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

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

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

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

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

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

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

About the Author

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

If only real life was just as easy…

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

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

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

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

Princess in
the Iron Mask
Victoria Parker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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

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

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

CHAPTER ONE

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

Favour?

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

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

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

Claudia Thyssen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Princess Claudine Marysse Thyssen Verbault.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Could this day get any worse?’

‘Excuse me, miss …?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her hand stilled together with her heartbeat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They had betrayed her in the most unforgivable way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the…?

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

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

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

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

The woman had no honour.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With a breathy little satisfied sigh that quite frankly belonged in the bedroom she reached over a paper mountain. Her lab coat moulded to her curvaceous bottom, the hem riding upward, giving Lucas a tantalising glimpse of sculpted ankles and sleek, toned calves. Swallowing hard, he whipped his gaze back up, just in time to see her pushing those huge ugly spectacles up her nose.

Swaying between the need to rip them back off or glue them in place, he cursed under his breath. Dios, he was not meant to feel anything. And the only thing he needed from her was to damn well comply.

‘Well, I’ve no wish to see them,’ she said.

Lucas kept his tone modulated, easy. ‘That is unfortunate. They desire your hasty return to Arunthia. I have been commissioned to escort you home.’

She slammed her hands onto lush, rounded hips and her eyes fired darts full of ire. ‘Mr Garcia, I’m not an express shipment. If it’s haste you desire the door is directly behind you. Furthermore, if I wanted a vacation in Arunthia I’m quite capable of getting there myself. I don’t require an escort.’

Lucas hitched a brow. He knew exactly what she required. A damn good—

‘More importantly, I can’t leave England right now.’

‘Do you not wish to see your family? Reacquaint yourself with the country of your birth?’ he asked, trying a little guilt on for size.

‘Not particularly,’ she replied, a hint of pink dusting her sculpted cheekbones.

Was she lying or embarrassed by her callous disregard? The notion began to appease him—until her arms fell listlessly to her sides and she bit down hard on her bottom lip. A drop of blood pooled on the plump surface and she sucked the flesh. Grimaced.

Miss Verbault was either into self-punishment or underneath her chosen façade lay an emotional maelstrom. Lucas decided to go on the first theory. If she had any conscience she would have returned home months ago.

‘If they’re that desperate to see me, why aren’t they here?’

‘Unfortunately they are incapacitated at present.’

‘They usually are incapacitated, Mr Garcia,’ she said, rubbing her brow with the tips of her fingers.

His head reared. ‘Naturally. They do rule a small country. Something I’m sure is a time-consuming vocation.’ What did she want? Weekly trips? How narrow-minded could one person be?

‘Oh, I’ve noticed. For twenty-eight years, believe me, I’ve noticed,’ she said, now rubbing harder, almost punishing. As very well she should.

Any other woman would be overjoyed to have even a small taste of the privileged life she rejected. To be royalty and live in pure luxury was, for most, an impossible dream. Dios, for some, placing food upon the table or returning to their loved ones at all was an impossible dream.

The woman was a conundrum. You’re not here to crack the code, Garcia. Just do your job and get the hell out.

Lucas flexed his neck and battled on. He hadn’t forged his way through the ranks by falling at the first hurdle or being a passive negotiator. Then again, he was adept at dealing with men. Not tall, striking, obstinate females.

Ordering his voice to remain civil, Lucas persisted. ‘Regardless of their responsibilities, they look forward to your visit.’

A heavy sigh poured from her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sure. The question is, what do they want from me?’

A growl rumbled up his chest. ‘They merely want to see their daughter.’ He avoided the topic of an Anniversary Ball, celebrating her parents’ fifty years of marriage, as had been suggested. Apparently she was uncomfortable at such gatherings. It was more likely she couldn’t bear to leave her precious lab. Even Lucas could see it was the personal white fortress of an ice maiden.

‘I’ll arrange a conference call,’ she said.

‘In. Person.’

She snorted. Actually snorted. The most unladylike sound he’d ever heard. Dios, he’d met camels with more grace.

‘I don’t think so.’ Turning back to the desk, she began to stack files. Then unstack them. Yanking at the cuffs of her lab coat every so often. His eyes narrowed on her small wrists. She was either cold or the habit was a nervous tic.

