The light sparked off the cut crystal and warmed the amber liquid as it swirled around the glass. Nicolas watched it, wondering why he had poured the whiskey. He certainly wasn’t going to drink it. It was the last thing he wanted right now. As to what he did want, well, that was a long list. He wanted some peace of mind. He wanted some sleep. He wanted the telephone to ring and this long silent night to end. But most of all he wanted Lauren to look at him with something other than hurt and contempt in her eyes.
He leaned back in the armchair and stared up at the embossed white ceiling. He didn’t close his eyes. If he did, he would still see her face as she set out for that interview. See how much he had let her down.
She had conducted herself well at the interview. According to Leo Falconer, she had answered the reporter’s questions well and gracefully, and allowed herself to be photographed. She baulked only once, when the reporter asked to see the unfinished portrait. No one, she said, could look at her paintings until they were finished. Nicolas had smiled as Falconer related the tale, imagining her face as she refused both the reporter and the press secretary.
Lauren hadn’t been smiling when she returned to his office, looking like a stranger in an uncharacteristic plain brown skirt and cream button-up blouse loaned to her by some woman at the palace. The stranger hadn’t argued with him when he told her they were leaving the palace and the city for the solitude of his family’s country retreat. She had simply vanished to return her borrowed attire and supervise the men who would move the contents of her studio.
No matter how great her desire to avoid him, she had at least agreed to ride with him for the journey here. Or was it the reassuring company of Thomas Lawry she had wanted when they left the safety of the palace walls? She had sat as far from Nicolas as the car seat allowed, staring out of the window.
At least for the start of the journey.
Somewhere along the road, the early morning and emotional roller coaster had overcome her and Lauren had fallen asleep in the back of the car. As she slowly slipped across the seat, Nicolas had moved his body until she was resting on his shoulder. Careful not to move in case he woke her, Nicolas had spent the remaining hour of the journey listening to her slow gentle breathing and looking ahead, straining for his first glimpse of cream walls in the midst of the dark green forest.
From his earliest childhood, Nicolas had loved the family estate in the foothills of the mountains that marked the eastern boundary of the tiny kingdom. It had originally been a hunting lodge for his forebears. The house was very large but not a palace, and it was certainly not as formal as the official residence in the capital. This secluded place had at some time or other been used as a shelter by every member of his family. Here, they could be themselves, with as many flaws and weaknesses and secrets as any other family, and they all considered the estate to be both private and safe. As the car turned in through the massive iron gates, Nicolas could only hope Lauren would feel the same.
Well past midnight and now alone in his study, Nicolas still had no idea how Lauren felt. About the house. Or the events of the past day. Or, most importantly, about him.
Lauren was continuing to distance herself from him. When she had finally woken in the back of the car, she had once again moved as far from him as possible. After their arrival, the need to supervise the setup of a new studio had taken her away. When the bag of clothing from her flat was delivered, she had taken it to her room, declining dinner. He hadn’t seen her since. He hoped she was sleeping. She certainly needed the rest. So did he, but he couldn’t sleep just yet.
The beautiful wooden grandfather clock in his study was an antique. It had kept near perfect time for more than two centuries, and it was keeping perfect time now, Nicolas knew – it only seemed like the hands were frozen.
Nicolas left the whiskey glass on a table and moved to stare out the window. A few lights shone in the grounds, where he knew security men patrolled out of sight. Beyond the gardens there were few lights, just the bulk of the mountains looming above him. When the moon was full, the snow-capped peaks shone with a cold and awesome beauty that he loved. But tonight the sky was dark and the mountains merely a deeper black on a midnight blue sky.
The shrill summons of the phone called him away from the window.
‘Well?’ He didn’t need to ask who it was. This could only be the call he had been waiting for.
‘It’s good. Just what we wanted.’ Leo Falconer sounded almost cheerful, which was rare for a man who seemed habitually morose. ‘It’s been posted as lead story on the website, and will be also be the lead story on page one of the physical newspaper. Miss Phelps is quoted frequently. She comes across as intelligent and likeable. The story hints that she had been victimised by the tabloid press, without making it seem like she’s complaining.’
‘Excellent. Please make sure the newspaper is sent to me here as soon as possible.’
‘Yes, sir. I have emailed the web links to you as well. I do expect some queries from other outlets for similar interviews. Or at least a photocall.’
‘Miss Phelps will not be available. You may release the official statement to them. And the photos.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Thank you, Falconer.’ Nicolas was eager to get the man off the phone and check the website, but Falconer deserved praise for his efforts. ‘Well done.’
