Marooned With The Millionaire

Without subtlety she leapt sideways—she’d take her chances with the youths, who she could now see didn’t actually seem any threat. In fact she’d swear their studied nonchalance disguised pleasure.

‘Hey, Marcus.’

‘Blake.’ Marcus stepped forward and the two exchanged some sort of complicated handshake.

‘You here to train?’

‘Not today.’ Marcus shook his head. ‘I’m here to show April around—she’s a writer. April, this is Blake and Gemma, Jacob, Aurelie and Isaac.’

‘Why’d you bring her here?’ The suspicion in Gemma’s voice would have curdled milk. ‘She’s a gossip columnist. She won’t be interested in the likes of us.’

‘I’m a writer,’ April interjected. ‘I’m interested in all aspects of Lycander.’

‘Not just this ridiculous, showy waste of money royal wedding?’ Blake said. ‘And the so-called perfection of the Prince and his bride? My family can’t afford food whilst they squander millions on fireworks.’

Gemma shook her head emphatically, her bright blonde hair swishing in disagreement. ‘You need to look at the bigger picture, Blake. Sure, they’re spending a whole heap of money—but solely on Lycandrian goods, which will bring in loads of revenue to Lycander. Revenue that Frederick will put back into the system to benefit the people, so that your family and mine won’t have to rely on food banks.’

‘Charity.’ There was no disguise for the bitterness in Blake’s voice as he kicked at the kerbside. ‘People say that we’re layabouts and criminals, but what are we supposed to do?’

Isaac weighed in. ‘Accept the benefits on offer. Frederick has set up free courses. My dad has enrolled on a mechanics programme. Once he qualifies, maybe he’ll be given a chance at a better life.’

‘That’s one man out of thousands.’

‘No one said change can happen overnight. It’s a start.’

The debate continued and April glanced at Marcus, who had taken no part in the discussion. He simply leant against a wall and watched with interest, respect and definite pride. He caught her gaze and for a long moment held it, his dark blue eyes intent. She gave a near shiver—not of fear, but of sheer attraction.

Pushing off the wall, he asked, ‘So what do you all think of having a democracy?’

Gemma shrugged. ‘If you’d asked me two years ago when Axel died I’d have said yes.’

At the mention of Axel, April sensed a small movement next to her and turned her head, caught the flash of pain fleeting across Marcus’s dark blue eyes, the shadow of grief and loss. Not obvious, but evident to her. Hell, she could smell grief a mile off—sniff it out with the bitter sense of personal experience.

Without thought she moved a little closer to him, in an instinctive desire to offer sympathy as they listened to Gemma.

‘Because I believed Frederick would be a repeat of Alphonse—a playboy rather than a tyrant, a ruler who wouldn’t care about Lycander. But he promised that he would follow Axel’s policies, and so far he has. So right now I’m happy to give him a chance. But only if he is the real deal—if it turns out this is all a con, a ploy, a lie, then I’ll be on the streets in protest.’

‘So,’ April asked, ‘who here and now would vote for a democracy?’

By now more people had gathered, and there was a hum as the question circulated.

‘Those for?’

Hands were raised, but nowhere near as many as April would have expected.

‘Those against?’ Now there was a sea of hands, including Blake’s.

The discussion continued, and it was clear the group had forgotten that April was even there.

She turned to Marcus. ‘Interesting.’

‘Sure is. Because if you had seen a lot of these teens a few months ago they wouldn’t have cared. That’s part of the problem—sheer apathy or a mindless belief of the kind Brian Sewell encourages. He takes people’s rightful dissatisfaction with the system and turns it into hatred and violence.’

‘Whereas here you encourage people to think about it. And that is interesting too.’

‘In what way?’

‘It’s you, isn’t it? This is your project, your input. I saw how those kids looked at you—they care about your opinion and I saw how proud you are of them.’

There was a pause and she couldn’t help it—she grinned.

‘You’re blushing.’

‘I am not blushing.’

‘Yes, you are.’ Without thought she reached up. ‘Right there.’

Lord knew she meant to point at his cheek, but somehow along the line the wires got crossed between her brain and her fingers and instead she brushed her hand down the angle of his cheekbone, along the firm line of his jaw tinged with early-afternoon shadow.

Her breath caught in her throat and for too long—way too long—her hand remained against his skin. Until finally her brain caught up with events and panic descended, sending the order to snatch her fingers away.

Unfortunately the panic also took a stranglehold on her vocal cords and no words, no excuses, no witty quip came to her lips.

‘Now I think it’s you who may be blushing.’

His deep voice caressed her skin and then he lifted a hand and oh-so-gently trailed a finger down her own cheek. Her tummy clenched at the hot flash of desire that shot through her.

‘Right there.’

It was a good thing he didn’t know that right now he’d be hard put to find a part of her body that wasn’t flushed with heat. An image of his finger continuing its trail streamed through her brain and she closed her eyes and summoned up the power of common sense.

Hadn’t she learnt her lesson? Learnt how attraction could deceive and twist and lead her astray? Enough. This man had a goal—to keep her from her story—and maybe his intent now was to distract her from her purpose.

Moving backwards, she summoned a rictus smile. But as she forced herself to look at him she saw his expression was as full of horror as her own, and she knew that whatever had just happened Marcus’s surprise equalled her own.

That hadn’t been a strategic move by Lycander’s Chief Advisor—in fact he looked as flummoxed as she felt. He, however, was recovering considerably quicker.

‘Right. We seem to have got distracted by a blushing contest. I declare it a draw. Now, why don’t I show you around the inside of the centre?’

He nodded towards the group of teens, who were still deep in conversation.

‘For the record, these kids are Lycander’s future, and I want them to have a future that doesn’t include seeing the inside of a prison. They deserve a lot more than that.’

His words pulled her into reality, brought her focus back. She nodded, deciding that the best way to go was to expel the whole memory of the past few minutes and erase it from her timeline. Hard, though, when her skin still tingled. She tried to concentrate solely on her surroundings, creating a memory of the image because she knew that this was a place she would like to write about.

April could see the thought that had been put into the interior of the centre, the efforts to make it look less institutional and more ‘homelike’. No doubt a lot of the youths here didn’t have the best home life, and so would appreciate the comfy sofas and recliner chairs and bean bags, the television and the well-stocked bookshelves, the up-to-date magazines stacked on tables.

There was a gym, a room with a pool table, a ping-pong table and then, after going down a corridor, they entered a room that contained a boxing ring.