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It was her wedding dress! Or at least it would have been if he hadn’t shown up, hoicked her over his shoulder and kidnapped her. For the rather long ride in the lift to the penthouse suite she fumed, getting more and more angry as Lykos appeared less and less bothered.
No. Worse, he seemed to positivelyenjoyher ire.
Lykos moved with the doors as they opened, stepping directly into an apartment that was instantly and obviously breathtaking. Over the years Marit had visited some incredible places with her family on their diplomatic tours, but there was a sleek sophistication to this space that spoke specifically of the male beside her.
‘You live here,’ she realised as she watched him visibly adjust into the space. On any other man it might have looked as if he were relaxing into it, but there was nothing relaxed about the lines of tension in his body as he pulled sharply at each of his cufflinks.
‘Sometimes,’ he threw over his shoulder as he went towards a discreet but clearly well stocked bar. While his response didn’t tell her much about the strange sarcastic Greek, the apartment spoke volumes.
Arrogant. Rich. Male. It screamed from every single thing she could see.
‘You’re not one of my brother’s men, are you?’ she asked as the suspicion that she knew what was going on began to evaporate like steam from a coffee cup. This man, thisLykos Livas, was absolutely nothing like the security service men she knew from Svardia.
‘No.’ The single word held such a significant amount of hubris she was distracted by the sheer arrogance of it, until she realised what he’d said.
Fear turned in her stomach, forcing threatening thoughts through her mind. Had her brother even sent him? Had she just been kidnapped by some shady foreign enterprise hoping to cash in on her brother’s new ascension to the throne? Her fingers fisted into her palms as she scanned the room for exits.
As if he’d noticed the turn in her thoughts, he sighed. ‘You wait until I have you out of your hotel, off the streets and in my apartment andnowyou panic?’
Although the tone of his voice clearly showed how unimpressed he was with her self-preservation skills, he hadn’t heard her scream yet and she was just about to open her mouth to do so when—
‘Adagio.’
‘What?’ Marit demanded.
‘Aleksander told me your safe word,’ he said, waving his hand dismissively. ‘Adagio. The name of your pet hamster when you were five. Something about it being ironic because he was fast?’ The tall, dark-haired man shook his head as if bemused at the words coming from his own mouth. ‘Your safe word,’ he repeated, as if speaking to a child. ‘So that you know he sent me for you.’
Marit closed her mouth but continued to glare at him until she worked out what he was saying. Only her brother and the close protection officers in the Svardian security services knew of her safe word. But then it was possible that someone in the SSS had sold that information. But why would someone useherto blackmail the King of Svardia? Unless they had discovered the truth about Freya...
‘Okay, stop. I can hear your mind whirring from here.’ Lykos sighed. ‘Here.’ He passed her his phone.
It was a video file, her brother’s face paused at the beginning. She hit play, noticing that the phone was warm from where Lykos had held it.
‘Marit, I trust Lykos. You can too. He will bring you back home and we will straighten this all out. For now, just stay put. And don’t marry anyone!’
Marit felt awful, hating to see the dark smudges beneath her brother’s eyes. He looked exhausted and, although his words had been half joking, there’d been a deep frustration that spoke of the weight of a new crown and the fear for his younger siblings. Marit clenched her jaw as shame drove nausea from her stomach.
All Aleksander was trying to do was ensure that Freya was protected. The fact that Marit might even be interfering with that was anathema to her. She really wasn’t trying to cause problems for Aleksander, and certainly not Freya. Her brother would rule Svardia fairly and proudly and, even though he might have lost all sense of fun and joy in his late teenage years, he would do the best for their country. Always. It was just that...she had wanted to go into her new royal role with someone by her side. Someone there just for her. And that was now impossible.
She nodded, passing the phone back to Lykos, hating that he’d seen the video and despairing of what he saw when he looked at her. A runaway princess, spoiled and a royal pain. She couldn’t meet his gaze so, instead, let herself be drawn to windows that looked out on an artfully designed rooftop terrace that surveyed Paris in a proprietorial way.
It was over. There was nothing left to do now but return to Svardia. That thought changed her heartbeat from two-four time to four-four, doubling in speed. What on earth did she know about the royal duties her older sister so effortlessly performed? She was grace and sophistication, where Marit was stiff and awkward. She always said the wrong thing under pressure and the only time she felt even remotely like the way Freya looked when she was performing royal duties was when she played the piano. How on earth would she survive, knowing that she could never measure up to her sister? That her family—most especially her parents—would always compare them and find her wanting.
The hiss of a machine and the scent of coffee drew her attention back to the man who would return her to all of that.
‘How do you know my brother?’ she asked, even now trying to put off thoughts of the future.
‘Investments,’ he replied, his voice moving behind her as she peered through the glass, beyond the large rust-effect metal containers displaying large green palm fronds, to the firepit and a single chaise longue that was large enough for two, sending wicked thoughts into her mind in an instant. Inside was no better. She glanced from wall to wall, every single furnishing was lush and textural: leather, fur, satin overlaid mahogany and black metal in every neutral colour imaginable.
Tactile.
The word came from the décor, not the man himself, she insisted mentally. And then she remembered the feel of his hand on her—
‘Coffee?’
‘Yes,’ she answered too quickly.
Lykos resisted the urge to shake his head. How on earth had this woman been able to commit so much trouble when she had the world’s worst poker face? Her gaze flickered from the coffee in his hand to the window, to the doors of the lift, until it rested beneath a frown, somewhere over his shoulder.