‘Thank you. Sir …’ The press officer hesitated a moment. ‘I do expect this will help, but you realise of course that I cannot guarantee the paparazzi will leave Miss Phelps alone.’
‘I understand.’ Nicolas hung up.
Perhaps Falconer couldn’t guarantee Lauren’s protection from the paparazzi, but he certainly could. What was the use of a title and a palace and bodyguards if not to guard someone he held precious?
The report was everything Falconer had said. Lauren was described as a talented young artist. Her modelling effort in multi-coloured hair and torn lace was a selfless act to help a friend’s career. The report said her unguarded reaction to the media showed an appealing innocence. He hoped Lauren would feel better when he saw the reports in the morning. But for now, maybe he might be able to get some sleep.
His soft-soled shoes made no sound as he walked along the thick carpet in the hallway. His bedroom was near the far end of this second floor. Lauren’s was also on this floor. Close, but not too close. In his mind he imagined her tucked up in the large bed, safe under his protection. The picture in his mind comforted him enough for the sight of the grand staircase up ahead to raise a slight smile. As boys, he and his older brother had driven his parents and nurses to distraction sliding down the elegant curved banister. He almost felt like doing it again – but at his age, he’d probably break his fool neck.
He glanced down the staircase and the smile froze on his face.
Lauren was lying on her back on the landing midway down the stairs, her bare limbs akimbo, her face turned towards the ceiling.
‘Lauren …’ Nicolas took the stairs three at a time.
* * *
‘What …’ Lauren shook herself out of her daze as a herd of frightened elephants seemed to thump down the stairs at high speed. She raised herself on one elbow as Nicolas threw himself to the carpet next to her.
‘Are you all right? What happened?’ Nicolas seemed almost frenzied.
‘Well, I couldn’t sleep. So I thought I’d come and take a closer look at that.’ Lauren pointed to the ceiling.
‘Did you slip? Are you hurt?’
‘No … I just lay on the carpet to get a better look at the mural.’
An explosion of pent-up breath next to her gave Lauren a sudden understanding of what was going on. ‘You thought I’d had an accident.’
‘Yes.’
‘Doing what? Sliding down the banister?’
‘Well … my brother Ed and I did it a few times when we were younger.’
His Royal Highness looked positively sheepish, and Lauren laughed. ‘It’s not a bad idea.’
‘Don’t even think about it.’
His voice was stern but his eyes were laughing with her.
‘About everything …’
‘Lauren, I am so sorry that you had to go through all that. It’s all my fault and I …’
‘No it’s not,’ Lauren said. ‘It’s not your fault. You weren’t the one who splashed my photos all over the internet.’
‘But if it wasn’t for me …’
‘Stop it.’ Lauren’s anger was gone. ‘I was simply worried they would start digging into my past and upset my mother. I spoke to her a little while ago. She’s fine. That’s all I care about. It’s over and I don’t want to think about it any more.’
Beside her, Nicolas took a low slow breath.
‘All right. Instead, you could tell me just what are you doing wandering around the place dressed like that?’ he asked, as he cast a slow and lingering look down the length of her body stretched out on the landing next to him.
Lauren was suddenly acutely aware that she was still wearing the clothes she had been trying to sleep in: a pair of old grey cotton shorts and a faded blue tank top, liberally covered with paint stains and so short it didn’t quite reach her waist.
‘Courtauld would be horrified if he saw me like this,’ she giggled, fighting back the urge to tug at the clothes. As if that would make it any better!
‘The man has no taste. I think you look quite fetching.’
Perhaps he meant it to be a joke. But in the seconds after Nicolas spoke the words, Lauren saw his eyes change with a sudden stir of desire. She was acutely aware that Nicolas was close beside her, his body just inches from her own. His head, like her own, was propped on one elbow. Their eyes were level. Their lips … They were alone in the silence of the early morning, and Nicolas was close enough now to kiss her again. If either of them moved just a few inches their lips could touch. Their bodies would touch.
Lauren wished she had chosen something different to wear that night. She didn’t own any sexy lingerie, but even a paint-free cotton nightgown would have made her feel better when Nicolas looked at her. No. No it wouldn’t. Nothing could make her feel better than she did right now with his eyes fixed on hers, his breath slow and deep and warm against her cheek. His firm body just a moment away from her fingertips.
In a flare of panic, Lauren rolled away from the danger.
‘I wanted to have a closer look at the mural.’ She fought to keep her voice from shaking as she lay flat on her back and pointed upwards.
