Fear settled, a cold hard weight in her stomach. Could this be the inspection the banker had mentioned? So soon?
It took a few moments before logic asserted itself. The bank wouldn’t waste money on a helicopter.
A figure appeared from behind the chopper and Luisa stumbled to a halt.
The sun silhouetted a man who was long, lean and elegant. The epitome of urbane masculinity.
She could make out dark hair, a suit that probably cost more than her car and tractor put together, plus a formidable pair of shoulders.
Then he turned and walked a few paces, speaking to someone behind the helicopter. His rangy body moved with an easy grace that bespoke lithe power. A power that belied his suave tailored magnificence.
Luisa’s pulse flickered out of rhythm. Definitely not a banker. Not with that athletic body.
He was in profile now. High forehead, long aristocratic nose, chiselled mouth and firm chin. Luisa read determination in that solid jaw, and in his decisive gestures. Determination and something completely, defiantly masculine.
Heat snaked through her. Awareness.
Luisa sucked in a startled breath. She’d never before experienced such an instant spark of attraction. Had wondered if she ever would. She couldn’t suppress a niggle of disturbing reaction.
Despite his elegant clothes this man looked … dangerous.
Luisa huffed out a choked laugh. Dangerous? He’d probably faint if he got mud on his mirror-polished shoes.
Behind the house, worn jeans, frayed shirts and thick socks flapped on the clothes line. Her mouth twitched. Mr stepped-from-a-glossy-magazine couldn’t be more out of place. She forced herself to approach.
Who on earth was he?
He must have sensed movement for he turned.
‘Can I help you?’ Her voice was husky. She assured herself that had nothing to do with the impact of his dark, enigmatic stare.
‘Hello.’ His lips tilted in a smile.
She faltered. He was gorgeous. If you were impressed by impossibly handsome in a tough, masculine sort of way. Or gleaming, hooded eyes that intrigued, giving nothing away. Or the tiniest hint of a sexy cleft in his chin.
She swallowed carefully and plastered on a smile.
‘Are you lost?’ Luisa stopped a few paces away. She had to tilt her chin up to look him in the eye.
‘No, not lost.’ His crisp deep voice curled with just a hint of an accent. ‘I’ve come to see Ms Hardwicke. I have the right place?’
Luisa frowned, perplexed.
It was a rhetorical question. From his assured tone to his easy stance, as if he owned the farm and she was the interloper, this man radiated confidence. With a nonchalant wave of his hand he stopped the approach of a burly figure rounding the corner of the house. Already his gaze turned back to the homestead, as if expecting someone else.
‘You’ve got the right place.’
She looked from the figure at the rear of the house whose wary stance screamed bodyguard, to the chopper where the pilot did an equipment check. Another man in a suit stood talking on a phone. Yet all three were focused on her. Alert.
Who were these people? Why were they here?
A shaft of disquiet pierced her. For the first time ever her home seemed dangerously isolated.
‘You have business here?’ Her tone sharpened.
Instinct, and the stranger’s air of command, as if used to minions scurrying to obey, told her this man was in a league far beyond the local bank manager.
An uneasy sensation, like ice water trickling down her spine, made her stiffen.
‘Yes, I need to see Ms Hardwicke.’ His eyes flicked to her again then away. ‘Do you know where I can find her?’
Something in that single look at her face, not once dropping to her filthy clothes, made her burningly self-conscious. Not just of the mud, but the fact that even clean and in her best outfit she’d feel totally outclassed.
Luisa straightened. ‘You’ve found her.’
This time he really looked. The intensity of that stare warmed her till she flushed all over. His eyes widened beneath thick dark lashes and she saw they were green. The deep, hard green of emeralds. Luisa read shock in his expression. And, she could have sworn, dismay.
Seconds later he’d masked his emotions and his expression was unreadable. Only a slight bunching of sleek black eyebrows hinted he wasn’t happy.
‘Ms Luisa Hardwicke?’
He pronounced her name the way her mother had, with a soft s and a lilt that turned the mundane into something pretty.
Premonition clamped a chill hand at the back of her neck. The accent had to be a coincidence. That other world was beyond her reach now.
Luisa wiped the worst of the dirt off her hand and stepped forward, arm outstretched. It was time to take charge of this situation. ‘And you are?’
He hesitated for a moment, then her fingers were engulfed in his. He bowed, almost as if to kiss her hand. The gesture was charming and outlandish. It sent a squiggle of reaction through her, making her breath falter. Especially as his warm, powerful hand still held hers.
Heat scalded her face and she was actually grateful for the smearing of dirt that concealed it.
He straightened and she had to arch her neck to meet his glittering scrutiny. From this angle he seemed all imposing, austere lines that spoke of unyielding strength.
Luisa blinked and drew a shaky breath, trying to ignore the butterflies swirling in her stomach and think sensibly.
‘I am Raul of Maritz.’ He said it simply but with such assurance she could almost imagine a blare of trumpet fanfare in the background. ‘Prince Raul.’
Raul watched her stiffen and felt the ripple of shock jolt through her. She yanked her hand free and took a step back, arms crossing protectively over her chest.
His mind clicked up a gear as interest sparked. Not the welcome he usually received. Fawning excitement was more common.
‘Why are you here?’ This time the throaty edge to her words wasn’t gruff. It made her sound vulnerable and feminine.
Feminine! He hadn’t realised she was a woman!
From her husky voice to her muddy boots, square overalls and battered hat that shadowed her grimy face, she had as much feminine appeal as a cabbage. She still hadn’t removed the hat. And that walk! Stiff as an automaton.
He froze, imagining her in Maritzian society where protocol and exquisite manners were prized. This was worse than he’d feared. And there was no way out.
Not if he was to claim his throne and safeguard his country.
He clenched his teeth, silently berating the archaic legalities that bound him in this catch-22.
When he was king there’d be some changes.
‘I asked what you’re doing on my land.’ No mistaking the animosity in her tone. More and more intriguing.
‘My apologies.’ Automatically he smiled, smoothing over his lapse. It was no excuse that the shock of seeing her distracted him. ‘We have important matters to discuss.’
He waited for her answering smile. For a relaxation of her rigid stance. There was none.
‘We