Stepping into the Prince's World (4 page)

‘No. But there are tinned tomatoes as well.' Then she appeared to brighten. ‘And we have tins of truly appalling instant coffee. It'd be great if they could be useful for something.'

She smiled up at him and he thought of the pain she was suffering, and the sheer courage she was showing, and the fact that she was smiling to make
him
smile...

And he smiled back at her and backed away—because a man had to back away fast from a smile like that—and went to find some truly useful cans of coffee.

* * *

Somehow he stayed businesslike. Professional. Somehow he followed the instructions in his head from first-aid training in the field. He taped on the weights. He watched for her to react from too much pain, but although she winced as he weighted her arm she didn't make a murmur.

He put on as much weight as he thought she could tolerate and then he sat beside her and waited.

‘What do we do now?' she asked.

‘Relax. Forget the arm. Tell you what,' he said. ‘I'll tell you a story.'

‘What sort of story?'

He thought about it. He needed a story that would make her almost soporific so the arm would totally relax.

‘How about
Goldilocks and the Three Bears
?' he suggested, and she choked.

‘Really?'

‘Has anyone ever read it to you?'

‘I guess...not for a very long time.'

‘Same for me,' he told her. ‘So correct me if I get the bears muddled. Okay, here goes.'

And he sat by the couch and stroked her hair and told her the story of the three bears. It was a simple story—not long enough—so he had to embellish it. He had Goldilocks as a modern-day Bond girl, escaping from villains. He had his bears trying to figure the villains from the good guys, and he put in a bit of drama for good measure.

In other words he had fun, blocking the fuzziness in his own head with the need to keep her attention. And as Baby Bear found Goldilocks, and good guys and baddies were sorted, and baddies were dispatched with buckets of Mama Bear's too-hot porridge, and they all settled down for toast and marmalade, Claire's arm did what he'd desperately hoped it would do. It clicked back into its socket.

In the silence of the room, between breaks in the very exciting narrative, they actually heard it pop.

The relief did his head in.

It was almost as if he hadn't realised what stress he'd been under until the arm clicked back into place. The sound was like an off switch, clicking in his brain.

For the first time in his life he felt as if he was going to faint. He put his head between his knees—because it was either that or keel over. And Claire's fingers touched his hair, running through the still damp strands. Caressing.

‘It's done,' she whispered. ‘Thank you.'

‘Thank
you
,' he managed. ‘I couldn't have borne it if you'd suffered permanent damage saving me. Claire, I need to fix you a sling.'

‘Raoul... First... Lie here,' she whispered. ‘Please... Just...hold me.'

He'd been in deadly peril for two days. For a few hours earlier today he'd been sure he'd drown.

He was past exhaustion. He was past anything. Maybe Claire knew it. Maybe Claire felt the same.

‘Sling first,' he muttered, and managed to tie her arm so it wouldn't slip, but then he was done.

‘I need to sleep,' Claire murmured. ‘The drugs... My arm... It's all okay, but... Raoul, stay with me.'

She was lying on the huge settee, tousled, part-wrapped in a fleecy towel, part-covered by the huge blanket he'd found. The fire was putting out a gentle warmth.

He fought for sense but he was losing. He managed to toss more logs on the fire and then he stared into the flames thinking...
nothing
. Goldilocks and the three bears seemed very far away. Everything seemed very far away.

But Claire was edging sideways to give him room to lie with her.

There was no choice. He sat down on the settee and she put her hand up and touched his face.

‘We're safe,' she whispered. ‘Nice. Stay.'

He lay down, but the sofa wasn't big enough to avoid touching. And it seemed the most natural thing in the world that he put his arms around her.

She curled into him with a sleepy murmur.

‘Nice,' she said again. ‘Sleep.'

* * *

He woke and it was still daylight. Was it late afternoon or was it the next day? For now he didn't know and didn't care.

He was still on the settee. The room was warm.
He
was warm. The fire was a mass of glowing embers.

He was holding Claire.

There were aches in his body, just waiting to make themselves known. He could feel them lurking. They'd make themselves known if he moved.

But for now he had no intention of moving. He lay with the warmth of the woman beside him: a gentle, amazing comfort. Her towel had slipped. He was lying on her uninjured side. Her naked body was against his chest and he was cradling her to him. She was using his chest as a pillow.

He had a T-shirt on but it didn't feel like it. Her warmth made it feel as if she was almost a part of him.

He could feel her heartbeat. Her hair had dried and was tumbling across his chest, and her breathing was deep and even.