Nicolas didn’t follow her gesture. He looked from her face slowly along the length of her body, his body leaning closer to her as he turned back to look at her face.
Lauren felt even more exposed like this. The bare flesh of her stomach and thighs was tingling, as if his glance had been a caress. She could barely breathe, as Nicolas slowly moved his head … and looked up.
The ceiling above them was covered with a brilliant mural. A golden sun blazed in a sky too blue to be real. Rocks and trees hung over white-tipped water where dolphins played. Two mermaids, their long hair tinged with green, lay half submerged on a beach, the water lapping at their bare round breasts. Their hands were stretched towards the ocean, where Neptune was rising from the sea. A wisp of windswept foam covered his groin, serving only to highlight his nakedness. The god was muscular and handsome, glowing with power. His wet dark hair fell past his ears. His eyes were blue. He looked like …
‘The family resemblance is strong, don’t you think?’ Nicolas’s breath lifted the hair around her ear as he spoke.
Lauren almost blushed. Almost giggled. Then took a firm grip on herself. ‘Your great-grandfather, I believe?’
‘Yes. He had something of a reputation as a ladies’ man. Something of an ego too, if the various portraits around this place are any indication. He seems naked, or at least semi-naked, in most of them.’
‘It was a fairly common sort of thing back then.’
‘But not now?’ Nicolas turned his attention from the naked figures on the ceiling back to Lauren’s near-naked form lying next to him. She felt as if her whole body was quivering.
‘Nudes are never really out of fashion.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper.
‘Do you do nudes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you ever thought of painting me like that?’
‘What … rising out of the water clutching a trident?’ She tried to make a joke of it.
‘No …’ He didn’t need to say any more. They both knew what he meant.
‘I … I didn’t think it would be appropriate for the collection.’
‘Who said it had to go to the public collection?’ He was teasing her now, leaning closer. The ever-decreasing gap between their bodies seemed to crackle with energy. ‘I think you’re afraid.’
‘No!’ Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes. ‘No. I’m not afraid.’
‘Then do it. Right now!’
Lauren pushed herself away from him, and swung into a sitting position. ‘You’re serious?’
Nicolas rose to his feet in a single graceful move. He turned and held a hand down to her. ‘Yes, I am. Are you game?’
She had no choice. She placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet.
Like her bedroom, Lauren’s studio was on the second floor. In fact, the rooms had an adjoining door. For the life of her, Lauren couldn’t remember if she had closed that door. As they climbed the staircase, she could only hope so. The last thing she wanted right now was to be in a room with Nicolas and a bed. Well, that wasn’t strictly true – but it was the last thing she needed. The walk down the corridor seemed to last forever. As she opened the door to her studio, she cast a frantic glance towards the bedroom door. It was closed. She heaved a mental sigh of relief.
Everything from her studio in the palace had been transferred to this one. The large wooden table was covered with pencils and paints. Her stool stood nearby, as did a large armchair. The unfinished official portrait was on the easel, covered with a light dust cloth waiting for her to finish. Lauren tried not to think about it. The painting was good, but not quite what she was looking for. It seemed shallow. She had captured her subject’s good looks, and his animal attraction. But that was all. There was no trace of the real man behind the beautiful face. She had not yet found the connection with her subject that she needed. As for this moment – this wasn’t the connection she had in mind, but whatever the fates had planned, she had neither the strength nor the will to fight.
Nicolas had followed her into the room and softly closed the door. He was looking at her now, with curious expression on his face. If she didn’t know better she would think it was uncertainty, or embarrassment – although she thought it unlikely that the act of taking his clothes off in front of a woman would cause the infamous playboy prince even a moment’s discomfort.
Nicolas glanced around, as if looking for something. Then he held out the paper he had rescued from the stairs. ‘Oh, you probably should look at this.’
‘What is it?’ She really wasn’t interested in the paper, and was surprised that he had brought it up, now of all moments.
‘It’s an advance copy of the story resulting from your interview yesterday. You should read it.’ He held the paper out.
‘No. I don’t want to,’ Lauren said.
‘It’s very flattering.’
‘Are you trying to change the subject?’ Lauren asked, teasing him as he had her just a few minutes ago. ‘If you’ve had a change of heart, just say so.’
Nicolas ignored her words and held up the sheet of paper. ‘Well, it’s flattering except for the photo.’
That got her attention. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I like the other ones better. With the leather and lace.’ Suddenly he was at her side. He reached out one hand to stroke her arm gently. ‘And the tattoo. It’s very sexy.’
