Marion Lennox - Stepping Into The Prince's World

He thought about it. He needed a story that would make her almost soporific so the arm would totally relax.

‘How about Goldilocks and the Three Bears?’ he suggested, and she choked.

‘Really?’

‘Has anyone ever read it to you?’

‘I guess...not for a very long time.’

‘Same for me,’ he told her. ‘So correct me if I get the bears muddled. Okay, here goes.’

And he sat by the couch and stroked her hair and told her the story of the three bears. It was a simple story—not long enough—so he had to embellish it. He had Goldilocks as a modern-day Bond girl, escaping from villains. He had his bears trying to figure the villains from the good guys, and he put in a bit of drama for good measure.

In other words he had fun, blocking the fuzziness in his own head with the need to keep her attention. And as Baby Bear found Goldilocks, and good guys and baddies were sorted, and baddies were dispatched with buckets of Mama Bear’s too-hot porridge, and they all settled down for toast and marmalade, Claire’s arm did what he’d desperately hoped it would do. It clicked back into its socket.

In the silence of the room, between breaks in the very exciting narrative, they actually heard it pop.

The relief did his head in.

It was almost as if he hadn’t realised what stress he’d been under until the arm clicked back into place. The sound was like an off switch, clicking in his brain.

For the first time in his life he felt as if he was going to faint. He put his head between his knees—because it was either that or keel over. And Claire’s fingers touched his hair, running through the still damp strands. Caressing.

‘It’s done,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you.’

‘Thank you,’ he managed. ‘I couldn’t have borne it if you’d suffered permanent damage saving me. Claire, I need to fix you a sling.’

‘Raoul... First... Lie here,’ she whispered. ‘Please... Just...hold me.’

He’d been in deadly peril for two days. For a few hours earlier today he’d been sure he’d drown.

He was past exhaustion. He was past anything. Maybe Claire knew it. Maybe Claire felt the same.

‘Sling first,’ he muttered, and managed to tie her arm so it wouldn’t slip, but then he was done.

‘I need to sleep,’ Claire murmured. ‘The drugs... My arm... It’s all okay, but... Raoul, stay with me.’

She was lying on the huge settee, tousled, part-wrapped in a fleecy towel, part-covered by the huge blanket he’d found. The fire was putting out a gentle warmth.

He fought for sense but he was losing. He managed to toss more logs on the fire and then he stared into the flames thinking...nothing. Goldilocks and the three bears seemed very far away. Everything seemed very far away.

But Claire was edging sideways to give him room to lie with her.

There was no choice. He sat down on the settee and she put her hand up and touched his face.

‘We’re safe,’ she whispered. ‘Nice. Stay.’

He lay down, but the sofa wasn’t big enough to avoid touching. And it seemed the most natural thing in the world that he put his arms around her.

She curled into him with a sleepy murmur.

‘Nice,’ she said again. ‘Sleep.’

* * *

He woke and it was still daylight. Was it late afternoon or was it the next day? For now he didn’t know and didn’t care.

He was still on the settee. The room was warm. He was warm. The fire was a mass of glowing embers.

He was holding Claire.

There were aches in his body, just waiting to make themselves known. He could feel them lurking. They’d make themselves known if he moved.

But for now he had no intention of moving. He lay with the warmth of the woman beside him: a gentle, amazing comfort. Her towel had slipped. He was lying on her uninjured side. Her naked body was against his chest and he was cradling her to him. She was using his chest as a pillow.

He had a T-shirt on but it didn’t feel like it. Her warmth made it feel as if she was almost a part of him.

He could feel her heartbeat. Her hair had dried and was tumbling across his chest, and her breathing was deep and even.

After the perils, the fear, the exhaustion of the last two days, he was filled with a sense of peace so great it threatened to overwhelm him.

He’d been in dangerous situations before. He’d had moments when he’d ended up sleeping tight with other members of his unit, some of them women. He’d held people when they’d been in mutual danger.

But he’d never felt like this, he thought. As if this woman was right.

As if this woman was part of him.

That was a crazy thought, he decided, and he hadn’t even taken any drugs. What was going on?

He must have moved a little, because Claire stirred and opened her eyes and shifted a fraction. She didn’t move far, though. She was still cradled against him.

Her heartbeat was still his.

‘Nice,’ she said, as she’d said before she’d slept, and it was like a blessing.

‘Nice?’

‘The wind’s died.’

It had, too. He hadn’t noticed.

He had sensory overload.He couldn’t get past the feeling of the woman in his arms.

‘Pain?’ he asked, and she seemed to think about it.

‘Nope,’ she said at last. ‘Not if I lie really still.’

That suited him. They lay really still. Rocky was snuffling under the settee. Maybe that was what had woken them.

Or other, more mundane things.

‘I need the bathroom,’ she murmured, and he conceded that he did, too. And the fire needed more logs. And, to tell the truth, he was so hungry he could eat a horse—the milk and tea had barely hit the sides—but he was prepared to ignore everything if she’d stay where she was. But now Rocky had his paws up on the settee and was looking at them with bright, expectant eyes.

‘That’s his “feed me” look,’ Claire murmured, and she moved a little so she could scratch behind his ear with her good hand. And then she said, in a different voice, ‘I’ve lost my towel.’

‘So you have.’ It was hard not to sound complacent.

She tugged back, hauled the blanket up across her breasts and tried a glare. It wasn’t a very big glare. Those drugs must have packed a fair punch, he thought. She still looked dazed.

Actually...beautifully dazed. She had wide green eyes that seemed to be struggling to focus. She had skin that seemed almost translucent. Her lashes were long and curled a little, and her nose was ever so slightly snubbed.

‘You noticed,’ she said accusingly, and he shook his head.

‘No, ma’am. I’ve been looking at Rocky all the time.’

‘Liar.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

She grinned, and he thought that if she’d had two good hands she might have punched him. But one was still pretty much tied up. He was safe.

‘Life,’ she said.

‘Sorry?’

‘We fought to keep it. We might as well get on with it.’

‘You mean we need to feed the fire, go to the bathroom, feed the dog, find something to eat ourselves...’

‘And think of some way to contact the mainland.’ Her smile faded. ‘Will people be looking for you?’

He thought of his minders. At midday, when he’d spoken to Franz, he had been supposed to be with his unit. His minders had therefore been off duty. At six that night they’d have rung to check his itinerary for the following day.

He’d have been expected to be back well before six. They’d have rung and someone would have told them he was off duty. Then they’d have contacted Franz. ‘He’s off duty as of this morning. I believe he’s planning on returning home,’ he would have told them, and then someone would have been sent to check his kit and discovered it was still where it was supposed to be.