‘Won’t I be in even more risk of being recognised if I do wash out the colour? What if someone does recognise me and tries to snatch me away from you for ransom?’
He was beginning to think it was a good idea. ‘Maybe I’ll let them,’ he said. ‘It would save me a whole lot of grief.’
She laughed. She actually had the audacity to laugh.
‘That wasn’t a joke, Princess.’
‘If I didn’t know better,’ she said, ‘I’d be starting to think that I’m getting under your skin.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself, Princess.’
‘Stop calling me Princess!’
He smiled around gritted teeth. ‘Now who’s getting under whose skin?’
CHAPTER FIVE
HER BACKPACK WASzipped and stowed in his car and with nothing of hers left in her cabin, there was no choice for her but to begrudgingly settle into the passenger seat of his rental car. But she was far from settled. She was still thinking, still trying to buy time, still trying to work out a way to escape her captor, still rattled by the strange effect he had on her setting the nerves alight under her skin.
She shivered, wishing she could forget the impact this man had on her senses, and focus on her more immediate problem. This man had assured her that she was safe with him, but how could she believe him? There was no safety while his goal was to return her to the prison of the Rubanestein palace and to a soulless, loveless future.
Shehadto get away. She just had to work out how.
She thought about all she knew about him—about the mysterious dark-eyed man who’d all but bewitched her in the restaurant with his earnest gaze, and a smile that had transformed him into warmth. A warmth that had disappeared the moment he’d followed her to her cabin and hovered outside her door, a dark and malevolent presence. And that was before snatching her into his arms outside her window and turning her mind to the conflict between the outrage that he had dared to do that, and the unwanted distraction of the heat she felt where their bodies had connected.
That, and his story that he was somehow now her saviour. Surely saviours were supposed to be more recognisable. Like a hero who catches a runaway skier before they plunge headlong into a ravine, or the firefighter who runs into a burning building to save a baby lying in its cot, or the heroine who stops her car at the scene of a car crash to give a victim life-saving CPR.
Like an angel.
The concept of saviour hardly applied to a man who insisted on taking her back to her odious brother, and to the marriage and hellish life he intended to commit her to.
Similarly, the concept hardly applied to a man who might even be acting for someone other than her brother—one of those “rogue actors” he’d implied were also after her. But if he were a rogue actor, he was making a big mistake pretending to be her saviour by promising to take her home.
Big mistake.
The sky was dark, the moon and stars hidden behind the clouds, and it was only the car’s headlights that cut a swath through the swaying palms either side to illuminate the road ahead. The slow way forward. The speed limit ensured the car could move at little more than a crawl. She could see from his set features in the glow of the dashboard lights that it was killing him to have to proceed so slowly.
She looked out her window. She could open her door, she mused, roll into the undergrowth on the side of the road, and run. At this speed it shouldn’t kill her. And it would have to take him a moment to realise she’d made a dash for freedom, stop the car and come after her. It might not be enough time for her to find a place to hide, but with the rising wind he might not hear her running over the rattle of palm leaves.
Although where she might go then…? Back to her apartment to seek cover with Inga and Sven? But that would be the first place he’d look, and she didn’t want to visit her problems onto them. Maybe she could head to the mountains and bury herself deep in the bush?
‘Don’t even think about it, Princess.’
She looked back. ‘Think about what?’
‘About running away.’
‘Who said I was thinking about running away?’
Did she imagine the tweak of his lips, or was it just the crease in the corners as he pressed them tightly together?
‘The doors are locked. You’re not going anywhere.’
‘I accept.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I don’t intend going anywhere, either. So glad you finally agree.’
