MAID FOR A PRINCE: (Book 1) (Point St. Claire, where true love finds a way) (5 page)

He’d thought about their situation all morning. Now he wondered if he ought to make another change.

Standing this close, he could smell the lavender fragrance of her freshly washed hair. Lower down, her bare feet were clean of yesterday’s grime. Each toenail was painted iridescent pink, which stood out against her tan.

“You said you work for your friend at his tarverna,” he said.

“I serve meals and drinks, wipe down tables, sometimes mop floors.”

“You like that kind of work?”

“I like it more than painting gutters.” Holding the sifter, she squeezed repeatedly, and a mist of flour drifted into the bowl. “I love being with people, hearing them talk and laugh while they enjoy good food.”

“How would you like to work for me?”

She stopped sifting. “Work for you how?”

“This week. Preparing meals. Tidying up.”

She stared at him before a wry grin kicked up one side of her mouth. “You said yourself—no one is supposed to be here now but you.”

“Nevertheless, you
are
here. And I’ve decided I could use the help.” He eyed the bowl and pretended to frown. “Or perhaps I should wait to taste your cake.”

Looking dazed, she leaned a hip against the counter. “You want me to stay after all the trouble I caused?”

“The path will clean up. That cave-in would have happened anyhow.”

“But not with you right there, dodging the rocks.”

“Perhaps it was a good thing I
was
there. More rocks could fall. If I hadn’t gotten her out yesterday, the goddess might’ve been lost forever.”

Absently, she touched first her chin then her cheek. She looked so funny, mulling over his offer, parts of her face dusted with flour. He should probably let her know.

He indicated his own chin and cheek. “Flour,” he explained.

She smeared away the patch on her cheek but kept missing the dab on her chin.

“A little higher,” he said.

Looking at his face as if it were a mirror, she tried again. Lifting her jaw with a finger, he stroked the spot with the pad of his thumb. As he brushed, he felt her gaze roaming his face—his own chin, his mouth. Then he recognized a telltale stirring in his blood, the kind of pleasant steady pull that left him wanting to lift her chin higher and graze that spot with his lips.

After taking longer than was strictly necessary, his hand fell away. Her eyes were wide and her voice husky when she thanked him.

“Guess I’m messy in the kitchen, too,” she joked.

“We can deal with that. What’s your answer?”

“Let’s see. Start on my journey back to Maine and reality, or stay on a beautiful isolated Mediterranean island doing light duties for a prince?” She laughed. “I think I’d have to pay
you
.”

“Then we have a deal?”

She stuck out her hand and they shook on it. When his hand came away covered in flour, Helene’s eyes rounded and those same fingers covered her mouth.

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” she said.

He went to the sink, brushed off his palm, then headed straight out. He didn’t want to stand there contemplating the best way to brush the flour from her lips.

On the third day, Darius returned late in the afternoon to the villa. The main room and kitchen were empty. Then he heard water pipes working. Helene was running a bath. Having walked around the island for hours, sounded like a fine idea.

After a cool shower, he wrapped the towel around his hips and strolled out into his bedroom. Automatically, his gaze landed on the vault. Every day he brought the figurine out and enclosed her again before leaving his quarters. Back at the palace, she would also be safely locked away. By the time he needed to return her here to this island, that cave would have been cleared and reinforced. But more and more, Darius balked at leaving the figurine alone in that dank chamber again. 

He could have workers sign confidentiality agreements, but he feared the cave’s location would be leaked. Suspicion behind the reason for the reinforcement would no doubt spread. Perhaps the press would pick up on rumors, sniff around, ask questions. Despite a regular sea patrol to keep the island safe, it was a miracle the cave and its hidden treasure had remained a secret this long.

Stepping into pants, Darius recalled what Helene had said days before. These were, indeed, different times. His people enjoyed modern conveniences, modern points of view. They were well-educated and aware of the world. Society had evolved.

But traditions were valued and maintained because they provided some sense of stability in an unpredictable world. Customs and beliefs were central to identity. To national pride. The mystery surrounding the goddess and her powers, which were linked to harmony and longevity, was important. Still, was it time to tweak logistics and perhaps release the figurine from her confinement as Helene had suggested?

Walking over to the figurine, Darius thought of his father. The late king had taught his eldest never to underestimate lessons from the past. The riot that had cost so many lives a hundred years ago was a perfect example.

When Darius had told Yanni Kostas of his decision to keep Helene on the island, his friend and advisor had subtly reminded him of tradition, too. Darius had acknowledged Yanni’s concern, but he had no regrets where Helene was concerned. He still spent the majority of his time here alone in reflection, and he appreciated her help with chores like meals. And, yes, he appreciated her company during down time, too. Hiring some help now didn’t compare with tampering with tradition. With possibly removing the fertility figurine from this island forever.

