The Irredeemable Prince, page 7
A wild, crazy thought struck her and for a moment it paralysed her.
Her eyes narrowed and she tilted her head as she tried to work through her thought processes and the mad conclusion she’d drawn, but she couldn’t shake it.
It was as though he wore a mask for the world.
Intuition shrieked that he showed her only what he wanted her to see!
Logic argued with her gut feeling. Why? Why would he do that? It was nonsensical. Yet, it resonated at some fundamental intuitive level.
‘Why were you at your computer?’ she asked.
Just for a second, his eyes hardened. Then he turned one hand up as though her question was inconsequential. ‘Unfortunately, I have to deal with a never-ending stream of emails from women who wanted to be more than just one-night stands. I try to let them down gently, of course.’
Bullshit. Her lips pressed together tightly in contempt for his answer. As if he’d bother emailing past lovers. As if they’d even have his email address.Anyway, she’d seen spreadsheets which had nothing to do with rejected lovers.
Trying to be as subtle as possible, she moved in an attempt to see past him—to catch another glimpse at his desk. She wanted to see if any papers still faced upward—whether there was anything more she could discover.
As though aware of her intent, he took her by the elbow and steered her towards the door of his study.
His personal assistant appeared at the doorway carrying a silver coffee pot and porcelain mug on a silver tray. ‘Prince Devereaux, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you had company.’ He looked utterly surprised and more than a little uneasy. More telling was his slight frown as he glanced quickly towards the prince’s desk. ‘Shall I bring another cup?’
Whatever was going on, she’d lay bets Hans was party to it. But, what could it be?
The prince flicked his eyes at the gold Rolex watch he sported on his wrist before he said to her, ‘You and I are due to meet in an hour. Would you like to stay for a coffee and begin our talks here?’
‘Yes.’ Definitely. She wanted to see more of the prince in his own environment. ‘Thank you.’
‘We can sit outside on the balcony. It faces the inner courtyard, so there’s minimal risk of being spotted together by the paparazzi,’ he explained.
Hans backed out of the doorway and Devereaux herded her out of the room.
‘Why don’t we stay in your study?’ It might give her an opportunity to sneak a closer look at his paperwork—maybe to spill something on the documents so she got a chance to turn them over and glean what it was they were about. ‘It’s probably a more conducive environment for work.’
‘I prefer the fresh air.’
Did he? Or was he just trying to keep her away from whatever he’d been working on? Her curiosity was definitely piqued.
‘Have you had breakfast?’ he asked. He wasn’t giving her any option to backtrack into his study as he led her towards the balcony.
‘I sat down to eat, but your photo in the morning paper rather put me off my food.’
He opened the balcony door and indicated she should walk out ahead of him. ‘I’m not going to change my ways, Mackenzie. Anyway, if I did change overnight people would see through it as a publicity stunt.’
He had a point. All her successes had been achieved gradually, but she was impatient to get this assignment finished. The newspaper photo was a stark reminder of the magnitude of her task.
‘The trade talks are the week after next. Would it hurt you to lie low at least until then?’
‘I suggested the same thing to my brother. I agreed to keep out of the papers if he abandoned this plan to transform my image. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t agree.’
She let out a long breath and felt her shoulders slump a little in frustration. ‘I doubt he would’ve gone to the trouble of hiring an image consultant had he not been committed to his cause.’
‘I’m happy with my life as it is.’ He flicked his hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘I’m not about to change to fit in with Gabe’s plans for me to attract a suitable candidate as a royal bride.’
Inexplicably her stomach hollowed. ‘Realistically, it would be very difficult for any woman to trust you to remain faithful during marriage.’
He regarded her intently.
‘I’ve told your brother you’d need to lose your heart completely to someone to give up your playboy ways.’ She shrugged. ‘For someone with your track record, it’s unlikely to happen. Even then, it probably wouldn’t last.’ She spoke the words matter-of-factly and yet her chest tightened.
He opened his mouth and a glint in his eye told her he was about to argue with her. It didn’t happen. His expression altered and he nodded his head briskly. ‘You’re right. It’s not going to happen.’
‘You don’t believe in love and marriage?’ Crazily, she hung on his response.
‘I don’t believe in a marriage formed to provide an heir for the kingdom. Do you believe in marriage, Mackenzie?’
I did once.
She looked away from him and out towards the beautiful garden of the courtyard below. Once upon a time … it was the way all fairytales started. Once upon a time, she’d been naive and optimistic. Too bad nobody ever emphasised the point that the happily-ever-after ending was complete fiction—that love was a fantasy and wasn’t meant for her.
‘Well?’ His prompt reminded her she hadn’t responded.
‘What I believe doesn’t matter.’
‘I disagree.’ His regard was intense. ‘How can you sell something to me without believing in it?’
‘I’m not selling love to you! I’m selling a different side of you to the world.’
‘There is no different side of me.’
‘Garbage! I don’t believe it.’
‘You don’t want to believe it because you’re selling a lie,’ he challenged.
She squared her shoulders. ‘I’m selling the qualities that make you a great yacht racing captain. They’re obviously a real part of you even if the responsibility and commitment you exhibit while on board your yacht don’t follow you when you step ashore.’
