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She lifted a hand and brushed back her hair.
“Documents?”
A buzz of triumph flared to life. Uh huh! She was going to be sent back to England, given that she didn’t have her passport.
“Here you are.”
Anastasios, from right behind her, handed two passports over—she recognized the navy blue of her own and spun, gaping at him in shock.
“How did you…?”
His attention remained focused on the guard, who scanned a handheld device over both then returned them. “Welcome to Monaco.”
Monaco!
A few paces away there was a four-wheel drive, but Phoebe didn’t move towards it. She watched the passport official leave then jerked her face back towards Anastasios.
“Are you freaking kidding me? You broke into my flat?”
“Your landlady let me in,” he said with a shrug. “She was delighted to think you were being whisked away on a secret, romantic weekend.”
Phoebe’s lips moved like a fish’s. “You areunbelievable.That’s seriously unethical.”
“You’re actually going to stand there and lecture me about ethics?”
She was stunned into silence.
“I didn’t think so. Now stop arguing. It’s hot and you’re going to burn.”
“I don’t care.” She pouted petulantly, glaring up at him.
“If that’s the way you want it.” He said with a shrug, lifting her up and hoisting her over one shoulder, a hand resting on the curve of her rear as he strode towards the Range Rover and someone—Phoebe couldn’t see from her vantage point—opened the rear door, so Anastasios, with considerable skill and athleticism, maneuvered them both into the car, Phoebe essentially on his lap.
She squirmed, intending to break free, but every movement simply brought their bodies closer together, charging the static electricity that was arcing between them. His arm brushed her chest, his leg shifted against her bottom, and sparks flew, so her breathing grew hard and forced, and the air in the backseat of the car was thick with awareness even before it started to accelerate away from the airport.
“Stop fighting,” he grunted, but she shifted and felt his arousal and bit back a moan. It was confirmation that they were both equally affected by the other, but that was a terrifying reality to contemplate. She wanted to hate him ineveryway, for how he’d treated her.
“Stop manhandling me then,” she said thickly.
He studied her face then moved, this time, to shift her sideways, onto the seat across from him, regarding her with a face that gave nothing away.
“Is that better?”
She didn’t want to tell him that, in fact, it was not better at all. Instead, she crossed her arms and stared out of the window, resuming the stance she’d held for most of the flight over, so she didn’t see the way his lips curled in a cynical, knowing smile.
Despite the fact she was simmering with fury and other, trickier emotions, she was also fascinated by the view from her window, and before long, she forgot to be angry, and let curiosity overtake everything else. She uncrossed her arms and relaxed them in her lap, and she leaned forward, just a little, so she could catch every detail as they passed. On one side of the car, there were mountain ranges and lower set houses with terracotta tiled rooves, but they quickly gave way, on both sides, to larger apartment blocks and then high rises, until the car swept down and onto a beachfront street, pulling up at the mouth of a marina, with dozens of pearly white boats lined up, side by side. Golden hued cliff faces formed a phenomenally beautiful wall on one side of the bay, sparsely covered with fluffy green trees and more striking, modern skyscrapers.
Her door opened and she stepped out without another thought, eager to see more, to taste the salty air.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, to herself, shaking her head a little, thinking how much her brother would have loved this place. He’d always adored boats.
Out of nowhere, emotions welled in her chest. It was amazing how grief had a way of striking at any moment, out of nowhere, but fierce and debilitating. Kon had understood that, better than anyone.
“You can come back when this matter is resolved. Come.”
She spun to him, and finally, doubts won over pride. “Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere the press can’t find you,” he muttered grimly, the words an indictment.
