A Royal World Apart(12)

“It’s a chalet. In Switzerland. It’s more Ritz Carlton than Alcatraz.” She barely smiled, her full lips turned down as they made their way toward her chambers. “What’s the problem?”

“I’m embarrassed,” she said.

“You are?”

“How would you like it if a couple of women told the world that you’d … scratch that, you’re a man. You would probably crow about it. But that’s the thing, if I were a man it would be presented as an exploit. Ah yes, very amusing, he’s added to his list of conquests. As it is, something that never happened is being portrayed as my great downfall. Sinner that I am.”

“We’re all sinners,” he said.

“True enough,” she said, pressing in the code to her rooms and opening the doors. “I know I did some stupid things, but I didn’t do that. I wouldn’t. I have morals.” She flicked the lights on in the entryway and continued on through the sitting area and into her bedroom. “I was trying to get myself a bit of a bad reputation, yes, but not … not that bad.”

She bent down and pulled out a suitcase and put it on the bed.

“Do you want to call someone to do that?”

“I’ll do it myself,” she snapped. “I’m not an invalid. I’m not a child. I’m not a slut, either.” She pulled clothes out of her large freestanding wardrobe and started shoving them into the suitcase. “I don’t … I don’t want anyone to think I let those two …”

“No one will think much about it.”

“Yes they will, that’s why I have to leave.”

“Maybe Bastian will think about it and decide not to marry you,” he said, watching as she put shoes into the large suitcase. “Or maybe he’ll be intrigued and decide it gives him even more reason to marry you.”

She paused, her head snapping up, a look of horror crossing her face. “That’s … awful.”

“We’ll go to Switzerland, we’ll lay low for a while, and when you come back, it will have blown over. Of course your family representative will give a statement and make sure it’s known that this isn’t true. But why invite a firestorm when you can go away for a while and wait for it all to die down?”

“What are we going to do for … weeks on end?”

He could think of a few things, things that made his blood run hotter, faster. But he refused to give them voice. Refused even to let them morph into a full-color frame in his mind. The idea of two weeks alone with Eva … it brought playing with fire to mind. Like lighting a match and seeing how close he could get to the flame without burning himself. “Play board games.”

She gave him a baleful look. “Scrabble? Could be interesting. We can play in Greek, Russian and English.”

The look in her eyes, strong, her wit a bit wicked, even under the circumstances, was unexpected. She truly was an unusual woman. And far too intriguing. Still, he couldn’t resist teasing her. An inch closer to the flame. “Italian and French too, if you’d like.”

“I don’t speak Italian.”

“Then perhaps I’ll teach you Italian.”

“A productive use of time,” she said, shutting the lid on her suitcase and trying to push the locks into place. “Help me.”

She stepped out of the way and crossed her arms beneath her breasts, her expression imperious. He laughed and moved into position, pushing the lid down with one hand and locking it into place with the other.

“I helped get it started for you,” she sniffed.

He turned his head, their faces close for a moment. He stepped back before he could get a hint of her scent. It would be too much. Too hard to overcome the need to lean in and see if her skin tasted as good as it smelled. To get bolder still with the fire he knew could easily rage out of control. “Of course you did,” he said, picking the suitcase up from its place on the bed. “Ready for your very luxurious exile?”

“Only as an alternative to Alcatraz.”

Mak provided the private jet for the flight. It was a display of wealth that was beyond even her experience. Expansive and plush, with a seating area more suited to a hotel suite than a plane.

It was sort of surreal. And the beginning of real, concrete understanding about who he was. He was successful, she knew that, a billionaire as well, and she’d known that too. But suddenly, out of her father’s kingdom, thirty thousand feet above the ocean, she realized that Mak had more money and more power than the Drakos royal family.

Her family had tradition, power and their small island, but this went well beyond that. When she saw the way Mak’s staff treated him, saw the sheer opulence of their surroundings … well, it was clear she’d underestimated him a bit.

Yes, he was doing work for her father, but he wasn’t an employee. He wasn’t anyone’s subordinate.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, from his position across the cabin.

“Yes, please. Champagne?”

“Of course.” He pressed a button on the seat and a steward came from behind the curtain, receiving the order in Russian and going back into the kitchenette area of the plane.

“So, this is your vacation home, then?” she asked.

“Something like that. My place where I go when I don’t want to be bothered.”

“Makes it sort of ironic that you’re bringing me, then,” she said, a giggle shaking up the last word. She didn’t know why she was laughing, because nothing about this was funny at all.

As far as the story in the news went, she felt humiliated beyond belief. The details in the tabloid were hideous. They’d said she’d done things she’d never even heard of. It was in print for all the world. And people would believe it. There would be nothing she could do to escape that. There would always be some people who thought of her as the princess who’d had sex with two men in a casino. Her claim to fame for the rest of her life.

Her drink arrived and she took it gratefully, lifting it to her lips and savoring the first sip.

“Are you all right?”

She lowered her glass. “Oh, never better. Naturally. I am officially ruined, which is fabulous. And now I’m going to Switzerland to spend some time with a man who really doesn’t like me.” A man who made her feel as if her skin was too tight for her body, as if she couldn’t quite catch her breath. “Fan-bloody-tastic now that you mention it.”

“You knew this could happen, Eva. You tempted it.”

“I know,” she bit out. “I know it. And that’s the worst part. I did this to myself, Mak, without really thinking … without understanding what it would mean. There will always be people who look at me and think of this. For the rest of my life. And yes, they lied. And that’s not my fault that they chose to do that, but I provided the pictures to go with the headline. I put myself in a bad situation, and I did it knowing full well the press would pick up on it and blow it out of proportion.”

“It doesn’t matter what people think.”

“Easy for you to say. Nobody cares what you do. The press hardly knows you exist, do they? You’re like a ghost. I could barely pull you up on an internet search.”

“Anonymity is important to my job. I need to be able to blend in.”

“Right. Of course.” She studied his profile. His straight nose, the strong line of his jaw. Mak was a man who didn’t answer to anyone but himself. “It must be so … you must feel so free.”

He laughed and leaned back in his chair. “Not entirely.”

“My own reaction is confusing me a little bit. If anything is going to make Bastian—and the others waiting in the wings—back out, it’s this. And I’m not happy about it.”

“No one wants to hear bad things said about them.”

“I suppose not. But still, you’d think I could focus on the victory.”

He turned his head, his eyes intent on hers, the gray in them as cold as steel. “You’re too soft, Eva. You feel too much.”

She looked down into her glass and watched the bubbles rise to the surface of the pale liquid. “You’ve said that to me once before.”

“Because it needs saying.”

“Do you really care? If I feel too much. If I’m hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He paused for a moment, his focus out the window. He spoke slowly, as though he was choosing his words with great care. “You remind me of someone. I’ve said that to you before, too.” He paused, looked down at his hands. “You remind me of my wife.”

“I didn’t think you were married anymore,” she said, her stomach getting tight. She wasn’t interested in harboring an attraction to a married man, even if neither of them had acted on anything. As long as one dance in a dimly lit garden didn’t count as “acting on” something.

“I’m not. My wife is dead.” He said the words so matter-of-factly. They sounded so naked in the silence of the cabin. So achingly sad.

“I’m …” Her throat constricted. “I’m sorry.” That made her feel foolish. Weak. She’d been complaining to him about getting married, whining about her fate, the headlines. Talking to him about love as though she were some sort of expert and the whole time she’d been talking to a man who had loved and lost.