Without answering, he deposited the helmet on her head and fastened the strap under her chin. ‘Do we really have time to argue about this?’
She dragged her phone out of her pocket to check the time. She had less than forty minutes until eleven-thirty. She swore.Damn him. She hated to rely on anyone, and this man most of all. But what choice did she have? She had to make that ferry. And she didn’t have enough time now to get over the wall, let alone get to the terminal on foot.
‘How will we get past the security?’ she asked. If she was spotted leaving with him, her father would be informedimmediately. She didn’t know what the prince would do if he discovered she had defied him, but she knew it would be bad.
‘Let me worry about that,’ he said.
Going to the wall, he grabbed the rope and yanked it outwards. He caught the grappling hook with one hand, then flung her escape kit into the underbrush and kicked snow over it.
‘Take me to the ferry t-terminal.’ Her teeth chattered. The thin jacket she wore not doing much to warm her now the adrenaline from her aborted climb was starting to wear off. ‘Drop me off on one of the back streets by the port, so no one sees us together.’
He climbed aboard the huge bike and held out his hand. ‘Stop stalling and mount up. We don’t have all night.’
She hesitated. He hadn’t answered her… And his large gloved hand had inappropriate yearning joining the conflagration of sensations going off inside her tired, aching body. That hand reminded her of that night, when he had slid his callused palm around her waist and tugged the panel of her dress to one side, to expose her nipple. Another shudder ran through her, which had not one thing to do with the frigid cold and everything to do with the memory of his hot, callused palm on her waist.
The determined look on his face was exhilarating, and exciting, but also dangerous. She couldn’t trust him. She knew that. But something about the wild, untamed quality that clung to him made her feel sure if anyone could get her past her father’s guards, it would be this man.
‘Fine, I’ll go with you, because I don’t have a choice now. But don’t expect any thanks,’ she said.
He only laughed. ‘Spoken like a true princess, Your Highness.’
She clasped his hand, ignoring the shudder of reaction when his large palm closed around hers. She stuck her booted foot on the exhaust pipe and flung her leg over the high seat.
Suddenly she was squeezed up against his strong back, her thighs forced to bracket his hips. The reverberations from the bike’s powerful engine rocketed through her core, adding to her breathlessness as her breasts flattened against his muscular back. She planted her hands on the bike seat, to lean back, away from that hard body, which was both intimidating and compelling at the same time…
‘Put your arms around my waist, get as close to me as you can, and don’t look round when we pass the checkpoint,’ he demanded. ‘I’ll do the talking.’
She sighed.Merde.
So much for keeping a safe distance from all those distracting muscles. But he was right, she couldn’t afford to have the guards recognise her.
She leaned into him and folded her arms around his waist. With her cheek pressed against him the scent of new leather and bergamot soap filled her nostrils and added to the sensation overload. It was as if she could feel every muscle and sinew—bunching and flexing—his body rippling with barely leashed energy.
She wanted to hate him in that moment, wanted to hate the fact she needed his help because he had delayed her escape, but she couldn’t ignore the rush of exhilaration. Or the wave of gratitude. Or the light-headedness at the thought of her freedom, which was so tantalisingly close now, after being so long denied.
The bike sprang to life and rumbled down the road.
But as they rode together towards the palace’s east gate, he glanced over his shoulder and murmured, ‘And don’t worry about thanking me, because I always collect a debt, Your Highness. And a simple thanks isn’t going to cut it.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Thebikeacceleratedaway from the checkpoint as they were waved through by the single guard—who appeared to be mesmerised by Theo Caras’ authority and hadn’t even asked who was riding with him.
Freya’s heart soared when she sneaked a look over her shoulder to see the palace’s turrets disappear into the snowy night while Theo manoeuvred the bike down the steep cobblestoned hill heading towards the coastal road and the port.
She clung to his back as tears scalded her eyes.
She was free! At last. Of her father’s impossible demands, his constant judgment, and his casual cruelty. She made a silent promise to her brothers to get them away from him too, as soon as she had got herself set up in Switzerland. But the truth was, he had never treated them as badly as he had treated her. Maybe her father had been a good man once—she vaguely remembered a man who had been distant but not cruel, not unkind. A man she had looked up to and wanted to please… But her relationship with the prince had changed the day her mother had chosen to leave him, to leave them all, even if it had taken her years to understand that…
‘Thank you,’ she whispered against Theo’s neck, closing her eyes to absorb the rumble of the bike, and the feel of him so strong and dominant and wild.
Maybe it didn’t have to be a bad thing he’d found her. She still had no clear idea why he’d chosen to help her. Perhaps it had been to best her father, for refusing to sell Caras the landhe wanted. But right now, she didn’t care what Theo’s motives were. She could relax, until she got to the port. She tightened her arms, inhaling his scent, as the lights of the town flickered on her closed lids, and she catalogued the next stages of the plan she’d worked on for three solid months.
Once she disembarked the ferry tomorrow in Amalfi, keeping to the cabin she’d paid for during the overnight sailing, she had a bus ticket through the Alps and into Switzerland. She had contacted an old school friend in Zurich whose father had a condo he used for business that would be empty until February. She should be safe once she got to Sorrento, because no one would be expecting a princess to be travelling on a coach. And one thing she knew her father would not do was inform the police or the press of her disappearance. His fear of scandal was so huge he would never want anyone to know she had run away from him, like her mother. The irony of that didn’t escape her. That while her mother had run for purely selfish reasons, she had run simply to live free of his cruel demands.
Once she was safe in Switzerland, she would contact him and tell him she had no intention of coming back. Her engagement would have to be ‘unannounced’. She knew he would cut her off without a cent, but she’d prepared for that. She had enough money from the sale of her grandmother’s jewellery to survive for at least a year, if she was frugal, until she could find a job.
That was the next hurdle, because she had no work experience of any note—and no proper qualifications because her father had not let her graduate. And she was fairly sure opening schools and hospitals and giving worthy speeches about what her father considered to be ‘women’s issues’ wasn’t exactly considered work in the real world. But she could speak four languages fluently, and she knew a lot about diplomacy—because she’d spent most of her life managing her father’s increasingly erratic moods.
