‘Wolfe has also been hired as your personal bodyguard for the duration of the investigation.’

The breath stalled in Ava’s lungs and the room spun. ‘I don’t think I heard you correctly, sir.’

Neither had Wolfe.

Her personal bodyguard?

He glanced at Ava’s shocked expression and hoped his own didn’t mirror it. The King had requested that he organise personal security for her—not that he be responsible for her himself.

‘Wolfe is clearly too busy, sir. But I’m sure there’s another person out there just as capable.’

She was right about him being too busy, Wolfe thought, but there really was no one else he would trust with her life. Wolfe wasn’t sure about anything right now except two things: his need for this woman was stronger than it had ever been, and taking on the role as her personal bodyguard was absolute insanity.

About the Author

From as far back as she can remember MICHELLE CONDER dreamed of being a writer. She penned the first chapter of a romance novel just out of high school, but it took much study, many (varied) jobs, one ultra-understanding husband and three very patient children before she finally sat down to turn that dream into a reality.

Michelle lives in Australia, and when she isn’t busy plotting loves to read, ride horses, travel and practise yoga.

Recent titles by the same author:

LIVING THE CHARADE

HIS LAST CHANCE AT REDEMPTION

GIRL BEHIND THE SCANDALOUS REPUTATION

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Duty
At What Cost?
Michelle Conder

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Paul, with love.

And “a big kiss” to Anne-Emmanuelle

for her wonderful friendship and even more

wonderful French translations. Thank you.

CHAPTER ONE

AVA GLANCED OUT of the car window at the sparkling summer sunshine bouncing off the exquisite French countryside and wished herself a thousand miles away. Maybe a million. That would land her on another planet where no one knew her name. Where no one knew the man her father had expected her to marry was about to marry another woman, and felt sorry for her in the process.

‘It’s time you stopped messing around in Paris, my girl, and came home to Anders.’

That particularly supportive comment had come only this morning, making her blood boil. His condescending words filled her head, drowning out the singer on the car radio who was warbling about wanting to go home. Home was the last place Ava wanted to go.

Not that her father’s anger was entirely unexpected. Of course he was disappointed that the man she had been pledged to marry since she was a child had fallen in love with someone else. the way he’d spoken to her—‘A woman your age doesn’t have time to waste!’—as if turning thirty in a year meant that she was over the hill—made it seem as if it was her fault.

But Ava wanted to fall in love! She wanted to get married! She just hadn’t wanted to marry Gilles—a childhood friend who was more like a brother to her than her own—and he hadn’t wanted to marry her. The problem was they had played along with their fathers’ archaic pledge for a little too long, sometimes using each other for a fill-in date when the need arose.

Oh, how her father would love to hear that… Somehow, after her mother’s death fifteen years ago, her relationship with him had disintegrated to the point where they barely spoke, let alone saw each other. Of course if she had been born a boy things would have been different.

Very different.

She would have had different choices. She would have been Crown Prince, for one—and, while she had no wish at all to rule their small European nation, she would at least have had her father’s respect. His affection. Something.

Ava gripped the steering wheel of her hatchback more tightly as she turned onto the narrow country lane that ran alongside Château Verne, Gilles’s fifteenth-century estate.

For eight years she had lived a happy, relatively low-key existence in Paris; finishing university and building her business, stepping in at royal functions when her brother Frédéric had been absent. Now that Gilles, Marquis de Bassonne, was set to marry a friend of hers, she had a bad feeling that was all about to change.

Ava crinkled her nose at her uncharacteristically gloomy mood. Gilles and Anne had fallen in love at first sight two months ago and were happier than she’d ever seen either one of them before. They completed each other in a way that would inspire songwriters and she wasn’t jealous.

Not at all.

Her life was rolling along just fine. Her art gallery, Gallery Nouveau, had just been reviewed in a prestigious art magazine and she was busier than ever. It was true that her love-life was a little on the nonexistent side, but her break-up three years ago with Colyn—the man she had believed she would eventually marry—had left her emotionally drained and a little wary.

At nearly twenty years her senior he had seemed to her to be the epitome of bourgeois intellectualism: a man who didn’t care about her heritage and loved her for herself. It had taken a couple of years to figure out that his subtle criticisms of her status and his desire to ‘teach’ her all that he knew made him as egotistical and controlling as her father.

And she really wished he hadn’t popped into her mind, because now she felt truly terrible.

The only other times she’d felt this miserable had been during gorgeous evenings wandering by herself along the Seine, when she was unable to avoid watching couples so helplessly in love with each other they couldn’t walk two paces without stopping to steal another kiss.

She had never felt that. Not once.

She frowned, wondering if she ever would.

After Colyn she had been determined only to date nice men with solid family values. Men who were in touch with their feelings. But they hadn’t inspired much more than friendship in her. Thankfully her business kept her too busy to dwell on what she lacked, and if she was getting older…

Pah!

Stamping on even more mood-altering thoughts, she adjusted the volume dial on the radio and wasn’t at all prepared when she put her foot on the brake to slow down for a bend in the road and nothing happened. Imagining that she had put her foot on the accelerator instead, she’d moved to correct the oversight when the car hit a patch of gravel and started to slide.

Panicking, she yanked on the steering wheel to keep the car straight, but the car had gathered momentum and in the blink of an eye it fishtailed and rammed into some sort of small tree.

Groaning, Ava clasped her head where it had bounced off the steering wheel.

For a moment she just sat there. Then she realised the engine was roaring, took her foot from the accelerator and switched the car off. Her ears rang loudly in the sudden silence and then she caught the sound of one of her tyres spinning in midair. Glancing out through the windscreen, she realised her car was wedged on top of a clump of rocks and heather plants in full bloom.

Talk about a lapse in concentration!

She blew out a breath and gingerly moved her limbs one at a time. Thankfully the car had been going too slowly for her to have been seriously hurt. A good thing—except she could picture her father shaking his head at her. He was always telling her to use a driver on official engagements, but of course she didn’t listen. Arguing with him had become something of a blood sport. A blood sport he was so much better at than her. It was one of the main reasons she’d snuck off to study Fine Arts at the Sorbonne. If she had stayed in Anders it would have been impossible to keep the promise she had made to her dying mother to try and get along with her father.

His earlier edict replayed again in her head. She couldn’t return to Anders. What would she do there? Sit around and play parlour games all day while she waited for him to line up another convenient husband? The thought made her shiver.

Determined to stop thinking about her father, Ava carefully opened the car door and stepped out into the long grass. The spiky heels of her ankle boots immediately sank into the soft earth.

Great. As a gallery owner it was imperative that she always look impeccable and there was no way she could afford to ruin her prized Prada boots. Since she’d decided a long time ago not to take any of her father’s money she didn’t have any spare cash lying around to replace them. Another decision that had displeased him.

She stood precariously on the balls of her feet and leaned in to retrieve her handbag. Her phone had fallen out and when she picked it up she saw the screen was smashed. Unable to remember Gilles’s mobile number, she tossed it back in the car in frustration. She could always call emergency services, but then her little accident would be all over the news in a heartbeat—and the thought of any more attention this week for ‘the poor jilted Princess’ made her teeth gnash together. Which didn’t help her sore head.

No. She’d simply have to walk.

