One Night with the Forbidden Princess (Monteverre Marriages 1)

And yet here he was, babysitting a runaway princess on the island that he made a point to keep free of unwelcome guests.

If he had ever been a drinker now would be an excellent time for copious amounts of alcohol in which to drown his dark mood. He leaned heavily against the glass rail that lined the balcony of his master suite, looking out at the horizon where the sun had begun to dip into the Mediterranean Sea.

A sudden splash from below caught his attention and he looked down to see a creamy silhouette cutting easily across the bottom of the pool.

She had started her holiday straight away, it seemed, he thought darkly as his fist tightened on the rail.

Her head and bare shoulders broke the surface of the water as she reached the infinity ledge. Her red hair was dark and heavy on her shoulders; she hadn’t bothered to tie it up. She leaned against the side of the pool, pale shoulders glistening with moisture above a bright red one-piece bathing suit. He could see the outline of long, slim legs under the water.

Roman felt the darkness inside him roar to life.

He wanted her.

He growled to himself, turning away from the tantalising view with a jaw that suddenly felt like iron. He stalked across his suite into the large white and chrome bathroom. The large floor-to-ceiling mirror showed his frustration in high definition. His pupils were dark, his nostrils flared with anger as he began unbuttoning his shirt.

It had been a while since he had been with anyone—that was all this was. His body was reac

ting to its recent deprivation in the most primal way possible. He had never been good at denying himself something he wanted with this kind of intensity.

A more emotionally charged person might say it had something to do with a childhood full of being denied, he thought darkly. He knew better. It was simply a part of him—a part of how he was put together. It was what drove him to the heights of success, always wanting more.

All he knew was that his wealth had brought along with it the delicious ability to gratify his every whim instantly. Whether it was a new car or a beautiful woman, he always got what he wanted with minimal effort.

But not her.

She was not his to think about, to look at, to covet.

He was long past his days as a thief, he thought dryly as he divested himself of the rest of his clothing and stepped under the white-hot spray of the shower, feeling the heat seep into his taut shoulder muscles and down his back.

Another man might have opted for a cold spray, but he had spent too much of his life in the cold. He had the best hot shower that money could buy and damn it, he would use it. Even if it only spurred on the heat inside him.

He was unsure whether he was angry with his friend for trusting him so blindly or angry that he did not fully trust himself. He was a sophisticated man, well capable of resisting flimsy attractions. And yet he felt a need to keep some distance between himself and the fiery-haired Olivia, with her sharp wit and unpredictable nature.

He had built his fortune on trusting his own instincts, and everything about Olivia Sandoval signalled danger.

CHAPTER FIVE

AS WAS USUAL when he stayed on Isla Arista, Roman had instructed Jorge to prepare an evening meal to be served on the terrace. The scent of aromatic rosemary chicken filled his nostrils as he stepped outside and his stomach growled in anticipation.

Olivia already sat at the table, waiting for him. He was surprised to see she had not changed after her swim; instead she was wrapped in an oversized white terrycloth robe from the pool cabana. One bare foot peeked out from where it was tucked under her. His stomach tightened at the sight of a single red-painted toenail.

‘I see you are taking your holiday quite literally,’ he said, taking the seat opposite her at the long marble table.

She looked down at his crisp white shirt and uncertainty flickered across her features, followed closely by embarrassment. ‘Your housekeeper said it was just a quick meal. I wasn’t aware that we would eat together,’ she said, standing to her feet.

‘Sit down,’ he said and sighed.

But she vehemently shook her head, promising to be just a few minutes as she hurried away through the terrace doors at lightning speed. He fought the urge to laugh. How ironic that out of both of them it was the member of royalty who felt unfit for polite company.

True to her word, she returned less than ten minutes later. He was relieved to see that she hadn’t opted for another dress, and amused that once again she wore white. The simple white linen trousers hugged her curves just as sinfully as the dress had, but thankfully she had chosen a rather sober white button-down blouse that covered her up almost to her chin.

Still, her slim shoulders were completely bare, showing off her perfect alabaster skin. He consciously lowered his gaze, to focus on filling their water glasses.

He made no move to speak. He was tired and hungry and in no mood to make her feel at ease. In fact it was better that she wasn’t completely comfortable. That would make two of them.

Ever the efficient host, Jorge soon had the table filled with delicious freshly cooked dishes. Roman loaded his plate with tender chicken, garlic-roasted baby potatoes and seasonal grilled vegetables. No matter where they were in the world—New York, Moscow or this tiny remote island—his housekeeper always managed to find the freshest ingredients. He really should give him another raise...

Roman ate as he always did—until he was completely satisfied. Which usually meant two servings, at least, and then washing his meal down with a single glass of wine from his favourite regional cantina.