Stranded with the Prince Page 6

  “Don’t count on it. I don’t know why these people are on the island, but something tells me they want the place for themselves. If they saw us land yesterday, they know that we’re here. Sooner or later, we’ll meet up with them. And when we do, it’s either them or us,” he said, laying it on the line.

  Her mouth was as dry as the sand under their feet. She felt a new wave of panic wash over her, but then she steeled herself. She was no shrinking violet. She was a New Yorker. “Them,” she said, without hesitation. “We need to get them before they get us.” Not that she had the faintest idea how to go about that.

  Prince Lazlo looked surprised for a moment. But then, for the first time perhaps ever, he flashed her a pleased grin. “That’s my spunky matchmaker.”

  “Marital consultant,” she corrected him, out of habit.

  He good-naturedly nodded. “We’ll go back to the Painted Rocks to spend the night there. We’ll gather some oranges on the way.”

  “I really hate that place. The paintings give me the creeps.”

  “We need that caviar, and the champagne wouldn’t be bad, either. If we emptied another bottle, we’d have two for water when we finally find that stream.”

  “Maybe we’ll come across it on the way back.” Just their luck that they would find a hidden well with an ancient stack of bones, but they couldn’t find water.

  “There’s something eerie about this island. Do you feel it?”

  One aristocratic eyebrow slid up his forehead. “You should have thought of that before you booked me on a two-week pleasure trip here with three husband-hungry women.”

  “I was running out of time. It made me desperate.”

  He gave her a narrow-eyed look.

  “I do feel bad about it. In hindsight,” she confessed.

  “You should. You’re messing with my life. But I’m willing to let it go for now. We’ll worry about that when we get back to the palace.”

  “I make most of my clients very happy.” She prided herself on that. “Usually, they even invite me to their wedding. One couple asked me to be godmother to their little boy. And another named their girl after me.” She didn’t want him to think that she was a total loser.

  “I dare say that’s not going to happen with me, Milda. Why don’t you quit now? Cut your losses.”

  “I need this assignment too badly to quit.”

  He gave her a questioning look, but she wouldn’t elaborate. “Maybe you’ve been less than thrilled with me until now, but when I find you that perfect partner, you’ll be happy. You’ll be grateful that I tried so hard.”

  “And off she goes, down the track.” He shook his head and turned to go, muttering a few words under his breath. Then he said, “I’ll go first. I want you to follow at a distance. That way, if we run into anyone and they catch me, you’ll have a chance to escape.”

  She wouldn’t have thought of that, but it made sense, although she wasn’t sure why a prince would risk his life for a commoner, a commoner who wasn’t even one of his subjects. Self-sacrifice from Prince Lazlo? Not the image the media had painted of him, for sure. But maybe there was more to him than being a speed-obsessed, spoiled, womanizing prince.

  They reached the wild orange grove at twilight, filled the bag and their shirts with fruit that provided both nourishment and moisture. But in all their wandering, they hadn’t found any signs of the stream. Whatever else they did, the next day they had to find fresh water.

  They ate more honey, then moved on. Night fell, clouds soon drifting in to cover the moon. She followed him, listening for the soft noises he made, nearly indiscernible from the noises of the forest. He was far enough ahead so that the sound his feet made on the ground barely reached her.

  The footsteps she heard suddenly from behind were much louder, much closer.

  Chapter Four

  There were more people on the island. Roberto swore. He’d wondered about that, and followed the second hiker for a while this afternoon, hoping the man might lead them to others, if there were any. But the guy had noticed him and Roberto had to take him out. Not an easy task. For someone taken by surprise, he had put up a surprisingly good defense. Still, he wasn’t a match for Roberto’s prison brawl skills, skills that had taken his decades-long street fighting experience to a whole new level.

  By the time Roberto got back to the man’s tent, Marco had been there, rifling through the supplies.

  They’d gathered up what they needed, then went to meet up with José. Then the three of them decided to bring one of the dead men’s tents over and set it up, leaving behind the cave José had discovered high up the hillside. They’d spent the previous night in that place, grateful to be out of the rain. It was more easily defensible than a tent, should anyone come to the island to look for them; but the swarm of bats that returned from their night hunt at dawn had scared them.

  So they’d set up the tent, then ate and rested. When twilight fell, José went on guard duty and Marco went to sleep. But Roberto was restless. He’d decided on a walk in the woods instead. And heard a man say something. A woman answered. Then they fell silent as they separated and passed through the forest. More hikers? For an uninhabited island, the place sure seemed popular.

  He gripped his knife, moved closer to the woman. Then a branch snapped under his feet, and he swore silently, spotting her at last. She stopped and looked back. He remained still, in the shadow of a leafy bush. She didn’t see him, and she turned back to the path.

  He moved closer, watching every step, until he was close enough to lunge. He knew where the knife had to go, to hold her mouth shut so she couldn’t give warning.

  But as he got ready to make his move, the man strode into sight.

  “Don’t stay too far back. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “I heard something,” she said.

