Stolen Kiss From a Prince by Teresa Carpenter Page A

her knees.
    “Paparazzi,” Julian snarled. “Vultures, all of them. Take Samson below.”
    She had already grabbed Sammy up and headed for the stairs. Neil met her at the top. “It is just the press,” she told him. “I am taking him to the twin guest room. Can you make sure the blinds have been pulled down?”
    “No.” Julian spoke over her shoulder. “Use the master suite for him.”
    Confused, she looked up at him. “But—”
    “He is the future of Kardana,” he stated simply. “He requires the extra security the room provides.”
    Neil nodded an acknowledgment of the command and led the way below. He went ahead of Katrina into the master suite and made sure the window shades had been secured. While Neil collected Sammy’s and her luggage, she took the toddler to the bathroom. Back in the main room Neil had returned. Julian had joined him.
    The two men managed to shrink the room considerably with their sheer size. Their sheer presence. Yet they were nothing alike—one was a trained killer, the other a world leader. One lived life in the shadows, the other the limelight. Both were used to giving orders, but only one wielded power with the mere lift of an eyebrow.
    And no one would confuse who was who.
    Certainly not Katrina, who found it difficult to take her eyes off Julian. He stood, arms crossed over his chest, just inside the door. His amber gaze ran over her before he switched his attention to his head of security.
    Feeling his gaze like a touch, she shivered. Luckily he’d turned before she gave herself away. She blamed the kiss. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t forget the feel of his mouth on hers.
    Did his lingering gaze mean he was remembering, too?
    Putting the thought aside, she set Sammy down in the middle of the bed and moved forward to join the men.
    Neil quickly took her and Julian through the changing of the master suite into a panic room. She carefully kept her distance during the process. She really needed to get her inappropriate attraction under control. When the lesson ended, the train was beginning to pull from the station leaving the paparazzi behind.
    “Report,” Neil ordered, obviously speaking to someone on the other end of his headset. “Beale, handle it,” he directed, and then advised Julian, “A couple of men on the back stoop of the train, my lord. Most likely press. St. James reports no other suspicious activity. Please stay here while I assist Beale then make a sweep of the car just to be sure we have no other surprises.”
    Julian acknowledged his acceptance with a slight incline of his head. With a bow Neil exited the room.
    “Relax, Miss Vicente. Knowing the mechanics of activating the panic room is just a precaution. We must be ever vigilant.”
    That was a relief. But the train picked up speed, drawing a question from Katrina. “How do you suppose Beale will handle it?”
    Julian shrugged. “I expect he’ll ask the unwelcome guests to disembark.”
    “But these trains get up to a speed of two hundred kilometers an hour.” Her heart raced at the notion of debarking at such a speed.
    “Occupational hazard. Something they should have considered before attempting to catch a ride.”
    “Your Highness!” At her shocked exclamation he gave her a tight smile.
    “Do you imagine Beale throwing them from the train? No. If they refuse to leave while it is still safe, they will be restrained on the stoop and suffer a long, cold ride to the next station, where they will be charged for trespassing. We are not the monsters they are, Katrina.”
    “Of course not.” She flushed because she had envisioned the exact scenario he outlined. To hide her reaction she strode over to the seating area and tried for a bit of grace as she sat.
    Being around the palace since childhood, she well knew the press was anything but harmless. Rodrigo certainly proved just how far a paparazzo would go.
    There was big profit in getting that money shot, a million euros or more, depending