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Her tears had been spectacular. The chokes of laughter the sobs had been interspersed with had only added to the spectacle. And then it was done, and now she was sat cross-legged on the helicopter floor, dark brown eyes puffy, her face streaked with mascara but with the expression of someone who’d already put the tears behind her. The adventure from the palace into the helicopter had made her hair come loose, windswept long dark blond hair splayed all around her.
‘Better?’ he asked, already knowing what the answer would be.
‘Much, thank you. And thank you for rescuing me.’ She blew a strand of hair off her mouth and grinned. ‘I owe you one.’
‘It was my pleasure.’ And the knowledge of this incredibly sexy creature being in his debt only heightened the pleasure. She was fascinating.
She stretched her glorious legs out and hooked her ankles together. She had pretty feet, he noted. The puppy jumped off his lap and onto hers.
She fussed over the puppy then turned her attention sharply back to him. ‘I’ve only just noticed—you’re wearing a tuxedo.’
‘I am,’ he agreed.
Her plump lips puckered and wriggled. ‘I thought superheroes were supposed to wear spandex or something? And their pants over their tights?’
Laughing at the imagery, he shook his head. ‘I’m wearing a tuxedo because I dressed for a wedding.’
Her eyes widened and she gave a bark of laughter. ‘You were a guest?’
‘I accepted as a representative of the Berruti royal family.’
‘Amazing. And so sneaky!’
He shrugged as if the effort of rescuing her was nothing at all. ‘The invitation came three days after my sister showed me your message.’ The message had been as forthright as the woman who’d written it:
The King of Monte Cleure has imprisoned me and is forcing me to marry him. SEND HELP!!!
Marcelo had assumed it was a joke. Even Alessia had been unconvinced of its truthfulness—it was well known publicly that Dominic was searching for a royal bride, and Clara Sinclair’s reputation preceded her—but when Alessia’s reply went unanswered, doubt had set in and his sister had proceeded to give him earache about rescuing her old wayward friend. And then the wedding invitation had arrived by courier and Marcelo suddenly found a way to get one up on a man he loathed and who treated women like dirt and who gave royal families a bad name, and appease his sister all in one shot. Also, he’d been bored. An injection of excitement in a life that had been mind-numbingly predictable since his military career had come to a premature end had proved irresistible.
The initial plan for his old army friends to undertake the rescue mission while he sat in the royal chapel with his credentials as a bona-fide guest his alibi, a last-minute vision of himself sweeping in like a heroic knight in shining armour and the surge of adrenaline the thought had sent through him had also proved irresistible.
Marcelo hadn’t had a rush like that in three years. He could still feel the after-effects buzzing in his veins.
‘I wasn’t sure if the message went out,’ Clara said, thrilled that this one action had been successful. All her other efforts to escape King Pig had been abject failures. ‘Dominic caught me writing it and stole my phone while I was pressing send.’
‘Who did you send it to?’
‘Everyone in my contacts.’ All ten of them. Alessia, her only friend from her school days, had been her biggest hope. The other contacts had been her aunt in Australia, who no doubt would have called Andrew and been fobbed off by him, some work colleagues and an old lady who’d adopted one of the dogs from the animal shelter Clara worked at and who would call if her arthritis got too bad and she needed Clara to walk Buster for her.
‘Clever.’
‘Was there an international outcry?’ she asked, more in hope than expectation.
‘I’m afraid not.’
Her face scrunched in disappointment, making Marcelo laugh again. ‘Going to tell me how you got yourself into this predicament?’
Her expression changed to indignant. ‘Got myself into it? Nice bit of victim blaming there.’
‘Clumsy wording,’ he said by way of an apology. ‘Go on, tell me. I’m curious.’
‘Hmm...’ Her lips puckered and wriggled again and then she sat up straighter and inched herself back so her back rested against the hard bench running along the helicopter’s far side. ‘Well, my brother asked me to go to Monte Cleure on his behalf to sell the amazing properties of the sparkling English wine he’s producing on the family estate to the King of Monte Cleure. With me so far?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Great.’ She flashed a smile. ‘So I agreed to his request and off I popped to Monte Cleure and I was welcomed like a princess. Amazing hospitality. Honestly. Amazing. I was put up in the palace and dined on the best food, I had access to the spa and swimming pools, everything. Still with me?’
‘Yes,’ he agreed drily, although it was rather difficult concentrating on the words she was saying when the lips forming the words were so succulent.
