About the Authors

MAYA BLAKE’s hopes of becoming a writer were born when she picked up her first romance at thirteen. Little did she know her dream would come true! Does she still pinch herself every now and then to make sure it’s not a dream? Yes, she does! Feel free to pinch her, too, via Twitter, Facebook or Goodreads! Happy reading!

USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award–nominated author CAITLIN CREWS loves writing romance. She teaches her favourite romance novels in creative writing classes at places like UCLA Extension’s prestigious Writers’ Programme, where she finally gets to utilise the MA and PhD in English Literature she received from the University of York in England. She currently lives in the Pacific Northwest, with her very own hero and too many pets. Visit her at caitlincrews.com.

Also by Maya Blake

The Boss’s Nine-Month Negotiation

Pregnant at Acosta’s Demand

The Sultan Demands His Heir

His Mistress by Blackmail

Crown Prince’s Bought Bride

An Heir for the World’s Richest Man

Bound by the Desert King collection

Sheikh’s Pregnant Cinderella

Rival Brothers miniseries

A Deal with Alejandro

One Night with Gael

The Notorious Greek Billionaires miniseries

Claiming My Hidden Son

Bound by My Scandalous Pregnancy

Also by Caitlin Crews

My Bought Virgin Wife

Unwrapping the Innocent’s Secret

Secrets of His Forbidden Cinderella

Bound to the Desert King collection

Sheikh’s Secret Love-Child

Stolen Brides collection

The Bride’s Baby of Shame

The Combe Family Scandals miniseries

The Italian’s Twin Consequences

Untamed Billionaire’s Innocent Bride

His Two Royal Secrets

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Kidnapped for His Royal Heir & The Italian’s Pregnant Cinderella

Maya Blake

Caitlin Crews

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90019-9

KIDNAPPED FOR HIS ROYAL HEIR & THE ITALIAN’S PREGNANT CINDERELLA

Kidnapped for His Royal Heir © 2020 Maya Blake The Italian’s Pregnant Cinderella © 2020 Caitlin Crews

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Kidnapped for His Royal Heir

Back Cover Text

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

The Italian’s Pregnant Cinderella

Back Cover Text

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

About the Publisher

Kidnapped for His Royal Heir

Maya Blake

From royally seduced...

To prisoner in paradise!

Prince Zakary allows himself no weaknesses. His kingdom paid the price of a ruler’s debauchery once before, but never again. The only threat to Zak’s ruthless self-control is his red-hot attraction to untouched heiress Violet! And when she’s transferred to his company, it’s not long before their unstoppable chemistry consumes them both—with lasting consequences!

To secure his legacy, Zak demands Violet meet him at the altar. And when she refuses? This powerful prince will keep Violet a willing captive on his private Caribbean island until she says, “I do!”

CHAPTER ONE

VIOLET BARRINGHALL HELD the thick envelope in her hand, mutiny brimming in her heart. She managed to dredge up a thin smile for the smartly dressed courier before shutting her apartment door.

She knew its sender without peeking inside. Its weighted richness shrieked wealth, and its creamy, seamless perfection stressed its importance. The gold-embossed emblem on the top right-hand corner was distinctive enough without her years-long exposure to the family that bore it with centuries-old pride and unapologetic arrogance.

But more than that she encountered an even purer strain of that pride and arrogance on a daily basis in the form of His Royal Highness Prince Zakary Philippe Montegova—the sender of the envelope in her hand.

It wasn’t a highbrow invitation.

No, this was a summons.

She knew this because she’d been responsible for sending out those invitations for his latest fundraising event herself, in her role as his long-suffering dogsbody for the last twelve weeks.

Three months, and counting, of pure hell. Of relentless commands and impossible expectations of perfection from a man—no, a prince—who demanded the very best of himself and therefore of everyone else around him as well.

As Director of the House of Montegova Trust, a foundation that dealt with everything from managing Montegovan business interests abroad to charity and conservation work all over the world, the trust had gained international acclaim for the small but immensely wealthy Mediterranean kingdom.

Together with his brother, Crown Prince Remi Montegova, and their mother, the Queen, Zak had elevated the status of the kingdom to even greater heights since the untimely death of the King over a decade ago.

Where others would’ve grown content at achieving multi-billionaire status, unquestioning respect and reverence, and rested on their laurels, Zak was even more driven, his terrifying, breakneck work ethic inexhaustible. Heck, every facet of his life was lived in high octane.

Right down to the revolving-door speed of his personal liaisons.

Violet didn’t want to think about that. Right now, she’d give anything to completely erase Zak Montegova from her memory. At least for the next twelve hours.

But she couldn’t.

She’d committed to being at his beck and call. In fact, that clause was specifically stated in her contract with the trust. While she had several reservations about the man himself, she couldn’t forget that her degree in community development and her personal career ambition as a conservationist would be given a huge boost with a stint at the trust on her CV. It was why her deliberations about accepting the secondment offer in New York had been woefully short but immensely painful.

Because, aside from her grimace-inducing personal history with Zak, it directly played into her mother’s blatant and conniving plans.

Despite telling herself that incident was a thing of the past, Violet hadn’t been able to consign it to history. Like a recurring nightmare, it leapt to life and replayed in vivid Technicolor every time she was in Zak’s presence, which these days happened to be several hours of every day.

Three more months. A mere ninety-odd days. What could possibly go wrong?

Like an impossibly perfect spectre, his face loomed in her mind’s eye.

Formidable perfection. Insufferably handsome, with a royal swagger that shouted his awareness of his charisma. The raw prowess she’d heard whispers about long before she’d first encountered him.

Every dismissive word he’d thrown at her that day in her mother’s garden six years ago had been steeped in pure masculine arrogance. He’d carried that entitlement in his thick, broad shoulders and arrogant slant of his head as he’d walked away, secure in the knowledge that his manhood was assured, even worshipped by yet another woman, while he’d cruelly rebuffed the attention he’d garnered.

Violet’s face heated up at the memory. Her hand curled tighter around the envelope, one heartbeat away from crumpling the expensive paper. Slowly, she unclenched her fist, breathed deeply to restore her equilibrium. She wasn’t eighteen any more, hadn’t been for six long, tough years.

She’d had to grow up pretty damned fast shortly after that eye-opening party, thanks to an unexpected heart attack taking her father, and the discovery that the life of luxury they’d led had been lived on the back of a ruthlessly guarded facade of falsehoods, humiliating ingratiation and a blatant and ultimately futile exercise of robbing Peter to pay Paul.

The shocking revelation that the Earl and Countess Barringhall weren’t as esteemed or as wealthy as they’d led the world to believe, that they were in fact destitute to the point of bankruptcy, had become an open, humiliating secret. Even far away at university, Violet had been subjected to snide and cruel gossip, social media playing its part in serialising the true status of her family to the world.

It was why Violet had buried herself in her work at the International Conservation Trust. And when the opportunity came up to work away from Barringhall and her mother’s ever-increasing efforts to marry her off to someone socially advantageous, Violet had grabbed it with both hands and taken the position in Oxford.

But with senior positions in the field going to more experienced colleagues, not conservationists with less than two years’ experience, she’d known it was only prudent to redouble her efforts to accelerate her career path and put herself entirely out of her mother’s orbit.

She’d taken this job despite knowing her mother’s close friendship with the Queen of Montegova would be exploited to the utmost in her bid to marry her daughter off.

Violet had considered telling her mother not to bother because she wouldn’t succeed. Little did her mother know that Zak Montegova couldn’t have made his feelings for Violet any clearer than he had that night six years ago or during the last few weeks she’d been working alongside him.

To Zak, she barely existed.

So she didn’t understand why this envelope had been delivered here, now. After ten hours’ exposure to His Royal High-Handedness today, she’d hoped for a night’s reprieve before being subjected to his disturbing presence again.

Lips pressed together to hold her feelings inside, she slid a finger beneath the flap.

The note was brief. Succinct. Imperious.

My assistant has been taken ill. You will take her place in accompanying me to the Conservation Society fundraiser, which starts in an hour. A chauffeur is at your disposal.

Don’t let me down.

HRHZ

The inherent threat in those four final words had kept her awake for more nights in the past three months than anything else had done in her whole life.

That need for her to be exemplary in all things lest the stain of gossip, that underlying suspicion that she was a freeloader, a leech, because of her parents’ infamous misdeeds, attach itself to her. So far it’d proved an uphill battle, social media and her mother’s relentless pursuit of status playing their part in keeping the gossip mill alive and robust.

But she only needed to withstand this for a while longer, to earn her place in life through hard work and dedication to her chosen career. Prove sceptics like Zakary Montegova wrong. If that included stepping into his assistant’s shoes for one night...

She could gain invaluable experience from other conservationists attending the much-vaunted and anticipated event. So why were thoughts of Zak uppermost in her brain? Why was her heart hammering at the prospect of seeing him again?

She jumped when her phone rang from where it lay on the tiny console table next to the front door. Her Greenwich Village apartment was compact enough to cross in a handful of steps, although she suspected who it was before she reached for the phone. Sure enough, the cynical HRH she’d programmed into the contacts was displayed in green.

‘Hello?’

‘You have received my note, yes?’

She hated it that her fingers shook at the deep, faintly accented tones that blended Italian, French and Spanish in an enthralling mix that made up Montegova’s language and history.

‘Since you informed the courier to hand it over personally, no doubt you’ve been told exactly that. And good evening, to you too. Your Highness.’ She couldn’t stem the snippiness from her voice even as she grew irritated with herself for letting him get under her skin. For this heart-banging-against-ribs effect he so effortlessly commanded from her.

But hadn’t he done that to her since she’d first set eyes on him at twelve? Hadn’t she and her twin sister, Sage, watched him that first time from their bedroom window? Hadn’t Violet, freshly done with reading her favourite fairy tale, instantly placed herself in the Princess’s shoes, with Zakary Montegova in the leading role of Prince Charming, because in that seemingly serendipitous moment when he’d looked up and locked eyes with her, he’d been her every wish come to life? The answer to those desperate, seemingly futile prayers for deliverance from her parents’ endless arguments, the whispers and conversations that suddenly stopped when she and her sisters walked into the room, and their mother’s constant badgering about making strategic friendships?

She’d hated herself for that weak moment later, of course. Because books were books. Nothing in real life could mislead her into thinking she needed a boy...or man...to save her. That the answer to her self-worth lay in a prince whose gaze turned cool and dismissive as he stared at her from across the top of his perfectly polished sports car.

His Perfect Highness didn’t immediately respond to her snippiness now, and that drawn-out extra second tightened Violet’s already strung-out nerves. He’d always had a knack for making her feel self-conscious, even awkward once upon a time.

But only if you give him that power.

Where she would’ve rushed into further speech at twelve or eighteen, Violet forced herself to hold her tongue now. To wait him out. As if her heart wasn’t banging harder just from the sound of his voice. As if her palms weren’t growing clammy, reminding her how she’d ruffled him, for a very brief, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it instant, six years ago.

It was infuriating that her brain refused to let go of that moment, the scent and, sweet heaven, the taste of him still lingering, vivid and real and affecting, after all this time.

‘Personal dealings with couriers are outside my remit, so you’ll have to excuse my ignorance,’ Prince Zakary drawled, dragging her attention back to the present. Back to his exclusive importance. To the reminder that he dealt with heads of state and Fortune 500 CEOs, not the common working class. ‘But I’m pleased to note the urgency of the situation was relayed. I trust you’re ready?’

‘No, I’m not. I received the note five minutes ago. I haven’t even thought about what I’m going to wear yet.’

‘Think fast, then, Violet. I’ll be at your apartment in twenty minutes.’

‘What? You said I had an hour before your chauffeur fetched me.’

‘There’s been a change of plan, which necessitated this call. My foreign minister wishes to meet with me before the fundraiser starts.’

‘And what does that have to do with me?’

Again, he paused for an extra beat. ‘Since you’re acting as my assistant, your presence is also required at the meeting. Unless you feel you’re not up to the task...?’

That barely veiled insinuation stung.

‘Not that long ago I spent three weeks under an intense sun, with very little sleep, cleaning and tagging hundreds of birds after an oil tanker spilled its contents on the other side of the world, Your Highness. I’m sure I’m up to taking notes at a meeting. Unless you’ll be conducting it in something other than one of the five languages I speak fluently?’ That need to prove her worth to him, to ram her few but much prideful accomplishments down his throat, grated for a moment before she owned it.

She’d learned to her cost that timid didn’t work with Zak.

Anything other than toe-to-toe combat was just asking to be eaten alive and spat aside with singeing indifference. He responded to challenges, usually attempted by misguided fools who dared to say no to him. But occasionally it didn’t hurt to remind the man that simply because that word didn’t exist in his vocabulary, it didn’t mean she intended to gushingly enquire how high when he said jump.

