Never Gamble with a Caffarelli

One of his star-struck wannabes, perhaps? Oh God! If she had to listen to him having bed-wrecking sex with some bimbo who had been smuggled into his room...

‘Monsieur Caffarelli?’ an official-sounding voice called out. ‘We wish to have a word with you.’

She heard Remy’s footsteps as he moved across to open the door. ‘Yes?’ he said in that charming, ‘I’m happy to help you’ way he had down to a science.

The official cleared his throat as if he found what he was about to say quite difficult. ‘We have received some information that you have a young woman in your room.’

‘Pardon?’ Remy’s predominantly French accent made Angelique’s belly do another little tumble.

‘As you are well aware, Monsieur Caffarelli, the dictates of our province state that no single woman must be unchaperoned with a man unless she is his sister or his wife. We have reason to believe you have someone in your room who does not fit either of those categories.’

‘Are you out of your mind?’ Remy sounded incredulous. ‘I know the rules. I’ve been coming here long enough. I would never do anything to insult Sheikh Muhtadi. Surely his officials—including you—know that?’

‘A junior member of our housekeeping staff has tearfully confessed to allowing a young woman access to your room,’ the official said. ‘We wish to check on whether this is true or not.’

‘Go on. Check.’ Remy sounded supremely, arrogantly confident. ‘You won’t find anyone in here but me.’

Angelique heard the door of the suite being flung open and her breath screeched to a skidding halt in her throat. Her heart was pounding like a sledgehammer on a rocky surface. It actually felt like it was going to leap out of her chest. She shrank back inside the closet, hoping the shadows of the space would conceal her. She even closed her eyes, just like a little child playing hide and seek, thinking that if she couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see her.

She heard firm footsteps moving about the suite, doors being opened and closed. The curtains were swished back. Even the drawers of Remy’s desk were opened and then shut.

A drawer? They thought she could fit in a drawer?

‘See?’ Remy’s tone had a touch of irritability to it now. ‘There’s no one here but me.’

‘The closet.’ The more senior of the two officials spoke. Angelique could almost picture him giving a brisk nod towards her hidey-hole. ‘Check the bedroom closet.’

‘Are you joking?’ Remy coughed out a laugh. ‘Do you really think I would do something as clichéd as that?’

The mirrored door slid back on its tracks. Angelique raised her right hand and gave a little fingertip wave. ‘Surprise!’

* * *

Remy could not believe his eyes. He blinked to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. That could not be Angelique Marchand in his closet.

He opened his eyes and looked again.

It was.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ He glared at her so fiercely his eyes ached. ‘What are the hell are you doing in my room? In my closet?’

She stepped out of the closet as if she was stepping out on to one of the catwalks she frequented all over Europe. She moved like a sinuous cat, all legs, arms, high, pert breasts and pouting full-lipped mouth. Her distinctive grey-blue eyes gave him a reproving look. ‘That’s not a very nice welcome, Remy. I thought you had better manners than that.’

Remy had never thought he had a temper until he’d had to deal with Angelique. He could feel his rage building up inside him like a cauldron on the boil. No one made him angrier than she did. She was willful, spoilt and a little too determined to get her own way. Did she have no sense of protocol or politeness? What the hell was she doing here? And in his room?

Did she have any idea of the trouble she could get him into?

She had made him look like a liar. Trust was everything in a place like Dharbiri. He might be a friend of the Crown Prince but flouting the rules out here was a definite no-no, friend or foe.

He could be deported.

Charged.

The blood suddenly ran ice-cold in his veins.

Flogged.

‘You had better have a very good explanation for why you’re in my room,’ he said through gritted teeth.

She swept her thick, wavy, glossy black mane of hair over one slim shoulder. ‘I came to see you about my house. You have to give it back.’ She nailed him with a look that was diamond-hard. ‘I’m not leaving your side until you sign me over the deeds to Tarrantloch.’

‘Monsieur Caffarelli,’ the older official spoke in a stern ‘don’t mess with me’ tone. ‘Would you please verify if this young woman is personally known or related to you? If not we will have her immediately evicted and the authorities will deal with her accordingly.’

Deal with her? Remy didn’t like the sound of that. As much as he hated Angelique, he could not stand by and see her come to any harm. He took a deep breath and put on his best ‘let’s be cool about this’ smile. ‘I’m afraid there’s been a little mix-up. I had no idea my fiancée was going to surprise me by turn—’

‘Your fiancée?’ Angelique and the senior official spoke in unison.

Remy gave the official a conciliatory smile. ‘We’ve been trying to keep our engagement a secret. The press make such of fuss of this stuff at home.’ He gave a Gallic shrug. ‘You know how it is.’

The official straightened his shoulders, his expression as formal as a drill sergeant. ‘This young woman may well be your fiancée, but it is against the laws of our land for her to be alone with you without a chaperone.’

‘So, we’ll get a chaperone,’ Remy said. ‘She won’t be with me long in any case, will you, ma chérie?’

Angelique’s eyes narrowed to hairpin slits but her voice had a false sort of sing-song quality to it that grated on Remy’s already overstretched nerves. ‘Only for as long as it takes, mon trésor.’

The official puffed himself up to his not considerable height. ‘Due to the circumstances of your fiancée’s...ahem...surprise visit, neither of you will be permitted to leave the province until you are legally married.’

‘Married?’ Angelique had joined Remy in a choked gasp of horror.

‘You’re joking?’ Angelique gaped at the official with wide shocked eyes. ‘You have to be joking!’

‘He’s not joking,’ Remy muttered just low enough for her to hear it. ‘Go along with it. Try and keep cool.’

Keep cool? Who was he kidding? He didn’t feel cool. He’d never had to think so fast on his feet in his life. Pretending she was his fiancée had just popped into his head. And it still might not be enough to get them over the line.

‘I’m not marrying you!’ She flashed him a livid, blue-lightning look. ‘I’d rather die!’

‘Yes, well, you just might get that choice,’ he said. ‘We’re not in France, Italy or England right now. Didn’t you check out the Smart Traveller website before you came?’

Her throat rose and fell. ‘I didn’t think. I just...’

‘Not thinking is something you do remarkably well.’ Remy gave her a dressing-down look. ‘You’ve made a lifetime’s work of it.’

Her small hands clenched into tight fists and her eyes gave him another deadly glare. ‘I thought you were best friends with the Crown Prince. Can’t he do something?’

‘Afraid not.’ Remy had already had this debate with his friend during university. ‘The royal family have a lot of power but not enough to overrule laws of the elder tribesmen of the province.’

‘But that’s ridiculous!’