After the perils, the fear, the exhaustion of the last two days, he was filled with a sense of peace so great it threatened to overwhelm him.

He'd been in dangerous situations before. He'd had moments when he'd ended up sleeping tight with other members of his unit, some of them women. He'd held people when they'd been in mutual danger.

But he'd never felt like this, he thought. As if this woman was
right
.

As if this woman was part of him.

That was a crazy thought, he decided, and he hadn't even taken any drugs. What was going on?

He must have moved a little, because Claire stirred and opened her eyes and shifted a fraction. She didn't move far, though. She was still cradled against him.

Her heartbeat was still his.

‘Nice,' she said, as she'd said before she'd slept, and it was like a blessing.

‘Nice?'

‘The wind's died.'

It had, too. He hadn't noticed.

He had sensory overload.He couldn't get past the feeling of the woman in his arms.

‘Pain?' he asked, and she seemed to think about it.

‘Nope,' she said at last. ‘Not if I lie really still.'

That suited him. They lay really still. Rocky was snuffling under the settee. Maybe that was what had woken them.

Or other, more mundane things.

‘I need the bathroom,' she murmured, and he conceded that he did, too. And the fire needed more logs. And, to tell the truth, he was so hungry he could eat a horse—the milk and tea had barely hit the sides—but he was prepared to ignore everything if she'd stay where she was. But now Rocky had his paws up on the settee and was looking at them with bright, expectant eyes.

‘That's his “feed me” look,' Claire murmured, and she moved a little so she could scratch behind his ear with her good hand. And then she said, in a different voice, ‘I've lost my towel.'

‘So you have.' It was hard not to sound complacent.

She tugged back, hauled the blanket up across her breasts and tried a glare. It wasn't a very big glare. Those drugs must have packed a fair punch, he thought. She still looked dazed.

Actually...
beautifully
dazed. She had wide green eyes that seemed to be struggling to focus. She had skin that seemed almost translucent. Her lashes were long and curled a little, and her nose was ever so slightly snubbed.

‘You noticed,' she said accusingly, and he shook his head.

‘No, ma'am. I've been looking at Rocky all the time.'

‘Liar.'

‘Yes, ma'am.'

She grinned, and he thought that if she'd had two good hands she might have punched him. But one was still pretty much tied up. He was safe.

‘Life,' she said.

‘Sorry?'

‘We fought to keep it. We might as well get on with it.'

‘You mean we need to feed the fire, go to the bathroom, feed the dog, find something to eat ourselves...'

‘And think of some way to contact the mainland.' Her smile faded. ‘Will people be looking for you?'

He thought of his minders. At midday, when he'd spoken to Franz, he had been supposed to be with his unit. His minders had therefore been off duty. At six that night they'd have rung to check his itinerary for the following day.

He'd have been expected to be back well before six. They'd have rung and someone would have told them he was off duty. Then they'd have contacted Franz. ‘He's off duty as of this morning. I believe he's planning on returning home,' he would have told them, and then someone would have been sent to check his kit and discovered it was still where it was supposed to be.

It would have taken his minders about thirty seconds after that to panic.

‘What is it?' she said, and pushed herself up, wincing a bit as she moved her arm.

‘What?'

‘Your face. Someone's looking for you right now. Someone's terrified. Your wife? Partner? Family?'

‘I don't have a wife or partner.'

‘Family? Parents?'

‘My parents died when I was five, but I do have grandparents.'

‘Back in Marétal?'

‘Yes.' He closed his eyes, thinking of the fuss when his grandparents discovered he was missing. Then he thought of how long he'd been gone. After all this time it wouldn't be fuss. It would be horror. ‘I imagine they'll know I'm missing.'

She was sitting up now, blanket tucked to her chin, concentrating on the problem at hand. ‘Don't worry too much,' she told him. ‘The wind's died. I suspect you'll be mortified, but the Australian Air Sea Rescue services are good. They can probably track the wind and the currents and get a fair idea of your direction. If I was them I'd be checking the islands first. There's only about ten. Any minute now we'll have choppers overhead, searching for one lost soldier.'

He felt sick.

‘Don't worry,' Claire said again. ‘I imagine it's embarrassing, getting rescued twice, once even by a girl, but you'll just have to cop it.'

‘I won't,' he told her.

‘Are you going to tell me how you can avoid it?'

