The Prince's Pleasure. Robyn Donald
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‘I hope he paid the writer lots.’
‘Methinks I detect a note of cynicism,’ Carole said as they turned towards the service lift. ‘Don’t you approve of the monarchy?’
How could she say that Prince Luka had made such an impact on her she couldn’t think straight? It sounded foolishly impetuous, like falling in love at first sight.
Alexa shrugged. ‘As an institution I think it’s probably on its way out, but our lot have done pretty well by us, so who am I to tell the Dacians how to run their country? If they like their Prince, that’s fine. And I gather he’s doing great things for them with his bank.’
Pressing the button to call the lift, Carole said in an awed voice, ‘The bank uses the Dacian crown jewels as security.’
Suddenly tired, Alexa covered a yawn. ‘Crown jewels?’ she said vaguely. ‘Oh, yes, I remember—don’t they have fabulous emeralds?’
‘And the rest! Literally worth a prince’s ransom.’ The lift slid to a halt in front of them, doors opening. ‘Have you got your car?’ Carole asked, jabbing the button to keep the doors apart.
Alexa shook her head. ‘It’s in dry dock. Something to do with the radiator, I think. Whatever, it made funny noises.’
‘Then take a taxi—and keep the receipt because you’ll be reimbursed.’
‘I’ll drop it off or post it to you. Goodnight.’
After the lift had whirred Carole upwards Alexa took the next one down to the ground floor, but one glance at the foyer changed her mind about trying to get a taxi there.
People were pouring out, taxis leaving as soon as they’d arrived, doormen moving fast to clear the crowd. Not to worry—the nearest taxi rank was only a couple of hundred yards away, just around the corner of a well-lit street. And as the hotel car park opened onto the same street there’d be enough passing traffic to make it perfectly safe.
Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Alexa set off, shivering slightly because it had rained while she’d been offering delicious food to the rich and powerful.
Down in the basement car park, in the restricted area, Luka of Dacia stood beside the anonymous car his agent had hired and listened courteously to his head of security.
‘At least let me follow you in another car,’ Dion said urgently. ‘I don’t like anything about this—why do they want you to go alone to meet them?’
Luka said calmly, ‘These men have been fighting a desperate war for the past twenty years—a war that’s turned brother against brother, father against son. I don’t imagine they trust anyone any more.’ He understood their behaviour. His life had been built on a lack of trust.
‘That’s no reason to put yourself in their power,’ Dion expostulated angrily. ‘Luka, I beg of you, think again! Your father would never have permitted you to take such a risk.’
‘My father judged risks differently from you.’
Dion said in exasperation, ‘Your father would have risked everything for Dacia. This is not for Dacia—these people are nothing to you—their Pacific island is as far from Dacia as any place can be. Let them fight their futile war until they’re all dead!’
Luka’s brows rose but his voice was crisp and abrupt as he said, ‘Somehow I don’t think it’s quite as simple as that. Apart from my obvious neutrality, they must have a reason to choose me as an intermediary between them and their opponents.’
‘What possible reason can they have?’
‘That’s what I plan to find out. These people aren’t rebels—they are the elected government of Sant’Rosa. So they’re not going to kill or kidnap me. And apart from the humanitarian aspects I have also to consider that although their country may be in ruins now it has the largest copper mine in the Asian Pacific region, not to mention other extremely valuable minerals, and the possibility of a flourishing tourist industry. Good pickings for the bank.’
Dion, who knew perfectly well that it was the humanitarian aspects that had persuaded his Prince, said angrily, ‘Why ask for this secret meeting late at night and alone?’
‘Possibly because they don’t want to lose face. If tonight leads to further discussions between the two factions on Sant’Rosa, and if I can persuade them to accept some sort of protocol for peace, the Bank of Dacia can help them rebuild their economy. By ensuring their prosperity, I can help promote ours.’ He paused, then added coolly, ‘My father would have thought any—every—sacrifice worth that.’
Dion’s frown deepened at the complete determination in his Prince’s voice. ‘Let me come with you,’ he said, knowing it was hopeless. ‘No one will know I’m there.’
‘I will know,’ Luka said inflexibly. ‘I gave them my word I’d go alone, and I intend to keep it.’ He looked down at the man he called friend and demanded, ‘Give me your word you won’t do anything to jeopardise this meeting.’
Dion met the Prince’s hard eyes with something like anguish. ‘You have it,’ he said stiffly, and stood back, holding the door open to let his ruler into the car.
Luka slid behind the wheel, his face sombre as he turned the key and heard the engine purr into life. Although he was early for the meeting, he was also a stranger to Auckland, so in spite of memorising the route he’d probably make enough wrong turnings to use up the extra hour.
Putting the car into gear, he eased it out of the parking bay and through the car park, slid his card into the slot and waited for the grille to roll back.
A security man posted there gave him a keen look and a respectful nod—another instance of the meticulous attention to detail by the conference planners.
The wet street appeared deserted, but his eyes narrowed when he saw a woman striding towards the corner; adrenalin pumped through him as he noticed the two men coming up behind her, leashed violence smoking around them like an aura. They were taking care not to make a noise—hunters with prey in their sights.
Luka’s hand thudded onto the horn and he stamped on the accelerator. The stalked woman jumped and whirled, mouth opening in a scream he could hear even over the squealing tyres and revving engine. By the time he’d driven across the footpath between her and the men she’d backed into the wall, hands in front of her in a classic posture of self-defence.
Trained? No, but ready to defend herself, Luka guessed with approval, himself expert in a lethal martial art. He leapt out of the car, but the two men were already sprinting across the street.
Luka ignored them. ‘Are you all right?’ he demanded harshly.
The street lamp revealed a face he recognised, a face that had lodged like a burr in his mind since she’d offered him a savoury before dinner. A highly appropriate offering, he’d thought then—oysters for sexual stamina. He’d looked into eyes, like a blast of winter set between black lashes and brows, and wanted her with a violence that startled and irritated him.
‘I’m fine, thanks to you,’ she said, the words coming clumsily.
Although she was pale her wide, soft mouth was held under tight discipline. Unwillingly Luka admired her self-control even while some part of him wondered what she’d look like when she lost it.
Wild; those fantastic ice-grey eyes half hidden by heavy eyelids, her hair tossed and tumbled like skeins of copper silk… The flush of passion would turn her skin to peaches and cream, and her mouth would soften into a sensuous welcome.
To take his mind off that purely male speculation—and the stir it created in his body—he suggested quietly, ‘You can drop your hands now. You’re quite safe.’
They fell to her sides. She managed a rapid, set smile and said, ‘Thank you.’
‘For what?’
Her