Falling for the Secret Millionaire (17 page)

‘Did it have anything important in it? Like your wallet?' A churning in her stomach reminded her not to try looking over the edge of the cliff.

‘There's no point worrying about that right now. The light's going to fade before long, Mika. I need to get you off this track.'

Mika nodded. She scrambled to her feet, her own light pack still secure on her back. If she didn't look into the chasm, maybe she would be okay. She looked towards the solid side of the cliff, reaching out her hand to touch it as well.

‘I'm trying to decide which way would be best. You've come a long way onto the open part of the track already. It's probably better to keep going towards Positano rather than go down all those steps when it's getting darker.'

Mika swallowed hard and then nodded again. ‘That's where I'm living at the moment. In Positano.'

‘The track is quite narrow. Do you want me to walk ahead of you or behind?'

‘Ahead, I think... I can watch your feet. If I don't look at the drop, maybe the dizziness won't come back.'

It worked...for a little while...but, try as she might, Mika became more and more aware of the emptiness on the left side in her peripheral vision. Using her free hand to provide a kind of blinker also helped for a while but it wasn't enough. Her stomach began to fold itself into spasms of distress and her brain began a slow, sickening spin. She tried to focus on the boots in front of her: smart, expensive-looking leather hiking boots. Thick socks were rolled down above them and then there were bare legs, muscles under olive skin outlined with every step.

‘How's it going?'

Mika dropped the hand she was using as a shield to look up as Raoul turned his head when she didn't respond immediately. She tried to smile but changing the focus of her vision seemed to have made the spinning sensation worse.

‘Here... It might help to hold my hand.'

It was there, right in front of her, palm downwards and fingers outstretched in invitation.

And it was huge.

Not the hand, although it had long, artistic-looking fingers. No. It was the idea of voluntarily putting her own into it that was so huge. Five years was a very long time not to have allowed the touch of a man's skin against her own.

But the need to survive was an overwhelmingly strong motivation. Strong enough to break a protective barrier that was inappropriate in this moment. She put her hand in his and felt his fingers curl around hers. She could feel the strength of the arm attached to that hand. The solidness of the body attached to the arm. The confidence of each step that was being taken.

He was half a pace ahead of her, because there was no room to walk side by side, but the hand was all that mattered.

He was holding her.

And he would keep her safe.

* * *

She was a fighter, this Mika.

And there was something wild about her.

She was certainly unlike any woman he'd ever met before. For a start, she was out here all by herself, which advertised independence and courage, but she was tiny. Her head barely reached his shoulder, which probably made her look younger than she really was—an intriguing contrast to those big, dark eyes that made you think she'd seen far more than her age should have allowed for. She had spiky dark hair, which should have seemed unattractive to someone who'd always favoured long, blonde tresses, but he had to admit that it suited Mika. So did the clothes that looked more suitable for a walk on a beach than a mountain hike—denim shorts that were frayed at the bottom and a loose white singlet, the hem of which didn't quite meet the waistband of the shorts.

The shoes weren't exactly suitable either, being well-worn-looking trainers, and it looked as though her feet were bare inside them, but the surprise of that choice had been well and truly surpassed when Raoul had noticed her tattoo. The inked design looked tribal—like a series of peaked waves encircling her upper arm just below armpit level. No. Maybe even that observation had been trumped by spotting the tiny charm on the simple silver chain around her neck.

A dolphin...

The symbol of his homeland. What would she think if she knew that she was wearing something that gave her an instant connection to everything he held most dear in his life?

But it had been that instinctive flinch from a touch that had been intended as no more than reassurance that had really given him the sense of wildness about her. It wasn't just the physical appearance that said she made her own choices or the fact that she was alone in a potentially dangerous place. It was that wariness of the touch, the hesitation in accepting contact from another human, that had been revealed by her body language when he'd offered to take her hand.

The trembling he'd felt when she'd finally accepted the offer.

Or perhaps it was the way she'd been doggedly following him even though it was clearly an enormous struggle. She'd been as white as a sheet when he'd turned to check on how she was doing. He could see that she was pushing herself beyond her limits but he could also see the determination that she wasn't going to let it defeat her. Anger, almost, that she'd been beaten into submission. Like a wild creature that had been trapped?

Another hundred metres along this goat track of a path—past a rustic wooden sign with Praiano written on one side and Nocelle on the other—and Raoul could feel that the trembling in her hand had ebbed. The holding had all been on his part to begin with but now he could feel a return pressure from that small hand he was holding and it made him feel...good.

Protective. She hadn't wanted him to touch her but she'd allowed it when she'd reached the end of her endurance.

She was trusting him and he wasn't going to break that trust. He would look after this wild creature of a woman until he was absolutely sure she was okay.

‘Don't worry,' he told her. ‘It'll wear off as soon as you don't have that drop beside you.'

‘I know.' It sounded like she was speaking through gritted teeth.

‘It's nothing to be ashamed of,' he added. ‘Vertigo is like altitude sickness. It makes no difference how fit or strong you are. These things just happen.'

A tiny huff of sound suggested that Mika didn't let things just happen to
her
and Raoul felt a flash of empathy. Imagine if it had happened to him. If he'd set out to discover the qualities in himself that would allow him to face his future with confidence and he'd been left helpless and totally dependent on the kindness of a stranger...

Oddly, he felt almost envious of Mika. Maybe it took something that dramatic to strip away every layer that life had cloaked you with. To face that kind of fear would certainly reveal any strengths or weaknesses. Maybe the kind of challenge he needed was something like Mika had just faced—something that you would never choose voluntarily.

But you couldn't create one. Like the vertigo he'd told her about, it either happened or it didn't.

