Royal Christmas: Royal Love-Child, Forbidden Marriage. Кейт Хьюит

her throat as she watched Leo, dressed superbly in a dark suit, a wool trenchcoat over one arm, exit the car and press the bell.

      Leo’s dark gaze swept over the apartment building with its crumbling steps and soot-stained walls. It was charming, he supposed, in a slightly run-down way. His lips twitched as he imagined teasing Phoebe about it, before he clamped down on that thought. He couldn’t afford it, couldn’t allow Phoebe to matter at all. It would only hurt them both in the end.

      Leo pressed the bell again, impatience biting at him. He knew this had to be difficult for Phoebe, knew it was the last thing she wanted, and who could blame her? The royal family had spat her out six years ago and now they wanted to chew her back up. Hardly an enticing proposition, yet one she would have to accept, just as he had.

      He pictured her then, not as he remembered her six years ago with her still childishly rounded face and college student’s clothes of torn jeans and a T-shirt, but the woman she’d become. The woman he’d seen yesterday, whose hair was still curly and dark, whose slight figure still possessed improbably lush curves. He thought of how her wide grey eyes sparked defiance—and an irrepressible desire—when she looked at him.

      It infuriated her perhaps, that desire, but it was there. It had been there last night; he’d seen it, felt it humming in the air between them when she’d entered the room and had seen the candlelit room with a meal laid out like a planned seduction.

      Of course, he couldn’t seduce her, as much as his body begged for that release. Sex was a complication he couldn’t afford. Last night had simply been a way to gain her confidence, her trust, even her friendship.

      He needed Phoebe pliant and willing, ready to do the royal family’s bidding … whatever it might be.

      Phoebe called for Christian, who had been racing around the apartment like a wild thing, and reached for her suitcase. She didn’t want Leo in her apartment, filling up the small space with his formidable presence, yet she realised it was unavoidable as she heard his tread on the stairs, light yet purposeful. Mrs Simpson must have let him in, Phoebe thought. She never could resist a handsome face or a charming smile, and Leo had both.

      And then he was there, knocking on the door, which Christian wrenched open before Phoebe could stop him—not that there would be any point, delaying the utterly inevitable.

      ‘Hello.’ Leo stood in the doorway, dressed in a dark suit, looking calm and unruffled and unusually solemn. He surveyed Christian, who stared at him in open curiosity. ‘My name is Leo, and I suppose I’m your cousin.’

      Christian’s eyes widened. ‘I have a cousin?’

      Leo’s gaze moved questioningly to Phoebe, who bit her lip. ‘We hadn’t quite got round to discussing that yet,’ she said quietly and Leo inclined his head.

      ‘Well, it’s quite a nice surprise for you, isn’t it, Christian?’ He smiled easily. ‘I like surprises. Do you?’

      ‘Ye-es,’ Christian agreed after a moment, and Leo reached for the rather large, green plastic dinosaur poking out of Christian’s backpack.

      ‘My goodness, I wouldn’t want this fellow to catch me in a dark alley,’ he said, inspecting the toy with considerable interest. ‘He’s got a lot of teeth, hasn’t he?’

      ‘And he makes a noise, too,’ Christian said eagerly, pushing a button so the dinosaur let out a fearsome mechanical roar and clawed the air for a few seconds. Leo let out a little yelp, pretending to jump back in fright, thus earning a great belly laugh from Christian. ‘It’s just pretend,’ he said with a child’s scorn, and Leo returned it to his backpack.

      ‘Thank goodness for that,’ he said, his eyes meeting Phoebe’s over Christian’s head. Phoebe smiled in gratitude, amazed and thankful at how effortlessly Leo had diverted Christian from the thorny question of his relations. Yet Leo was charming, always had been; why not with children as well as women? That was why he was so dangerous.

      ‘We should go,’ she said a bit stiltedly, conscious of Leo’s warm gaze on her, as well as the fact that she hadn’t had time to blow-dry her hair. It framed her face in wild, dark curls, and she could see Leo eyeing them. Did she not look smart enough? He turned back to Christian.

      ‘Yes, we should. The car, not to mention the royal jet, is waiting.’

      ‘Royal jet?’ Christian repeated, and his eyes bugged out. ‘Really?’

      ‘Yes, Amarnes is an island. We’ll take my limousine to the airport, and fly from there.’

      ‘Wow.’ Christian looked completely thrilled now, and Phoebe managed a smile.

      ‘Pretty cool, eh?’ she said, keeping her voice light even as her heart hammered within her in a staccato beat that seemed to say two weeks, two weeks, two weeks. Only two weeks.

      Leo stepped in front of her, taking the suitcase from her with an easy smile. ‘Please. Allow me.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she murmured and with Christian by her side she followed Leo down the stairs.

      They didn’t speak as he loaded the cases in the back of the limo himself, or even when they arranged themselves on the plush leather seats, Christian’s eyes wide as he took in the mini-bar and fresh flowers.

      Leo slipped into the limo across from her, and she was achingly aware of his presence, his heat, his scent. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy as she fumbled with Christian’s seat belt, wishing her senses were not so heightened when it came to Leo and yet craving it—him—anyway.

      ‘Here.’ Quietly, competently, Leo clicked Christian’s buckle closed, his long brown fingers over hers. Touching hers. And in her emotionally heightened state, Phoebe felt a rush of something—what? Gratitude, or something more? No, something less, something so basic, this fascination with Leo, with his aura of excitement and danger.

      Except right now he wasn’t being dangerous. He was just being kind.

      ‘Thank you,’ she mumbled before sitting back and buckling her own seat belt.

      ‘Not a problem.’ Leo leaned back against his seat, stretching his legs in front of him. ‘Now, Christian, would you like something to drink? I think there’s orange juice in the fridge, as well as some cola if your mother allows it.’

      ‘Christian doesn’t …’ Phoebe began, but her son was already leaning forward to inspect the contents of the mini-bar.

      ‘All right, fine,’ she finally said, striving for that light tone once more. ‘This is a holiday after all.’

      ‘Exactly.’ Leo smiled, and Phoebe tried to ignore the effect of that gesture on her insides, tried to think of something else—anything else—as the limo pulled away from the kerb and headed into town, towards the Holland Tunnel.

      They rode in silence to a private airstrip on the outskirts of the city. A sleek silver jet waited there, with the recognisable emblem of the twin eagles emblazoned on its tail.

      ‘Wow,’ Christian breathed as they boarded the plane. Leather sofas and a mahogany coffee table adorned with yet more freshly cut flowers made Phoebe feel as if she were entering a living room rather than an airplane. Christian was looking at all the luxury with wide eyes, and Phoebe tried to suppress a spurt of anxiety. She’d been afraid the royal family would want more of Christian … but what if he wanted more of them? How could she compete with all of this?

      ‘Just enjoy it,’ Leo murmured, his lips nearly brushing her ear, his breath fanning her cheek. Uneasily Phoebe wondered if she’d spoken aloud. Or had Leo just read her mind?

      She chose not to answer, busying herself with settling Christian. Soon enough they were all seated and the plane was gliding down the runway and then up into a grey November sky.

      ‘I’ve never been on a plane before,’ Christian said after a few minutes of rather tense silence. His cheeks were flushed and he was clutching his dinosaur to him. ‘That I remember, anyway.’