But standing on the grassy verge with her hands on her hips, she realised just how far it was to the main gates. Her beloved boots would be destroyed. Not to mention how hot and sweaty she would be by the time she got there. This was not the graceful and dignified entrance she had planned to make. And if one of those media vans she had seen loitering a few miles back saw her…

Wondering just what to do next, she had a sudden brainwave. A sudden and slightly crazy brainwave. Fortuitously—if she could describe running her little car into a ditch in such terms—she’d crashed right near a section of the outer wall that she had played on with her brother Frédéric and her cousin Baden and Gilles during family visits to the château in her childhood. Scaling the wall as revolutionary spies had been their secret game, and they’d even scraped out footholds to aid their escape from imaginary enemies.

Ava felt a grin creep across her face for the first time that day. She had to concede it was a tad desperate, but with Gilles’s wedding only hours away that was exactly what she was. And, anyway, she had always loved to climb as a kid; surely it would be even easier as an adult?

‘There’s a woman stuck on the south wall, boss. What do you want us to do with her?’

Wolfe pulled up in the middle of an arched hallway in Château Verne and pressed his phone a little tighter to his ear. ‘On the wall?’

‘The very top,’ repeated Eric, one of the more junior members of Wolfe’s security team.

Wolfe tensed. Perfect. Most likely another interfering journalist, trying to get the scoop on his friend’s extravagant wedding to the daughter of a controversial American politician. They hadn’t let up all day, circling the château like starving buzzards. But none had been brazen enough to go over the wall yet. Of course he’d been prepared for the possibility—the reason they now had this little intruder in hand.

‘Name?’

‘Says she’s Ava de Veers, Princess of Anders.’

A princess climbing over a forty-foot brick wall? Wolfe didn’t think so. ‘ID?’

‘No ID in her handbag. Says she had a car accident and it must have fallen out.’

Clever.

‘Camera?’

‘Check.’

Wolfe considered his options. Even from inside the thick walls of the château he could hear the irritating whine of distant media choppers as they hovered just outside the established no-fly zone. With the wedding still three hours away he’d better extend the security perimeters before there were any more breaches.

‘Want me to take her back to base, boss?’

‘No.’ Wolfe shot his hand through his hair. He’d rather turf her back over the wall than give her even more access to the property by taking her to the outer cottage his men were temporarily using. And he would—after he had established her identity and satisfied himself that she wasn’t a real threat. ‘Leave her where she’s perched.’ He was about to ring off when he had another thought. ‘And, Eric, keep your gun on her until I get there.’ That would teach her for entering a private function without an invitation.

‘Ah…you mean keep her on the wall?’

When Eric hesitated Wolfe knew right then that the woman was attractive.

‘Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.’ For all he knew she could be a political nutcase instead of an overzealous journo. ‘And don’t engage in any conversation with her until I get there.’

Wolfe trusted his men implicitly, but the last thing he needed was some smoking Mata Hari doing a number on their head.

‘Yes, sir.’

Wolfe pocketed his phone. This would mean he wouldn’t be able to start the pre-wedding game of polo Gilles had organised. Annoying, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d offered to run security for Gilles’s wedding because it was what he did, and the job always came first.

Once outside, Wolfe found Gilles and his merry band already waiting for him at the stables, the horses groomed and saddled and raring to go. Wolfe ran his gaze over the roguish white Arabian that Gilles had promised him. He’d missed his daily gym workout this morning and had been looking forward to putting the stallion through his paces.

Hell, he still could. Taking the reins from the handler, he swung easily onto the giant of a horse. The stallion shifted restlessly beneath his weight and Wolfe automatically reached forward to pat his neck, breathing in the strong scent of horse and leather. ‘What’s his name?’

‘Achilles.’

His mouth quirked and Gilles shrugged. ‘Apollo was taken and he’s a bloody contrary animal. You should enjoy each other.’

Wolfe laughed at his aristocratic friend. Years ago they had forged an unbreakable bond when they had trained together for selection on an elite military task force. They’d been there for each other during the tough times and celebrated during the good. Inevitably Gilles had started sprouting reams of poetry and Greek myths to stay awake when they’d spent long hours waiting for something to happen. By contrast Wolfe, a rugged Australian country boy, had used a more simple method. Sheer grit and stubborn determination. A trait that had served him well when he had swapped special ops for software development and created what was currently the most sophisticated computer spyware on the planet.

Wolfe Inc had been forged around that venture, and when his younger brother had joined him they’d expanded into every aspect of the security business. But where his brother thrived on the corporate life Wolfe preferred the freedom of being able to mix things up a little. He even kept his hand in on some of the more hairy covert ops some governments called consultants in to take care of. He had to get his adrenaline high from something other than his beloved Honda CBR.

‘Always the dreamer, Monsieur le Marquis,’ he drawled.

‘Just a man who knows how to have balance in his life, Ice,’ Gilles countered good-naturedly, calling Wolfe by his old military nickname. He swung onto the back of a regal-looking bay. ‘You should try it some time, my friend.’

‘I’ve got plenty of balance in my life,’ Wolfe grunted, thinking about the Viennese blonde he’d been glad to see the back of a month ago. ‘No need to worry your pretty head on that score.’

Achilles snorted and tossed his nose in challenge as Wolfe took up the reins.

‘I won’t be joining you just yet. I need to check on an issue that’s come up.’ He kept his tone deliberately bland so as not to alarm his friend, who should be concentrating on why he was signing his life away to a woman in matrimony rather than why a woman was currently sitting on one of his outer walls. ‘Achilles and I will join you in a few.’

The horse pulled against the bit and Wolfe smiled. There was nothing quite like using all his skills to master a difficult animal, and he wondered if Gilles would consider selling him. He already liked the unmanageable beast.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t that much easier to scale a high brick wall as an adult, Ava conceded. In fact it had been downright scary and had shown her how unfit she was. Her arm muscles were aching in protest. It hadn’t helped when she’d discovered the ancient chestnut tree she had been relying on to help her down the other side had been removed, and then two trained security guards wielding machine guns had happened upon her.

She hadn’t considered that Gilles would have hired extra security for the wedding, but in hindsight she should have done. Naturally the men hadn’t believed her about the car accident, and now all she needed was for one of those media helicopters she could hear to zero in on her and her joyous day would just about be complete.

It was all Gilles’s fault, she grouched to herself, eyeing the uneven terrain at her feet where the magnificent tree had once stood. And surely they’d raised the height of the wall since the last time she’d climbed it as a tearaway twelve-year-old.

Shifting uncomfortably, she eyed the two killers camouflaged in street clothes below, glad she was conversant in English. She knew no self-respecting Frenchman would ever be seen mixing flannel with corduroy. ‘If you would just check a couple of hundred metres up the road you’ll find my car and realise that I am telling you the truth,’ she repeated, struggling to hold back the temper her father had often complained was as easy to strike up as a match. Which actually wasn’t true. It took special powers to induce her to lose the plot.

‘Sorry, ma’am. Boss’s orders.’ That from the one who looked slightly more sympathetic than the other—although that was like saying snow was colder than ice.

‘Fine. But I have a headache and I’d like to get down.’

‘Sorry, ma’am—’

‘Boss’s orders,’ Ava finished asininely, wondering what the two men would do if she decided to jump. Not an entirely practical option since she would likely break her ankle.

It had clearly been an oversight on their part as children only to whittle footholds on one side of the wall. A mistake no self-respecting spy in their right mind would have made!

Ava briefly closed her eyes and gently tested the injury on her forehead. It felt so large she was sure the House of Fabergé would weep to get their hands on it.

