With growing frustration and a sense that he’d bitten off more than he could chew, Octavio pulled away from her, the separation almost a physical pain. He turned his back, strode across the room, stepping into his bathroom and closing the door. Only then did he expel the breath he’d been holding.
He made it five weeks. Five weeks without weakening and calling Phoebe. Five weeks without getting his driver to take him to her place, so Octavio could knock on the door and apologisefor the ice-cold way he’d ended things that morning. Five weeks in which sleep had been made almost impossible because of the nature of his dreams and the strength of his wants. Five weeks in which he’d pushed himself to work long days in the hope he would be tired enough to get her from his mind and actually find some kind of relief.
For things to go back to normal.
But nothing was normal. In the space of a couple of months, he’d turned twenty-eight, ascended the throne, witnessed his beloved uncle’s death and got to grips with the parlous state his other uncle had left the country in. And met Phoebe.
Phoebe, who was beautiful and fascinating but in no way suitable to be anything more than a secret fling. A cleaner from New Zealand was not exactly the kind of woman his parliament and advisors would expect him to date, let alone do anything more serious with.
In any event, a relationship with Phoebe was a moot point. His betrothal loomed, which meant he shouldn’t have been thinking about Phoebe at all.
Never mind that he had known for a long time he wasn’t interested in a relationship that had the ability to monopolise his mind and worse, his heart. Not that his heart was involved in his calculations. He’d slept with Phoebe, that was all. He hardly knew her beyond that. It didn’t matter that there was something about her that was different from the women he’d been with in the past; she was unsuitable for any part in his life. And even if she had been serious, when he was with her a part of him, a deep, important part, had turned into a bright red flag, warning him to be careful.
So couldn’t he see herandstill be careful? Couldn’t he create parameters that would keep thembothsafe from the sort of vulnerabilities he sought to avoid?
The thought kept rolling around and around in his mind though, and eventually, he found it impossible to ignore.
Maybe there was one way in which he could see Phoebe, in some capacity, if she were willing. Just maybe he could make something work with her, just for a while. Just maybe he could have his cake and eat it, too…
Phoebe could not have been more shocked if a Martian had been on the other side of the door. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘His Majesty asked me to speak to you.’
She stared at Octavio’s driver, anger blooming as though it hadn’t been five long weeks since he’d all but dismissed her. He hadn’t gone so far as to thank her for services rendered, but he might as well have. That was exactly how he’d made her feel. Cheap, and used.
‘Yeah, well, I have no interest in anything His Bloody Majesty might have to say.’ She went to slam the door in the driver’s face but his foot caught the door before it latched.
‘I’m afraid I can’t take no for an answer.’
‘That’s your problem,’ she snapped. ‘You can take it or leave it, but my answer is still no.’
This time, when she slammed the door, he didn’t stop it.
She should have known better than to believe that would be the end of it. Only two minutes later, with hands still trembling from outrage, in the midst of making a mug of peppermint tea, the doorbell rang once more.Damned persistent driver, she thought with chagrin, making her way into the small foyer and wrenching it inwards.
Only to find Octavio staring back at her, all unmistakable royal importance and unfairly perfect good looks.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘You left me no choice.’
‘We always have a choice,’ she replied, gripping the door.
‘Mind if I come in?’
She cast a glance over her shoulder, aware that her place was as tidy as usual, but still hating the thought of Octavio seeing where she was living. It was only temporary, a place to stay whilst she searched for her father, but it was still a reflection of her. It was intimate. Exposing.
Only in that brief moment, rather than waiting for an answer, he swept past her, brushing his body to hers by virtue of the cramped entrance area, so her pulse went haywire.
She stood there, staring at him, door still open, so Octavio made a noise of impatience, reached over and unpeeled her fingers. Just his touch sent a thousand little fireworks into her veins. She jumped back from him, holding on to her anger as though it were an anchor she desperately needed.
‘What do you want?’ Before he could answer, she clicked her fingers in the air, and when she spoke her voice was heavy with sarcasm. ‘Oh, let me guess. A quick roll in the hay? What’s gone wrong in your life today that you need me to fix, Your Majesty? A problem with the budget? A servant? Did you come here to sleep with me so you could forget something else?’
His features were locked in a mask of steel, giving nothing away, and she was glad. If he’d looked even slightly chastened or apologetic, she might have softened her anger a little. Instead, he stared back at her with a look of cynicism andnothing.
Nothing.
He’d come here and he was looking at her as though it was the last place he wanted to be.
