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‘You don’t do holidays. But to find that youdoblondes is interesting to me. Princess Marit, she’s quite a beauty. Though what she’s doing with a street thug like you, I’ve no idea.’
No one watching Lykos would think that he felt anything in response to the Russian’s statement. But deep down he was as close to violence as he had ever been. His pulse rocketed from nought to sixty and he felt a cold sweat break out across his shoulders. ‘She has nothing to do with you, Kozlov.’
‘On the contrary, she is the sister of the man who owns a number of shares in my company and is therefore ofgreatinterest to me.’
‘It’s a rather large number of shares, from what I hear,’ Lykos warned, reacting immediately to the implied threat to Marit.
His accent harsh and anger dripping from each word, Kozlov’s response was a guttural growl. ‘I’ve allowed you to chase the scraps I have cast aside because it amused me. But no more.’
The line went dead just as Marit appeared from the back of the restaurant.
Kozlov’s threat circled in Lykos’s mind and fury burned incandescent within him. Swallowing the fiery heat of his rage, he marshalled his features with a ruthlessness honed over many years. While Marit was walking though the restaurant, completely unaware of the waiter’s puppy-dog eyes, Lykos’s mind processed options at the speed of light.
That Kozlov knew about Marit now was untenable, and the first chance he got he would call Aleksander to warn him. Kozlov might see the shareholder as a threat now that the Svardians had been linked to him, Lykos realised. A cold, hard fist gripped him. He would never put Marit in danger.
In the space of a heartbeat, Lykos was six years old, skinny, thin and utterly helpless against the sound of violence in the room next door. A tremor rose within him, cracking and fracturing the stone seal he’d placed on the memories of those nights.The only way I’ll be safe is if he can never use you against me again.A cold sweat broke out across the back of his neck and as Marit approached, bringing sunshine and warmth with her back to the table, he still felt as if he had plunged his hands into an oil slick.
No. This time he would get it right. He would protect her.
She sat down and was about to say something, but she frowned, choosing something entirely different to ask instead. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘We have to go.’ The words ground out of him as he signalled to the waiter.
‘Back to the hotel?’
‘Yes. But only to pick up our things.’
‘Why?’ she asked, confusion clouding the precious shards he loved seeing in her eyes.
‘We’re going to London.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
MARITGAZEDOUTof the window of the car winding its way from a private airfield on the outskirts of London through city streets bathed in a teal-coloured dusk. She refused to look at the self-made Greek billionaire who had remained thin-lipped and grim with determination throughout their journey. Something had happened while she’d been freshening up in the bathroom and by the time she’d returned to the table the warm glow of an afternoon spent with someone she had come to admire, to find amusing, both of which had been more of a shock than the almost constant pull of awareness she felt to him, was gone. She thought they’d made a connection, shared an understanding that had made her feel...seen.
She almost laughed at herself for being so foolish. Before Lykos had come along, she’d made her peace with stepping into her sister’s shoes. She’d even begun to hope that finally she might be able to prove herself worthy of her title, finally able to exceed the expectations her family had always lowered for her. In some way, André had been part of that peace. It wasn’t love. They hadn’t even kissed. But they’d both hoped their friendship would be enough to get them through their futures.
And then Lykos had barged into her hotel room and everything had changed.
Sharing ice cream in the park, having lunch together, sharing confidences... She had felt like a sunflower turning towards the sun, she had felt her soul sparkle when he’d teased her, when he’d been impressed by her. She’d found herself wanting to earn his admiration, his respect, hisaffection. It had shown her what had been and what would be missing from her life after she returned to Svardia. It had made her want to reach out to him, hold him to her for the short while they had.
Until he had whisked them from Milan to London. His withdrawal from her, the meaningful silence between them, felt horribly similar to how her parents had often been with her. But somehow this hurt more. She shivered at the thought and, without word or question, Lykos simply adjusted the temperature controls. With her gaze on the crowds of people flocking the central London streets, even at this time of the early evening, she unclenched her jaw. ‘Why are we in London?’
Turning in the silence between them, she found his gaze locked on her. And because she was looking so intently herself, she saw it. The moment the lie formed in his mind.
‘We’re here for your date.’
She swallowed the wave of hurt that threatened to clog her throat with tears. ‘My date?’ she asked, her lips strangely numb.
‘Yes. On your list. We’re going on your date tonight.’
‘How lovely,’ she replied, while inside something curled in on itself, irrevocably wounded. For just a moment back in Milan, Marit had trusted him, found comfort with him, happiness even, and Lykos had lied to her, obliterating any sense of connection she’d felt.
She’d had it all wrong, she realised. He’d never seen her at all.
Lykos had called Aleksander while Marit had slept on the private jet. The King had offered the support of the security services, but Lykos had refused. More people meant more attention and more notice. Years ago, he’d learned that small meant quick, nimble and often invisible. As such, keeping it to him and Marit was actually the safer option. Aleksander had agreed, but his embassy was on alert and he gave Lykos a direct telephone number that would be changed the moment Marit was back on Svardian soil.
Lykos appreciated the reminder and it became a mental line in the sand. After he returned Marit to Svardia, everything would go back to normal. He’d have the shares to bring Kozlov down and be able to return to the nomadic lifestyle that he enjoyed: hotels in every city, a willing woman in every bar who’d appreciate a brief encounter as much as he did. No one to ask meaningful questions, no one to dig deeper than he wished. His future was as he liked it, on his terms and his terms only: alone and uncomplicated.
