Nina Milne – Marooned With The Millionaire (страница 6)

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.

‘Boxing?’ April tried to keep the disapproval from her voice.

‘Yes. Training is a great way to let off steam. There’s a whole lot of illegal boxing that goes on in the streets—the kind that can actually kill. I want this to be somewhere kids can come and pursue boxing safely.’

‘But it’s dangerous and violent and...’

‘It’s a sport. One that requires discipline and dedication. Danger and violence is on the streets.’

‘So, do you box?’

‘Yes.’

Heaven help her—because April certainly couldn’t help herself. An image of him stripped down, training with a punch bag, his muscles a testimony to discipline and dedication, shot across her mind.

‘Why?’ she managed, her reporter’s instincts coming to her rescue. ‘What’s the appeal?’

‘I started in my teens.’

His tone was less than forthcoming, and it wasn’t really an answer.

‘In fact it was boxing that started this place off. I set up a fight, offered to take anyone on in a one-on-one. I thought it would give them an incentive to come here.’

April stared at him. ‘And the best incentive you could come up with was to offer yourself up as a target?’ Horror touched her. ‘Couldn’t you have brought someone else in?’

‘I could’ve—but it wouldn’t have been as effective. I wanted to get their attention, show them that I’m more than some flash millionaire politician trying to rule over them. So, yes, I put myself on the line.’

He smiled suddenly and April blinked—the smile transformed his face, lit his dark blue eyes with a glint of amusement, and her toes twitched in her sensible flat navy shoes.

‘Don’t look so aghast. I’m actually pretty good.’

‘Yes, but you were up against fighters who might bend the rules. You could have been seriously hurt.’

She knew they were talking about teenagers, here, but she was pretty sure that a lot of the youths on the streets might be short on years but would be long on experience.

‘It was worth the risk. It got people here. A huge crowd, in fact, who stayed when it was over and listened to what I had to say about what was going to be on offer here. You heard Blake—these people are poor, but they have their pride. Most of them don’t want hand-outs. They wouldn’t have come here otherwise.’

‘What happened?’

‘I won. It was bloody, but the fights were fair. All but one, where the kid pulled a knife and got turfed out—not by me, but by the crowd. Three fights, and at the end they were willing to listen. The next day some of them came back, the day after a few more, and slowly... I think it’s working.’

His voice, the sheer force of his belief and zeal, held her mesmerised. As she looked around the ring she could picture the scene, hear the drip of blood on the canvas, the silence and the cheers of the crowds, the aura of grit and the focus of the fighters. Most of all she could see Marcus—a man willing quite literally to fight for his beliefs, to endure pain in order to win victory for others.

The idea took her breath away, made her feel a little light-headed even as she wondered why. What drove him to this? Grief over his best friend? A need to propel Axel’s vision into reality? Perhaps, but she thought there must be more to it. Whatever it was, she was damn sure he wouldn’t tell her.

‘I think it’s working too,’ she agreed. ‘Those kids are all thinking, and they all care one way or another. And they are all here.’

She followed him down another long corridor towards the unmistakable scent of food and the sizzle of onions and chips.

‘I’ll show you the canteen and then we’ll be on our way,’ Marcus said.

They entered a spacious room, complete with wooden tables and benches, one of which was being polished by a young girl April reckoned couldn’t be much older than seventeen.