Ah, there it was again, the tiny, wistful note. Sander knew then why Mikhail’s chase had been fruitless from the start. The extreme romance of the two royal weddings in the Hellenican royal family had infected many a woman around the world, but to be the cousin of the new royalty in love … well, why shouldn’t she hold out for real love and a wedding?
“They seem very happy in the pictures I’ve seen, miss.”
“They’ve always loved each other. The whole family have been waiting for them to get together for years.” The yearning grew in her voice, misted her milk-chocolate eyes, and her smile was … well, luminous—
Beep!
At the indignant honking behind, Sander pulled himself together and looked at the road ahead with fixed determination. He’d known the deal when he took on the position of the Prince’s Private Secretary. The King planned on abdicating as soon as Mikhail proved himself worthy. It was Sander’s job to get him to that destination on an express train. Taking Mari on a yacht was saving Mikhail from the worst faux pas he could make. It was not for personal pleasure, no matter how much he derived from merely looking at her.
He was on an excellent wicket with this job, and Charlie and Jazmine had offered him the ripe plum of being Hellenican Representative to the UN if he handled it right. No way was he about to risk his career, no matter how pretty or tempting Mari Mitsialos happened to be.
“Sorry about that, miss,” he said woodenly, and, after answering her reassurances with dogged politeness and no curiosity, he kept his gaze ahead with absolute determination.
* * *
Boy, they really have gorgeous chauffeurs here …
Despite his sudden Pinocchio face, Mari couldn’t help staring in the rear vision mirror at him. His eyes were almost as green as those she’d seen in the stained-glass windows at the church today, and they danced. His dimples seemed grooved from the deepest part of his skin, warming a mouth full and carved from Michelangelo’s imagination. Warm honey-brown skin, strong features, a voice of smooth, dark temptation, and an accent that was half-Mediterranean and half-Oxford—oh, what wasn’t to like? A Greek god sat in front of her, seemingly risen from the sea on Neptune’s trident. Oooh, to see him rise from the water, droplets of Mediterranean-Aegean running down his body …
“KING’S COUSIN RUNS OFF WITH CHAUFFEUR!”
After all Charlie and Lia had done for her family, both before and after their elevation to royalty, could she make a mockery of the new Marandis Royal Family by feeding the paparazzi machine for months on end? No, family came first. Charlie and Lia needed them all to behave with strict propriety. Running away with gorgeous chauffeurs was absolutely in the realms of fantasy.
And he could be married for all you know, with five kids. And even if he was single, and you did know his name, he hasn’t once even smiled at you.
She turned her gaze out of the window, to where the aquamarine Aegean sparkled all along the coast road. Why was it that the men she found irresistible never looked at her, and all the nice guys she found so boring hung around in droves?
Yet when she’d been confronted with the kind of man she’d always dreamed of attracting, she’d discovered the difference between dream and reality—and she’d realised what a big, old-fashioned, one hundred percent hypocrite she was! What she wanted was a good man to fall to his knees with a big fat diamond, his family lined up behind him in adoring approval of her.
But hey, it hurt nobody to dream, right? And if that daydream face had shifted subtly, so it now had deep-grooved dimples, eyes that sparkled like the ocean in sunlight and a smile that made her heart flutter, what did it matter?
“What do they all matter? Line up, fantasy number four hundred and thirty-seven,” she muttered in disgust—and then realised she’d said it aloud. She peered at the driver’s face again, and blushed when those dancing-in-the-waves eyes met hers, his deliciously masculine mouth quivering to hold in a smile. “Sorry,” she said, with a rueful sigh. What was the point in being embarrassed? “I know—talking to myself is a bad habit.”
“It’s said all the world’s geniuses talk to themselves,” the driver said gravely enough, his eyes still twinkling.
“Thanks, but you don’t believe I’m in their number any more than I do.” She shrugged and laughed, her hands lifting in mock-surrender. “But I haven’t hurt anyone yet.”
“I’m glad of that, miss,” he replied, with such fervour she laughed again.
“My name’s Mari,” she offered, putting out her hand, hoping to hear his name in return.
After a visible hesitation, he said, “I’m Lysander, miss.”
Though feeling the sting of the untaken hand, Mari felt her brow lift. “So you’re named for the famed general and friend of Cyrus, the conquering prince of Persia. Your parents gave you a lot to live up to,” she said, grinning.
Lysander’s mouth twitched again—then the wooden demeanour returned as he pulled off the road and rolled up smoothly to a guarded gate.
The guard stepped out of the small guardhouse, frowning at Lysander. Lysander produced the Queen’s letter, and after a moment the man nodded and returned inside.
The car moved through the gate, and it closed behind them. The yacht Jazmine had called small was enormous, at least two hundred feet—which begged the question: what size was the big yacht? — and, judging by the appointments on the outside, absolutely oozed luxury. It bobbed in the calm waters before her in a silent siren call. Come and play …
Playing wasn’t on the agenda. All she needed to do was to get on board safely, spend a few days there until Mikhail left Hellenia, then she could return to her safe, anonymous life.
“Hurry, oh, please hurry,” she murmured, feeling urgency grab hold of her.
In answer, Lysander murmured quiet words into an intercom-style phone—and she saw the gangplank move and a larger one take its place a level down. It was wide enough for a car … and a dark, gaping hole had opened high up in the yacht.
Lysander drove into the yacht’s hull, and blessed cool darkness filled the car, like a benediction of safety.
“Thank you, Lysander,” she breathed as the hole closed up behind them and she heard the engines start up. “Please, let’s take off—push off—whatever it is boats do.”
She heard a choked-off sound as he opened his door and came around to open hers. In the darkness, his face glowed in the subdued lighting of the limo—and she saw he was laughing. It didn’t matter if his lips were under total control, his dimples danced, just as his eyes did—and the combination fascinated her. “Aye, aye, Miss Mari. I’ll go to the Captain right away and convey your orders to him.”
She felt intense relief fill her. “So you’re coming with me?” And she was not thinking of having his company for the next few days—just the fact that she wouldn’t be alone.
His eyes darkened as the laughter died. “The Queen’s letter makes it perfectly clear—I’m to look after you.” The slight bow of his head was touched with respect and filled with irony. “So until my orders change, Miss Mitsialos, your wish is my command.”
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