‘I’m well aware of the contents of your résumé, Lady Barringhall. You don’t need to recite it to me, especially not when time is of the essence.’

‘Of course not. Your Highness. Just as I won’t remind you that you’re the one who called me. That you’re the one wasting time by keeping me on the phone when I could be getting dressed.’

‘Ah.’ His voice was a cool, deep exhalation. ‘I imagined you were an expert at multi-tasking. Since I don’t recall that listed as one of your accomplishments, I’ll have to make my own judgement on that score. You now have fifteen minutes, Lady Barringhall.’

The line went dead, and Violet couldn’t stop the uncouth word that erupted from her lips. That little catharsis freed a layer of tension and propelled her to her tiny bedroom, where she rummaged through her meagre wardrobe in search of the gown she hadn’t worn since her twenty-first.

Recalling how different that birthday had been from her eighteenth, she pursed her lips. A three-hundred-plus guest list shrunk to a half-hearted twenty-five, so-called friends having fallen away like rats deserting a sinking ship, some exhibiting shocking cruelty on their way out that still hurt to this day.

Violet had endured the occasion only because her mother had insisted on marking the day, spending money they hadn’t had for a birthday party no one had wanted to attend, wearing a dress she suspected had come from a charity shop, not the haute couture line her mother had insisted it’d come from.

Whatever the genesis of the dress, Violet couldn’t fault its simple but tasteful lines. The dove-grey pleated bodice swept from a shallow V over her cleavage to wrap around her upper arms and back, leaving her shoulders and lower back bare, before the soft chiffon gently moulded her hips and fell away to her ankles.

Since she’d already showered in anticipation of slipping into her pyjamas for an early night, her only task was to slip on the dress, brush and sweep her hair into a tidy chignon, add a simple string of pearls inherited from her grandmother, shoes and make-up, and spritz on her favourite perfume.

Her doorbell went for the second time within half an hour as she was tossing her keys into her small, matching clutch. Her heart attempted to jump into her throat, until she assured herself that royalty didn’t conduct such mundane tasks as climbing four flights of dark, dank stairs to knock on the front doors of apartments in buildings within a short sprint of a housing project.

She went to the door, opened it and froze, her jaw sagging at the sight of the man framed in her doorway.

‘Do you normally throw open your door with very little regard for your safety?’ Prince Zakary Montegova asked coldly.

Violet stared, convinced that the combination of memories, exhaustion and his earlier phone call had colluded into make her hallucinate him. But, no, that steady breathing, those much too incisive grey eyes, that towering, mouthwatering body and especially that aftershave convinced her he was all too real.

‘I... What are you doing here?’

One sleek, winged eyebrow rose, sarcasm dripping from that small motion.

‘I meant you didn’t have to come up and get me yourself. You could’ve called. Or sent one of your bodyguards.’ She managed to drag her gaze from him long enough to confirm the security guards without whom he never travelled were indeed present, watchful and crowding her poorly lit hallway.

‘And missed this scintillating peek into your life? One that makes me question why you have a peephole and an adequate-looking security chain on your door but chose to use neither?’

That tight bite of irritation had thickened, even as his gaze swept over her from hair to heels, dragging awareness over every inch of skin he scrutinised, all the parts he couldn’t see.

It was that bite, that suppressed energy that intensified her awareness, dragged even more unnervingly arresting pieces of Zak Montegova into focus.

The sharp classiness of his bespoke tux highlighting his brooding sexiness.

An innate sensuality overlying a raw masculinity that’d earned him Most Eligible Royal status for more years than Violet cared to count.

‘You told me you’d be here in fifteen minutes about...fourteen minutes ago. It doesn’t take a wild leap to conclude who was knocking on my door. And, really, are we going to waste more time debating safety protocols? Because I assure you that would take up even more of my precious time.’

‘Your precious time? You signed a piece of paper, I believe, stating that every moment of your secondment was mine. Have you forgotten?’ he drawled, his gaze flickering past her shoulders and into the apartment. Sharp eyes lanced over cheap furniture, cheaper blinds and the stack of conservation books on her coffee table before returning to hers, a little less cynical and a lot more...turbulent. ‘Did I interrupt something? Were you entertaining, perhaps?’

Violet pulled the door closer, unwilling to let him see the small sanctuary she’d created for herself. While she kept her space neat and tidy and as homely as a temporary living space could be, the truth was she had very little spare funds to make it any more than functional.

To a man whose kingdom delivered precious gems by the quarry-full, amongst other priceless resources, an apartment like hers would probably make him shudder. But more than that, Violet wanted nothing to escalate his belief that her mother’s agenda to marry her off advantageously was hers as well. That she was here in New York for any reason other than to gain as much work experience as she could.

‘I think you’re a little misguided. You’re my mentor for the hours I spend at the trust and perhaps a few extra-curricular duties, but I don’t account to you for every moment of my time, and what I do with my private time is none of your business.’

‘Are you sure about that?’ he asked.

For some reason, her belly somersaulted, and her breath hitched. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

For the longest minute he simply stared at her, eyes slowly narrowing. Then he sharply veered from her doorway, granting her the freedom to shut it behind her.

‘You’re right. The matter of your security and extra-curricular activities can await another time. I don’t wish to keep my minister waiting.’

The fact that he’d simply evaded answering her question puzzled her before she assured herself she didn’t really want to know what he’d meant. After all, it had nothing to do with her work.

She told herself that with every step down the long flights of stairs. With every arrogant step that testified that the man who walked beside her was no ordinary man. That he was high born and could trace his ancestry back almost half a millennium.

He gestured her forward at the front door. She stepped through, then startled at his sharp exhalation. A furtive glance over her shoulder showed the briefest flare in the straight blade of his nose. The tiniest hungry flicker in his eyes as they dropped down to her bare back.

A second later he was back under control, prompting her to wonder if she’d imagined that reaction.

Because Zak Montegova didn’t betray superfluous emotion. In all things he held himself under supreme control. As if he were still in the military position he’d held in the Montegovan air force in his twenties.

But he had that night.

That hard-packed body had been alive with passion, impatiently aroused and breathlessly all-consuming with it. Even though he’d snapped into chilling rebuttal afterwards, she’d experienced that blistering moment when his guard had dropped. When he’d given her a glimpse beneath his armour-plated façade.

For years Violet hadn’t quite been able to dismiss that fraction of a moment from her thoughts. Not as easily as the Prince had dismissed her, anyway. Even when she’d imagined she’d seen a residual memory lurking in his eyes the handful of times fate, or her mother, had thrown them together.

But it wasn’t until her arrival in New York that she’d known she was mistaken. It’d all been in her imagination. And she needed to kill those thoughts once and for all if she hoped to get ahead in life.

And she had.

For the most part...

But that vital final step eluded her. The last memory of sizzling heat, masterful hands on her body that had ruined her for much longer than she cared to admit. It was why she’d rebuffed any advances from the opposite sex. Because after a few tentative tries she’d known she was wasting time better spent pursuing a fulfilling career. Because even if those advances hadn’t eventually been ruined by her mother’s meddling or male interest only piqued by the whiff of scandal that followed her name, the memory of Zakary Montegova had always been there, a formidable apparition, rendering every man who came close an unworthy imitation of the accomplished Prince.

The man lauded as a genius. While his brother had been tasked with preserving Montegovan interests, Zak had been tasked with interests abroad. Within a handful of years he’d had heads of states at his beck and call. And that acclaim had gained power and glory with each passing year.

The sights and sounds of New York blasted in the moment they stepped out of her apartment building.

And into the path of a bicycle courier. The cyclist swerved, just as Violet took a hurried step back. Into the hard, towering body of Zak Montegova.

Strong arms gripped her arms to steady her. Fierce eyes drilled into her with a mixture of concern and brusque irritation and that enigmatic gleam that immediately drove the breath from her lungs. Everything fell away.

The courier’s irritated shout despite his blatant contravention of cycling laws.

The blare of taxi horns and loud hiss of bus brakes.

The scent of stale hot dogs and hot pretzels.

Only the searing awareness of skin-on-skin contact remained, taking up ever-expanding room in her consciousness until it was the only thing that mattered. Until even breathing became redundant. Secondary to the rush of having her every fear confirmed.

That, regardless of her mother’s machinations and Zak’s blatant reservations about her presence in New York, she harboured terrible secrets of her own. Secrets she’d taken turns scoffing at and then fearing.

On a sordid little street corner in New York City, Violet accepted the truth that the fairy tale was very much alive.

That the man who’d taken her in his arms, kissed her with soul-stirring expertise while murmuring husky Montegovan words to her, was still very much present beneath that stoic facade. That the man who’d come within a heartbeat of taking her virginity on the night of her eighteenth birthday was still the man she secretly yearned for.

That Zakary Montegova was the reason Violet was, at the ripe old age of twenty-four, still a virgin.

Hard on the heels of the bracing indictment came the realisation that he knew. It was there in the blaze of his grey eyes, in the awareness that rippled through his body. In the thumbs brushing her bare skin...testing her weaknesses?

A shiver ran through her body, spreading goosebumps all over her skin.

His gaze released hers for a moment to track her reaction while his hypnotic caress continued. When her nipples began to pearl, he didn’t miss it. Didn’t miss the acceleration of her heartbeat or the erratic cadence of her breathing.

As if from a distance, she watched his expression change, morph into calculation. It didn’t take a genius to guess he was cataloguing his every effect on her for possible use against her.

He made a sound under his breath, a curious cross between a growl and a visceral sound of satisfaction. Of a hunter having stalked his prey into a tight corner.

It was enough to drag Violet out of her stupor. Enough to stress the urgent need to redouble her efforts to resist her mother’s intentions.

But most of all to prevent Zak from confirming the truth.

At all costs.

CHAPTER TWO

WEAK MOMENTS HAD the power to bring down kingdoms.

Zakary Montegova knew this all too well.

So when Violet scurried away from him towards the limo idling at the kerb as if he’d suddenly contracted a flesh-eating plague, he let her go, following at a slower pace and absolutely rejecting what the sight of her smooth bare back and pert, rounded bottom did to his libido.

Dio mio, hadn’t his father delivered an abject lesson in weakness from beyond the grave? The repercussions of it had been deep and traumatic, and still haunted the royal Montegovan household to this day in the form of his much more reserved and circumspect brother, Remi. In the form of his mother’s quiet anguish, well hidden behind the façade of royal duty and the solemn, defiant refusal to be cowed by any circumstance. It was well documented in the antics of his illegitimate half-brother, Jules, the physical manifestation of their father’s weakness.

Most of all, it was what he’d witnessed within hours of his father’s death and the revelation of the late King’s infidelity. How close the seat of power had come to being usurped by greedy generals and shameless opportunists, eager to capitalise on the kingdom’s instability; that had shown Zak just how precarious temptation could be.

Weak moments had the power to bring him down.

It was why he led a life of hard work, harder diligence and zero trust in his fellow man. Why no woman had even the smallest chance of claiming him. Why he was more than content to leave the production of heirs to his brother, the Crown Prince.

So why had he allowed Violet Barringhall to burrow beneath his skin six years ago?

He’d nearly refused his mother’s request to attend her birthday party. He’d had better things to do than indulge his mother’s misguided friendship with the notorious Margot Barringhall, the infamous gossipmonger, opportunist and tabloid lover.

Everything he stood against. But his mother had insisted.

And from the first moment he’d seen the grown-up version of the girl he’d met very briefly only twice before, Zak had been unable to take his eyes off Violet. The hour he’d intended to spend at her party had turned to two, then four. Despite his distaste at the increasingly drunken behaviour of her so-called friends, he’d lingered. Followed her out into her mother’s garden, enticed by the timid but alluring feminine wiles she’d seemed determined to flex.

At some point he’d believed he was testing himself, seeing how far her enthralment would last. A misguided attempt at immersion therapy, over-exposure to several hours’ worth of temptation after which he’d walk away, triumphant over the pressure in his groin and the bewildering need to touch her. Taste her.

Find a mundane answer to why Lady Violet Barringhall intrigued him.

So he’d followed. He’d touched. He’d tasted. And craved more with an unending hunger that had dogged his waking hours for months. Driven him to investigate the Barringhalls. He’d felt no guilt over it, as it was in fact a practice he’d followed since his father’s death. He’d thoroughly vetted every affiliation to his family, tenuous or otherwise, ensuring the events following his father’s death never occurred again.

But he’d also secretly entertained the possibility of a liaison with Violet down the line.

Only he’d discovered there was nothing remotely honourable about the Barringhalls.

They were in hock up to their eyeballs, the Earl having depleted his substantial family resources through a dizzying series of bad investments and gluttony before his untimely death. After which his wife, Countess Margot Barringhall, had taken up the mantle, frantic to safeguard her way of life by indiscriminate dalliance with the press and, when they had come of age, attempting to marry off her daughters to any half-decent man with a large bank balance who was thirsty for a shoddy little title.

