast, stood in the centre of the room, a dark lock of his hair falling over his brow in bad-boy disarray. Tall and gladiator-strong, he waited patiently—no doubt for a sign of her surrender. If she didn’t loathe him so much she would melt at the sheer sight of him. He’d played her since the moment he’d arrived.

‘Choice?’ she said, and thank God her voice didn’t falter. ‘My so-called choice is either to follow you or lose my job, Mr Garcia. I’m fairly certain my refusal to comply with your conditions would land me in the unemployment line.’ Oh, she could beg Ryan Tate to give her time to find the money elsewhere, but it would be a useless pursuit. There was a reason he was known as a hard-ass among her colleagues. Ryan Tate would question her sanity. Tell her to swallow her damn pride and think of the bigger picture. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all that. ‘Then again, you knew that, Lucas, didn’t you?’ she said bitterly.

His throat convulsed and after a few seconds he relaxed his stance and rolled his broad shoulders. The fact that he didn’t answer made her madder still.

‘Who on earth do you think you are?’ she said, her control slipping a notch. ‘You went to Tate’s office without even consulting me. Is this what I have to look forward to? A life of being coerced, controlled and dictated to?’

A light flashed in his intense stare before his face contorted with stunned incredulity. ‘Since when does three weeks equate to a lifetime?’

It might seem a measly three weeks to him, but what would they demand after that? It didn’t bear thinking about. ‘Since you’ve given me a taste of the new regime!’

Lucas scrubbed his palm over his mouth, his chest heaving. ‘Claudia,’ he growled, his hand dropping into a large fist by his side, ‘I am attempting to do my job, but your obdurate attitude leaves me with few options. Instead of focusing on how this happened, why not take some pleasure from what you will benefit from. Three and a half million pounds, to be precise.’

‘But at what cost to me?’ she asked. Then immediately bit her lip when the words echoed through the room.

‘Three weeks of your time. It is nothing,’ he said, with a savage slash of his hand.

A pitiful laugh broke through her thick throat. How wrong he was. Lucas had no idea of the personal price she’d pay. He was oblivious to her inner turmoil. But that didn’t excuse his behaviour in her eyes. She was dedicated to her job, but did she go around blackmailing people? No.

‘You speak of the strength of your dedication. Your work taking priority. Yet if that were true the money would make your decision in an instant. Or,’ he continued, his mouth twisting, ‘is it a case of you using your job as a convenient excuse?’

‘No!’ she cried.

Lucas’s head reared at her outburst and she winced inwardly.

‘No,’ she tried again—softer, quieter. But it was altogether too late. The hitch to his brow told her so. And to some extent he was right.

When the effects of her illness had waned in her late teens her parents had visited once, maybe twice. Other times they’d sent messengers, and for years she’d declined everything from a short vacation to a simple dinner on her own turf, using her work as an excuse. Avoiding her own parents because they’d hurt her, betrayed her, cast her aside. When she’d needed them the most. If she took the money this day she would be giving them the power to destroy her all over again. But you can keep your distance, Claudia. You’re adept at doing just that.

Three weeks of God knew what, in exchange for her funding.

Taking short ragged breaths to ease the pain in her lungs, she squeezed her eyes shut. In the space of two seconds her mind began its attack, assaulting her with a multitude of visions and images.

Arunthia—a world in which she’d been deemed unworthy and dispensable.

St Andrew’s Hospital—where she could make a real difference. And—oh, God—the children trying to smile through the pain, the misery. If she lost her job work on their case would scream to a halt. Claudia was their advocate. They needed her. Could she ever look at them in the face again, knowing she could have helped if only she’d faced her past?

Pain cracked through her mind and her eyes pinged open. Lucas was staring, his eyes curiously hot and heavy, fixed on her mouth where she tore at her bottom lip. Gooseflesh pimpled every inch of her skin and she shuddered ferociously. Why did he have to stare at her so much? It was as unnerving as it was confusing. Made her want to reach up. Touch. Check her skin. Bury her face in her hands. Hide. But she couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

As if he’d caught himself, he scrubbed his hands over his face and combed his glorious hair back from his brow with long blunt fingers. Heat flushed through her core and her breasts grew strangely heavy. She stroked her clavicle and felt the burn sear her palm. Oh, great. Her body wasn’t complying with the new hate programme.