  The man peered into the woods behind her.

  Roberto held his breath. They were two meters from each other, impossible to miss, but for the thick vegetation and the dark of the night. The tree canopy was low, but sufficient to block out most of the moon above.

  The man peered into the deep shadows, then, after a moment, shrugged. “The night noises of the forest, I’m sure. We should keep going, we’re almost there.”

  They walked off together and soon came to the end of the woods, entering a flat and open area, where Roberto could no longer follow them unseen.

  But at least, now he knew that they were here. He and his team had more work ahead of them before the island would truly be theirs.

  MILDA WAS BONE TIRED by the time they reached the Painted Rocks, but she hadn’t complained. She simply pushed forward and did what needed to be done. Most women Lazlo knew would have been whining for a limousine by now, to take them back to their five-star hotel.

  Somehow, she managed to look more attractive without makeup and with smudges on her face, her hair all mussed. Spending the day with her, just trying to survive, was starkly different from the way they normally spent time together—her harping on him to get married and he trying to get away. Their trek across the island hadn’t been bad. She’d been scared out of her wits, but held herself together. She even helped pick oranges, had offered several times to carry their bag. Had assisted in burying Vincent.

  He was beginning to appreciate her company. And as much as he told himself that kissing her again would be a considerable mistake, truth was, he wouldn’t have minded tasting her lips one more time, honey or no honey.

  He shook his head.

  Absolutely not. Not this woman.

  When he’d threatened her with more kisses, he’d only said that to keep her off-kilter. He hadn’t meant any of that. Definitely not.

  Except, he was beginning to rethink the issue, once they were snuggled together for warmth under the over hang again. They hadn’t dared to erect their tent. The tents of both guards had been discovered by the killers. He figured it’d be better if their shelter wasn’t visible from a distance.

  “We n
eed to find water tomorrow,” she said as she lay stiffly next to him.

  “We’ll have to be careful. If the men who killed Ben and Vincent have been living on the island for a while, they probably know the creek and use it.”

  She stilled. “I just thought of something.”

  He waited.

  “When I first got the idea for your hike with the ladies, I talked with the chief of palace security.”

  “And he didn’t talk you out of it? I’m disappointed in the man.” How many people had a hand in setting him up? The sense of betrayal returned.

  “He didn’t know the details, just that I might be planning an event here that might involve some of the princes.”

  At least the man wasn’t laughing behind his back.

  “The point is,” Milda went on, “that he sent a team to make sure the island would be a safe location for my plans. They didn’t find anyone here.”

  “When was that?”

  “Three weeks ago. But your brother Miklos also sent a group of his men the morning before our arrival, to do another sweep. He gave me the all clear.”

  “He should have given me a warning instead.” He had a lot to say to his brothers once he was back at the palace.

  “So these men must have come here after us. Maybe during the storm that first night.”

  “Could be their boat capsized near the island. But they are no fishermen in distress. These are killers.” Again, all he could think of was the Freedom Council. More likely than the capsized boat with a couple of murderers inside, was that the men were here with a purpose, and that purpose was to kill him.

  Milda had fallen silent. He decided to drop the topic. He had no way of gaining any information, and there was little sense in speculating. Nor did he want to scare her.

  They listened to the noises of the night for a while, and he gradually relaxed. The stars were incredible, the moon lording over them like a king over his subjects. Milda would call him “typical prince” if he shared that thought with her, he realized, and grinned, forgetting the dangers around them.

  In this moment it seemed that they were the only two people on the island, in the whole world perhaps. Far from being uncomfortable, the thought brought him an odd sort of contentment.

  “Good night.” She turned from him.

  “Good night.” He put his arm around her waist as he held her from behind.

  And after a few minutes, she finally relaxed against him.

  The crevice provided them with little room. They’d decided not to risk lighting a fire, so they had to snuggle together for heat. They had one blanket under them, on top of the folded tent, not that the thin layer could make them forget that they were lying on a rock bed. The lone blanket that covered them was insufficient against the chill of the night. They needed each other to be even remotely comfortable.

  Their physical proximity meant nothing. At least, that was what he told himself.

  “Milda?” he asked a few minutes later, just to hear her voice, which wasn’t altogether unpleasant when she wasn’t harping.

  “Yes?”

  “What kind of name is that? Is it short for something? It’s not a typical American name.”

  “My family is Lithuanian American. My great grandparents came over on a ship, through Ellis Island.” She paused, as if considering whether to say more. Then she did. “Milda is the name of a mythical Lithuanian love goddess.”

  He heroically held back any smart comments, saying only, “Perfect name for a matchmaker.”

  She wiggled around to face him. Enough moonlight spilled into the crevice to illuminate her face. “Marital consultant.”

  “Is that a legitimate occupation in Lithuania?”

  She stiffened. “It’s a legitimate occupation everywhere. I’m a certified, card-carrying member of MCA, Marital Consultants of America.”

  “Of course you are.”