‘God, but you’re harsh. What made you so tough, Mackenzie?’
‘Working with spoilt brats who need their arses kicked.’
‘I don’t think so.’ He gave her a considering look. ‘I think it was something far more personal.’
‘Are you calling me a liar?’ It took all her willpower to stay perfectly still instead of moving restively as his gaze penetrated hers and he seemed to see right into her soul.
‘You’ve lied to me before,’ he said softly.
The insult made her spine stiffen. ‘I’m very honest.’
‘You lied when you told me you didn’t want to kiss me.’ His eyes became as smoky as his voice.
The hiss of breath she released was a sign of her frustration. ‘You’ve got tickets on yourself.’
‘Maybe, but don’t try to tell me you don’t want to buy one. You’re attracted to me.’
Her hands clenched. ‘Even if I were, it wouldn’t matter. I don’t become personally involved with my clients.’ It was a bit hard to when they’d all been female, but that was beside the point!
Hans arrived with an extra cup and a tray of fruit, yoghurt and pastries. Mackenzie used his arrival to take a deep breath, relax her hands and steer the conversation to a much safer topic. ‘There’ll be six races in the series. Your brother has said he’d like the first and last to be in Santaliana as a boost for tourism. Where should the others be?’
Thankfully the prince took the hint. He rattled off a list of possible places without any hesitation whatsoever. If she could keep his mind on work, they’d be finished planning these races far more quickly than she’d hoped. The faster she put this assignment behind her and returned to England, the better.
‘Would you excuse me for just a moment?’ the prince asked as his mobile phone began to ring.
‘Of course.’
The prince left the balcony to take the call, and Mackenzie sat back to wait for him.
Hans was setting up a small table in front of her. Although he had the rigid bearing of an English butler who worked for the upper classes, his shoulders more resembled those of a rugby player.
‘Have you worked for the prince for very long?’ she asked.
‘For the last three years.’
There were a stack of questions she wanted to ask him, but she got the impression he’d be unswervingly loyal, making any questions a waste of time.
The minute Hans left the balcony, she looked over her shoulder and watched him exit the suite. There was no sign of Devereaux.
She didn’t hesitate. If she was going to complete her job successfully, she needed to know more about Devereaux and what he was hiding.
She poured a cup of coffee quickly, then walked as quietly as possible back through the balcony doors and towards the prince’s study to see if she could peek at what he’d been working on. It was nosy in the extreme, and her conscience berated her, but she couldn’t help herself.
‘Club Tango. Friday. Manager’s office. Midnight. I’ll be there.’ The prince’s hushed words barely carried to where she stood just outside his study. Each word was clipped. It certainly didn’t sound as though he was organising a social occasion, yet she remembered reading on the flight to Santaliana that Club Tango was a popular nightclub.
Her ears strained as she tried to determine whether she’d hear anything more. Silence followed. Her nerves stretched knowing the prince could emerge from the room at any second and catch her eavesdropping.
Papers rustled. A drawer slid open and closed. The computer ping told her it’d just been turned off. The phone call must’ve ended.
She took several quiet steps back towards the balcony, and willed herself to relax and appear calm. Then, so he’d hear her approach, she walked back towards the prince’s study with heavier than normal footsteps. From the doorway, she proffered a polite smile as she extended the coffee cup in his direction. ‘I don’t know about you, but I hate cold coffee.’
All the papers on the desk had been cleared away and she was just in time to see him drop a key into the pocket of his trousers. So, the paperwork hadn’t just been cleared away, it’d been locked away the first opportunity he’d had. That was telling.
‘I hope you take it black?’
Mac longed to be able to get the key and discover exactly what the prince was hiding. There wasn’t much chance of that, but what she could do was research the Ploutos Corporation at the first opportunity she had.
The intensity of his piercing regard held suspicion. ‘Actually, I take my coffee with cream and sugar.’
‘Bad for your arteries.’
‘I like living dangerously.’
The way in which he moved towards her made her believe she was the one who lived dangerously. Yet, something in his statement resonated. ‘Why do I feel like that’s the first honest thing you’ve said to me?’
He took the coffee cup out of her hand and put it down on the surface of a low filing cabinet. ‘I’ve been very honest with you. I told you, you’re very kissable. But, maybe if you don’t believe I’m honest, I should show you the truth of it.’
The air between them charged with delicious temptation and corporeal possibilities. Mackenzie’s heart skidded to a halt and a shiver ripped through her body at the glint of sensual intent in his eyes. The dangerous undercurrent of attraction which had been an ever-present force humming between them—thrumming in her very veins—dragged through her. It made every cell come alive, sensitised every erogenous zone she possessed and made her aware of molten heat between her legs.
Anticipation swirled in her belly and her legs quivered as he reached for her. Quite without thinking, she took a half-step towards him.
His hand at the small of her back propelled her forward one more step until she was held flush against him. Never had she been more aware of the masculine potency of his body.
Oh, God. She felt so utterly feminine against that masculinity—so soft against the hard planes of his chest and so defenceless against his strength. How was it possible to feel vulnerable and powerful in her femininity simultaneously?