‘Accompany me to Arunthia, Claudia,’ he said, in a persuasive drawl that made her quiver. How was she meant to stay sane with a man who made her spontaneously combust? ‘Despite what you think, I understand your desire to crack the elusive code of an illness that must’ve been difficult for you, but surely you can continue to work from home during your stay? With your family’s support?’

Support? She almost choked. The very last thing she would ever get from her parents was support.

Lucas’s gaze dropped to her hands and she realised she was tugging at her cuffs with the tips of her fingers. Again. Her stomach nose-dived to the floor. His eyes were like fidget-seeking missiles. She couldn’t think straight around him. Instead of controlling her habits, which she usually managed to hide unerringly, she kept being distracted by him. Her attention constantly snagged on his long, powerful legs, his huge, masculine hands, his utterly contemptuous handsome-as-sin face. And no matter how hard she tried her traitorous mind kept imagining things—like those big hands touching her in all the places she felt warm and sensitive. Kissing her. Caressing her.

Heat slapped her cheeks. This had to stop!

Her life was crumbling before her eyes—her career, her life’s work, slipping through her fingers like grains of salt—and all she could think about was being kissed. If that wasn’t bad enough, she wanted the man who’d plotted her destruction to do it! She was seriously beginning to question her mental faculties.

Panic fired a shot of adrenaline down her spine, surging to every extremity. Her feet were the first to move and she swerved around the desk, walking towards the door with no forethought to her destination. But getting away from Lucas sounded like paradise.

Before she made it past he bolted forward, one hand outstretched, reaching for her. ‘Claudia. Dios! Stop. Do not walk away from me,’ he growled. ‘We are not done.’

Oh, God. She flinched, jerked backwards, and almost lost her footing. ‘Oh …’ Steely hands closed around her upper arms, steadying her, and she scrunched her eyes shut, unable to look at his face for fear of what she might see. Pity? Or, worse still, disgust?

Through two layers she could feel the heat of his palms, and the power of his grip fired a blaze of sorcery through her bloodstream. His breath tickled over her face and the scent of warm strong coffee wafted over her, making her crave a caffeine fix. As soon as she regained her balance his hands fell away and Claudia yearned for them to come back. Which was crazy for all kinds of reasons.

The noise of his throat clearing told her he’d moved back a pace or three, and Claudia opened one eye to check. Sure enough, he stood a few feet away, fists clenched, eyes raging with a storm. Darkness tainted his tone. ‘Where are you going, Claudia?’

Somewhat safer, she opened her other eye and practically ran towards the door. ‘I have to see Ryan Tate,’ she murmured, grateful for the excuse that flashed into her brain.

‘What?’ His thunderous voice became a distant blur as she swerved into the corridor. She imagined him standing there, his gorgeous blue eyes glittering with ire, his fists balled to stop himself from wrapping them around her throat.

‘Claudia, wait!’ he hollered. ‘We need to finish this. Now!’

‘Go to hell, Lucas.’

She kept on walking, blinded by a mind-fog, and within minutes, oblivious as to how she descended three floors, she was standing in front of Ryan Tate’s door, her fist hovering over the solid oak panel.

And then she saw it. The violent tremble in the hand poised in front of her. Then she felt it. The pain searing up her legs, crippling her entire body. Quickly she turned and leaned against the wall before her knees surrendered. Tipping her head back, the beige paint a glorious pillow, she closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

Come on Claudia, get a grip, she mouthed silently. Three weeks. Three and a half million pounds. Keep your distance. Stay away from Lucas the Devastating. You can do this.

She just had to remain strong and self-reliant. Always self-reliant.

You don’t get close, you don’t get hurt. Breathe, Claudia, breathe.

Time ticked by, the trembling subsided, and the pain dulled to its usual ache. Finally able to stand tall, she inhaled a lung full of fortifying air, lifted her chin, raised her hand to knock once, twice…and walked through Ryan Tate’s door.