‘Why now? Their timing is impeccable.’

‘You seem to be an intelligent woman. Did you honestly think you could ignore your family for ever?’ Could she not have mustered the decency to return one note from over half a dozen letters?

‘Hoped would be more like it.’ She swivelled on her heels to face him. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Garcia, but your journey has been wasted. I’ve no intention of leaving here, with you or anyone.’

Crossing her arms tightly over her chest, she stood mutinous. His eyes dipped of their own accord, his pulse hitting one-fifty at the sight. Her pose had tightened the shapeless lab coat, offering him a hint of her rounded hip, cinching her small waist and enhancing the lush fullness of her breasts.

Blood hot as Arunthian lava seared through his veins.

‘I’m afraid you have no choice,’ he bit out, furious at his inappropriate physical reaction. ‘Responsibility and duty outweigh personal desires.’

Claudia’s luscious mouth dropped open and a fleeting image of those full lips pressing into his chest gave him momentary pause. His imagination flamed and he could practically feel her softness sliding against his strength. The heaviness of her breasts as he cupped the soft globes.

Primal lust hit with devastating impact. Sweat trickled down his spine. Torrid heat surged south. His groin pulsed once, twice, and hardened within seconds. Holy…

Lucas flexed his neck until he heard a soft click. What the hell was wrong with him? Nothing that an hour with a woman wouldn’t fix. Any woman bar this one. Preferably a blonde. With blue eyes.

Dios, when was the last time he’d engaged in no-strings self-indulgence? Months? Years? No wonder he was in such a damn state. Working night and day had obviously begun to take its toll.

Claudia’s sudden laughter crashed into his train of thought. A dark, hollow sound designed to chill the air.

‘How wonderfully droll. I live in a free country, Mr Garcia, what are you going to do? Carry me out of here?’ Laughter died on her tongue as her hand snaked up her chest to curl around her delicate throat.

The temptation to replace her hand with his made his palms itch. To caress or throttle—he’d yet to decide.

The air crackled with sweltry tension and Lucas raised one dark brow…

Claudia took a tentative step back. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

No, he wouldn’t, but she didn’t know that. Dios, he was no animal. Although he’d witnessed many in his lifetime.

Suddenly his thoughts locked as his brain malfunctioned and an image flashed in his mind’s eye. Nostrils flaring, he hauled air into his lungs and shut down the defect.

He searched for a retort. ‘I would far rather you walked.’

She shook her head slowly. ‘Not going to happen. Listen, just tell them I’ll think about it, okay?’

Lucas smiled, although he imagined it was more of a smirk. What she asked of him was not only unthinkable but impossible. He was not going home empty-handed.

‘I have to finish my work, Mr Garcia.’

Ah. He’d wondered how long it would take before she dropped the topic of her profession into the equation. The obvious chink in her armour.

‘It’s very important,’ she said.

So was the country she belonged to. Lucas glanced around her workspace, troubled by the stark environment. After spending ten minutes under the harsh flood of lighting he already felt like a lab rat.

Control began to slip once more and he closed his eyes, breathed deeply…only to inhale a strange blend of clinical sanitation and elements of her work. Bleached cleanliness punched his gut, gripped and twisted with a hard fist. Sweat bubbled on his upper lip and he turned to pace, exorcising the demons. How could she stand being cooped in this cage? The violent need to escape pumped pure adrenaline through his system, and he clamped his jaw hard enough to crack a molar.

Shrugging off the discomfort, disgusted at his own weakness, he veered towards her. ‘You may live in a free country but you were born to another and you have responsibilities to uphold. You will always have your work. But right now your family needs to take precedence. Three weeks at the most and then you may return. That is all they ask of you.’

‘All they ask?’ she flared. ‘Why should I do anything for them?’

Lucas scrubbed at his nape, smacked with the need to butt his head against a brick wall. ‘Your selfishness is astounding. Do you not feel one iota—?’

‘I have responsibilities here, Mr Garcia. Petri dishes full of them,’ she said, her arm outstretched, pointing to a wall where a bank of shelves held a legion of chemical equipment, jars and small plastic dishes of what looked like goop.

