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“Sir?”
She’d had, what, a second’s lead? Not even that. He’d been right on her heels.
“Prince Lucas! Your Highness!”
His driver hissed the words but they carried easily on the warm, still air. A woman walking an obese poodle stopped and stared as Paolo, gesticulating wildly, hurried up to Lucas.
“I called out to Ms. McDonough, sir, but she went right past me.”
“Are you Prince Lucas?” the woman with the fat poodle said. “Oh, you are! Can I have your autograph?”
“Where?”
“Anywhere! On my hand. No, my shirt. No, on Frou Frou’s collar—”
“Where did she go?” Lucas demanded, turning his back to the woman and the poodle.
“That way, sir. She went toward the corner.”
“Oh my,” the woman said. “This is so exciting!”
Lucas shot the woman and dog a look that silenced her and started the little dog yapping. Wonderful, he thought coldly. Soon, all of Marbella would know a woman had run from the Prince of Andalusia.
Well, let Alyssa run. He’d be damned if he’d make a fool of himself by chasing after her. No way would he—no way would he—
“Mierda,” he snarled, and set off running.
He saw her as soon as he turned the corner.
At this hour on a weekend morning, the streets were already busy. Tourists were window-shopping; people were searching for just the right table at just the right café al aire libre.
Still, Alyssa stood out in the crowd.
Everyone was strolling but she was moving fast. Added to that, she was the only woman on this expensive stretch of real estate wearing a leather jacket, black trousers and boots. Shorts, navel-skimming T-shirts, bright summer dresses and sandals were the order of the day.
She really did need new clothes, Lucas thought, and grimaced at the irrelevancy of the idea. She was running away from him. What did he care about her clothes?
He slowed to a brisk walk. He’d drawn enough curious glances. Better to move at a slightly faster pace than she. He’d catch up to her in a minute or two.
A workable plan, except Alyssa picked that moment to look back. Their eyes met; she spun away and began to run.
“Damn it,” Lucas growled.
He shouted her name. It didn’t stop her but it drew the attention of other people. Dios, he was the new spectator sport of Marbella.
“Alyssa!” he yelled again.
Then he cursed and took off after her.
His stride was much longer than hers; it gave him a distinct advantage. Within seconds, he was only a couple of feet behind her. By the time they reached an intersection, he was only an arm’s length away.
And then, everything blurred.
Alyssa stepped off the curb.
A horn blared. A red truck was barreling down the road toward her. Lucas shouted her name and leaped off the curb.
He hit her, hard. They fell, rolled and the truck shot by them, horn still blaring, so close he could smell the rubber of its skidding tires and feel the dust from the cobblestones blow into his face.
