Ash a smile nearly as warm as the one she had given the boy when he did as she asked.
It would be unbelievably easy for a man to be seduced by the warmth of such a smile, Ash acknowledged. And by Sophia herself, as well? He shrugged as the question arose, knowing full well as he did so just how much his body was still aching from the denial he had imposed on it.
They were out of the centre of the city now and travelling on a road along a sea-facing promenade. On the other side of the road Sophia was surprised to see that the buildings had a distinctly art-deco flavour to them, but before she could ask Ash about this they were climbing along another road into what Sophia could see was a very exclusive-looking residential area filled with expensive modern apartment blocks.
Sophia wasn’t totally surprised when the limousine came to a halt outside one building that looked even more expensive than the rest.
‘My case,’ she reminded Ash, avoiding the hand he held out to her to help her from the car. She simply did not dare to touch him, not with every bit of her still aching with longing for him.
‘The driver will have it sent up to the apartment,’ Ash told her. He looked at his watch, mindful of his appointment. It shouldn’t take too long for him to organise a suitable flight to London for Sophia. He could, of course, have left her to fend for herself but that wasn’t Ash’s way. He had been brought up with a strong sense of responsibility towards his heritage and a duty to those who depended on him. That was part of the role into which he had been born as maharaja.
When he had children, a son, an heir—as he must—he would make sure that whilst that child understood the duties that went with the privilege and the wealth he would inherit, he would not be burdened by them. A child needed to be allowed to be a child. And between parent and child there needed to be love, as well as mutual respect. As an orphan he had missed out on that love, but even having parents did not guarantee it. Sophia was the proof of that.
Sophia. There he was allowing himself to feel sympathetic towards her again. His footsteps ringing out on the cool marble of the floor to the foyer of the apartment building, Ash paused to turn round to look at her.
Her dark hair was softly tousled, her face free of makeup, her eyes dark and luminous with curiosity as she studied her surroundings. Her lips parted slightly.
To his chagrin, desire, raw and fierce, and definitely unwanted, kicked through him, causing him to turn away from her as he told her curtly, ‘The lift is this way.’
Reluctantly Sophia followed Ash. She’d have preferred it if he’d simply left her at the airport to make her own arrangements to board the first available flight for London. The lift, like the building itself, was very modern in glass and steel, and Sophia wasn’t surprised when she followed Ash into his apartment to discover a large open-plan living space with a whole wall of glass and a terrace beyond it, both with panoramic views. Nor did the decor of cool whites, charcoal greys and strong matt black surprise her, either. It was all so very masculine. Like Ash himself? A dangerous twist of sensation ached low down in her body.
‘Sit down. I’ll organise some breakfast.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ Sophia refused. ‘All I want is to get to London. I wanted you to leave me at the airport and not bring me here—’ She broke off as her mobile chirruped the arrival of a message, her body tensing. They’d know at home by now that she wasn’t there.
Ash had left her and she was on her own in the room. She reached for her phone, seeing immediately that the text she’d received was from Carlotta.
OMG, Sophia, her sister had written, what were you thinking? You being caught in bed with Ash is all over the internet. And I mean all over. There are reporters here and they’re grilling Father about you joining the mile-high club with Ash. He didn’t answer them, of course. He just stormed out the room. He’s really angry, Soph. And humiliated. I hope it was worth it. In my experience, though, it never is.
Quickly Sophia deleted the message, her fingers trembling and her heart pounding.
In the kitchen of Ash’s apartment the television was on showing a bulletin from a local English-speaking news channel. The sight of his own face on the screen had Ash stopping to watch.
A reporter was explaining that following the press discovery of Ash and Sophia together on his jet an announcement had just been put out by a spokesperson for the Santina royal family to say that, regrettably, when Princess Sophia had informed her father that he was about to be asked for her hand in marriage, he had been unaware of her whirlwind love affair with the Maharaja of Nailpur and had assumed that she was referring to another royal suitor.
The matter had now been clarified however, and the king was pleased to announce that Princess Sophia was engaged to be married to the maharaja.
Leaving the kitchen abruptly Ash returned to the living room of the apartment, reaching for the control to reveal the concealed TV screen.
‘I’ve found a flight with a seat on it but it doesn’t leave until this evening,’ Sophia told him. She’d have preferred an earlier flight and it went against her pride to have to accept Ash’s hospitality for longer than she wanted.
‘Watch this,’ he commanded grimly, ignoring her words as he switched on the TV which was running a weather bulletin.
‘What—?’ Sophia began, but Ash shook his head.
‘Wait,’ he said tersely.
For what felt like a small eternity Sophia stood in silence in front of the TV screen, not daring to move because of Ash’s grim manner, and then she heard the news reader’s announcement.
‘There is sad news to report for Mumbai’s matchmakers because today the King of Santina has announced that his daughter the Princess Sophia is to marry the Maharaja of Nailpur.’
With a growing sense of disbelief and horror Sophia watched and listened as the news item Ash had seen earlier was repeated.
Only when it had finished did she turn to Ash and tell him shakily, ‘You’ll have to speak to him, Ash, and tell him—’
‘I shall certainly have to speak to him, and the sooner, the better, but he obviously felt he had no other choice,’ said Ash coldly. ‘There’s only one person responsible for this situation, Sophia, and that person is you. You put yourself on my plane.’
There was nothing she could say to refute that, no matter how much she might wish to. Ash was opening his smartphone. He looked so grimly angry that for the first time in her life Sophia felt that she was facing a man who was even more formidable than her father. Far more formidable, in fact. This was Ash the maharaja, Ash the leader and the ruler of his people. This was an Ash who instinctively she knew would stop at nothing to defend the probity and honour of his royal role, and a quake of very real apprehension made her tremble inwardly.
The speed with which his call was put through to King Eduardo told Ash that the king had been expecting it. Indeed it was Ash’s opinion that the royal spokesperson had given the statement he had specifically to ensure that Ash did contact the king.
‘Ash.’ The older man’s voice was harsh and Ash suspected the use of his own first name intended to make him a supplicant for the king’s forgiveness rather than an equal.
‘Highness.’ Ash still responded formally, though. ‘There has obviously been a misunderstanding.’
‘A misunderstanding?’ Anger grated through the king’s voice. ‘There’s no misunderstanding about the fact that you have publicly shamed this family and Sophia’s fiancé.’
‘I understand your anger, Your Highness, but I can assure you that nothing happened that either you or Sophia’s fiancé need be concerned about.’ Ash spoke crisply whilst Sophia listened, white-faced and feeling far more distressed than she wanted to admit to.
Was it because of that, because of what he could see in her agonised expression, that he told her father in a more conciliatory tone, ‘The truth is that Sophia was overwhelmed by