Page 2 of Impossible Heir for the King

But he was swift again. He clamped his hand over her mouth. She twisted her chin and locked her teeth on the flesh she found. She bit. Hard.

He flinched but didn’t release her. He merely pulled her back into his body.

‘Please, don’t,’ that deep voice roughly whispered into her ear. ‘I’m not here to hurt you, Maia. I’m so sorry, but there’s no choice. We’re leaving. Now.’

He knew her name?

She was so shocked that her body slackened—releasing her jaw she collapsed against him so completely that he had to widen his stance to stop them stumbling. Now both his arms were around her again and it felt so shockingly secure that she didn’t even think to scream. She sensed rapid movement around her. In seconds someone from behind her taped something over her mouth and dropped a dark cloth over her head, blackening everything while the first man still held her. She felt him draw a deep breath and mentally willed herself to become a dead weight that would be impossible to lift. Only he hoisted her in his arms like she weighed little more than a small seashell. He didn’t toss her over his shoulder in the classic firefighters hold but cradled her against his chest—as if she were something delicate and precious. It should be cumbersome yet they were moving. Fast. Up the stairs and outside—she felt the lightest breeze before they moved down again almost immediately. They were leaving the boat. He held her tighter still as the world lurched and heaven help her, she curled frightened fingers into his top and burrowed her head against him, seeking the stability she sensed within him.

After what felt like an age of chaotic movement, he finally sat while still cocooning her in his arms. He rested one arm heavily over her legs while the other was a steel band clamping her against his chest. In the silence she heard his heartbeat steadying and his calm, determined breathing. He was measuring his own response. Suddenly she felt oddlysafe.

She’d lost it mentally, surely. She had her mouth covered and was blindfolded. She had no idea who he was or where he was taking her. To have Stockholm syndrome in less than twenty seconds had to be some kind of record. Just because he smelt good and had meltingly deep brown eyes, solid, warm muscles and had offered an apologetic whisper... Her suddenly sensual response was dreadfully inappropriate. She forced herself to focus beyond her personal sensations.

She heard the quiet splashes of an oar in the water. Yes, there was definitely more than one of them and she was definitely in danger. She shivered, shrinking inwardly.

His arms tightened fractionally. ‘I promise I’m not going to hurt you, Maia.’

That really was a hint of regret in that rough whisper.

Who was he? She didn’t recognise his voice. She didn’t think he was ex-crew or a previous guest. What did he want with her?

This had been perfectly planned and executed. But why? She didn’t think anyone much knew who she even was. So, either there’d been some kind of mistake or she’d been cased as an easy target for trafficking. Yet that wasn’t an issue in these parts. Maybe she was to be the first.

Sure, she already was a slave of a sort for her father but she wasn’t in physical danger with him—that threat was more emotional. Butthisman? She grew even more hyper-aware of his hard-packed muscles and the all-encapsulating size of him and that faint scent sea-spray and mouth-watering spice. That sensuality resurged. She shrank further in on herself to try to stop it. And all that resulted from her doing that was that he held her closer still as if he were wordlessly wrapping comfort around her. And then he offered the words too—as if he could read her mind.

‘You’re safe,’ he said huskily. ‘I promise you’re safe.’

She didn’t know how long it was before he lifted her too easily again. She was only a few inches shy of six feet—taller than many men so this was a weird feeling of weightlessness and a complete loss of control. There was only a moment of rocking, uncertain movement before he sat again, keeping her locked in his arms the entire time. She heard an engine roar to life and knew she was now aboard a bigger boat. Sure enough, she could feel the hull of the speedboat smacking against the water as it raced forwards. Wind penetrated the hood on her head. The man who held her remained utterly silent this time.

Then whispers. Orders. Movement around her. She was carried again—heard not just his footsteps but several people’s. Car doors. Motion at speed. Still silence.

She briefly felt the sun on her arms before it went cold. Then they’d entered a building. Maia was exhausted but he’d held her all this time—surely he must be exhausted too? Then she heard only his footsteps. He set her down on something soft and finally released her. She stiffened—stupidly scared by losing the reassurance of his embrace. What was going to happen now?

‘Wait here, Maia.’

His footsteps receded. A door closed.

Her hands were free but Maia remained frozen, desperately listening to determine if she was truly alone. At last, she lifted the hood from her head and blinked rapidly, adjusting her eyes to the bright light of day. She winced as she peeled the tape from her mouth and then stared, shocked. This was no grimy basement. There were no chains or ropes or anything of nightmarish horror awaiting her. This room was resplendent. She wasn’t on a bed but a plush sofa and other sumptuous lounge seats faced her. Was this some fancy hotel?

I’m not going to hurt you, Maia.

That rough promise rang in her ears but she’d been afraid to believe it. But this room threw her off balance. Ornate wooden carvings decorated the doorways—she knew the skill with which they’d been carved and while the furniture she sat on was modern and comfortable, there were antiques in the corners and art on the walls that weren’t hotel standard. They were national gallery–worthy. A film of sweat slicked across her skin. She was so far out of her league. There were three doors she could try but she figured they were probably locked or guarded or both. She edged towards the wide window to see what she could from there instead.

Maia was used to pristine views of Pacific beauty. It was the clues on the land that made her jaw drop and there was one very big clue right in the middle of the immaculate gardens below her. A tall pole with the flag of Piri-nu barely fluttering in the still warmth.

The wealthy nation was situated in the Pacific Ocean between Hawai’i and Marquesas. They were the islands Maia would most likely call home although she really considered herself to be stateless—she wasn’t sure she even had a birth certificate. But her father liked to work near Piri-nu because of the extreme wealth of its visitors. The nation was prosperous not just from agriculture, nor tourism because of its natural beauty, but also as an aerospace technology hub. One of the world’s largest telescopes was situated here together with a massive space rocket launch infrastructure that attracted billionaires and geniuses from around the world.

Any remaining fear faded in the face of pure confusion. This was laughable. Why would anyone want to kidnapherand bring her to the palace of the playboy king?

CHAPTER TWO

MAIAHEARDVOICESat one of the doors and backed against the window to keep as far as possible from whoever was about to walk in. Her pulse lifted as the door opened. Would it be her captor with the muscles and salty-spice scent?

The man who walked in was powerful, self-assured, stunning. Her hard-pumping heart made blood pound in her ears. He was as tall. He was as strong. But this was the king—Niko Ture himself!

As he closed the door she couldn’t stop herself staring, snared in the deep, dark, coffee-coloured eyes that gleamed like the water at sunset. Even though she didn’t have a smart phone she’d seen his image often enough on the old television in the crew room where they sometimes watched the news so she recognised those sculpted features now—the angular jaw, the distinctive high cheekbones. The stunning symmetry of his bone structure almost made her swallow her tongue. But she’d not been able to see the jaw of her kidnapper because of that mask. So she studied this man more intently—unable to quite believe the direction of her thoughts. He kept one hand in his trouser pocket, giving him a louche look, and that snow-white shirt was a touch too perfect, lovingly skimming that lean muscled chest. He didn’t usually look this serious on that screen. He was usually smiling.

‘Maia,’ he said. ‘I’m Niko, King of Piri-nu.’

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