in her eyes and the tightness of her lips.
‘How dare you?’ Sylvia’s voice shook with anger. ‘How dare you humiliate me in this way? I picked you especially because I thought you were sensible and decent. And you have destroyed the reputation of my company!’
‘No!’ Horribly guilty, overwhelmed by panic and humiliation, Holly shook her head. ‘They don’t even know who I am, and—’
‘The British tabloid press will have your name before you’re out of the stadium,’ Sylvia spat. ‘The entire nation heard the commentator say “That’s one girl who isn’t lying back thinking of England”. If you wanted sleazy notoriety, then you’ve got it.’
Holly flinched under the verbal blows, feeling as vulnerable as a little rowing boat caught in a heavy storm out at sea. What had she done? This wasn’t a little transgression that would remain her private secret. This was—this was… ‘Prince Casper has kissed lots of women,’ she muttered. ‘So it won’t be much of a story—’
‘You’re a waitress!’ Sylvia was shaking with anger. ‘Of course it’s a story!’
Holly stared at her in appalled silence, realising that she hadn’t once given any thought to the consequences of what they were doing. She hadn’t thought at all. It had been impulse, chemistry, intimacy; she bit back a hysterical laugh.
What was intimate about having your love life plastered on sixty-nine-metre screens for the amusement of a crowd of eighty-two thousand people?
She swallowed painfully. ‘Sylvia, I—’
‘You’re fired for misconduct!’
Her world crumbling around her, Holly was about to plead her case when she caught sight of Eddie striding towards them, his face like a storm cloud.
Unable to take any more, Holly gasped another apology and fled towards the kitchens. Heart pounding, cheeks flaming, she grabbed her bag and her coat, changed into her trainers and made for the door.
Nicky intercepted her. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I don’t know.’ Feeling dazed, Holly looked at her helplessly. ‘Home. Anywhere.’
‘You can’t go home. It’s the first place they’ll look.’ Brisk and businesslike, Nicky handed her a hat and a set of keys. ‘Stick the hat on and hide that gorgeous hair. Then go to my flat.’
‘No one knows who I am.’
‘By now they’ll know more about you than you do. Go to my flat, draw the curtains and don’t answer the door to anyone. Have you got the money for a cab?’
‘I’ll take the bus.’ Too shocked to argue, Holly obediently scooped her hair into a bunch and tucked it under the hat.
‘No way.’ Nicky stuffed a note in her hand. ‘Get a taxi—and hope the driver hasn’t seen the pictures on the screen. Come to think of it, sit with a hanky over your nose. Pretend you have a cold or something. Go, go, go!’
Realising that she’d set into motion a series of events that she couldn’t control, Holly started to walk towards the door when Nicky caught her arm.
‘Just tell me one thing,’ she whispered, a wicked gleam in her eyes. ‘The rumours about the prince’s talents—are they true?’
Holly blinked. ‘I—’
‘That good, huh?’ Nicky gave a slow, knowing smile. ‘I guess that answers my question. Way to go, baby.’
Ruthlessly focusing his mind on the game, Casper watched as the England winger swerved round his opponent and dived for the corner.
The bored blonde gasped in sympathy. ‘Oh no, the poor guy’s tripped. Right on the line. Why is everyone cheering? That’s so mean.’
‘He didn’t trip, he scored a try,’ Casper growled, simmering with masculine frustration at her inappropriate comment. ‘And they’re cheering because that try puts England level.’
‘This game is a total mystery to me,’ the girl muttered, her eyes wandering to a group of women at the back of the royal box. ‘Nice shoes. I wonder where she got them? Are there any decent shops in this area?’
Casper blocked out her comments, watching as the England fly-half prepared to take the kick.
A hush fell over the stadium and Saskia glanced around her in bemusement. ‘I don’t understand any of this. Why is everyone so quiet? And why does that gorgeous guy keep staring at the ball and then the post? Can’t he make up his mind whether to kick it or not?’
‘He’s about to take a very difficult conversion kick right from the touchline. He’s concentrating.’ Casper’s gaze didn’t shift from the pitch. ‘And if you open your mouth again I’ll have you removed.’
Saskia snapped her mouth shut, the ball snaked through the posts, the crowd roared its approval, and a satisfied Casper turned wearily to the fidgeting blonde next to him. ‘All right. Now you can ask me whatever you want to know.’
She gave him a hopeful look. ‘Is the game nearly over?’
Casper subdued a flash of irritation and resolved never again to invite anyone who didn’t share his passion for rugby. ‘It’s half time.’
‘So we have to sit through the whole thing again? Tell me again how you know the captain.’
‘We were in the rugby team at school together.’
Clearly determined to engage him in conversation now that there was a pause in the game, Saskia sidled a little closer. ‘It was very bad of you to kiss that waitress. You are a very naughty boy, Cas. She’ll go to the newspapers, you know. That sort always do.’
Would she?
Casper stared blankly at the crowd, trying to blot out the scent of her hair and the taste of her mouth—the softness of her deliciously rounded bottom as she’d lifted herself against him.
For a brief moment in time, she’d made him forget. And that was more than anyone else had ever done.
‘Why does your popularity never dip?’ Clearly determined to ingratiate herself, Saskia kept trying. ‘Whatever you do, however scandalous you are, the citizens of Santallia still love you.’
‘They love him because he’s turned Santallia from a sleepy, crumbling Mediterranean country into a hub of foreign investment and tourism. People are excited about what’s happening.’ It was one of Casper’s friends, Marco, who spoke, a guy in his early thirties who had studied economics with him at university and now ran a successful business. ‘Santallia is the place to be. The downhill-ski race has brought the tourists to the mountains in the winter, and the yacht race does the same for the coast in the summer. The new rugby stadium is sold out for the entire season, and everyone is talking about the Grand Prix. As a sporting venue, we’re second to none.’
Hearing his successes listed should have lifted his mood, but Casper still felt nothing.
He made no effort to take part in the conversation going on around him and was relieved when the second half started because it offered him a brief distraction.
‘What Santallia really wants from you is an heir, Cas.’ Saskia delivered what she obviously thought was an innocent smile. ‘You can’t play the field for ever. Sooner or later you’re going to have to break your supermodel habit and think about the future of your country. Oh no, fighting has broken out on the pitch. They’re all sort of locked together.’
Leaving it to an exasperated Marco to enlighten her, Casper watched as the scrum half put the ball into the scrum. ‘That was never straight,’ he murmured, a frown on his face as he glanced at the referee, waiting for him to blow the whistle.
‘Did you read that survey that put you top of the list of most eligible single men in the world?