Captured by the Billionaire
Brooding Billionaire, Impoverished Princess
Robyn Donald
Beauty and the Billionaire
Barbara Dunlop
Propositioned by the Billionaire
Lucy King

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

Brooding Billionaire, Impoverished Princess

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Beauty and the Billionaire

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Evelen

Twelve

Propositioned by the Billionaire

About the Author

Dedication

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

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Copyright

Brooding Billionaire, Impoverished Princess

ROBYN DONALD can’t remember not being able to read, and will be eternally grateful to the local farmers who carefully avoided her on a dusty country road as she read her way to and from school, transported to places and times far away from her small village in Northland, New Zealand. Growing up fed her habit. As well as training as a teacher, marrying and raising two children, she discovered the delights of romances and read them voraciously, especially enjoying the ones written by New Zealand writers. So much so that one day she decided to write one herself. Writing soon grew to be as much of a delight as reading—although infinitely more challenging—and when eventually her first book was accepted by Mills & Boon she felt she’d arrived home. She still lives in a small town in Northland, with her family close by, using the landscape as a setting for much of her work. Her life is enriched by the friends she’s made among writers and readers, and complicated by a determined corgi called Buster, who is convinced that blackbirds are evil entities. Her greatest hobby is still reading, with travelling a very close second.

CHAPTER ONE

NARROW-EYED, Alex Matthews surveyed the ballroom of the palace. The band had just played a few bars of the Carathian national folk song, a tune in waltz-time that was the signal for guests to take their partners for the first dance of the evening. The resultant rustle around the margins of the room flashed colour from the women’s elaborate gowns and magnificent jewellery.

Alex’s angular features softened a little when he saw the bride. His half-sister outshone any jewel, her blazing happiness making Alex feel uncomfortably like an intruder. Quite a few years younger, Rosie was the daughter of his father’s second wife and, although they’d become friends over the past few years, he’d never had a close relationship with her.

Alex transferred his gaze to his brother-in-law of a few hours, the Grand Duke of Carathia. Gerd wasn’t given to displays of overt emotion, but Alex blinked at the other man’s unguarded expression when he looked down at the woman on his arm. It was as though there was no one in the room but the two of them.

It lasted scarcely a moment, just long enough for Alex to wonder at the subtle emotion that twisted inside him.

Envy? No.

Sex and affection he understood—respect and liking also—but love was foreign to him.

Probably always would be. The ability to feel such intense emotion didn’t seem to be part of his character. And since breaking hearts wasn’t something he enjoyed—a lesson he’d learned from a painful experience in his youth—he now chose lovers who could accept his essential aloofness.

However, although he couldn’t imagine that sort of emotion in himself, he was glad his half-sister loved a man worthy of her, one who not only returned her ardour but valued her for it. Although he and Gerd were distant cousins, they had grown up more like brothers—and if anyone deserved Rosie’s love, Gerd did.

Couples began to group around the royal pair, leaving them a space in the middle of the ballroom.

The man beside him said, ‘Are you planning to sit this one out, Alex?’

‘No, I’m pledged for it.’ Alex’s blue gaze moved to a woman standing alone at the side of the room.

Elegant and smoothly confident, Princess Serina’s beautiful face revealed nothing beyond calm pleasure. Yet until Rosie and Gerd had announced their engagement, most of the rarefied circle of high society she moved in had assumed the Princess would be the next Grand Duchess of Carathia.

Regally inscrutable, if Serina of Montevel was secretly grieving she refused to give anyone the titillating satisfaction of seeing it. Alex admired her for that.

During the last few days he’d overheard several remarks from watchful wedding guests—a few compassionate but most from people looking for drama, the chance to see a cracked heart exposed.

Made obscurely angry by their snide spite, Alex mentally shrugged. The Princess didn’t need his protection; her impervious armour of breeding and self-suffi-ciency deflected all snide comments, denied all attempts at sympathy.

He’d met her a year ago at Gerd’s coronation ball, introduced by an elderly Spanish aristocrat who had formally reeled off her full complement of surnames. Surprised by a quick masculine desire, Alex had read amusement in the Princess’s amazing, darkly violet eyes.

A little sardonically he’d commented on that roll call of blood and pride, power and position.

Her low amused chuckle had further fired his senses. ‘If you had the same conventions in New Zealand you’d have a phalanx of names too,’ she’d informed him with unruffled composure. ‘They’re nothing more than a kind of family tree.’

Possibly she’d meant it, but now, possessed of disturbing knowledge about her brother, Alex wasn’t so sure. Doran of Montevel was only too aware that those names were embedded in European history. Did the Princess have any idea of what her younger brother had got himself mixed up with?

If she did she’d done nothing about it, so perhaps she also wanted to see herself back in Montevel, a true princess instead of the bearer of a defunct title inherited from her deposed grandfather.

And Alex needed to find out just what she did know. He set off towards her.

She saw him coming, of course, and immediately produced an irritatingly gracious smile. The smoky violet of her gown echoed the colour of her eyes and hugged a narrow waist, displaying curves that unleashed something elemental and fierce inside Alex, an urge to discover what lay beneath that lovely façade, to challenge her on the most fundamental level—man to woman.

‘Alex,’ she said, the smile widening a fraction when he stopped in front of her. ‘This is such a happy occasion for us all. I’ve never seen such a blissful bride, and Gerd looks—well, almost transfigured.’

A controlled man himself, Alex admired her skill in conveying that her heart wasn’t broken. ‘Indeed,’ he responded. ‘My dance, I believe.’

Still smiling, she laid a slender hand on his arm and together they walked into the waiting, chattering circle around Rosie and Gerd.

Alex glanced down, a phrase from childhood echoing in his head. White as snow, red as blood, black as ebony. Snow White, he remembered.

And Serina was an almost perfect snow princess.

Exquisite enough to star in a fairy tale, she radiated grace. Her black chignon set off her tiara and classical features perfectly, contrasting sensuously with the almost translucent pallor of her skin.

She’d passed on one part of the description, though; her lips were painted a restrained shade of dark, clear pink. A bold red would be too blatant, too provocative for this Princess.

But they were tempting lips…

A hunting instinct as old as time stirred into life deep within Alex. He’d wanted Serina Montevel ever since he’d first seen her, but because he too had wondered if she was wounded by dashed hopes he’d made no move to attract her attention. However, a year had passed—enough time to heal any damage to her heart.

He stopped with Serina on the edge of the crowd of dancers and sent a flinty territorial glance, sharp as a rapier, to a man a few paces away eyeing Serina with open appreciation. It gave him cold pleasure to watch the ogler hastily transfer his appreciative gaze elsewhere.

The band swung into the tune and the crowd fell silent as the newlyweds began waltzing. Softly the onlookers began to clap in time to the beat.

Serina glanced up, tensing when her eyes clashed with a sharp blue gaze. Her breath locked in her throat while she wrestled down an exhilarating excitement. Tall, dark and arrogantly handsome, Alex Matthews had a strangely weakening effect on her.

Warily, because the silence between them grew too heavy, almost significant, she broke into it with the first thing that came into her head. ‘This is a very pretty tradition.’

‘The Carathian wedding dance?’

‘Yes.’

Neither Rosie nor Gerd smiled; eyes locked, it was as if they were alone together, absorbed, so intent on each other that Serina felt a sharp stab of—regret?

No, not quite. A kind of wistful envy.

Just over a year previously she’d decided to make it clear to Gerd—without being so crass as to say the words—that she wasn’t on the market to become Grand Duchess of Carathia. Such a union would have solved a lot of her problems, and she admired Gerd very much, but she wanted more than a convenient marriage.

Just as well, because shortly afterwards Gerd had taken one look at the Rosie he’d last seen as a child and lost his heart.

What would it be like to feel that herself? To be loved so ardently that even in public their emotions were barely containable?

Keeping her eyes on them, she said quietly, ‘They fit, don’t they.’ It wasn’t a question.

Alex’s enigmatic glance, as polished as the steel-sheen on a sword blade, brought heat to her skin. What a foolish thing to say about a couple who’d just made their wedding vows!

Of course they fitted. For now, anyway, she thought cynically. Somewhere she’d read that the first flush of love and passion lasted two years, so Gerd and Rosie would enjoy perhaps another year of this incandescent delight in each other before it began to fade.

‘Perceptive of you,’Alex commented in a level voice. ‘Yes, they fit.’

The music swelled, accompanied by a whirl of colour and movement as everyone joined in the dance, swirling around the absorbed couple.

Serina braced herself. Nerves taut, she rested one hand on Alex’s shoulder and felt his fingers close around the other as he swung her into the waltz. Anticipation sizzled through her—heady, compelling, so unnerving that after a few steps she stumbled.

Alex’s arm clamped her against his lean, athletic body for breathless seconds before he drawled, ‘Relax, Princess.’

His warm breath on her skin sent tiny, delicious shudders through her, a gentler counterpoint to the sultry heat that burgeoned deeply within her at the intimate flexing of his thigh muscles. Shocked by the immediacy of her response, Serina pulled herself a safe distance away and forced herself to ignore the sensual tug until her natural sense of rhythm settled her steps.

This acute physical response—jungle drums of sensation pounding through her—had sprung into action the first time she’d met Alex. Gritting her teeth, she resisted the tantalising thrill, sharp and adrenalin-charged as though she faced a sudden danger.

Did he feel the same?

She risked an upward glance, heart racing into overdrive when she met searing, disturbingly intent eyes. His grip didn’t tighten, but she sensed a quickening in him that he couldn’t control.

Yes, she thought triumphantly, before a flurry of panic squelched that intoxicating emotion.

Swallowing, she said in her most remote tone, ‘Sorry. I wasn’t concentrating.’

Then wondered uneasily if the admission had hinted at her body’s wilful blooming.

Rapidly she added brightly, ‘This has been one of the most charming weddings I’ve ever attended. Rosie is so happy, and it’s lovely to see Gerd utterly smitten.’

‘Yet you seem a little distracted. Is something worrying you?’ Alex enquired smoothly.

Well, yes—several things, in fact, with one in particular nagging at her mind.

But Alex wasn’t referring to her brother. He’d have noticed that plenty of eyes around the ballroom were fixed on her, some pitying, others malicious. Of the two she preferred the spite, although a hissed aside that had been pitched carefully to reach her ears still stung.

‘It must be like eating bitter aloes for her,’ a French duchess had said.

Her blonde companion had returned on a laugh, ‘I’ll bet the brother’s furious—once she failed to land Prince Gerd they lost their best chance of clawing their way out of poverty. And losing out to a nobody must be bitter indeed.’

Not everyone was as catty, but she’d noticed enough abruptly terminated conversations and parried enough speculative glances to know what many of the guests were thinking.

Let them think what they liked! Pride stiffening her spine, she smiled up at Alex. Oh, not too widely, in case those watchers suspected her of acting—but with a slow, amused glimmer that should give some of the eager gossipers a few seconds of thought.

‘I’m not distracted, and nothing’s wrong,’ she told him, her tone level and deliberate.

His black brows climbed for a second. ‘As you’ve probably noticed, quite a few people here are wondering whether you’re regretting a missed opportunity.’

At least he’d come out and said it. She tilted her head and met his calculating scrutiny with unwavering steadiness, praying he couldn’t see how brittle she was beneath the surface self-possession.

‘About as much as Gerd is,’ she returned coolly, hoping she’d banished every trace of defiance from her voice.

Alex’s mouth—unsoftened by its compelling hint of sensuality—relaxed into a smile that was more challenge than amusement. ‘Indeed?’

‘Indeed,’ she returned, infusing the word with complete assurance.

‘Good.’

She shot him a questioning glance, parrying a look that sent a quiver the full length of her spine. He let his gaze wander across her face, finally settling it on her lips. A voluptuous excitement smouldered through her.

Surely—yes, she thought with a triumph so complete she could feel it radiating through her—he was flirting with her. And she was going to respond.

But first she had to know something. That suspect recklessness gave her the courage to say, ‘I’m surprised you’re alone this week.’

His latest reputed lover was a gloriously beautiful Greek heiress, quite recently divorced. Rumour had it that Alex had been the reason for the marriage breakup but Serina found that difficult to believe. He was noted for an iron-bound sense of integrity, and it seemed unlikely he’d let a passing fancy for a beautiful woman compromise that.

However, she thought with another spurt of cynicism, what did she really know about him? Nothing, except that he’d used his formidable intelligence, ruthless drive and an uncompromising authority to build a worldwide business empire.

Besides, his fancy for his Greek lover might not be passing.

Alex’s tone was matter-of-fact. ‘Why? I have no partner or significant other.’

So that was that. Neither have I seemed far too much like a bald, much too obvious invitation.

Serina contented herself with a short nod, and kept her eyes fixed on the throng whirling behind him. He was an excellent dancer, moving with the lithe, muscular grace of an athlete, and wearing his formal clothes with a kind of lethal elegance that proclaimed the powerful body beneath.

‘So what’s ahead for you?’Alex asked coolly. ‘More of the same?’

‘More weddings? No one else I know is getting married in the immediate future,’ she returned, deflecting the query.

He met her glance with a glinting one of his own. ‘You’re happy just doing the social round?’

A little shortly, Serina replied, ‘Actually, I’m planning to go back to school.’

Alex’s gaze sharpened. ‘You surprise me. I thought you’d settled into being Rassel’s muse.’

‘We decided he needed a new one,’ she told him without rancour.

Her time with the up-and-coming Parisian fashion designer had been stimulating but, although losing the very generous salary was a blow, she’d been relieved when he’d decided he needed someone more edgy, more in tune with his new direction.

She had no illusions. Rassel had originally chosen her because she had the entrée to the circles he aspired to. The fact that she both photographed well and possessed the body to display his clothes superbly had helped him make the decision. It had always been a problematic relationship; although Rassel referred to her as his muse he’d expected her to behave like a model, and had only reluctantly accepted any input from her. Now that he’d made his reputation he didn’t need her any more.

And she didn’t miss his monstrous ego or his insecurity.

Alex asked, ‘So what are you going to study? Horticulture?’

Did he know she wrote a column on gardens?

‘Landscape architecture.’

She was so looking forward to it. She’d just come into a small inheritance from her grandfather, the last King of Montevel. Added to the money she earned for the column, the bequest would provide enough money for Doran to finish university as well as pay her tuition fees and living expenses.

It would mean an even more rigorous routine of scrimping, but she was accustomed to that.

‘I suppose that figures. Will you continue writing your garden column for that celebrity magazine?’Alex’s dismissive tone made it quite clear what he thought of the publication.

‘Of course.’ Loyalty to the editor made her enlarge on her first stiff response. ‘They took a chance on me and I’ve always done my best to live up to their expectations.’

Why on earth was she justifying herself to this man? She tried to ignore a turbulent flutter beneath her ribs when she parried his enigmatic gaze.

‘Why landscape architecture? It’s a far cry from writing about pretty flowers and people who never get their hands dirty.’

Allowing a hint of frost to chill her words, she said, ‘Apart from admiring the beauty of what they achieve, I respect the hopeless, impossible ambition of gardeners, their desire to create a perfect, idealised landscape—to return to Eden.’ Crisply she finished, ‘And I’ll be good at it.’

‘Your title and social cachet will see that you succeed.’

The comment, delivered in a negligent voice, hurt her. Especially since she knew there was an element of truth to it.

Serina hid her stormy gaze with long lashes. ‘It will help. But to succeed I’ll need more than that.’

‘And you think you have whatever it takes?’

‘I know I have,’ she said calmly.

For answer he pulled her hand into a suitable position for inspection. ‘Perfect skin,’ he murmured on a sardonic note. ‘Not a scratch or stain anywhere. Immaculately manicured nails. I’ll bet you’ve never got your hands dirty.’

The corners of her mouth curved upwards and her eyes glittered. ‘How much will you wager?’

Alex’s laugh smashed through defences already weakened by the feel of his arms around her and the subtle connection with his body, the brush of his thighs against her, the barely discernible scent that seemed to be a mixture of soap and his own inherent male essence.

‘Nothing,’ he said promptly, returning her hand to its normal position. ‘If you want to gamble you shouldn’t show your hand so obviously. Did you have a flower garden as a child?’

‘I did, and a very productive vegetable plot. My mother believed gardening was good for children.’

His expression gave nothing away. Hard-featured, magnetic, he was far too handsome—and Serina was far too aware of his dangerous charisma.

He said, ‘Of course, I should have remembered that your parents’ garden on the Riviera was famous for its beauty.’

‘Yes.’ Her mother had been the guiding light behind that. Working in her garden had helped soothe her heart whenever her husband’s affairs figured in the gossip columns.

The property had been sold after her parents’ deaths, gone like everything else to pay the debts they’d left behind.

The music drew to an end, and Alex loosened his strong arm about her, looking down with a smile that was pure male challenge. ‘You should come to New Zealand. It has fascinating plants, superb scenery and some of the best gardens in the world.’

‘So I believe. Perhaps one of these days I’ll get there.’

‘I’m going back tomorrow. Why not come with me?’