Then again, the figurine and her powers were myth as far as the masses were concerned. Only four people in this world knew for certain she actually existed. In essence, he was the only one who stood between what had always been and change. Between listening to common sense or bowing to superstition. The goddess might not be able to cast a spell, but she was a treasure that deserved to be protected and preserved in twenty-first style.

Surely, after that cave-in, his father would agree.

Closing the door, he moved into the main room. Helene was still in her quarters, so he put on some music. In the kitchen he found a platter of olives, cheese, bread, and meat, as well as karpoozi—watermelon.

On the balcony, he placed the platter between the settings Helene had arranged on the table. Balcony torches were lit. In the middle of seeing to the wine, he caught a movement out the corner of his eye. He turned around―and almost fumbled the carafe.

A woman stood framed by the arched doorway, looking for all the world like a Grecian goddess. Her flaxen hair was swept up in a classic style. Her dress would tempt a priest to break his vows. The ankle-length silk gown lay draped expertly around her breasts and fell from the high-cinched waist in perfect folds to her dainty, unadorned feet. A glittering palm-sized pin in the shape of a dolphin secured the fabric at one side while the other shoulder remained delectably bare.

He didn’t care where Helene had found that outfit. He was only glad she had.

Blindly he set the carafe down as she moved toward him. With each step, the split in her gown parted enough for him to catch a glimpse of shapely leg.

“I found these bits and pieces in a drawer. I guess maids like to dress up, too. I hope no one minds.” She lifted and dropped that bare shoulder. “I was sick of shorts and baggy shirts.”

He tried to speak. Instead he cleared the knot from his throat at the same time she spotted the food.

“You didn’t have to bring that out,” she said, coming nearer.

“I’d have to do more if you weren’t here.”

She popped a plump olive in her mouth but rather than take a seat, she moved to the balcony rail. He followed.

“I like that music,” she said.

“It’s a Cretan lyra.”

“I’ve heard it before. A man sometimes plays one in Alexio’s taverna.” She faced the sea. “I wish I could play an instrument. I’m hopeless at reading those black dots and squiggles. Reading history was always much more fun.” Leaning on the rail, her attention shifted from the peaceful view to meet his gaze again. “What did you study in college?”

He’d been examining her profile—pert nose, dimpled chin, the slender slope of her neck. Now he refocused.

“I went to university in England. Studied business. Economics. History too. The palace library on the main island has some interesting volumes about these parts.”

She nodded but didn’t presume to ask if that was an invitation to check out the library books firsthand, which was good because seeing her in this moonlight, in that dress, his thoughts were a little scrambled. He might have said yes.

He had enjoyed their evenings together, listening to the sea and hearing her chat on about her life in America and how fascinating she found this part of the world. Darius found
her
fascinating. She was easy to talk to. She made him laugh. She helped him relax.

He simply liked her being around.

If Helene knew, she might blame his interest in her on the fertility figurine and her mesmerizing powers. Myth said that the goddess could inspire deep—even mindless—desire between a couple, particularly here on this island. But he had no intention of losing his heart, even if he had thought about testing some physical waters. Tonight, the idea of bringing Helene close was way too tempting.

“I found a book in the study here,” she was saying. “A classic written in English.”

“My mother loved to read.”

Helene was quick to add, “I was careful to put it back exactly where I found it.”

“You’re welcome to anything here, Helene.”

“You’re not worried I’ll destroy something?”

He gave her a censuring look. The only thing he was concerned about—the goddess—was safely locked away.

She gazed out over the slopes. “I recognize the olive trees and pines, and all the fruit trees in the orchard. But what’s that big green one over there?” She nodded at the nearby monster.

“A hickory.” Darius leaned both forearms on the rail. “There’s a Greek myth surrounding them. The story grew over time but the original version involves a woman named Carya.”

Helene thought for a moment. “I don’t recognize the name.”

“Among other things, Carya was a virgin.”

She bit her lip. “Not the sacrificial type, I hope.” 

“Not exactly.” He shifted to face her. “Dionysus, son of Apollo, visited King Leon and fell passionately in love with one of his three daughters,” he explained.

“Carya.”

He nodded. “Dionysus left the court but when he returned for her, Carya’s sisters tried to stop her from leaving with him. As punishment for their jealousy, he drove the sisters mad. Then he and Carya escaped together. Later, when she died, Dionysus turned his beloved into a tree.”

“Why?”

As Helene gazed out at the hickory, he became more aware of the rise and fall of silk draped over her breasts. “I suppose a tree can still breathe,” he said. “Can still feel.”

A breeze picked up. Nearby, a torch threw sparks and Helene moved back. To shield her, Darius skirted around to stand close on her other side.