A wave of irritation threatened to topple her off the wall and impale her on one of those raised guns, and as much as she told herself it was irrational to be irritated with these men, since this whole situation was her own fault, she couldn’t dispel her growing agitation. In truth, she felt like a fool sitting atop Gilles’s wall like a silly bird.

‘And where is this boss of yours?’ she queried, injecting her voice with a calm she was far from feeling.

‘Coming soon, ma’am.’

So was Christmas. In four months’ time.

A low rumble of thunder brought Ava’s head around as she tried to locate the sound. Her view was hampered by soaring parkland trees and wild shrubbery, and the only thing visible in the distance were the rounded red brick towers of the château and a picture-perfect blue sky beyond.

Then a flash of white amongst the trees caught her attention, and she couldn’t look away as a purebred stallion galloped into view. Ava’s eyes drank in the beautiful creature—and then she felt slightly dizzy as her eyes took in its handsome rider.

Windswept sandy hair was brushed back from a proud face with a strong nose and square jaw, wide shoulders and a lean torso rippled beneath a fitted black polo shirt, and long, muscular legs were outlined to perfection in white jodhpurs and knee-high black riding boots.

She sensed he was absolutely furious, even though he hadn’t moved a well-honed muscle. His narrowed eyes were boring into hers with the intense focus of a natural hunter. Even when the horse stamped impatiently beneath him, its nostrils flaring and its tail flicking with irritation, the man remained preternaturally still.

Ava’s heart pounded and she found her fingers gripping the stone wall for support. Heat was turning her limbs soft. Of course it was the sun making her hot, not the ruthless-looking warrior staring at her with an arrogance that bordered on insolence.

‘Are you the reason I’m still on this wall?’ The confrontational words were out of her mouth before she’d known they were in her head and she could have kicked herself. She had meant to be pleasant, to make sure this ordeal was over as quickly as possible. She knew instantly from the firm jut of his jaw that she had well and truly put paid to that.

Wolfe didn’t move a muscle as his eyes swept over the fey gypsy on the wall. He’d been wrong. She wasn’t attractive. She was astonishingly attractive, and his soldier’s eyes noted everything. High cheekbones, honey-gold skin, eyes as dark as night and thick sable hair pulled into a ponytail, wisps from which floated around a lush, sulky mouth that looked as if it was waiting to be kissed.

By him.

Impatiently discarding the unexpected thought, he let his eyes drift lower over a white cotton shirt the gentle breeze was using to outline her rounded breasts, and fitted jeans that hugged long slender legs. And bare, stocking-clad feet!

Achilles swatted the air with his tail, as if he too was disturbed by the vision, and then Wolfe registered her haughty, royally pissed-off question and recovered himself. She was an intruder, and she was ruining a rousing game of polo, and if she was upset she could stand in line.

‘No.’ He shot her a cursory look. ‘You are the reason you’re still on that wall.’

Ignoring her hissed exhalation he swung out of the saddle and approached his men. He could feel her eyes following him and wondered at their exact colour, immediately irritated at the irrelevant thought.

He waited for Eric to fill him in on how they had come across her, and then indicated for him to pass over the leather handbag he held in his hand.

‘Is the gun absolutely necessary?’

Her slightly bored question floated down from the wall.

‘Only if I have to shoot you with it.’ He didn’t bother looking at her when he spoke. ‘And keep your hands where I can see them.’

‘I’m not a criminal!’

He ignored her little outburst and inspected her handbag. ‘Find anything interesting in here?’

‘No, boss. Usual women things. Lipstick, tissues, hair clips. No ID, as I said.’

He heard her exasperated sigh. ‘I already told your watchdogs I had a car accident and my purse must have fallen out of my bag.’

‘Convenient.’

‘For whom? You?’

Wolfe gave her a stare he knew from experience made grown men think twice. ‘You have an awfully smart mouth for someone in your predicament.’ And he wished she would close it. The husky quality of her lightly accented voice was having an adverse effect on his body.

‘I am Princess Ava de Veers of Anders and I demand you let me down from here immediately.’

Wolfe ran his eyes over her again, just for the sheer pleasure of it and because he knew it would put her on the back foot. ‘What are you doing on a wall, Princess? Learning to fly?’

‘I am a guest at this wedding and you are likely to lose your job if you insist on leaving me up here. I’m probably sunburned by now.’

‘By this watered-down version of the sun?’ And on that golden skin? ‘Unlikely. And honoured guests usually approach by the main gates. What outlet do you work for?’

Her brow crinkled. ‘I don’t—’

‘Newspaper? Magazine? TV station? Nice camera, by the way. Mind if I take a look?’

‘Yes, I do.’

He dumped her handbag on the grass and started checking through her photos.

‘I said yes, I do mind.’

‘Whether I look or not isn’t contingent on whether you mind.’

‘Why bother asking, then?’

He nearly smiled at the exasperation in her voice. ‘Manners.’

She made a cute noise that said he wouldn’t know what manners were if they conked him on the head.

Frowning at the photos on her camera, he glanced up at her. ‘Nice celebrity shots on here. I repeat—what rag do you work for?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘I am not a member of the paparazzi, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’

‘No?’

‘No. I own an art gallery. Those were taken at a recent opening night. Not that it is any of your business.’

Wolfe rubbed his jaw and pretended to consider that. ‘Really? Given your current predicament, I’d say it’s very much my business.’

She looked as if she was holding on to her temper by a thread. ‘I do understand how this looks. And I even appreciate how efficient your men were at spotting me—’

‘I’m so happy to hear that.’

‘But—’ she carried on as if he hadn’t interrupted ‘—I am who I say I am. My car is a couple of hundred metres that way, and your men would already know this if they had bothered to go and find it instead of holding their weapons on me as if I was a terrorist.’

Wolfe handed the camera to Eric. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ He didn’t bother to hide the contempt he felt for her type. Haughty princesses—real or imagined—who thought their needs took preference over everybody else’s. ‘Did I forget to tell you? My men take orders from me, not you.’

Her pout turned even sexier. ‘Convenient.’

He wasn’t in the frame of mind to appreciate her wisecrack and nearly reconsidered his need to verify her identity before tossing her back over the wall.

‘Eric. Dane. Take the Jeep and find her car. If it exists.’

She sniffed at his instructions and shifted her bottom on the wall. She must be completely uncomfortable by now. Serve her right.

‘I told you to keep your hands where I could see them.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Do you think it might be at all possible that I could wait on the ground for your men to return? I promise not to overpower you while they are gone.’

The air seemed to buzz with the antagonistic heat she imbued him with, and her accent lent her sardonic words a sexy edge. She was a wicked combination of beauty and spirit, and not even the way she spoke down to him was enough to keep his libido at bay. A truly annoying realisation.

‘I think I can handle you.’

Her eyes dropped to his mouth and Wolfe felt a kick of lust all the way to his toes. He waited, breathless, for the heat in his groin to dissipate, but if anything it got worse. Then her eyes blazed into his and the chemistry he’d been trying to ignore sparked like a live wire between them.

The way her eyes widened he thought perhaps she had read his thoughts, but that was impossible. Fourteen years in the business and Wolfe knew how to hide what he was feeling—hell, he’d learned how to do that by the time he could walk.

