Kidnapped For His Royal Heir (Passion in Paradise)

Why did that feel very much like a challenge?

And as she watched him walk into the shower without a backward glance, why did she feel like he was simply biding his time until he won?

What the hell had he been thinking, making that prediction?

Five days had passed since their torrid little encounter by his shower. Five days of hell when either she plotted to drive him out of his mind or the little witch cast a spell on him.

Zak swiped an arm across his sweaty forehead and stepped back to survey another excellent day’s result. They’d shaved a whole day off their target, building two eco lodges in five days instead of six.

He didn’t apologise for being a harsh taskmaster when the occasion demanded, and the high fives happening behind him suggested the team didn’t mind, either.

Violet’s husky laugh made his stomach clench tight.

He didn’t want to turn around. Didn’t want to be drawn to her attention-absorbing face, her supple, curvy body or those control-wrecking legs she insisted on displaying in the bottom-moulding shorts she favoured.

As for her work ethic...

Contrary to his dim prognosis, she’d delved into every task with wholehearted enthusiasm, more often than not going over and above expectations. Not once had she protested.

Of course, he still had his reservations that she could sustain it in the long run—

A choking cough shattered his thoughts and intentions. He turned and found Violet doubled over, the subject of the team’s humour as she spluttered.

‘A little warning next time, please?’ She laughed through the coughing.

Zak’s gaze narrowed at the volunteer holding the suspicious-looking bottle as he approached, unable to take his eyes off Violet’s legs and plump, shapely behind as she bent over to cough again. The reason for her state became apparent when he caught the scent.

Pombe, the local alcoholic brew, was lethal to the unschooled. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded.

Everyone froze, their gazes avoiding his.

‘We’re celebrating. What does it look like?’ Violet responded, the humour dying from her eyes.

‘Perhaps you should consider celebrating with something a little less...potent?’ he suggested.

While the rest of the team sent him wary glances, Violet shot him a challenge-filled glare. All week she’d treated him to those defiant little looks. Having grown up in a Royal household where most people fell over themselves in deference and yearned to please, Zak found her attitude...uniquely interesting. Perhaps a little too much? Was that why he couldn’t resist needling her whenever the opportunity arose?

He shoved the suggestion away when her chin lifted.

‘Where’s the fun in that?’ she taunted, her eyes still shiny from her coughing episode.

Perhaps it was frustration. Perhaps it was disgruntlement that she wouldn’t fit into the mould he’d cast for her. Before he could stop himself, his fingers were wrapping around her forearm. ‘For those of you who prefer it, I’ve had champagne delivered to the tent to celebrate finishing early. Feel free to go and help yourselves,’ he said to the group.

Predictably, his announcement was met with a chorus of cheers and the team dispersed quickly.

‘Would you please stop manhandling me?’ she sniped as soon as they were alone.

He released her but planted himself in front of her. ‘How much of that did you drink?’

‘Policing my activities yet again?’

‘Only in the sense that you’re inviting a hell of a hang

over by indulging in that stuff.’

She swiped the back of her hand across her lips, dragging his attention back to the full, luscious mouth he’d tasted. The mouth he couldn’t get out of his head. ‘Thanks for your concern but that’s my problem, surely? Have I done anything so far to compromise my work?’

He pursed his lips. ‘Not yet, but there’s always a first time.’