“It’s said that when Dionysus and Carya first kissed,” he went on, “all the birds in Greece began to sing.”

The silk of her dress, moved by the breeze, fluttered back against her body. Every curve and peak beneath was thrown into tantalizing relief. When his gaze met hers again, her eyes were glistening. He tried to read the emotion there.

Apprehension or anticipation?

“Maybe the birds started singing here on this island first,” she said.

His hand slid along the rail toward hers. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth before she cast a look out over the surrounding trees again. “All the birds are asleep now though.”

“Perhaps we should wake them.”

“Wake them how?”

His hand scooped around her waist. Bringing her close, he inhaled her lavender scent and murmured, “I’ll show you how.”

When Darius’s lips touched hers and lingered, Helene’s eyes drifted shut. A heartbeat later, he drew her closer, and she dissolved like a tablespoon of sugar in hot water. Then one warm palm cupped her nape and gently angled her head.

As a kiss created in heaven deepened, Helene leaned in more. When the big warm hand on the small of her back slid lower, her pulse began to pound in a way that left her reeling. Was this really happening?

Out of breath, she broke away. But his mouth found hers again and this time he held her so close, every cell in her body seemed to catch fire. Her breasts suddenly felt so heavy. Their tips so sensitive and hot. Through to her core, she was tingling. Everything, everywhere, sizzled and ached for his touch.

Darius’s mouth finally left hers, but his arms remained, iron bands holding her close.

“Listen.” His smile grazed her lips. “The birds are singing now.”

The next kiss was even deeper. A thousand times hotter. With his mouth covering hers, his tongue parted her lips and a kernel formed, glowing and throbbing deep inside of her.

When he finally drew away this time, she slumped. The backs of his fingers traced her hot cheek, gently lifted her chin.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She managed a nod.

He studied her face for a long moment. Did she look as dizzy as she felt?

“You should sit down,” he said. “Eat something.”

“I’m not hungry,” she got out. Just behaving like a schoolgirl who’d never been kissed.

His slow, knowing smile left her feeling even more light-headed. “Perhaps I should kiss you again,” he murmured. “That’s what you had planned when you put on that dress, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t think I was the kind of girl a prince would want to kiss.”

He traced soft kisses over her brow before he whispered against the shell of her ear, “You thought wrong.”

This time
she
kissed
him
.

As his mouth claimed hers again, she coiled an arm around his neck and gave herself over to sensations she’d never known before. Nerve-endings fired, the world dropped away, and then she knew. Knew for sure. This was the emotion she’d wondered about all this time. This was the thrill that left a woman feeling both deliciously lost and finally found. 

When his mouth left hers, she bit her lip to stop a sigh. She was trembling. On fire. But he didn’t sweep her up into his arms. He didn’t carry her to his bed. Instead, in the flickering light, his gaze seemed to have sharpened.

He brushed hair away from her brow and then took one measured step back. 

“You need some time,” he said.

Time for what?

She reached for him again, but he caught her hand, brought her wrist to his lips, and nuzzled halfway up her arm before he took another step away.

“I’ll eat in my room tonight. In the morning, we’ll talk.”

Helene held onto the rail. She wanted him to kiss her again, to hold her until she couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. She didn’t need more time. But…

Maybe he did.

She could admit that draping herself in silk had as much to do with getting a reaction as finding something different to wear. But Darius was already thinking ahead. Tomorrow he’d be focused on his future again, which was a royal light-year away from hers.

“It’s okay,” she said. “You stay out here. I had something to eat before you came in.” She started off. “Think I’ll just go to bed. Lie down.”

When he caught her arm again, that same delicious heat wove through her. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said.

“I’m not embarrassed.” She put on a smile. “I’m tired. That’s all.”

With his gaze burning a hole in her back, she held her head high and walked away.

The next morning, Helene had finished the dishes when Darius appeared. The line between his brows said he wasn’t pleased. Was he disappointed she hadn’t joined him for breakfast?

The previous night before she’d left him alone on the balcony, she’d said she wasn’t embarrassed. But later, alone in her room, she relived again and again those kisses, how she’d practically whimpered in his arms. Then she recalled his reasoning that she might need more time. All through the night her cheeks had burned. By the time she’d crawled out of bed, bleary-eyed, she wondered how she would ever face him again.

It was harder than she’d even imagined.

She sent over an airy smile before casually wiping her hands on a cloth. “Morning.”

“I missed you at breakfast,” he said, buttoning up a fresh shirt.

“Everything was laid out on the table like normal. I had to…wash my hair.”

“I thought you washed your hair last night.”

“I wanted to wash it again.

With narrowed eyes, he folded his shirt cuffs back, revealing strong bronzed forearms. “I thought you might like to join me for a walk. It’s a nice day out.”

