Marooned With The Millionaire. Nina Milne
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to her was clearly under control now, and his voice was an easy, deep drawl.
‘So why are you here?’
‘Because I thought you had been commissioned to write a feel-good article on the Lycander wedding—with an exclusive focus on the happy couple.’
‘Yes. That’s correct.’
‘So why did you feel the need to accost my sister?’
‘“Accost” is a strong word. I simply spoke with her.’
‘Accost is an entirely accurate word. You accosted her at her university campus without any attempt to schedule a meeting.’
‘I thought she might be helpful in shedding light on an...an angle I have come across.’
‘I find that hard to believe. Elvira is barely acquainted with either the Prince or Sunita.’
‘As I said, it’s a different angle.’
‘So I gather—and I look forward to hearing exactly what that angle is.’
April’s mind weighed and discarded options. Her intuition that Elvira had been hiding something seemed vindicated now that here in front of her was a main player. But perhaps the most sensible option would be to decline to cross swords with a man who was undoubtedly a master fencer. Instead she should take this as tacit confirmation that there was some truth to her suspicions and pursue her investigation.
‘I’m afraid I’m not ready to share yet.’
‘I’m afraid that isn’t acceptable.’
Now it was her turn to raise her eyebrows. ‘Is that a threat?’
‘Of course not. It’s an observation. I have a deal with your magazine—if you are in the process of reneging on that deal then I have the right to know. Both the Prince and Sunita have more than co-operated with you thus far, as have various palace officials. That co-operation will cease.’
A part of her knew she should be jubilant—he must be rattled. Yet he didn’t look it—instead he looked utterly at ease...a man who believed he was in control of the situation.
‘Sounds like a threat to me.’
‘Not at all. Consider it a negotiation. Why don’t I buy you a coffee and we can discuss terms?’
A sudden jolt of anticipation shot a frisson of awareness through her. On some stupid level she wanted this skirmish, and she knew the reasons why were more complex than her pursuit of an angle to a story. She had the horrible feeling it had something to do with the insidious tug of awareness her brain was desperately trying to shut down.
‘Let’s go,’ she said.
MARCUS FORCED HIS expression to remain neutral. No way did he want to project any of the disquiet that had surfaced inside him. April had a reputation as being a writer with integrity; her articles never gossiped—or if they did the gossip was fact not rumour or speculation. Which was exactly why anyone with a secret to hide hoped to slip under her radar.
Unfortunately the Prince of Lycander did have a secret, and it looked as though April Fotherington’s radar was abuzz. The angle she was in hot pursuit of was exactly the slope he didn’t want her to climb. Because at the summit lay political disaster.
That was what he needed to focus on...shame his body had other ideas. One look at April and va-va-voom—he’d been worried his eyeballs would pop out on cartoon springs. Her beauty was undeniable, and yet he couldn’t quite identify what it was about her that had caused such an intense tug of desire. Especially when she represented a danger to everything he had worked for over the past few years.
Perhaps it was best not to analyse the situation, or he might give in to the desire to study her at greater length, absorb her natural grace as she walked slightly ahead of him, check out the length of her legs, the slender span of her waist, the dark auburn of her hair that tapered onto the delicate nape of her neck...
Whoa. What was wrong with him? Right now April classed as the enemy, and his focus needed to be on shutting down this story—not ogling the opposition.
And so he continued through the lobby, eyes focused firmly above her head as they entered the hotel restaurant now nigh on empty in the post-breakfast pre-lunch lull. Scanning the room, he picked the optimum table—one that granted privacy and the opportunity to check the room for potential eavesdroppers.
He strode across the plush carpeted floor to a corner table, flanked by walls and potted greenery. A waiter materialised, pulled out chairs and proffered a menu, which Marcus waved away.
‘I’ll have a double espresso.’
‘Latte for me, please,’ April supplied.
He allowed himself to study her for a moment, telling himself it was a simple assessment to enable him to read her better. And if it unsettled her a little—well, all the better.
Dark auburn hair framed a heart-shaped face. Vivid green eyes of a colour he had never seen before—darker and softer than emerald—brought to mind forests and elven folklore. Her face held an allure that she seemed genuinely unaware of—there was no attempt at being coy, nor any overt flirtatiousness in her body language. And yet he could sense a simmer of awareness—the type of awareness that made his gaze linger a little too long on her generous lips, on the graceful tilt of her neck...
Stop. Get with the plan.
The point was to unsettle April, not himself. This situation was dangerous, and he needed to keep focused on what was important. April Fotherington’s lips definitively did not come under that category.
‘So...’ he said.
‘So?’ she returned.
‘Why don’t you tell me what your angle is?’
Tipping her head slightly to one side, she contemplated him. No doubt wondering how little she could disclose and get away with.
Seeing the waiter approach, he raised a hand. ‘Hang on. Our coffee’s here.’
They both waited in silence as their drinks were carefully deposited in front of them, and then for a few more beats until the waiter was out of earshot.
‘Go ahead,’ he said.
She blew out an exaggerated puff of air. ‘Telling you is a non-starter. Once I tell you, you’ll try and kill the story.’
‘Yes. We both know that. But if you don’t tell me you’ll lose all access to the Prince and his bride and we’ll call in a different magazine.’
A frown creased her forehead. ‘Isn’t this overkill? All I’ve done is have a chat to your sister.’
‘Not true, April, and we both know it. You also met with Brian Sewell.’
The anger he’d felt at that discovery resurfaced, and he forced his body to remain relaxed, his voice almost casual.
Her whole body stilled, but other than that she gave no indication of guilt. ‘Yes, I did.’
‘Did you approach him?’
‘No. He approached me. I understand he is a great proponent of democracy and I wanted a different perspective to put into the article. I won’t apologise for that.’
‘I’m not asking for an apology. I’m asking you not to pursue whatever line he has cast.’
Green eyes met his with cool aplomb. ‘I can’t do that. If there is a story there I need to follow it.’
‘Even if it isn’t the story you have been commissioned to write?’
‘Maybe it’s