Perhaps she’d just felt the same burn he had. And had liked it just as little, if her wary gaze was anything to go by. Which gave him a moment’s pause. If she was a journalist—or, worse, some sort of political stalker—she’d have already used that connection to manipulate him, not shy away from it as if she’d just been singed.

His eyes took in wrists that looked impossibly slender within the cuffs of her masculine-style shirt, then moved down along fine-boned hands and nails buffed to perfection. She didn’t do hard labour. That much was obvious.

He knew instinctively she was who she said she was. It was in her regal bearing, the swanlike arch of her neck, in her sense of entitlement and the way she looked at him as if he was staff. His mother had often looked at his father like that and Wolfe had always felt sorry for the poor bastard.

She shifted again, her eyes on the ground. ‘Do you have any suggestions on how I might get down from here?’ And with a degree of dignity, her tone seemed to imply.

‘Perhaps you’d like me to unfold my trusty ladder from my back pocket?’ Wolfe mocked. ‘Oh, dear. Left it at home.’ He opened his hands, palms facing upwards. ‘Guess you’ll just have to jump into my arms, Princess. What a treat.’

His horse snickered and her eyes used the excuse to glance at the stallion before returning to his. ‘Channelling your inner Zorro?’ she asked sweetly.

His lips twitched. ‘Only because I left my Batman tool belt at home.’

‘With Robin?’

Despite his less than stellar mood he chuckled. ‘Cute. Toss down the boots first.’ The last thing he wanted was to be stabbed by one of those dangerous-looking heels, and by the gleam in her eyes that was exactly what she was considering.

‘I have a better idea. Why don’t I just go back down the way I came up?’

‘No.’

Her lips tightened. ‘It makes perfect sense. I can—’

‘Try it and I will shoot you.’

‘You don’t have a gun.’

‘I have a gun.’

She paused, her stillness telling him she was weighing up whether he was telling the truth or not. Her eyes slid down his torso and over his legs and he felt a rush of unexpected excitement, as if she’d actually touched him.

‘You are being overly obnoxious about this,’ she fumed.

‘Not yet, I’m not.’ Wolfe barely managed to suppress his rising aggravation at this physical response to a woman he already didn’t like. ‘But I’m getting close.’

‘If you drop me I’ll sue you.’

‘If you don’t hurry up and get down from that wall I’ll sue you.’

Her dark brows arched imperiously. ‘For what?’

‘Trying my patience. Now, pass down the boots. Nice and easy,’ he warned softly.

With an audible sigh she dropped her boots one after the other into his outstretched hands. The kid leather was warm from her touch.

‘Now you.’ His voice had grown rough—a clear indication that some part of him was looking forward to holding her in his arms. And what was wrong with that? He might not be interested in starting up another affair straight after his last one had ended so tastelessly, but he was male and this woman was beautiful.

‘I’d rather wait for a ladder.’

So would he.

‘Then you’d better settle in. I run security, not rescue.’

Again she glanced dubiously at the ground. ‘It didn’t seem like such a big drop when I was younger. And What happened to the chestnut tree that used to grow here?’

‘Now you’re mistaking me for a gardener, Princess. What next?’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Certainly not for a nice man. Rest assured of that. And my correct title is Your Royal Highness.’

He knew the correct title. He might not be royal himself, but he’d met enough in his lifetime to know how to address one. ‘Thanks for the tip. But I don’t have all day. So let’s go.’ Time to stop thinking about the tempting swell of her breasts and her hot mouth.

‘You don’t have all day? Thanks to you, I’m impossibly late now,’ she complained.

He beckoned her with his fingers. ‘My heart bleeds.’

‘You’re really very rude.’

‘Want me to leave you up there?’ he prompted, fresh out of patience.

‘Excuse me for being a little uneasy.’

Wolfe sighed and held his hands up again. ‘I’ve never dropped a princess before.’

‘You’ve probably never had the opportunity before now.’

He shook his head. ‘You sure do know how to make yourself vulnerable, Princess.’

She muttered something in French, making him want to smile. she was all fire and…attitude!

Balancing on her hands, she carefully swung her leg over the wall, so that she was perched on it like a little chipmunk, her fingers turning white as she gripped the edge. Still she hesitated, lifting first one thigh and then the other to make sure the fabric of her jeans didn’t catch.

‘Want me to count to three?’ he drawled.

She threw him a dark look, her eyes fixed firmly on his, and then they snapped closed and she launched herself off the wall.

Wolfe felt her svelte torso slide through his hands as he caught her, his arms winding around her before she hit the ground. Her rib cage heaved as she dragged in an unsteady breath, the movement flattening her soft breasts against his hard chest.

Her arms clung tight around his neck, holding his face against the warm pulse at the base of her neck. His senses instantly filled with her heat and sweet perfume. He usually found perfume cloying. Hers wasn’t, and was probably the reason he held her longer than he needed to. Held her moulded against him as if he’d been doing it his whole life. Held her long enough to wonder how it would feel to fit himself deep inside her.

Tight. Hot. Wet.

Wolfe’s head reared back as his senses took over and he found himself staring into exquisite, wide-spaced navy blue eyes that made him feel as if he’d been hit by a land-to-air missile.

‘You can put me down now,’ she said a little breathlessly.

He could slide his hands down to her butt and wrap her legs around his waist, as well.

As if he’d spoken out loud the air between them thickened, and he felt every hot inch of her go impossibly still against him.

Almost embarrassed by a stupefyingly strong urge to crush her mouth beneath his, which had held him spellbound for—God—he hoped only seconds, he none-too-gently set her on her feet and stepped back from her.

It was only then that he noticed the slight swelling above her right temple.

‘You should get that looked at,’ he instructed roughly.

Her eyes licked over his face before meeting his, her breathing as uneven as his heart rate. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Put your shoes on. It’s time to go.’ He busied himself with collecting Achilles while his mind came back on line. By rights he should search her, to make sure she was clean, but, hell, he wasn’t touching her again. Bad enough he’d have to put her on the back of the horse since Eric and Dane had yet to return.

He frowned, wondering what was taking them so long.

‘I’d rather walk.’ Her eyes flitted from the stamping stallion and back to him.

Realising he was functioning below par, and that had he been on a real military expedition he might well be dead now, Wolfe re-engaged his instincts and gave her a hard stare. ‘You can try my patience, Princess, but I wouldn’t recommend it.’

She blinked, as if she hadn’t expected his curt tone. ‘Unlike your men, I don’t take orders from you.’

Wolfe widened his stance in a purely dominant move he knew she hadn’t missed. ‘We have yet to establish your real identity, so you either get on that horse or I’ll use one of these reins to bind your hands and drag you behind.’

‘I’d like to see you try,’ she invited him coolly.

He couldn’t believe this posh piece of work was calling his bluff. ‘Would you, now?’

She balled her hands on her hips and drew his sight to her slender curves. Not a clever move in his currently cantankerous state of combined anger and arousal. Of course he wouldn’t drag her, but he’d subdue her and throw her over his saddle.

He saw the moment she realised his threat wasn’t entirely idle.

‘Only men with very small appendages play the tough guy.’

‘And only women who are incredibly stupid challenge a man they’ve never met to prove his masculinity. Fortunately for you, I don’t feel the least threatened to prove myself by shrewish females.’

‘What can I say?’ She cocked her hip towards him insolently. ‘You bring out the best in me.’

Wolfe breathed deep at her intentionally provocative manner. ‘I’m sure that’s very far from your best, Princess,’ he drawled.

