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Because he’s not just ‘handsome’. In reality, there are nuances that the cameras hadn’t properly highlighted—a scar at the top of his lip that gives it a slightly angular shape, for example; and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. They’re barely visible because of his dark tan, but they’re there, and there’s something about them that is wild, fascinating and dangerously distracting. His hair is thick and dark, with a slight curl where it’s longer at the nape, and as I stare at him he lifts a hand and runs it through his hair, watching me with those lupine eyes until my stomach is in knots.
‘He will seek to gain the advantage any way he can,’ my closest aide, Claudia, had advised, her own preparation equal to my own. ‘Be on guard.’
The memory of her words is timely. A palace staffer appears at the door and I relax, the sight of a familiar uniform and face reminding me who and where I am. This is my turf, my palace, my people, and he wants something from me: my land.
‘Your Highness.’ The staff member curtseys, earning another derisive half-smile from the Spanish billionaire. I grind my teeth, an inexplicable urge to somehow knock that infuriating look from his face making my palms hot. ‘Are you ready for afternoon tea?’
I turn to my guest, a frisson of heat running through me. ‘Mr del Almodovár, would you like something to eat or drink?’
‘A beer,’ he says without skipping a beat.
I pivot to the maid. ‘A beer for our guest and tea for me, thank you.’
I can’t shake the feeling he’s laughing at me, so I experience a sense of pique as I gesture to the two armchairs set opposite one another in front of a floor-to-ceiling window that frames a stunning view of the Laltussen river. Usually, the river gives me calm. It is ancient and courageous, undaunted by time and man’s impulses.’ It is a constant in the lives of my people and I take solace from that when I look out on it. But today I am apparently not able to be calmed.
When
he sits, it’s exactly as you might expect––no hint of reserve or respect for the ancient room and its furnishings. He takes the chair with a dominant athleticism that speaks of a desire to run wild, his legs spread wide, elbows braced on each arm as he leans forward.
I instinctively fold myself into my own chair, knees braced, ankles together, hands clasped in my lap. We could not be more different—he is totally at ease in his own body, uncaring of where he is; he’s simply himself. I have spent a lifetime learning who I must be—sometimes I wonder if I have any idea what or who ‘I’ really am. Who might I have been had I not been born a princess? Who might I have become had circumstance not made me the sole surviving member of the royal family at seventeen?
He’s looking at me, those eyes of his overtaking me for a moment, so I forget he’s here at my request, that this is my meeting to shape.
‘I’ve had a chance to review your proposal,’ I say, careful not to give away my true feelings in the tone of my voice. It won’t be helpful if he knows how much I don’t want his casino monstrosity here.
‘So I gather,’ he drawls. ‘And what did you think, Princess?’
‘Please, you don’t have to call me that.’
‘And what should I call you instead?’
I’m not one to stand on ceremony, yet with this man I hesitate to invite him to use my name as I ordinarily would. I need every boundary I can establish between us. ‘Most of my guests refer to me as Your Highness,’ I clip.
‘Is that any different to “Princess”?’ His cynical expression reaches inside my tummy and squeezes it, so I look away, flustered and warm-cheeked. The river is placid, calmly meandering past the window. I watch it for a moment.
‘It’s more...what I am used to,’ I say, forcing myself to turn back and face him, then wishing I hadn’t when I find his eyes lingering on the necklace at my throat. Or are they actually lower, on the brief hint of cleavage exposed by the neckline of my dress? My pulse goes into overdrive. There’s no denying how he makes me feel. It’s like being flooded with electricity. I close my eyes for a moment, needing to regain control. When I open them, he’s looking right at me.
My pulse speeds up.
A knock at the door is a welcome intrusion. I jerk to my feet, uneasy and tense, striding towards it.
Another staff member is there, holding a tray. She curtseys when she sees me, but before she can come in I hold out my hands to take the tray from her. I ignore her surprise, removing the sterling silver object and turning round in one movement. The door clicks shut, leaving me alone with Santiago.
I place the tray on a side table and remove the tall glass of beer, carrying it towards him with knees that are slightly unsteady. His eyes are sardonic as he extends a hand to take it. ‘Thank you, Your Highness.’
Nope. That’s no better. There’s still something illicit and inflammatory about his tone. He might sound as if he’s being respectful, but he’s not, he’s teasing me.
I double back to the tray, pouring tea from the pot then lifting the saucer and cup, holding them in my hands. I don’t approach my chair. It’s too close to the man, and there’s nowhere to look but at him. Besides, sitting doesn’t match my frame of mind. Instead, I walk towards the window, looking out at the river and the city beyond.
‘The project is...ambitious.’ It is not, by any stretch, the only word I can think of to describe his proposal. I hate everything about what he’s planning.
‘No more so than many others I’ve undertaken.’
‘Yes.’ I sip my tea. ‘Your track record with this sort of thing is impressive.’
‘Thank you, Your Highness.’
Another response that’s lightly mocking. My spine is ramrod-straight and I cast him a look that I think barely contains my own feelings.
