Because women had their secrets, he thought bitterly. Every damned one of them keeping stuff hidden away and not caring about the consequences.
And sometimes their secrets became your secrets and they gnawed away deep inside you until there was nothing but a dark and empty hole.
He sat up, his fingers tightening around the phone. ‘I thought I told you I wasn’t to be disturbed unless absolutely necessary,’ he bit out.
His assistant’s voice grew serious. ‘This is very necessary, Rafe.’
Rafe stilled, because even though he came from the world’s most dysfunctional family, they were still family. Yet if somebody was ill, it wouldn’t be his assistant ringing him. It would be Amber, or one of his half-brothers, surely. ‘What’s the matter?’ he demanded. ‘Is someone sick?’
‘No. Nobody’s sick.’
‘What, then?’ questioned Rafe impatiently.
There was a split-second pause. ‘That girl you’ve got working at the station.’
‘Sophie,’ said Rafe instantly and then could have cursed himself. Surely he should have taken longer than a nanosecond to recall the name of one of his itinerant workers. ‘The cook.’
‘She’s not a cook.’
‘She may have only the most basic of culinary skills, but I can assure you she most certainly is.’
‘She’s a princess.’
There was a pause. ‘William, have you been drinking?’
‘She’s a princess from Isolaverde,’ his assistant continued doggedly. ‘One of the world’s richest islands. Gold, diamonds, petroleum, natural gas, uranium. They hold some international yacht race every year. They’ve even—’
‘I get the idea, William. And I’ve heard of it. Get on with it.’
‘She’s young and beautiful—’
You’re telling me. ‘The facts,’ bit out Rafe.
‘She was engaged to some prince. Prince Luciano of Mardovia—known as Luc. Bit of a player—lived on another Mediterranean island—known each other since they were kids. Just before the engagement was due to be announced he goes and makes some English dressmaker pregnant. Big scandal. He was forced to marry the dressmaker—so the wedding with Princess Sophie had to be called off. And that’s when she disappeared.’
‘Disappeared?’ repeated Rafe slowly, his mind spinning as he tried to get his head round the relevant facts. Not just the fact that the name Luc rang a distant bell in his memory, but a far more worrying one. He’d just had sex with a virgin princess?
‘Into thin air. She ran away. Or rather, flew away. Nobody really knew about it because her brother instigated an information lockdown. And no one had any idea where she was. At least, not until now.’ Another pause. ‘They know she’s at Poonbarra, Rafe.’
‘And how...?’ Rafe drew in a deep breath. ‘How the hell do they know that?’
‘Seems like Eileen Donahue—that’s the woman who runs the general store in Corksville—recognised Sophie yesterday. Said she was, and I quote, “All dolled up for a change” and that she seemed “familiar”. So she looked her up on the Internet—and what do you know? Sophie is familiar. She’s royal, no less. Eileen contacted one of the papers in Brisbane and I’m afraid the rest is exactly how you imagine it would be. The journalists did their research and I’m ringing to say that you can expect a deputation of the world’s press on your doorstep before too long.’
Rafe’s fingers clasped the phone so tightly that he heard his knuckles crack. ‘That can’t be allowed to happen, William,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I don’t want a circus invading town. Poonbarra is a place of privacy. The one place in the world where I am guaranteed peace. I want you to kill this story and I want you to kill it now.’
‘I don’t see how that’s going to be possible, boss. It’s already got legs.’
‘Well, just get me out of here before they arrive.’ Rafe’s voice was cold.
There was a pause. ‘Let me see what I can do.’
Rafe swore as he cut the connection and resisted the desire to crush the phone in the palm of his hand. Pushing back the sheet, he got out of bed, trying to temper his mood and think rationally—even though all he wanted to do was storm through the homestead to find Sophie Doukas and give her a piece of his mind. Another wave of anger enveloped him. Not only had she kept her innocence secret, but she’d omitted to tell him that she was a royal. A royal on the run! Deceitful woman. Scheming woman.
Anger and resentment washed over him but he could still smell her on his skin and taste her in his mouth and it was tantalising and distracting. Even the thought of her was making his body grow hard, so he forced himself to stand beneath the icy jets of the shower, which did little to cool his heated blood. Dragging a razor across his jaw, he somehow managed to nick his skin in the process and that only increased his frustration.
Pulling on a shirt and a pair of trousers, he went looking for her but, since it wasn’t quite six, the house was completely silent and there were no sounds of clatter coming from the kitchen. His rage mounting, he strode along the quiet corridors—forcing himself to knock on her door even though part of him just wanted to kick it open in a primitive way, which was not his usual style at all.
She was already up and dressed and answered the knock immediately but her eyes were hooded and cautious when she saw it was him. She was wearing a pair of shapeless cotton trousers and a T-shirt, yet all he could think about was the magnificence of her naked body and the way she’d cried out when he’d opened her legs and entered her. And once again he was furious with himself for the hot surge of lust which flooded through his bloodstream, knowing that he should be concentrating on her lies and subterfuge, not her undeniable physical appeal.
‘Rafe,’ she said, her fingers flying to the base of her throat where he could see a small pulse hammering.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he said, with a disdainful curl of his lips. ‘I haven’t come here for sex.’
‘Oh? Then why have you come here?’
She tilted her chin in a defiant gesture and suddenly Rafe wondered how he could have been so dense. Of course she was someone—hadn’t that been apparent from the start? A diamond in the rough—that had been his initial reaction on seeing her and he had been right. And when he stopped to think about it, her high-born status had been apparent in every gesture she made. It had been there in the way she moved and the way she walked. In her flawless skin and heart-shaped face and the thick, lustrous bounce of her hair. She was a princess. Of course she was. A runaway virgin princess who had chosen him as her first lover.
Why?
‘I’m still trying to get my head around what happened last night,’ he said. ‘About the fact that you let a virtual stranger take your virginity. And wondering if there’s anything else you’ve omitted to tell me?’
Sophie went very still, because something in his eyes told her the game was up—but still she clung to her fake freedom for a few last, precious seconds. She tried to convince herself it was her own guilty conscience making her think he’d found out who she really was—but that was impossible. Just because he’d been deep inside her body the night before, didn’t mean he’d suddenly developed the ability to read her mind, did it? How could he possibly know?
‘Like what?’ she questioned nonchalantly.
Her words seemed to make something inside him snap and he took a step towards her. ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he said softly. ‘Why do women find it impossible to give a straight answer?