She glanced out the window. “Yep. Beautiful.”

“So?”

“So what?”

His jaw tightened, his chin went up. “So, get some shoes. I’ll meet you at the door.”

When she was alone again, Helene slumped. If only her stomach would quit flip-flopping all over the place. Clearly he wanted to talk, and at some stage they had to get this “kissing in the moonlight” situation sorted.

Awkward times a thousand, but sooner was probably better than later.

In silence, they strolled down the winding path that led to the beach. But rather than turning right toward the cave, Darius veered left. They took a track that meandered through soaring columns of pine trees and overlooked the dazzling sun-kissed sea. Other than the wash of waves, everything was hushed.

“It’s so peaceful here,” she said as they rounded a high shoulder.

“Not too quiet?”

“Why would you say that?”

“Just remembering your lust for adventure.”

She only plucked a wild blueberry from a bush and popped the berry in her mouth. The less said about any kind of lust, the better.

“Do you like your life in North America?” he asked.

“Sure. And I do miss home…my friends, of course, Miller Bakery’s whoopie pies, old Judd Everett’s stories.”

“Who’s Judd Everett?”

“A retired lobsterman and self-proclaimed local historian. Judd knows everything there is to know about the Point. He says he even knows what happened last Halloween up at the lighthouse, but he only hints at it.”

“Halloween...” Darius reached over and took her hand. “I’m thinking this story involves ghosts.”

“I like the idea of ghosts. Friendly ghosts, anyway. What about you?”

“I just want to try a whoopie pie.”

She laughed and he gave her hand a squeeze. She was glad he’d made the move. Although she wasn’t sure now where this was heading. How it would end.

“I couldn’t wait to try a real French pastry,” she said. “Real Greek Easter cookies.”

“Koulourakia.
Delicious
.”

“I tried to cook some once. When mom tasted one, she was kind enough not to spit it straight out.”

“She sounds like a good mama.”

“Way too protective though. A real worry wart. I used to spend all my time trying to convince her I wasn’t hanging with the wrong crowd. That I didn’t do dope or steal cars. I swear, when I’m a mom, kill me if I turn paranoid about every single thing.”

Kicking a pinecone, he chuckled. “I think I’d like your mom.”

“But this…” Closing her eyes, Helene turned her face up toward the treetops and dappled sunshine then inhaled the crisp woodsy scent. “This is pure freedom. A slice of heaven on earth.” Particularly with Darius walking alongside of her and that wave of discomfort from last night all but gone.

When the path forked, he led her down a trail that ran toward another gorgeous blue bay. The shore was laced with scallops of sea-foam. The hillside and beach were filled with a flower Helene hadn’t seen before in such a cloud. Tall stalks of sea squills were everywhere, some flopping under their own weight, every one covered in tiny white flowers.

“They’d look amazing in a vase,” she said.

“Won’t need too many. They’re huge this time of year.”

He already had an armful when he snapped a final stem. Trying to fit it in with the rest, he fumbled and this last stalk fell toward the ground.

He grabbed for it. So did she. At the same moment they both caught the stalk, his hand swept over and trapped hers.

Their eyes locked. Helene’s heart began thumping while the air between them throbbed and drew them closer still. Then the tip of the sea squill tickled her chin and Darius let go of his grip.

As his hand dropped away, Helene noticed something else in the sand near her feet. Kneeling down, she scooped it up.

“A cockleshell.”

Darius sat beside her and laid down the stalks. “They’re everywhere here.”

So pretty
. Helene turned the shell over. Her fingertip traced two lines that she imagined made a V.

“I’ll keep this as a memento.” She added, “If that’s okay?”

“You don’t need to ask for a shell, Helene.”

“Are you sure? Because if you’re going to change your mind, I’d rather know now.”

His grin was wry. “You’re not talking about a shell, are you? We’re talking about last night. About me walking away.” His jaw shifted. “We can’t go back to how things were before we kissed.”

“Before
you
kissed
me
, you mean.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

He reached out, brought her close. The tip of his nose circled hers before he pressed a barely-there kiss on one side of her mouth. Then his lips traced all the way around her jaw. Her world was spinning by the time his mouth captured hers.

The kiss was light, delicious and steeped in meaning. He was tasting her—enjoying her—as if she were a freshly plucked peach.

Gradually, his mouth left hers. His voice was deep. Determined. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“For starting something then chickening out?”

His lips twitched with a wry grin. “Right.”

“Are you going to do that again?”

“Actually, I was going to suggest that we head back to the villa.”

Helene’s stomach jumped all the way to her throat, but then she threw out a challenge. “I’ll race you.”

“Race me?” He chuckled. “You’ll lose.”

“You never know. I’m feeling pretty fired up.”

His smile changed. “Then there’s something I need to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Get a head start.”