Her brows slowly rose and Wolfe realised he’d inadvertently revealed how attractive he found her. No doubt it was something she was used to and, like all women in his experience, would take absolute advantage of it given half the chance.

Something he didn’t plan to do.

Aggravated by his one-track mind, he was about to end her rebellious stance by physically dumping her onto the horse when his phone rang.

‘We found the car, boss. She’s legit. Her purse must have been thrown from her bag because it was lodged under the front seat.’

Wolfe grunted a reply and told his men to meet him at the cottage.

He looked up in time to catch her superior expression and knew that she’d overheard his conversation. ‘Seems you are who you say you are. Next time use the gate.’ He brought Achilles alongside her and grabbed the stirrup. ‘Give me your leg.’

‘You’re not even going to apologise?’

Her tone spoke of generations of superiority that made any apology Wolfe might have given die on his lips.

‘Your leg?’ he repeated, his eyes cool and guarded against the fire pouring out of hers.

Moving forward, she tossed her ponytail over her shoulder, caught her heel on a rock and pitched straight into his arms.

Already highly sensitised to her touch, and not sure if the move had been deliberate, to throw him off balance, Wolfe immediately set her away from him. ‘And don’t try using that sexy little body to garner any favours, Princess.’

‘Trust me when I say that touching you is the last thing I would want to do.’

She presented him with her stiff back, gathered the reins up in one hand and stamped her foot into his hand. Wolfe didn’t know whether to be amused by her or angered, and perhaps if he hadn’t been about to head off after Gilles’s wedding to oversee an important software installation he might have hung around to test her lofty challenge. But he was, and he wasn’t stupid enough to get involved with another highly strung female.

‘Shift back,’ he grated. No way was she riding in front, where she would be cradled between his hard thighs.

‘You know, all that masculine muttering is entirely uncalled for. You are unquestionably the most irritating individual I have ever had the misfortune to come across.’

Wolfe was just about to tell her the feeling was entirely mutual when she twisted the reins out of his slack hold and dug her heels into Achilles’s side. The horse responded like the thoroughbred it was and sprang into an instant gallop.

Wolfe couldn’t believe it!

Not only had the little spitfire turned him on just by breathing, she had completely got the better of him. Neither of which had happened to him in…It had never happened before!

‘Dammit!’

Cursing under his breath, Wolfe whistled sharply. If Gilles had trained his animals correctly the horse should come to a complete stop.

CHAPTER TWO

ONE MINUTE AVA was flying across the uneven ground with breathless speed and the next she wasn’t moving at all. The horse did little more than twitch its majestic tail as she tried to urge him forward. By the time she worked out what had happened the overbearing inbecile was almost upon her.

‘Come on, horse. Do not listen to him. He is nobody.’

‘You look like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, but you’re a bossy little thing aren’t you, Princess?’

‘You are so arrogant.’

He settled his hands on his hips. ‘That’s rich, coming from you.’

‘I am not arrogant,’ she said in a voice that would have made her father proud. ‘I am confident. There is a difference.’

He had the gall to laugh. ‘And the difference would fit inside a flea’s arse.’

Ava used her sweetest voice to call him a foul name in French, knowing he probably wouldn’t understand her.

He shook his head and tsked. ‘Temper, temper.’ His gaze lifted to her hair. ‘If I didn’t know better I’d say there was a red streak running through that glossy mane of yours.’

A chauvinist. How original. ‘I suppose you think I should be flattered you didn’t say blond?’

‘No, I would never confuse you with a blonde,’ he said with mock seriousness. ‘I like blondes.’

‘Then I do consider myself flattered!’

She thought about flicking the reins to try and ride off again, but he read her mind and his jaw clenched. ‘I don’t make the same mistakes twice. Shift back.’

Ava noticed how big the hand was that gripped the reins and instantly recalled how they had felt on her body as he’d caught her. Once again her pelvis clenched, sending delicious ripples of sensation through her whole body. Surprised, and a little breathless, she berated herself for the physical reaction. He was Neanderthal man two million-odd years later, his blood supply no doubt taken up by all the muscles in his body instead of his head, where he needed it most.

He moved a small handgun out from under the back of his shirt and tucked it inside his boot, and she felt another traitorous thrill shoot straight to her core. Peevishly she hoped the gun went off and shot him in the foot.

‘I’m sure many women get turned on by your barbaric tactics, but I can assure you I am not one of them.’

‘Good to know.’ He stroked the horse’s neck in long, smooth sweeps. ‘Since I’m not trying to turn you on.’

His eyes glittered up at her and made her heart pump just that little bit faster. Lord, she hoped he didn’t know she was lying, because she shouldn’t find this uncultured beast of a man so attractive.

Grabbing the pommel, he fitted his foot into the stirrup. ‘Now, you can ride up in front between my legs if you want to, Princess. Who knows? It might be fun.’

Ava quickly scooted back and ground her teeth together when he gave a low, sexy laugh. His voice was rich and totally indolent, as if he was always thinking of ways to pleasure a woman.

He swung easily onto the great horse, his large frame filling the saddle. The horse shifted as it readjusted to take their weight. ‘You might want to hang on.’ He shot over his shoulder, drawing up the reins.

‘I am.’

He glanced to where her hands gripped the saddle blanket before raising his eyes back to hers. Ava drew in a sharp breath at the impact.

‘I meant to me.’

Ava had no intention of holding on to him. ‘Dream on.’

He gave a half smile, as if he might do exactly that, clenched his powerful thighs, and the horse sprang forwards as if it had nothing more than a child on its back.

Instinctively Ava clutched at his shirt and found herself plastered up against the back of him. He was hard! And hot! Unable to help herself, she widened her fingers over his abdominal muscles as if she needed to do so to prevent herself from falling off. Colyn had always bemoaned the fact that she wasn’t tactile enough for him, but right now she could barely resist the urge to explore this stranger’s muscular physique. She thought she heard him blow out a hard breath and, slightly embarrassed at her temerity, quickly moved her fingers to his narrow hips. the roll of muscle there told her that he worked out. A lot.

Fortunately it took no time for the spirited stallion to make it to the main buildings. Unfortunately it was still long enough for the friction from the saddle and his body to make the space between her legs feel soft and moist.

Mon Dieu.

Yes, it had been a long time since she had been intimate with a man, but this one was so not her type…

Focusing on her surroundings, instead of the man she could feel with every cell of her body, she realised they weren’t at the stables but at one of the side entrances to the main building.

About to ask what they were doing there, she stopped when he twisted around in the saddle, grabbed her under her arm and effortlessly lifted her off the horse. Ava felt the slide of his thigh all the way down her body and closed her eyes briefly to block out the rush of heat coursing through her. When her feet finally touched the ground she locked her knees to take her weight and had to force herself to push away from his heat.

‘Any time you want to learn how to fly again, Princess, you just call me, okay?’

Ava curled her lip, but before she could come up with a pithy retort he had dug his heels into the stallion and was gone.

Thank God. It would take two top-of-the-line masseurs to work the tension out of her back after that!

‘Ma’am? Are you lost?’

A footman materialised at her side, and it was only then that Ava registered that her ‘captor’ had set her down in a private part of the castle, far from the prying eyes of arriving guests. It was probably more because he was used to using the servants’ entrance than out of any actual consideration for her, but even as she had the ungrateful thought she had a feeling she was wrong.