He
was
facing an unexpected development, however—a small thing, compared to Mika's challenge, but how on earth was he going to cope with losing that backpack? The clothing and toiletries didn't matter but he'd lost his wallet, passport and phone. It would be easy enough to place a call from a public telephone to request help but, even if his grandmother said nothing, he would hear the subtext of ‘I told you so'. Going incognito to be a nobody in the real world was not something a prince should do. It wasn't who he was.

Failure wasn't an option. He just needed to come up with a new plan. Maybe he'd find inspiration by the time this walk was over.

The sigh he blocked after a few minutes of nothing remotely inspirational occurring seemed to transfer itself to Mika, as she pulled her hand from his.

‘I'm okay now.'

He'd been so lost in his thoughts that Raoul hadn't noticed how the track had changed. They weren't on a cliff edge any more. The path had widened and there were trees on either side.

A glance at Mika and the change he saw in her appearance was startling. She was still pale but the tension in her face and the panic in her eyes had gone. And, if that hadn't made her look different enough, her mouthed curved into a grin that he could only describe as cheeky.

‘Stupid, huh?'

It was impossible not to grin back.

‘Not at all. Like I said, it can happen to anybody.'

‘It's like a switch has been flicked off. Now that I can't see the cliff, I'm fine.' She ducked her head and when she looked up again there was something soft in her eyes. Something that made Raoul feel a flush of warmth like the tingle you got when you held cold hands out to a fire.

‘Thank you
so
much. I... I think you might have saved my life.'

‘It was my pleasure.' The words were quiet but he meant every one of them. Oddly, he needed to clear his throat after he'd uttered them. ‘Let's hope there are no more open parts to the track.'

‘I don't think there are. We should get to the village of Nocelle soon and then it's just a whole lot more steps down into Positano.' Mika raised her eyebrows. ‘I wonder if the police station will still be open.'

‘Excuse me?'

‘So you can report the loss of your backpack. In case someone finds it.'

‘I think that's highly unlikely. It didn't look like the kind of cliff anyone would be climbing for fun.'

‘I can't believe I did that. I feel awful.'

‘It doesn't matter. Really...'

For a few moments they walked in silence. Dusk was really gathering now, and it was darker amongst the trees, so coming across a small herd of goats startled them both. The goats were even more startled and leapt off the track to scramble up through the forest, the sound of their bleating and bells astonishingly loud in the evening stillness.

‘Sorry, goats,' Mika called, but she was laughing. She even had some colour in her cheeks when she turned towards Raoul. ‘I
love
Italy,' she told him. ‘I might live here for ever.'

‘Oh? You're not Italian, then?'

‘Huh? We've been talking English since we met. What makes you think I'm Italian?'

‘When I first heard you call for help, you spoke in Italian. And you've got a funny accent when you speak English.'

‘I do
not
.' Mika sounded offended. ‘I can get by in Italian pretty well but English is my first language.'

‘So you are from England?'

‘No. I'm half-Maori, half-Scottish.'

‘You don't
sound
Scottish.'

‘I'm not. I'm a Kiwi.'

Raoul shook his head. She was talking in riddles. Her smile suggested she was taking pity on him.

‘I come from New Zealand. Little country? At the bottom of the world?'

‘Oh...of course. I know it. I've seen the
Lord of the Rings
movies. It's very beautiful.'

‘It is. What about you, Rafe?'

‘What about me?' He was suddenly wary.

‘Rafe isn't your
real
name, is it?'

The wariness kicked up a notch. ‘What makes you say that?'

‘You sounded like you were going to say something else when you introduced yourself, that's all. Do you have a weird name or something?' That cheeky grin flashed again. ‘Is Rafe short for Raphael?'

Relief that he hadn't been unexpectedly recognised made him chuckle. ‘Um...something like that.'

‘Rafe it is, then. Are
you
Italian?'

‘No.'

‘How come you speak English with a funny accent, then?'

He had to laugh again. ‘I'm European. I speak several languages. My accent is never perfect.'

‘It's actually pretty good.' The concession felt like high praise. ‘Are you here on holiday?'

‘Yes. You?'

‘No, I'm working. I'm doing my OE.'

‘Oh-ee?' The word was unfamiliar.

‘Overseas Experience. It's a rite of passage for young New Zealanders.'

‘Oh...and is it something you have to do alone?'

‘Not necessarily.'

‘But
you
are doing it alone?'

‘Yep.' Her tone suggested she wouldn't welcome any further questions about her personal life. ‘Oh, look—civilisation.'

Sure enough, they had reached the outskirts of the mountain village. There was no real reason to stay with Mika any longer. She had completely recovered and she was safe. But Raoul was enjoying her company now and he had to admit he was curious. Mika was a world away from her homeland and she was alone.

Why?

They walked in silence for a while as they entered the village of Nocelle. Raoul's eye was caught by big terracotta pots with red geraniums beneath a wooden sign hanging from a wrought-iron bar advertising this to be the Santa Croce
ristorante
and bar. Extending an invitation was automatic.

‘Can I buy you a coffee or something to eat? I don't know about you, but I'm starving after that hike. We could get a bus down to Positano if it's too dark to use the steps later.'

The invitation had been impulsive—a polite thing for a gentleman to do. It was only after he'd voiced it that Raoul realised how much he actually wanted Mika to agree.

He wanted to offer her food, not just because he was reluctant to give up her company—he wanted to look after her for a little while longer. To recapture that heart-warming sensation of winning the trust of somebody who needed his help although they would have preferred not to accept it.

It was just to make absolutely sure she was okay, of course. Nothing more. Hooking up with any young woman on this trip was an absolute no-no and, besides, he'd never be physically attracted to somebody like Mika. She was a tomboy, possibly the complete opposite to any woman he'd ever invited into his life or his bed—those picture-perfect blondes that knew how to pose for an unexpected photograph. Maybe that explained the fascination.