  Her chin came up. “The women of my family were always in the business, one way or another. My family name, Milas, is short for Milasiniks—‘love potion maker.’”

  Unease crept into his mind. “You haven’t—”

  “I don’t believe in potions. True love has to come from the heart, not from a bottle.”

  He normally wasn’t crazy about her ideas on true love, but he appreciated this one. The last thing he needed was for a desperate matchmaker to poison him. “No potions. Promise.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I could be offended by all this mistrust.”

  “We’re trapped on this godforsaken island because you tricked me,” he reminded her. “Trust is not going to come easily.”

  At least she looked contrite for a fleeting second. “Fine. No potions. I promise. Are you happy?”

  Not exactly, but as he lay next to her, his gaze straying to her crooked lips, he realized that it wouldn’t take much to make him at least a little happier than he was at the moment. She had surprised him today. Not many women had ever done that. He’d seen another side of her, and this other side was…not at all like what he’d seen of her at the palace. She had gumption. She had common sense. She sucked it up and toughed it out when things turned bad.

  If he wasn’t careful, he was going to develop some misplaced admiration for her…. All right, probably not. That would be going too far. But there was some draw between them, for sure.

  As he thought of their kiss in the orange grove, he could still taste the wild honey, and his head dipped forward without conscious effort. Her eyes went wide as their lips met.

  Soft.

  Sweet.

  Not two adjectives he would have ever used in connection with Milda before, but there it was. He caressed her upper lip with his, then the lower, pressing kisses to the corners of her mouth.

  One minute, her hands were between them, pushing him away. The next her eyes drifted closed as she capitulated. And what had begun as a lazy exploration turned serious all of a sudden.

  Hot need shot through him as he gathered her tighter into his arms. The chaste tasting of her lips seemed woefully inadequate. So he deepened the kiss, his body waking up all over as she let him in.

  All the tension, fight and fire that had built between them in the past five months, that whole giant ball of energy transformed in that moment, and the intensity of the desire he felt left his hands shaking.

  That sobered him up.

  He didn’t even like her, for heaven’s sake. Her job was to make his life miserable. And so far, she had succeeded splendidly. What would she do if he gave her any kind of power over him?

  He pulled away, his body reluctant to follow his mind’s direction.

  “Okay,” he said, then cleared his throat to get the hoarseness out of his voice. “I’m not certain what’s going on here, but it’s not going to keep happening. You were right. We shouldn’t do this. Ever again.” His body loudly protested, but he ignored his baser instincts with the aplomb of a prince.

  She was pulling back, too. Not that she had far to go.

  The small crevice only allowed an inch or two between them. Her warm breath still fanned his cheek. “Absolutely.” The first word came out a little dazed, but then she recovered herself. “It’s wrong. You’re my client.”

  A note of desperation snuck into her voice. “There are rules. I never should have— Could we please pretend this never happened?”

  “That would be best.”

  They both stayed quiet after he said that. Another rare occurrence of agreeing on something. He suspected that neither of them knew what to do with this unexpected harmony.

  “Why is this happening now?” she asked after a while, sounding frustrated.

  What was he supposed to say to that? He had no idea why his body suddenly noticed her and wanted her. But he wouldn’t make another move if it killed him. “Desert Island Syndrome,” he said as nonchalantly as he was capable.

  Her eyes narrowed. “That’s not too flattering.”

  “Neither of us is thinking rationally.”

  She
nodded in agreement. “The important thing is that we seem to have come to our senses.”

  “Exactly.”

  Another stretch of silence followed.

  “Tomorrow we figure out where those bastards are. We need to get one of the radios back from them, at least.” He was the first to speak this time, needing to get his mind on another track so his body would calm down.

  “Where do you think they are?” Milda obliged him, seeming just as anxious to forget that kiss.

  “There are caves and Etruscan ruins on the other side of the hill.”

  More silence. Then her hand came up as she touched his arm lightly. “I’m sorry I’ve put your life in danger. It’s the last thing that I wanted.” She sounded sincere.

  “Don’t worry about it. This is Valtrian land. Those criminals are not going to claim it. I’m going to take care of them.” He paused for a second as he thought of something. “You do realize that my brothers will actually be jealous of the adventure when I get back to the palace and tell them?”

  A ghost of a smile played on her lips as she retrieved her hand. “And yet they seemed so sane.”

  “My brothers? You must not have looked too closely.”

  But he was looking closely. At her.

  And he had to stop doing that before he forgot his resolution of not touching her again. Because every cell in his body still wanted her.

  He did the only thing he could think of, and turned his back to her. “Good night,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Good night,” she responded on a sigh behind him.

  Then something rattled in the woods and she was plastered against his back again. “What was that?”

  He listened, but the sound didn’t come again. “Probably just the wind.” He closed his eyes. Not that he expected to get any sleep, with her breasts pressing against his back. He fancied he could even feel the nipples.

  Chapter Five

  Milda soaked up the heat Lazlo radiated and wished she could sleep. She wouldn’t have moved away for anything. She needed the reassurance of his nearness.