The possibility that Raul too had feigned desire made her want to sink through the deck.
Why should he do it?
The answer came too readily. To reduce her to starry-eyed compliance.
Luisa sagged against the railing.
It had worked. When he kissed her all her doubts and anger fled. She was putty in his hands. His kisses had been white-hot lightning, blowing her mind and leaving her body humming with a desperate craving.
She stared at his tall form as he disappeared into the darkness. Vivid as her recall was of that near seduction years ago, Luisa couldn’t remember kisses as devastating as this. Was her memory faulty? Or had years focused on work and family, shying from any tentative male interest, made her more susceptible?
The trembling in her knees grew to a quaking that shook her whole body.
Her impossible position had just become impossibly complicated.
Raul thrust aside a surge of regret as Luisa emerged from her suite. It was unfortunate he’d had to force her hand. Her vulnerability and her desperate pride struck a chord with him. And her passion—
No! Last night was over. A passing weakness.
He was in control now. Impossible that his feelings were engaged by the woman at the top of the staircase. He didn’t do feelings. Not any more. One disastrous mistake had cured him.
Though in her chic honey-gold trouser suit and black silk shirt, Luisa was eye-catching. The suit skimmed ripe curves he’d held just hours ago. His fingers flexed at the memories, still vivid after a night of no rest.
She cast a flickering half glance in his direction and chewed on her glossy lower lip.
A ripple of something urgent disturbed his inner calm.
Stoically he ignored it, focusing an appraising eye on how she descended the grand staircase. She gripped the banister tight, clearly unsure of herself in high heels.
As he’d suspected. She’d need help when they arrived in Maritz in a few hours. He didn’t want her falling down the steps from the plane and breaking her neck.
His gaze lingered on the long line of her throat. She had a natural elegance her farm clothes had camouflaged. His hands tingled as he recalled the feel of her soft skin, the temptation of her lips, the way her eyes flashed when she challenged him.
Her gaze snared his and his pulse slowed to a weighted thud.
Raul frowned. It was one thing to feel desire with a warm woman pressed intimately against him in the night. Quite another to experience it here, with his butler waiting to usher them on their way to the airport.
Worse, this felt more complex than lust. In a couple of short days she’d somehow got into his head.
Instantly he rejected the idea. It was simple desire he experienced.
‘Luisa. I hope you slept well.’
He walked forward as she reached the bottom step. She stumbled and his hand shot out to steady her, but she jerked her arm away, hurrying past him, heels clicking on inlaid marble.
Raul drew a sharp breath. After a lifetime fending off eager women he discovered he didn’t like this alternative.
He recalled how she’d clung so needily last night and assured himself her response was contrived. Women were devious. Was it any wonder he kept relationships simple?
What sort of relationship would he have with his wife?
‘Yes, thank you. I slept well enough.’
Liar! Despite the make-up accentuating the smoky blue of her eyes, Raul saw signs of fatigue.
‘And you?’ To his surprise challenge sizzled in her gaze, as if she knew he’d spent most of the night wakeful, reliving those few moments when she’d melted into him like a born seductress.
Even now he wasn’t sure about her. There’d been more than a hint of the innocent about her last night.
But then feigned innocence could be such an effective weapon. As he knew to his cost. A spike of chill air stabbed the back of his neck.
‘I always sleep well in Paris.’ He offered his arm again, this time holding her gaze till she complied.
He covered her hand with his, securing it possessively. The sooner she grew accustomed to him the better. ‘And now, if you’re ready, our plane is waiting.’
He felt the shiver race through her. Saw her eyes widen in what looked like anxiety.
There was nothing to fear. Most women would sell their soul to be in her place, offered wealth, prestige and marriage to a man the press insisted on labelling one of the world’s most eligible bachelors. But already he began to see Luisa wasn’t most women.
He heard himself saying, ‘I’ll look after you, Luisa. There’s no need to be anxious.’
It was on the way to the airport that Raul discovered the cost of his unguarded actions last night. The discreet buzz of his mobile phone and a short conversation with Lukas, already waiting for them at the airport, had him excusing himself and opening his laptop.
Not that Luisa noticed. She was busy pressing her nose to the glass as they drove through Paris.
He focused on his computer, scrolling through page after page of newspaper reports. The sort of reports he habitually ignored: ‘PRINCE’S SECRET LOVER.’ ‘RAUL’S PARISIAN INTERLUDE.’ ‘SIZZLING SEDUCTION ON THE SEINE.’
There wasn’t much to the articles apart from speculation as to his new lover’s identity. Yet acid curdled his stomach and clammy heat rose as he flicked from one photo of last night’s kiss to another.
He frowned, perplexed by his reaction.
It wasn’t the first time the paparazzi had snapped photos of him with a woman. He was a favourite subject. Typically the press was more interested in his mistresses than his modernisation plans or regional disarmament talks. Usually he shrugged off their reports.
But this time …
Understanding dawned on a wave of nausea.
This time the photographer had unwittingly caught him in a moment of rare vulnerability. The press couldn’t know, but Raul had been careening out of control, swept away by dangerously unfamiliar forces. Prey to a compulsion he hadn’t experienced in years.
Eight years in fact.
Since the feeding frenzy of press speculation about a royal love triangle. The memory sickened him.
Since he’d learned to distrust female protestations of love and displays of innocence. Since he’d rebuilt his shattered world with determination, pride and a complete absence of emotion that made a man vulnerable.
His gut cramped as he remembered facing the press, made rabid by the scent of blood—his blood.
