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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.
