Royal, and summoned home. Father was busy with his duties, as was Angelo. I’d only been back here a year or two when they—’ Without warning, her throat thickened. Control, control!
‘I see,’ he said very quietly.
She closed her eyes, struggling to go on.
He leaned forward and touched her hand. ‘Lia and I lost our parents when I was seventeen. We’d all lived together, all three generations, all our lives, and Yiayia and Papou were fantastic, but…’ He smiled at her. ‘It’s okay to cry sometimes, princess. I know I did my share when I felt so alone I could scream.’
The words were beautiful and foreign to everything she’d been raised to believe. Don’t cry, Jazmine, her father had said at Mother’s funeral, when she was seven. You are a Marandis. You are strong!
Her spine straightened. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’
The kindness and warmth vanished from his face. ‘Sorry; I crossed the royal line. There’s proof that I’m not a real prince, and I never will be.’
‘But you are,’ she said softly, backtracking fast, and letting the fact click into place: he doesn’t like being locked out. ‘Like it or not, you’re a Marandis, Charlie, and we need to discuss—’
‘Mmm. Say my name like that, and I’ll discuss whatever you want.’ A smile curved his mouth. ‘Char-r-r-lie,’ he said, as softly as she had, but with far more sensual intent. ‘I never heard the Mediterranean burr in quite that way before. Your voice is so blurry and sexy. I love listening to you, Jazmine.’
And his eyes, lingering on her face, said, and I really like looking at you.
He spoke her name as it had been pronounced: Zhahz-meen. One word, just a name she’d heard ten-thousand times, but he’d turned it into silk and shadows, with the summery sensuality of a lush Arabian night.
Without warning, a new kind of wolf had leaped from his lair; the hidden lion was pouncing. He’d spoken to her not as princess, but as man to woman. And she felt the slow melt inside, feminine liquidity racing like quicksilver through her body. He’d taken her from blue-blooded princess to red-blooded woman with just a few soft words.
She’d never met a man like him before. He was unique, an unexpected prince in a fireman’s skin, all hot-blooded male. He’d never learned to hide his emotions as she had. And, by his words, the look in his eyes and the slow burn in his touch, he wanted her to know he found her attractive. He didn’t play diplomatic games; he didn’t know how. This golden-skinned, dark-eyed man, strong and beautiful, a hero as much as any from the pages of The Odyssey, found her as attractive as she found him.
‘And, as regards this engagement, it’s a farce. I don’t want to be here, and the last thing you need is a man who’ll never fit into your world. Nobody can force us into this kind of thing in the twenty-first century. I swear on my life I’ll get you out of this.’
She started out of her lovely daydream as his words sank in. And her heart sank right down with it.
CHAPTER THREE
CHARLIE saw the instant distress in her eyes—the intense disappointment—before something clicked back into place, and the warm woman she’d been became the ‘Mona Lisa princess’ the tabloids called her: picture-perfect and smiling, comfortable in the public eye, if remote somehow. ‘What makes you assume I want to get out of this?’
He stared, wondering if someone as lovely as the princess could have only half her marbles. ‘It has to be obvious. Even a real-life princess must want the whole nine-yard cliché: the handsome prince, babies, a palace—and a happily-ever-after. It’s only by accident of birth I’m here. I’m a Sydney boy, a rough-mannered fireman. I don’t have class, I don’t do “for ever”—and I’m certainly not the guy who’d make your life easier. I’m not what you’d call easy-going.’
Her smile grew, but it wasn’t one he liked. It made him feel out of control, and that was a feeling with which he was neither familiar nor comfortable. ‘It seems I have at least six of those yards, Your Highness. A palace—’ she waved her hand around ‘—and, if we married, babies would be part of the deal, I’d assume.’
His heart darkened at the thought of it. Royal children with royal minders, who’d have to bow and scrape to His Majesty’s every whim? Not on his life. ‘Four-and-a-half yards aren’t enough for a woman like you.’
‘I hadn’t finished,’ she said softly. ‘In my opinion, I have a handsome prince, even if he’s a reluctant one.’ She broke the smugness with a bitten-lip grin, the woman in her peeping out for a moment, and he found himself responding in kind. ‘If I must marry, I’d rather have a firecracker than a dog rolling over on order. You have a mind of your own, ideals and dreams. I respect that.’
Damn. Much as he liked her words—she’d made it obvious she found him attractive, and liked both his temper and his independence—now he had to be blunt. ‘As tempting as you are, I don’t want to get married, princess. I could never become what you’d want in a prince. I couldn’t stand the constant intrusions into my life you endure from the press every day. It was bad enough after the fire a few months back, but if I had to handle it on a daily basis I’d end up hitting someone. Not very royal behaviour, is it?’
She shook her head, still smiling. ‘I noticed your discomfort with the press—it was obvious in every photo. But, rest assured, we’d help you to acclimatise to that sort of thing.’
His jaw clenched tighter. ‘I don’t want to acclimatise,’ he said baldly. ‘I can’t think of a single benefit in being here. I want to live my life without black-suited goons following me and cameras waiting for every stuff-up I make—and I will make them.’
Jazmine nodded, as if she’d expected him to say it. He found himself wondering what it would take to rattle her cage, to put a crack in her perfect composure. ‘You do realize that the only way you can go home is by repudiating your position, which likely means your sister will go home with you?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t see a problem with that. Lia likes her life at home.’
Her voice filled with gentle amusement. ‘Have you asked Lia what she wants, or are you taking it for granted you can make a decision of this calibre for her?’
He felt his jaw clench. ‘I know my sister. She’s happy living with Toby and me, running her business and teaching the kids.’ Well, happy enough now, he amended silently. After her failed attempt to enter the Australian Ballet on the heels of their parents’ death in a car crash, it had brought on her dance with death-dealing anorexia. If it hadn’t been for Toby’s complete devotion to her returning to health—staying at the clinic with her day and night around their firefighting training-schedule—she might not have made it. Toby wasn’t only the best friend he’d ever had, the brother he’d always wanted, he was the only person Lia trusted with her secrets.
Suddenly he wanted to hear Toby’s voice saying everything would be okay, he’d be there soon, though it was sure to be said in four-syllable words he favoured. ‘Lord of the Dictionary’ Toby might be, but he was the staunchest, truest friend he and Lia could ever have.
There hadn’t been any joking camaraderie or long words when they’d talked to him from the Consulate in Canberra. Toby’s silent reaction to their sudden disappearance