Zak’s disappointment in the discovery had been searing and shocking, his fury at nearly falling into Margot Barringhall’s well-laid trap elevating her and her daughters to the top of his to-be-watched list.

The phone call from his mother three months ago with the secondment request had fortified Zak’s guard.

Since her arrival, he’d thrown every menial task at her to push her into admitting defeat and pleading for her mother to intercede on her behalf.

The crunch point had never arrived. Perversely, he’d detested being proven wrong about her, and had piled more work onto her slim shoulders. She’d raised her game higher, exhibiting a finely tuned talent for understanding the needs of his trust, especially the work he undertook for the less privileged.

But Zak was rarely impressed. Violet Barringhall was a tougher cookie than he’d given her credit for, but the reminder of her body straining against his, her shockingly sexy little whimpers and greedy hands, were testament to her hidden skills. And that sometimes shy demeanour that hid a tart tongue? Si, it’d come within a whisker of rousing his jaded humour.

And therein lay the pitfalls. Allowing himself to be impressed, tempted, by her had nearly resulted in a gross error of judgement that could’ve cost his family untold misery.

It was why he stayed away from tall, statuesque women with silky, chestnut hair and eyes the colour of the turquoise-blue waters that sparkled beneath the Montegovan sun.

He slid into the car, watched her cross her legs in a curiously elegant way that effectively angled her body away from his. Poise, no doubt drilled into her in that expensive finishing school her family had ill-afforded, was evident in her ramrod-straight spine, the hands folded neatly over her clutch in her lap, and perfectly angled jaw.

The only thing giving all that decorum away was the pulse leaping at her throat. Her very silky, very smooth and supple throat. Creamy skin he wanted to stroke. To taste.

Basta!

He stirred in his seat, registered what he was doing and froze.

Dio mio, since when did he fidget?

He told himself it was his annoyance that made him glance over her body, over her shadowed cleavage that gave a tantalising peek of her breasts. It was annoyance causing the fever in his veins.

‘You’re meant to be taking notes, yet you don’t seem to have brought any note-taking equipment with you.’

Shrewd blue eyes met his and...mocked him? ‘Perhaps because it’s no longer necessary to bring a whole stationery cupboard to take notes. I have an app on my phone—approved by the trust, I believe—to take notes and transcribe digitally. Depending on how quickly you want it, I can have it ready in an hour.’

‘And if I want it sooner?’ he asked, simply because his mood was decidedly testy and she was the cause of it.

‘Then I’d have to wonder why you’re even bothering to attend the fundraiser if you have far more pressing matters to deal with. Don’t get me wrong, I know you’re a master at multi-tasking but it would help to know what I’m supposed to prioritise.’

Their arrival at his embassy put paid to his errant thoughts and, thankfully, the need to dissect thereal cause of his disgruntlement. ‘Let’s go and find out, shall we?’

He stepped out, ingrained courtesy dictating he hold out his hand to her.

She accepted his assistance, slid out gracefully but almost immediately attempted to regain her hand. Zak released her but not before he once again registered the smooth, supple warmth of her skin. The need to keep touching her.

General Pierre Alvardo, Montegova’s defence minister, approached the moment they were inside the vast hallway of the Montegovan embassy.

‘Your Highness, thank you for meeting me. This matter is urgent or I wouldn’t have interrupted your evening.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ Zak had accepted the meeting because Alvardo tended to be a little trigger happy. His mother had her hands full with parliamentary duties and his brother, Crown Prince Remi, was on a diplomatic mission in the Middle East.

Alvardo slid a glance at Violet, then addressed his next request in Montegovan.

Zak stopped him with a halting hand. ‘You may address me in English, Alvardo. Lady Barringhall has signed a confidentiality contract and knows the consequences of breaking it.’

Beside him, Violet gave a sanguine smile that somehow tunnelled straight into his bloodstream, heating it up several more degrees. ‘Lady Barringhall hasn’t forgotten, Your Highness. She doesn’t need to be reminded.’

Alvardo’s eyes widened but he hadn’t risen to defence minister without learning a thing or two about diplomacy.

In the conference room, Zak waited for Violet to be seated before taking his place at the head of the table. The moment she set her phone to record, he got straight to the point.

‘Is this about the group of dissidents you alerted us to two months ago?’

Alvardo nodded. ‘Intelligence reports they’ve doubled in number and may be planning an insurgency in Playagova in the near future.’

Zak tensed. ‘May be? You’re not completely certain of their plans?’

Alvardo’s gaze grew cagey. ‘We haven’t been able to infiltrate the group as easily as we’d hoped.’

Zak’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re here to seek leave to openly pursue them?’ he surmised.

His minister nodded. ‘As the Queen’s appointed head of the Montegovan military, you will have to give express instructions for an active investigation into the group.’

‘Even though such an act could fuel anxiety, cause undue panic?’ he countered.

‘I believe it’s a small price to pay for absolute certainty.’

‘I don’t.’

Zak felt Violet’s gaze on him. He glanced at her, registered the relief in her eyes before she broke eye contact to fiddle needlessly with her phone.

‘But... Your Highness.’ Alvardo paused, and Zak got the notion he was measuring his words. ‘I’m of the opinion that this could get out of hand very quickly if not immediately dealt with.’

‘Then redouble your efforts to turn may be into concrete evidence. The Montegovan people have been through enough without causing ripples with unfounded rumours. Maintain surveillance without engaging and report back to me when something changes.’ Until then he’d make his own investigations, double check the general’s report.

With his mother’s recent but as yet unannounced intention to step down from the throne in favour of Remi, the situation would need extremely careful monitoring. The last thing Montegova needed with its recent history was another shaky period. ‘That will be all.’

The general rose, gave a grave bow and left the room.

Zak noted Violet’s heavy silence as he escorted her back out to the car.

It wasn’t until they cleared Midtown traffic and were heading towards the Upper East Side, where the fundraiser was being held, that he turned to her.

‘Ask your questions. I can see you’re about to burst from the effort of maintaining your silence.’

She pressed plump lips together for a short moment. ‘Is there really a threat to your country?’

He shrugged. ‘There’s always a threat. The trick is to separate the salient from the white noise, as it were.’

‘But what the general said...it all sounded urgent.’

‘Alvardo is a defence minister. He believes he wouldn’t be doing his job if he didn’t advocate fire and brimstone at every turn.’

She frowned. ‘Are you sure? It seems a little more than that.’

‘Probably because it is,’ Zak confirmed, then wondered why he was giving her this leeway, letting her into secrets that might come back to bite him.

‘And you’re happy to go along with such dire predictions? Are you really okay with such blatant...warmongering?’

‘I’ve learned to look beneath the surface, always. He makes his reports. I investigate further where I need to. The truth of the situation always comes out in the end.’ He couldn’t stem bitterness that stemmed directly from the secret his father had kept for over twenty years, only to have it explode in their faces even before the dirt had settled over his final resting place. But his statement was also aimed at Violet, more specifically at the plans she’d concocted with her mother.

He glanced at her, noted how her lashes swept down and away, pretending interest in the passing scenery outside the window. Si, Lady Violet Barringhall, like her mother, clearly thought they were pulling the wool over his eyes with this stint at his trust.

‘And do you think this situation requires serious investigation? Are people really plotting to bring the kingdom down?’ she asked after a moment with wide-eyed interest that appeared genuine. But then her interest would be genuine, wouldn’t it, if she had aspirations of elevating herself from Lady to Princess?

Zak shrugged with an ease he didn’t feel deep down. ‘There are those who believe the era of the monarchy is long past. That the people should dispense with the royal house altogether.’ He gauged her reaction. While her expression looked a little troubled, there wasn’t the cutting desperation he’d expected at the possibility of her coveted position evaporating before her eyes.

Perhaps she was a better actress than he’d initially credited her with being.

‘And what do you say to that?’

Centuries-old pride and the warrior’s clamour of his forebears drew only one answer from him. ‘My ancestors didn’t carve out a kingdom through blood and battle only to hand it over to a disgruntled few who believe they know what’s right for my people. Montegova isn’t ruled by a power-hungry figurehead who merely sits on the throne and collects taxes at the end of a fiscal year. My mother and brother are both active members of parliament. Their votes are just two among many that operate under a system of check and balances agreed by law. As the current head of the monarchy, the Queen has certain rights, granted, but she’s not above the law. Whatever injustices are felt should be addressed through the legal system, not through uprisings.’

‘That’s easy to say, though, some would say. Didn’t your ancestors stamp out dissension when there were bloody revolutions?’

He allowed himself a smile that didn’t quite unfreeze the chill in his chest, not when the memory of how close to chaos Montegova had come a mere decade ago echoed through him. ‘Precisely. So why follow the same tired route when we can forge new ones? Innovate, don’t imitate, isn’t that the saying?’

‘Why are you pretending to be flippant about this?’ she asked.

Zak tensed, despising the extra layer of disgruntlement her incisive observation triggered. ‘Perhaps I’m wondering what your motives are. Your task was simply to take notes. Why the sudden interest in Montegova?’ he tossed back at her.

She floundered momentarily before her composure snapped back into place. ‘I work for you, for the time being. Is it really so strange for me to take an interest, considering I have an affiliation with Montegova? Or have you forgotten that my mother is half-Montegovan?’

He hadn’t forgotten, neither had he missed how effectively the Barringhalls used that fact when it suited them financially. ‘And how many times have you visited the homeland you have a quarter claim to?’

She flushed, even though her gaze stayed defiantly on his. ‘Not as often as I would’ve liked—’

‘By that you mean never, am I right?’

‘We both know I’ve never visited Montegova.’

Perhaps it was time to root her out, turn the tables on this scheme by the Barringhalls and be done with this woman who tempted him like no other.

‘According to your résumé, you’ve been to the other side of the world. The life you choose to live on social media is fond of screaming that fact but you’ve never bothered to visit the homeland of your non-British ancestors on the other side of Europe? I’m sure you’ll excuse me if I find your concern for the state of affairs in my kingdom somewhat...lacking.’

‘My travels were funded by charitable donations painstakingly gathered over four years because I was determined to make a difference. And if by life on social media, you mean my job, then yes. It’s called raising awareness.’

His lips twisted. ‘There is a fine line between raising awareness and raising one’s own profile.’

‘Is there? How would you know? Isn’t your royal webpage managed by a team of social media experts? Or are you one of those royals who can’t resist having a secret profile so you can play the voyeur on other people’s lives?’

He allowed himself a riling smile. ‘If I do possess such a page, rest assured, I won’t divulge it to you.’

Hot emotion flashed through her eyes. But again it was swiftly swept under the cloak of utter composure. And why did that normally laudable ability suddenly grate on his nerves?

‘Because you, like everyone else, believe every single thing you hear about my family?’ she demanded, her tone holding a chilled note of censure. As if she was the one disappointed in him, not the other way around.

‘The evidence is hard to refute but I invite you to try.’

Her lips pursed again and, like a fool, he latched onto the motion, recalling far too vividly the taste and suppleness of her lower lip. The eagerness of her response. Did she still make those insane little sounds when aroused?

‘No, thank you. Far be it from me to waste my time on a futile task. Besides, we’ve arrived,’ she announced with more than a little relief in her voice.

Zak flicked a glance out his window, his ire increasing. He’d been so absorbed in her he’d lost all sense of time and place. He ignored his driver’s presence beside the back door and concentrated on Violet. On the answer she’d given him. Had she truly just refused a silver-plated invitation to interact with him?

Zak could honestly say he didn’t recall the last time the words no, thanks had fallen from a woman’s lips in his company.

And again he was...intrigued. He stared into the blue eyes regarding him with a touch of wariness and...reproof.

‘Your Highness—’

‘Zak.’

Her eyes widened. ‘What?’

‘You may call me Zak when we’re not in a formal or professional setting. I’ll leave it to your discretion,’ he said, reeling a little from the words falling from his own mouth.

She didn’t speak the words but the refrain of no, thanks, blazed in her eyes.

Another first.

‘We’re going to be late, Your Highness.’ She aimed a pointed gaze at the door. ‘And I don’t wish be blamed for your tardiness.’

A peculiar little blaze fired through him, fanning higher the longer he looked into her eyes. He was a prince. Second in line to the throne of a small but infinitely mighty kingdom. Not very many people dared to defy him.

Violet Barringhall was exhibiting definite signs of defiance.

The urge to put her in her place resurged. But it had a different slant to it this time. There were so many ways to deliver one’s point. To those who sought to seed mistrust and dissent in his kingdom. To those who sought to gain financially on the back of his family name.

Why not try a different solution to this problem? Take that immersive therapy he’d mocked to another level. Send the Barringhalls a message once and for all.

