He’d got it all wrong. Bloody T-shirt. She wanted to run after him and grab his arm, force him to turn round so she could explain that she didn’t dance at the Pink Flamingo—she worked behind the bar. He might have awoken something in her when he’d kissed her, but he hadn’t changed her whole personality for God’s sake…
But he was gone, leaving nothing but a whisper of his masculine, expensive scent in the air. The lights seemed to dim and the shadows around her thicken. It was too late.
The wolf had slipped back into the forest, and she was safe.
So why didn’t she feel more relieved?
‘Stop the car.’
Tomás looked round sharply, surprised. ‘Sir?’
Luis stared straight ahead, his fingers drumming on the walnut inlay of the door. ‘We’ll wait here for a while, and then we’ll go back.’
‘Back, sir?’ Tomás looked alarmed. ‘Why? I thought you’d be keen to leave here as quickly as possible.’
‘I was. I am. But not without bringing “Miss Jones” with me.’
Alarm had turned to a mixture of panic and horror on Tomás’s open face now. ‘Sir…if I may say so, that’s not a good idea. The press office…The papers…The purpose of this trip was to put all those stories firmly in the past.’
‘They are firmly in the past,’ Luis said with quiet, emphatic bitterness. ‘When was the last time I picked up a girl for a one-night stand?’
‘The public have long memories, sir. And those photos of you falling out of nightclubs and groping women in the back of the car still get published regularly. If the newspapers get hold of this…this Miss Jones…’
Luis smiled. ‘You mean if she were to kiss and tell?’
‘Exactly, sir. She could profit handsomely from such a story.’
‘My night of passion with the playboy prince?’ Luis suggested mockingly, then shook his head. ‘She wouldn’t do that.’
‘With respect, sir, you don’t know that for sure. Some of these girls have no concept of privacy…’
‘With respect, Tomás, I do know it for sure, because I also know that that girl has considerably more to hide than I do. I’m not going to seduce her—I’m going to find out what a nice girl like Emily Balfour is doing in a place like this.’
‘Emily Balfour, sir? But I thought her name was—’
‘Jones? No. That, Tomás, was Oscar’s youngest daughter. Or the one that used to be his youngest until a subsequent claimant to the position arrived on the doorstep.’ Looking out of the window Luis frowned slightly.
‘I’ll ask security to go in and get her, shall I, sir?’ Tomás asked, glancing nervously around. ‘This probably isn’t the best place to hang around.’
‘The car is fully bullet-proof,’ Luis reminded him drily. ‘We’re quite safe. And I don’t think she’ll respond well to being hauled out by security. As I recall from last year, Emily Balfour won’t be pushed into doing anything she doesn’t want to.’
‘Ah, here she is now, sir,’ Tomás said with evident relief. ‘I’ll just get—’
But Luis had already got out of the car. Tomás swore with uncharacteristic crudeness, whipping his mobile phone out of his pocket and speed-dialling the head of security in the other car. At times he found the Crown Prince’s lack of regard for protocol and formality refreshing, but mostly it was just a giant pain in the backside. He just hadn’t seemed to grasp that, since his brother and sister-in-law’s shocking deaths, he was the future of Santosa.
God help them.
Trying to prepare Luis to take the reins of his ailing father was like taking a tiger from the jungle and trying to teach it to jump through hoops. Difficult and dangerous. And, he thought gloomily, if anything went wrong he would be the one to get his head bitten off.
‘’Night, Kiki—see you tomorrow!’
Hastily, not waiting for a reply, Emily slipped out of the door and into the cool, blue evening, wrapping her cardigan tightly around her. Usually she waited while Kiki locked up and the two of them walked part of the way home together, but tonight she just wanted to get out of there and be alone.
‘Can I offer you a lift?’
She jumped, giving a little gasp of shock as a figure emerged from the twilight and stood in front of her, barring her way.
‘Sorry,’ said the same husky, amused drawl. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. But I think that just proves my point that it’s really not safe for you to be out on the streets on your own in the dark. It’s just as well I’m not some drug-crazed youth with a gun in his hand.’
‘I’ll take my chances, thank you,’ Emily muttered, attempting to slip past him. But he was too quick for her. She bit back another gasp as strong fingers closed around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks and pulling her back round so she was facing him.
From the shadows beyond the car someone said something in rapid Portuguese. Luis didn’t turn his head, didn’t loosen his grip, didn’t take his eyes from hers. ‘Sim, obrigado, Tomás.’ he said curtly. ‘This won’t take long.’
‘No, it won’t,’ she said shakily, ‘because I’m not going anywhere with you. Goodbye…’
It was said with more hope than conviction. Her heart was hammering out an uneven rhythm against her ribs, her whole body flooded with adrenaline. In the violet dusk his face was indistinct, but she could see the shadows beneath his aristocratic cheekbones and the glitter of his eyes.
‘What a disappointment. I saw that Pink Flamingo T-shirt and just assumed you’d grown up a bit since last time we met.’
‘I have.’ She spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Which is why I’m not getting into a car with you. Now, if you’ll let me go, it’s been a long day and I want to get home.’
He let her go without resistance. ‘Funny. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’
The icy edge to his voice stopped her in her tracks and filled her with sudden misgiving. She turned back to him.
‘What?’
‘Home.’ He paused, his face impossible to read in the gloom. Emily felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. Beyond the black car that waited behind him she could hear the sound of voices from the street, the distant wail of a siren. ‘I was at Balfour Manor last night.’
A door slammed inside the community centre. Emily darted an anxious glance over her shoulder, hoping Kiki hadn’t heard him. ‘Please…’ she implored.
In one smooth movement he turned and pulled open the car door. ‘Perhaps you’d prefer to have this conversation in the car, before your cover is blown and your new friends find out that “Miss Jones” is really the daughter of a billionaire who could end all the financial problems of this extremely valuable community resource just by asking Daddy nicely…’
Emily shrank back, as if the plush interior of the car was the mouth of a giant whale, waiting to swallow her up. Her voice was cracked and faint. ‘But I have nothing to say to you.’
‘That’s fine.’ His voice was cool as he placed a hand in the small of her back and brought her forward. ‘You can just listen.’
There was someone else in the car—a man in his thirties perhaps, in a dark suit. He smiled as Emily slid