Mills & Boon Stars Collection: Convenient Vows: A Royal Vow of Convenience / The Paternity Claim / The Housekeeper's Awakening

‘It’s Doukas. Sophie Doukas,’ she said, using the surname of her Greek grandmother, knowing that nobody would be able to contradict her, because she hadn’t shown anyone her papers. A wave of guilt washed over her. She’d managed to distract them for long enough to forget they’d never seen them.

The steely gaze became even more piercing. ‘Unusual name,’ he observed.

‘Yes.’ Desperate to change the subject, she cleared her throat, mustering up a smile from somewhere. ‘You must be thirsty after your flight. Would you like some tea, Mr Carter?’

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ he drawled. ‘And it’s Rafe.’

‘Rafe,’ she repeated, aware that his cool tone contained the hint of a reprimand. So pull yourself together. Start remembering that he’s the boss and you’re supposed to be pleasant and obedient. ‘Right.’ She forced a smile. ‘I’ll make some right away. Andy, how about you?’

‘Not for me, thanks.’ The station manager shook his head. ‘I’ll wait for the morning smoko. See you outside when you’ve had a brew, Rafe. Take you on a quick tour.’

Sophie’s self-consciousness spiralled as Andy walked out, leaving her alone with Rafe Carter in a room whose walls seemed to be closing in on her. And even though making tea was a task she performed countless times every day, she felt like a coiled spring as she busied herself around the kitchen, aware of his eyes following her every movement. His grey gaze seemed to laser through her as she lifted a kettle which suddenly felt ridiculously heavy. Why was he even here? she thought as she poured boiling water into the teapot. Andy had said he wasn’t expected until springtime—by which time she would be gone and nothing but a distant memory. He certainly wasn’t expected this close to Christmas—which was now only weeks away.

She took a cup down from the dresser. It had been easy to forget Christmas in this exotic and tropical area of Australia, with its lush foliage and steamy heat, and the kind of birds and mammals which she’d only ever seen in nature documentaries. Yet because the men had demanded it, she’d made a stab at decorating the homestead with paper chains and plastic holly and a cheap tree made out of tinsel which she’d bought from the local store. The effect had been garish but it was so different that it had allowed her to forget all the things she was used to.

But now the familiar images of what she’d left behind came crowding into her mind, as she thought about Christmas on her island home of Isolaverde. She pictured mulled wine and golden platters piled high with sugary treats. She thought about the enormous tree which took pride of place in the palace throne room, which was decorated with real candles and diligently lit by the legions of faithful staff who served her. And beneath it the huge pile of presents, which she and her brother would hand out every year to the children of the city. She remembered the eager looks lighting up their little faces and, without warning, a wave of loneliness came washing over her. Suddenly she felt vulnerable. She knew how easy it would be to just throw the towel in and go home, but she didn’t want to do that. Not yet. Not until she’d worked out what she wanted her new future to be...

Giving the teapot a quick stir, she hoped Rafe would take his tea outside, or go to his own lavish quarters, which were in a separate part of this giant homestead. But her heart sank as he rested his narrow hips against the window sill with the look of a man who wasn’t going anywhere. And, unlike most people, he seemed content to let the silence grow. Didn’t he realise she was getting more flustered by the moment despite the fact that she’d spent her whole life being stared at? It just didn’t usually affect her like this. It didn’t make her breasts tingle, or a slug of disconcerting heat begin to gather low in her belly...

So say something. Pretend he’s one of those countless strangers you’ve spent your life meeting and exchanging polite words with.

‘Have you flown in from England today?’ she questioned, pouring milk into a china jug.

He didn’t smile back. ‘No. I’ve been on an extended trip to the Far East and I arrived in Brisbane yesterday. I was so close that it seemed crazy not to visit.’ His grey eyes gleamed. ‘And just for the record, I don’t live in England.’

She met the steely gaze. ‘But I thought—’

‘That my accent was English?’

She gave a weak smile. ‘Well, yes.’

‘They say you never really lose the accent you were born with, but I haven’t lived there in a long time. Years, in fact.’ He frowned. ‘And speaking of accents—I can’t quite work yours out. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything like it before. Are you Greek?’

Sophie distracted him by holding up the jug, her bright tone matching her smile. ‘Milk? Sugar?’

‘Neither, thanks. I’ll take it how it comes.’

She handed him the tea, wishing he wouldn’t stretch out his legs like that—a movement which was making the dark material of his trousers spread tautly over his powerful thighs. Was it his intention to get her gaze to linger there, like some reluctant voyeur? Yet ogling men was something she didn’t do. It wasn’t in her nature to be predatory. Any such behaviour would have been picked up and frowned on by the cameras which had followed her every move since birth. Even the man to whom she’d been betrothed—a man popularly known as one of the world’s sexiest men—had never aroused this kind of heart-pumping interest, which was making her fingers start to tremble.

In an attempt to hide her nerves, she brushed some imaginary crumbs from the table. ‘So where do you live?’ she questioned.

‘Mainly in New York, although I lived here full-time when I first bought the station. But I move around a lot between cities—constantly on the move. I’m what you might call an urban gypsy, Sophie.’ He took a sip of his tea, mocking eyes studying her over the rim of his cup. ‘And you still haven’t answered my question.’

‘I’m sorry?’ She batted him a confused look, hoping he might have forgotten. ‘What question was that?’