She blinked, drawing his attention to her wide, alluring eyes. The flawless skin of her throat and neck. Lust kicked hard in his groin, reminding him that he hadn’t indulged himself in a while.

She’d flashed those eyes at him just like that on her birthday. Well, two could play at this game the Barringhalls had started.

Si, it really was the perfect solution.

Decided, he flicked his wrist and his driver eased the door open.

Zak stepped out to a frenzy of paparazzi flashbulbs. Ignoring them, he offered his hand to Violet, this time holding onto her as she stepped out onto the red carpet.

In her heels, she came up to his shoulder, the perfect angle for him to gaze down at for a beat before the inevitable personal questions were shouted at him.

He didn’t answer, of course. Pandering to the media was beneath him, and he’d learned long ago that the tabloid press printed what they wanted regardless of his answers or, indeed, the truth.

But when they caught sight of Violet and tripled their questions, he allowed an enigmatic smile to play on his lips as he tucked her arm into his and escorted her inside.

The paradigm had shifted.

Violet couldn’t pinpoint exactly what had happened or when. But as she walked beside Zak though the throng of designer-clad guests, she sensed an edgier purpose from him. Instinctively, she knew it wasn’t the challenge of attempting to meet his impossibly high standards.

Whatever Zak had up his sleeve was personal. Aimed at her.

It lurked in the shrewd, too-long gazes that repeatedly slanted her way as he guided her around the opulent ballroom. Halfway through the first circuit, she knew she needed to extricate herself from him.

His tight schedule, even at social functions, provided the perfect excuse. ‘You have three pre-dinner drinks. The first is with the Bolivian attaché. Here he comes now,’ she said briskly, hoping that flinging them both into business mode would throw him off whatever scent he seemed determined to hunt down.

Zak nodded without taking his eyes off the person he was saying goodbye to, then skilfully intercepted her with a hand on her elbow before she could walk away. ‘Stay. Your presence will curtail his tendency to drone on ad nauseam. You might also pick up a tip or two to take back to your institution when you leave in a few months.’

The reminder that this position was temporary shouldn’t have annoyed her, considering she’d been praying for it to end a short while ago. Perhaps it abraded her nerves because he stated it with that narrow-eyed, watchful suspicion? ‘I’ll stay if you think I’ll be useful. My role is to assist, after all.’

‘Do I detect a little displeasure in your tone, Lady Barringhall?’

Violet.

She barely stopped herself from issuing the invitation. She wouldn’t. He could use that mocking tone all he liked. Right up until she extricated herself permanently from him.

‘Of course not,’ she said with a smile manufactured straight from the depths of the decorum rulebook.

She ignored his droll expression as he greeted the attaché, sending him on his way the moment the man’s conversation grew circuitous. But after he’d introduced her to the next person with that faintly mocking tone once more, she’d had enough. ‘Why do you keep throwing my title in people’s faces?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Ignoring the blatantly false claim of obliviousness, she pressed on. ‘You’ve been in a...mood since we arrived. Is this some sort of test?’

‘Everything is a test, Lady Barringhall. If you don’t know that by now, then I’ve been wasting my time.’

‘I don’t mean professionally and you know it. This feels personal. Did I do something to offend you?’

The only hint that she may have strayed near a bullseye with her question was in the brief flaring of his nostrils. Then he was back under supreme control. ‘I merely introduced you with your correct title. I fail to see why you would feel attacked by it.’

To push the issue felt like overkill. And yet... ‘Perhaps we should clear the air. Lay things out in the open?’

His eyes gleamed. ‘Ah, now we get to the heart of the matter. Is this where you confess?’

She frowned. ‘Excuse me? Confess what?’

‘That this so-called role of yours is just hiding your true purpose here,’ he said, an edge in his tone.

‘And what’s my true purpose, pray tell? No, wait, let me guess. You think it’s some sort of ploy to land myself somewhere in your private life? Or, goodness, perhaps even in your bed?’

That earned her more emotion. His eyes blazed wildly and ferociously, just like they had that night, before he ruthlessly smothered it. But it didn’t die completely. She felt its latent heat as his gaze drilled into her. ‘Is your ultimate goal to land in my bed? You should’ve said this straight out, Violet. Then we could’ve dispensed with all this...pretence.’

Fire intensified, flaring out from her pelvis to engulf her whole body. ‘You’re deliberately twisting my words. I don’t want to end up in your bed. Hell, I don’t want to go anywhere near your bedroom!’

A few heads turned, and she flushed as eyebrows went up at her hot, charged denial.

Just then a discreet little chime announced the end of the champagne reception. Violet breathed in relief.

‘Saved by the bell but definitely to be continued, I think,’ he rasped as they drifted towards an even more opulently decorated ballroom where the main event was being held.

‘No, it won’t,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘I hate to disappoint you but I’ve said all I’m going to say on the matter. I don’t care what you think my motives are, but I’d thank you to—’

‘You don’t care? Have you forgotten that one major reason you’re here is to get your hands on my invaluable letter of recommendation?’

‘Are you threatening to withhold it unless I indulge you in your silly little game? Is that what this is about?’

His mouth twisted. ‘Let’s not throw around accusations on who is playing games with whom, Lady Barringhall.’ His voice was silky, like a stiletto knife sliding through butter. All without losing an ounce of his arrogant composure. Hell, he even nodded greetings to a few guests in the process of cutting her down.

She refused to be cowed. ‘You didn’t answer my question. I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me since I arrived in New York. But if I’m wasting my time, at least have the balls to tell me so we can be rid of each other sooner rather than later,’ she dared, her heart banging hard against her ribcage. She didn’t want to risk irritating him more than she already seemed to be doing, but she didn’t want to throw away all her efforts either.

They reached their designated high table and he slid back her chair, his strong, elegant hands braced on the sides as he waited for her to be seated.

Violet moved, incredibly aware of his proximity, of his scent and the powerful body barely leashed beneath the trappings of civilised clothing. Aware of his complete focus on her. She called on every crumb of composure she possessed, thankful when she took her seat without stumbling.

But then he lowered his head to align with hers, drawing a wild shiver as he murmured for her ears alone, ‘A few weeks of running around in my office, dispensing effortless English charm, isn’t going to quite cut it. If you want to earn my regard, you’ll need to do a lot more than lackey work. And as for my balls, Lady Barringhall, I’d caution you not to involve them in our conversations. At least, not in this setting. Later, though...who knows? I just might accommodate you.’

Heat flared into her cheeks, whipping up a wild tornado that centred between her thighs. She refused to be thrown by the images he evoked. Nevertheless, it took considerable scrambling to get her brain to formulate an answer. ‘What do I need to do to prove my worth?’ she demanded once he was seated, frustration building in her chest.

‘You want to prove your worth? The trust is in the process of building eco-lodges in Tanzania. It’s a tourism initiative in partnership with the government to provide long-term income to the area. Tell me what you would bring to the table in this project.’

Violet ruthlessly curbed her excitement. With a few words, he’d described everything she hoped to aspire to in her career. But she didn’t put it past him to dangle an offer in her face only to snatch it up the moment she expressed an interest. That gleam in his eyes had only intensified in the last few minutes, his focus on her almost rabid in its fervour.

‘How many lodges?’

‘Thirty to start off with catering to the discerning and environmentally-conscious tourist in mind. Twice that in phases two and three.’

‘When are you looking to vet volunteers? I could help you with that. Weed out those wanting a free ride against those committed to truly making a difference.’

‘There are a few on the ground already but the majority are lined up to be vetted in the next week or two.’

She shook her head. ‘The rainy season starts in less than three months. If you don’t want the project severely disrupted, you need to move quicker than that.’

A smile ghosted over his lips and Violet suspected he’d been testing her.

Her shoulders went back. She lifted her chin and stared him straight in the eyes. ‘You want to test my true commitment? Include me in the project. My secondment is up in about the time it’ll take for this first phase to be done. Let me prove to you that this isn’t just some flight of fancy.’

He wasn’t impressed by her declaration. If anything, his scepticism increased. ‘You wouldn’t be the first royal seeking to elevate their status by affiliating themselves with a project like this. Just so we’re clear, that’s not going to happen here.’

‘All I’m asking is that you suspend your suspicion of my motives for a few weeks and let me do what I came here to do. Or are you so cynical that you won’t even give me that chance?’

His smile turned hard, edgy. ‘You seem in a mood to throw around taunts.’

‘I’m defending my character. I’m a hard worker. Take my word for it or let my actions speak for themselves.’

Stormcloud eyes pinned her to her seat. But before he could respond, a hush descended, drawing their attention to the podium as the patron of the fundraising charity rose to make her welcoming speech. The world-renowned socialite, known for her skills in raising millions for charitable causes, repeatedly glanced over at Zak as she spoke.

Despite being over a decade older than him, her interest was blatant, a fact, Violet suspected, that had contributed to her hosting this event.

For a cynical moment Violet wondered if Zak had taken advantage of it. Whether he’d had even a moment’s pause before aligning himself with a woman whose gaze caressed his face even as she delivered a charming, quick-witted speech.

She only registered that she’d been staring at him for an indecent amount of time when his gaze swung sharply to her, one eyebrow cocked at whatever he read in her expression.

She resisted the urge to drop her gaze, allowed hers to linger before, feigning boredom, she turned towards the podium as the socialite ended her speech to applause.

Violet couldn’t fault her. As her own mother had repeatedly striven to maximise every opportunity by hosting such events, people were more prone to opening their wallets when in a good mood.

And the sight of Prince Zak Montegova, rising with masterful grace and long-limbed elegance to step up to the podium, made them feel extra-special.

His speech was a sublime combination of wit, gravitas and arrogant challenge, rousing consciences and stirring sluggish apathy. Heads nodded and any remaining sceptics couldn’t help but be moved by the video presentation of the trust’s needs, especially in deprived communities.

‘And just so you’ll appreciate the urgency of my latest project, I’ve been informed by Lady Violet Barringhall, my newly appointed special advisor on our latest project in Tanzania, that time is even more of the essence if we’re to meet our goals. Which means you’ll also need to move fast or this particular train will leave without you. And if you miss this one, you won’t be guaranteed a seat on the next one.’

And, simply because everyone in the room wanted a connection with the Royal House of Montegova and its representative Prince, they laughed a little more eagerly, their glances sharper as they turned to her, prying and assessing whether she was the conduit to their ultimate prize—access to Zak Montegova.

But Violet wasn’t interested in them. She was wholly consumed by Zak’s revelation. Her heart banged anew when he stared at her in blatant challenge for a sizzling few seconds, absorbed the applause at the end of his speech, before stepping off the podium.

He neither paused nor smiled in acknowledgement of the accolades dropped in his wake as he returned to the table.

Soft music struck up from a string quartet as he resumed his seat.

‘You couldn’t have told me before you made the announcement?’ she asked, wondering why her excitement, while effervescent—because this was what she’d dreamed of for as long as she could recall—was tinged with an even sharper thrill she suspected had nothing to do with her new role and everything to do with the man who’d granted it.

‘I believe this is the moment in the process where you thank me for giving you this opportunity?’ he drawled silkily, dark grey eyes fixed on her face.

Violet swallowed her sharp reply. Regardless of how the package had been delivered it was the content, the chance to start to make a difference, that mattered. ‘Thank you for the opportunity. And before you taunt me by asking me if I’m up to the task, I assure you I am.’

‘You urged me to test your mettle. Consider this the first lesson. But I’ll be watching you every step of the way. One misstep and you’re done.’

‘There won’t be any,’ she stressed, for him and especially for herself. She couldn’t afford any, not if she wanted to drag herself out of the shadow of her parents’ misdeeds.

‘Good. We leave in seven days. You can have tomorrow morning off to pack.’

Something wild and urgent fluttered in her belly. ‘We?’

‘Did I not mention it? I’ll be in on the ground in Tanzania too. Which means you’ll be working directly under me,’ he said, his voice deep, weighted with evocative meaning that sent blood surging through her body to concentrate traitorously between her thighs.

He stared at her long enough to register the effect of his words on her. Then he turned away and addressed the other guests at the table.

Violet sat back, attempted to absorb the swift turn of events, and the image she couldn’t erase from her mind—of her trapped beneath the sensual power and might of Zak Montegova—quickly enough.

The gauntlet had been thrown down, and her with it, right into the spotlight. Perhaps in more ways than one.

Either way, it was up to her to show him, to show everyone, that she wasn’t just a tainted title, biding her time until a rich, preferably titled man swept her off her feet and answered all her mother’s prayers.

CHAPTER THREE

TANZANIA WAS HOT, humid and stunningly beautiful. Even the humid bustle of Dar es Salaam held a unique vibe that escalated Violet’s excitement as they disembarked from Zak’s private jet and headed out of Tanzania’s largest city.