He raised a dark brow in her direction, only to be faced with one ink-smudged palm. The slight quiver of her long fingers betrayed her heightened state of anxiety.

‘I don’t expect you to understand what I do here,’ she said waspishly and somewhat degradingly.

Lucas allowed the insult to slide, since he understood perfectly what her job entailed. If she thought him beneath her level of intelligence he was not only unperturbed—for it would be a cold day in hell before he valued the opinion of one so selfish and irresponsible—but his apparent ignorance would only serve to work in his favour later on. While he understood her motivations, her priorities were clearly misaligned.

‘So,’ she said, tearing her spectacles off her face, flaying him with amber fire. ‘You can stop pacing like a caged animal, trying to figure out your next move. I’ve seen them all and I’m immune.’

Lucas clenched his teeth to avoid his jaw dropping to the floor. Incredible! She fought as a warrior. He’d never seen anything like it. Or felt anything like it. Because his entire body seethed with the need to haul her into his arms and kiss her pert, insolent mouth.

He scoured her face. Flawless apricot skin, huge distinctive amber eyes begging him for something he couldn’t place. Understanding? Or to be left in peace?

Lucas could give her neither.

Failure was not in his vocabulary. He’d built his life, its very foundations, on honour, duty and protection. Not even an act of providence would steer him off his chosen path. Nor the most beautiful self-centred woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

Damage limitation was futile.

It was time to change tactics and up the pressure.

Because, come nightfall, Claudia would be returning to Arunthia.

CHAPTER TWO

IT MIGHT HAVE been nanny number four who’d told her not to play with fire, Claudia reflected as she took a tentative step back. But for the life of her she couldn’t remember the woman who had screamed the warning never to provoke animals. Such a shame she hadn’t listened and taken the same diligent approach to her safety as she had to her reading materials.

Standing no more than five feet away, Lucas locked his fierce blue eyes on her. Blatant intent slashed colour on his high chiselled cheekbones and her heart thumped against her ribcage. Without a doubt he would throw her over his shoulder and haul her out of here given half the chance.

Ignoring the ridiculous frisson of excitement that thought evoked, she focused on what was quickly becoming one of the most surreal days of her life.

Lucas, this dark, devastating brute, was by moral nature a carbon copy of her parents. Only thinking of their beloved country, of duty and responsibility. Uncaring of Claudia’s desires or, more importantly, her needs.

Why should she do anything for them? What had they ever done for her, apart from abandoning her in a foreign country? Twelve years old and so sick she could barely walk. So unsightly they’d secreted her away. The loss of everything and everyone she’d ever known had soaked her pillow at night. So frightened. So very alone.

Throat swelling with the sting of past hurts, she swerved back to the workbench and fumbled with the paper disarray for fear he’d see too much.

‘I would like you to leave, Mr Garcia,’ she said, the sheet in her hand quivering as violently as her voice. Please just go.

‘You ask me the impossible, Your Royal Highness,’ he replied in that delicious tone that licked at her senses like a hungry cat. Which only made her hate him even more.

She slapped the paper atop the stainless steel and braced her arms on the squared edge.

Trust her parents to send in the big guns. Lucas Garcia was proving to be as immovable as Big Ben, and she could hear the tick, tick of the clock. Don’t be ridiculous. They’ve sent for you before. You can get rid of this guy just as easily.

Their last threat had been the abolition of her living funds. ‘Go ahead,’ she’d told them, and promptly moved out of her swanky three-bedroom apartment on the banks of the River Thames. The bluff had backfired spectacularly, because the vast space lay empty to this day. But she loved her kitsch one-bed studio because it was hers alone, flying the flag of her hard-won independence.

Stiffening her spine, she turned in time to see Lucas finger his over-long hair back from his forehead and her insides liquefied. Must be a chemical reaction linked to irate frustration.

‘And please don’t call me, Your Royal whatever. I know perfectly well what you’re doing. Your tactics won’t work with me.’

‘Regardless of your preference, that is your title,’ he said, his voice toughened like steel, brow etched with exasperation. ‘When will you acknowledge the fact and behave accordingly?’