Lauren closed her eyes for a moment. The words were as much a caress as his touch. It was what she wanted. And feared. Ignoring the tightening in her lower body, she stepped away.
‘Why don’t you get undressed? I’ll just get the right sketch pad.’
‘That’s the most unusual offer I’ve ever had.’
‘It’s not an offer.’
‘A challenge perhaps?’
She just stood there, waiting. It was all she could do.
Nicolas crossed quickly to the big armchair and sat for the time it took to remove his shoes and socks. He stood up again as he started to unbutton his shirt.
He was really going to do it!
Lauren fought down the urge to run from the room. Get a grip on yourself, she thought. This isn’t the first time you’ve seen a naked man. You drew plenty of nudes at art school. But the models had been anonymous, faces and bodies for an artist’s eye, not warm breathing flesh that a woman might want to touch. They had entered the room already undressed, merely dropping a robe to assume a pose. They hadn’t performed this disturbing striptease.
Lauren was unable to look away as Nicolas undid the buttons of his shirt one by one, exposing a glimpse of dark hair on his chest. With maddening slowness he pulled free the long shirt-tails. The crisp white linen slipped off his shoulders. As he turned to toss the shirt onto a chair, the light played across the muscles in his shoulders and back. Lauren’s fingers ached to touch that warm flesh. It would feel like suede over the firm muscles beneath. She wanted to run her fingers through the short sandy curls on his chest, to stroke the line of his jaw and press her lips to the base of his neck to feel the life and strength that pulsed through his veins.
Hurriedly she turned away, reaching for her drawing things, trying to hide her confusion in the familiar actions of her art. She sorted through her pencils and charcoal, her heart pounding. Behind, she could hear the unmistakable sounds of Nicolas removing the last of his clothes.
‘Where do you want me?’
Lauren looked frantically around – the window, her notice board, the table … anywhere except where she most wanted, and dreaded, to look. And in the end, she had to turn around.
He was breathtaking. Stripped of the veneer of civilisation, Nicolas was as nature had intended her greatest creation to be – vibrant and strong, beautiful and exhilarating. He was superbly fit, his muscles toned and firm. He carried himself with the assurance of a creature that revels in its own power and virility. Lauren felt a surge of sheer desire as her own animal instincts responded to the man in front of her.
‘Well?’
‘Ah …’ Lauren fought to get a grip on herself. ‘Over there.’ She was absurdly pleased that her voice was steady. ‘The stool.’
He moved with the easy grace of a predator. He walked to the place she had indicted, and then turned to face her, his head slightly on the side in query. Carefully keeping her eyes on his face, she gave her instructions.
‘Sit on the stool and turn slightly to your left. That’s good.’ Lauren carried her sketch pad and pencil to the armchair and lowered herself into a comfortable position. She positioned her sketch pad on her knee and looked up at her subject.
‘If you could put your left foot on the lowest rung on the chair. That’s better. Are you comfortable?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you hold that position for a while?’
‘I think so.’
‘Good.’
Lauren picked up a pencil. She glanced at Nicolas then down at the glaring white sheet of paper. She could have sighed with something like relief. That pose emphasised Nicolas’s long legs and firm flat stomach. His straight back and broad shoulders drew the watcher’s eyes to his strong jaw and handsome face. More importantly, the position of his leg hid from her gaze those parts of him that were causing the blood to rush to her face.
How could he be so calm? She was quivering with sexual awareness the like she had never even imagined before, but Nicolas wasn’t the slightest bit aroused. Or at least, there was no visible sign of it. Didn’t he feel the same desire that was gripping her? The thought was like a cold shower, sending Lauren’s temperature plunging as her embarrassment grew. She felt like running from the room, but that would only make matters worse.
There was one way she could salvage her dignity. She would draw him. It would be the best drawing she could possibly do although she doubted it would convince either of them that her interest in his body was purely professional.
* * *
Perched on the stool, Nicolas remained as still as he could. His years of military training had taught him to hide his feelings, to force his body to obey his will in even the most difficult circumstances. But nothing he had faced in uniform was as difficult as this. No live-fire exercise in the mud and rain had tested his strength as much as taking his clothes off in front of Lauren’s appraising eyes.
That was it, of course. She was assessing him. Judging him. The desire that had set his blood pounding as he lay on the stairs so close to Lauren had vanished the moment they had stepped into this room.