‘Claudia, my girl. Good news, aye?’

After years of honing her brave face, Claudia slipped behind her iron mask and smiled.

Sweat pierced the base of his spine as Lucas stalked the lab, focusing on breathing and formulating a new plan. As long as it involved getting out of this white box he’d be slightly mollified. Claudia might prefer her small hideaway, but he required vast open space to feel alive.

It hadn’t escaped him that when the prickly Princess had been in the room he’d been less aware of the enclosure. Probably because you only had eyes for her. Lucas growled, satisfying himself that it was more a case of distraction.

Was she pleading with Tate to give her more time to find the money elsewhere? Dios she was the most awkward, feisty, self-centred, gorgeous woman he’d ever met.

She also despised him with a passion. The disgust in her eyes had almost floored him. Only a fool would have walked in here without the necessary weapons at his disposal. God knew he’d have preferred to reach some kind of compromise, but she was recklessly tenacious and ignoble at best.

Yet as soon as he’d revealed his tactical strategy his stomach had ached as if she’d punched him in the guts. How did she manage to unearth emotion from him? He knew she selfishly pursued her own agenda. Knew she’d given him no choice but to push her. It was bewildering. Unnerving. Inappropriate and unwelcome. For Lucas had buried his emotions twenty years ago, and that, he thought, hardening his heart, was the way they must stay.

Glancing down at his hands, he curled his fingers into his palms. He could still feel her; he’d swear it. Warm, toned, yet lusciously soft. And her scent—Dios, she smelled of summer. Warm notes of vanilla blossom and honey. Up close she was impossibly more beautiful, and as he’d held her he’d willed her to open her eyes. But the hate had still been there and she could not bear to look at him. Which was good—great, fantastic. Being likable was not in his job description. Getting her home, however, was.

‘Why are you still here?’

His stomach flinched but he managed to become fixated on her fascinating collection of test tubes. It was her voice: snippily sexy beyond belief. Why a schoolmarm tone should flick his switch he’d never know. He’d never had a teacher in his life. Children from the slums were not afforded such privileges. No books, no paper nor pens to draw with. Only walls stained with tobacco, bloodied fists and a penknife beyond decay.

‘A trip to hell was unappealing,’ he replied thickly, knowingly. He’d been there plenty of times, after all. ‘And, with the greatest will in the world, I cannot deliver a package I do not have in my possession.’

‘Quite.’

Lucas swivelled on his heels in time to see her arch one dark brow, her eyes firing with newfound determination. And his chest seized with such force his lungs pinched with deprivation.

‘You knew I’d come back, didn’t you?’ she asked.

‘Let’s just say I had faith you would come to your senses.’ While she’d virtually admitted that she used her work as a shield to hide from her parents, he believed she loved her job. If he could admire her for anything, it was the strength of her dedication. What he struggled to comprehend was why she couldn’t extend that devotion to her role in Arunthia. He wanted to ask her, to try to understand. But the longer he stood here, skirting quicksand, the more entrenched he became.

Pouting her luscious lips, she canted her head like an inquisitive meerkat. ‘I can’t work out whether you’re extremely diplomatic or downright arrogant.’

‘I shall leave that for you to decide.’

She walked farther into the room, snatched a pair of spectacles from a plastic tub on the bench, and pushed them up her pert nose. With steel in her spine, her head high in a model-type pose, Lucas was smacked with a vision: Claudia Verbault, strutting down a catwalk, wearing a ruffled blouse and a tweed skirt, sucking on a pencil. Seductively intellectual.

Blood pooled in his groin and his mouth turned as dry as Arunthian dirt. He had to drench his lips with moisture in order to speak.

‘I have a jet on stand-by. We’ll leave the country within two hours.’ Lucas could have her home within five and his job would be done. In future he’d only have to see her at state functions. By then, having appeased his newfound sexual appetite, he’d be able to look at her without imagining her naked. For he knew her body would be sublime. Soft and pliable to his steel and strength, and tall enough to be the perfect fit.

‘Rather presumptuous of you, isn’t it?’ she said.

