Kathleen Creighton - The Rebel King

"So, tomorrow you all move on to another farm, is that the way it works?"

"Not tomorrow, it's Sunday. Nobody picks on Sunday." He made a scolding noise with his tongue. "Shame on you-nice Catholic girl, you should know that."

Rhia gave him a look as she lifted a hand and pulled the scarf from her head, gave it a shake to let what breeze there was move through her sweat-damp hair. She was too hot and tired to banter with him. And hungry. "Right now, all I know is, I need a sandwich and a shower-not necessarily in that order."

"I think I can arrange that." His lashes lowered, his smile grew lazy and his movements unhurried as he casually reached out and fingered a damply curling lock of her hair off her neck and guided it over her shoulder.

Somewhere, far, far away, bees were humming, birds were singing, people were laughing…and Rhia heard none of it. She heard only the pounding of her heart, felt only the sizzle of the sunlight on her cheeks, and the shivery baish of Nikolas's fingers on her neck. She swayed slightly; she couldn't help it.

"Though…I must say, I like you this way-all wet and wild, hot-eyed and dusty. Rather like a gypsy."

He knew he shouldn't do it. Shouldn't touch her, shouldn't tease her-though it amounted to teasing himself more than anything. But he couldn't seem to help it. Somewhere along the line, his wanting had become need, and since he wasn't in the habit of allowing his physical and sexual needs to get in the way of his commitments and responsibilities, he wondered if he was allowing this particular need to blossom on purpose, as a distraction and a buffer from the chaos of his life.

As good an explanation as any. he thought. A tiny ember of alien emotions flared within him-anger, a touch of fear, touches of bitterness and bleak despair-and was quickly smothered. In a day or two he would face whatever the future had in store for him, but for now… for now, by damn, he would allow himself toenjoy whatever pleasures this beautiful, exotic, intriguing creature might offer him. No guilt, no regrets.

He'd devoted his life so far-his youth, certainly-to a cause, denied himself the comfort and fulfillment of relationships, settling instead for the temporary ease of casual affairs, the willing company of the type of woman that seemed to come his way in endless supply. He had no idea what he might be doing a week or a month from now. but for today, and perhaps tomorrow, there was this woman. Rhia. That the most beautiful and fascinating woman he'd ever met should have come into his life at such a time seemed to him more than chance. More, even, than serendipity. It almost…almost… made him believe in fate.

Fate. The thought jarred him back to awareness, where he discovered green cat's eyes gazing into his. hazy with confusion, and his hand resting on Rhia's neck, his thumb stroking up and down her sweat-slick throat, and a hot coal of desire in his belly that threatened to set him on fire.

Taking back his hand, he said. "Right, then, let's see what we can do about getting you your heart's desire…" Brisk was what he'd intended, and instead heard his voice emerge thick and furry as woolen mittens. He swiped his hand across the leg of his jeans-as if that could wipe the feel of her skin from his sensory memory-then walked the length of the wagon, checking the load of filled barrels. He paused beside the tractor to give Rhia a come-here gesture with his head and hand. "Here, this rig looks ready to go-come on, up you get."

He watched her eyes get that certain glow and her chin that particular little tilt that he was coming to know very well. It meant her independent nature was about to do battle with her feminine side. He felt a ridiculous surge of purely masculine triumph when she stepped forward and gave him her hand, allowing him to "help" her onto the tractor's high step. And a surge of something much more mysterious, a kind of exotic delight, when she gave him a sideways look as she did so. a look that clearly said. I'm only doing this to humor your masculine ego, you know.

She gave her head a toss as she seated herself on the high rear fender. Nik chuckled as he took the driver's seat and started up the tractor. He waved to Phillipe and the other pickers and pulled out of the line and onto the road, smiling to himself, all his senses, his nerves, his whole body sizzling with a particular excitement…alertness…expectancy He remembered it well, that feeling, though it had been a good long while since he'd experienced it.

The thrill of the chase.

The shower was primitive by American plumbing standards, obviously a late-though not recent-addition to the old stone farmhouse. It consisted, as so many European showers do, of a handheld device that had a tendency to snake out of control and spray tepid water in unintended directions, usually. Rhia found, when her eyes were tightly shut and her face covered with shampoo. So it wasn't the sensual pleasure of it that made her linger much longer than she should have.

She needed to think. She did some of her best thinking in the shower; something about the gentle drumming on her scalp, the relaxing massage and caress of the water, the shushing sounds that drowned out all distractions. Sometimes she thought it seemed as though the water actually loosened up her mind…washed away clutter…made things clearer. And she desperately needed to think clearly-about many things, but mostly about Nikolas Donovan.

Thoughts of Nikolas were dangerous. Even painful. But she forced herself to think of him anyway, like pressing on a bruise to assure herself that it really did hurt. The attraction she felt for him that had seemed so entertaining at first-daring…a little wicked, but ultimately harmless-had begun to feel instead like being caught in a flood. The water had risen before she'd realized it. and now she was being swept away by the torrent. Sometimes swimming hard and still fighting it. tme. Sometimes, for a moment, giving in and letting the current cany her. Those times, the giving-in times, the letting go of the struggle times, were beginning to feel like such a relief to her. and every second the temptation grew to simply…let go. Stop fighting it. Stop trying to cling to what remained of her sanity and good sense, which were as useless anyway against the rising tide of her feelings as grabbing for twigs in a flood.