Startled, she flashed him a glance, wondering at his unexpectedly keen scrutiny. Why on earth had he suggested such a crazy thing? Yet she had to resist a fierce desire to take him up on his offer—and on whatever else he was offering.

Just pack a small bag and go…

But of course she couldn’t. Reluctantly she said, ‘Thank you very much but no, I can’t just head off like that, however much I might want to.’

‘Is there anything keeping you on this side of the world? An occasion you don’t dare miss?’ He paused before drawling, ‘A lover?’

Colour flared briefly in her cheeks. A lover? No such thing in her life—ever.

‘No,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘But I can’t just disappear.’

‘Why not? Haruru—the place I own in Northland—is on the coast, and if you’re interested in flora there’s a lot of bush on it.’ When she looked at him enquiringly he expanded, ‘In New Zealand all forest is called bush. And in Northland, my home, botanists are still discovering new species of plants.’

He smiled down at her with such charm that for a charged moment she forgot everything but a highly suspicious desire to go with him.

It was high summer, and the small, cheap apartment in the back street of Nice was stuffy and hot, the streets crowded with tourists…Photographs she’d seen of New Zealand had shown a green country, lush and cool and mysterious.

But it was impossible. ‘It sounds wonderful, but I don’t do impulse,’ she returned lightly.

‘Then perhaps it’s time you did. Bring your brother, if you want to.’

If only! Temptation wooed her, fogging her brain and reducing her willpower to a pale imitation of its normal robust self.

A trip to New Zealand might divert Doran from his increasingly worrying preoccupation with that wretched video game he and his friends were concocting. Prone to violent enthusiasms, he usually lost interest as quickly as he’d found it, but his fascination with this latest pursuit seemed to be coming worryingly close to an addiction. Serina had barely seen him during the past few months.

A holiday could wean him away from it.

It suggested a way for her to avoid the frustration of these past months, too. The sly innuendoes and unspoken sympathy, the rudeness of media people demanding to know how she felt now that her heart was supposedly shattered, the downright lies written about her in the tabloids—it had all been getting to her, she admitted bleakly.

If she went to New Zealand with Alex Matthews her world would assume they were lovers. How she’d enjoy hurling a supposed affair in every smug, avid face! A sharp, clamouring excitement almost persuaded her to agree.

For a moment she wavered, only to rally at the return of common sense. Just how would that prove she wasn’t hiding a broken heart or shattered hopes?

It wouldn’t. The gossips would accurately peg it as bravado, and therefore further confirmation of their suspicions.

‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said carefully, ‘and I’m sure Doran would love to visit New Zealand.’

‘But?’ Alex said ironically.

‘We can’t afford a holiday right now.’

Broad shoulders lifted in a slight shrug, but his gaze didn’t waver. ‘I share a jet with Kelt and Gerd, so transport won’t be a problem. And I have an appointment in Madrid in a month’s time, so I could drop you both off at Nice on the way there.’ He looked down, eyes glinting, and challenged softly, ‘Scared, Princess?’

‘My name is Serina,’ she stated, tipped off balance by the cynical note in his voice. ‘What reason do I have to be afraid?’

Apprehensive, yes. Her stomach felt as though she were standing on the edge of a high cliff. Alex Matthews was way out of her league. Yet Doran…

She looked across the ballroom to her brother, laughing with a group of young men, one of whom was his greatest friend, the son of an old associate of her father’s, another exile from Montevel. It was young Janke who’d introduced Doran to the excitement of computer gaming. Together they’d come up with the idea of creating their own game and making a fortune by selling the rights.

It would be a huge success, Doran had told her enthusiastically, and sworn her to secrecy in case any other video game creator got wind of their idea and stole it.

At first she’d dismissed it as an amusing fantasy on their part—until the project had taken over Doran’s life.

A month on the other side of the world might just break the spell.

Alex said bluntly, ‘You have nothing to fear from me.’

Colour heated her skin. ‘I know that,’ she said on a note that probably sounded a bit equivocal.

As though she hadn’t spoken, he went on, ‘And accommodation won’t be a problem—I live in a huge old Victorian house with enough bedrooms for a huge Victorian family. As well as being beautiful, Northland is interesting in itself—the first place where Maori and Europeans met and mingled and clashed.’

The hairs on the back of her neck lifted in a primitive reaction to…what?

Nothing, she told herself curtly. Although Alex’s tone was pleasant, it was also impersonal, and his offer to host Doran as well meant he didn’t expect her to fall into his bed.

Well, not right away…

Nerves zinging, she said, ‘It’s just not possible,’ and dismissed the subversive thought that a month in New Zealand would provide her with photographs and information for quite a few columns.

But Alex must have noticed that moment of weakness because he said, ‘Why not?’ And when she hesitated he went on, ‘Why don’t you ask your brother how he feels?’

He’d refuse, she was sure. ‘OK, I’ll do that.’

She sent another look across the room, intercepted by her brother, who strode across to them, lean and athletic-looking for someone who’d spent most of the past six months in front of a computer.

When Alex casually mentioned his suggestion Doran responded with his usual enthusiasm. ‘Of course you must go, Serina!’

‘The invitation is for you too,’ Alex said pleasantly.

Excitement lit up Doran’s mobile face, then faded. He glanced at Serina before saying, ‘I wish I could, but…you know how it is.’ He spread his hands and finished vaguely, ‘Appointments, you see.’

Alex said, ‘I believe you’re interested in diving.’

‘Well, yes.’ Doran’s eager response was a sharp contrast to his previous tone.

‘New Zealand has some fantastic sites—in fact, there are two magnificent wrecks not far from Haruru, but friends of mine are going up to Vanuatu in the Pacific to dive the reefs. If you’re interested I’m sure I could get you a berth.’

Doran’s look of extreme longing increased almost comically when Alex added, ‘They’re talking about diving the Second World War wrecks there, as well.’

Serina said quickly, ‘Wouldn’t you have to be an experienced diver to deal with those?’

‘Serina—’

Doran’s protest was overridden by Alex’s voice. ‘So what are your qualifications, Doran, and where have you dived?’

Doran launched into his CV and, when he’d run down, Alex said, ‘That sounds good enough.’ He looked at Serina and added with a smile that held more than a tinge of irony, ‘And, just to reassure your anxious sister, my friends are responsible and expert divers and I’m sure you’re sensible.’ He mentioned the name of a family famed for their exploration of the seas and the subsequent prize-winning television programmes.

‘Wow! And I’m a very cautious diver!’ Doran said, clearly forgetting that he’d refused the trip. He flashed an indignant glance at his sister. ‘You know that, Serina.’

She blinked. She’d had to learn thrift since her parents’ death, so that now the easy way the very rich moved around the world startled her, and the smoothly masterful way Alex had taken control of the situation made her feel the ground had been cut from under her feet.

‘Of course you are,’ she said, ‘but you’d have to get to Vanuatu, and we can’t possibly impose—’

Alex cut her short. ‘Doran won’t be imposing. My friends are taking up a yacht.’ He glanced at the man beside him. ‘You’ll probably have to work your passage.’

Cheerfully, Doran said, ‘That’s no problem.’

Without looking at Serina, Alex said casually, ‘I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning. Let me know when you’ve made up your mind. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better go and see whether Gerd needs me for anything.’

CHAPTER TWO

BARELY waiting long enough for Alex to walk out of hearing, Doran said defiantly, ‘Serina, don’t be so damned responsible. I’m an adult, you know, legally and in every other way. The diving in Vanuatu is absolutely fantastic, and since you let Gerd slip through your fingers this will probably be the only chance I’m ever likely to get to see it.’

Serina returned acidly, ‘I thought you were going to make your fortune with your wretched game!’

And could have kicked herself for letting his angry response get to her. Her brother loved her, but he needed a more mature figure in his life, someone he would respect and listen to.

Shamefaced, he admitted, ‘OK, I was completely out of order and unfair. I’m sorry. But…’ The words trailed away.

‘Anyway, you told Alex you couldn’t go,’ she reminded him.

He sent her a look of mingled exasperation and embarrassment. ‘It’s too good a chance to miss. I can organise it.’

Relieved, she retorted, ‘In that case, you’d be mad not to take Alex up on his offer.’

‘So would you,’ he said.

They measured glances. It looked as though he’d refuse if she did.

Surrendering, Serina shrugged and said lightly, ‘Fair enough. I’ve always wanted to see New Zealand, and it would be a fantastic opportunity to find material for the column.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Serina, loosen up a bit! Forget the column and being a big sister—just have a proper holiday. Give Alex Matthews a chance to show you how much easier life can be when you’re not trying so hard to be a role model.’

That hurt, but she smiled and said coolly, ‘Perhaps I might.’

Watching him stride away, she asked herself why she wasn’t exulting that—thanks to Alex’s unexpected offer—things had fallen into place so easily.

Instead, she found Doran’s final comment running around in her mind.

Fun? With Alex Matthews? She looked across to where he stood talking to the royal couple. Her gaze roved his face, unconsciously noting the strong framework, the lean body in superbly tailored evening clothes, the formidable, arrogantly effortless impact of his presence.

Tingles of sensation shortened her breath and hastened her pulse. He impressed her altogether too much, and that could be dangerous.

Of course, on closer acquaintance they might decide they didn’t like each other…

Serina dragged in an unsteady breath, feeling as though she’d been caught up in a storm, tossed and tumbled by strong winds until she didn’t know where she was going. Liking had nothing to do with the stark fact that whenever she saw Alex Matthews—or even thought of him—something shifted in the pit of her stomach and she felt a strange mixture of wariness and elation as her hormones raged out of control.

If she went to New Zealand she suspected she’d be even more vulnerable. Could she subdue this elemental response, leash it so she’d return unscathed after a month of close contact?

Put like that, it sounded idiotically Victorian—just like the mansion Alex lived in.

She didn’t have to go. Doran had clearly decided to take up his offer. She could turn his invitation down, retreat to normality…

And spend the rest of her life wondering if she’d been a complete coward.

Controlling an urge to gnaw her lip indecisively, she greeted an approaching couple with relief. But later in the evening she found herself face to face with someone she’d successfully avoided until then. Superbly dressed, the older woman was still beautiful enough to dazzle.

As she had dazzled Serina’s father.

Her mother’s anguish only too vividly remembered, Serina masked her dislike and contempt with a calm smile as the woman cooed, ‘My dear girl, this must be such a difficult time for you.’ Her words oozing an odious sympathy that clashed with her avid scrutiny, she went on, ‘I do so admire your courage in coming here.’

Serina held onto her temper with a stoic determination she hoped didn’t show in her face. ‘You are too complimentary—I can assure you it took no courage.’

The older woman sighed. ‘Such noble defiance,’ she said patronisingly. ‘So like your dear father—he clung to that magnificent aristocratic pride even when he’d lost everything. One could only admire his spirit in the face of such tragedy, and wish that he had been rewarded for it.’

Furious at the mention of her father, Serina couldn’t trust herself to speak, so raised her brows instead.

The older woman went on, ‘And for you, I hope that soon the pangs of being rejected will ease. A broken heart is—’ She broke off abruptly, her gaze darting behind and above Serina.

The back of Serina’s neck prickled and she had to stop herself from twisting around. She knew who’d come up behind her.

A warm smile pulled up the corners of the older woman’s impossibly lush mouth. ‘Mr Matthews,’ she purred, ‘how lovely to see you.’ Her tone was deep, slightly husky, and somehow she imbued the meaningless words with an undercurrent of sexuality.

A sizzle of emotion tightened Serina’s face, caused by something that came humiliatingly close to jealousy. She half-turned and met Alex’s hard blue gaze. After a second he looked away and greeted the older woman with aloof courtesy.

Her father’s mistress cooed, ‘As I was about to tell the Princess, repining is such a waste of time, but I see I have no need to bore her with lessons learnt over a lifetime. Clearly she has already packed away the past and is looking to the future.’

Serina met her smug smile with a stiff movement of her head. ‘So kind of you to take an interest in my life,’ she said, disgust and anger edging her words. How dared the woman insinuate that she was chasing Alex?

Smoothly, Alex said, ‘I’m sure you’ll excuse us, madam. The Grand Duke and Duchess wish to speak to the Princess before they leave.’

As they walked away Serina said stiffly, ‘You didn’t need to rescue me; I can cope.’

‘I’m sure you can,’ he said, a sardonic smile tilting his hard, beautiful mouth, ‘but I dislike vultures on principle. They foul the atmosphere.’

Serina gave a shocked gasp, followed by a choke of laughter. ‘She’s a horrid woman, but that’s really too harsh.’

‘It’s not. You are far too polite.’

A raw note in the words made her look up sharply. After the slightest of pauses he went on, ‘I like that little gurgle of laughter. I don’t think I’ve heard it before.’

‘I don’t do it to order,’ she retorted, furious because she was flushing. What was it about this man that turned her into some witless idiot?

‘Careful,’Alex warned, his voice amused. ‘The mask is slipping.’

Serina faltered. The hand beneath her elbow gripped hard enough to keep her upright, and for a second she wondered if she’d have bruises there tomorrow.

‘The mask?’ she enquired stiffly.

‘The one you wear all the time—the perfect-princess mask that hides the puppet behind,’ he returned with cool insolence, relaxing his grip.

Was that how he saw her—a lifeless thing hiding behind a disguise?

Squelching a foolish stab of pain, she stated, ‘I’m not really a princess—Montevel is now a republic so it’s just another empty title. And surely you must know that nobody is perfect.’

‘So what’s behind that utterly poised, totally collected, exceedingly beautiful face?’

Her startled glance clashed with an assessing scrutiny that sent a shiver scudding down her spine. ‘A very ordinary person,’ she countered, hoping she sounded more composed than she felt.

A very ordinary person still fuming over the exchange with her father’s mistress—and secretly thrilled by Alex’s cool summary of her attributes.

Thankfully they’d reached the royal couple, and Alex drawled, ‘Rosie, Gerd, tell Serina she’ll love New Zealand. I don’t think I’ve entirely convinced her that it’s worth crossing half the world to see.’

The brand-new Grand Duchess smiled up at Serina, her vivid face alight. ‘Of course you’ll love it,’ she said, her pride in her country obvious. ‘It’s the most beautiful country in the world—apart from Carathia. And as a Northlander born and bred, I’m convinced that Northland is the best part of it.’

‘Everyone says it’s glorious,’ Serina said, very aware of Gerd’s speculative glance.

Enthusiastically, Rosie continued, ‘And Haruru is just—magical. Huge and green and with beaches that match anything the Mediterranean offers.’ She and her new husband exchanged an intimate smile that indicated a shared experience.

Serina stifled another pang of envy.

Blandly, Alex said, ‘Gerd, perhaps you can reassure the Princess that she’ll be perfectly safe staying with me.’

Embarrassed by his bluntness, Serina sent him a furious glance and blurted, ‘I didn’t think—’ She caught herself and finished more sedately, ‘Of course I know that!’

Gerd’s brows lifted and the two men exchanged a look, a masculine thrust and parry that made Serina wonder. Although Alex and the Grand Duke didn’t look alike, for a second the resemblance between them outweighed the differences.

Then Gerd said levelly, ‘You can trust Alex.’

‘I’ll second that,’ Rosie said with conviction, adding with a wry laugh, ‘Even when he’s being a pain in the neck—actually, especially when he’s being a pain in the neck—he’s utterly staunch.’

Grabbing at her composure, Serina said, ‘I’m quite sure he is.’ She took in a swift breath and managed to smile. ‘I’m just not accustomed to making such quick decisions.’

They spoke for a few more minutes, then she wished them all happiness, and Alex escorted her back. Halfway across the expanse of floor, he said, ‘So are you coming to New Zealand or not?’

‘Yes,’ she snapped, making up her mind with jarring suddenness.

Lapis lazuli eyes held hers for a tense moment before Alex nodded. ‘You’ll enjoy it—and think of the columns you’ll be able to source. I’m leaving at ten tomorrow morning, so I’ll see you get a wake-up call in time.’

Serina’s fingers trembled as she fastened her seat belt. She’d used cosmetics to hide the toll a sleepless night had taken on her face, but nothing could smooth away the turmoil of thoughts and emotions knotting her stomach.

The previous night, raw from her encounter with her father’s mistress and Doran’s words, it had been easy to be defiant, but once the ball was over and Rosie and Gerd had been farewelled in showers of rose petals, she’d gone to her room wondering why on earth she’d let her dislike of the woman manoeuvre her into a decision she might come to regret.

And there had been a couple of shocks since then, the first when Alex had told her that Doran had left for Vanuatu halfway through the night.

‘Why?’ she demanded in the car that was taking her and Alex to the airport.

‘When I contacted my friends last night they told me they were already there, and almost ready to leave for the diving sites, so I got Doran to organise his own journey. He managed to talk himself onto several flights that will get him there within their deadline.’

She gave him a look of astonishment mingled with indignation. Doran had always relied on her to organise any travel arrangements. And who was paying his fare? A sick apprehension clutched at her.

As though he could read her mind, Alex said blandly, ‘Don’t worry about finances. Doran and I worked it out between us.’

‘How?’ she demanded.