Madre de Dios! Had he said that out loud? Lucas focused on her bent head as she slid the files lying on her desk into a large briefcase, one on top of the other.

He cleared his throat of pure want. ‘What is?’

‘To assume I’m leaving with you.’

The tightness in his neck drained down his spine. ‘Apologies, Just Claudia.’

Her hand stilled, and from his sideways vantage point he watched one eyelid shutter while she inhaled deeply, her breasts rising with life, pinky rouge blooming up her cheeks.

Did he affect her? The notion sucker-punched him straight in the solar plexus.

Her gentle touch forgotten, she began to ram two or three more files into the case, pushing until the bag was fit to burst. Maybe she was imagining it was his head. Oh, he certainly affected her. With annoyance rather than sexual attraction. Instead of relief he felt ridiculously irked.

How typical that the one woman in the world he could never have was a nemesis he instinctively wanted to devour.

‘So. What is your decision?’ He already knew it, but if she wanted to put up the pretence of a fight he would humour her. For now.

Kid gloves were his current choice of weapon.

‘I’m coming with you.’

His lips curved.

‘But not today.’

They flattened faster than a bomb detonation site.

‘What?’

‘I need three days,’ she said, adamant.

‘Impossible.’ He wouldn’t last two days without assaulting her gorgeous mouth.

Lucas worked to his own schedule, but just the thought of spending time near that sensational body while his stomach churned with a noxious mixture of frustration and fury ratcheted his deadline up into the red zone.

‘Delaying the inevitable is not only a foolhardy display of awkwardness on your part but a waste of time.’

‘Not for me. I need to go back to my apartment and pack. I have a personal matter to attend to, and most of all I need time to think,’ she said, tucking a wayward curl around the delicate shell of her ear.

‘Think?’ What did she need to think about? How many lab coats to pack? ‘I have no time to spare.’ Lucas blinked. Wait a minute … Personal matter? Dios, he’d never thought of that. And why did it make him feel like punching the wall?

‘Tough. Find time. Because I’m not going anywhere today.’ There it was again—that surge of heat when she used that sexy, stern voice.

And there she was, being selfish again. Why did he keep forgetting what kind of person she was? ‘Claudia, I cannot stay in London. I have to work.’

‘Oh, really?’ she said, yanking the case off the table and almost toppling over as it fell to the floor with a thud. ‘Well, now you know how I feel. I’m being dragged away from mine for three weeks. I’m sure you can afford to take three days.’

His nostrils flared. ‘My terms—’

‘Lucas,’ she said, attempting to disguise her rude interruption with an untried honeyed tone that made his skin prickle, ‘you will quickly come to realise I forget nothing. Your terms are—and I quote—three weeks’ leave, effective from nine this morning. Coupled with my return to Arunthia. On no occasion did you state a day of departure.’

Dios! Lucas seethed. She was impossible. ‘It is almost noon. You have eight hours.’ Let it not be said that he couldn’t compromise.

Arms crossed tight, her full breasts were pushed upwards to stretch the stiff cotton and she canted her hip in a sexy pose. The ten-bell alarm siren going off in his head almost rendered him deaf. Almost.

‘Two days,’ she bartered.

Lucas ground his jaw. ‘Twenty-four hours. Final offer.’ He was crazy. Certifiable. A day of Claudia would tip him over the edge of reason to plummet headlong into insanity. He did not negotiate. Ever. People obeyed him. Always.

She smiled. It might have been small and somewhat triumphant, but she actually smiled at him.

Lucas felt his eye twitch.

‘Done,’ she said, all smug sweetness.

God help him if she ever put her heart and soul into it. Because Lucas had an uneasy feeling it would be him that would be ‘done’.

‘Fine,’ he snapped, his abnormal behaviour pushing his soaring anger levels from dangerous to critical.

He only prayed her apartment on the Thames had separate floors. Or at least a fifty-foot distance between bedrooms. Fighting with bloodthirsty night demons would be child’s play in comparison to the blistering temptation that would be down the hall.

Lucas didn’t look happy, Claudia mused. Waves of dark fury poured from his tight shoulders, much like the rain streaming in rivulets down the black bodywork of his Aston Martin Vanquish.