Air-conditioned SUVs allayed a little of the discomfort travelling into the heart of the country caused with potholed roads, but Violet absorbed every second of it, still pinching herself that she’d managed to get herself into the field so quickly.

Their final destination, Lake Ngoro, was still a good two hours away, according to the satnav, when they stopped for lunch.

Despite the stunning and picturesque vista, the restaurant was little more than a few thatched huts with tables and chairs grouped under shaded umbrellas. When the procession of four SUVs stopped, Violet hid a grimace as the suited bodyguards alighted stiffly and formed a loose semi-circle around their Prince.

‘Something annoying you already?’ Zak enquired, his laconic drawl suggesting he wasn’t surprised. ‘The heat perhaps? Or the sparse surroundings? Five-star establishments a little thin on the ground for you?’

Violet ground her teeth and breathed through her irritation as a waiter hurried towards them. ‘None of the above. If you must know, I was thinking that six bodyguards seem a little...excessive, don’t you think?’

‘Protocol dictates it needs to be this way. And I’d rather not incur my mother’s wrath by going against her wishes,’ he added with a wry twist of his lips.

Queen Isadora was a formidable woman. Even though she and her mother were friends, Violet had met the Queen only twice in her life. Both times she’d been awed by the woman’s utter poise and the shrewd intelligence that shone from grey eyes she’d passed to her sons, along with her strength and resilience.

‘Does their presence ever get overwhelming?’

He cracked open a bottle of iced water and poured her a glass before filling his own. ‘That’s like asking if breathing is tedious. It is what it is.’

Her fingers curled around the chilled glass. ‘Would you change it if you could?’

Despite the shades concealing his eyes, she felt his probing gaze. ‘Why would I want to change a status only a fraction of people ever get to experience? I’m deemed one of the luckiest men in the world to be surrounded by yes men and women all too eager to obey my every command,’ he stated with a thick layer of cynicism.

‘And yet your tone suggests otherwise,’ she replied.

For a fraction of a moment he seemed startled by the observation. As if he’d let something slip he hadn’t intended to. Then his face resumed its stoic mask. ‘I was taught not only to appreciate the advantages of my status but also to help preserve it. And to deal effectively with those parasites who would attempt to leech their way into riches on my family’s coattails.’

It didn’t take a genius to know she’d been lumped in with that deplorable crowd. ‘But you don’t mind using those yes men and women to accomplish your goals?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Are we being specific here, Violet? Are you asking me if I take advantage of my status?’

The man-eating eyes of that fundraising socialite flashed to mind and she tried to curb the curious sting in her chest. ‘Do you?’

‘I earn my dues in business. And in pleasure. No one has left my presence dissatisfied. Unless they absolutely deserved it, of course.’

The urge to pluck the sunglasses off his face so she could read his expression warred with the very real need to deny that they were speaking about the same thing—the night of her eighteenth birthday. Had she deserved to be left dissatisfied like that?

And why was he referring to it now?

The waiter’s arrival with platters of food put paid to the dangerous train of thought she seemed to stray into with maddening frequency.

‘Are you done?’ He nodded at her plate twenty minutes later, a frown in his voice.

She looked down at her plate. The food had been tasty so she attributed her elusive appetite to Zak’s presence more than anything else. ‘Turns out I’m not very hungry.’

His lips firmed but he rose without saying a word.

Back in the SUV, Zak Montegova handled the vehicle with effortless grace, his body packed with latent power that repeatedly drove the very air from her lungs each time she glanced his way. Bouncing over potholes and being jostled about, it was difficult not to be aware of her own body and its close proximity to Zak’s.

So she was relieved to arrive two long hours later, to breathe the fresh, clean air of Lake Ngoro, the mostly flat green landscape where Zak had sited the Trust’s eco-lodges.

Events had proceeded at breakneck pace after the fundraiser. As she’d predicted, donations had flooded in from the great and good, easily ensuring that they could fund another five projects within the year.

And Zak’s confirmation on Monday that the rains were indeed expected in a few weeks sparked an urgency for the trip. Violet had read through hundreds of résumés, sat in on in-person and video conference interviews, and grilled each volunteer until she was certain the sixty-five they’d chosen would be up to the daunting task of constructing the eco-lodges in time.

As she looked around now, she was gratified to see that the local construction crew who’d already been on site for two weeks were already at the final stages of laying the foundations.

A man broke away from a group of workers hammering a sign board into the ground and hurried towards them. His dark bronze skin, curly mahogany hair and light eyes indicated a mixed heritage. Despite the sweat pouring down his face and sticking to his tie-dyed T-shirt, his grin was infectious and as open as his outstretched hand.

‘Hey, there. I’m Peter Awadhi, foreman slash friendly face slash official representative of the Tourist Board. We’ve spoken a few times on the phone but let me formally welcome you to Tanzania...um... Prince...er... Your Highness.’

Violet hid a smile as he stumbled over Zak’s title.

Zak shook his hand. ‘Zak is fine,’ he offered, although he didn’t return the man’s smile.

Peter nodded, then glanced at her.

She held out her hand. ‘I’m Violet Barringhall. Special advisor, volunteer co-ordinator and general dogsbody.’

‘Ah, you’re the new one in charge of the volunteers? Sweet. I have a few requests to swing by you later when you’ve had a chance to settle in.’

‘Of course. That’s what I’m here for.’

His grin widened and Zak’s face soured further. ‘Are our tents ready?’ Zak asked.

Peter released her hand, looked over towards the SUVs and shouted instructions in Kiswahili at the group erecting the sign. ‘They are. I’ll have your luggage taken to your assigned tents when you’re ready.’

‘We will. The sample lodge is ready to view?’ Zak asked.

Peter nodded. ‘In the west compound, as you instructed.’

‘Take me there, I’d like to inspect it.’

‘Sure thing,’ Peter replied, in no way daunted by Zak’s hit-the-ground-running attitude.

‘When we’re done, I’d like a tour of the rest of the site, if that’s not too much trouble?’ Violet asked.

Zak frowned. ‘We just arrived. You should rest.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m not tired and I’ve been cooped up in the car for hours. I’d like to stretch my legs and familiarise myself with the landscape in preparation for when the volunteers arrive tomorrow.’

His lips firmed and he clicked his fingers. One of his bodyguards rushed forward and a low exchange took place in Montegovan. Before Violet could blink, a wide-brimmed straw hat magically appeared. Zak held it out to her. ‘Heatstroke is a serious issue here. I’d hate to have to use the chopper on our very first day.’

She’d packed a hat for herself but with her luggage still stowed in the SUV, she had no choice but to accept Zak’s offering.

‘Thanks.’ She pulled on the hat, glad for the shade it offered.

They made their way from the parking area to the heart of the site, where the large building that would house the reception, restaurant and spa were located.

The construction crew were in the final stages of pouring concrete for the foundations. The handful of volunteers who’d been on site from the beginning would leave as soon as the new volunteers Violet had helped select arrived to start their work erecting the lodges.

They bypassed the central building and she spotted a sleek helicopter, the one Zak had referred to, on the far north side of the flat landscape. Its discreet little red and white cross caught her attention.

‘Why the medical chopper? I didn’t think it’d be needed at a project like this,’ she said to Peter.

He glanced briefly at Zak before he answered. ‘This isn’t strictly a medical helicopter but it’s useful since the nearest medical facility is thirty miles away. It’s purely a worst-case scenario option.’

Of course, with the VIP royal who happened to be second in line to the Montegovan throne on site, safeguarding him was paramount. Looking closer, Violet spotted the monogram of the Montegovan royal house on the tail fin of the aircraft, confirming her theory.

Zak sent her a sidelong glance. ‘Before you think the pampered Prince has a chopper on tap to deal with his splinters, you should know that the chef in charge of feeding the whole camp happens to be eight months pregnant. She refuses to leave before her rotation is up in two weeks. The helicopter is primarily for her in case she goes into early labour.’

Shame lanced her and she was glad for the wide brim of the hat hiding her chagrin. Zak’s mocking gaze returned to the path as they left the first row of lodges and headed west.

The eco-lodge came into view as they rounded an acacia tree.

The single storey building was functional, compact but beautiful, designed for a small family. It blended into the landscape and had a simple wraparound veranda at the front to make the most of west-facing sunlight.

Zak stepped onto the veranda and opened the front door.

The functional theme was echoed inside with an open-plan living room and kitchen, and two small bedrooms tucked into the back of the house. But it was the hidden extras that Violet was interested in.

‘Bath water is recycled into sanitary plumbing?’ she asked.

Zak nodded. ‘And solar panels on the roof at the back provide energy. A central borehole has been dug ready to harvest natural artesian water and rain. There’s a large borehole for the whole village.’

According to the report she’d read back in New York, the eco-lodges had been a joint-design between Zak and Tanzanian architects to exact specifications, with as much locally sourced materials as possible, after which they were constructed and flat-packed in Montegova and shipped three weeks ago. It was clear this project was close to his heart as he inspected every corner of the dwelling, pointing out areas he wanted rechecked and improved in the yet-to-be-built units.

Peter answered every query, providing intelligent solutions when Zak demanded them. Before they left the sample house, it was clear why he’d been chosen as foreman.

Thinking she would be left alone with Peter to conduct her tour, she inhaled sharply when Zak fell into step beside her. Violet refused to glance his way, a little resentful that he brimmed with vitality after endless hours in the vehicle, whereas she felt hot and sticky and wilted.

They were circling back to the heart of the site when a volunteer arrived with a query for Peter. He made his excuses and left, leaving her alone with Zak.

‘First impressions?’ Zak asked.

She was impressed. She couldn’t deny it, so she didn’t. ‘It’s exceptional.’

Zak nodded. ‘There will also be a Montegovan specialist on site for the first three months to train homeowners on how to fix basic things should they go wrong.’

There was a pulse of pride in his voice that threatened to destabilise the picture she’d drawn of him. Threatened to soften a place inside her she needed to keep under tight guard. Lofty thoughts of the charming Prince saving the less privileged belonged in fairy tales.

‘Should I take that frown to mean you don’t approve?’

She shook her head. ‘I approve of all this. But I’m wondering about you,’ she blurted. ‘You have thousands at your command to do all of this. Why are you here?’

He’d taken off his shades when they’d entered the lodge and now speared her with the full force of his grey eyes. ‘You want to know why I’m supervising a project that bears my name?’ he asked, his tone bone-dry.

‘Don’t you worry that people will wonder what a Harvard-educated Mediterranean prince needs to prove by digging around in the dirt? That this is really some PR stunt? Like you said, it wouldn’t be the first time a privileged royal did this sort of thing in the hope of gaining points with the media.’

His shrug was chock-full of dismissive arrogance. ‘I’m in the unique position of not having to impress anyone or caring what anyone thinks.’

Because he had the advantage of status, wealth and drop-dead gorgeous good looks?

‘Not even that you want to make a difference?’ she pressed, a little unsure why she wanted to probe so deeply.

‘The results of my work speak for themselves.’

She couldn’t deny that. Beyond his military and academic accolades, Zak Montegova had made a name for himself with his family trust. Had rivalled and in some ways elevated his family name more than his semi-reclusive brother had.

But then Remi Montegova’s loss of his fiancée had resulted in his withdrawal from the social scene and the world in general, leaving his mother and brother to become the face of the royal house.

Had that put extra pressure on Zak? Was that why he held himself so stoically? Or was that ingrained in him for another reason? Realising she was back to dwelling much too long on the enigmatic man and not enough on her professional role, Violet turned away.

Only to have her elbow snagged in a firm hold. ‘The bush might look harmless but be careful about wandering too close to it. Stick to the designated paths. You don’t know what’s lurking in there.’

Right at that moment she was more worried about the heat singeing her whole being from his touch than bugs or snakes. ‘If I spend all my time worrying about what will jump out at me from the bushes, I’ll never enjoy my surroundings.’

Peter heard her response as he re-joined them and nodded his approval. ‘That’s the spirit.’

Zak sent him a chilled glance that had the man’s smile evaporating. Muttering an excuse about checking on their luggage, Peter left again.

‘You’re not here to enjoy yourself. You’re here to work. Taking unnecessary precautions could end up inconveniencing others,’ Zak declared.

He was right. And yet his retort stung deep. ‘That’s the difference between us, Your Highness. I give myself permission to enjoy my work. And by the way, I hadn’t forgotten why I was here but, thanks, I’ll bear your concern in mind.’

‘You’ll do more than that. I can’t afford to have my schedule disrupted because of carelessness.’

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. ‘I’ve just got here. I haven’t had time to be careless!’

His gaze flicked pointedly to the hat on her head. ‘Haven’t you?’

She snatched it off and held it out to him. ‘I’m not as fragile as you’d like to think I am. Besides, the worst of the heat is over.’