‘He’s going to spend his holidays for the next year working for me,’ Alex told her calmly.

‘Working for you?’ This time she felt a mixture of bewilderment and relief. If Doran was working for Alex he wouldn’t have time to sit in front of a computer dreaming up fairy-tale fantasies of derring-do that might—but probably wouldn’t—earn him a fortune.

‘There’s always something to be done in an organisation like mine,’ Alex told her.

She eyed him sharply. ‘Why are you doing this for him?’

‘He was desperate to get to Vanuatu, and this seemed the best way to achieve that.’

‘It’s very kind of you,’ she said with reserve.

‘I’m not particularly kind,’ he corrected her, ‘but I don’t like to make an offer and then have to retract it. This way he’ll get the holiday he wants, and he’ll also see a bit of the world. As for working for me—I assume he’s going to have to earn his living?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then the experience will give him an idea of how the corporate and business worlds are organised.’

Serina had barely digested this when she discovered that Gerd’s brother Kelt and his family weren’t travelling with them.

Surprised anew, she said, ‘I thought—somehow I assumed they were going home with us—with you.’

He shook his head. ‘They’re flying to Moraze to spend some time with his in-laws.’

She’d watched Alex with his cousin’s small children, surprised and rather touched by their patent pleasure in his company. And his obvious affection for them hinted at a softer side to the man.

She’d looked forward to seeing more of them. But she and Alex would be alone—or as alone as anyone could be on a plane that boasted more flight crew than passengers.

A rebellious excitement welled up, so keen she could feel it thrilling through every cell. She, Serina Montevel, who’d never done a reckless thing in her life, was heading for a holiday on the other side of the world with a man she found wildly attractive.

Although attractive was far too pallid and emotionless a word. A sensible woman would have refused his invitation—would have kept on saying no until Alex decided she was more bother than she was worth…

Serina realised she was exceedingly glad that she wasn’t that sensible woman.

Alex broke into her scattered thoughts with a question. ‘Are you a nervous flier?’

‘No,’ she told him decisively, adding, ‘This is all new to me. I’ve never been in a private jet before.’

A black brow climbed. ‘You surprise me.’

‘Why?’

He leaned back and regarded her with enigmatic eyes. ‘I had the impression you spent a lot of time jetting around the royal circuit.’

‘Usually I drive,’ she told him evenly. Sometimes she used trains. It irritated her—no, it hurt—that he should despise her without bothering to take the trouble of finding out anything about her.

She went on, ‘And I’ve never crossed the world before. Is jet lag as bad as they say?’

‘Some people find it very difficult to deal with. I don’t.’

‘Ah, an iron man,’ she said sweetly.

His smile was swift and unexpected, sending a reckless shiver of pleasure through Serina.

‘Did I sound smug?’ he asked. ‘I’m fortunate, but I do take precautions.’

‘Such as?’

‘I always change my watch to the time of my destination.’ He extended an arm to show her.

Automatically, Serina noted the watch—a superb brand, classic and without ostentation. She dragged her gaze from that sinewy wrist, rejecting the memory of how strong it was. When she’d faltered he’d held her upright without any visible effort. And yes, he’d marked her. The bruises were faint and would soon fade, but she felt oddly as though she’d been branded.

‘New Zealand is nine hours ahead of us, and from now on we’ll be eating at that time,’ Alex told her. ‘If you can relax enough to sleep later, you’ll have adjusted to the local time when we arrive in Auckland.’

Sleeping wouldn’t be difficult. She’d spent a lot of last night staring into the darkness and wondering what on earth she’d agreed to.

Nothing, she told herself again. After all, Alex’s attitude, as well as his remark to Gerd and Rosie the previous night, had made it obvious that he was fully in control of his physical urges. Which had to be a good thing…

It was a pity she couldn’t quite feel any gratitude for his unspoken promise of restraint.

She bent her head and altered her watch to match his, saying, ‘Rosie says she drinks gallons of water and tries to spend at least ten minutes every hour walking or doing exercises.’

She’d been grateful for that information; at least striding around the cabin would give her something to do, something to concentrate on.

Not that drinking a lake of water or walking the whole way to New Zealand would slow the pace of her heart, or stop her from being so acutely, intensely aware of Alex she felt as though she was inhaling his essence with every breath she took.

‘Keeping away from alcohol and caffeine seems to help too,’ Alex told her laconically.

‘That won’t be a problem.’

However, when the engines changed note and they began to pick up speed down the runway, Serina decided she could use something strong and sustaining. Drymouthed, she peered out at the mountains of Carathia rapidly speeding past as the jet broke free of the earth and started to climb.

A weird, baseless panic clenched her stomach muscles. Deliberately, carefully, she relaxed them and kept her eyes fixed on the view outside.

Never in all her life had she behaved so impetuously. Never. Thinking back, she couldn’t remember when she’d decided that the best way to meet life was with restraint and cool composure. Possibly she’d just been born sensible and prosaic.

Whatever the cause, having been her mother’s confidante in the continuing saga of unfaithfulness and despair that had been her parents’ marriage, she’d vowed that she wasn’t going to endure pain like that. So far, no man had ever been able to test that decision.

Yet Alex’s caustic comparison of her to a puppet had been the final impetus that stung her into jettisoning caution and common sense to take this wild step into the unknown.

Alex leaned back in his seat and smiled at her. Her heart jumped and she relished an intoxicating sense of freedom. Half scared, half excited, she admitted that Doran had been right.

Unless she wanted to wear the princess mask for the rest of her life, she needed to break out and find out who the real Serina was. Restraint and reserve could go hang. While she was in New Zealand she’d be the perfectly ordinary woman she’d told Alex she was.

A sudden lightness, almost a feeling of relief, sent her spirits soaring. All her life she’d been an appendage to something or someone else—the daughter of her parents, Doran’s sister, the last Princess of Montevel, cousin to every royal family in Europe.

Even her career…Although she’d proved she was a good writer with a gift for painting the essence of a landscape in words, it had been her title—and the entrée it gave her—that got her the chance to write her first column.

Keeping her eyes fixed on the view through the window, she watched as, still climbing steeply, the plane wheeled and turned away from the Europe she knew so well, heading towards unknown, more primal shores on the other side of the world.

When the seat belt light flicked off Alex touched her arm—the lightest of touches, yet it ran like wildfire through her.

He said, ‘I have work to do. If you need anything, ring for the steward.’

She nodded, watching him surreptitiously as he moved across to a desk that had clearly been set up for business. Tall and rangy, the chiselled planes and angles of his face strong and disturbingly sensual, he dwarfed the cabin, diminishing the luxurious interior into insignificance by the sheer force of his personality.

What would he be like as a lover? Tender and thoughtful, or wildly passionate, as masterful as he was sexually experienced?

Her breath came faster and, to her shock, a languorous heat flowed through her, melting her bones and setting her nerves dancing in forbidden anticipation.

What did she know about loving, about lovers? If Alex made a move she wouldn’t know what to do.

He’d probably find that off-putting.

Or laughable.

Fortunately, the steward came silently through with a selection of magazines—including, she noticed, the one she wrote for.

Dragging her mind away, she checked her column, frowned at a sentence she could have framed better, then turned over a few more pages and tried to concentrate on the latest fashions.

Rassel had been right to sack her, she decided, frowning at one photograph. He was heading into punk, and she’d look ridiculous in his latest creations. She didn’t suit an edgy, rebellious look—her face and persona were too conventional to cope with the wild side.

Her gaze drifted across the opulently furnished cabin to Alex, dark head bent slightly as he read his way through a mountain of papers. He must have taken a speed-reading course, she thought idly, then forced her eyes back to her magazine.

Feverishly, she pretended to examine a tall redheaded model clad in scraps of gold leather and tried to concentrate on the text beneath, but the words jerked meaninglessly in front of her eyes.

After several minutes she relaxed enough to be able to breathe easily. Her lashes drooped. The hum of the engines and last night’s sleepless hours were a strong sedative. She opened her eyes and stared out the window, only to feel her skin prickle.

Was Alex watching her?

No, of course not. Disciplining herself not to glance his way, she looked down at the page again. The print blurred in front of her.

‘You’re tired.’

Alex’s voice made her jump and the magazine slid from her lap onto the floor. She scrabbled for it but the seat belt held her fast, and helplessly she watched his lean brown hand pick the magazine up and put it down on the seat beside her.

‘You might as well use the bedroom over there.’ His voice was level as he nodded towards a door off the cabin. ‘You’ll be more comfortable there.’

Because the thought of him watching her while she slept in the seat was unbearably intimate, she nodded and unclipped her belt, only to stagger slightly when she stood up and the plane tilted a little.

Alex’s eyes narrowed and his hand shot out to grip her shoulder. ‘It’s all right—we’re crossing the mountains, and this is minor turbulence. As soon as we hit cruising altitude things will settle down.’

Automatically, Serina straightened. ‘I’m not afraid, but thank you,’ she said. ‘I just wasn’t expecting it.’

Immediately his grip loosened. ‘OK now?’

‘Yes. Fine.’

She headed across to the bedroom, wanting nothing more than to put some distance—and a door—between them. His touch had scrambled her brain and alerted unknown hidden pleasure points in her body, sending secret pulses of sensation through every cell.

If this uncontrollable response was desire, she not only didn’t know how to deal with it, she found it downright embarrassing.

Her breath eased out in a long jagged sigh once she’d shut the door behind her. The huge bed was opulent, the cabin decorated for sleep, relying on subtle colours and the cool play of linen against gleaming silk, the soft luxury of a caramel cashmere throw. Her gaze fixed onto the plump pillows that called to her with a siren’s lure.

Yet more alluring, more compelling, was that unbidden hunger for something she’d never experienced, something she was afraid of—the reckless, dangerously fascinating clamour of her body for a fulfilment she didn’t dare seek.

‘So forget about it and start behaving like a sane person,’ she commanded beneath her breath.

She sat down and eased off her shoes, then swung up her legs.

But as her eyes closed she found herself wondering how many women had shared this bed with Alex.

CHAPTER THREE

THAT unwelcome query translated into Serina’s dreams, darkening them with images of pursuit. She was being chased by something darkly ominous, something that intended to kill her…Although she ran until her breath came in great sobbing gasps she couldn’t outpace her pursuer. A thin cry forced itself past her lips.

And then she was shaken so vigorously her teeth chattered.

‘Wake up, Serina,’ a deep, hard voice commanded. ‘Come on, Princess, you’re having a nightmare. Wake up and it will be over.’

Still in thrall to the dream, she huddled away from the imperative hand on her shoulder and catapulted towards the other side of the bed, only to be imprisoned by long fingers fettering her wrist.

Her lashes flew up; she stared at Alex Matthews’ grim face and, to her horror and shock, tears burned behind her eyelids.

‘It must have been a stinker,’ he said harshly, his arms tightening around her so that she was hauled up into the refuge of his powerful body, her cheek against the open neck of his shirt.

Warmth enveloped her, and his faint sexy fragrance. Gratefully, she curved into him, soaking up the bonedeep security of his vitality. She could hear his heart, fast and heavy, and anticipation burst into full flower inside her, so shameless and sudden she shuddered at the intensity of it.

Until she realised he was as aware of her as she was of him. Shocked, she jerked upwards, and this time Alex let her go.

‘Oh, good lord,’ she muttered, despising her lack of self-control. ‘Sorry—I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

And then her words registered. Heat washed her entire body in a flood of colour, and she had to stop her instinctive dive under the nearest pillow. Instead, she stared belligerently at him.

‘It’s all right,’ he said shortly. He got to his feet and looked down at her. ‘Do you have nightmares often?’

Serina managed to rally enough fragments of her usual composure to say in a voice that was almost level, ‘Occasionally—but doesn’t everyone?’

Not Alex Matthews, she’d be prepared to wager.

He said, ‘Want to talk about it?’

‘No,’ she returned abruptly, then flushed. ‘Sorry again; that was rude of me.’

‘Sometimes talking about something will banish the fear.’

He sounded only mildly interested but after one rapid glance at him she looked away, her nerves stretched so taut she could feel them twanging.

However, he had comforted her so he deserved some sort of explanation. Reluctantly, she said, ‘I think it’s a standard nightmare—I was being chased, running like crazy but not being able to escape whoever or whatever was after me. I can never see what it is I’m afraid of, which is idiotic.’

If only she could see it she’d be able to face it and deal with it, but the terrifying menace had never revealed itself to her.

She should have outgrown it years ago. Her mother had told her it was a growing-up dream, a fear of leaving childhood behind and becoming an adult, but Serina no longer believed that. She’d had to grow up the year she’d turned eighteen, the year her parents had died.

‘Expecting dreams to follow any sort of logic sounds like a recipe for futility,’ Alex said casually.

She tried a pale smile. ‘Oh, well, it’s over. Thank you very much for rescuing me.’

There was no immediate answer, and she looked up again to catch a frown before he asked in the same impersonal tone, ‘Can you think of any reason for having it now?’

With an attempt at her usual crispness she said, ‘No. But then, as you’ve just pointed out, dreams don’t necessarily have a reason.’

His brows smoothed out, leaving his bold face unreadable. ‘A meal will be ready soon. If you’d like a shower, feel free to use the bathroom.’

‘I’d like that very much.’ As he turned to go, she added, ‘Thank you. You’ve been very kind.’

‘No problem,’ he said over his shoulder as he left.

For a few seconds Serina sat very still, deliberately allowing her shoulders to sag while she breathed slowly and steadily in an attempt to relax.

What a fool she’d been! Dear heaven, the moment Alex lifted her she should have pulled away and found the self-control to reject his well-meant comfort politely but definitely.

Instead, she’d snuggled—yes, snuggled—into him as though he were her last refuge in a dangerous world.

And it had been wonderful—strong arms around her, that faint disturbing scent that was his alone, his body quickening into life against hers…

Until she’d realised what she was doing—what she’d been begging for.

Humiliation roiled through her in a sick flood. Biting her lip, she opened the door into the small, luxurious bathroom and turned the shower onto cold.

Alex looked up when she emerged, every hair in place, cosmetics subtly renewed. The mask was back, he thought sardonically, and this time set in concrete. A piercing twist of hunger took him by surprise. Irritated, he tried to banish it.

Why did she exasperate him so much? Because she’d turned a defunct royal connection into a lifestyle? A clearly profitable lifestyle, if her wardrobe was anything to go by.

No, that was unfair; her clothes were almost certainly advertisements for the designer she’d been a muse for.

What the hell did a muse do? Nothing, he suspected, beyond attracting attention and showing off the couture clothes made for her. If so, the designer had chosen well; Serina of Montevel had connections to royalty all over Europe, and she looked superb in the subtly sensuous clothes that draped her elegant body.

Which didn’t alter the fact that Alex despised people who played on their heritage, their title or their position.

Yet he didn’t seem to be able to despise Serina—Princess Serina, he reminded himself. He’d not only invited her to stay with him, he’d organised a holiday for her brother to keep him out of mischief, and promised him holiday work for a year.

So why was he pushing his way into her life? Because she was a challenge?

He dismissed that thought; he’d never regarded women as trophies, the harder to win the more prestigious. As for her kid brother—well, he quite liked the boy, and keeping him away from the pack of wolves he’d inadvertently fallen in with would be to Gerd and Rosie’s advantage because Montevel and Carathia shared a border.

And the Princess? She intrigued him.

Reduced to the most basic level, he wanted her. And it cut both ways—he was too experienced to misread the quick fluctuations of colour in her exquisite skin, the subtle alterations in her breathing, the tiny physical signals she couldn’t control.

Fight it with everything she had—and she was certainly doing that—the elegant Princess Serina couldn’t hide her response to him. Yet she’d made it plain she resented the mindless tug of desire and had no intention of acting on it. Which probably meant that just as the attraction was mutual, so was the exasperation.

It seemed a waste, but it was her decision to make.

He glanced at her serene face as she lowered herself gracefully into the chair and picked up a magazine.

Last night the woman who’d finally wrecked her parents’ marriage and possibly caused their deaths had insinuated that Serina was on the lookout for a rich husband. He despised the woman—and himself for not being able to banish her words from his mind.

Perhaps Serina was saving herself for marriage, although he’d heard rumours of a couple of serious relationships. Since when had he allowed himself to worry about rumours? The elegant, intelligent, exquisitely mannered Princess with social kudos to spare would be the perfect wife for any man who could afford her.

With Gerd’s marriage a sure thing, had Serina seen Rosie’s half-brother—certainly not royal, but rich and well-connected—as a possible second-best?

And if Serina knew more about her brother’s conspiracy than Gerd’s security men had been able to uncover, then a wealthy, besotted husband would be a definite asset in their plans.

Mentally he shrugged. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had pursued him for reasons of her own, and he doubted if it would be the last. And if Princess Serina thought she could manipulate him into anything with coyness she was hugely mistaken.

He might find her very attractive, but he was fully in control of his sexual urges.

If she had wondered whether he was good husband material, she was clearly now having second thoughts. On that bed she’d catapulted out of his arms as though he’d been the unknown, terrifying pursuer of her dream.

