Kidnapped For His Royal Heir (Passion in Paradise)

She couldn’t remember. ‘I’m not doing this with you. I’m a grown woman capable of taking care of myself. Find someone else to snarl at.’

They’d circled back to where they’d left the vehicles and Violet saw with relief that their luggage was being unloaded. She seized the opportunity to wrest herself away from Zak’s all-encompassing, disturbing presence. ‘I’m going to unpack. If we don’t have anything else to discuss, I’ll see you in the morning.’

&n

bsp; ‘You’ll see me in an hour and a half, when we meet for dinner to go over the schedule for tomorrow,’ he said silkily, but with that stamp of authority that said he expected his command to be obeyed.

Unable to resist, she glanced over her shoulder at him. Dark grey eyes regarded her steadily with a hint of challenge.

Violet resisted the urge to grind her teeth, reminding herself for the umpteenth time that he was her boss. He was calling the shots. For the next few months he virtually held her professional life in his hands.

Despite repeating all of that to herself, her temper still simmered by the time she reached the area where the tents had been erected on the east side of the site. She spotted Zak’s immediately since it was quite impossible to miss. It was the largest structure, set away from the rest of the tents on its own little hill. Plus the presence of two bodyguards guarding the entrance gave it away.

‘Miss?’ The volunteer who’d been escorting her had stopped several feet from her, drawing her attention from Zak’s imposing tent. ‘Your tent is this way.’ He indicated the path that went past the row of empty tents set a short distance away.

Frowning, she followed, her breath growing shorter the closer they got to Zak’s tent. Surely he wasn’t expecting her to share a tent with him?

‘I thought I’d be using one of these smaller tents,’ she said, aware her voice had grown husky and uneven. Hell, even a touch agitated. All at the thought of sharing a tent with Zak?

Yes.

No matter how much she tried to dice it, she recognised that exposure to him would fray what composure she’d managed to secure around him.

‘You are,’ the volunteer said, pointing to a medium sized tent tucked behind Zak’s and away from the smaller ones down the hill. ‘Well, it’s kind of small,’ he amended at her frown. ‘But you’re sharing Prince Zak’s shower, not sharing with everyone else down the hill, so that’s a bonus, right?’

Violet refused to examine the twinge that lanced her midriff at the realisation that she wasn’t sharing a tent with Zak. Part disappointment, part relief? She pushed the emotion aside and thanked the man, who propped her large backpack in front of the tent and left.

She dragged her luggage inside and looked around. A small desk and chair had been set up on one side, with a carafe of water and glasses on a tray. The single bed on the other side held a surprisingly comfortable mattress and beside it was a nightstand on which sat a small but powerful lamp. At the foot of the bed was a shelved cabinet and a wash basin.

Simple. Rustic. A world removed from the opulent Park Avenue offices of the Royal House of Montegova Trust and the glitz and glamour of the fundraising ballroom in New York. And even the country manor house her mother had moved heaven and earth to cling to despite their questionable financial circumstances.

Yet Violet felt a sense of rightness and homecoming as she set her case down to unpack. Done minutes later, she set up her laptop on the desk, checked her emails—thanks to the newly installed Wi-Fi system—and ensured there were no last-minute emergencies to deal with before re-checking the volunteer roster.

Then, because her roiling emotions needed sorting through, she lay down on the bed, her gaze fixed on the apex of the tent.

Zak Montegova was here and was staying for the duration of the project. She needed to get used to seeing him every day. As long as she maintained professional distance, she had nothing to worry about.

A few short weeks. That was all she needed to endure Zak’s presence...

Violet jerked awake, the realisation that she’d fallen asleep filling her with mild horror. A quick check on her phone showed she was ten minutes from being late to dinner. So much for her lofty assertion that she wasn’t tired.

She flew to the cabinet holding her clothes, selected a white T-shirt, khaki shorts and brown espadrilles. Washing as best she could in the basin, she changed her clothes, brushed and tied back her hair.

She stepped out of her tent and stumbled to a halt. ‘Oh, my God,’ she murmured, awed by the sight before her. The cloud was awash with bursts of orange, greys and indigos. The hues were so powerful and spectacular she lost the ability to breathe as she stared at the stunning sunset. Thoughts of being late melted away, the sheer beauty of her surroundings holding her firmly in place.

‘Is this your first?’ a deep voice asked.

She hadn’t heard Zak approach. Her stomach dipped alarmingly at the hushed gruffness in his tone. It was almost as if he didn’t want to ruin the moment with their earlier animosity. She didn’t want to look at him, fearing he would only add to the dramatic enchantment around her. But the sheer magnetism of the man drew her attention from the magnificent sky and sunset blazing over the lake, and she glanced at him to find his stormy gaze wholly fixed on her.

Heart thumping, she tried to recall what he’d asked her. ‘My first?’

He turned away, presenting her with his haughty and perfect profile. ‘African sunset.’

‘I... Yes,’ she whispered, a little afraid that speaking too loudly would make the glorious vision disappear.

The smallest hint of a smile tilted his lips, but it disappeared far too soon. ‘It has the ability to evoke weak-kneed reactions.’

She stemmed the wild urge to ask him about his first. Had he been alone? If not, with whom? It was none of her business. So why the next words tripped from her lips, she would never know. ‘I find it hard to believe you’re capable of getting weak-kneed about anything.’