Nicolas was no fool. Nor did he possess a shred of false modesty. He knew he was attractive. More than enough women had made it clear to him – on many occasions. And he’d never been reluctant to take advantage of his attraction. He had stripped naked in the throes of desire on many occasions, without a second thought. But everything was different this time. Maybe it was because this time he really cared what Lauren might think.
Her head was bent over her work. The multi-coloured hair was tousled. She had been running her fingers through it. He had noticed her do that as she worked and doubted that she was even aware of the habit. Her legs were stretched slightly apart to balance the sketch pad. She had lovely legs. Not long, but shapely. He longed to run his fingers up the slope of her calf. He wanted to caress the skin behind her knees. It would be soft to the touch. And sensitive. The tattered grey shorts exposed an enticing length of thigh.
Lauren’s choice of attire was hardly fashionable, nor did it make any attempt to be sexy, yet Nicolas found it as alluring as anything any model had ever worn. The fabric of her cotton top was thin and soft with age. Yet it draped over her breasts like the most expensive silk. She wore no bra, and as her hand moved in her work her breasts moved under the fabric. One of the thin shoulder straps had slipped from her shoulder, leaving it bare. Nicolas wanted to run his lips along the sweet curve of her shoulder. To gently tease her ears with his teeth.
Her lips would be soft and oh so sweet. He had tasted those lips and the memory haunted him. He would be lost if he didn’t have a chance to taste them again.
Nicolas shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He wanted Lauren now with a hunger greater than anything he had felt before. He was thankful that his pose hid the fact from Lauren. Or was he? If he went to her now, would she return his desire? Would she step into his arms?
At that moment Lauren looked up. Her gaze met his. For an instant he saw a question there, then her eyes changed as she realised what was happening. It was happening to her too. He could sense it. Her body straightened. Her nipples were hard against the soft cloth of her top. Her lips were slightly parted.
His heart and blood sang.
* * *
Lauren could barely breathe. Her hand stopped moving across the sketch pad. Unable to hold Nicolas’s eyes any longer, she looked down at the drawing she had done. What she saw made her hand begin to shake. The sketch exuded a sexuality that was almost blinding in its depth and intensity. One glance at that drawing and her deepest desires would be clear. She heard Nicolas moving. Her subconscious registered that he was pulling on his trousers. Part of her was relieved, while another part of her wanted to tell him to stop.
Then he was beside her. Carefully he took her hand, still clutching her pencil, and drew it away from the pad. She didn’t care. The drawing didn’t matter any more. What mattered was the feel of his skin against hers as he carefully took her drawing tools away from her and placed them on the table. What mattered was his breath on her cheek, and at last, the soft brush of his lips near her ear.
‘Will you come with me, Lauren?’
She waited for her dream to be dashed. For the fears to return and images of her mother’s bruised face, a broken door and the flashing police lights to tear her away from the happiness that was almost within her reach. Tears began to fill her eyes.
Nicolas saw them and gently drew her to him.
‘Lauren, what’s wrong?’
And at that moment, for the first time, she wasn’t afraid. She let her body melt against his as she lifted her face to his kiss.
The sound of running footsteps filled the room and the door flew open with a resounding crash. Lauren flinched as Sergeant Lawry strode quickly into the room. He was followed closely by three men. They all carried guns.
‘What …’ Lauren stammered, but Lawry ignored her. He sent one man to the window. A second to the doorway that led to Lauren’s room. The third stood guard at the open doorway through which they had just come.
‘Sir. Code Alpha.’
Nicolas’s face hardened. He carefully disengaged himself from Lauren’s embrace.
‘My mother?’
‘Unknown, sir.’
Nicolas’s face paled. He picked up the rest of his clothes and swiftly began to dress.
‘Nicolas … What …’
‘Sir,’ Lawry interrupted. ‘We have to go. Now.’
‘Lauren comes too.’ Nicolas hadn’t even looked at her.
‘No,’ Lawry replied instantly.
‘No what?’ Lauren almost shouted. ‘What’s happening?’
‘She comes.’ Nicolas might not have heard her. All his attention was on his bodyguard.
Lawry nodded. He signalled to one of his men. Then he stepped to his master’s side. The prince took a step forward and Lawry closed in behind him, gun still at the ready. The guard near the door led the way, and within seconds all three had vanished.
‘Miss Phelps. Let’s go.’ The third bodyguard was by her side.
‘Go where?’ Lauren was losing control as panic and confusion overtook her.
The man didn’t answer. He grabbed her firmly by the arm. The sketchbook fell to the floor as he pushed her towards the door.