Or perhaps, he thought cynically, she’d decided that giving in too soon would lower her value in his eyes…

He was surprised at his relief when the arrival of the steward offering drinks before the meal interrupted his thoughts.

After she’d eaten Serina opened her elderly laptop to map out several future columns. The previous night she’d spent some of her sleepless hours on the Internet researching New Zealand and its plant life.

‘Anything I can help you with?’Alex asked casually.

‘I don’t know.’ But he seemed interested, so she went on, ‘I emailed my editor, and she’s quite excited about my visit to New Zealand. Europeans know all about formal and English country gardens, but she and I are sure the readers will enjoy something different and new.’

Alex said, ‘Most of the gardens will be very informal, and you won’t be able to give your readers a titillating glimpse into the private lives of the aristocracy. We don’t have one.’

‘Really?’ Serina didn’t try to repress her sarcasm. Was he being deliberately insulting? OK, so he had a point; on occasion she’d inserted innocuous information about the owners in her column, but she hoped that wasn’t the main reason for her readers’ loyalty.

‘Actually,’ she purred sweetly, ‘if you’d ever read my column you’d know that the gardens are the stars, not the people who own them. And to make sure I haven’t inadvertently invaded the owners’ privacy I show them the copy before it goes to the editor.’

‘So it’s a collaborative enterprise?’

Repressing an unusual impulse to snap back, she returned, ‘Besides, if I relied on gossip to sell my work I’d soon find my choice of gardens drying up. I’ve done some research, and it seems that in Northland alone there are several magnificent places that I’m sure would interest my readers.’ Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘How about yours?’

‘I like it,’ he said neutrally, his eyes hardening. ‘But I won’t allow anyone to write about it.’

‘Fine,’ she said, showing her teeth as she bit out the word.

Arrogant man! She hoped very much he wasn’t going to be like this the whole time she was in New Zealand.

However, for the rest of the trip he was thoughtful and pleasant—and extremely stimulating, she thought gloomily as she gazed through a window at the city of Auckland sprawled out across a narrow isthmus.

She’d read, written, taken frequent walks around the cabin that eased the stiffness of the long journey, but refused to nap again in the luxurious sleeping cabin. Awash with industrial quantities of water, she was looking forward to fresh air, and a night in a bed that was firmly anchored to the ground.

She risked a glance at Alex beside her. That now familiar slow burn of sensation in the pit of her stomach made her hesitate a half-second before she said, ‘It’s beautiful—a splendid setting. I hadn’t realised the city was so big.’

He shrugged. ‘New Zealanders like living on their own land. And while we might have only four million inhabitants, a million of them live in Auckland. In area the country’s almost as big as Italy.’

‘How far away is Haruru?’ She pronounced the word carefully.

‘Well done,’ he said, his smile quickening her pulse. ‘It’s half an hour’s flight north. I’m afraid I have a function to attend in Auckland tonight, so we’ll spend the night at my apartment here, then head home tomorrow morning.’

Serina thought she’d hidden her surprise, but a black brow lifted and he said dryly, ‘Perhaps I should have mentioned that before.’

Chagrined, she shook her head and made a mental memo to watch her expression more closely. ‘Of course not,’ she said in her most practical tone.

‘I’m sorry to have to leave you alone for your first night in New Zealand.’

She laughed. ‘Nonsense. The last thing I want to do is go out for the evening.’

For most of the journey he’d worked solidly, except when he joined her for meals. She’d insisted he take the bed when he decided to sleep, pointing out that as she was shorter she’d be more comfortable in the reclining chair. He’d politely accepted.

If he’d been trying to convey his total lack of interest in her, he’d succeeded.

Serina despised the pang that thought produced.

She was far too conscious of Alex to be comfortable in his presence. He made the world seem a larger, more intriguing place, stirring her senses into hyperdrive and awakening reactions—both physical and mental—that were not only inconvenient but scary.

She must have been mad to agree to come, but four weeks wasn’t too long. She’d cope.

She hoped…

The plane eased down to a smooth landing at an airport near one of the city’s two harbours. Customs and immigration formalities quickly over, she walked beside Alex to a waiting car.

The driver, a tall, solidly built man, olive-skinned and with finely chiselled features, greeted Alex with a smile. ‘Good trip?’ he asked.

Alex’s return smile made him younger and more approachable than Serina had ever seen him.

‘Excellent, thanks, Craig. How’s the family?’

Craig beamed. ‘Brilliant.’ He took Serina’s bag and manoeuvred it into the boot before announcing, ‘The boy’s walking.’

Alex laughed. ‘So you don’t know what’s hit you?’

‘He’s a hell-child—into everything. It’s total mayhem,’ Craig told him, his proud smile contradicting his words.

Alex introduced Craig Morehu to her. They shook hands and Serina asked, ‘How old is your son?’

‘Ten months,’ Craig said with even more pride, and grinned at her surprise. ‘Yes, apparently he’s advanced for his age.’

Alex said, ‘Serina, if you don’t mind, Craig and I need to talk business so I’ll sit in the front seat with him.’

‘Of course I don’t mind,’ she said politely, and during the journey kept her gaze to either side of the car, ignoring the width of Alex’s shoulders and the incisive tone of his voice as he and the driver spoke together.

Auckland was leafy and green and busy, the motorway bordered by shrubs and trees, many of which she didn’t recognise. Small volcanic cones, most covered in brilliantly green grass, seemed to pop into view wherever she looked, and the twin harbours wove in and out of the land so that each change of direction revealed a new vista.

Alex’s apartment was richly welcoming, a big penthouse in a solid nineteenth-century building that had been turned into a hotel. Furnished in traditional style with huge timber-framed windows that took in magnificent views of the harbour and cityscape, the rooms were warmed by flowers.

Serina didn’t know what she’d expected—something uncompromisingly minimalist to go with what she knew of Alex’s character?

But the decor had probably been produced by a decorator. All Alex would have had to do was throw money at it.

Then she saw the telescope aimed at the harbour. Her father had had one just like it; it still stood in the tiny back street apartment in Nice she shared with Doran when he was home.

She repressed a swift pang of homesickness as Alex showed her into a large bedroom with its own bathroom. This was more feminine, the comfort factor still very evident.

Alex said, ‘If you need anything let me know, or ring the bell. I’ll be with Craig for another half an hour, and after that we could fill in time by either swimming or playing tennis on the residents’ court. Which would you prefer?’

‘Tennis,’ she said instantly, repressing a forbidden image of him stripped down and glistening…

She suspected he was surprised, but could read nothing in his angular face as he said, ‘Then tennis it will be.’

After she’d unpacked she set up her laptop and sent an email to Doran to tell him she’d arrived; he’d already sent one to her, brief but enthusiastic. Clearly, he was enjoying himself.

Spirits rising, she spent a long time in the shower, her dry skin luxuriating in the cool water. The shorts and T-shirt she changed into were neat and practical, although when Alex saw her she was suddenly—foolishly—too aware of her bare legs and arms.

He was wearing shorts and a shirt too, and something very odd happened in the pit of Serina’s stomach. Lean and tanned, the lithe power of his body revealed without the sophisticated covering of his more formal clothes, Alex was—overwhelming.

Serina swallowed, heartily glad she’d chosen tennis. If he had this impact on her fully clothed, she’d probably have fainted at the sight of him in swimming trunks, she thought disparagingly.

‘What standard do you play?’ he asked as they went down to the court.

‘Average. You?’

He shrugged. ‘Lousy, I imagine—I haven’t played for years.’

Possibly not, but the powerful coil and flow of muscle beneath his shirt told her he exercised in some way. And she soon discovered he played a fierce game, revealing a natural athleticism that forced Serina onto the defensive. Fully extended, she set her lips firmly and fought back, determined not to let him win easily.

As they walked back to the penthouse after her honourable defeat, he commented, ‘You’re a fighter.’

Was that a note of surprise in his voice? Good, she thought.

‘I try very hard not to lose,’ she told him, conscious of her T-shirt clinging to her damp skin and knowing she badly needed another shower.

But she’d enjoyed the hard physical tussle, and the fact that she’d made Alex work for his victory. One of her mother’s favourite sayings had been that a man needed to know he was stronger than the woman in his life. Her mother had been wrong. It might apply to men who were fundamentally weak, but Serina didn’t believe Alex would have been shattered if he’d been beaten. His innate self-confidence came from something much more firmly based than a constant need to prove himself a winner.

‘I don’t know of anyone who likes losing,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I certainly don’t.’

It could have been a warning, but she was oddly warmed by his considered response. It seemed to indicate a relaxation of the formidable authority she found so intimidating.

She said, ‘It must be a characteristic of the men in your family. Kelt and Gerd are both win-at-all-costs men.’

‘Do you think so?’ He frowned. ‘We like to win—we work hard at doing just that—but I wouldn’t have said that any of us see victory as a goal worth achieving no matter what the cost.’

For once she’d let her tongue run away with her. ‘I overstated the case,’ she agreed. ‘Winning is important to them, though.’

‘And to the men in your family too, I understand. So do you think your brother has any chance of getting back the Montevel throne?’ he asked, his tone unchanged.

Stunned, Serina stared at him. He was watching her closely, and something about his total lack of expression chilled her. She asked incredulously, ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘Come on, Princess, surely you knew your brother and a bunch of other exiled Montevellans are plotting to regain the throne?’

They had stopped at the elevator that led to the penthouse. As she stepped inside, Serina’s brain came up with the answer and she started to laugh.

‘You’re talking about their computer game, aren’t you?’

‘Is that what it is?’ His tone was neutral, at variance with his probing gaze, hard as quartz.

He pressed the button and the elevator whooshed upwards, leaving her stomach behind. ‘How did you hear about it?’ she asked.

‘News gets around.’

She frowned. ‘They’ll be worried about that. Doran said the gaming world is really cut-throat, and they don’t want anyone to know what they’re working on until it’s ready for production.’ She looked up at Alex. ‘Do you have any interests in that area?’

‘No,’ he said bluntly. ‘And I think you’ve just insulted me. Even if I did have a financial interest in the creation of video games, I wouldn’t steal other people’s ideas.’

Serina flushed. This man had a seriously weakening effect on her normal good manners, and his reputation for integrity gave Serina no reason to disbelieve him.

Nevertheless, she asked, ‘How did you get to hear about it? Doran only told me about it because I was angry at the amount of time he was spending on the computer, and even then he swore me to secrecy. He said they were all being really close-mouthed about it.’

‘Tell me about this game,’ Alex said dryly.

When she hesitated he continued with a flick of hauteur, ‘Of course, if you think I can’t be trusted—’

‘I’m sure you can be,’ Serina said, making up her mind, and rather glad to confide in someone. ‘It started just before the end of last year. One of Doran’s friends is an ardent game player, and apparently when they were talking about Montevel one night he thought of using Montevel itself, and the idea of restoring the monarchy, as the basis for a world-building game. They’ve all become fascinated by it.’ Her smile was a little lopsided. ‘Partly because they hope that if it takes off they’ll become instant millionaires. Doran’s had a lot of fun working out what he’ll do with his share.’

Alex lifted an eyebrow. ‘And that is?’

‘Sail around the world in a super yacht to all the really good diving spots,’ she told him wryly.

‘So what’s your part in it?’

The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. She said, ‘None—unless you count nagging Doran about staying up all night when he’s working out more tricks and turns to the game. His latest idea is the introduction of a nest of vampires in the mountains on the border of Carathia and Montevel.’

Alex unlocked the door to the penthouse. Should she tell him she was starting to get seriously concerned about Doran’s obsession with the game?

No. Loyalty to her brother and a lifetime of keeping her own counsel warned her to stay silent.

Alex stood back to let her into the apartment. She walked through into the living room and stopped by the window, looking out at the view.

The sounds of the city were muted by the glass and the wide terrace outside and, although she couldn’t see Alex, she could feel his presence behind her.

It was thanks to Alex that her brother was in Vanuatu—and she hoped he was enjoying himself so much that when he came back the game would no longer have such a grip on him.

Alex said evenly, ‘So it’s just a fantasy war game concocted by a group of kids brought up on stories of the good old days in Montevel?’

Serina turned. Her heart missed a beat. He was watching her mouth and a glint in the dark, unreadable blue of his eyes set her pulse skyrocketing.

‘What else could it be?’ Her voice shook a little, and her hands were too tightly folded—almost clenched at her sides. Deliberately, she relaxed them, producing a coolly amused smile. ‘Has someone been feeding you stories of a bunch of battle-hardened revolutionaries?’

Something about Alex’s answering smile—a hint of ruthlessness—sent tiny cold shivers down her spine.

But his voice was calm and reasonable. ‘One of my security men heard something about their activities—but didn’t realise it was a video game. Because Montevel is on Gerd’s borders, he knew I’d be interested.’

‘Ah, I see.’ So had he offered the trip to Vanuatu—and this holiday to her—so he could find out what he wanted to know?

The suggestion had no right to hurt, but it did. She said crisply, ‘Then you’ll be able to reassure him—and Gerd, because I’m sure you’ve told him about it—that it’s just a group of romantic kids play-acting rather obsessively.’

He said, ‘But you’re worried about it.’

Infusing her tone with a false lightness, Serina evaded, ‘Irritated, actually. Doran’s spending far too much time working at it—time he should be studying. I’m hoping this diving trip will give him something else to think about.’

‘From the tone of your voice, I’d say you’ve quarrelled about it.’

He saw too much. ‘I have to admit I was glad when you suggested the trip to Doran. The time he’s spending on the game is showing in his college results.’ She hesitated before adding, ‘I’ve read about young people who become addicted to video gaming…’

‘Playing the games, not creating them,’ Alex said levelly.

‘That’s true,’ she conceded, feeling a little foolish and over-protective, ‘and Doran is inclined to be very one-tracked with every new interest. It’s just that this one has lasted a lot longer than any other.’

She smiled up at him. ‘But, as for him and his friends being any sort of threat to Carathia or Montevel—no, they’re not that far removed from reality, even if they have made grandiose plans for spending the money when they all become instant millionaires! They’re all bright young men—’

‘Bright young men of Montevellan descent who’ve been brought up with a somewhat skewed view of the country as it used to be for the upper classes before they were thrown out.’

She folded her arms. ‘Did you invite Doran and me out here so you could find out more? If so, I’m afraid it’s been a waste of money and time. I’ve no doubt that if you’d approached him while we were in Carathia for the wedding, he’d have told you all about the game.’

Alex said softly, ‘Ah, but then I’d have missed the pleasure of your company.’

His words fell into a deepening pool of silence. The sounds of the city faded so that all Serina could hear was the beating of her heart.

Hurrying into speech, she said briskly, ‘And no doubt that would have been a tragedy.’

‘Fishing, Princess?’

Before she could answer she felt the lightest touch of his hand on her shoulder. Obeying it, she turned and looked up into a face set hard, narrowed eyes intent and crystalline.

Excitement bumped her already heavily beating heart into overdrive. Suddenly dry-mouthed, she swallowed, but words still wouldn’t come. Her dilated gaze fixed on a pulse beating in his jaw, and she clenched her fist to stop herself from reaching up and touching it with a fingertip.

‘Alex?’ she said uncertainly.

CHAPTER FOUR

ALEX’S lips barely moved when he said, ‘Serina,’ and traced the outline of her mouth with a lean, gentle forefinger.

Colour burned up through her skin and her heartbeats drummed in her ears, awareness tingling through every cell and filling her with longing. Incredulously, she realised she was holding her breath, unable to summon her wits to move. Drowned in the burnished blue of his eyes, she clung single-mindedly to the simple concept of staying upright.

Then he said, ‘You must know already that I’m glad you came.’ And stepped away.

Serina fought to hide a fierce disappointment, keen as a knife blade. What had gone wrong? Why had he decided against…?

Against what, exactly?

Against kissing her.

Humiliation drove a desperate desire to gloss over the violence of her response. She said on a breath jagged enough to be painful, ‘I wasn’t fishing for any compliment. I was actually being slightly sarcastic.’

He hadn’t answered her question so she still didn’t know whether he’d invited her to New Zealand to find out what Doran and his friends were doing. Had he deliberately engineered that touch, that convincingly intense gaze, to fog her brain with sensual expectation so she wouldn’t push for an answer?

If so, he knew now she wanted him more than he did her. Her response gave him power; he’d been able to pull away while she’d been frozen.

Pride came to her rescue. Stiffening her shoulders, she lifted her chin and kept her gaze level and slightly ironic. After all, it wasn’t as though she’d never been kissed.

However, past kisses had been pleasant, only mildly stimulating, about as far removed as anything could be from the jolting, heady anticipation she’d experienced when Alex touched her.

What was the difference?

No other man had stirred her as Alex did, arousing a need she’d never felt before, as potent and clamorous as hunger. He was the only man able to set her hormones surging in that delicious, terrifying flood of anticipation…

Cool it, she warned her body staunchly, but she had to wait a few seconds before her voice was steady enough for her to observe in a casual tone, ‘I hope you manage to convince Gerd that his concern about trouble on his borders is baseless.’

Alex’s expression gave nothing away, but her skin tightened when her eyes met his, unyielding and austere.