She could not fall for Nikolas Donovan. She could not. She could see no good outcome for herself if she did.

He wasn't making it easy for her to resist him. Damn him. Of course, he would probably have been irresistible without one particle of effort on his part, but he seemed determined to indulge himself in this lighthearted pursuit of her, as if… as if, she thought, shivering with sudden anger under the shower's cooling spray, it were some sort of game.

Though actually, if it were a game she could probably handle that; she'd played them herself, from time to time. Enjoyed them as much as anyone.

But what if it's not a game?

Oh, yeah, admit it, Rhee. That's what's really worrying you, isn't it? That this doesn't feel like a game. Not to you, anyway. Games don't make you feel like you're riding a torrent. Like you 're not in control.

Rhia really hated not being in control, which was probably why she'd never allowed herself to fall in love before. But suppose…just suppose…that was what was happening to her now?

The thought caused a swooping sensation in her midsection, which in turn made her drop the shower wand for the sixth or seventh time. She picked it up and aimed the spray full in her face, head bowed, eyes closed and breathing hard through her mouth, and after a moment was able to make herself face the awful possibility that she might be falling in love with Nikolas Donovan.

Falling in love with a prince. The heir to the crown of Silvershire.

Okay. Suppose she was. The way she saw it, there were two possible outcomes.

One, it's just a game to Nikolas, and Rhia completes her mission, delivers him to his father the king and returns to her job with the Lazlo Group with a few bruises on her heart. Not a happy prospect, but she'd survive.

Or two, it's not a game for Nikolas, either. But the prospect of that didn't bear thinking about.

She emerged from the shower physically refreshed and more emotionally exhausted than when she'd stepped into it. She hurriedly toweled her hair and left it to dry in its own way, dressed in the only clean clothes she had in her backpack-khaki walking shorts and a red tank top-and slipped on her dusty running shoes and went to find Nikolas and. she hoped, some food.

She found both waiting for her in the small shaded courtyard off the kitchen. And something else.

"What's this?" she asked, nodding at the bright yellow scooter standing at the ready between Nikolas's outstretched jeans-clad legs.

His eyebrow lifted. "This? Strangely, it's a Honda-evidently, they're quite the thing in Europe these days. Phillipe's, not mine. He's been kind enough to lend it to me. though. Hop on-I want to show you something."

She sauntered toward him. arms folded across her middle, where her stomach had begun to growl uncontrollably. "Is there food in there?" She nodded at the cooler lashed to a small metal ledge on the back of the scooter.

"There is. A repast fit for a-do pardon the expression- king." He held out his hand, waiting with supreme and annoying confidence and a smile tugging irresistibly at his lips.

How could she resist? But she did, finger-combing her damp hair back from her face as she replied coolly, "Only if I get to drive."

His smile blossomed and his eyes grew smoky behind sleepy black lashes. Bracing the scooter with his feet, he pushed himself back and up onto the pillion seat and lifted his hands from the handlebars. "She's all yours," he murmured, laughing softly.

'"There was a young lady from Niger…who smiled as she rode with a tiger…'" Rhia muttered under her breath as she settled onto the front part of the seat. A seat which seemed very small, suddenly, altogether too small for two people to sit on at the same time. At least, not without a great deal of body contact.

"What's that?" His voice was a furry growl so close to the nape of her neck that it made shivers cascade in rivers down her back.

"Nothing," she breathed. She tested the reach and the foot pedals, then started up the motor and clicked into gear.

"That's right, you do like to be on top, don't you?" Nikolas murmured in her ear as she guided the scooter skillfully out of the courtyard. "I'll have to keep that in mind."

What had she been thinking? Thoughts that made her scalp sizzle. With him sitting so close behind her, she felt as if she'd been wrapped in a Nikolas-cocoon, steeped in Essence of Donovan. His heartbeat thumped against her back, his body heat melded with hers, his scent filled her head with sultry, sweaty images of tangled bodies… hers and his in wicked disarray…

Her jaws locked and her eyes squinted as she fought to keep her attention focused on the operation of the scooter as it grumbled impatiently through the farmhouse grounds. It whined with excitement as she accelerated down the lane, and came to a purring stop where the dirt lane met the paved road. "Where to?" she asked in a voice that held strange vibrations not caused by the scooter.

"Left." Nikolas said.

"Right," she said, and pushed off, accelerating into the turn. And felt his arms come around her and hold on tight.

"Watch it," she muttered desperately between clenched teeth. "Do you want us to have an accident?"

His laughter rippled down her spine. "My love, it's precisely in anticipation of that possibility that I'm hanging on to you for dear life."

"That had better not be a criticism of my driving, Donovan." With a grim smile she shifted gears and the scooter leaped forward. The wind snatched the breath from her lungs and forced Nikolas to reply in a shout.

"Not at all. I'm more than impressed, actually."

"I had one of these things when I was in high school," she shouted back. "Well, not a Honda-a Vespa, oddly enough. My father bought it for me for my sixteenth birthday Oh, hell-" She broke off as her rapidly drying hair began to whip in the wind, lashing her neck and, she was sure, Nikolas's face as well.

Good-serves him right, she thought as she slowed the scooter for an approaching crossroads. Serves him right…for what? Being too damned attractive? You're the one who insisted on driving.

She let go of one handlebar to try to corral her hair, and felt his hands there already. Felt his hands, both of them, gather her hair and gently twist it…lift it away from her neck.