‘I already
have
avoided it,' he said, goaded. ‘I didn't tell anyone I was going sailing. What's more, I took my friend's boat. My friend's currently trying to climb Annapurna Two in Nepal. He won't know I'm missing and he won't know his boat's missing. No one knows I went to sea. I could be anywhere and my...my grandparents will be devastated.'

His grandparents?

This wasn't just about his grandparents, he thought. His bodyguard consisted of two skilled, decent men who'd feel as if they'd failed. The top brass of the army would be mortified. His friends would be appalled. And, back home, the media would be in a feeding frenzy.
Heir to the Throne Disappears!
It didn't bear thinking about.

He would have groaned if it would do any good.

It wouldn't.

‘Raoul...'

‘Mmm?'

‘We all do dumb things,' she told him, and put her good hand on his knee. ‘Some dumber than others. But, hey, you've lived to be embarrassed. The supply boat's due next Monday. You'll climb aboard, they'll let everyone know, and by the time you reach Hobart the fuss will have died down. You might need to apologise to a few people and go home and hug your grandparents, but it's no big deal. So one soldier's gone AWOL? If they don't think you've drowned then they'll probably assume you're in a bar somewhere. Or with a woman.'

And then she had the temerity to grin.

‘Actually, they're both true. You're very much with a woman, and if you go through that door there's a truly excellent bar.'

‘I think I need it,' he said, and she chuckled and tried to stand.

She wobbled a bit and he rose to steady her.

‘What did you give me?' she demanded. ‘I feel like I've had enough drugs to down an elephant.'

‘Or to not scream when your arm went back in. You were very brave.'

‘I was, wasn't I?' she said smugly. ‘So I'm brave and you're lost. And my arm's back to where it belongs. They're the givens. For the rest...we just have to get on with it.'

‘I really can't get off this place until next Monday?'

‘We can try and fix the transmitter,' she told him. ‘Are you any good with electronics?'

‘No.'

‘Then I'm vetoing that as a plan straight away,' she told him. ‘I have no intention of saving you twice. Now, Raoul...?'

‘Yes?'

‘Put some logs on the fire while I feed Rocky. We have life to get on with.'

‘Yes, ma'am,' he said, because there was nothing else to say. Nothing at all.

CHAPTER FOUR

T
HIS
MORNING
SHE
'
D
been bored.

This morning her entire desire in life had been a decent cup of coffee.

She was not bored now, and her desire was taking a new and entirely inappropriate direction.

Maybe she should be nervous. This guy was seriously big. He had the brawn and build of a well-honed military machine. Even washed up on the beach he'd looked awesome.

She stood under the shower and let the hot water run over her battered body as she let her mind drift where it willed.

It willed straight to Raoul.

She was alone on this island with a guy she didn't know. A seriously big guy. A seriously good-looking guy. He was dark-haired and tanned and his grey eyes were creased at the edges. Was the weathering on his face from years of military exercises in tough conditions? She wasn't sure if she was right, but she guessed she was.

He was kind. He was also skilled. He'd managed to get her arm back into place and the relief had been enormous. He was also worried about his grandparents. She could see that. One lone soldier AWOL from the army wouldn't cause a fuss, but she'd seen that he was distressed. Of course the army would contact his family, and of course it distressed Raoul that his grandparents would worry. Because he was...a good guy.

Raoul. Nice name, she thought. Nice guy. And a seriously sexy accent. Almost French, with something else in the mix.

Sexy.

And there lay the rub. There lay the reason why she should stop thinking about Raoul right now.

‘Are you okay in there?'

His voice almost made her jump out of her skin and when she landed she had to fight to get her voice in order.

‘F... Fine.'

‘Dinner's ready when you are. I already ate, but I'm ready to eat again.'

‘You already
ate
?'

‘Your refrigerator's amazing. Or should I say refrigerators, plural. Wow. I opened one to check and three eggs almost fell into my hand. So I ate them. You do realise eating's been low on my priority list over the last few days? Having had my pre-dinner boiled egg snack, I'm now serious about making dinner proper. But first I'm here to towel my lady's back, if she wants it towelled, because it's occurred to me that one-arm towelling might be hard.'

There were things there for a woman to consider. A lot of things. She was alone on the island with this guy. Every sensible part of her said she shouldn't accept his help.

Raoul had put a plastic outdoor chair in the shower before he'd let her into the bathroom. He'd fussed, but she'd assured him she was okay. She'd been able to kick off her salty clothes herself, and sitting under the hot water had been easy. She'd even managed to shampoo her hair with one hand.