He didn’t reclaim the hat. Instead, he conducted a slow scrutiny of her body.

By the time his gaze returned to her face, she was hot and tingly all over, and it had nothing to do with the blaze of the late afternoon sun or the trail of sticky sweat meandering its way down her spine.

‘When was the last time you applied sunscreen?’ he rasped, his voice a shade deeper.

She couldn’t remember. ‘I’m not doing this with you. I’m a grown woman capable of taking care of myself. Find someone else to snarl at.’

They’d circled back to where they’d left the vehicles and Violet saw with relief that their luggage was being unloaded. She seized the opportunity to wrest herself away from Zak’s all-encompassing, disturbing presence. ‘I’m going to unpack. If we don’t have anything else to discuss, I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘You’ll see me in an hour and a half, when we meet for dinner to go over the schedule for tomorrow,’ he said silkily, but with that stamp of authority that said he expected his command to be obeyed.

Unable to resist, she glanced over her shoulder at him. Dark grey eyes regarded her steadily with a hint of challenge.

Violet resisted the urge to grind her teeth, reminding herself for the umpteenth time that he was her boss. He was calling the shots. For the next few months he virtually held her professional life in his hands.

Despite repeating all of that to herself, her temper still simmered by the time she reached the area where the tents had been erected on the east side of the site. She spotted Zak’s immediately since it was quite impossible to miss. It was the largest structure, set away from the rest of the tents on its own little hill. Plus the presence of two bodyguards guarding the entrance gave it away.

‘Miss?’ The volunteer who’d been escorting her had stopped several feet from her, drawing her attention from Zak’s imposing tent. ‘Your tent is this way.’ He indicated the path that went past the row of empty tents set a short distance away.

Frowning, she followed, her breath growing shorter the closer they got to Zak’s tent. Surely he wasn’t expecting her to share a tent with him?

‘I thought I’d be using one of these smaller tents,’ she said, aware her voice had grown husky and uneven. Hell, even a touch agitated. All at the thought of sharing a tent with Zak?

Yes.

No matter how much she tried to dice it, she recognised that exposure to him would fray what composure she’d managed to secure around him.

‘You are,’ the volunteer said, pointing to a medium sized tent tucked behind Zak’s and away from the smaller ones down the hill. ‘Well, it’s kind of small,’ he amended at her frown. ‘But you’re sharing Prince Zak’s shower, not sharing with everyone else down the hill, so that’s a bonus, right?’

Violet refused to examine the twinge that lanced her midriff at the realisation that she wasn’t sharing a tent with Zak. Part disappointment, part relief? She pushed the emotion aside and thanked the man, who propped her large backpack in front of the tent and left.

She dragged her luggage inside and looked around. A small desk and chair had been set up on one side, with a carafe of water and glasses on a tray. The single bed on the other side held a surprisingly comfortable mattress and beside it was a nightstand on which sat a small but powerful lamp. At the foot of the bed was a shelved cabinet and a wash basin.

Simple. Rustic. A world removed from the opulent Park Avenue offices of the Royal House of Montegova Trust and the glitz and glamour of the fundraising ballroom in New York. And even the country manor house her mother had moved heaven and earth to cling to despite their questionable financial circumstances.

Yet Violet felt a sense of rightness and homecoming as she set her case down to unpack. Done minutes later, she set up her laptop on the desk, checked her emails—thanks to the newly installed Wi-Fi system—and ensured there were no last-minute emergencies to deal with before re-checking the volunteer roster.

Then, because her roiling emotions needed sorting through, she lay down on the bed, her gaze fixed on the apex of the tent.

Zak Montegova was here and was staying for the duration of the project. She needed to get used to seeing him every day. As long as she maintained professional distance, she had nothing to worry about.

A few short weeks. That was all she needed to endure Zak’s presence...

Violet jerked awake, the realisation that she’d fallen asleep filling her with mild horror. A quick check on her phone showed she was ten minutes from being late to dinner. So much for her lofty assertion that she wasn’t tired.

She flew to the cabinet holding her clothes, selected a white T-shirt, khaki shorts and brown espadrilles. Washing as best she could in the basin, she changed her clothes, brushed and tied back her hair.

She stepped out of her tent and stumbled to a halt. ‘Oh, my God,’ she murmured, awed by the sight before her. The cloud was awash with bursts of orange, greys and indigos. The hues were so powerful and spectacular she lost the ability to breathe as she stared at the stunning sunset. Thoughts of being late melted away, the sheer beauty of her surroundings holding her firmly in place.

‘Is this your first?’ a deep voice asked.

She hadn’t heard Zak approach. Her stomach dipped alarmingly at the hushed gruffness in his tone. It was almost as if he didn’t want to ruin the moment with their earlier animosity. She didn’t want to look at him, fearing he would only add to the dramatic enchantment around her. But the sheer magnetism of the man drew her attention from the magnificent sky and sunset blazing over the lake, and she glanced at him to find his stormy gaze wholly fixed on her.

Heart thumping, she tried to recall what he’d asked her. ‘My first?’

He turned away, presenting her with his haughty and perfect profile. ‘African sunset.’

‘I... Yes,’ she whispered, a little afraid that speaking too loudly would make the glorious vision disappear.

The smallest hint of a smile tilted his lips, but it disappeared far too soon. ‘It has the ability to evoke weak-kneed reactions.’

She stemmed the wild urge to ask him about his first. Had he been alone? If not, with whom? It was none of her business. So why the next words tripped from her lips, she would never know. ‘I find it hard to believe you’re capable of getting weak-kneed about anything.’

Did he tense just then? Thinking it wasn’t wise to investigate too closely, and dying for another hit of magnificence, she turned back to the view.

But then he replied, ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were feeling me out, Violet. Are you?’

She opened her mouth to deny it, but the words stuck in her throat. Did she want a demonstration of Zak’s passion? Did she want to hear that deep voice murmur her name in that lightly accented timbre that slipped into his speech every now and then? Heat rushed through her, concentrating in her breasts and between her thighs as the power of his scrutiny singed her. Layer upon layer of sensation swelled, attempting to bury every precaution she’d recited to herself in the tent before sleep had overtaken her.

‘Because if you truly are, you only need to say the word,’ he added silkily.

Then she knew he was toying with her. Again.

It was there in the smoky mockery lurking in his eyes. There in the enthralling loose-limbed stance with in he held himself. But there was something else. Something ferocious that made her heart pound. That same intensity she’d spotted right before the ball, had sworn to stay away from because it was too dangerous but was now tempting her to peer into, brush her fingers against to test its true risk.

He shifted, turned to fully face her, as if offering her the very thing she needed to resist.

Her throat dried as the power of his masculinity threatened to knock her over. ‘I don’t need a demonstration, thanks,’ she blurted, almost too afraid of the tingling in her body as his gaze lanced over her. ‘I’ll let you practise your dubious skills on some other unsuspecting female.’

She stepped away from him but not before she heard his low laughter.

Far from thinking he’d received the message, Zak fell into step beside her, his long-limbed stride shortening to match hers. Violet clenched her fists, freshly helpless against what the scent of rugged man and aftershave did to her insides.

‘I don’t dally with unsuspecting females, cara. Every woman who’s graced my bed knows exactly what they’re getting.’

She stopped abruptly, the images he once again evoked wreaking havoc of the jealous, unpleasant kind with her equilibrium. ‘You shouldn’t take everything I say as a challenge.’

‘Ah, but then you have a unique way of saying things that makes me believe there’s more, always more you’re actually not quite saying,’ he murmured, his gaze conducting that skin-tingling scrutiny of her face that left her feeling exposed.

Sensually vulnerable.

‘How am I doing that, exactly?’

He stepped closer, filling every corner of her vision with his presence. ‘It’s your eyes, dolcella. You have the most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen. And unfortunately for you, they’re in constant conflict with the words coming out of your mouth.’

His gaze dropped to her mouth and the rush intensified until her whole body was on fire. ‘You either have an overactive imagination or you insist on seeing things that are simply not there.’

‘Do I? I guess we’ll make the discovery as to whether I’m right or wrong together.’

‘We’ll do nothing of the sort. They only thing we’ll do together is—’

‘Go to dinner?’ he supplied, more with amusement than with his customary mockery.

Violet wasn’t sure why his humour, even at her expense, eased and lightened something inside her. Made her almost...pleased to have been the source of his mirth.

This was totally insane.

‘There you go again, cara,’ he murmured. ‘Your innermost thoughts blaze almost as fierce as this sunset.’

She forced a shrug. ‘You believe you know what makes me tick. Perhaps I’m wondering the same about you. It’s natural curiosity that I’m unsure it’s worth fully indulging. That’s all this is.’

An edgy little smile twitched at his lips, but he waved her forward with a smooth elegance that proclaimed his royal status. ‘Then let’s go and eat. Perhaps by the time we’re done, you’ll have decided one way or the other.’

She wanted to ask him why he was taking an interest. But then that would be prolonging this...exploration. So, while she would’ve enjoyed lingering for a little while longer to watch fiery day blend into star-filled night, she headed for the large tent designated for meals and gatherings.

The scent of sausages, grilled meats and fish assailed her nose as she entered, sparking a growling in her stomach that reminded her that she’d barely touched her lunch.

She was aware of heads turning their way as she and Zak headed for the food table, just as she was aware that the interest was all for him. Helping herself to small portions of local dishes, fried plantains, ugali, a thick maize porridge, and sauce, and a sausage on a stick while Zak chatted with Peter, she chose a seat at the end of the long banquet-style table. This was supposed to be a working dinner, and she didn’t want things to veer off course again, so she activated her small tablet as soon as Zak joined her.

An email alert brought her up short. She clicked it, her heart sinking when she read the message.

‘Problem?’ Zak’s deep voice rolled over her.

She bit her lip, loath to start their meeting by confessing a setback. But there was no avoiding it. ‘Two of the volunteers have pulled out. One has an urgent family matter she needs to deal with, and the other’s changed his mind. I won’t be able to get replacements for a few days.’

‘How are you going to fix that?’ There was no challenge in his tone, only simple expectation.

‘I’m going to move a few people around, ensure there’s an even spread of skillsets to cover until the new volunteers arrive. And I guess this is where my general dogsbody role comes in handy. I’ll lend a hand where needed until the replacements get here.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll do the same. You and I can make up the shortfall.’

Something snagged in her midriff, robbing her of breath for a moment. ‘You’ll be helping to build lodges?’ she asked, frowning. ‘You... I wasn’t made aware of that.’

‘Would it have changed any part of your role?’

Yes, she would’ve been better prepared.

Before she could answer, he continued, ‘I designed the lodges and worked closely with the company that developed them in Montegova. I’m best suited to step in more than anyone else at short notice. Even you, Violet.’

When it came right down to it, she couldn’t object. This was his project, his name on the letterhead. It would’ve been easy to dismiss him if he’d been a spoilt, pampered prince, obsessed with his looks and getting his picture in the tabloids at every opportunity. But he was offering a sound solution to what could be an irritating setback.

‘If you’re sure...’

‘I’m sure, Violet.’ At her continued hesitancy, that edgy gleam returned to his eyes. One brow slowly rose. ‘Unless there’s another reason for your objection?’ he drawled.

Aware that the table had grown quiet, she firmed her resolve and shook her head. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘Good. Welcome to my team.’

The emphasis on my ignited that blaze between them again. She held his gaze for as long as she could withstand the flame, then focused on her tablet, aware that once again she’d been outplayed, had slid that much closer to the edge of an abyss whose depths she couldn’t quite fathom.

CHAPTER FOUR

VIOLET GAVE UP tossing and turning at five a.m.

She yearned to blame her restlessness on the different time zone and environment. But she knew the prospect of not only being in Zak’s presence but the steel trap of working closely with him for however long he intended to remain here was the reason she’d lain wide awake for long stretches of the night.

Showered and dressed within half an hour, she headed to the food tent, where the local construction crew and skeleton volunteer staff were gathered. She spotted Peter the moment she entered and joined him after getting her breakfast.

‘Good morning,’ he greeted with a wide smile, pulling out a chair for her. His scrutiny was quick but appreciative, exhibiting harmless male interest a polar opposite from the kind she was used to. The kind her mother keenly invited constantly in a bid to find her and her sisters the ‘right’ husband. Refusal to accommodate their mother was the reason her twin sister, Sage, had taken a job on the other side of the world in New Zealand and rarely visited Barringhall these days.

She glanced up as Zak stepped into the tent, immediately sucking up all the oxygen from the space and directing more female gazes to him.

For the first time since she’d known him, Zak was dressed at his most casual. Yet even the expensive light-coloured cargo pants and white T-shirt shrieked their exclusivity. Although she suspected that dressed in rags, he’d somehow find a way to exude effortless sophistication and suave elegance. With his broad shoulders, potent good looks and dark hair that gleamed damply from his recent shower, it was near impossible to look away from him as he sauntered over to where she sat.

