The Forbidden Prince. Alison Roberts

had been pulled. To have an insight into how different her life might have been if somebody had said that to her, back then, and meant it. If somebody had been there to protect her. To love her...

      How humiliating was it to have her outward breath sound like a child’s sob? She’d learned long ago that weakness was something to be hidden very deeply.

      ‘It’s okay,’ the man said. ‘You’re going to be fine. How long have you been stuck?’

      ‘I...don’t know.’ It felt like for ever.

      ‘Are you thirsty? I have water.’

      She heard a shuffling sound and then a zip opening. She was thirsty but to accept a water bottle would mean opening her eyes, and what if the spinning started again? Sobbing in front of a stranger was bad enough. Imagine if she threw up?

      ‘It’s okay. I don’t need a drink.’

      There was a moment’s silence. ‘What’s your name?’

      ‘Mika.’

      ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mika.’

      This time her breath came out as a huff of something closer to laughter than tears. Her rescuer had very nice manners. He sounded as though they’d just been introduced at a cocktail party.

      ‘I’m Ra...um... Rafe.’

      She had only been speaking to him for a minute or two, and she didn’t even have any idea what he looked like, but the hesitation seemed out of character. Did he not want her to know his real name? Was it possible that she was about to step from the frying pan into the fire and put her faith in an axe murderer? Or a...a rapist?

      It might have been five years ago but the fear was always too close to the surface. If he hadn’t chosen that precise moment to touch her, she could have dealt with it. It wasn’t like the vertigo; she could persuade herself to think rationally and conquer it.

      But he touched her arm and moving away from that touch was too instinctive to avoid. Mika let go of her tufts of grass with every intention of trying to run but her legs were still shaking and she lost her footing. Desperately trying to stop the skid, she reached for the grass again, but it slid through her fingers. Her foot made contact with something solid and she pushed against it but that, too, slid out of touch. She landed on her hands and knees, aware of a sound like rocks falling that provided a background to the soft but vehement curse that came from her rescuer.

      And then silence.

      Cautiously, Mika sat back on her heels as she tried to process what had just happened.

      ‘Are you all right?’

      ‘Yes. I’m sorry. I... I slipped.’

      ‘Hmm...’

      She could feel him watching her. ‘Did I...um...kick you?’

      ‘No. You kicked my backpack. It went over the cliff.’

      Mika’s eyes opened smartly. ‘What? Oh, no... I’m so sorry...’

      ‘Better the pack than you.’

      It seemed extraordinary but he was smiling at her. A smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. Dark eyes. Dark, shaggy hair and a dark jaw that had gone well past designer stubble but wasn’t quite a beard. And he was big. Even crouching he seemed to tower over her.

      Weird that the fear that had prompted this unfortunate development was ebbing away instead of increasing. Maybe it was those eyes. This man might be in a position of power over her right now but he wasn’t any kind of predator. He looked...nice. Kind?

      You’re safe. I’ll keep you safe.

      ‘Did it have anything important in it? Like your wallet?’ A churning in her stomach reminded her not to try looking over the edge of the cliff.

      ‘There’s no point worrying about that right now. The light’s going to fade before long, Mika. I need to get you off this track.’

      Mika nodded. She scrambled to her feet, her own light pack still secure on her back. If she didn’t look into the chasm, maybe she would be okay. She looked towards the solid side of the cliff, reaching out her hand to touch it as well.

      ‘I’m trying to decide which way would be best. You’ve come a long way onto the open part of the track already. It’s probably better to keep going towards Positano rather than go down all those steps when it’s getting darker.’

      Mika swallowed hard and then nodded again. ‘That’s where I’m living at the moment. In Positano.’

      ‘The track is quite narrow. Do you want me to walk ahead of you or behind?’

      ‘Ahead, I think... I can watch your feet. If I don’t look at the drop, maybe the dizziness won’t come back.’

      It worked...for a little while...but, try as she might, Mika became more and more aware of the emptiness on the left side in her peripheral vision. Using her free hand to provide a kind of blinker also helped for a while but it wasn’t enough. Her stomach began to fold itself into spasms of distress and her brain began a slow, sickening spin. She tried to focus on the boots in front of her: smart, expensive-looking leather hiking boots. Thick socks were rolled down above them and then there were bare legs, muscles under olive skin outlined with every step.

      ‘How’s it going?’

      Mika dropped the hand she was using as a shield to look up as Raoul turned his head when she didn’t respond immediately. She tried to smile but changing the focus of her vision seemed to have made the spinning sensation worse.

      ‘Here... It might help to hold my hand.’

      It was there, right in front of her, palm downwards and fingers outstretched in invitation.

      And it was huge.

      Not the hand, although it had long, artistic-looking fingers. No. It was the idea of voluntarily putting her own into it that was so huge. Five years was a very long time not to have allowed the touch of a man’s skin against her own.

      But the need to survive was an overwhelmingly strong motivation. Strong enough to break a protective barrier that was inappropriate in this moment. She put her hand in his and felt his fingers curl around hers. She could feel the strength of the arm attached to that hand. The solidness of the body attached to the arm. The confidence of each step that was being taken.

      He was half a pace ahead of her, because there was no room to walk side by side, but the hand was all that mattered.

      He was holding her.

      And he would keep her safe.

      * * *

      She was a fighter, this Mika.

      And there was something wild about her.

      She was certainly unlike any woman he’d ever met before. For a start, she was out here all by herself, which advertised independence and courage, but she was tiny. Her head barely reached his shoulder, which probably made her look younger than she really was—an intriguing contrast to those big, dark eyes that made you think she’d seen far more than her age should have allowed for. She had spiky dark hair, which should have seemed unattractive to someone who’d always favoured long, blonde tresses, but he had to admit that it suited Mika. So did the clothes that looked more suitable for a walk on a beach than a mountain hike—denim shorts that were frayed at the bottom and a loose white singlet, the hem of which didn’t quite meet the waistband of the shorts.

      The shoes weren’t exactly suitable either, being well-worn-looking trainers, and it looked as though her feet were bare inside them, but the surprise of that choice had been well and truly surpassed when Raoul had noticed her tattoo. The inked design looked tribal—like a series of peaked waves encircling her upper arm just below armpit level. No. Maybe even that observation had been trumped by spotting the tiny charm on the simple silver chain around her neck.

      A dolphin...

      The