Her heart thundered. One of his hands trailed down her spine and over her hip while the other threaded through her hair, encouraging her to look at him.
‘You’re delectable, Mackenzie.’ The words were uttered with deep conviction, and there was a sincerity in his eyes that made her believe him.
A second later, his lips claimed hers in a kiss like none she’d ever experienced. Rather than the domineering, crushing kiss she expected, his lips nibbled softly at hers, arousing hers in their tender questing until she opened her mouth on a needy moan of surrender which came right from the back of her throat.
Instantly, he took advantage of her parted lips. He traced the tip of his tongue along her lower lip, teasing hers with a skill and mastery that sent her senses spiralling and made her yield whole-heartedly to his expertise. Passion sparked low in her stomach as his kisses wreaked havoc on every sense. Her nipples formed tight, desperate buds of need and she kissed him back with a hunger she didn’t recognise.
‘Mm,’ was all she managed as they broke apart for a microsecond so they could each drag in a breath.
The sound had barely emerged when his lips closed over hers again. Their tongues duelled, then his swept into her mouth with tantalising, practised strokes that engulfed and consumed her and made her want to dissolve against him—into him. God, but she wished their clothing would miraculously disintegrate so they could be flesh to flesh and she could run her hands over the hard strength of his muscles without the barrier of fabric.
Her arms reached up to drape around his neck and she allowed her fingers the luxury of running through his thick, silky hair before they pressed against his scalp, demanding he increase the intensity of his kisses.
His hand found the swell of her breast and she wished he’d undress her so his mouth could feast on her while she pressed kisses all over him and became intimately acquainted with the flavour of him. ‘Too many clothes,’ she complained.
His hungry groan into her mouth vibrated all the way through her and right down to her calves.
Mackenzie strained to get closer to him, to signal that she needed him to ease the ache of emptiness which rose within her on a tide of need. She made a small sound—a plea for greater intimacy—as she moved her hands and tugged his shirt out of the waistband of his trousers.
‘Yes, Mackenzie. Don’t hold back.’
Don’t hold back.
Belatedly, reality infiltrated her brain with piercing clarity. She had to hold back. This kiss wasn’t anything out-of-the-ordinary for him. It wasn’t even a meaningful interlude to him except that he meant to use it to control her. He might tell her she was delectable, but she didn’t feel half as good-looking as those women he was photographed with in the papers. These kisses had to be all about control. Logic asserted itself with devastating simplicity. The prince didn’t want to cooperate with her plans and he thought by kissing her senseless he’d be able to bend her to his way of thinking!
He was wrong.
With a mighty shove, Mackenzie pushed herself out of Devereaux’s embrace.
For several seconds, they stood looking at each other, each drawing in ragged breaths.
‘That shouldn’t have happened.’ She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
He shook his head. ‘Of course it should. More to the point it had to happen. With this sexual awareness of each other, it was just a matter of time.’ He rubbed the tips of his fingers along his brow. ‘This needs to reach its natural conclusion or it’ll hold us both in its thrall and control our every waking moment—and probably most of our sleeping ones as well.’
Yeah. Right. Like he’d spend sleepless nights replaying their kisses. He’d be too occupied kissing someone else.
The thought stung.
‘This isn’t going to control me, but I think you want it to. You think if you take me to bed I’ll be yours to command.’ She shook her head and tried to ignore the pulsing in her lower lip which told her it was swollen from his kisses. ‘It’ll never happen, Prince Devereaux.’
Each word was laced with impatience as he demanded, ‘Why are you running away?’ Immediately afterward his tone softened and he asked, ‘Who hurt you?’
The gentle inquiry caught her off-guard. Immediately distressed as the ache of past betrayal swelled in her chest and threatened to overpower her, it took all her strength to respond. ‘What makes you think I’ve been hurt?’
‘The barrier you keep erecting against me despite your body begging me to make love to you.’ He gestured to her and his eyes ran over her clothing. ‘You’re all buttoned up in your business suit, but beneath those clothes there’s a sensual woman begging to be set free—begging for release from this tough-woman, take-no-prisoners act—so she can find a mate she can lean on.’
Dear Lord. How did he know? He articulated needs she didn’t even want to acknowledge to herself—needs she couldn’t afford to yield to.
Summoning her most scathing look and her chilliest voice, she hit back. ‘According to the information I have on you, your degrees are in commerce and law, not psychology. Then again, I realise I don’t have a full brief on you because clearly you’ve also majored in arrogance.’
His laugh told her the insult hadn’t found its mark. ‘I’ve known enough women to know when a woman wants me.’
She just refrained from stamping her foot. ‘As far as I’m concerned, the number of women you’ve known is no recommendation! In fact, it’s a complete turn off!’
His phone beeped. ‘Excuse me.’ He reached into the same trouser pocket where he’d dropped the keys, and extracted it. He read the message then told her, ‘My brother’s in the room he jokingly refers to as my office. He knows we’re scheduled to meet this morning and is asking what time we’ll be there. Shall we have breakfast before we join him? I can tell him we’ll be another half hour or so.’