‘I’ll tell him you said so,’ he said, then glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve rung the organiser of the fund-raising dinner I promised to attend tonight, and she’s quite sure that if you want to come she can arrange that.’

‘No, no,’ she broke in. The surge of response ebbed rapidly, leaving her lax and enervated. ‘I think jet lag must have struck—I wouldn’t be entertaining company tonight.’

Black brows drawn together, he scrutinised her face. ‘I should have realised you’d feel the effects—I’m sorry for wearing you out at tennis.’

‘You didn’t,’ she said promptly. ‘All I need is a good night’s sleep and I’ll be fine.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll be back well before midnight. When you want to eat, use the telephone to call the restaurant and order a meal.’

Serina was relieved when he left, although the big penthouse seemed to echo emptily without his vibrant presence. After she’d eaten an excellent meal, she explored the bookshelves in a room that combined the functions of a library and media area, strangely delighted to find several well-read books she’d enjoyed too. But she couldn’t settle and although she was tired enough to feel drowsy it took her a long time to get to sleep.

In fact, she didn’t manage it until she heard sounds that indicated Alex had returned.

When she woke, a glance at her watch revealed she’d slept only four hours. City noises floated up to the penthouse—traffic, the distant clamour of a siren, a squeal of brakes from the street below…

Just like all other cities, she thought wearily. And, to take her mind off wondering whether Alex had really intended to kiss her, she tried to imagine what she’d hear in the countryside where he lived.

It was a lost cause. Her wilful memory kept returning to those electrifying moments when he’d touched her mouth. Dreamily, she recalled the look on his face, the charged intensity about him that had awakened her equal untrammelled response.

He had wanted to kiss her.

So why had he pulled back? He was experienced; she knew of at least two long-term affairs he’d had. Surely he’d read the signals clearly enough to know she wouldn’t slap his face and storm out of the room?

Perhaps he’d decided it was too soon. Which was amazingly considerate of him…

And quite correct. However, there were four weeks ahead for them both to find out more about each other.

Smiling languorously, she turned over, closed her eyes and slid into sleep, waking to a morning as crisp and welcoming as a summer’s day. After showering and pulling on a pair of well-cut trousers and a paler blue silk shirt that intensified the colour of her eyes, she opened the curtains and gazed out at a radiant sky beaming over the city, the harbour glinting in the sunlight and dotted with islands that danced clear and bright in the vivid sea.

On the terrace outside her bedroom window flowers bloomed in a small garden; Serina opened the door that led out onto it and on a little exclamation of surprise and pleasure bent to smell one particular potted rose, sinfully crimson with a heart as darkly potent as forbidden love.

‘A rose for a rose.’

Alex’s voice brought her upright so suddenly her head swam.

‘Are you all right?’A second later, his hands clamped around her upper arms, ‘Is there something I should know about? This must be the second or third time you’ve stumbled.’

Shamefully, Serina would have liked nothing more than to rest her head on that broad chest and stay there, but an instinctive self-protection made her stiffen. ‘I didn’t stumble—I just missed a step each time. And I’m fine, thank you. I just straightened up too quickly.’

Alex looked down at her, a faint smile curving his mouth. For a moment Serina thought her heart stood still.

Hastily, so conscious of his hands on her skin that her thoughts dissolved under a heady burst of sensation, she finished, ‘And probably a bit drunk on that gorgeous perfume. Do you know what the rose is called?’

‘No, but I can find out.’ He sounded abstracted, but he stepped back and when she risked an upwards glance she saw his eyes narrow, become intent and smoky. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Yes, thank you. How…how did the charity function go?’

‘Very well.’

Meaningless stuff, she thought, caught in a bubble of stillness. She was babbling, and he—he wasn’t concentrating on her words…

A chasm opened up in front of her. If she jumped, it would be into the unknown. She might crash—or she might find some unexplored place ablaze with possibility. Whatever, she’d never be the same again.

Much safer to stay where she was, step back, smile at him, go on talking meaningless platitudes—and leave New Zealand after four weeks, the same person she’d always been.

A coward.

Her heart began to race. Banishing fear, she lifted a hand to touch his cheek.

His smile became set, his gaze piercing. ‘Sure, Princess?’

‘My name is Serina,’ she said, holding his eyes.

She wanted him to kiss the woman she was, not the public persona—serene princess, daughter of a long line of monarchs, scion of a defunct throne.

Serina read comprehension in his eyes, and knew that for some reason he didn’t want to make the small surrender. She didn’t even know why it was so important to her.

Tension sparked the silence between them, turning it heavy with desire.

‘Do you know what you’re asking for?’ he said, a raw note altering the timbre of his voice and sending little shudders down her spine.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I know. But what do you want?’

Something flickered in the burnished blue of his eyes and brought a half-mocking smile to that wicked mouth, with its narrow top lip buttressed by a sensuous lower one. ‘A kiss,’ he said. ‘And I’m not asking, Serina—I’m taking what you’ve been silently promising me since we danced together at the wedding.’

He drew her towards him. She put a hand on his chest, looking up into an intense chiselled face. On a thrill that was half fear, half voluptuous anticipation, she thought he looked like a hunter.

Buoyed by a sudden, rather shameless relief, she nodded. Yet when he made no move she was assailed by shyness. Hot and embarrassing, colour stole along her cheekbones, but she met his eyes without wavering.

Although his eyes were still fiercely predatory, his voice became gentler. ‘All right?’

‘Yes.’

And when he bent his head and claimed her mouth with his own she yielded, leaning into him as he gathered her against him. White-hot sensations swamped her in a rush of adrenalin—his hard male contours, the taste of him, the faint barely-there fragrance that was his alone.

Her knees buckled and he tightened his grip, bringing her even closer to his powerful, fully aroused body.

Alex lifted his head and looked down into eyes that were slumbrous, almost dazed with passion, their violet-blue depths mysteriously dark. Gritting his teeth against a hungry surge of triumph, he fought back the primitive impulse to carry her across to the lounger a few metres away and take her then and there.

It was too soon, too public, and she deserved better than a hasty, violent consummation.

But he couldn’t resist the enticement of her soft lips. When he lowered his head and claimed them again, she melted into him without resistance, her open, sensual surrender setting off a torrid chain effect that affected his every clamorous cell.

He managed to call a halt, to look into her huge eyes and say in a voice that probably sounded as taut and explosive as he felt, ‘Serina—we have to stop this right now or it will be too late.’

Her lashes fell slowly, trembled against skin as translucent as the finest silk, but when she lifted them again she was once more in command of herself.

‘So we stop,’ she said, a husky note in her voice giving her away.

Alex found himself wishing he’d taken the chance.

For the first time ever he’d lost control, been tempted to follow his desires and damn the consequences.

Mastering his hunger, he released her and tried to summon his usual detached attitude. The aftermath of a carnal storm unlike anything he’d ever experienced made it near impossible.

Who’d have thought the gracious, reserved Princess would show all the instincts of a courtesan?

No, most courtesans had their eyes firmly on their bank balances, bargaining sex for security. Serina had offered herself ardently and without reserve.

And then he wondered whether she’d have been so passionately willing if they hadn’t spoken about her brother.

Even as the thought formulated, he knew it wasn’t likely. She seemed convinced that Doran and his friends were designing a video game, so why would she be concerned? She also guessed he’d warned Gerd about the possibility of trouble on his borders.

However, he had to assume that she might have been lying. An inner revulsion at the thought forced him to realise how much he wanted to trust her. The computer game story was a brilliant subterfuge, entirely believable. Pity it wasn’t true. Young Doran and his band of romantic, eager conspirators had no idea what they’d got into.

He looked down into her face and saw with savage satisfaction that she too was struggling for control. The ache in his groin intensified into a plea, a demand—almost a command. He fought it back because he didn’t dare give his innermost instinct free rein.

He’d be betraying Gerd and Rosie if he didn’t make every effort to find out whether Serina knew anything—any small scrap of information that could lead them to the people who were backing her brother and his friends. In spite of their efforts, he and Gerd still weren’t sure who was pulling the strings, or why, although they had their suspicions. If the Princess had any inkling, he was honour bound to find out.

And if that meant seducing her into pillow talk, then it would have to be done. It was, quite literally, a matter of life and death, not only for her brother and his friends, but for many other people.

Serina looked up, catching a glimpse of something harsh and grim in his eyes. Chilled, she masked a shiver by turning away so she could pretend to examine the rose again.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said evenly.

‘Why?’ She even managed a smile. ‘I know the tabloids call me the ice princess, but surely you don’t believe them? I have been kissed before.’

His brows rose and he surprised her by stooping to snap off the bloom and hold it out to her. In a wry voice he told her, ‘I’m sorry because I stupidly made the arrangement for our flights without thinking that we might want to prolong our stay here.’

Colour heated her skin. Now—or never, she thought, wondering if he could hear her heart thudding so heavily in her chest.

Now. Because she wanted to know what making love to Alex was like infinitely more than she wanted to obey the strictures drummed into her by her mother and her governess. For the first time in her life she realised how potent desire could be…

‘I—thank you,’ she said, and answered his unspoken proposition by lifting the flower to her lips, still tender from his kisses. The petals were warm and smooth and she inhaled their sweetly provocative perfume.

Hastily, she said, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a rose exactly this shade of red before. And, as it seems perfectly happy growing in a pot, I’d like to buy one for myself when I get back home. It should enjoy living on my balcony, and it would be a charming reminder of my visit here.’

‘If you want a true reminder of New Zealand, a native plant might be more appropriate. You can buy sealed packets of seeds that are acceptable to most countries now.’

How could he switch so abruptly—from the passionately demanding kisses of a few minutes ago to this pleasant, conversational courtesy?

With ease, clearly. Emotion and sensation were still churning through her, but Alex was once more fully in control.

‘I’ll look out for them.’ She turned to go, but remembered something. ‘What time do you plan to leave this morning?’

He paused, as though remembering something. ‘There’s been a change of plan—if you’re happy with it. I met friends at the dinner last night who live not far north of here in a vineyard. Their garden is beautiful—a showpiece. Today they’re launching their latest red with lunch and a reception there. They invited me and, when I mentioned you were with me, they extended the invitation to you.’

‘That’s very kind of them,’ she said uncertainly.

His brows lifted. ‘How is it that in your conversation I so often hear a but coming?’

The ironic question brought a smile. ‘I’d love to meet them, and the launching of a new wine is a very special occasion…’

Her voice trailed away. How could she explain that she didn’t want to appear to his friends as his latest conquest, arm candy for a successful man?

Before she could go any further, he said, ‘New Zealanders are notoriously informal, and I can promise you the invitation is genuine. Aura suggested we come for lunch and look around their garden as that’s your interest.’ And, when she hesitated anew, he added, ‘She recognised your name and has read some of your columns.’

Somehow that appeased her uncertainty. ‘I’d love to go,’ she said quietly.

He glanced at his watch. ‘Then we’d better move. Breakfast will be in about twenty minutes.’

‘I’ll be there,’ she promised and headed back into her bedroom.

Once inside, she stood still in the middle of the room and took several deep breaths, trying to clear the fog of confusion and frustrated desire from her brain.

The perfume from the rose drifted up, softly seductive, and she said beneath her breath, ‘That’s enough of that, thank you! I need a clear head right now.’

She filled a glass with water and popped the flower into it, ruefully examining a tiny bead of bright blood where a thorn had broken the skin on her thumb.

For some reason she didn’t want to analyse what had happened out there on the terrace. Tiny tantalising prickles of sensation ran across her skin as she remembered…

Stop it, she commanded her wayward mind. So she enjoyed Alex’s kisses—too much—and, judging by his initial reaction, he’d enjoyed her response.

And then he’d shut down. Again.

Why? And where—if anywhere—did they go from here?

She stared at the mirror, absently taking in the luxurious cream and gold opulence of the bathroom. Very feminine. And she’d better not forget that other women would have used this room.

The thought tarnished the residual excitement of his kisses, her pleasure in the day, in the rose.

Once she’d been the unwilling witness to a scene between her mother and her father, when her father had said impatiently, ‘It means nothing, my dear. You are and will always be the only woman I love—any others are mere entertainment.’

Her mother had asked wearily, ‘Do all men feel that way?’

And her father, probably made uncomfortable by his wife’s unspoken grief, had blustered a little before replying, ‘Yes. All the ones I have met, anyway. It is simply the way men are.’

Serina’s experience had backed up her father’s words. Many men—and women—didn’t need to love, or even like someone to want them.

Serina knew she wasn’t that sort of person. She’d promised herself that she’d wait for someone special, someone who would make her feel things she’d never felt before, someone she could respect…

And a year ago that imaginary someone became concrete when she’d met Alex. Now she understood that her wildfire physical response to him had made that decision, rather than anything she knew of his character. In danger of letting passion override everything else, she needed to be absolutely sure of her feelings. And to do that she’d have to learn more about him, respond to him intellectually and emotionally as well as with this consuming, elemental hunger.

Only then could she take the next step.

And by then, she thought with an inward quiver of excitement, she’d understand what that next step should be.

In the meantime, she’d better work out what she should wear to a lunch and reception to launch a new wine.

She chose a sleek, sophisticated suit of fine wool in a deep crimson.

When she emerged in it Alex looked at her and asked, ‘Did you choose that to match the colour of the wine?’

‘It never occurred to me,’ she said, half-laughing.

They drove to the vineyard, where his friends made her welcome. The Jansens were a few years older than Alex, and they lived with their four children in a magnificent house overlooking a wide valley braided with vines that ran down to an estuary. They were a striking couple, interesting and informative, and their garden was superb, a blend of native plants and subtropical exotica that transfixed Serina.

The guests at the launch were an equally international selection; Serina enjoyed chatting with the local residents, and was delighted to see an old friend, daughter of the royal house in a Mediterranean island, now living in a vineyard in the South Island with her handsome husband.

There were others she recognised too. As she sipped an exquisite champagne-style wine at the reception, she caught the eye of another old friend making his way towards them. The handsome scion of a famous French champagne house, Gilberte swooped on her, kissing her on both cheeks.

‘Dearest Serina,’ he said extravagantly, ‘what on earth are you doing here in the uttermost ends of the earth?’

‘She’s with me,’ Alex said from behind her.

Smile widening, Gilberte looked up. ‘Ah, Alex, I should have known you’d be with the most beautiful woman here—apart from our hostess, of course!’

Serina laughed. ‘Same old Gilberte—a compliment for every woman,’ she said affectionately, aware of a prickle of tension that had nothing to do with Gilberte. ‘What are you doing in the den of the opposition?’

‘Oh, Flint and I are old friends,’ he told her, ‘and I come often to New Zealand—just to keep a watch on what they are doing, you understand, but also because I love the place. And because we still sell a lot of champagne here.’

Later, she looked from the window of the small commercial aeroplane as they flew the length of the long, narrow spine of Northland.

Beside her, Alex said, ‘Admit it—you were surprised by the people you met at Flint and Aura’s launch.’

‘A little,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘Because New Zealand is so far from anywhere—and looks so small on the map, lost in a waste of ocean—I suppose I’d expected a very insular group, although I’d heard that New Zealanders are extremely friendly.’

‘Well-travelled too,’ he drawled. ‘And accustomed to overseas visitors—we get a lot of them.’

She flashed him a rueful smile. ‘All right, I will admit that the very cosmopolitan guests at the launch surprised me. Apart from the lovely people, the whole occasion was like something out of a dream—the valley with vines braiding the hills and the lovely glimpse of sea, that beautiful house and the wonderful gardens, and some truly fabulous clothes.’

‘I’d have thought you were accustomed to occasions like that,’ Alex observed, his tone ambiguous.

‘It was—’ Serina stopped herself from finishing with special. Because, although she’d thoroughly enjoyed the occasion, it had been made special by Alex. She ended lamely, ‘—lovely. So friendly and warm and—well, just plain fun! The setting was exquisite. I liked your friends very much, and the wine they produce is an inspiration.’

Alex said, ‘I asked Aura and Flint if you could feature their garden.’

‘I—thank you so much,’ she said, more than a little surprised, and touched too. Because they were his friends, she hadn’t ventured anywhere near that subject. ‘That was very kind of you.’

He said, ‘They’re happy for you to do that, but not immediately—it’s holidays next week so they’re taking the children to the Maldives. When they come back they’ll get in touch and we’ll go down in the helicopter.’

‘You have a helicopter?’

‘I share one with Kelt, who lives not far away.’

Well, what had she expected? He shared a private jet with Kelt and Gerd, and as a businessman with worldwide interests he’d need to travel a lot.

She turned her head to scan the two separate seas that gleamed on either side of a green land folded into hills and valleys.

‘The Pacific Ocean on the right,’ Alex told her, pointing out an island-studded coast where beaches gleamed golden and white. He indicated the other side. ‘And the Tasman Sea on the left.’

The Tasman coast was wilder, more rugged, with no islands and long stretches of cliff-bound shore. Rows of breakers marched onto black glistening beaches that swept for miles. Between the seas were farmlands, small villages, the dark sombreness of vast tracts of pine plantations, and mountains covered in a dense cloak of trees.

