The Prince's Cinderella Bride. Christine Rimmer

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СКАЧАТЬ Bravo-Calabretti, heir to the Montedoran throne, stepped out from behind a low cluster of fan palms and directly into the path of the woman who’d hardly spoken to him since New Year’s.

      Lani Vasquez let out a small squeak of surprise and jumped back. She almost dropped the book she was carrying. “Your Highness.” She shot him a glare. “You scared me.”

      The high garden path that wove along the cliffside was deserted. It was just the two of them at the moment. But anyone might come wandering toward them—one of the gardeners looking for a hedge to trim, or a palace guest out for a brisk early-morning stroll. Max wanted privacy for this. He grabbed her hand, which caused her to let out another sharp cry.

      “Come with me,” he commanded and pulled her forward on the path. “This way.”

      She dug in her heels. “No, Max. Really.”

      He turned to face her. She flashed him a look of defiance. Still, he refused to let go of her soft little hand. Her sweet face was flushed, her thick midnight hair loose on her shoulders, tangled by the wind off the sea far below. He wanted to haul her close and kiss her. But he needed to get her to talk to him first. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

      Her mouth quivered in the most tempting way. “Yes, I have. Let go of my hand.”

      “We have to talk.”

      “No, we don’t.”

      “We do.”

      “It was a mistake,” she insisted in a ragged little whisper.

      “Don’t say that.”

      “But it’s the truth. It was a mistake and there’s no point in going into it. I don’t want to talk about it.”

      And he didn’t want to hear that. “Just come with me, that’s all I’m asking.”

      “I’m expected at the villa.” She worked as a nanny for his brother Rule and his wife. They owned a villa in the nearby ward of Fontebleu. “I have to go now.”

      “This won’t take long.” He turned and started forward again.

      She let out a low, unhappy sound, and for a moment, he was certain she would simply refuse to budge.

      But then she gave in and followed. He kept hold of her hand and pulled her along. Not glancing back, he cut off the overlook path and onto the rocky hillside, finding a second path that twisted up and around, through a copse of olive trees and on to where the land flattened out to a more cultivated formal garden.

      High, green hedges surrounded them, and they walked on thick grass. The grass gave way to a rose garden. Now, in February, the buds were only just forming on the thorny stems. Beyond the budding roses, he took a curving stone path beneath a series of trellises. Still she followed, saying nothing, occasionally dragging her feet a little to let him know she was far from willing.

      They came to a gate in a stone wall. He pushed through the gate and held it for her, with his free hand, going through after her and then closing it behind them.

      Across another swath of lawn, between a pair of silk floss trees, the stone cottage waited. He led her on, across the grass, along the stepping-stones that stopped at the rough wood trellis twined with bare, twisted grapevines. The trellis shaded the rough wood door.

      He pushed the door open, let go of her hand and ushered her in first. With a quick, suspicious glance at him, she went.

      Two windows let in enough light to see by. Sheets covered the plain furniture. It took him only a moment to whip off the coverings and drop them to the rough wooden floor, revealing a scarred table with four chairs, a sofa, a couple of side tables and two floral-patterned wing chairs. The rudimentary kitchen took up one wall. Stairs climbed another wall to the sleeping area above.

      “Have a seat,” he offered.

      She pressed her lips together, shook her head and remained standing by the door, clutching her book tightly between her two hands. “What is this place?”

      “It’s just a gardener’s cottage. No one’s using it now. Sit down.”

      She still refused to budge. “What are you doing, Your High—?”

      “Certainly we’re past that.”

      For a moment, she said nothing, only stared at him, her dark eyes huge in the soft oval of her face. He wanted to reach out and gather her close and soothe all her troubles away. But everything about her warned, Don’t touch me.

      She let out a breath and her slim shoulders drooped. “Max. Really. Can’t you just admit it? We both know it was a mistake.”

      “Wrong.” He moved a step closer. She stiffened a little, but she didn’t back away. He whispered, “It was beautiful. Perfect. At the time, you thought so, too—or so you said.”

      “Oh, Max. Why can’t I get through to you?” She turned from him and went to one of the windows.

      He stared at her back, at her hair curling, black as a crow’s wing, on her shoulders. And he remembered…

      It was New Year’s Eve. At the Sovereign’s New Year’s Ball.

      He asked her to dance and as soon as he had her in his arms, he only wanted to keep her there. So he did. When the first dance ended, he held her lightly until the music started up again. He kept her with him through five dances. Each dance went by in the blink of an eye. He would have gone on dancing with her, every dance, until the band stopped playing. But people noticed and she didn’t like it.

      By the fifth dance she was gazing up at him much too solemnly. And when that dance ended, she said, “I think it’s time for me to say good-night.”

      He’d watched her leave the ballroom and couldn’t bear to see her go. So he followed her. They’d shared their first kiss in the shadows of the long gallery outside the ballroom, beneath the frescoes depicting martyred saints and muscular angels. She’d pulled away sharply, dark fire in her eyes.

      So he kissed her again.

      And a third time, as well. By some heady miracle, with those kisses, he’d secured her surrender. Lani led him up to her small room in the deserted apartment of his brother Rule’s family. When he left her hours later, she was smiling and tender and she’d kissed him good-night.

      But ever since then, for five endless weeks, she’d barely spoken to him.

      “Lani. Look at me….”

      She whirled and faced him again. Her mouth had softened and so had her eyes. Had she been remembering that night, too? For a moment, he almost dared to hope she would melt into his arms.

      But then she drew herself up again. “It was a mistake,” she insisted for the fourth time. “And this is impossible. I have to go.” She headed for the door.

      He accused, “Coward.”

      The single word seemed to hit her between the shoulder blades. She let go of the doorknob, dropped her book to the rough entry table and turned once more to meet his waiting eyes. “Please. It was just СКАЧАТЬ