The Prince's Pleasure. Robyn Donald

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СКАЧАТЬ the street lamps, into a face as hard and tough as a bronze mask.

      For the space of several heartbeats neither moved until Alexa regained her wits enough to leap back and hand over the jacket. Both were careful not to let their fingers touch.

      ‘There,’ she said in a strained, hoarse voice. ‘And don’t say it was nothing.’

      His mouth compressed. In a voice that could have splintered stone, he said, ‘I don’t lie. Go inside.’

      Taut with a forbidden excitement, Alexa opened the door and escaped into the hall. ‘Goodbye.’

      His dark head inclined. ‘Goodbye, Alexa Mytton.’

      Incredulous, she thought she heard an echo of aloneness that mirrored her own. She looked up sharply, but his hard face revealed nothing except self-contained assurance. Heart hammering, Alexa pushed the door closed with an abrupt thud.

      She listened until the sound of the car engine was lost in the noise of other vehicles, and then walked along to her flat, thinking that of all the idiotic things to suspect in Prince Luka loneliness was probably the most unlikely.

      Yet he was far from the playboy prince she’d imagined, a handsome surface-skimmer, all machismo and conceit. He’d changed from a warrior, quick-thinking, formidable and exceedingly dangerous, to a man who offered aloof kindness and an inherent protectiveness that still surprised her.

      Luka Bagaton was a complex, deeply interesting man. ‘S-sexy, too,’ she said aloud.

      In the chilly security of her own flat she glanced at her reflection in the mirror, wincing at the feverish gleam in her pale eyes and the hectic flush along her cheekbones.

      She had every right to feel jumpy and restless, but she wasn’t going to be able to sleep like this. Still trembling inside, she made herself a cup of milky chocolate, took it across to her computer and sat down to log on, searching for Luka Bagaton on the internet.

      An hour later she switched off the computer and got up, stretching muscles that had locked as she’d read about Prince Luka of Dacia.

      ‘No wonder he’s so self-contained,’ she said, picking up the empty mug of chocolate.

      At eighteen his father had succeeded to a princedom on the verge of being invaded by a country across the narrow strait separating the island of Dacia from Europe. Then, amazingly—and probably desperately—he’d married the only child of the dictator who’d threatened his country. His ploy had worked—Dacia had kept a limited independence. A year later the only child of the union had been born.

      ‘I hope they fell in love,’ Alexa said, yawning. ‘Otherwise it would have been hell for them both.’

      Ten minutes before she had to leave for work the next morning, Alexa’s bell pealed. Her brows drew together as she pushed proof sheets into an envelope and went out to answer the chiming summons.

      She opened the door to a man carrying a huge bunch of Peruvian lilies, delicately formed and fragile in shades of copper.

      ‘Miss Alexa Mytton?’ the messenger asked. At her nod he held them out.

      Alexa automatically took the lovely things, looking down at the envelope with her name written across it in bold, very definite letters. Her heart jolted as she said, ‘Thank you.’

      Back in her flat she arranged them in a glass vase in front of the window, admiring the way the autumn sunlight glowed through the silky, almost translucent petals. Had he chosen them to match her hair?

      Only then, overcoming a kind of superstitious reluctance, she opened the envelope. I hope you are feeling much better this morning, he’d written, signing it with an arrogant ‘L’.

      A swift shimmer of excitement took her by surprise. They were lovely, she thought, touching one of the lilies with a gentle forefinger.

      Oh, all right, he’d probably said to someone, Send some flowers to this address, please, and forgotten about it immediately, but it was thoughtful of him. She swung around and caught up her camera. If only she could catch that silken transparency…

      Glancing at her watch, she regretfully put the camera down. It would have to wait.

      Alexa stamped into the flat late that afternoon, still tense after a hideous session with an actress who’d insisted on being photographed with her pair of psychopathic Dobermanns, laughing brightly every time they made a determined attempt to eat Alexa’s equipment.

      The Peruvian lilies gleamed like copper tulle when she turned on the light, and her strained irritation mutated into a sweet, futile anticipation.

      Carole had rung to say she had a full roster, so Alexa knew she wouldn’t see Prince Luka again, but she’d always remember his kindness and his flowers. She’d written a note to thank him for them, and would drop it off at the hotel in a few minutes.

      The front doorbell jangled through the room. ‘Oh, great!’ she said, slinging her bag onto a chair. Perhaps it was a friend who’d called in for coffee.

      But the man who waited there was no friend, although he looked vaguely familiar.

      Before she had time to place him he spoke in an accent that told her what that familiarity was. ‘Miss Mytton?’

      Her heart picked up speed. ‘I’m Alexa Mytton.’

      ‘The Prince wishes to see you,’ he told her impassively, although the dark eyes that lingered on her face were shrewd and perceptive. ‘I’m sorry it’s such short notice, but if you could come with me…’

      When she hesitated he frowned and said, ‘I am sorry.’ He drew out a card and presented it with some ceremony.

      He was Dion, followed by a long Dacian name. Alexa turned the card over, her eyes scanning the writing on the back—Prince Luka’s writing.

      Please accompany Dion, it said, the brief note followed by that same ‘L’.

      She was probably being paranoid after last night, but she wasn’t getting into a car with a total stranger. ‘I’m going past the hotel in ten minutes,’ Alexa said. ‘I’ll call in on my way.’

      He looked taken aback, but said politely, ‘Yes, of course. I will meet you at the elevators on the third floor.’

      Secretly, shamefully glad she was wearing a sleek trousersuit in her favourite bronze, with a silk mesh tank top under the blazer-cut jacket, Alexa closed the door on him and scurried back into the flat to renew her lipstick, before scooping up her car keys.

      Why did Prince Luka want to see her? Expectant, yet strangely apprehensive, she parked in the visitors’ car park and took the lift into the hotel.

      Sure enough, Dion with the mile-long name was waiting. Although he greeted her cordially enough she sensed his reservation as he opened another elevator with a key and ushered her inside. Kites jostling in her stomach, she stared at the wall until the lift stopped at the penthouse, where a security guard opened the door and ushered them both into a foyer.

      ‘In here, madam,’ her guide said, opening another door for her.

      He stood СКАЧАТЬ