‘It might look pristine and untouched, but most of it was milled for kauri during the nineteenth century,’ Alex said when she remarked on the huge areas of forest. ‘Originally this was a land of bush, insects and birds, many of them flightless. The only mammals here were three species of bats, plus the seals and sea lions and dolphins and orca and whales in the seas around the coast.’

She said wistfully, ‘It must have been breathtaking to be the first person to step on its shores.’

He regarded her with a slight smile. ‘An explorer at heart, Serina?’

‘Not until now,’ she said, wondering if he might read the underlying meaning in the words.

If he did, he didn’t respond. ‘The Maori colonised New Zealand from tropical islands. They brought kiore—Maori rats—and dogs that started the destruction of the native wildlife, and of course fire and stone axes travelled with them as well. Yet, even after eight hundred or more years of occupation, the birdlife was enough to make the first Europeans marvel at the dawn chorus. Apparently it was so loud they could hardly hear each other speak.’

He pointed out a swathe of silvery trees marching across hills by the sea. ‘Olives—a very successful crop here. And those darker trees are avocados.’ He settled back in his seat. ‘More predators arrived with the European colonists. Apart from a few visionaries well ahead of their time, people have only recently realised how much has been lost, and started working to bring back some of the glories of the past.’

Fascinated, Serina asked, ‘How are they doing that?’

He lifted a brow. ‘If you’re really interested, I’ll take you to see something I’m connected with.’

His sceptical tone irritated her. Did he think she was foolish enough to pretend an interest just to match his?

Probably, she thought realistically.

And why not? He was rich, well-connected and handsome—and, even more than that potent package deal, he possessed a charismatic presence, his combination of effortless male sexuality and compelling authority making him stand out in any company. He probably had gorgeous women flinging themselves at him all the time, wide-eyed with anticipation.

Like several at the launch that afternoon…

The smile she gave him was cool with an edge. ‘Oh, I couldn’t think of taking up your valuable time,’ she said sweetly. ‘If you give me a map, I’ll check it out.’

‘No,’ he said calmly. ‘It’s on my land. I’ll take you. We’ve predator-fenced an area of bush, and when we’ve trapped the rats and weasels and possums and feral cats inside, we’ll return some of the birds that no longer live there.’

Her mother had always said the way to interest a man was to let him talk about himself. Deliberately ignoring the maternal instructions, Serina said, ‘I’d love to see it. What’s the name of that town beneath us?’

‘Whangarei,’ he said. ‘Northland’s only city.’

She looked down. ‘It has a glorious setting—those amazing mountains reaching out into the coast, and the harbour curling up into the heart of the town. But then, everything I’ve seen so far is breathtaking.’

‘There are ugly parts too, of course,’ he said judicially. ‘Some of our towns are old and tired, and some have been built with no regard for the countryside that surrounds them.’

Clearly he loved this part of New Zealand. She said, ‘I’ve read and heard quite a bit about the South Island, but not very much at all about the north.’

‘The South Island is magnificent; we’ll see whether we can get you there before you go back. But I was born and bred in the north—it’s always been home, so to me it’s the most beautiful place in the world.’

Without thinking, she said, ‘It must be wonderful to feel that way about a place.’

‘You don’t?’

‘No,’she said, wishing she’d stayed silent. ‘My parents were Montevellan, and they continually longed to go back. Nice—the Riviera—was only ever a temporary base for them. I think I was born homesick for a place I’ve never known. I’ve always felt alien.’ She shook her head, meeting hooded blue eyes with a tingle of sensation. ‘No, alien is too strong a word; dislocated would be better.’

‘You speak English like a native,’ he commented idly.

She shrugged. ‘Doran and I shared an English nanny and then a governess from Scotland until I went away to school.’

He didn’t seem overly interested—and why should he be? But he asked, ‘You’ve not been to Montevel?’

‘We can’t go. The government banned any member of the royal family from returning.’

‘Ever felt like taking another identity and slipping in to find out what it’s like? Seeing it might wipe out that inborn nostalgia; few places live up to the praise of the people who love them.’

‘I’ve got the same face as my grandmother,’ she said dryly. ‘I don’t think I’d get in. Anyway, I don’t have the courage—or feel the need so badly that I’d break the law to do it.’

‘Does your brother feel the same way?’

Alex watched the expression flee from her face; not a muscle moved, but he felt her resistance as palpably as though she’d shouted it at him.

‘I think so,’ she said remotely, turning her head so that he couldn’t see her face.

He settled back into his seat. Whether or not she knew about Doran’s plotting, she was worried about him. Which probably—no, possibly, Alex corrected himself—meant she did know. Perhaps, in spite of her apparent resignation to her fate, she did crave being a princess of Montevel, in fact as well as in title. He toyed with the idea of asking her directly, but decided against it.

She turned back, and his gut tightened in spontaneous homage. However hard he tried to rationalise his reaction to Serina—and he’d tried damned hard for a fair amount of the previous night—the moment her fingertips had caressed his cheek, such hunger had clamoured through him that he’d forgotten all those excellent reasons for not getting too emotionally involved with her.

Kissing her had been a revelation.

And watching young Gilberte kiss her cheeks had been like a call to arms, a primitive response that negated his understanding that it was nothing more than a greeting between friends. For a moment he’d had to rein in an urge to knock the man away from Serina.

His body clenched. Ruthlessly, he pushed the memory to the back of his mind. Gerd needed information—information he wouldn’t get if Alex let his rampant hormones fog his usually logical mind.

Had Serina decided to deflect his interest by pretending to be interested in him?

Two, he thought succinctly, could play at that game.

And if he hurt her?

She might be hurt, he conceded, hardening his resolve, but if her brother went ahead with his plans she’d grieve infinitely more, because it was highly unlikely Doran would survive a foray into Montevel.

Alex made up his mind.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE plane began to descend. Serina swallowed, looking down at a large valley with two small rivers winding through it. They joined to make a lake-like estuary separated from the sea by a gold and amber sandbank. Green and lush, the valley looked remote, like some enchanted place cut off from the rest of the world.

Intrigued, she leaned forward and watched the ground rush to meet them as they banked over another range of hills towards a small airfield. Several private planes were lined up outside a hangar, and she noted two helicopters to one side, as well as a quite large parking area outside another building.

Not exactly the back of beyond, as her nanny used to say.

From beside her, Alex said, ‘Ohinga,’ pointing to a coastal village tucked away beside another, much bigger river, its banks lined with trees. ‘Our nearest shopping centre.’

Catching the shimmer of water beneath foliage, Serina said in surprise, ‘Those trees seem to be growing in the water.’

‘They’re mangroves. They prefer brackish water like tidal rivers and estuaries.’

Mangroves? Serina digested this as the engines changed pitch and they slanted down towards the runway. The excitement she’d been controlling ever since she arrived in New Zealand began to bubble, mixed with a trace of apprehension.

It was sheer overheated fantasy to feel that Alex’s searing kisses had pushed her into unknown territory and changed her life for ever. She wasn’t the sort of person such dramatic, unlikely experiences happened to—and they were only kisses, for heaven’s sake. Not exactly a novelty!

But if his kisses could do that, what would she feel if he touched her even more intimately?

Heat suffused her as her body reacted to that highly subversive thought with brazen excitement.

Even with her eyes fixed onto the scene below, she could sense him beside her—as though he’d imprinted on her at some cellular level, made an indelible impression she’d never be rid of, for ever a part of her…

Oh, calm down and stop being an idiot, she told herself trenchantly. He’s very sexy, very sure of himself, very experienced and he kisses like a god, but he’s just a man.

Once they were safely down she swallowed hard, cast a glance his way and managed to say staidly, ‘I thought mangroves were tropical trees.’

‘They are, but New Zealand has the furthermost south of all mangroves. They grow along estuaries in the northern half of the North Island.’

‘I wonder how they got here?’ Mangroves were safe. If she concentrated on them she wouldn’t be tempted to allow her eyes to linger on his formidably masculine features. ‘I know the seeds float, but there’s a lot of sea between here and the tropics.’

He smiled. Serina’s treacherous heart somersaulted.

‘One suggestion is that seeds could have drifted across from Australia, but I believe the latest theory is that New Zealand and New Caledonia were once connected by a ridge of land or possibly a chain of islands, so the mangroves could have island-hopped south.’

Serina wrinkled her brow, feverishly trying to recollect where New Caledonia was.

‘A large island well to the north and west of us,’Alex provided helpfully.

She nodded as the mental image of the map clicked into place. ‘Colonised by France?’

‘Yes, and still proudly French.’

Don’t look at him—think trees. ‘So the mangroves would have had to adapt to a colder climate here?’

‘Unless they came south during a warmer era and adapted as it slowly got cooler.’

‘Fascinating.’ But she couldn’t think of anything further to say about mangroves. Now what? she thought desperately.

His expression revealed a certain wry amusement. ‘I doubt if many people other than botanists would agree.’

That made her sound like some nerd.

Fortunately, the pilot announced their arrival and everyone stood, the bustle of disembarking saving her the necessity of having to reply.

OK, so nerd she was. That had to be an advance on considering her just another effete aristocrat trading on a title to earn a living.

Anyway, she thought stoutly, I don’t care what he thinks. And knew she lied.

Again, a car was waiting for them on the ground but, instead of a well-dressed businessman, this driver was a woman a few years older than Serina, clad in jeans and a woollen jersey that didn’t hide any of her admirable assets.

‘Hi, Alex,’ she greeted him cheerfully. ‘Good trip?’

To Serina’s surprise, Alex bent his head and dropped a swift kiss on her cheek before saying, ‘Serina, this is Lindy Harcourt, who manages Haruru’s finances for me. Lindy, Princess Serina of Montevel.’

‘Just Serina, thank you,’ Serina emphasised, and held out her hand. ‘How do you do, Lindy.’

Lindy’s grip was strong. ‘Oh, good, I was wondering if I’d have to call you Your Highness.’

‘Not if you want me to answer,’ Serina said forthrightly.

The other woman bestowed a smile on Serina that held no more than a hint of speculation. ‘That’s all right, then.’ She glanced down at Serina’s suitcase. Clearly she’d expected more because she commented, ‘I needn’t have brought the Land Rover, after all.’

Which made a foolishly sensitive Serina wonder if Alex’s female visitors usually arrived with a vast wardrobe. Assuming she’d have no need for them, she’d sent most of her formal clothes back to Nice.

Too late now, she decided pragmatically, shrugging off the thought.

Alex picked up his and Serina’s bag and headed through the small arrivals area. She was intrigued when various people there nodded to him; clearly he was liked, but an element of respect in their attitudes impressed her. These people, like the guests at the wine launch, instinctively recognised his formidable strength.

Out in the car park, Alex said to Lindy, ‘The keys, please.’

‘Oh, sorry.’ She handed them over and once the vehicle was unlocked slipped into the back seat.

Alex swung the bags into the boot, then held open the door to the front passenger seat and Serina got in, wondering about Lindy Harcourt. There was an easy camaraderie about her interaction with Alex that spoke of something more than simple friendship.

To her shock, Serina realised she was prickly as a cat, tense and smouldering with a completely unrealistic jealousy. The kisses they’d exchanged didn’t give her any claim on Alex.

As he set the Land Rover into motion Lindy leaned forward and asked, ‘So how did Rosie’s wedding go?’

‘Very well,’ Alex said briefly.

Lindy’s laugh held a note of amused resignation that should have soothed Serina’s feelings. ‘And that’s all you’re going to say about it, I suppose. Serina, you’ll have to tell me everything.’

‘I’d be glad to,’ Serina said. She added, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so completely happy.’

‘Rosie does radiance very well,’ Lindy said.

Serina bristled. It seemed an odd thing to say in front of Rosie’s brother. ‘She looked utterly exquisite and yes, very happy, but I was actually referring to Gerd. They made a magnificent couple.’

Surely that would put an end to any conjecture about whether or not her heart was broken. Almost certainly she was being absurdly—and uncharacteristically—oversensitive; nobody here could possibly be interested in gossip from half the world away!

Her eyes drifted to Alex’s hands, lean and competent on the wheel as he manoeuvred the Land Rover onto the road. Adrenalin tore through her, clouding her brain and fuelling a nerve-racking increase in heart rate.

She twisted to look out of the side window. How could a glimpse of his hands do that? It was almost indecent.

Valiantly, she kept her eyes fixed on the countryside sliding past them—lush green pastures backed by ranges tinged a soft silver-blue as they disappeared into the distance.

Trees, she thought, remembering the mangroves.

She swallowed and said briskly, ‘What are those trees? The ones so shamelessly flaunting their autumn leaves? I didn’t expect autumn colour here—I had the impression the climate was almost subtropical.’

‘Not quite—warm temperate is the official classification,’ Alex told her, turning off the bitumen onto a narrow road that immediately began to twist its way up into the hills. ‘Which means we can ripen certain sorts of bananas here. The liquid ambers you noticed are some of the few that do colour up in the north, along with persimmons and Japanese maples.’

From the back Lindy asked, ‘Are you interested in gardening, Serina?’

‘Very,’ Serina told her.

‘The Princess writes a column for one of the European glossies,’Alex said. He sent a sideways glance at Serina. ‘Although it’s more about gardens than gardening, I assume.’

Keeping her voice cool, she said, ‘Yes.’

Lindy said, ‘Then you’ll love staying with Alex. His garden is magnificent.’

‘I’m looking forward to seeing it,’ Serina responded.

The narrow road became a drive, winding down a hill through vast trees. Noting a fantastic oak that would have been several hundred years old in Europe, she realised that northern hemisphere trees must grow much more rapidly in Northland.

And Lindy was absolutely correct—they were magnificent. A great buttressed mound of foliage caught her attention and she twisted in her seat as they passed by it.

‘A Moreton Bay fig from Queensland in Australia,’ Alex told her. He slanted a glance her way. ‘Unfortunately, the fruit isn’t edible.’

‘Sad,’ she returned lightly. ‘I love figs. Oh!’

She leaned forward to examine a clump of jade-green trees that turned into one massive tree.

‘Puriri,’ Alex said. ‘They’re actually a bush tree, but they don’t seem to mind living in paddocks.’

‘If they were any happier they might take over the country,’ Serina said, amusement colouring her tone.

And then they drove through a grove of different trees and up to a house set in a great sweep of lawns. ‘Oh,’ Serina breathed on a long exhalation.

Alex’s home was glorious. He stopped the vehicle in a gravelled forecourt and, while Serina was still gazing at the long façade of the big house, Lindy came round and opened the front passenger door for her.

Feeling awkward, Serina said, ‘Thank you,’ and stepped out onto the gravel.

Alex collected the bags from the boot. Putting them on the gravel, he said, ‘Thank you, Lindy—I’ll see you later.’

Lindy’s smile remained firmly in place, but a certain stiffness about the set of her shoulders made Serina wonder again at their relationship.

‘No problems,’ the other woman said cheerfully. She bestowed that determined smile on Serina. ‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay here.’

Once she was out of earshot, Alex said, ‘Welcome to my home, Serina.’

‘It’s amazing,’ she told him. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.’ His friends lived in a sophisticated modern house—Alex’s home was clearly a relic of the colonial period.

‘High Victoriana,’ he explained easily. ‘It was built in the late nineteenth century for an Anglo-Indian who exported horses from here to India. Verandas were fashionable then, and he rather went overboard on them.’ He bent to pick up their bags.

‘I can carry mine,’ Serina said, reaching for it. Their hands collided and she jerked back.

Alex straightened with both bags. Eyes gleaming, he said, ‘My touch isn’t poisonous.’

‘I know that,’ she blurted, for once unable to think straight. She added, ‘Neither is mine.’

They measured glances for a moment and reckless excitement welled up inside her in a warm, heady flood.

Alex said deliberately, ‘Lindy is the daughter of the woman who used to be our housekeeper. She’s dead now, but Lindy and I more or less grew up together until I was sent away to school. In many ways she’s as much of a sister to me as Rosie.’

He was telling her that Lindy meant nothing to him—well, nothing emotional, Serina amended.

Actually, he probably meant nothing emotional in a sexual way, because he was clearly fond of the other woman.

In spite of her efforts, Serina found she couldn’t be adult and sophisticated about Alex and the way she felt. The sensations coursing through her suffered a far-from-subtle transmutation into a rising tide of anticipation.

Trying to quell it, she asked, ‘How old were you then?’

‘Seven.’ He headed up the steps and onto the stone-floored veranda.

Horrified, Serina followed. She’d heard of small English children being sent off to school, but she had no idea New Zealanders did the same. Before she could formulate some meaningless comment, Alex looked down at her.

‘After my mother died, my father married again. His new wife found a noisy, grubby, resentful child too much to handle, so off I went to school. Which is why Rosie and I have a rather distant relationship for sib-lings—we only spent time together in the holidays.’

Serina ached for the child he’d been, a small boy sent away from the only home he’d known, away from his playmates, from his father and the housekeeper—and the little sister—who’d been the only constants in his life.

She said, ‘I’m so glad my parents waited until Doran and I were in our teens before they banished us to school.’

