To Claim His Heir by Christmas(4)

Eyes closed, she tucked her lips into her mouth and bit down hard enough to bruise.

'Do I take it I am in the company of Princess Luciana of Arunthia?' His voice seethed with distaste, so cold and hard he imagined it could shatter every windowpane within a ten miles radius. 'Am I?'

His increase in volume snapped her awake and she elevated her chin, stood tall and regal, while she ruthlessly shuttered her expression.

'You certainly are, Prince Thane of Galancia,' she said, in a sexy, sassy voice that sent a dark erotic wave of heat rushing down his spine.

Ah, this was his Ana, all right. She looked more fearsome than Augustus could any day of the week, and Thane had the absurd desire to kiss that mulish line right off her lush, sulky mouth. Even knowing who she was. A Verbault. Henri's daughter. And didn't that fill him with no small amount of self-disgust? This had to be the universe's idea of a sick joke.

Thane crossed his arms over his wide chest and arched one livid brow as they faced off in the hallway.

'Did you know who I was back then?'

Had she known and set out to destroy him by luring him in? Because the Arunthian hussy had almost managed it. Almost driven him to the brink of insanity in the aftermath of her disappearance.

If he'd blinked he would have missed it. The way her smooth throat convulsed. The way she shot a quick glance in Augustus's direction as if to check he was still there. He was. Unfortunately. Soaking up every word.

'I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about. I've never met you before in my life. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I suddenly find I'm very tired.'                       
       
           



       

Stupefied, he rocked back on his heels as she blew past them like a hurricane, leaving her signature trail of destruction in her wake.

A flash fire started in the pit of his gut and his mood took a deadly turn. The voracious heat was exploding to sear through his veins, to fire his blood as pure, undiluted anger blazed through his system.

Had she actually denied knowing him? Him? Prince Thane of Galancia? Had she actually walked away from him? Again?

A haze of inky darkness clouded his vision, his mind.

Ah, Princess. Big mistake. Huge. Massive, grave error of judgement.

He wanted answers. Now. Wanted to know if she'd known his true identity all along. If she'd been toying with him. Why she'd vanished in the middle of the night after she'd promised she would stay. Why she'd plunged him into the pit of Hades for months on end-something he would make her pay dearly for. But most of all he wanted her away from this sleaze-bag. Thane may no longer want to bed her, but he'd be damned if he stood by while Augustus took what was his.

Fact was he wanted her full attention. And, by God, he would get it.

* * *

This was not happening. This was just not happening.

Luciana shoved her clothes into her suitcase with one hand while she grappled with a cordless phone in the other.

Lord, she was shaking so hard she was likely calling Venezuela. One touch from that man and it was as if she'd been dormant in some cryonic stasis for five years and he'd plugged her into the national grid. Twenty minutes later her body was still burning; incinerator-hot, making her feel like a living, breathing flame.

Dangerous. That was what he was.

Worse still, when she'd literally crashed into him for a split second she'd thought she was dreaming again. That she'd conjured up his memory to save her from the nightmare her return had condemned her to. So often she slept with him in her bed, his fingers a ghost-like touch drifting over her body. Caressing, devouring with a fervour she longed for. And during that breathless moment in that hallway suddenly, shockingly, she'd wanted to cry. Weep in sheer relief that he was here. Holding her once more. Wrapping her in his ferocious unyielding strength.

That body …  Such inordinate power that he vibrated with it. She'd met some powerful men in her time but Thane …  No comparison. None. His every touch was a jolting shockwave of acute pleasure and pain. And it had been so long since she'd been touched. She'd almost begged him to crush her against his hard, muscular chest for one blissful second, just so she could live in the illusion that he was here and she was safe.

But that was all it was-a fantasy. A fallacy. She would never be safe in Thane's arms.

So why did a part of her still crave him? Even knowing what and who he was?

Luciana moaned out loud. Her father was right-she was an absolute disgrace.

She'd do well to remember that invariably her dreams turned dark and his hands turned malicious and she woke in a cold, clammy and anguished sweat. That in actuality he was the most lethal, autocratic man in Europe, who co-ruled his country and his people with a merciless iron fist.