His grey gaze went from her almost empty plate to her half-finished coffee. Unlike Peter’s, his scrutiny triggered fireworks in her body before it met her eyes. ‘Buon giorno,’ he said, his deep, raspy voice making her skin tingle even more. ‘I didn’t expect you to be up this early.’

She shrugged, aware of Peter’s interest in the exchange. ‘I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d make an early start. The quicker I acclimatise to the routine, the quicker I’ll shake off the jet-lag. Besides, the volunteers and trucks should be arriving soon.’ And as soon as she rid herself of this disturbing reaction to Zak’s presence, she could focus her excitement elsewhere.

‘That’s the best part—when the long wait is over and we get to see the structures actually going up,’ Peter enthused.

Violet smiled at him, his effervescence infecting her.

‘Let’s hope all that enthusiasm doesn’t suffer in the face of hard work,’ Zak drawled, folding powerful arms across a wide chest.

She swallowed against the electrifying effect of his muscled biceps and glanced away.

Peter frowned, then shrugged. ‘Everyone flags a little when faced with the scale of the work to be done but the ultimate goal is what pushes us all on. It’s why I love what I do.’

Violet couldn’t help but respond to his infectious attitude. She was still smiling when a female volunteer hurried over with a fresh pot of coffee and offered Zak a cup. For an infinitesimal moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze remained locked on Violet a touch longer before he gave an abrupt nod.

Perhaps it was a good thing he was in a disgruntled mood. It kept her mind from wandering into dangerous territory. Allowed her to steer her attention back to Peter.

‘How long have you been in the tourism industry?’ she asked him.

‘I’ve never really done anything else. I started off as a tour guide and volunteer, then joined the tourism board to find ways to help the rural areas like these find ways to sustain themselves. It’s in my blood,’ he said with a grin. ‘My Norwegian mother met my Tanzanian father on her gap year volunteering at an animal sanctuary in Dodoma. I was born a year after she finished her veterinary studies. When the opportunity came up to join forces with Zak’s and tourist board’s vision, I couldn’t jump on board fast enough.’

The sound of large engines ended the conversation. The arrival of the volunteers was followed an hour later by excited shouts announcing the arrival of the eco lodges.

Excitement and a keen desire to please the Royal Prince kept everyone on their toes all though the first day. Violet allocated tents and assisted where she could, all the while ensuring she kept a safe distance from Zak.

That plan shattered when he approached where she was filling water bottles to distribute to volunteers. ‘You were supposed to join me at lodge two after lunch,’ he said, his shoulder brushing hers as he joined her to watch the last of the lodges being laid out in front of their designated sites.

She shifted away from him, her insides a little too jumpy and tingly at even that tiny contact. ‘I’d planned to, right after I did this.’ She started to lift the tray of bottles but he beat her to it, brushing her aside to balance the tray on one hand as he stared down at her with a fierce smoulder.

‘Avoiding me isn’t going to work with this thing you’re fighting. You know that, don’t you?’ he rasped.

Despite her stomach hollowing out, she lifted her chin, daringly met his gaze and attempted to bluff her way through it. ‘Since I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m not equipped to give you an accurate answer.’

He stepped closer to make his point because surely a man like him didn’t give a little damn about being overheard? ‘I’m talking about the fact that you’re attracted to me, Violet. Have been for quite a while. The fact that you’ve been attempting to deny it. And the fact that your every action simply emphasises your naughty little dilemma.’

Should she bother denying it? Or should she confront it head on? Would the former merely attract further mockery because the evidence of it had lain like an unexploded firework between them since she’d made the mistake of throwing herself at him six years ago?

With a deep breath that failed to steady her, she chose the second option. ‘So what if I am? You’re decent enough to look at, and since you seem intent on alluding to my lapse in judgement six years ago, yes, we kissed, and, yes, that was halfway decent enough too. But let’s not make a mountain out a molehill, shall we?’ She wanted to fist pump for sounding convincingly nonchalant.

‘Decent enough?’ he echoed, something close to astonishment blazing in his eyes.

‘Did you expect a higher rating? My memory isn’t that great about the whole thing so you’ll have to accept my generous verdict,’ she said.

A circumspect gaze raked over her face. ‘You have more fire than I remember. Fire I can’t help but be tempted to stoke, to test the veracity of your claim. Perhaps even refresh your flawed memory.’

That sizzling need to throw herself into his particular fire blazed higher. She fought it with every shred of composure she could find. ‘You’re not going to get the chance. I don’t particularly care to repeat the performance. Now, are we going to deliver this water or waste time recounting insignificant incidents?’

A long pause followed by an enigmatic smile was all she received in answer before he pivoted and walked away with her tray. With no choice but to follow, Violet gritted her teeth and did just that. Of course, with his help, the job took half the time, meaning that within minutes he was striding purposefully towards their designated lodge, where the team was waiting for Zak’s signal to start.

His switch from sensually mocking into efficient commander was stunning and a little intimidating to witness. God, he would’ve been even more formidable in his military days.

Even more?

She shivered, drawing back from imagining Zak Montegova’s jaw-dropping body in uniform, those lips issuing commands and talented hands manning the controls of the fighter jets he used to fly—

‘Are you planning on joining in?’ he drawled.

She focused to find the small group looking her way, one gaze in particular transmitting his knowledge of exactly what she’d been thinking about.

Aware of the faint blush staining her cheeks, Violet pursed her lips and strode over, avoiding Zak’s gaze as she tore into the first pack. Luckily, he didn’t comment further on her lapse of concentration and fell back into instructor mode.

Once she and the volunteers understood the basic instructions on how to construct an eco-lodge, the time flew by. Violet grimaced at the ruthless efficiency with which Zak worked, the fact that he worked harder than most on even the most mundane task in a fraction of the time it took for the rest of the volunteers to achieve the same result.

She wanted to resent him for yet another skill, but the sensation that burned within her every time she allowed her gaze to stray towards him was...admiration.

He wasn’t afraid to put his mouth where his money was and relished leading by example. Of course, when sweat and the heat of the day resulted in Zak pulling off his T-shirt and tossing it aside to reveal a hard-packed, flawless and gleaming torso that rippled and enticed with every moment, she especially despised the fact that she couldn’t keep her gaze on her work, that her mouth watered and flames blazed deeper in that aching place between her thighs.

While his complete focus was on his task, unaware of or ignoring her stolen glances, which disgruntled her even more.

By sundown, the outer shell of their lodge had been erected and the primary emotion as she and the team felt as they took in the fruits of their labour beneath another spectacular sky awash with streaks of purple, red and orange was immense pride.

She joined the exodus towards the food tent, conscious that a shirtless Zak walked a few paces behind. Knowing the battle to keep her gaze off him would be harder, she lingered after she dished out her food until he was seated. Then she took the seat farthest away from him.

Peter joined her minutes later. But even as she kept a fairly easy conversation flowing, she was aware of Zak’s growing scowl from the end of the long table. Aware that the presence of the other man next to her irritated the enigmatic Prince.

Too bad.

Perhaps it might do his ego some good to know that she wasn’t one of the many females falling over themselves to hang onto his every word! With that wicked thought in mind, she laughed a little more enthusiastically at Peter’s jokes, met his gaze a little longer and didn’t object when he offered to walk her back to her tent, via the long way by the lake.

And when he bade her a perfectly gentlemanly goodnight, she retreated inside with a smile, ignoring the little dissatisfied hollow in her stomach as she gathered her toiletries and headed back out to take a shower.

While she was all for the luxury of a proper bathroom and conveniences, Violet couldn’t fault the special and simple delight of showering under the Tanzanian sky after sunset. The simple pump system delivered fresh water via a shower head and she sighed with pleasure as the cool water washed away the day’s grime.

Of course all that delight turned to chagrin when she realised she’d forgotten her towel. With no choice but to stuff her underwear into her wash bag and don her shorts and T-shirt, she re-dressed as quickly as her damp skin would allow and stepped out.

Directly into the path of Zak Montegova, leaning against a slim acacia tree, clad in only a towel.

He straightened at the sight of her, sauntering over with a mouth-drying swagger that made her every nerve ending jump to attention. Dear God, how was it fair for one man to be this attractive?

‘For a minute there I wondered whether I’d need to take a dip in the lake, in case you decided to use up all the water,’ he said.

She made a vague gesture towards the half-full pump to the side of the shower stall. ‘As you can see, I didn’t. There’s more than enough for you.’

He kept his gaze trained on her, not deigning to glance at the pump. And with each second she grew even more aware of her dripping hair, of the T-shirt sticking to her stomach and breasts, outlining her stiffening nipples. Of the heat gathering between her thighs when his gaze dropped down her body.

Had his breathing altered? Did that naked chest expand as he sucked in a long breath?

Get yourself together!

She started to turn away, keen to heed her screeching senses.

‘A word of advice, Violet. Whatever it is you’re up to with Awadhi, be sure it’s a choice you won’t eventually regret.’

Was he cautioning her as her boss? Or was this...personal? ‘You have a say in the work that I do. I don’t believe you have a say in how I spend my free time.’

‘Are you attracted to him?’ he pressed, a definite bite to his voice. ‘Can’t get enough of all that wholesome, salt-of-the-earth, tie-dyed goodness? Is that it?’ he mocked.

‘Why? Are you jealous?’ she taunted, exhaustion, a sense of injustice from being the butt of his cynicism and, yes, that constant, overwhelming need to give into the sizzling temptation he evoked just by breathing finally cracking her composure.

His nostrils flared. ‘That would imply he has something that I do not.’

That stung deep, made her even more rash. ‘If you’re not interested then why are we having this conversation?’

He stepped closer, bringing his tower of virile masculinity and solid potency far too close. Her mouth dried and her fist clenched with the need to touch. To explore. To taste.

‘You misunderstand me. The issue isn’t what I want. It’s what he doesn’t have. Which is you. Because I won’t allow it.’

Shocked, hollow laughter ripped from her throat, thankfully eroding a layer of need. ‘Won’t allow? You have a nerve! Who do you think you are, telling me what you will or won’t—?’

The rest of her inflamed accusation evaporated as he speared his fingers into her wet hair and drew her abruptly against his body. Hot, demanding lips slanted over hers, his arm banding her waist. He picked her up as if she weighed nothing, took three long strides and before she could take a breath she was plastered against the side of the shower stall, out of view of passers-by.

Zak held her immobile, angling her head as his tongue delved between her lips to begin a torrid little dance that instantly beaded her nipples, driving sharp, sweet pain between her thighs.

Violet had far too often relived their encounter six years ago, wondered if her recollections had been exaggerated because of the occasion, wondered if her childish crush on him was what had heightened her emotions.

This re-introduction was so much more than she remembered, her senses stunned anew as he expertly nipped her lower lip with his teeth and fresh, explosive sensation spiralled through her.

Perhaps she was older, hungry enough to appreciate him better, to savour this raw, intoxicating contact that had her questioning her sanity in allowing it one minute, then straining onto tiptoe, her arms trailing delightedly up those muscled biceps she’d admired to lock around his neck.

Whatever.

Caution evaporated away as she threw herself into kiss, tentatively nipping in return.

Zak made a hungry, greedy sound under his breath, muttered words in Montegovan she only half understood. Words that would’ve made her blush had she not craved it, yearned for satiation of the hunger growing inside her, demanding gratification.

She strained against him as Zak freed her mouth to explore the newly discovered erogenous zone beneath one ear. She shivered and gasped, clung tighter as he trailed his lips down her throat to her collarbone, then lower to one hard nipple.

His mouth surrounded the peak, taking flesh and cotton in one powerful pull. One hand slipped beneath the hem of her shorts to boldly cup her naked bottom.

Flames lit up her veins, pooling in a torrent between her legs. She gasped as, keeping their gazes locked, he moved his hand purposefully between her thighs, his fingers intent on one destination.

He absorbed her reaction, hungrily devoured her every shiver. With it came a speculative gleam in his eyes as he traced the heat suffusing her face.

‘No bra, and no panties. I’m not sure whether to spank your naughty little bottom for exhibiting yourself like this or accept this gift you seem intent on giving me,’ he growled against her lips.

Violet cried out as his fingers caressed her damp heat, breached her outer lips to rest against the soaked entrance of her womanhood. The hot brand of his own arousal jerked against her stomach as he absorbed her reaction, hungrily devoured her every shiver.

‘Is it my touch that excites you like this, Violet, or the thought of being spanked, I wonder?’ he rasped in a low, deep voice that strummed and deepened her need.

Frankly, Violet suspected it was both. And the more the thought seeped into her consciousness, the shorter her already compromised breathing grew.

