Again the ‘future husband’ talk. Olivia stood up, feeling her blood pressure rise with sheer frustration.
Roman’s hand took hold of hers, pulling her back down to a sitting position. His voice was low, somewhere near her right ear, as he spoke in chilling warning, ‘Don’t make any more impulsive moves, Printsessa. I might seem gentle, but I can assure you if you run from me again I might not be quite so civilised in hauling you back where you belong.’
Her heart hammered hard in her chest, and the skin along her neck and shoulders tingled and prickled with the effects of his barely veiled threat.
‘My car is parked at the door. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.’
Olivia briefly considered her options—or lack thereof. Was she really prepared to risk what might happen if she resisted? The memory of his powerful arms encircling her in her dressing room sprang to her mind. For a moment she sat completely still, wondering if the frisson of electricity that coursed through her veins was one of trepidation or one of something infinitely more dangerous.
She stood, spine straight, and began walking towards the entrance. He followed, as she’d expected, his muscular frame falling into step by her side. His hand cupped her elbow, steering her out into the daylight towards a gleaming white luxury model car with privacy-tinted windows. Not the kind of car she would have expected from a new money playboy with a taste for danger.
Her silent captor slid into the driver’s seat across from her, his warm, masculine scent filling the small space. He didn’t look at her as he manoeuvred the car out of the airport and through the maze of roads that led to the motorway.
She covertly glanced at him from behind the safety of her sunglasses. Strong, masculine hands handled the wheel with expert ease. She noticed the top two buttons of his black shirt lay open and his sleeves had been rolled up along forearms that practically bulged with muscle. Strange black markings encircled his skin just above his shirt cuff—tribal, perhaps, but she couldn’t see more than the edge.
Of course he had a tattoo, she thought, biting her lip as she wondered just how many he might have. And where they might be...
‘You are staring. Something you’d like to say?’
His low, accented voice jolted her and she averted her eyes, looking straight ahead, curling her fingers together in her lap. ‘I was simply wondering if you will be delivering me to my father or to the Sheikh.’
‘So dramatic.’ He sighed. ‘You make it sound like you are a shipment of goods.’
‘I might as well be,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘It’s hard not to feel like a piece of livestock. Being traded from one barbarian to another.’
His hands seemed to tighten on the wheel. ‘I’d prefer if you didn’t use your pity party to insult my friend in that fashion. “Barbarian” is not a term he would take lightly.’
‘M
r Lazarov, at this point I can’t say that I particularly care.’
‘I suggest that you start caring,’ Roman gritted, moving the car off the motorway and towards the mountain range that separated them from the Grand Palace.
Twenty minutes in this pampered princess’s company and he was tempted to stop the car and make her walk the rest of the way.
She was a puzzle, this fiery redhead. A spoilt, impulsive, dangerous puzzle, all wrapped up in one very tempting package. He would not feel guilty for being attracted to Khal’s fiancée. A man would have to be blind not to see the raw sensual appeal in Olivia Sandoval. But, unlike her, he had his impulses under control. It was not hard to brush off attraction when he could tell that all that lay beneath her flawless skin and designer curves was a spoilt, bored little royal on the hunt for a thrill.
‘Your father has asked that you be returned to the palace as soon as possible,’ Roman said, noticing how her body seemed to tense at the mention of the King. ‘But I feel that you and your fiancé need to speak first.’
‘He is not my fiancé,’ Olivia gritted.
‘Oh, so that’s what is going on here. You decided to break the engagement by running away. How very mature.’
Roman felt his jaw tighten with anger for his friend, for the future of two nations that was hanging in the balance all because of one woman.
‘No, I haven’t decided anything. That’s the point!’
Roman heard the slight tremor in her voice and turned briefly to see she had her head in her hands. ‘Look, if this is bridal jitters, I’m sure there’s plenty of time before the wedding—’
Her head snapped up and she pinned him with the most ferocious icy blue-green gaze. ‘Do you honestly think I would risk my reputation, my safety, over a little case of bridal jitters?’
‘I only met you yesterday.’ He shrugged.
It was true—he didn’t know very much about her except that she had a deep-rooted mistrust of men and a mean left hook.
‘This isn’t something to speak about with a stranger.’
‘At least you’re listening...somewhat.’ She sighed. ‘Even if you think the worst of me.’