Wolfe stood on the lime-green lawn at the side of the white marquee set up as a servers’ area under the shade of a weeping willow. He wasn’t on duty, but his eyes scanned the throng of wedding guests holding sparkling glasses of wine and champagne and recapping the beautiful service they had just witnessed.

The men mostly wore classic morning suits, as he did, and the women were tastefully attired in afternoon dresses and sunhats. Later, at the evening reception, they would all change into their ballroom best.

It was only when his eyes finally found the Princess, in a small cluster of women waiting to talk to the bride, that he realised he’d been searching for her.

He cursed under his breath. His reaction to her was annoyingly primal. And annoyingly still present. The problem, he decided as he studied her, was that she had an element of the conquest about her. All that snooty standoffishness combined with her natural beauty was like a summons to any man who had red blood pumping through his veins. But while he enjoyed a challenge—possibly more than most men—some inner sense of self-preservation warned him to keep his distance.

He had very firm rules when it came to women and he never deviated from them. Keep it short, keep it sweet and, most importantly, keep it simple. This posh princess had complicated written all over her pretty face.

He’d seen enough relationships fall apart to last him a lifetime, and while logically he knew not all couples ended up on the scrap heap he wasn’t prepared to take the chance. It was probably the only risk he wasn’t willing to take, because when it all went pear-shaped the fall-out was usually devastating.

‘I know that face. You’re brooding about something.’

Wolfe glanced at Gilles, who had ambled up with two glasses of champagne in his hands. Wolfe took one and smiled. ‘Just enjoying the frivolities.’

Gilles gave him a droll look. Previously they had both bemoaned any wedding they’d been forced to attend. ‘I thought you were bringing someone with you today?’

Wolfe took a sip and tried not to wince as the warming liquid pooled in his mouth. ‘Not while I’m working.’

Gilles lowered his own glass, amusement dancing in his eyes. ‘She dumped you?’

Wolfe recalled the look on Astrid’s angry face when he’d told her he wouldn’t be seeing her again. ‘Yep.’

‘In…’ Gilles glanced at his watch ‘…how many hours?’

Wolfe chuckled. He’d enjoyed Astrid’s company for five busy nights while he was working in Vienna a month ago, and she had enjoyed his. When he’d tried to say goodbye she’d kicked up a stink. Accused him of using her. Wolfe’s anger had surfaced then. He knew he had a name for being a heartless womaniser but he was simply honest. He didn’t see the point in beating around the bush and pretending to feel things he didn’t. And nor did he sleep with as many women as his reputation would suggest. He wouldn’t have any time left over for work if he did.

‘What can I say? She was one of the smart ones.’

Wolfe waited for his friend to start up another good-natured lecture about settling down. Anne, it seemed, had reformed the once bad-boy Marquis to the point where Wolfe now almost preferred her company to his.

‘Well, that works out well for me.’

‘It does?’

Gilles chuckled. ‘Don’t look so relieved. I wasn’t about to try and reform the unreformable.’

‘Thank God.’

‘But I do need a favour.’

Favours Wolfe could do.

‘Sure.’

‘There’s a girl I need you to keep your eye on tonight at the reception.’

Wolfe didn’t exactly look at the sky, but he came close. ‘Friend of Anne’s, by chance?’

‘Yes, actually. But, no, I’m not trying to set you up, you suspicious clod. She’s the woman my father wanted me to marry.’

Gilles’s words sparked a distant memory of a late-night chat from years back that Wolfe had completely forgotten about. He took another pull of his drink and wished it was beer in an icy bottle instead of champagne in a tepid glass. ‘I’m listening.’

‘Years ago my father and hers came to the decision that we would forge a strong union if we married when we came of age.’

‘I think you “came of age” about ten years ago, my friend, and isn’t that a little last century?’

Gilles’s mouth twisted into an ironic smile. ‘You’ve met my father. Hers is worse. Anyway, the media have done a good job beating some life into the old story this past week, playing up the whole jilted fiancée thing, and Anne said it’s been a bit rough on her.’

Wolfe knew what it felt like to be talked about behind his back. Even if the people in the small town he’d grown up in had been doing so out of sympathy rather than slander. At least for him and his brother, at any rate. ‘What’s wrong with her?’ he asked suspiciously.

Gilles scoffed. ‘Nothing. But I don’t want you to sleep with her. Actually, I’d be downright angry if you did. She’s gorgeous, and way too good for you. I just want you to keep an eye on her. Make sure she’s having a good time.’

‘Who is she?’ he asked, premonition snaking down his spine.

‘See the woman talking to Anne now?’

Wolfe didn’t have to look to know it was the Princess from the wall and he nearly groaned. Anyone but her. But at least now it made sense why she had been so familiar with the estate. They were family friends.

Wolfe turned his back on the woman he was intent on avoiding for the rest of his life. ‘I’m sure she can take care of herself.’

Gilles gave him a quizzical look and Wolfe cursed his curt tone. He had nothing against the Princess, really. Except for the fact that she’d occupied his mind all afternoon and made him want to push her sweet skirt up around her waist and take her up against the nearest hundred-year-old oak. He definitely didn’t want to find out that Gilles had once been with her. Had they been lovers? The thought left a sour taste in his mouth.

‘I’m sure she will, too, but as she’s attending the wedding alone I thought you could keep your eye on her for me. You know—ask her to dance, make sure she has a drink.’

Today he’d been mistaken for a rescue service, a gardener and now…‘You’ve got waiters for that, and I’m not a damned babysitter.’

Gilles’s eyebrows shot up, but before he could say anything his new wife stepped around Wolfe and curled her arm through Gilles’s. ‘Babysitting who?’

Her green eyes met Wolfe’s speculatively and Wolfe saw Gilles’s eyes fall guiltily on someone behind him.

‘I hope you do not mean me, Gilles?’ Ava’s tone was as lyrical and as superior as Wolfe remembered it.

Gilles stepped forward and kissed both her cheeks. ‘Ava, you look as beautiful as ever.’

‘I can see that you do mean me,’ she berated lightly. ‘And I can assure you I do not need babysitting.’

Her eyes briefly cut to Wolfe’s with such aloof disdain it made him want to smile. He remembered her hands splayed over the ridges of his abdominal muscles as she’d clung to him on the horse. She might not like him very much, but he knew dislike wasn’t the only emotion she felt.

‘Of course you don’t, ma petite.’ Gilles humoured her. ‘Now, let me introduce you to Wolfe, a good friend of mine.’

Unable to prevent himself from ruffling her regal feathers, Wolfe tilted his head. ‘We’ve met. How’s the head?’ His eyes drifted to the wide-brimmed hat, tilted to one side to conceal the bruise on her forehead. The pale pink exactly matched a flirty two-piece suit that followed the line of her curves all the way to her perfectly shaped calves and slender ankles.

Exceptional legs, he thought, his gaze trekking slowly back up to her face.

She arched a brow that told him she hadn’t taken kindly to his once-over, or to the implied intimacy in his tone.

‘You know each other?’ Gilles regarded Ava in surprise.

‘No.’

‘Oh?’ Gilles cut his curious gaze back to Wolfe.

‘Shall I tell him, or do you want to?’ Wolfe drawled.

After briefly glaring all sorts of retribution his way, she turned a serene smile on Gilles and Anne. ‘It was nothing. I had a small problem with my car and your friend kindly provided me with a lift to the château.’

