a prince.” He held up a finger. “But of course every one knows that now, thanks to your top-notch journalistic instincts.”
“You’re angry. I get that.” She inched behind the sofa as if putting a barrier between them, yet her spine stayed rigid, her eyes sparking icicles. “But just because you’re royalty doesn’t give you a free pass along with all these plush trappings.”
He’d left his father’s Florida fortress with nothing more than a suitcase full of clothes. Not that he intended to dole out that nugget for her next exposé. “Can’t blame a prince for trying.”
She didn’t laugh. “Why did you let me in here? Am I simply around for your amusement so you can watch me flinch when you flush my camera?”
Kate Harper was a woman who regained her balance fast. He admired that. “You really want this picture.”
Her fingers sunk so deep in the sofa that her short red nails disappeared. “More than you can possibly know.”
How far would she go to get it?
For an immoral moment he considered testing those boundaries. His identity had been exposed already anyway, a reality that drained his father’s waning strength. Anger singed the edges of his control, fueling memories of how soft Kate’s skin had felt under his touch when he’d pulled her onto the balcony, how perfectly her curves had shaped themselves to his chest.
Turning away, he forced his more civilized nature to quench the heat. “You should leave now. Use the door directly behind you. The guard in the corridor will escort you out.”
“You’re not going to give me my camera back, are you?”
He pivoted toward her again. “No.” He slid his hand in his pocket and toyed with her earrings. “Although, you’re more than welcome to try to retrieve your jewelry.”
“I prefer battles I have a chance of winning.” Her lips tipped in a half smile. “Can I at least have a cigar to hock on eBay?”
Again she’d surprised him. He wasn’t often entertained anymore. “You’re funny. I like that.”
“Give me my camera and I’ll become a stand-up comedian—” she snapped her fingers “—that fast.”
Who was this woman in an ill-fitting gown with an anklet made of silver yarn and white plastic beads? Most would have been nervous as hell or sucking up. Although, perhaps she was smarter than the rest, in spite of her dubious profession.
This woman had cost him more than could be regained. He would forge ahead, but already his father feared for his sons’ safety, a concern the ailing old man didn’t need. An alarming possibility snaked through his mind, one he should have considered before. Damn the way she took the oxygen and reason from a room. What if her minicamera sent the photos instantly by remote to a portal? Photos already on their way to flood the media?
Photos of the two of them?
Duarte sifted the earrings between his fingers. A plan formed in his mind to safeguard against all possibilities, a way to satisfy his urges on every level—lust and revenge without any annoying loose ends. Some might think over such a large decision, but his father had taught him to trust his instincts.
“Ms. Harper,” he said, closing in on her, following her behind the sofa. “I have another proposition instead.”
“Uh, a proposition?” She stepped backed, bumping an end table, rattling the glass lamp filled with coins. “I thought we already cleared the air on that subject. Even I have limits.”
“Too bad for both of us. That could have been…” He stopped mid-sentence and steadied the lamp—a gift from his brother Antonio—filled with Spanish doubloons from a shipwreck off San Rinaldo. No need to torment her for the hell of it, not when he had a more complex plan in mind. “It’s not that kind of proposition. Believe me, I don’t have to trade money—or media exclusives—for sex.”
She eyed him warily, surreptitiously hitching up the sinking neckline of her gown. “Then what kind of trade are we talking about here?”
He watched her every move. The way she picked at her painted thumbnail with her forefinger. How she rubbed her heel over the silly little anklet she wore. He savored up every bit of reeling her in, the plan growing more fulfilling by the second.
This was the best way. The only way. “I have a bit of a, uh, shall we say ‘family situation.’ My father is in ill health—as the world now knows thanks to your invasive investigative skills.”
She winced visibly for the first time. “I’m very sorry about that. Truly.” Then her nervousness fell away and her azure-blues gleamed with intelligence. “About the trade?”
“My father wants to see me settled down, married and ready to produce the next Medina heir. He even has a woman chosen—”
Her eyes went wide. “You have a fiancée?”
“My, how you reporters gobble up tidbits like fish snapping at crumbs on the water. But no. I do not have a fiancée.” Irritation nipped, annoying him all the more since it signaled a bit of control sliding to her side. “If you want another bread crumb, don’t anger me.”
“My apologies again.” She fingered her empty ear-lobe. “What about our trade?”
Back to the intriguing problem in front of him.
He would indulge those impulses with her later. When she was ready. And gauging by her air of desperation, it wouldn’t take much persuasion. Just a little time he could buy while settling a score and easing his father’s concerns about future heirs.
“As I said, my father is quite ill.” Near death from the damage caused by hepatitis contracted during his days on the run. The doctors feared liver failure at any time. He shut off distracting images of his pale father. “Obviously I don’t want to upset him while his health is so delicate.”
“Of course not. Family is important.” Her eyes filled with sympathy.
Ah. He’d found her weakness. The rest would be easy.
“Exactly. So, I have something you want, and you can give me something in return.” He lifted her chilly hand and kissed her short red nails. Judging by the way her pupils dilated, this revenge would be a pleasure for them both. “You cost our family much with your photos, destroying our carefully crafted anonymity. Now, let’s discuss how you’re going to repay that debt.”
Two
“Repay the debt,” Kate repeated, certain he couldn’t be implying what she’d thought. And she would look like a fool if she let him know what she’d assumed. She inched her chilly hand from his encompassing grip. “I’m going to work for you?”
“Nice try.” He stepped closer, his ninja workout pants whispering a dark, sexy hello.
Holding her silence, she crossed her arms to hide her shivery response and keep him from moving closer. This man’s magnetism was mighty inconvenient. Her toes curled into the Aubusson rug.
He tipped his head regally, drawing her attention to the strong column of his neck,
