pleasant, to make sure this ordeal was over as quickly as possible. She knew instantly from the firm jut of his jaw that she had well and truly put paid to that.
Wolfe didn’t move a muscle as his eyes swept over the fey gypsy on the wall. He’d been wrong. She wasn’t attractive. She was astonishingly attractive, and his soldier’s eyes noted everything. High cheekbones, honey-gold skin, eyes as dark as night and thick sable hair pulled into a ponytail, wisps from which floated around a lush, sulky mouth that looked as if it was waiting to be kissed.
By him.
Impatiently discarding the unexpected thought, he let his eyes drift lower over a white cotton shirt the gentle breeze was using to outline her rounded breasts, and fitted jeans that hugged long slender legs. And bare, stocking-clad feet!
Achilles swatted the air with his tail, as if he too was disturbed by the vision, and then Wolfe registered her haughty, royally pissed-off question and recovered himself. She was an intruder, and she was ruining a rousing game of polo, and if she was upset she could stand in line.
‘No.’ He shot her a cursory look. ‘You are the reason you’re still on that wall.’
Ignoring her hissed exhalation he swung out of the saddle and approached his men. He could feel her eyes following him and wondered at their exact colour, immediately irritated at the irrelevant thought.
He waited for Eric to fill him in on how they had come across her, and then indicated for him to pass over the leather handbag he held in his hand.
‘Is the gun absolutely necessary?’
Her slightly bored question floated down from the wall.
‘Only if I have to shoot you with it.’ He didn’t bother looking at her when he spoke. ‘And keep your hands where I can see them.’
‘I’m not a criminal!’
He ignored her little outburst and inspected her handbag. ‘Find anything interesting in here?’
‘No, boss. Usual women things. Lipstick, tissues, hair clips. No ID, as I said.’
He heard her exasperated sigh. ‘I already told your watchdogs I had a car accident and my purse must have fallen out of my bag.’
‘Convenient.’
‘For whom? You?’
Wolfe gave her a stare he knew from experience made grown men think twice. ‘You have an awfully smart mouth for someone in your predicament.’ And he wished she would close it. The husky quality of her lightly accented voice was having an adverse effect on his body.
‘I am Princess Ava de Veers of Anders and I demand you let me down from here immediately.’
Wolfe ran his eyes over her again, just for the sheer pleasure of it and because he knew it would put her on the back foot. ‘What are you doing on a wall, Princess? Learning to fly?’
‘I am a guest at this wedding and you are likely to lose your job if you insist on leaving me up here. I’m probably sunburned by now.’
‘By this watered-down version of the sun?’ And on that golden skin? ‘Unlikely. And honoured guests usually approach by the main gates. What outlet do you work for?’
Her brow crinkled. ‘I don’t—’
‘Newspaper? Magazine? TV station? Nice camera, by the way. Mind if I take a look?’
‘Yes, I do.’
He dumped her handbag on the grass and started checking through her photos.
‘I said yes, I do mind.’
‘Whether I look or not isn’t contingent on whether you mind.’
‘Why bother asking, then?’
He nearly smiled at the exasperation in her voice. ‘Manners.’
She made a cute noise that said he wouldn’t know what manners were if they conked him on the head.
Frowning at the photos on her camera, he glanced up at her. ‘Nice celebrity shots on here. I repeat—what rag do you work for?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I am not a member of the paparazzi, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’
‘No?’
‘No. I own an art gallery. Those were taken at a recent opening night. Not that it is any of your business.’
Wolfe rubbed his jaw and pretended to consider that. ‘Really? Given your current predicament, I’d say it’s very much my business.’
She looked as if she was holding on to her temper by a thread. ‘I do understand how this looks. And I even appreciate how efficient your men were at spotting me—’
‘I’m so happy to hear that.’
‘But—’ she carried on as if he hadn’t interrupted ‘—I am who I say I am. My car is a couple of hundred metres that way, and your men would already know this if they had bothered to go and find it instead of holding their weapons on me as if I was a terrorist.’
Wolfe handed the camera to Eric. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ He didn’t bother to hide the contempt he felt for her type. Haughty princesses—real or imagined—who thought their needs took preference over everybody else’s. ‘Did I forget to tell you? My men take orders from me, not you.’
Her pout turned even sexier. ‘Convenient.’
He wasn’t in the frame of mind to appreciate her wisecrack and nearly reconsidered his need to verify her identity before tossing her back over the wall.
‘Eric. Dane. Take the Jeep and find her car. If it exists.’
She sniffed at his instructions and shifted her bottom on the wall. She must be completely uncomfortable by now. Serve her right.
‘I told you to keep your hands where I could see them.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Do you think it might be at all possible that I could wait on the ground for your men to return? I promise not to overpower you while they are gone.’
The air seemed to buzz with the antagonistic heat she imbued him with, and her accent lent her sardonic words a sexy edge. She was a wicked combination of beauty and spirit, and not even the way she spoke down to him was enough to keep his libido at bay. A truly annoying realisation.
‘I think I can handle you.’
Her eyes dropped to his mouth and Wolfe felt a kick of lust all the way to his toes. He waited, breathless, for the heat in his groin to dissipate, but if anything it got worse. Then her eyes blazed into his and the chemistry he’d been trying to ignore sparked like a live wire between them.
The way her eyes widened he thought perhaps she had read his thoughts, but that was impossible. Fourteen years in the business and Wolfe knew how to hide what he was feeling—hell, he’d learned how to do that