The engine of his Aston Martin Vanquish roared like a sleek panther as he revved his displeasure, and she wiggled on the cream cowhide in an attempt to cover her quivering reaction. She’d never thought of a car as arousing before. Well, she’d never thought of anything as arousing before. Today seemed to be a day for firsts. Even the heady smell of leather and damp clothing couldn’t douse the warm, woodsy scent of Lucas lingering in the air.

With the exception of his barking request for her to enter her address into the sat nav, their drive to her apartment had been deadly silent. Now, parked at the kerb, she was desperate to be away from his fiercely primal aura. She was so tired she no longer had the strength to argue, and her legs throbbed so viciously she’d be lucky if she made it inside the building, let alone up the stairs.

‘Erm…thanks for the lift, Mr Garcia. Unless the gods grace me with a reprieve, I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Without further ado, she yanked hard on the door handle. After a third kerthunk, she surrendered, directing her voice to be sweet. ‘Could you open the door, pleeease?’

‘Claudia,’ he growled, nostrils flaring, his chest heaving with barely suppressed anger. Staring out of his window at the three-storey townhouse where she lived on the second floor, he twisted his long fingers around the dark wood steering wheel. Maybe he was imagining it was her neck. ‘Have you ever once acknowledged who you actually are?’

‘Who I am?’ she asked wearily, not entirely sure what he was getting at and unable to summon the energy to care.

‘Yes, Claudia,’ he said slowly, as if speaking to a child. ‘A member of the Arunthian Royal Family.’

Never. ‘Not really. Can I go now?’ She gave the handle another tug. Kerthunk. A long sigh poured from her lungs.

‘How long have you lived in this…this place?’ The way he said place, as if the word was rat poison on his tongue, was like taking a grater to her nerves. Without bothering to look out of the window, her mind’s eye recalled a picture of the tired frontage of this Victorian townhouse on a less than stellar street. What was he getting into a funk about? He didn’t have to live here.

Claudia bit her tongue and thumped her head off the rest. ‘Oh, about eighteen months, I think.’ She slept most nights in the lab—more for convenience than because of the emptiness that shrouded her body when she lay between cold damp sheets, she was sure—but she kept that titbit to herself.

Lucas continued to fume, steam blowing from his nose as he stared out of the front windscreen. ‘You could’ve been abducted fifty times over,’ he growled, and she lifted her head from the buttery soft leather to see him scrub his face with rough hands. ‘Burgled, raped, assaulted,’ he went on. ‘What the hell were you thinking, Claudia?’

Pushing down on the froth of fury bubbling up her throat, she pursed her lips. He’d turned from blackmailer to over-protective bore!

‘You’re overreacting, Mr Garcia,’ she said calmly. ‘This is a decent area and I have an excellent alarm system. Anyway, who would look at…?’ The words died on her tongue as she realised how pitiful she would sound if she said me. She knew she wasn’t pretty, and she’d given up wishing she looked like one of her famed-for-their-beauty sisters long ago. Right now, faced with the most astoundingly handsome man she’d ever seen, she couldn’t face the prospect of his sympathy or his averment.

‘Who would look at what?’

For the first time in thirty minutes he turned to look at her. The intensity in his sapphire blues acted like a laser beam and, as if locked on target, she couldn’t tear her gaze away.

Choosing her words carefully, she said, ‘Who would look twice at a normal person? The problems start when people appear moneyed and pampered. I bring no attention to myself. No one would give me a second glance.’

Jaw dropping open, Lucas slowly shook his head incredulously. ‘And what if your cover was blown?’

‘I would move. Can I go now?’

‘No. You cannot go now,’ he said fiercely, and her hackles prickled. ‘Why are you not living in the security-enhanced apartment on the Thames?’

Claudia stiffened and finally managed to wrench her gaze away. ‘How do you know about—?’ She held up her hand in a stop sign. ‘Forget I said that. I needed to be closer to work.’ A half-truth, but that was all he was getting. It was seriously unnerving to know someone had files detailing her life events. She imagined it read like a chronological disaster essay.

