when she’d been told, not asked about appointments with the beautician, the pedicurist, the manicurist, the hair stylist, the couturier …
As if she were an animated doll, not a woman with a brain of her own.
His hand dropped.
‘You’re upset.’
‘You noticed!’ She drew a slow breath, fighting for control. She was rigid with outrage and self-disgust.
Luisa had spent enough time battling bullies. From her despotic grandfather to big banks eager for immediate returns. To this man who’d taken over her life.
She should have been able to stand up to him!
She’d never felt so helpless.
That scared her more than anything. And provoked her fighting spirit. She’d had enough!
‘You’re tired after the long journey.’ Did his voice soften? Surely not.
She hadn’t slept a wink, even in the luxurious bed assigned to her on the long haul flight to Europe. Yet fatigue was the least of her worries.
‘I’m tired of you managing my life. Just because I gave in to blackmail doesn’t mean I’ve relinquished the ability to think. I’m not a doormat.’
‘No one would presume—’
‘You presume all the time!’ Luisa jabbed a finger into his broad chest then backed up a step, resolving to keep her distance. She didn’t like the tiny pinprick of heat tickling her skin where she’d touched him. It was there too whenever he took her arm, helping her from a plane or car.
‘You haven’t once asked!’ She spread her hands. ‘Your staff simply tell me what you’ve decided.’
His hooded eyes gave nothing away, but the sharp angle of his jaw told her she’d hit home. Good! The idea of getting under this man’s skin appealed. It was about time he found out what it felt like not to get his own way.
‘Royalty works on a strict timetable.’
‘And dairy farms don’t?’ She planted her hands on her hips. ‘After you’ve spent your life getting up before dawn for early milking, then talk to me about managing my time!’
‘It’s hardly the same thing.’
‘No, it’s not.’ She kept her voice calm with an effort. ‘My life might not have been exciting but it was about honest hard work. A real job, doing something useful. Not—’ she gestured to the exquisitely decorated salon and the man who stood so haughtily before her ‘—not empty gloss and privilege.’
A dull flush of colour streaked across Raul’s razor-sharp cheekbones. Deep grooves bracketed the firm line of his mouth and his long fingers flexed and curled. Energy radiated from him, a latent power so tangible she had to force herself to stand her ground.
‘You’ll find royal life isn’t a sinecure.’ His words were glacial shards, grazing her overheated cheeks. ‘Running a country is a demanding full-time job.’
Luisa refused to be cowed. Nothing excused his treatment of her. That had to change. Now.
‘Under extreme duress I agreed to go to your country and accept my inheritance. That doesn’t give you carte blanche to run my life.’
‘Where were you going?’ His question surprised her.
She glanced at the full length windows with their view of a wide, elegant boulevard and a distant park.
‘I’ve never been to Paris.’ She’d never travelled. Except to her grandfather’s home and to Sydney when her mum visited specialists. Neither had been pleasant experiences. ‘I want to explore.’
‘You haven’t time. Your new clothes are here and you need to be fitted. It’s important you look like a princess when you step off the plane in Maritz.’
‘In case I don’t photograph well for the press?’ She almost laughed at the idea of being media-worthy, but the way his face shuttered instantly at her mention of the press distracted her.
‘It’s for your sake as well, Luisa. Imagine arriving in the full blare of public interest, dressed as you are.’
Was that a hint of sympathy in his expression, or did she imagine it?
‘There’s nothing wrong with my clothes! They’re …’
Cheap and comfortable and a little shabby. It wasn’t that she didn’t want beautiful clothes. It was the idea of pretending to be someone she wasn’t, as if the real Luisa wasn’t worth knowing. Yet a tiny voice inside admitted she didn’t want to face a nation’s press as she was.
She didn’t want to face the press at all!
‘Clothes are like armour.’ His voice held a note of understanding that surprised her. ‘You’ll feel more comfortable in clothes that make you look good.’
Did he speak from personal experience? Seeing the proud tilt of his head, Luisa guessed Raul could walk naked before a crowd and not lose one ounce of his regal attitude.
Her breath hitched on the idea of Raul naked. With those long, powerful thighs and that rangy powerful torso.
With an effort she dragged her mind back on track.
‘I don’t need permission to go out.’ She kept her voice low and even but her chin crept up. ‘I don’t answer to you and I do intend to see some of the city.’
She wouldn’t let him dictate to her any more.
‘Then what if I take you out myself, tonight?’ Luisa blinked in astonishment. ‘I have appointments for the rest of the day but after dinner, if you like, I’ll show you some of the sights of Paris.’ He paused for a long moment, his mouth easing into what could almost pass for a smile. ‘Would that suit?’
Blankly Luisa stared. A compromise? That must have cost him!
Instantly suspicion grew that he was up to something. Yet the idea of escaping this gorgeous, claustrophobic house was irresistible.
‘Agreed.’
Six hours later Luisa stood against the railing of a river cruiser, straining forward as each new sight came into view. From the Ile de la Cité with Notre Dame’s flying buttresses illuminated like spread wings against the darkness, to the Pont Neuf and the glittering Eiffel Tower. Paris slid around them, gorgeous and outrageously seductive. Yet still the tension twisted through her.
She and Raul were the only passengers.
Another reminder of what his wealth could buy.
Like her clothes. Stylish black wool trousers and a chic winter-weight cream tunic. Boots and a long coat of leather so soft she had to force herself not to keep smoothing her hands over it. A designer silk scarf in indigo and burnt orange that brought colour to her cheeks.
Except her cheeks burned