‘A small problem with your car?’ Gilles frowned.

Wolfe held her gaze as he felt the others turn to him and told himself to leave well enough alone. Ruffling her glorious feathers was not on his agenda, even if his body was demanding that he forge a new one—preferably starting with her naked on top of a set of silk sheets. ‘What Her Highness means is that she had a car accident, climbed your outer wall and got captured by my men—’

‘And stole your horse because you were being incredibly rude!’ she provided, cutting Gilles’s blustering in half.

Wolfe shifted his weight and stuck one hand into his pocket. ‘And here I was thinking you stole him because you wanted to go for a ride.’ He rubbed his hand across his abdomen, unable to stop himself from teasing her a little.

‘I did think about it,’ she murmured huskily, the quick dart of her pink tongue caressing her lower lip and sending a bolt of lust straight to his groin. ‘But since he wasn’t up to my usual standard I thought why bother?’

Wolfe laughed at her bald-faced put-down. Gilles was fortunately too worried about her accident to pick up on the subtext, but Anne’s interested glances told him that she wasn’t quite as obtuse.

‘You weren’t hurt?’ Anne queried, concern lacing her words.

‘A bump on the head,’ Ava dismissed casually. ‘Really, the whole thing was incredibly insignificant.’

Wolfe’s lips quirked. ‘You know, I wouldn’t have described it that way myself.’

‘No?’ Ava held his gaze. ‘Maybe you need to get out more.’

‘Maybe I do,’ he agreed, noting the line of pink that highlighted her lovely cheekbones. Maybe he needed to get out with her. No. He’d already decided not to go there. But, damn, he was enjoying sparring with her.

‘But what were you doing on the wall?’ Gilles interrupted with a frown.

‘Well, trying to get down, obviously,’ Ava returned pithily. ‘Which would have been a lot easier if you hadn’t removed that lovely old chestnut tree.’

Gilles gave a typically Gallic shrug. ‘I had no choice. It was a security risk.’

Wolfe laughed right up until the moment she shared a warm smile with Gilles. Again he wondered at their history. Had she been in love with his friend? Was she still? Was that why Gilles had asked him to watch out for her? Was it possible she would cause trouble if he didn’t? Questions, questions, questions. And there was really only one he wanted answered.

How responsive would she be in his bed?

His name suited him, Ava mused absently, nursing a flute of champagne as she willed the evening reception to finish.

Predatory.

Intense.

Arrogant.

And utterly transfixing when he turned those molten toffee-coloured eyes on her. Not to mention aloof and emotionally unavailable if the evening gossip was to be believed.

‘They call him Ice, and apparently he has a heart as hard to find as a pink diamond,’ one woman had said, giggling as she’d gazed longingly across the room at him.

Ava had rolled her eyes. She knew many women saw an unattainable man—especially a wealthy alpha male like Wolfe—as a personal challenge to go forth and rehabilitate, but she wasn’t one of them. She was only interested in a man who was caring and considerate and who respected a woman as more than just a trophy to be admired and trotted out when it suited him. A gentle, sophisticated man, who was looking for love and companionship more than short affairs with a variety of women.

That thought reminded her of the luncheon she’d had with Anne last month. ‘Hot’ and ‘divine’ were words that had been bandied around when she’d talked about a friend of Gilles’s called Wolfe. As had ‘confirmed bachelor’. Ava remembered zoning out at that point, telling her friend she wasn’t at all interested in commitment-phobes like her ex. Which put Gilles’s ‘hot’ friend with the beautiful eyes and corrugated abdominal muscles firmly off her Christmas list.

Even if he did looked incredible in a custom-made tuxedo.

Oh, stop, she scolded herself. Lots of men looked incredible in tuxedos; they were the equivalent of a corset for women.

Of course lots of men hadn’t made her burn just by looking at her, or made her want to touch them all over, but that was just bad luck. Or maybe it was more to do with how uncomfortable she felt tonight. Maybe she was just looking for a distraction from all the polite smiles and curious stares from many of the other guests.

Those who were friends knew that she’d never seriously been involved with Gilles, but they were intent on having a good time and she felt curiously lonely in the large crowd.

Her mind was intent on remembering the way Wolfe had held her in his arms that morning, with such breathless ease she hadn’t been able to stop herself from imagining what it would be like to kiss him. Embarrassingly, she had even held herself perfectly still as if in anticipation of that kiss!

Pah!

She was just feeling a little strained after having to put on a brave face all day. And, okay, she was also a little intrigued by Wolfe. It had been a long time since a man had caught her attention. A long time since she had wondered about his kiss. A long time since she had felt the warmth of a man’s loving embrace. Not that Wolfe’s would be loving—but it would be warm…

Ava pulled a wry face at herself. Before today she wouldn’t have said she had missed a man’s embrace at all. But right now, watching this one they called Ice nonchalantly circle the room but not quite participate in the frivolities made her ache for it.

And don’t try using that sexy little body to garner any favours, Princess.

Ava’s lips tightened.

Arrogant.

Rude.

Unsophisticated.

Uncultured.

So why had she surreptitiously touched his body at the first opportunity?

Ava shivered and raised her champagne glass to her lips.

Empty. Drat.

The doctor Wolfe had sent to see her—an unexpectedly nice gesture she still had to thank him for—had told her it would be best if she didn’t drink tonight. Her position as ‘jilted fiancée’ in a room full of her peers told her it would be best if she did.

Taking another glass of Gilles’s best from a passing waiter, she took a fortifying sip. It didn’t surprise her that Wolfe had a reputation with women. A man who could lift a fully grown woman off a horse and lower her slowly to the ground with one hand held a certain earthy appeal.

For some, she reminded herself firmly. Not for her.

‘My dance, I believe?’

For a minute Ava imagined the deep voice behind her was Wolfe, but it lacked a certain velvety-rough tenor and hadn’t sent any delicious tingles down her spine so she knew it wasn’t. Turning, she smiled at a nice English Lord who had been hounding her all night.

She didn’t feel like dancing with him, but nor did she feel like triggering more gossip by refusing every man who approached her. Smiling with a polite reserve she hoped he read as, Lovely, but be assured I’m not interested in furthering our acquaintance, she stepped into his arms. Which was when she caught sight of Wolfe, watching her yet again from across the room. Her eyes immediately ran over the woman at his side, who looked young, happy and relaxed. By contrast Ava felt old, surly and uptight. Which was partly Wolfe’s fault, she thought churlishly, because she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him.

And the fact that he had a beautiful woman at his side while he held his eyes on her only confirmed that the talk about him playing the field was true. Unless he had been watching her all night because of Gilles’s silly request that he ‘babysit’ her. For some reason the latter thought aggravated Ava more than the former.

Five minutes later, feeling as graceful as a goose under Wolfe’s constant regard, she sent her dance partner to fetch her a glass of water so she could find out. She didn’t need an audience when she told Wolfe that his attention was not only supremely annoying but totally unnecessary.

Orientating herself in the vast room, she located him lazily propping up a wall in a dimly lit section of the ballroom, feeling ridiculously elated when she found the bubbly blonde was no longer running her fingernails up and down his powerful forearm.

He didn’t say anything when she stopped in front of him, just looked down at her through a screen of thick dark lashes that made his mood impossible to gauge. Not that it mattered. She was here about her feelings, not his.