But now... The wussy part of her said she didn't know how she
could
towel herself with one arm, especially as the painkillers were still making her feel a bit fuzzy. And there was a tiny part of her—a really dangerous part—that was saying she wouldn't mind being towelled by this guy.

She was twenty-eight years old. She was hardly a prude. He was...

Yeah, enough
.

But she had three voices in her head now. One saying,
Safe
, one saying,
Sensible
, the other saying,
Yes!

She had an internal vote and
Safe
and
Sensible
were outvoted by about a hundred to two.

‘Yes,' she whispered, but he didn't hear.

‘Claire? Are you okay?'

‘I'm fine,' she said. ‘And, yes, please—I think I
do
need help to get dry.'

* * *

It wasn't a bad feeling.

Okay, it was an incredible feeling. He had his hands full of lush white towel and he was carefully towelling Claire Tremaine dry.

She was beautiful. Every inch of her was beautiful. She'd emerged naked from the shower. She'd stood with rivulets of warm water streaming down her body and he'd never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

If he hadn't spent the last two days having cold shower after cold shower, he might have seriously thought of taking one now. Instead of which he had to get his thoughts under control and do what he was here for—get the lady dry.

She'd grabbed a towel, too, but with only one good hand she could do little. She dried her face and rubbed her front, which was okay because that meant he didn't have to dry her breasts. Which would have been hard. But he did have to towel her hair. He did have to run the towel down the smooth contours of her back. He did need to stoop to dry her gorgeous legs.

She was a small woman, but her legs seemed to go on forever. How did
that
happen?

She was gorgeous.

When he'd knocked on the bathroom door he'd just put steak in the microwave to defrost and until he'd entered the bathroom that steak had been pretty much uppermost in his thoughts.

Not now. The steak could turn into dust for all he cared. Every sense was tuned to this woman.

Every part of his body...

‘I think I'm dry,' she said, in a voice that was shaky, but not shaky in a pained kind of way. It was shaky in a way that told him she was as aware of him as he was of her.

He could gather her up right now...

Yeah, like
that
could happen. This woman had hauled him out of the water and let him into her home. She'd been injured on his behalf. She was still slightly drug-affected. No, make that a
lot
drug-affected. He'd given her more painkillers before she'd gone to shower.

Hitting on her now would be all sorts of wrong.

But she was looking at him with huge eyes, slightly dazed, and her fingers were touching his hair as he stooped to dry her legs.

‘Raoul...' she whispered, and he rose and stepped away fast.

‘Yeah. You're done,' he told her. ‘Where can I find you some clothes? Something sensible.'

He spoke too loud, too emphatically, and the emphasis on the last word was like a slap to them both.
Sensible
. That was the way to go.

‘I... My bedroom... It's right next door. There's a jogging suit in the third drawer of the dresser. Knickers in the top drawer. I'm ditching the idea of a bra. But I can get them.'

‘Stay where you are,' he said roughly, and backed away fast.

Because it might be sensible to help her into the bedroom and help her get dressed, but there was a bed in the bedroom, and a man had limits, and his were already stretched close to breaking.

So he headed into the bedroom and found the jogging suit, and then he opened the knicker drawer and had to take a deep breath before he felt sensible again. He picked up the first pair of knickers that came to hand and practically slammed the drawer shut. A pair of sheepskin bootees stood beside the bed. Excellent. They weren't sexy in the least.

He headed back to the bathroom, thought about helping her, then decided it might be hard but she should be able to cope herself and it would be far, far safer if he stayed on his side of the door.

He knocked and slipped the clothes around the door, without opening it wide enough for him to see her. They needed barriers, he thought. Big barriers. Preferably barriers with locks on them.

He stepped away from the door as if it was red-hot.

‘Steak in ten minutes,' he said. ‘If you're up to it. If the painkillers aren't making you too dizzy?'

‘The painkillers aren't making me too dizzy,' she told him, and then she stopped.

And he thought he knew what she was about to say because he was feeling the same.

The
painkillers
weren't making her dizzy, but something else was.

The same something that was doing his head in?

* * *

She dressed, and replaced the basic sling Raoul had fashioned for her.

Her arm was still painful, but it was a steady, bruised ache, not the searing pain she'd experienced when it was dislocated.

She was dry, she was warm, and she was dressed. She hauled a comb through her curls and thought she looked almost presentable. Almost respectable.
Yeah
. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her jogging suit was baggy and old. She had on her huge sheepskin boots. Her hair was combed but still damp and she didn't have the energy to dry it. There was no way she had the energy for make-up, either.