‘Behave? I’ve always been the upstanding daughter, Mr Garcia. I work hard and, more importantly, I make no ripples that will reach Arunthian shores to embarrass or disgrace.’ An implausible feat for Claudia, but he didn’t need to know that.

The dark glower he fired her way said he was far from impressed.

‘And I have two sisters,’ she said, suppressing any girlhood nostalgia and focusing instead on the little she’d gleaned of them by searching their names on the internet. Just to see if they were well…happy. If the thousands of glamorous photographs and articles were anything to go by they were more than well. They were true royalty in every way. ‘My parents don’t need me.’ Which was just as well because the mere notion of life at the palace, evermore in the public eye, made her skin crawl as if the venom of a scorpion pulsed through her veins.

‘Good grief, I’m as far away from being a princess as you are from being Prince Charming!’

Lucas coughed around a closed fist, then uncurled his long fingers to stroke his jaw. ‘I’ve noticed,’ he said, searching her face as if looking for an answer to the question hovering in the air.

Why? Let him come to his own conclusions, she mused. Claudia owed him nothing.

In thinking mode his face almost softened, and for the first time she noticed beautiful long thick lashes surrounded eyes so dark, so intense, they glittered like sapphires.

‘Then how would you like to be addressed?’ he asked.

Claudia frowned, blinking over and over, scrolling through the past few minutes of conversation, slightly disturbed by his silky intonation.

‘Just Claudia is fine,’ she said warily.

‘Very well, Just Claudia.’

Oh. My. Giddy. Aunt. Something hot and sultry splashed through her midsection. His accent thickened when he said her name. His full mouth formed a perfect O as if he’d kissed it past his lips: Cllowtia.

Kissed it past his lips?

She gave her head a quick shake. Twenty minutes in his company and she’d lost hundreds of brain cells, waxing poetical. This was what happened when a romance novel thrust itself into her hands during a spontaneous visit to the charity bookshop at St Andrews.

Claudia preferred to base her life on facts and scientific evidence.

And the fact was Lucas Garcia wouldn’t give her a second glance if he passed her in the street. The idea of mutual attraction was laughable. She wasn’t only socially inept but also the strangest-looking creature on earth. They were quite literally worlds apart. Or they would be as soon as she got rid of him.

From the way his long blunt fingers trailed down the lapel of his charcoal single-breasted jacket and deftly unpopped the button, it didn’t look as if he felt the need to go any time soon.

Mid-exasperated sigh, the air locked in her throat as he rolled his broad shoulders, revealing a wide panel of crisp white shirt stretched taut over his rock-solid physique, and strolled over to where her qualifications hung on the wall, filling the white expanse.

‘I understand you are a biochemist?’

Claudia’s eyes narrowed on his fluid gait, lithe for a man of his stature, and her traitorous mind imagined all kinds. ‘Mmm-hmm.’ Oh, lovely—she couldn’t even speak, her mouth was so dry.

‘What exactly does your work involve?’

Was he really that interested? She gave a little huff. Of course he was interested. It was his job to be interested.

‘At the moment I’m studying a childhood auto-immune disease and developing drugs to reduce the side-effects—along with a cure, of course.’ Claudia just had to think of a child suffering from the same condition and her life made a strange kind of sense. She was here for a purpose. One that didn’t include sitting around looking impossibly pretty, cutting ribbons at galas and chatting to foreign dignitaries.

Lucas paused before the largest frame. Her second Masters. ‘You feel strongly about your work.’ Reaching up, he straightened the gilt-framed plaque with tensile fingers and ran the tip of his index finger across the black lettering of her name.

The gesture was so unexpected, so intimate, it felt like a physical touch.

Without conscious thought she reached up and brushed her lips in a continuous circular motion, wondering what his too-large hands would feel like against her skin—rough and purposeful or seductively thrilling?

‘The strength of my dedication is unimaginable, Mr Garcia,’ she said softly, her hand plunging to her side.

Because suddenly, like the instant flare of a Bunsen, it occurred to her that he couldn’t possibly understand her avoidance of going home. Your selfishness is astounding. In his opinion she was being awkward and highly unreasonable. Having no idea why the notion weighed so heavy on her heart, she wanted to explain. Would she see pity in his beautifully fierce gaze or scorn because she’d yet to overcome the lingering effects?