And that look in his glorious dark eyes when he'd gazed at her …  As if she was his entire world …  A lie. Her cruel imagination. If she needed proof to substantiate that theory all she had to do was recall his blistering disgust and anger as he'd ground out her title. Realised her true identity.

His granite-like countenance hadn't broken her heart. Certainly not. The man was rumoured to be a mercenary, for pity's sake.

Imagine that man getting hold of your son and using him as a pawn in his power-play?

Over her dead body.

That hypothesis was akin to someone upending a bucket of cold water over her head and she calmed enough to hit the right keys.

'I need a car outside in five minutes and a private jet waiting at the Altiport to take me to Arunthia. Can you do that?'

'Yes, madame.'

'Thank you.'

Depressing the call button, she flipped the lid of her case and yanked the zipper all the way around.

She had to get home. Get Natanael out of the country until she was sure Thane wouldn't come after her. The savage vehemence pouring off him as she'd left had scarred her for eternity. That was not a man you messed with.                       
       
           



       

The tap on her door flung her heart into overdrive and she crept up to the door to peek into the security viewer.

Shoulders slumping, she unlatched the lock and allowed the porter in to collect her bag. 'Thank you. I'll meet you downstairs.' Luciana pulled a two-hundred-euro note from her jacket pocket and conjured up a sweet smile. Feminine wiles and all that.

'The back door, okay?'

His boyish grin told her she was in the clear and she grabbed her handbag and scarpered from the room.

Down in the private elevator she went. Out through the back exit and into a frosty evening that nipped her cheeks.

The door of the limousine was an open invitation and Luciana sank into the plush leather, not wasting one vital moment. 'Can you take me to the Altiport, please? Fast as you can.'

The door slammed shut with a heavy clunk.

The locks clicked into place.

'Sure thing, lady.'

Lady? Frowning, she glanced up into the rearview mirror to see a peculiar pair of deep-set titanium-grey eyes staring back at her.

Luciana's blood curdled in her veins.

Then that voice-as brutal and vicious as the thrash of a whip-sliced through the leather-scented cabin, its deadly effect severing her air supply.

'We meet again, Princess of Arunthia.'

Vaulting backwards in her seat, she crushed herself into the corner and scoured the dim recesses of the car, her heart thudding a panicked tempo.

Black sapphire eyes glittering as starkly as the stars in the Courchevel sky, he raised one devilish dark brow and said, scathingly, 'Did you really think I would allow you to turn your back on me a second time, Luciana? Disappear into the night once more? How very foolish of you.'

Dressed from head to foot in a bespoke black Italian suit, he lounged like an insolent predator-a sleek panther perusing his kill.

'Well, let us get one thing perfectly clear right now. This time you will not walk away from me.'





CHAPTER TWO

SHE COULDN'T MOVE. Not one muscle.

'This time you will not walk away from me.'

What did he mean by that? Did she have to wait until he walked away from her? How long was that going to take? An hour? A day?

If she didn't start breathing she'd never find out.

Luciana yanked her focus dead ahead in order to stitch up the tattered remnants of her composure. She couldn't do that and look at him at the same time. It was futile. The mere sight of him, dangerous and dominating, skewed her equilibrium and turned her brain to mush.

The privacy glass rose up before her, sending her heart slamming around her ribcage. For a second she toyed with the idea of launching herself from the car, but then remembered the locks had snapped into place. A moment later the limousine began to rock down the steep incline from the lodge and the risk of hyperventilating became a distinct possibility.

Breathe, Luce, for heaven's sake breathe. He probably just wants to talk on the way to the Altiport.

Why, oh, why hadn't she looked at which car she was getting into? She was supposed to be avoiding trouble. Being good. The refined, beyond reproach, virtuous Queen she was born to be. She could already hear her mother …  So reckless, Luciana. So unthinking.

She let loose a shaky exhalation, then took a deep lungful of air. And another. Then seriously wished she hadn't. His audacious dark bergamot and amber scent wrapped around her senses like a narcotic, intensely potent and drugging as it swirled up into her brain, making her vision blur. Her entire body wept with want.