‘You are eyeing me off because Gilles asked you, too, no?’ She knew she’d mixed up her words—her English was always clumsy when she was agitated.

‘I think the term you’re looking for is watching over you.’

Amusement laced his tone and her spine stiffened in annoyance.

‘I don’t need watching.’

‘I thought all women liked to be watched. Isn’t that why you wrap yourselves up in those slinky dresses?’ His drink swayed as he made an up-and-down motion with his hand.

Ava glanced down at her strapless jade-green gown, which was fitted to the waist and then fell to the floor in silky waves. ‘My dress is elegant, not slinky.’

‘Why don’t we agree on elegantly slinky, for argument’s sake?’

He was smooth, this handsome Australian, very smooth. ‘I do not need babysitting,’ Ava said, reminding herself that she had not approached him to flirt with him.

‘I never said you did. In fact I told Gilles you could take care of yourself.’

‘Presumably because I made off with your horse?’

‘You didn’t make off with my horse.’ The pitch of his voice dropped subtly. ‘But you did play a pretty dangerous game on him.’

Ava’s heart kicked up a notch at his silky taunt. ‘I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean.’

Wolfe smiled. ‘I’m quite sure you do.’

He took a lazy sip of his beer and her eyes were drawn to the strong column of his throat when he swallowed. She looked up to find that his eyes had closed to half-mast as she watched him and her breasts grew heavy.

Determined to ignore the sensation, she continued. ‘So, if you are not doing Gilles’s bidding, why do you watch me?’

‘Why do you think?’

His eyes toured over her body and she had a pretty good indication of why. Something hot and quivery vibrated up and down her spine. The memory of the feel of his hands on her torso returned. They were so large they had almost swallowed her whole.

Perturbed by the physical response he so effortlessly created in her, Ava shook her head. Compared to her he appeared so cool and relaxed, and yet she was sure if she touched him he’d feel as tightly coiled as a spring.

‘I think you are a man who gets what he wants a little too often, Ice!’ she challenged, deciding that he was messing with her head. The way he looked at her. The way his eyes lingered on her mouth. She knew he felt the chemistry between them and she wondered why she wanted to push him to show her. Even more she wondered what it would take to make this self-contained man lose control.

‘Is that so?’

‘Yes.’ Ava tried to match his careless tone even though her heart was thumping inside her chest. ‘The word in the powder room is that you steal hearts wherever you go.’

‘Have you been talking about me, Princess?’

Ava felt her temper spike at his evasiveness. ‘That’s not an answer.’

His eyebrow rose at her sharp tone. ‘You didn’t ask a question.’

Wanting to stamp her foot in frustration, she decided the smart thing to do was to bid him goodnight. She’d already decided to ignore the way he made her feel, and yet here she was almost begging him to make her change her mind.

Dragging her eyes from his sensual half smile, she took a step back and curled a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. ‘Fine. If you’ll—’

His hand shot out and snagged her upper arm. His hold was gentle, yet uncompromising, and she couldn’t prevent a gasp of surprise at the unexpectedness of it. ‘Don’t play games with me, Rapunzel. I guarantee you’ll lose.’

Ava barely contained her temper. If anyone was playing games here it was him, not her. And if a small voice in her head was asking her if trying to get the better of him on the lawn earlier had not been a game—well, she didn’t much care right now.

‘You have that wrong.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I am not the one playing games here.’ Because deep down she knew it would be beyond stupid to invite this man into her life in any capacity.

He stared at her, finally letting the sensual heat she had felt in him all night shine through in his eyes. She couldn’t look away, like a deer caught in headlights as he inexorably drew closer—only realising it was she who had swayed towards him when a glass of mineral water was thrust in front of her face.

‘There you are,’ Lord Parker puffed, pushing his chest out in Wolfe’s direction.

Half expecting Wolfe to challenge him, Ava was absurdly disappointed when all he did was slide a thumb across the rampaging pulse-point in her wrist before releasing her. As if as an afterthought he bent towards her, his mouth close to her ear, his intoxicating scent making her breathless.

‘Careful what you wish for, Princess. You just might get it.’ He straightened and inclined his head in her direction. ‘If you’ll excuse me?’ He mimicked the cool words she’d been about to serve him moments earlier before striding across the marble floor and into another room.

Ava let out a long pent-up breath. She should be glad he was gone. He was arrogant, obnoxious, and too cool for school—and yet he made her burn hotter than any man ever had before. It was a powerful aphrodisiac. All-consuming and tempting. And despite the fact that he had just warned her off some obtuse part of her still wanted to know what it would feel like to have those capable hands on her heated skin—her naked, heated skin.

‘Ladies and gentlemen…’

The MC interrupted Ava’s conflicting thoughts.

‘The bride is about to throw her bouquet before the couple departs for the evening.’

A triumphant squeal rent the air as the bouquet was caught by one of Anne’s American friends, followed by a stream of synchronised clapping as the bride and groom made their way upstairs. They would be spending the night at the château before leaving for their honeymoon after luncheon the following day.

Ava joined in the well-wishing but her chest felt tight. Anne and Gilles were so happy. So in love. An old fear that she would never get to experience that depth of emotion with someone special cut across the happiness she felt for them both.

Realising she must be more out of balance than she’d first thought, she decided to call it a night. Glancing around the room, she noted that Wolfe was nowhere to be seen and felt another stab of irritation at herself. She was torn between wanting him to want her and wanting him not to. It was as if she was somehow in thrall to him. As if her brain no longer functioned, or it functioned but was stuck in one groove, like the needle on an old-fashioned record player. The word sex was going round and round in her head like an endlessly exciting mantra.

Ava stared at her water glass and wondered if someone had drugged it. The last thing she wanted was sex with a man completely unsuitable for her hopes and dreams. Wasn’t it?

Annoyed, she pivoted on her heel—and gasped when she nearly ran smack into the man who had occupied her mind pretty much the entire day and night.

‘You’re leaving before our dance,’ he murmured silkily.

The balls of her feet hurt and she didn’t want to dance. ‘I did not think you played games.’ She could barely hear her own voice above the sound of her thundering heartbeat. Had he been toying with her to heighten her awareness of him? If so, it had worked. She had never been more aware of a man in her life.

She saw his nostrils flare at her confrontational tone and something primal unfurled low in her pelvis, because she knew that he did play games. And even though it went against all her principles part of her wanted to play—with him—tonight.

‘Maybe I want to feel you in my arms one more time.’

Heat rushed through her body as his husky words burned her up inside. How did any woman stop herself from drowning under such blazingly sexual intensity?

‘Do you?’

As if sensing her near capitulation, he gave her a lupine smile. ‘Yes.’ He set her drink aside and swept her into his arms.

Ava’s stomach flipped. She’d like to think that she’d let him walk her backwards onto the dance floor—although that would imply she still had some influence over her actions and she wasn’t sure that she did.

‘What about what I want?’ The question was meant to establish some sense of control on her part, but she suspected that he knew what he did to her and had seen right through it.

He brought the hand holding hers towards her face and rotated it so that his knuckles gently drifted across her cheekbone. ‘This is what you want, Princess.’

A cascade of sensations made her shiver and she told herself to tread carefully. Told herself that there was only one kind of man who parried around a woman all night and then approached her at the end. The kind her mother would have told her to steer well clear of. What it said about her wanting him regardless she didn’t want to think about.

He was so sure. So confident. She should shoot him down in flames. Using his own pistol to do it.

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