The first time she’d heard Theo cry out, she’d thought she’d imagined it and it must be just another sound generated by the winds, but then it came again, and again. Sounds of distress and panic and insufferable pain, and it had been compassion that had led her feet down the stairs. She’d stood at his open door a few moments to see if he’d calm naturally, but he twisted in his sheets, producing sounds like a wounded animal.
She knew better than to wake someone having a nightmare, but she could soothe him. She drew closer, sitting on the side of the bed, murmuring words of comfort, stroking his fevered skin. Firm skin over corded muscles. Her fingers drank him in, even as she continued to whisper soft words. A sliver of light through the blinds silhouetted his body, highlighting his strong chest and flat belly leading to the tangled sheet below. And she’d wondered—what if she had found the courage to descend the stairs? Could her plan have worked?
Theo was calming, his movements less frantic, his breathing steadier. ‘It’s okay,’ she’d whispered one more time close to his ear, and suddenly all hell had broken loose.
He’d been angry. He hadn’t welcomed her with open arms. But he hadn’t been unaffected by her either.
And that was encouraging.
Izzy wasn’t about to give up her plans to get Theo onside just yet.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THEO SAT ATthe dining room table nursing both a thick head and a third mug of black coffee. Caffeine had never been so essential, and if he could find a way to take it intravenously, he would. He’d not allowed himself to more than doze the rest of the night, afraid to fall asleep while on princess watch. He didn’t trust her an inch. He didn’t trust her assurances that she would come with him. He didn’t believe that she wouldn’t try to run the first chance she got. The sooner he got her on the plane out of here the better. And then maybe, once they’d got to Sydney and she was on board the private jet that would whisk them back to Rubanestein—maybe then he could get some sleep.
Until then, coffee—and a bucket load of it—would have to suffice.
He heard her light footfall skipping down the stairs before she emerged into the room.
‘Good morning,’ she said, looking bright-eyed and way too pleased with herself for his liking. She was still wearing the shortie pyjamas, but at least she’d had the good sense this morning to add a robe. Because she was cold? At least he could thank the weather for something. Although she might have thought to tie the robe around her waist instead of leaving it undone and exposing her legs. He looked away.
‘Morning,’ he answered, rising from the table to pick up the plunger of coffee he’d made ten minutes earlier. Because as far as he was concerned, there was little good about it. He’d already heard the news, that the storm had changed track again, and that there was a chance the airport would be closed today. Which meant at least another twenty-four hours in this woman’s presence. AKA, disaster. ‘Coffee?’
He was already pouring it when he heard, ‘You might be my captor, but you don’t have to wait on me.’
‘You’re not my captive,’ he said. ‘And no, I don’t have to wait on you. I was merely being polite.’ He put the cup down in front of her and went to stand with his back against the kitchen benchtop. ‘There’s bread in the toaster waiting for you. The milk’s in the fridge. The sugar’s in the dish over there. Help yourself.’
‘Thank you, but I take my coffee black.’
He growled under his breath. He didn’t like that they had something in common, even if it was as simple as how they took their coffee.
‘You don’t sound very happy,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you sleep well?’
When he didn’t answer, she continued, ‘I had the best sleep.’
A burst of rain lashed the windows. The building seemed to rattle on its foundations.
She looked at the windows, to where the palm fronds bent and swayed in the wind and rain. ‘Is the storm getting worse?’
‘Looks like it. That’s why we’re getting out of here while we still can.’
She looked at him, all trace of smugness or smarts gone from her face, and what he was left with was cold hard determination. ‘I’m not going back.’
He sighed. ‘Princess, face the facts. You are going back.’
‘No,’ she said, jumping from her chair. ‘I will not. Not if it means getting married off to someone my brother chose so he can get his debts paid off.’
‘You’re a princess. You have duties.’
‘I’m a woman, first and foremost. I’m not my brother’s chattel to be sold off to whoever can offer him the most. It’s wrong. It’s barbaric—and if you can’t see that, then you’re just as much a barbarian and misogynist as he is.’
He was losing his patience. There was no arguing with this woman, no way to make her see sense. ‘If I were a barbarian, as you say, things would have ended very differently last night. And you wouldn’t be looking quite so smug right now.’
She angled her head, as if weighing up his words. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I might be looking even more smug.’
He growled again, tossing the dregs of his coffee into the sink, wishing he could rid himself of this troublesome princess just as easily. ‘Get dressed,’ he said.
‘Why? We’re not going anywhere. The flight isn’t for hours.’