‘I asked if you were Greek.’

Sophie didn’t want to lie but if she told him the truth it would be like hurling a bomb into the room. Her anonymity would be over and her sanctuary would end. There would be questions. Lots of them. Because what could she say?

I’m a princess who doesn’t want to be a princess any more. I’m a woman who’s been brought up in a palace who has never had to cope with real life before. A woman who has been hurt and humiliated. Who has struck out to discover if she can cope with life without the protection she’s known all her life.

She met the cold gleam of his gaze. ‘My grandmother was Greek,’ she said. ‘And Greek is my mother tongue.’

He was even more watchful now. ‘Any other languages?’

‘English. Obviously.’

‘Obviously.’ His eyes glinted. ‘And that’s the lot?’

She licked her bottom lip. ‘I can get by in Italian. French, too.’

‘Well now, aren’t you the clever one?’ he questioned softly. ‘You certainly have a lot of qualifications for someone who’s spent the last few months frying steak and buttering bread for a bunch of station workers.’

‘I didn’t realise linguistic ability was a bar to being a cook on a cattle station, Mr Carter.’

Their gazes clashed and Rafe tried not to be affected by the sudden challenge sparking from her eyes, which was easily as distracting as the pert thrust of her breasts. On one level he was aware she was playing games with him by avoiding his questions and he wasn’t sure why. He frowned. But there was a lot he wasn’t sure about right now. Plenty of young women came from abroad to work in remote parts of this country—but he’d never come across anyone like Sophie Doukas before. He wondered just what she was doing here, when she looked as out of place as a diamond you might find in the rough. Andy had told him that when she’d first arrived she’d been green and naïve, but had been eager to learn. Rafe had wondered why his gruff Australian station manager had employed someone without even the most basic of skills, but now he’d seen her—he had a pretty good idea why.

His throat grew dry.

Because she was beautiful.

Really beautiful.

Not the kind of beauty which came from spending hours in front of the mirror or having a plastic surgeon on speed-dial. Something told him she looked that way without even trying. Her cheekbones were high, her eyes as blue as a Queensland sky and her dark hair was tied back in a shiny ponytail. She wore no make-up—but with lashes that long, he guessed she didn’t need to. And her lips. Oh, man. Those lips. His groin hardened. Just one glance at them and he could think of a million different X-rated ways he’d like her to use them—starting with that cute pink tongue working a very fundamental kind of magic.

But her appeal didn’t stop at her face. She had one of those bodies which looked amazing in clothes but probably better out of them. Even her cheap white T-shirt and unremarkable cotton shorts failed to disguise her long legs and curvy bottom, and she moved with the natural grace of a dancer. She was one very desirable female, that was for sure—and Rafe imagined Andy’s reaction when he had first seen her. What man could have resisted a woman who looked like this, turning up out of the blue as if in answer to every hot-blooded man’s dreams?

But Andy had also told him that she’d kept her distance. She wasn’t one of those foreign backpackers keen to enjoy anything new—including sex. Apparently she hadn’t flirted with the men or indicated that she might be up for some late-night hook-up. His manager had told him she seemed wary and could turn the ice on without really trying, which was why nobody had dared to make a pass at her. Rafe frowned. Yes. Wary was right. She was regarding him now in a way which reminded him of a bowerbird which had once flown into the homestead by mistake—its beautiful wings battering uselessly against the window pane as it tried to escape from its domestic confinement.

He took another sip of his tea, his interest stirred in more ways than one because he could sense she was trying to distance herself from him, and that never usually happened. He was used to instant compliance from the opposite sex whenever he wanted it. A gushing desire to tell him everything he ever wanted to know—and then more.

But not from Sophie Doukas it seemed. He wondered why she was being so cagey. And whether her reluctance to talk was responsible for the powerful beat of desire which was pooling even harder in his groin.

‘No,’ he conceded dryly. ‘Your linguistic ability is to be commended, even if you haven’t had much chance to practise your language skills out here in the bush.’ He shifted his weight a little. ‘I understand you and I are going to be sharing accommodation.’

She looked uncomfortable. ‘We don’t have to. I’ve been living in the far end of the main house since I arrived. Andy said it seemed crazy for it to stay empty and that it was much cooler in here. But now you’re back...’

She looked him straight in the eyes without any hint of the flirtation he would have expected from any other woman in the circumstances.

‘I can easily move into one of the smaller properties,’ she continued stiffly. ‘I’d hate to feel I was in your way.’

Rafe almost smiled. No. She definitely wasn’t flirting. Hell. When had been the last time that had happened? ‘That won’t be necessary,’ he said. ‘It’s plenty big enough for two people. I’m sure we won’t have any problem keeping out of each other’s way. And I’m only passing through—one night max. Which reminds me.’ He leaned back against the window and looked at her speculatively. ‘I don’t remember Andy mentioning how long you’re planning on staying?’

He watched as her body language changed. And how. She picked up a teaspoon she’d left lying on the table and carried it over to the sink as if it would explode if she didn’t quickly plunge it into a bowl of water.

‘I...hadn’t really decided,’ she said, still with her tensed back to him. ‘Soon. Just after Christmas, probably.’

‘But won’t your family miss you at Christmas?’ he probed. ‘Or maybe you don’t celebrate Christmas?’