‘That is quite understandable in the circumstances,’ he said, with a cool sincerity that snuffed out her burning desire to elucidate.

Was he saying he already knew?

‘This condition that you study?’ he went on. ‘JDMS?’

‘Juvenile Dermatomyosytis. I’m surprised you’ve heard of it. It’s not a particularly common affliction.’ Hence it was a constant fight to keep money rolling her way. Fingers of suspicion stroked her throat, curling like a noose around her neck. ‘Did my parents tell you?’

‘No.’

One word—sharp as a scalpel and just as ominous.

Claudia frowned. Was he deliberately being evasive?

Having reached the far corner, Lucas unclasped his hands and began to swivel on his heels. Before he made the full turn she braced her weight against the edge of the desk, clenched her fists, determined not to fidget and calling upon years of practice in the art of facial indifference.

Despite all her efforts her eyes still flared at the indomitable calculating expression on his face.

‘Like you, I take my position seriously, Claudia. I would not be doing my job correctly if I stumbled into a situation without all the relevant facts to hand.’

Meaning he’d pulled her files. Not full medical—he wouldn’t have had the authority—so his information would be brief. ‘So you understand my reasons?’

‘I understand perfectly,’ he said, his voice weighted with dark power.

A sinking sensation tugged at her limbs and she pushed her spine into the blunt edge of the bench.

‘What I cannot comprehend is your reluctance to travel home. As far as I can tell, you are using your job as a convenient excuse. Luckily I had been forewarned of any possible obstacles.’

Panic pounded at her heart and Claudia bit her inner cheek to prevent an untimely sniping retort.

‘With that in mind,’ he continued, ‘my first port of call this morning was with your manager. A Mr Ryan Tate.’

Her stomach lurched so violently her wheat-bran flakes threatened to reappear. But that didn’t stop her brain firing synapses faster than the speed of light.

‘That’s how you gained access to this floor,’ she whispered.

‘Correct.’

‘How dare you …?’ Her voice cracked, failing her miserably. ‘How dare you intrude on my life this way? What was discussed at this meeting?’

Lucas flexed his neck, his unease a palpable thing, but Claudia was far too busy stemming hysteria to take comfort from the sight.

‘I enquired if you were free to take annual leave,’ he said. ‘The answer was yes.’

Oh …

‘I asked him if there was anything standing in the way of your returning home immediately. The answer was yes. You have five days to secure additional funding before the work on your project is terminated.’

My …

‘I questioned if there was anything I could do to relieve the time pressure and pave the way for your return home. The answer was yes.’

God.

She’d underestimated him. Badly.

Directing her voice to match the cool detachment in his face, she said, ‘When you arrived I asked if you were here in connection with the budget meeting. While you didn’t lie outright, you deliberately withheld facts which would have a profound effect on me. Why?’

‘I had hoped we would come to an understanding without the need for—’

‘Blackmail? Coercion?’ she cried, her entire body trembling with panic and frustration.

Forget cool detachment. He was icily cruel—from his glacial blue stare to the hard line of his mouth.

‘This is not personal, Claudia.’

‘You’ve just made it personal, Lucas!’ God, she had to control herself. Tears stung like tiny daggers but she swallowed every one even as they sliced at her throat. She refused to cry in front of this man.

For the first time his eyes flicked away from her. ‘Do you or do you not require funding to complete your work?’

‘If you’ve discussed this with Tate, then you already know I do.’

‘Then consider it a favour for a favour,’ he said amiably, his gaze returning, eyes narrowed on her face.

‘A favour? What was the outcome of this meeting?’ Stupid, stupid question—but she needed him to say the words before she gave up all hope.

‘I informed Mr Tate that I would certainly consider providing the additional three point five million pounds of necessary funding if certain conditions were met. By you.’

‘You … You …’ The lab swirled before her eyes, gaining speed as if she were in the centre of a whirlwind. No. No. She was not going back. ‘I’ll find another way to get the money,’ she said, desperation blurring her mind. Don’t be stupid, Claudia. You need the money. Take the money. You just asked yourself what your parents have ever done for you…let them do this. But at what cost? Her heart? Her hard-won independence and the little pride she had left? ‘I will not be bought.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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