He opened the front door. ‘I think Rosie had the worst of it. I settled into school quite well, but when Rosie was born her mother discovered she was no more maternal with her than she had been with me. And since my father, an archaeologist, was rarely here, Lindy’s mother was the only reliable motherly figure Rosie ever really had. And then she died when Rosie was eight.’

Serina’s heart was touched anew. Her parents’ marriage hadn’t been a comfortable one, but at least they’d been there for her and Doran. ‘I had no idea. Still, she’s got Gerd now, and I can tell he adores her just as much as she loves him.’

She wondered then if Alex might think she was hinting about being someone like that for him. Nonsense, she thought stoutly. You’re being ridiculous again!

Alex said calmly, ‘Yes, I believe they’ll make each other happy.’

The wide, high-ceilinged hall was superbly furnished with antiques, mostly English from the Georgian period. A superb wooden staircase, exquisitely carved in some golden wood, wound its way up to another floor.

‘Your bedroom is here,’Alex said once they’d climbed it, and opened a door, standing back to let her go in.

The room was big and airy, dominated by a wide bed. French windows led out onto another wide veranda; beneath and beyond it stretched lawns and a haze of flowers and palms against a background of those splendid trees.

After a quick glance around, Serina smiled. ‘I can see why you decided on this room for me. You’re determined to make sure I learn something about New Zealand’s plants, aren’t you?’

‘My grandmother was a botanical artist,’ he told her as she walked across to examine a series of exquisite watercolours. ‘These are some of hers.’

‘She was an exceptionally good one,’ Serina said seriously. She peered at the signature, and said in a hushed voice, ‘Oh—Freda Matthews! She’s acknowledged as one of the greatest botanical artists of the twentieth century. And she’s your grandmother!’

It was foolish to feel that somehow this forged a fragile link between them, but she couldn’t hide the pleasure that the slight connection gave her.

‘She died before I was born so I never knew her.’ He dropped her bag onto a low stool.

‘She left a superb legacy,’ Serina said earnestly, examining each image with intent appreciation.

‘Thank you. I think.’

His voice was grave but a note in it caught her attention. She turned her head, caught a betraying glint of amusement in his eyes and laughed up at him, her tension easing. ‘Oh, you and Rosie as well, of course!’

‘There’s that little catch of laughter again. Do you know how infectious it is?’

Something had happened—an unspoken exchange of potent meaning that drove every trace of amusement from her.

And from Alex.

A heady awareness sizzled between them, blocking the breath in her throat. Serina’s eyes widened endlessly as he came towards her with the lithe, purposeful gait of a hunter.

Almost silently, he said, ‘It’s also very, very sexy. And when you look over your shoulder there’s something—I don’t even know what it is, but you look fey.’ His voice deepened. ‘And maddeningly irresistible.’

Serina swallowed to ease her suddenly dry mouth. Part of her wanted desperately to defuse the situation, to let him know that she didn’t…wasn’t yet ready…

And then he turned her to face him, and she looked up mutely into a face drawn and arrogant with desire. Her instinctive, protective resistance crumbled under the impact of a hunger so consuming she sighed as he fitted her into his arms and kissed her.

At first he didn’t give her the passion she craved; his mouth touched hers gently, almost tenderly, so that she wanted to stand on tiptoe and insist he satisfy the need he’d roused in her.

Yet a slow, languorous heat melted her bones until she could do nothing but accept that silky caress.

Against her lips, he said, ‘Is this what you want, Serina?’

‘You know it is,’ she whispered, unable to temporise, to hedge, even though some distant area of her brain was struggling to send out an All Systems alert.

He gathered her more closely into him, his mouth crushing down on hers in a kiss so ruthlessly demanding her knees almost gave way. And then she wasn’t aware of anything but the wild reaction of her eager body, a surrender that overrode every sensible limit she’d lived by until then.

When at last he lifted his mouth, Serina realised he was every bit as aroused as she was. She thrilled to the harsh indrawn breath he took and the urgent lift of his chest, the tense flexion of his arms around her.

And the hard, leashed power of him against her hips.

Yet, despite all the turmoil of thwarted passion, she’d never felt so safe, so wonderfully secure.

And that was the danger, she thought, confusion tumbling around her brain as her breathing slowed into harmony and his arms relaxed.

‘Serina,’ he said quietly, resting his cheek against her forehead. ‘That will have to be enough for now.’

A chill shuddered through her, and she had to stifle a small sound of protest. As though he understood how shaken she still was, he held her for several seconds more until she was able to straighten and trust her knees enough to pull away.

She could read nothing in his face; the dense, crystalline blue of his gaze hid his thoughts, his emotions.

Words falling into the stiff silence like pebbles in a pond, she said through slightly swollen lips, ‘I’m going to be crass and ask why.’

Alex’s twisted smile held more ruefulness than amusement. ‘Because it’s almost dinner time, and my housekeeper will wonder what the hell we’re doing if we don’t arrive for it.’

Her laughter sounded almost like a sob. Hastily, she controlled it, veiling her turbulent gaze with her lashes while she tried to sort out what she wanted to say.

Alex finished, ‘And because you’re not ready.’ He paused. ‘A year ago we looked at each other and wanted each other, but the time wasn’t right. I don’t know if it is yet. I sense some sort of restraint in you.’

His tone was neutral, but his keen scrutiny unnerved her. Not restraint—no, not that. What he sensed was shyness, the modesty of a woman who was still a virgin.

Should she tell him? No.

She bit her lip. ‘I didn’t come here hoping for—in-tending—any sort of—of…’ Her voice trailed away.

‘Relationship? I despise that word.’ His tone was cool, almost mocking. ‘Affair? Not much better. What exactly did you come here not expecting?’

Serina’s brows lifted and she said with a cutting edge to each word, ‘I don’t like relationship either, but it will suffice.’

She stopped because she didn’t know what to say next.

He was silent, his face expressionless, and then to her shock he linked his fingers around her wrist so that his thumb rested on the vulnerable pulse that beat there.

Sheer astonishment held her frozen, but to her dismay she felt the answering leap of her heart at that almost casual grip.

‘Whatever you hoped or intended or resisted,’ he said, holding her eyes with his own, ‘your response tells me—and should convince you, however much you’d like to deny it—there already is a relationship.’ He emphasised the word enough to lift the hairs on the back of her neck.

‘I don’t—’

Alex cut in ruthlessly, ‘What you decide to do about it is up to you, but don’t deny it’s there.’ He released her. ‘And you’re not in any danger. I can control my urges, and I’m sure you can too.’

His detached tone and ironic eyes set a barrier between them that hurt when it should have reassured.

After a glance at his watch he said, ‘Dinner will be ready soon. I’ll come and collect you in about twenty minutes.’

Once he’d left, the memory of the kiss hung in the room like the rose she’d packed so carefully—so foolishly—in her luggage. She opened her bag and picked up the bloom, limp and already fading in the tissue she’d wrapped around it, and made to throw it into the rubbish bin.

But something stayed her hand. Smiling wanly at her weakness, she put it back into the case.

‘A shower,’ she told herself.

As though she could wash away the memory of their kisses! She had a feeling they’d stay with her all her life—the first time she’d discovered such a depth of passion in herself that she literally had no control over her emotions.

The en suite bathroom was small but superbly fitted, and again she wondered how many women had been accommodated in this room, this house—in Alex’s arms.

He certainly wasn’t considered a playboy but, apart from Ms Antonides, his name had been linked with several other women, all beauties, and mostly women with high-flying careers in various fields.

About as far removed from her as anyone could be, Serina thought, turning off the water with a vicious twist of her wrist.

Then she shook her head. OK, so she didn’t have a proper career, but she’d had to put any hopes of that on hold when her parents had been killed. Left with an estate that was a total mess, she’d salvaged what she could, ruthlessly selling everything of any value so Doran could finish his education at his expensive school. And becoming Rassel’s muse—backed by years of serious scrimping—had provided her with enough to pay for his university studies.

Which was why she found his near-obsession with that game so infuriating. Once, when she’d taxed him with it, he’d told that one day he’d be looking after her and, although she was touched, she tried to convince him that it wasn’t likely. Some research on video gaming had convinced her it was big companies who came up with profitable new franchises, not rank amateurs.

But Doran was clearly having a fabulous time in Vanuatu, so she could stop worrying about him. For the moment, anyway.

She paced around the room, admiring the delicate, exquisitely precise watercolours on the walls. Alex’s grandmother had had huge talent, and her heart warmed at this further evidence of his thoughtfulness.

Her gaze drifted to the laptop. After dinner she’d make notes about what she’d seen so far while the memories were fresh.

Her heart raced when someone tapped on her door. Bracing herself, she opened it and found Alex, his expression coolly non-committal as he gave her a swift glance that encompassed her bare arms and throat.

‘You might want a wrap or a cardigan.’

‘I’ll get one,’ she said, wishing she’d thought of it herself. That impersonal survey had hurt a vulnerable part of her she’d never known she possessed.

Collecting a light wrap, she thought indignantly that being kissed by Alex had somehow turned her into a different person—a woman irritatingly sensitive to his every look, to every inflection in his deep voice. A woman who found herself sighing over the way the corners of his mouth turned up whenever he smiled—even the shape of his ears and the fact that the sun struck glints of red from his black hair!

Neither she nor Alex wanted a drink before dinner, so they went straight in to their meal. The woman who brought in the dishes was introduced as Caroline Summers, the housekeeper. In her mid-thirties, she had a pleasant smile and a briskly competent manner that Serina liked.

And she was a brilliant cook. Suddenly hungry, Serina applied herself to an entrée of grilled mussels with bacon and almonds.

‘It’s one of my favourites,’ Alex said, ‘and I noticed you enjoyed seafood at the dinner for the wedding party, so I assumed you’d like this.’

After one mouthful she said enthusiastically, ‘It’s delicious. Is it a New Zealand favourite?’

‘I don’t know where Caroline found the recipe, or if she made it up. Ask her when she comes back. One of these days I’m probably going to lose her to a restaurant, but in the meantime she seems content enough to stay here while her children are young. Her husband is the livestock manager on the station.’

‘The station?’ she enquired.

‘In New Zealand and Australia a large farm is called a station.’

Grateful for the neutral subject, Serina asked questions diligently while they ate, enjoying the sound of his voice, the sight of his lean, tanned hands across the table, the warmth from the flames in the fireplace, the silence of the darkening countryside…

She learned that Haruru had been his father’s inheritance, that his mother had been the link through which Alex was related to Gerd and his brother Kelt—they shared the same New Zealand great-grandfather. And she deduced that, while Alex called the station home, the corporation he ran kept him too busy to spend much time there.

She learned that Haruru in Maori meant rumbling.

‘There’s a waterfall in the hills that can be heard rumbling through the ground for some distance,’ Alex told her.

‘How?’

‘It’s volcanic land, and it’s probably a trick of acoustics.’

Above all, she learned that the delicious irritant of her attraction to him had deepened, turning into something darker and more dangerous—something that might teach her the meaning of heartbreak…

CHAPTER SIX

THAT night Serina slept well and the next morning Alex showed her around his garden, but for the first time ever she couldn’t fully concentrate on the beauty and harmony of flowers and foliage and form. Her attention was fixed on the man beside her.

She wondered dismally if this—whatever—she felt for Alex was going to destroy her pleasure in gardens.

Not that it could be love. The mere thought of that shocked her.

She couldn’t afford to love him. He’d made his attitude brutally clear; the unfulfilled desire that pulsated between them indicated a relationship, nothing more.

It was a relief to get into the Land Rover for a quick overview of the station. The track wound up to an airstrip along a ridge, providing a magnificent view over green hills and bush-clad gullies and the Pacific Ocean, a wide stretch of brilliant blue under the bright winter sky.

‘Tomorrow we’ll go down to the nearest beach,’ he told her on their way back to the homestead. ‘I hope you have some warm clothes with you?’

‘Of course I have,’ she returned crisply. ‘But you don’t need to entertain me, you know. Tomorrow I’ll see about hiring a car so I can visit some of the gardens in the guidebook you found for me.’

He gave her a narrow glance. ‘Have you ever driven on the left?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said absently, trying not to look down the hill. Although the track was well-maintained, the ground fell away sharply on her side without any barrier and she refused to let him see how nervous she was. Heights intimidated her.

But he must have sensed it because he slowed the Land Rover down. ‘When? And how much?’

Warmed by his unspoken consideration, she said, ‘I used to visit Doran at his school in England. Also, when our nanny was ill I drove down to Somerset quite frequently to visit her.’

And on other occasions when she’d been checking out gardens and interviewing their owners.

He said, ‘So you’re experienced on both sides of the road.’

‘And I’m a careful driver.’ Scrupulously, she added, ‘I did once set off from an intersection and head straight towards the wrong side. I was lucky—there was no other traffic, but it scared me and I’ve been supercautious ever since.’

‘If there had been other traffic you’d probably have kept to the left,’Alex said. He glanced at her. ‘You don’t need to hire a car; I’ll drive you around.’

‘I can’t ask you to do that,’ she protested, hiding her quick flare of pleasure.

‘You didn’t,’ he said, reacting instantly when a bird sunning itself in the gravel flew up suddenly in front of the Land Rover.

Serina’s sharp intake of breath wasn’t necessary. Without stamping on the brake, Alex slowed the vehicle but held it to the line.

‘Never try to avoid a bird or an animal,’ he said calmly. ‘Probably more people have been killed taking abrupt evasive action than actually hitting something. Always stay on the road, and on your side if it’s a public road.’

‘Surely it’s human instinct to try not to hurt anything?’ she protested, feeling her tense muscles relax.

‘Control it. You’re good at control.’

Serina flushed. Except when he touched her…

He added, ‘Unless you’re faced with hitting another person and, even then, you need to weigh the consequences.’

Soberly, she said, ‘I hope I never have to.’ She returned to the original subject. ‘But you don’t need to drive me—you must have plenty of things to do without that. I’ll buy a good map and I’m capable of finding my way around.’

‘I can spare the time.’

When she began to object again, he said, ‘Serina, I know lots more people—and gardens—than whoever wrote that guidebook, and most of them aren’t open to the public.’

Serina was torn. She had to make this visit worthwhile, which meant seeing as many gardens as she could fit in. The more material she gathered, the better.

For worthwhile read profitable, she thought as the track they were on joined another wider and more travelled one.

But the real reason for her reluctance to have Alex for a chauffeur was the intensity of her response to him.

Thoughtfully, she said, ‘There are occasions when you sound like my father in his most aristocratic mood.’

His tone matching hers, he responded, ‘I do not feel in the least like your father.’After a taut few seconds he added dryly, ‘Or your brother.’

She glanced sideways, her heart thumping erratically as she took in his autocratic profile. He might not work on the station, but his hands on the wheel were strong and competent. Some wicked part of her mind flashed up an image of them stroking slowly across her pale skin. Heat flamed deep within her, and she had to stare stonily ahead and concentrate on a flock of sheep in the field.

‘One of them is cast,’ Alex said, and brought the Land Rover to a stop.

Serina opened her door and scrambled down too, eyes on the sheep lying in the grass, its legs sticking out pathetically. ‘What’s the matter with it?’ she asked as Alex swung lithely over the wire fence.

He set off towards the animal. ‘It’s heavy with wool and couldn’t get up, and now its balance has gone. It will die if it’s left like that. Stay there—I can deal with it.’

But Serina climbed the fence too, making sure she kept close to the post as he had done. The wires hurt her hands a little; she rubbed them down her jeans as she joined him. The rest of the flock scattered at their approach, but they stopped a safe distance away and turned to eye the two intruders curiously as Alex strode over to the struggling sheep.

It didn’t seem likely that he’d need help but, just in case, Serina followed him across the short grass.

The sheep registered its dislike of being approached by bleating weakly and struggling. Serina watched as Alex bent and, without seeming to exert much effort, turned the animal so that it stood. It panted and hung its head, but seemed stable enough until he stepped back.

‘Damn,’ he muttered as it staggered. He grabbed it and held it steady.

Serina said, ‘If we both hold it for a while until it gets its balance, would that help?’

‘Probably, but you’d get dirty.’ His voice held a sardonic note.

‘So?’Irritated, she positioned herself beside the panting animal and pressed her knee against it. Greasy wool, warm from the winter sun, clung to the denim of her jeans.

‘It smells,’ he said, adding, ‘and the wool will leave unfiltered, dirty lanolin on your hands and clothes. Those extremely well-cut jeans may never be the same again.’

‘I’ve smelt a lot worse than this,’ she said, meeting his eyes.

‘In that case, thanks for helping,’ he said coolly. ‘They’re due to be shorn today, so if we can get it steady it will be all right.’

It was oddly intimate, standing there with the animal panting between them. Serina concealed a wry smile, wondering how many of the women who’d stayed at that beautiful homestead had got this close to a sheep.

And what would his business rivals and allies think if they could see him now? Clad in a plaid shirt with sleeves rolled up to reveal strongly muscular arms, and a pair of trousers in some hard-wearing fabric that showed off narrow hips and strongly muscled thighs, he stood with booted feet braced, taller than her by some inches.

