The Forbidden Prince Read Free

muscles under olive skin outlined with every step.
    â€˜How’s it going?’
    Mika dropped the hand she was using as a shield to look up as Raoul turned his head when she didn’t respond immediately. She tried to smile but changing the focus of her vision seemed to have made the spinning sensation worse.
    â€˜Here... It might help to hold my hand.’
    It was there, right in front of her, palm downwards and fingers outstretched in invitation.
    And it was huge.
    Not the hand, although it had long, artistic-looking fingers. No. It was the idea of voluntarily putting her own into it that was so huge. Five years was a very long time not to have allowed the touch of a man’s skin against her own.
    But the need to survive was an overwhelmingly strong motivation. Strong enough to break a protective barrier that was inappropriate in this moment. She put her hand in his and felt his fingers curl around hers. She could feel the strength of the arm attached to that hand. The solidness of the body attached to the arm. The confidence of each step that was being taken.
    He was half a pace ahead of her, because there was no room to walk side by side, but the hand was all that mattered.
    He was holding her.
    And he would keep her safe.
    * * *
    She was a fighter, this Mika.
    And there was something wild about her.
    She was certainly unlike any woman he’d ever met before. For a start, she was out here all by herself, which advertised independence and courage, but she was tiny. Her head barely reached his shoulder, which probably made her look younger than she really was—an intriguing contrast to those big, dark eyes that made you think she’d seen far more than her age should have allowed for. She had spiky dark hair, which should have seemed unattractive to someone who’d always favoured long, blonde tresses, but he had to admit that it suited Mika. So did the clothes that looked more suitable for a walk on a beach than a mountain hike—denim shorts that were frayed at the bottom and a loose white singlet, the hem of which didn’t quite meet the waistband of the shorts.
    The shoes weren’t exactly suitable either, being well-worn-looking trainers, and it looked as though her feet were bare inside them, but the surprise of that choice had been well and truly surpassed when Raoul had noticed her tattoo. The inked design looked tribal—like a series of peaked waves encircling her upper arm just below armpit level. No. Maybe even that observation had been trumped by spotting the tiny charm on the simple silver chain around her neck.
    A dolphin...
    The symbol of his homeland. What would she think if she knew that she was wearing something that gave her an instant connection to everything he held most dear in his life?
    But it had been that instinctive flinch from a touch that had been intended as no more than reassurance that had really given him the sense of wildness about her. It wasn’t just the physical appearance that said she made her own choices or the fact that she was alone in a potentially dangerous place. It was that wariness of the touch, the hesitation in accepting contact from another human, that had been revealed by her body language when he’d offered to take her hand.
    The trembling he’d felt when she’d finally accepted the offer.
    Or perhaps it was the way she’d been doggedly following him even though it was clearly an enormous struggle. She’d been as white as a sheet when he’d turned to check on how she was doing. He could see that she was pushing herself beyond her limits but he could also see the determination that she wasn’t going to let it defeat her. Anger, almost, that she’d been beaten into submission. Like a wild creature that had been trapped?
    Another hundred metres along this goat track of a path—past a rustic wooden sign with Praiano written on one side and Nocelle on the other—and Raoul could feel that the