Royal Protocol. Dana Marton

lips flattened.

      “I have it.” Benedek was already heading toward the back. He opened a door that revealed a steel panel, and keyed in a code, then waited impatiently for the steel panel to open.

      “WHY DOES AN OPERA HOUSE have a bank safe?” Rayne went in first as all the men motioned her forward, and she didn’t feel like arguing. The inside looked like flea market storage, which, under other circumstances, she would have appreciated. She had a weakness for flea markets and everything old.

      “It’s a three-hundred-year-old opera house,” the director explained. “We have a lot of valuable antiques, furniture, paintings, Persian rugs that are hundreds of years old and worth hundreds of thousands. We use the safe when there’s work being done in the building. Also, the artwork in the hallways and rotunda are rotated continuously as pieces are restored. Some are stored here.”

      The place was fairly full. With thirteen people on top of all those valuables, it was pretty crowded. Somehow Prince Benedek came to be standing behind her. As more people came in, she had no choice but to back up until her back was pressed against him. He was nearly a head taller than she, so her bare shoulders rested against his hard chest.

      Normally, someone standing that close would have bothered her but under the circumstances, she felt comforted by his nearness. Comforted and something else, not that she was prepared to admit that.

      Especially when she realized that she could feel his breath on her neck, that all he would have to do was dip his head to press his lips to her skin. What a stupid, stupid thing to think.

      He would never do that. Why would he? So he’d sent her some flowers over the years, but he was hardly desperate. He probably had a dozen mistresses—the privilege of wealthy men. She pushed her ex-husband from her mind. Her marriage was over. She’d wasted enough years on Philip. She didn’t want to think of him ever again.

      Minutes ticked by in tense silence.

      The small space grew warm from their body heat. The day had been unseasonably warm for spring. She held still, not wanting to move against Benedek, but she was aware of their bodies touching, aware of every breath he took. A drop of sweat rolled down her neck. She hoped he wouldn’t notice that.

      Heat grew inside her as well. Insane. They were fully clothed and in the middle of a crowd. She wasn’t the type to have her knees go weak at the sight of a man or from a touch. She wasn’t what they called sensuous. She’d accepted that over the years. It wasn’t important.

      But if she did have some hidden side, couldn’t it have come out for any other man but him? She was done with rich and powerful men, and he was richer and more powerful than any that she’d met.

      The building shook. The prince’s strong arms came to hold her around her waist like before. Without conscious thought, she put her hands over his, like before, feeling rattled for more than one reason.

      Her body didn’t miss a thing, no matter how loudly her mind protested.

      “Basement,” the director said, guessing the location of the bomb.

      “I didn’t get around to checking every room down there,” Benedek said.

      He’d been down there with the bomb? Her hand squeezed his without her meaning to do it.

      “The good news is, the building is still standing.” He didn’t move away. “One more bomb and they have nothing to threaten us with.”

      The director, in front, was pushing the safe door open. Since there was barely air to breathe in there, they came out, but stayed close by.

      The red cell rang. Benedek put it on speaker.

      “I’m tired of firing warning shots. The next one is going to be a big one. Make no mistake, it will bring down the building. You have forty-five minutes to think about it.” Once again, the line went dead as soon as the last word was spoken.

      She was the one the rebels wanted. At least for now. She drew a deep breath and steeled her spine, turned to face Benedek.

      “If I go out, maybe it’ll cause enough of a distraction so that you and the others can escape through a window in the back. I know you don’t like this plan, but we don’t have much choice.”

      “The lower level windows have wrought-iron bars,” he said, not looking the least amused by her repeated suggestion.

      Of course. She remembered now that she’d admired the exquisite workmanship. “Maybe you could rappel down from a second story window on something.”

      “No.” Benedek’s response was as inflexible as those iron bars.