Dear God, was she kinky on top of all her unwelcome woes?

Zak laughed beneath his breath, clearly witnessing her freaked-out expression. But slowly his laughter died, leaving a deeper carnal intent on his face. ‘Is there something you wish to tell me, Violet?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she gasped.

‘Don’t you? You react too strongly to such an ordinary pleasure.’ He squeezed her bottom again, kneading her flesh while boldly holding her gaze. ‘You’re all but hovering on the brink of orgasm from just this simple touch alone.’

He slanted his lips over hers once more, his tongue brazen, positively possessive as it slid against hers, determined to draw an even more potent reaction from her. Reaction she was helpless to deny as hunger clawed through her, wrenching her onto tiptoe again so she could taste more, drown more, feel more.

But that dim light of warning at the back of her head brightened, steadily but surely, slowing her reaction enough for her to pull back. A little too late she recalled what had happened the last time she’d allowed herself to give in to this sensation. He’d rejected her.

Nothing had changed.

Except this time she would reject him first. The last thing she wanted was to spend the next few weeks drowning in humiliation if he repeated the experience.

So, gathering the dregs of her composure, she bunched her fists against his shoulders. And pushed.

He growled beneath his breath for a second before he allowed her to break the kiss. ‘Violet—’

‘I don’t care what you think. I don’t want this.’

‘Define this,’ he insisted, narrowed gaze fixed on her wet lips for a tight moment before it rose to spear hers.

‘Any...all of it. I’m not interested in scratching whatever itch you may have. Now or ever.’

‘Such dire, sweeping pronouncements. Are you certain it won’t come back to bite you?’

She took a step back, then another since one wasn’t enough. His gaze dropped to her chest, landed precisely on one beaded nipple before switching to the other. And stayed.

Violet wished she could halt her agitated breathing. Wished she could stop her flesh from reacting to the ravenous hunger in his eyes. But he’d rejected her once and become entrenched in whatever dire opinions he had of her and her family ever since.

Falling into his bed would be as good as confirming everything he’d accused her of. And she wouldn’t be jeopardising just her body but the career she’d set her heart on.

‘Yes. I’m one hundred per cent certain I don’t want you to touch me.’

Dark rebellion glinted in his eyes but his words were smooth and immediate. ‘Very well. You have my word I will not touch you until you ask...no, until you beg me to.’

Alarm strangled her lungs.

Why did that feel very much like a challenge?

And as she watched him walk into the shower without a backward glance, why did she feel like he was simply biding his time until he won?

What the hell had he been thinking, making that prediction?

Five days had passed since their torrid little encounter by his shower. Five days of hell when either she plotted to drive him out of his mind or the little witch cast a spell on him.

Zak swiped an arm across his sweaty forehead and stepped back to survey another excellent day’s result. They’d shaved a whole day off their target, building two eco lodges in five days instead of six.

He didn’t apologise for being a harsh taskmaster when the occasion demanded, and the high fives happening behind him suggested the team didn’t mind, either.

Violet’s husky laugh made his stomach clench tight.

He didn’t want to turn around. Didn’t want to be drawn to her attention-absorbing face, her supple, curvy body or those control-wrecking legs she insisted on displaying in the bottom-moulding shorts she favoured.

As for her work ethic...

Contrary to his dim prognosis, she’d delved into every task with wholehearted enthusiasm, more often than not going over and above expectations. Not once had she protested.

Of course, he still had his reservations that she could sustain it in the long run—

A choking cough shattered his thoughts and intentions. He turned and found Violet doubled over, the subject of the team’s humour as she spluttered.

‘A little warning next time, please?’ She laughed through the coughing.

Zak’s gaze narrowed at the volunteer holding the suspicious-looking bottle as he approached, unable to take his eyes off Violet’s legs and plump, shapely behind as she bent over to cough again. The reason for her state became apparent when he caught the scent.

Pombe, the local alcoholic brew, was lethal to the unschooled. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded.

Everyone froze, their gazes avoiding his.

‘We’re celebrating. What does it look like?’ Violet responded, the humour dying from her eyes.

‘Perhaps you should consider celebrating with something a little less...potent?’ he suggested.

While the rest of the team sent him wary glances, Violet shot him a challenge-filled glare. All week she’d treated him to those defiant little looks. Having grown up in a Royal household where most people fell over themselves in deference and yearned to please, Zak found her attitude...uniquely interesting. Perhaps a little too much? Was that why he couldn’t resist needling her whenever the opportunity arose?

He shoved the suggestion away when her chin lifted.

‘Where’s the fun in that?’ she taunted, her eyes still shiny from her coughing episode.

Perhaps it was frustration. Perhaps it was disgruntlement that she wouldn’t fit into the mould he’d cast for her. Before he could stop himself, his fingers were wrapping around her forearm. ‘For those of you who prefer it, I’ve had champagne delivered to the tent to celebrate finishing early. Feel free to go and help yourselves,’ he said to the group.

Predictably, his announcement was met with a chorus of cheers and the team dispersed quickly.

‘Would you please stop manhandling me?’ she sniped as soon as they were alone.

He released her but planted himself in front of her. ‘How much of that did you drink?’

‘Policing my activities yet again?’

‘Only in the sense that you’re inviting a hell of a hangover by indulging in that stuff.’

She swiped the back of her hand across her lips, dragging his attention back to the full, luscious mouth he’d tasted. The mouth he couldn’t get out of his head. ‘Thanks for your concern but that’s my problem, surely? Have I done anything so far to compromise my work?’

He pursed his lips. ‘Not yet, but there’s always a first time.’

A flash of emotion, possibly hurt, darted across her face. ‘And you’re, what, positioning yourself as my champion? To save me from myself? Why?’

‘Because we’re leaving tomorrow. And I’d prefer you to be at your best, not hung over and jet-lagged when we return to New York.’

Her alluring eyes widened, right before she frowned. ‘We’re leaving? But we’ve only been here a week.’

Considering the words spilling from his lips were a surprise to him as well, he absorbed the astonishment well, he thought. Congratulated himself on the inspired thinking, even. ‘Do you think there’s something more you can learn by remaining here?’ he countered.

She bit her lip. ‘No, I’m sure I can put together an eco-lodge in my sleep now. But I thought we...that I was staying to see this project through.’

‘I’ve changed my mind. Why waste more time here when you can gain more experience on the next project?’

He could tell she was torn between the need to argue and the need to accept the carrot he was dangling. ‘Where are we going next?’

Zak shrugged. ‘I have to return to Montegova at the end of the month. Until then, my itinerary is fluid but it doesn’t lack requests for my presence at various projects. Who knows, perhaps I’ll let you pick the next destination.’

She turned away, casting a longing look over the site and the surrounding landscape. ‘This is a beautiful place. I was looking forward to my half-day off tomorrow to explore.’

Another spur-of-the-moment thought hit him. ‘You’ll have to make do with a visit to the phase two site, provided you can be ready to go immediately?’

She faced him again, surprise reflected in her eyes. ‘I... Of course.’ She looked down at her stained and work-worn clothes. ‘Give me a few minutes to change and clean up and I’ll join you.’

He shook his head, a stab of impatience driving him harder. ‘You’re not attending a red carpet event, Violet. You’re fine as you are. You can shower when we get back. Or, if you insist, there’s a lake you can use to wash up when we get to the site.’

Mutiny rose in her eyes and Zak’s muscles tightened, anticipation flowing through him at the thought of tussling further with her. But she tossed her head and with a shrug waved a hand at him. ‘Fine. Let’s go.’

She headed towards the area where the vehicles were parked. Zak let her go while he issued quick instructions to his bodyguard. The guard nodded and sprinted into action.

‘How long is the drive?’ she asked when he reached her.

‘Normally an hour, but we’re not driving. We’re taking the chopper. Come.’

The pregnant chef had been evacuated two days previously at the first signs of her labour, reducing the likelihood that the aircraft would be needed in the next few hours.

When they reached it, he held the door open for her, unable to resist glancing at her smooth bare legs as she slid into the seat. Her eyes widened when he took the pilot’s seat, leaving three of his bodyguards in the main cabin.

‘You’re flying this thing?’ she asked, tentatively taking the headset from him.

He didn’t miss her scepticism. ‘Courtesy of a full licence from the air force, I’m quite capable of it, Violet. No need to be afraid.’

He was gratified to see the scepticism melt from her eyes, although he wasn’t quite sure how long his groin would sustain the pressure at the sight of her breasts outlined by the dissection of the seat belt.

He was still debating the wisdom of this tour when he lifted off and headed east.

Through the mic attached to the headset, Zak heard her soft gasp as he set down ten minutes later on the flat landscape near the edge of Lake Lengai. Once again Tanzania was showing off its jaw-dropping beauty with another stunning sunset but this time against the backdrop of a cascading waterfall thundering into a shallow pool that fed into the lake below.

He’d chosen this spot for phase two primarily for the ready fresh-water source, but watching Violet dart from the chopper, unabashed joy on her face as she raced towards the waterfall, Zak took a reluctant beat to see the land through her eyes, to appreciate the beauty of his surroundings.

When he joined her, she was straightening from leaning down to run her fingers through the clear water. ‘It’s...beyond spectacular,’ she said a touch reverently, a lot mournfully.

‘Your tone suggests differently.’

‘Because the pool is shallow and wildlife-free. I would’ve brought a swimsuit with me if I’d known.’

Immediately, his brain supplied him with a vivid picture of her clad in a bikini. He shifted, almost growling at his body’s eager response.

His shrug was a masterclass in fabricated calm. ‘We’re both adults, Violet. Unless you’re once again naked beneath those shorts and T-shirt, you can improvise.’

In the fading light, colour washed her cheeks, strumming an elusive thought that faded before he could grasp it. ‘That’s none of your business. Shall we get on with the tour?’

The tour took fifteen minutes, and again she asked pertinent questions, her thoughtful observations backing her conduct on the project so far.

It didn’t prove anything, he told himself.

Her mother was equally as passionate about landing a fat cat for her daughter, preferably one with a title and bottomless wallet. All this...passion could be a carefully orchestrated plan.

Just like the general’s nearly successful strategy in those crucial and terrifying days after his father’s death. Just like the restless factions whose motives and whereabouts were still proving elusive to pinpoint in his homeland.

The reminder restored a little more calm, reasserting his sense and control. Enabled him to summon up appropriate dispassion when they returned to the edge of the lake, where his bodyguards, following his instructions, had set up their evening meal.

He walked past a frozen Violet to their picnic blanket. ‘Are you going to just stand there all night or join me?’

Suspicion filled her eyes as she ventured closer. ‘I... You set this up?’

‘I thought we could kill two birds with one stone. The likelihood that there’ll be anything left to eat when we return is slim. Sit down, Violet.’

Four solar lamps were positioned on each corner of the picnic blanket, providing ambient light as darkness fell.

He watched her sink down, fold her long, shapely legs beneath her before plucking a grape from a bowl. ‘You’re a prince. Isn’t it the done thing to summon a chef to prepare a meal from scratch if the fancy takes you?’

‘Of course, just as it’s this easy to arrange a picnic by a lake because I wish it.’

She’d fully expected him to deny her veiled insult, and he watched, amused, as she blushed again. He reached for the champagne bottle set in the ice bucket and worked the cork free, aware her gaze lingered on him.

‘Something on your mind, Violet?’

‘You mentioned your pilot’s licence from the air force. Why did you leave the service?’

Because the man he’d been dying to impress, the man he’d looked up to and called Father, had died unexpectedly, shattering a secret dream and leaving a nightmare in his wake. Not only had his father not been the man he’d thought him to be, his weaknesses had left the kingdom he should’ve been safeguarding in jeopardy. Only by strengthening their foundations in the eyes of the world had they kept from toppling over into the abyss the King had left by his death.

Not a subject he was in the mood to revisit right now. ‘I served my time until I realised I could better serve my kingdom in another role.’

‘But, from that meeting with the minister, it looks like you’re still in charge?’

‘Some matters of national security will always fall within my remit, yes,’ he said, aware his voice was clipped. He ended her questioning by popping the cork. She flinched but accepted the glass he passed her.

‘You were in a celebratory mood earlier. No reason why you can’t raise a toast to your achievements this week.’

‘You say that with a straight face, yet your dry tone mocks the very thing I’m supposed to be celebrating.’

‘Let’s leave the analysis for now, Violet.’

‘Because you don’t like hearing the truth?’

‘Because I’m famished and don’t wish to invite indigestion.’

For the rest of the meal they ate in silence that drew far too much of his attention to her face, her body, the movement of her throat when she swallowed.

The moment they were done, she rose.

‘Where are you going?’

She threw him another defiant glare as she walked away. ‘To take a better look at the lake, after all. At the moment it’s a little more appealing than the company.’

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