‘It's take me as I am,' she said out loud, and then winced.

Take me?

What was she thinking?

Rocky was sitting at her feet. He looked up at her quizzically, as if guessing her thoughts, and she gave him a rueful smile.

‘You and I have been alone too long,' she told him. ‘Four months and one lone guy enters our world...'

One
gorgeous
guy. A guy with an accent to make a girl's toes curl. A guy who was gentle and kind. A guy who'd lost his parents, who knew what being alone felt like.

A kindred spirit?

‘Yeah, those drugs are really doing something to you,' she muttered, and adjusted her sling a bit—not because she needed to, but because adjusting it caused her arm to twinge and she felt she needed a little bit of pain right now.

Pain equalled reality. Reality was good.

Reality was getting this guy off her island and going back to her stint of self-imposed exile.

She could smell steak. And onions. Raoul was cooking for her.

‘It needed only that,' she muttered, and took a last moment to try and grasp at a reality that was looking more and more elusive.

And then she went to find Raoul.

‘Hey.' Raoul turned as she entered the kitchen.

He smiled at her, his eyes raking her from her toes to the top of her head, and his smile said he approved. Of the saggy jogging suit. Of everything. That smile was enough to do a girl's head in.

‘Well done. Feel better?'

‘I...yes.' Of course she did. A thousand times better. She was clean and she was warm and she was about to be fed. What else could a woman want?

Who
else?

‘I feel great,' she said, a bit too heartily, and then blinked as he tugged a chair out for her. All this and manners, too?

‘You don't need to do this,' she told him. ‘I'm the servant here, remember?'

‘The servant?'

‘Don and Marigold own the island, but they never come here in winter. They needed a caretaker. Rocky and I applied for the job.'

‘Just Rocky and you?' He turned to flip the steaks. ‘That's hardly safe.'

‘There's also supposed to be a handyman-cum-gardener. What they didn't tell me was that he'd quit. He left on the boat I arrived on, and Don and Marigold headed to Europe without finding a replacement.'

He was organising chips on plates.
Chips!
Yeah, they were the frozen oven variety, but she totally approved. Steak and chips and onions. And baby peas, and slivered carrots sautéed in butter.
Wow,
she thought.
Turn back the rescue boats. I'm keeping him.

Um...
not
.

Drugs, she reminded herself. She really had had a lot of them.

‘Don and Marigold need to wake up,' he told her, organising the plates to his satisfaction.

He flipped the steak and veggies on, then carried them to the table, sitting down before her as if this was something they did every day of the week. Then he looked at her sling and leaned over and chopped up her steak. The sensation of being cared for was almost indescribable.

Yeah, maybe she was bordering on delusional...

‘They're breaking every rule in the Occupational Safety Code,' he told her, sitting back down again and turning his attention to his own meal. ‘Leaving someone in such isolation. Or don't they have those rules in Australia?'

‘They do.'

‘So why are you still on the island? Come to think about it, why were you here in the first place?'

She didn't answer for a while. She didn't need to. The steak was excellent, as were the accompaniments. She hadn't eaten since breakfast and she'd had a swim and a shock. She could be excused for making food her priority.

But the question hung.
‘Why were you here in the first place?'

It wasn't his business, she thought. But a tiny voice in the back of her mind said,
Why not tell him? Why not say it like it is?

She hadn't told anyone. She'd simply fled.

‘I've been accused of fraud,' she said.

He said nothing.

So what had she expected? Fireworks? Shock? Horror? At least a token of dismay? Instead he concentrated on his second piece of steak as if it was the most important thing in the world. And, because there was nothing else to do, she focused on her food, too. She ate a few more chips and her world settled a little and she felt better.

Lighter.

It was as if the elephant was in the room, but at least it was no longer inside her.

‘It couldn't have been a very big fraud,' he said at last, eying the near empty bowl of chips with due consideration.

‘What? Why?'

‘You're not in jail and you've taken a job as a caretaker in one of the most inhospitable places on the earth. This might be a great house, but you're not living in luxury. So it was either a very small fraud or you've cleverly stacked what you've defrauded away so you can be a billionaire in your old age.'

‘I could have paid it back.'

‘I suspect if you'd paid it back you wouldn't be on this island. Do you want to tell me about it?'

No
, she thought. And then she thought,
Okay, the elephant's out.
But it was still a very big elephant. Regardless of how trivial this guy made it sound.

‘It was big,' she told him. ‘Something like seven million Australian dollars.'