Postcards From… Collection. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
clearly intent on murder. But when she went to move, to make her escape or save the photographer’s life—she didn’t know which—he was right back by her side again, pulling her forcefully into his arms.
‘Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not going anywhere.’
‘Come on, Anna. Show us a kiss!’ Bolder now, the photographer took a step closer, the camera flashing all the time.
Anna had a split second to make a decision. If she wanted to get away from this man, avoid being frogmarched back to her own engagement party and forced to announce her betrothal to a man she could never, ever marry, there was one sure way to do it. Standing on tiptoes, she raised her arms to link them behind her captors head, shoving her fingers through the thick swathe of his hair and pulling against his resistance to bring him closer. If this was what the photographer wanted, this was what he was going to get.
With one final, terrifically brave or wildly foolish breath—Anna had no idea which—she reached up to plant her lips firmly on his.
* * *
What the hell?
Shock sucked the air from Zahir Zahani’s lungs, numbing his senses, closing his fists. Plump and firm, her lips had swiftly turned from cold to warm as they sealed his own, the pressure increasing as she raked her hands through his hair to pull him closer. Her breath rasped between them, her delicate scent filling his nostrils, temporarily freezing his brain yet heating every other part of his body. Zahir went rigid, and the arms that were supposed to be restraining her were no more than useless weights as Annalina continued her relentless assault on his mouth. With the blood roaring in his ears, he found his lips parting, his body screaming to show her just where this could lead if she carried on this very dangerous game.
‘Fantastic! Cheers for that, Anna.’
The camera flashes stopped and Annalina finally released him, letting her arms fall by her side. Meanwhile the photographer was already on his scooter, his camera slung over his shoulder.
‘I owe you one!’
Turning the scooter around, he noisily zoomed off into the Paris streets, giving a cheery wave over his shoulder.
Zahir stared after him, suffering a split second of silent horror before his brain finally kicked into action again. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he grabbed his mobile phone. He’d have been able to catch the low life on foot if he didn’t have this vixen to deal with. But his security team would pick him up—get him stopped and get the camera tossed into the Seine, the photographer along with it, if he had any say.
‘No.’ Her cold, trembling fingers closed over the phone in his hand. ‘It’s too late. It’s done.’
‘The hell it is.’ Shaking off her hand, he started to punch in numbers. ‘I can get him stopped. I will get him stopped.’
‘There’s no point.’
He stopped short, the cold determination in her voice halting his hand. ‘And what exactly do you mean by that?’ A trickle of dread started to seep into his veins.
‘I’m sorry.’ Dark-blue eyes shone back at him. ‘But I had to do it.’
Hell! Realisation smacked him across the head. He’d been had. The whole thing was a set-up. This deceitful, conniving little princess had set a trap and he had walked right in. Fury coursed through him. He had no idea what her motive was but he did know that she would live to regret it. Nobody made a fool of Zahir Zahani.
‘You will be sorry, believe me.’ He kept his voice deliberately low, concentrating on controlling the rage that was pumping adrenaline dangerously fast around his veins. ‘You will be more than sorry for what you have done.’
‘I had no choice!’ Her voice was full of anguish now and she even reached out a trembling hand to touch his arm before demurely lowering her eyes to the ground.
Nice try, Princess. But you don’t get to fool me more than once.
Roughly grasping her chin, Zahir tipped back her head so she couldn’t escape his searing gaze. He wanted her to look at him. He wanted her to know exactly who she was dealing with here.
‘Oh, you had a choice, all right. You’ve chosen to bring scandal and disrepute to both our countries. And, trust me, you are going to pay for that, young lady. But first you are going to tell me why.’
He saw her slender body begin to tremble, her bare shoulders hunch against the shiver that ran through her. Bizarrely he itched to touch her, to warm that tantalisingly goose-bumped skin with his hot hands. But he would do no such thing.
‘Because I am desperate.’ Clear blue eyes implored him.
‘Desperate?’ He repeated the word with disgust.
‘Yes. I can’t go back to that party.’
‘So that’s why you set up this little charade?’
‘No, I didn’t set it up, not in the way you mean. I just took advantage of the situation.’ Her voice lowered.
‘You tricked me into following you. You arranged for that photographer to be there.’
‘No! I had no idea that either of you had followed me.’
‘You’re lying. That guy knew you.’
‘He didn’t know me. He knows who I am. There’s a difference. The press have been following me around all my life.’
‘So you are telling me this wasn’t planned?’
Annalina shook her head.
‘Think carefully before you speak, Princess. Because, I have to warn you, to lie to me now would be very foolish indeed.’
‘It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. And that is the truth.’
Despite everything, Zahir found himself believing her. He dragged in a breath. ‘So that...that little display you just put on...?’ He curled his lip against the traitorous memory of the way she had leant into him, the way she had messed with his head. ‘What exactly did you hope to achieve? What makes you so desperate that you would bring disgrace upon your family? Fabricate a scandal to rock the foundations of both of our countries?’
‘Disgrace I can live with. I’m used to it.’ Her voice was suddenly very small. ‘And the scandal will die down. But to be forced to marry Rashid Zahani is more than I can bear. That would have been a life sentence.’
‘How dare you disrespect the King in this way?’ Defensive anger roared in his voice. ‘The engagement will still be announced. The marriage will still go ahead.’
‘No. You can force me to go back to the party, even force me, with the help of my father, to go ahead with the announcement of the engagement. But, once those photographs go online, I’ll be dropped like a stone.’
Zahir stared into the beautiful face of this wilful princess. Her skin was so pale in this ghostly light, so delicate, it was almost translucent. But her lips were ruby-red and her eyes as blue as the evening sky.
He knew with a leaden certainty that she meant what she said. There was no way she was going to go through with this marriage. He could still find that photographer, destroy the photos, but ultimately what good would it do? What was to be gained?
Hell and damnation. After all the planning that had gone into this union, the careful handling, the wretched party... It had taken all his powers of persuasion to get Rashid to agree to marry this European princess at all. Months of negotiations to get to this point. And for what? To have the whole thing thrown back in their faces and Rashid humiliated in the most degrading way. No, he could not let that happen. He would not let that happen. He had been a fool to trust this wayward princess, to believe the empty promises of her desperate father. But the situation had gone too far now—he had to try and salvage something from this mess. He had to come up with a clever solution.
Decision made, he took hold of Annalina’s