Royal and Ruthless: Innocent Mistress, Royal Wife / Prince of Scandal / Weight of the Crown. Robyn Donald
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that they headed for the chopper door. Lexie shut her eyes.
She felt safe, she thought raggedly—safer than she had ever felt in her life.
Which was odd, because every instinct she possessed was shouting a warning. Somehow she’d managed to forget that he had his own particular scent—faint, yet hugely evocative. And although her ribs were still complaining, memories flooded back in sensory overload as the remembered impact of that kiss burned through every cell in her body.
The noise of the helicopter’s engines thundered through her, turning her shivers into shudders; by the time the chopper lifted off, she was white to the lips.
At least she’d managed not to throw up, she thought distantly after they landed in the grounds of a large building in the capital city.
The following hours passed in a blur of movement and noise, at last relieved by blessed peace when she was delivered to a solitary bed in a small, cool room overlooking the sea. She looked up from the pillows as Rafiq de Couteveille came in with a slender woman at his side—the doctor who’d supervised her tests.
‘How are you now?’ he asked.
‘Better, thank you.’ Except that her throat had turned to sand. Huskily she asked, ‘How is the driver?’
‘Like you, she doesn’t seem hurt apart from mild shock,’ Rafiq told her.
‘Does she know what happened?’
He scanned her face with hard green eyes. ‘An animal apparently ran out in front of the coach.’
‘I hope it wasn’t hurt,’ she said quietly.
The woman beside him smiled. ‘Probably not as much as you are. Our animals run fast. Although you have bruises, you do not have anything cracked or broken. However, you’re still suffering a mild case of shock, so it seems a good idea to keep you in here for tonight.’
Rafiq de Couteveille asked, ‘Is there anyone I should contact?’
If her sister Jacoba heard about this she’d be on a jet to Moraze immediately. Crisply, Lexie said, ‘No. I’ll be fine, and I presume there’s no reason why I shouldn’t see out the rest of my holiday?’
He looked at the doctor, who said, ‘None at all, with a few precautions. I’ll tell you about those tomorrow before you leave hospital.’
‘I do need to notify someone about where I am,’ she objected, feeling rather as though someone had run over her with a steamroller.
‘I will contact the count,’ Rafiq de Couteveille said calmly. ‘The doctor feels that you need to be left alone tonight, so don’t expect visitors.’ When Lexie frowned he told her, ‘The hotel is sending along toiletries and clothes. I will leave you now. Do everything you are told to do, and don’t worry about anything.’
Silenced by the authority in his tone and bearing, Lexie watched him stride out of the room beside the doctor, tall and utterly sure of himself, the superbly tailored light suit revealing a body that made her foolish heart increase speed dramatically. How could one man pack so much punch?
And how had he appeared up on those grassy plains—literally from out of the blue?
Like a genie from a bottle, she thought, and gave an involuntary smile, because the image was so incongruous. Rafiq de Couteveille bore all the hallmarks of an alpha male—it would be a very clever magician who managed to confine him.
And it would take a special sort of woman to match that impressive male charisma—someone elegant, sophisticated, worldly.
Someone completely unlike Lexie Sinclair, a vet from New Zealand who’d never even had a lover!
Which inevitably brought more memories of that kiss—explosive, exciting and still capable of causing a delicious agitation that temporarily made her forget her tender ribs and stiff neck.
It almost seemed like fate, she thought dreamily, that they should meet again…
Oh, how ridiculous! Coincidences happened all the time—everyone had stories of the most amazing ones that meant nothing at all.
Forget about him, she told herself sternly.
When she eased out of bed the following morning an inspection of her body revealed some mild bruising over her ribs. She was also stiff, although movement would ease that. However the shakiness that had startled her after the accident was gone.
And although the doctor was cautious she said there was no reason why she shouldn’t leave, cautioning her to take things easy until the bruises had faded and she felt completely well.
So she dressed in the outfit that had arrived from the hotel the previous evening with her toiletries, and sat down rather limply on the chair. Presumably Felipe would come and get her, and she just didn’t feel like dealing with him at the moment.
A knock at the door made her brace herself. ‘Come in,’ she called, getting to her feet and squaring her shoulders.
But it wasn’t Felipe. When Rafiq de Couteveille walked in, his lithe form immaculate in superbly tailored casual clothes, her heart performed an odd gyration in her chest, quivering as it finally came to rest.
‘Ready to leave?’ he asked, dark eyes cool and measuring.
Later she’d wonder why on earth she hadn’t asked him what he was doing there.
‘Yes, of course.’ Oddly breathless, she picked up the small bag with her clothes from yesterday.
‘You will be more comfortable once you get home,’ he said calmly. At her hesitation, his brows met for a second across his nose. ‘Come—they’ll be wanting this room soon.’
‘I can’t ask you to drive me back to the hotel,’ she said inanely. ‘Felipe—?’
‘But you aren’t asking me,’ he pointed out with a smile that pierced her fragile shell of independence.
When she still didn’t move he held out an imperative hand.
With a meekness entirely foreign to her, Lexie handed over her bag.
COOL, firm fingers gripped Lexie’s elbow. Rafiq said, ‘Shall I ring for a wheelchair?’
‘Of course not,’ she spluttered, and started walking.
But once out beneath Moraze’s brilliant sun she was glad to sink into the air-conditioned comfort of the waiting vehicle.
He took the wheel, which surprised her; she’d have presumed the ruler of a place with several million inhabitants would have a limousine with a chauffeur. Instead he drove a late-model car, sleek, and with all the accoutrements of luxury.
Hanging on to the remnants of her composure, she said steadily, ‘This is very kind of you.’
‘It is the least I can do,’ he said, adding with a smile that barely tucked in the corners of his sculpted mouth, ‘We value our tourists. It is a pity your trip to the jungle was cut short. When you are fully recovered I will take you there.’
Lexie stared straight ahead, refusing to allow herself to feel any excitement at the prospect. They were passing beneath an avenue of tall palms, and the shadows of their long, slender trunks flashing across her eyes set up such an unpleasant rhythm that she turned her head away.
Unfortunately this gave her an extremely good view of Rafiq de Couteveille’s profile in all its autocratic purity. Whatever interesting meld of races and cultures had given him that face, it was disturbingly beautiful in a very masculine way—a compelling amalgam of angles and curves and hard-honed lines that spoke of formidable power.
And perhaps just a hint of cruelty? She would not, she thought with an inner shiver, closing her eyes, want to make an