‘You gave it up?’ he asked, his brows almost hitting his hairline. ‘To live here?’

For some reason she actually followed his finger, which unsurprisingly pointed to her flat. ‘Yes,’ she said simply.

‘Dios, Claudia!’ His hands lifted as if pleading for patience from the heavens. ‘How can an intelligent woman be so unthinking?’

A ball of fury began to swirl in her stomach, and no matter how hard she sucked in air the motion picked up pace like a cyclone. ‘Now, just wait a minute—’

‘You have no regard for your safety. None,’ he said with a slash of his hands. ‘I have seen safer streets in the slums. Well, I will tell you this right now. We are not staying here. Comprende?’

Her mouth shaping for a scathing retort along the lines of It’s none of your damn business, she felt his words loop round her skull like a broken record. Her hand crept up to her throat, where her pulse jumped erratically. ‘What do you mean, we?’

‘From the time you agreed to the terms to the time we arrive at the Arunthian palace you are under my protection,’ he grated, seemingly not entirely happy with the prospect.

Well, neither was she!

‘Next time you barter with me, Claudia, you’d better think twice about the consequences. For the next twenty-four hours we are stuck together. Whether you like it or not.’

Oh, God. As Shakespeare might say, she’d been hoist with her own petard.

‘Clearly you don’t,’ she said. She felt sick. She felt dizzy. Was it physically possible to strangle yourself?

‘I have better things to do than babysit a self-centred, senseless, se … Arrrrggh.’ With a frustrated roar, he pushed open the car door and launched himself from the bucket seat. Before he’d even slammed it shut she yanked on the handle to follow him. And finally the rotten thing worked!

‘Whoa—wait a minute,’ she said, veering round the front bonnet, sloshing in puddles. Freezing water seeped into her shoes, while the rain lashed down to drench her hair and pummel her skin. Vision blurring, she pushed her glasses on top of her head, visor-like. ‘Where I live has nothing to do with you.’ By the time she’d caught up to him he was pacing back and forth on the walkway in his usual caged predator manner. ‘You barge into my life and proceed to conduct some sort of military operation. And now you’re going on like an interfering, dictatorial knave!’

Suddenly he stopped and turned on his heels to face her. ‘Do you have an aversion to authority, Claudia? Is that what this is? You don’t like being told what to do?’

The grey silken weave of his sartorial suit darkened to almost black as huge rain droplets seeped through his clothing. His over-long hair was already dripping, plastered to his smooth forehead and the high slash of his cheekbones. And—oh, my—the sight of him, wet and dishevelled, flooded her core with heat. Like this he was far more powerful and dangerous to her equilibrium. He looked roguish, gloriously untamed.

Her heart thumping so hard she could hear her pulse echo in her ears, she had to scroll back to remember what he’d said. Oh, yeah. The brute.

‘No, actually, I don’t. Do you think it’s right to force someone against their every wish? To blackmail in order to do your job?’ Something dark flashed in his eyes but she was too far gone to care. ‘And because I dare to put up some sort of fight you deem me selfish and irresponsible. Do you have any feelings?’

‘I am not paid to feel,’ he ground out, taking a step closer towards her.

‘It’s a good job, ’cos you’d be broke,’ she replied, taking a step back.

Lucas pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. ‘You are the most provoking woman I have ever met.’

A mere two feet away, Claudia could feel the heat radiating from his broad torso. Oh, God, she had to get away from him before she did something seriously stupid. Like smooth her hands up his soaked shirt. ‘You know what, Lucas? You can sleep in your posh car for all I care. Frankly, I’ve been more comfortable on the 271 bus from Highgate. I’m staying here.’

Before he could say another word she bolted sideways. Only to be blocked by a one-arm barricade.

‘Over my dead body,’ he growled, corralling her back towards the car.

‘That could be arranged,’ she said, suddenly breathless.

Rain poured down her face, her throat, to trickle down the inside of her collar. That was why she shuddered so hard. It had nothing to do with the fact that Lucas was inching towards her with lethal intent.

‘You are coming with me. From now on I am in charge.’

‘Well, you can just rid yourself of that illusion. You’ll never be in charge of me!’

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