says you don’t use a cell-phone. That you haven’t received a single letter or card since you’ve been here—and that you only ever use the Internet very occasionally.’
‘I didn’t realise I was being constantly monitored,’ she said crossly. ‘Surely my life is my business.’
‘It is, of course. But I’m always intrigued by people who are reluctant to talk about themselves.’
And Sophie suddenly realised why that might be. Because a man like Rafe Carter would have people falling over themselves to tell him everything he wanted to know, wouldn’t he? She wondered how he would react if she blurted out the truth. If she told him who she really was. Something told her he wouldn’t fawn all over her, the way most people did when they came into close contact with a royal. Something told her he would stay exactly the same—and that was a very tantalising prospect.
Yet she couldn’t risk it. No matter how normal he might be in those circumstances, things would inevitably change. He might be angry she hadn’t mentioned it before. And what if he inadvertently mentioned it to one of his friends, who mentioned it to someone else—and the wretched press got hold of it? That would be a disaster.
But it was more than his reaction which made Sophie want to keep her secret. She just didn’t want to pop this bubble of feeling so normal. Of feeling just like anyone else. Why shouldn’t she talk about herself without mentioning her status? Unless being a princess was the only thing which defined her.
‘What exactly do you want to know?’ she questioned.
Pushing his wine glass away, Rafe sat back in his chair as he considered her question, but in his heart he knew the answer. He didn’t want facts. He wanted her. He’d wanted her from the first moment she’d turned round and looked at him with those big blue eyes. He wanted to crush those amazing lips with his own. To peel that cotton dress from her body and see what delicious treasures lay beneath. To hear her gasping his name as he pushed deep inside her...
He shifted his weight to try to ease his discomfort, realising he was sitting there like some frustrated teenager with a hard-on—and suddenly common sense overrode the primitive needs of his body. What the hell was he thinking of? He forced himself to stand, reminding himself he was leaving tomorrow and that in a week he would scarcely remember her name. ‘It’s okay, Sophie. You’re right. Your life is none of my business.’ Suddenly, he smiled. ‘But for what it’s worth—you’re doing a pretty good job.’
It was the praise as much as the smile which got to her and Sophie blinked at him, stupidly moved by his words. She was naturally suspicious of praise because usually it was delivered with some sort of agenda, usually because people were trying to ingratiate themselves with her. But Rafe’s words were genuine. He didn’t know she was a princess. He was saying those things because he meant them. His praise was real.
And suddenly she knew she had to get away from him—before another small act of kindness had her rolling over like a puppy wanting its stomach stroked. Her chair scraped loudly against the wooden floor as she also stood up. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I appreciate it. And in order not to blot my brilliant record, I guess I’d better finish clearing up.’
She went into the kitchen and started washing the glasses, feeling stupidly disappointed when he said goodnight and left her to it. The room felt empty without him. She felt empty without him. What had she wanted to happen? For him to remove her hands from the soapy water and take her into his arms and start to kiss her?
Yes. That was exactly what she wanted.
Frustrated, she went to her room and took a quick shower before climbing into bed. But despite all her hard work and the thought of the early-morning start, she spent countless minutes lying wide awake in the darkness. Every time she shut her eyes, she was haunted by Rafe’s image. By his hard-boned face and powerful body. By the way those steely eyes swept over her, making her stomach turn somersaults. She pushed the cotton sheet from her hot body, going through all the relaxation techniques she knew but nothing seemed to work, until eventually she gave up and got out of bed.
Walking over to the window, she peered out at the beautiful night, where the moon had risen high in the clear and unpolluted sky. She could see its milky glimmer on the surface of the pool and suddenly the thought of a swim seemed irresistible. If she was very quiet she would disturb no one. She could cool herself down and wear herself out and, afterwards, crawl back into bed exhausted.
Pulling on her swimsuit, she slipped her feet into a pair of flip flops and padded quietly outside. Switching on the pool’s floodlights, she scanned the surroundings for any of the ubiquitous cane toads who sometimes swam there until the chlorinated water poisoned them, but there were none. Everything was silent except for the ghost-like wailing of a curlew in a distant tree.
Slipping into the water, she swam with strong, regular strokes which were the result of hours spent practising in the palace pool. She swam until she was pleasantly tired. Floating on her back in the water, she was just thinking about getting out when she heard a splash and, glancing down to the other end of the pool, she froze as she saw a powerful male body swimming beneath the surface of the floodlit water towards her. She held her breath as the man emerged beside her, wet dark hair plastered to his head—his muscular torso painted silver by the moonlight.
‘Rafe!’ Her heart crashed violently against her ribcage. ‘You scared the life out of me!’
‘Who did you think it was?’
‘A cane toad!’ she declared furiously.
‘Pretty big cane toad,’ he said, a smile curving the edges of his lips.
He dived beneath the water again—swimming several lengths of the pool and back again. It was an impressive display, thought Sophie reluctantly. A deliberate and very macho display and she would have needed to be made of wood not to have responded to it. And Sophie was not made of wood. Far from it. Right then she felt like cream which had been whipped up into soft peaks. Suddenly he emerged beside her again, shaking his head so that little droplets of water showered over her skin.
Tilting his head back, he looked up at the bright canopy of stars. ‘Amazing, isn’t it?’
Sophie forced herself to follow his gaze. To try to concentrate on the glittering constellations overhead when all she wanted to do was to stare at the magnificence of his wet body. He was so near. So very near. The danger which whispered over her skin was followed by a potent sense of excitement. A sense that she was standing on the edge of the unknown. ‘Very beautiful,’ she said. The shiver she gave wasn’t faked, but it had nothing to do with the temperature and suddenly Sophie felt out of her depth in more ways than one. ‘It’s...getting cold, isn’t it? I’d better go in.’
‘Please. Don’t let me curtail your swim,’ he said softly, his hooded eyes gleaming. ‘I’d hate to think I was driving you away. Or that my presence was bothering you.’
Of course it was bothering her. He must have known that. Even if his voice hadn’t suddenly dipped, the tension which had been growing between them for days now seemed to be reaching a climax. Her breathing had grown so shallow that she barely seemed capable of taking any air into her lungs and Sophie was aware of the blood beating hotly through her veins. He was coming onto her and she wasn’t doing a thing to stop him and it was crazy. She knew that.
And yet...
She swallowed.
Why shouldn’t she respond, when it had been nearly