Accustomed to looking most men in the eyes, Serina felt overshadowed, yet oddly protected.

The silence was weighted too heavily with awareness, and she found herself saying, ‘I somehow got the impression that most farmers in New Zealand travel with packs of eager dogs.’

‘Usually only one or two,’ he told her.

A note in his deep, amused voice sent a thrill of excitement through her. Serina nodded and looked away, trying to concentrate on the sunny day, the sounds of birds she’d never heard before, the earthy smell of the sheep—anything to take her mind off Alex’s nearness.

Nothing worked.

He said, ‘And I’m not a farmer. I’m a businessman. I don’t have a dog because I’m away a lot and dogs—like spouses—need companionship to be happy.’

‘Is that why you haven’t married?’

The moment the words emerged she wished she could unsay them. Tensely, she waited for a well-deserved snub.

But he replied coolly, ‘No. When—if—I marry I’ll organise my life differently. Why are you still obstinately single?’

‘I’ve got plenty of time,’ she said lamely, and risked a glance upwards.

She met crystalline steel-blue eyes that heated instantly. ‘Indeed you have,’ he said lazily. And smiled, the sort of disturbing smile that should have sent her fleeing.

Instead, it further stimulated her rioting senses. This attraction was mutual, and she’d already decided to let things happen, so why wasn’t she flirting with him, letting him know in a subtle way that she was—

Well, what was she?

Ready sounded over-eager and, anyway, she didn’t know that she was ready.

With a pang, she realised she wanted something more solid and lasting than flirtation. She wanted to be wooed.

Like some Victorian maiden with a head stuffed full of unrealistic dreams, she scoffed. It didn’t happen in her world, where people responded to strong attraction by embarking on an affair. Sometimes they married, but once the glamour became tarnished they called everything off, often to repeat the whole process with someone else.

Love was a temporary aberration, and marriage an alliance made for other, infinitely more practical reasons.

Except for rare, fortunate exceptions like Rosie and Gerd, of course. And, although she wished them every good thing in their life together, she couldn’t help wondering how long Rosie’s incandescent joy would last.

She looked up. Alex was watching her, and something about his waiting silence made her heart flip madly so that when she spoke her voice was husky and soft.

‘What is it? Do I have lanolin on my face?’

Colour tinged her skin when he inspected her even more closely, but she held her gaze steady when he drawled, ‘Not a speck on that exquisite skin. I was just admiring the way the sun strikes blue sparks off your hair. But I’ll give you a hat when we get home—the sun can burn even in winter here.’

She swallowed. ‘Thank you.’

‘And it would be a crime to singe that exquisite skin.’ Taking her by surprise, he bent his head and kissed the tip of her nose.

Eyes enormous in her face, Serina held her breath and froze. The sun suddenly seemed brighter, the colours more vivid, the unseen birds more piercingly musical. A wave of heat broke over her.

Until he straightened and said, ‘We’ll see if this old girl can stand up by herself now. Let her go and step slowly away.’

Fighting a fierce, foolish disappointment, Serina obeyed. The ewe lurched, but as Alex moved back she stood more firmly. After a few seconds she dropped her head and, ignoring them, began to crop the grass eagerly.

‘She should be all right,’ Alex said.

Serina didn’t dare speak until they were well away, then she said, ‘What will happen if she falls again?’

‘I’ll tell Caroline’s husband and he’ll make sure someone keeps an eye on this mob.’

He reached out and took her hand. Serina almost stumbled, heart pounding as they finished the walk back to the Land Rover.

The fence negotiated, Alex leant past her to open the door but, before she could get in, he slid an arm around her and held her loosely, his eyes intent.

Serina’s breath locked in her throat. Mutely, wondering how on earth other women signalled that they’d decided they were ready for an affair, she followed the instinct that prompted a sigh, then turned her head into the strong tanned column of his throat, unconsciously letting her lips linger on his skin.

Alex’s big frame hardened, sending fierce little shivers through her, but he made no attempt to tighten his embrace. In a voice that alerted every nerve, he said, ‘Sure, Serina?’

‘Absolutely.’ The word sounded faint and faraway, so to make sure there could be no doubt she lifted her head, her lips curving in a smile that hinted at a sultry promise when her smoky gaze met the narrowed, glittering intensity of Alex’s. ‘Are you always going to ask me if I’m sure?’

‘Until I’m sure of you.’

Her stomach dropped several inches, but it was too late for any second thoughts. He bent his head and kissed her.

The kiss was everything she’d been secretly craving, a passionate seal on their almost wordless pact. Her tumbling thoughts vanished under the barely leashed sensuality of his mouth as he showed her just what his kiss could do.

The arm across her back slid downwards, catching her hips and pulling them against him. His fierce response to the erotic pressure made her gasp, and he immediately took advantage, claiming more than her lips, his deep, deep kisses carrying her into some unknown world of the senses where all she could feel was the rising urgency of her own needs and a fierce, unbelievable hunger.

Abandoning herself to desire, she pressed against him, some unknown part of her relishing the unchained compulsion to lose herself entirely in this dazzling, sensuous world.

It came as a shock when he lifted his head and said in a voice that rasped with a blend of passion and frustration, ‘Someone’s coming.’

Sure enough, when he let her go Serina registered the sound of an engine. Another vehicle was heading towards them along the track.

Alex held her for a moment as she struggled for balance—just like the ewe, she thought half-hysteri-cally. He frowned as he looked above her head and let his hands drop. ‘Lindy.’

Taking what tiny comfort she could from the narrow frown between his brows, Serina realised she wasn’t surprised. With the intuition of a woman in an equivocal situation, she’d realised that Lindy wanted Alex. They might have been brought up as brother and sister, but that wasn’t how Lindy saw him.

Serina tried to feel sorry for her, but she couldn’t prevent a cold prickle of foreboding when she met the other woman’s flat stare as she drew up beside them in a sleek, only slightly dusty ute.

‘What on earth are you two up to?’ Lindy asked through the window.

Alex nodded towards the sheep, all watching them. ‘One of them was cast,’ he said. ‘We got her on her feet, but she’s still shaky.’

‘Oh, poor Serina,’ Lindy said with a glittery smile. ‘What an introduction to the place! Smelly old sheep aren’t in the least romantic, are they? Never mind—get Alex to take you out to dinner.’

She waved an airy hand and shot off, scattering stones.

Alex said, ‘Would you like to go out to dinner?’

Not at Lindy’s behest she wouldn’t!

‘I don’t think that would be a good idea,’ Serina hedged. ‘Although I slept like a top last night, I’m feeling a bit washed out right now.’

The glint in his eyes told her he was amused, but he said soberly, ‘Then we’ll have a quiet meal at home tonight and see how you feel tomorrow.’

But the other woman’s arrival had somehow cast a cloud over the afternoon.

Back at the homestead, Serina thanked him, then said, ‘I’d like to try my camera out in your garden, if that’s all right with you?’

‘I don’t want you writing about my garden,’ he said crisply.

‘I know, and I won’t, but I’ll want to take photographs when I visit other gardens, and the light here, especially during the middle of the day, is very clear and stark. I’d like to work out what settings are best.’

He held her eyes a second longer than necessary, then nodded. ‘Have you always taken your own photographs?’

‘Not at the beginning, but I do now,’ she said a little aloofly, still chilled by his initial distrust. ‘When I was working for Rassel I became interested in photography, so I soaked up as much knowledge about the way professional photographers do it as I could. I was lucky—one in particular used to critique my shots.’ She gave a slight smile. ‘He was cruel, but I learned an awful lot from him.’

His mouth thinned, then relaxed. ‘I have a few calls to answer,’ he said, ‘so I’ll be busy for an hour or so. Enjoy the garden.’

Still on edge, Serina collected her camera and went out into the garden again. The flowers in a wide border glowed as she relived Alex’s kisses and their explosive effect on her.

He’d kissed her like a lover, she thought dreamily.

She walked beneath a huge tree and closed her eyes for a moment.

Of course she wasn’t his lover. If it existed, true love had to mean you knew the person you loved, trusted them deeply and intimately and were completely convinced they’d never let you down.

Like Rosie and Gerd. They’d known each other since they were children. Whereas she’d only met Alex a few times before she’d embarked on this crazy trip across the world with him.

Yes, she’d felt an instant attraction, and been strangely elated to realise he felt it too. And she’d trusted him enough to come to New Zealand with him, she reminded herself and bit her lip—then muttered, ‘Ouch!’ when her teeth grazed the tender skin there.

When Alex kissed a woman she certainly knew she’d been kissed, she thought, trying to find some humour to lighten her mood.

But his reaction when she’d suggested she take photographs of his garden showed her how little he trusted her. Tension wound her tight, set her pacing restlessly out into the sunlight, still warm but now thickening into a gold that edged close to amber as the sun sank towards the hills to the west.

It was stupid to feel hurt. Alex certainly wasn’t in love with her, so why did she expect him to trust her?

Because what she felt for him—all she could allow herself to feel—was a mad, wild, unreasonable desire. Just thinking of him made her body spring into instant life, as though charged with electricity, and when she was with him she teetered on the most deliciously terrifying tenterhooks, so aware of his every movement that it was almost a relief to walk away.

Lust, she told herself sternly. Not love…

‘Forget about him,’ she told herself, startling a small bird with a tail like a fan into darting upwards. It landed on a tall stem a few feet away and surveyed her with black button eyes, scolding her with high-pitched chirps as it flirted its tail at her.

Smiling, she lifted her camera and got a shot of it, using it to get some pointers on how to deal with the bright, clear light.

But, try as she did to concentrate on photographic techniques, her obstinate mind kept replaying the way Alex had held her hand as they’d walked back to the Land Rover.

Somehow, that most casual of caresses meant more—just more, she thought in confusion.

Not more than his kisses, which had rocked her world, yet in a strange way that casual linking of hands satisfied something she didn’t recognise in herself, a kind of yearning…

For what?

She shook her head. Romance?

Giving up, she went inside and inspected her shots, relieved when several showed up really well—so well, she emailed a couple to her editor as a sample of what was in store for her.

Then she surveyed her clothes, finally choosing a little black dress. Discretion itself, she thought satirically. Ladylike and quite forgettable, although it did nice things for her skin and eyes.

And it was useless to wish now she’d brought something more daring, something that would subtly signal the change in her. Pulling a face at her reflection, she combed back her hair and caught it behind her head with a neat, unobtrusive clip. It didn’t seem likely that for a quiet dinner for two at home Alex would dress too formally, but she had no idea what New Zealanders wore for such occasions.

Or even if it mattered. Last night she’d changed into a pair of tailored silk trousers and a simple soft blouse, relieved when Alex had been equally casually attired. And it was foolish to think anything had altered just because he’d kissed her again, and she’d somehow—she hoped—managed to convey how much she wanted him.

Butterflies swirled through her stomach when she left her room, setting up a frenzied internal tornado when Alex came through a door a few metres along the wide hallway. To her relief, he was clad informally in a well-tailored linen shirt and narrow-cut trousers that set off the powerful body beneath.

Without trying to hide the gleam of appreciation in his eyes, he said, ‘Tell me, is it training or do you somehow just know the perfect way to look for any occasion?’

Colour heated her skin, but she managed to say demurely, ‘What a lovely compliment.’

He laughed and opened a door into a room that looked more like a library than a study. Standing back to let her go in first, he said, ‘That is no answer.’

‘Because your question was unanswerable. I choose what I hope will be appropriate for the occasion and leave it at that.’

He surveyed her through his lashes. ‘And an elegant, very chic that it is tonight.’

His response washed a deeper tinge of colour through her translucent skin. For a moment the violet eyes were clouded by an emotion Alex couldn’t define.

They cleared almost instantly and she said, ‘I wonder why I have the feeling you’re testing me in some subtle way I don’t understand?’

He already knew she wasn’t the stock princess he’d first thought, but he was surprised she’d dropped her usual reserve for such a forthright statement. Ignoring a sharp rush of adrenalin, he said, ‘You have an overactive imagination. I like to see you blush—it’s a charming reaction.’

How many other men had summoned that swift, rapidly fading heat? The photographer who’d been cruel but helpful? That thought brought with it a fierce, baseless anger that startled him.

He asked, ‘What would you like to drink?’

After a cool glance she said, ‘Wine would be great, thank you.’

To her surprise, he opened a bottle of champagne-style wine. Pouring it for her, he said, ‘This is from the Hawkes Bay, a big wine-growing region. Like Aura and Flint, most Northland vineyards tend to concentrate on growing for red wines. Some vintners buy in grapes to make their white wines. In the far north there are several vineyards, some of them with magnificent grounds. I’ve included them in a list of places you might find interesting. You can look at it after dinner, and tomorrow I’ll contact any you’d like to see.’

She took a sip of the liquid. Alex watched the curve of her artfully coloured mouth as it kissed the glass, and felt his gut tighten. Cynically he thought that for someone who’d never put a foot wrong, never figured in any scandal, she certainly knew all the tricks.

And she kissed like a houri. She’d learned that from someone. Or several someones. So his Princess was nothing if not discreet.

For no reason—because she wasn’t his Princess—the thought burned like acid.

Serina set her champagne flute down and met his eyes, her gaze level. ‘You’re being very helpful,’ she said, ‘but I’d feel better if I contacted them.’

‘People here know who I am,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Like it or not, it does make a difference.’

A steely note in her voice, she answered, ‘I realise that, and of course I’m grateful for the offer, but I’m not accustomed to being sponsored.’

Alex had researched her work, concentrating on places he’d visited himself, and been surprised to discover she had a rare skill for evoking the soul of a garden. For a reason he wasn’t going to inspect too deeply, her refusal to accept his help sparked his temper.

‘With respect,’ he said sardonically, ‘I suggest you stop cutting off your nose to spite your face. This is New Zealand, and although I’m sure the magazine you write for has some readers here, it’s probably not enough to make you famous.’

‘I didn’t—’

He overrode her protest. ‘It will be much easier for you if I do stand sponsor to you—and at least the owners will know you won’t be casing their properties for a future robbery.’

Her head came up proudly. ‘As if that’s likely to happen,’ she retorted scornfully, her eyes sparkling with outrage.

Alex shrugged. ‘New Zealand has a low level of crime, but we’re not free of it. You can’t blame people if they are a little suspicious of an unknown person who not only asks if she can come and check out their properties, but brings a camera with her.’

She frowned, and before she could speak he went on levelly, ‘In your world, Princess, you’re very well known. Here, you’re not. I am.’

He waited while she absorbed that, watching her frown smooth out and her thoughtful nod.

Slowly, she said, ‘Of course. I didn’t mean to be presumptuous.’ She looked at him. ‘I’ve just realised I have a confession to make—I took photographs of your garden and sent them to my editor as an indication of what gardens are like here. I’m sorry, I’ll get her to delete them.’

Irritated, he said shortly, ‘Just make sure she doesn’t publish them.’

‘She knows they’re not for publication.’

She took another sip of her wine and this time he watched deliberately, noting the way she tasted—as though she was an expert.

Perfectly trained, he thought, and wondered why, when he wanted so urgently to kiss the wine from her lips, to feel the soft meltdown of her body against his, all he could do was search for flaws. Just looking at her was enough to scramble his brain, and he couldn’t afford to allow this unusual desire to overwhelm his common sense.

Only an hour ago he’d spoken to Gerd on the secure line and discovered that, although Doran seemed more than happy to explore the delights of Vanuatu wrecks and reefs, his band of gaming companions had turned up in one of the coastal towns in the border region of Carathia and Montevel.

Ostensibly on holiday.

Had Princess Serina made the somewhat surprising decision to come to New Zealand in order to throw any suspicious person off the scent? He had every reason to believe her brother had gone to Vanuatu for just that reason. That afternoon Gerd had told Alex that the security man he’d sent to infiltrate the group had been overeager and raised suspicion. Alex had ordered the plant’s immediate withdrawal, but from now on they’d have to work on the assumption that the group knew they’d been infiltrated.

How deeply in their confidence was Serina? She’d used her email that afternoon to send photographs. Had she contacted Doran, or the plotters?

He glanced down at her face, as serene as her name, beautiful and remote and desirably tempting.

Her explanation of her brother’s activities had been almost believable, but she hadn’t been persuasive enough to quite convince him. According to his man, there was an excellent chance she was fully aware of what was going on.

With the spy gone, he and Gerd had no other way of finding out anything more but, from what they’d learned, the plotters were getting ready to make a move.

Perhaps it was time to find out whether Serina was ready to sacrifice her body to the cause.

He forced back an instinctive distaste. Lives would be lost if the group were allowed to proceed and, although he had no sympathy for those who believed the end justified the means, he suspected this was one of the times when it really did.

Besides, although Serina was extremely aware of him, she was no fluttering ingénue, hoping that an affair would lead to marriage. Her father, a notorious libertine, would have taught her that such things were transitory.

And he wouldn’t be faking. From the moment he’d met her, he’d found the aloof Princess Serina very alluring and he was enjoying crossing swords with her.

Plenty of very satisfactory relationships, he thought cynically, had been built on much more shaky grounds than that.

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