Princess in the Iron Mask - By Victoria Parker Page 0,2

cast from the finest bronze. Beautiful, yet strangely cold.

A stinging shiver attacked her unsuspecting flesh and she wondered if there was a dry lab coat in the room next door. ‘Well, Mr Garcia, I think you’ve lost your way.’

An arrogant smile tilted his mouth. ‘I assure you, I lose nothing.’

Oh, she believed him. His mere presence pilfered the very air. She was also sure Lucas Garcia wouldn’t have just lost the chance of three and half million pounds.

An unseen hand gripped her heart. What was the point of her life if she couldn’t save others from what she’d gone through? Oh, she realised most of the children she met had families who cared for them, loved them—unlike Claudia, who’d been abandoned at twelve years old. But they still had to suffer the pain, the pity. The bewildering sense of shame. As with most childhood diseases, when adolescence gave way to adulthood the side effects waned. But she knew firsthand that was altogether too late to erase the emotional scars etched deep in the soul.

Eyes closing under the weight of fatigue, she inhaled deeply. She was so close to success she could taste musky victory on the tip of her tongue. Or was that his glorious woodsy scent? Good grief—she was losing it.

‘I need to speak with you on a matter of urgency,’ he said, the deep cadence of his voice ricocheting off the white-tiled walls.

God, that voice... ‘Have we met before?’ There was something vaguely familiar about him.

‘No,’ he said, standing with his feet slightly apart, hands behind his back, just inside the doorway.

Claudia suppressed an impulse to stand to attention. He was the most commanding man she’d ever seen. Almost military-like. Not that she had much to compare him to. One of the downfalls of self-imposed exile: she didn’t get out much. The upside was that she rarely broke out in hives and she didn’t get close to anyone. Claudia had no one and that was exactly how she liked it. No touching of her body mind or soul and there’d be no tears.

‘I’m extremely busy, Mr Garcia,’ she said, tugging at the cuffs of her coat, covering her wrists. ‘If you don’t mind...’

The words evaporated from her tongue as she caught the searing intensity in his blue eyes as he followed her every move, a frown creasing his brow.

Her stomach hollowed. Stop fidgeting and he’ll stop staring! ‘What exactly is it you want?’

‘May I come in?’ he asked, moving closer.

The word no was eclipsed from her mind as his body loomed impossibly larger. Within two seconds self-preservation kicked in and she edged her way around the desk to ensure a three-foot metal barricade. Back off, handsome.

Showing some degree of intelligence under all that ripped muscle, he paused mid stride, then devoured her face as if his eyes were starved. After he’d looked his fill their gazes caught...held. Claudia stared, mesmerised, as black pools swelled, virtually erasing the blue of his irises.

Pulse skyrocketing, the heavy beat echoed through her skull. After a few tense moments she blinked, trying to disconnect and sever the pull, unsure of what was happening. But no matter how hard she tried things just seemed to get worse: the temperature in the room soared and her spine melted into her pelvis under the scorching intensity.

‘Why are you staring at me?’ she whispered.

‘You look like...’ He blinked rapidly, his face morphing into a mixture of amazement and disgust as if he couldn’t quite make up his mind what he was feeling or thinking.

The past slammed into her and she stumbled back a step. She’d seen that look on too many faces as they’d stared at her juvenile muscle-fatigued body, ravaged by skin rashes as unsightly as they were unfair. Yet the most destroying memory of all was the black-hearted response from her own flesh and blood.

Oh, God, why was she thinking about that now?

‘What?’ she asked, reaching behind her to pat the desk, searching for her glasses.

Lips twisting, almost cruel, he said, ‘You look like your mother.’

Her hand stilled together with her heartbeat.

The glass door, the stark overhead lighting—all seemed to implode, raining shards of glass to perforate her carefully controlled, sanitised world.

Such a fool. So preoccupied with work. So pathetically enraptured by this man. She’d missed the signs staring her in the face.

His name. His deep, devastating voice. His fierce, powerful demeanour.

‘My parents sent you,’ Claudia breathed in a tremulous whisper.

No, no, no. She couldn’t go back to Arunthia. Not now. Maybe never. It was