The Royal Groom (Wrong Way Weddings Book 4)

by Lori Wilde

  “Maybe later.”

  Maybe alone, she meant.

  “It’s hard not to see you through other people’s eyes,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” He frowned, wondering why the workings of her mind fascinated him.

  “Your title. Sometimes you seem so regal...not quite real.”

  “I assure you I have all the faults and weaknesses of our species.”

  “Do you want to come back to my room with me now?” His mouth went dry; his face stiffened, as though he’d just removed a very tight mask. He wanted to lie, to say something witty to defuse the tension between them, but he saw her soft pink lips and wavered.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “But you won’t.”

  “No.”

  “That wasn’t an invitation. I just wondered.”

  “I didn’t believe it was,” he lied.

  “You have responsibilities. You take them seriously. You wouldn’t let yourself be late for a meeting.”

  “No.” This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to be having with her. “What will you do today?”

  “I’d like to see the grassy knoll.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Where Kennedy was shot. Things are never what they seem, but sometimes they are, and sorting them out is harder than a black puzzle.”

  “Now I need to ask what a black puzzle is.”

  “A jigsaw puzzle, say of a black cat lying on a black bedspread.”

  “So they have to be matched by shape?”

  “Yes, but there’s not much difference in puzzle shapes. Sometimes the solution isn’t worth the work involved.”

  “There isn’t much you can do with a jigsaw puzzle when it’s finished,” he said.

  “You can glue them, use them as place mats or wall hangings.”

  “I bow to your creative instincts.”

  “Is that permissible? For a prince to bow?”

  He shook his head, bewildered by the direction of their conversation. They were using words to build a wall between them. He was surprised by her perceptiveness and confused by the intensity of his feelings. She told him she knew he couldn’t give first priority to his own desires, but how could he convince himself of that? Did she have any idea how badly he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until the world around them faded into oblivion?

  “When our engagement is over, I’ll answer your questions,” he said. “Now I have to prepare for my meeting. Enjoy your excursion. I’ll be interested to hear about it.” She watched him stride away, her throat tight with regret for what could never be, but that didn’t dull her admiration. What was so special about his walk?

  He did it the usual way, one foot in front of the other. It wasn’t fair. How could he be cute and sexy with his shorts clinging to his wonderfully rounded bottom and still walk with dignity? He was everything a man should be—and he might as well come from Mars for all the good it did her.

  She’d never been so mortified. She’d invited a prince to go to bed with her, and he’d turned her down.

  She dragged herself onto the stationary bicycle and pedaled until her calves burned. This was nothing like her crush on Brad in high school or her brief but heady infatuation with Barry in college. Her only real affair, with Tom, had been comfortable, convenient, and not very exciting. They’d shared rent, had pleasant-enough sex when they were both in town at the same time, and parted on a reasonably friendly basis when he went gaga over a schoolteacher in Massachusetts.

  She’d never experienced anything like this crazy obsession with the prince. She thought about him all the time and lay wide-eyed at night, fantasizing about being his bride. For the first time in years, she wanted advice from her mother. That was scary.

  She finally stopped pedaling and limped away from the training room. Pride decreed she do a Dallas tour if only to remind Max—and herself—she had a life. When he left, she still had a career, friends, ambitions, interests...

  “Oh, shoot,” she muttered to herself. “A black cat on a black sheet?” It was as bad as her bumper sticker. He probably thought her brain was made of marshmallow.

  The meeting went well, no thanks to him, Max knew. Without a team of sharp lawyers backing him up, he would have floundered. His concentration was nil, his bargaining skills dulled. Leigh was with him all day in spirit, and he caught himself rethinking their conversations, trying to understand her appeal. It was like measuring mist. There was nothing he could hold in his hands or weigh on a scale, yet she affected everything he did.

  He couldn’t wait until she was scheduled to meet him for dinner with a Texas oil baron, a multimillionaire and potential investor, and his wife. The prospect of consuming several pounds of half-cooked beef at one of the city’s famous steakhouses was bearable only because Leigh would be with him.

  He called her room three times in the hour before they were supposed to leave, more dejected each time she failed to answer. At the appointed hour, he ordered his bodyguards to meet him in the lobby and walked alone down the corridor to her room, this time on the same floor as his. What would he do if she hadn’t returned from her excursion? Should he search for her? Would it mean something had happened to her? Would she leave him without a word?

  He’d done all he could to keep her by his side during his travels. He couldn’t command her—and he wouldn’t beg her—to finish the trip if she was determined not to stay with him. Nor would he deny her the interview. She’d earned it. He knew how irksome and tedious royal duties were, especially for a woman with her independent ways.

  Taking a deep breath, he knocked softly on her door, bracing himself to discover she wasn’t there.

  When the door flew open, he smiled with relief.

  “I thought perhaps you weren’t coming with me this evening.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “You didn’t answer your phone.”

  “Are you the pest who called three times in ten minutes?”

  “You heard and didn’t pick it up?”

  “After a day of doing Dallas, I needed a long soak in a hot bath. I knew by the time I climbed out of the tub and dripped my way to the phone, the caller would’ve hung up.”

  Much as he’d love seeing her rise from her bath, flushed from the heat and languidly lovely, she was a delight now to his eyes, dressed in a champagne dress with short bell sleeves and a skirt that ended midthigh. A lightning pattern of sequins underscored her breasts and made an artfully jagged descent to the hem.

  “How was your day?” he asked, forcing himself not to stare.

  “I learned a lot, but the most bizarre was hearing all the wild theories about who had Kennedy killed. The driver of the tour bus has a theory I’ve never heard. He thinks Elvis was really working for the CIA—not totally preposterous because he was in the Army—”

  “Excuse me for interrupting, but we do have a limo waiting,” Max said, wishing he could spend the rest of the evening alone with her.

  “Will my rain poncho look silly with this dress? It was starting to rain when I came back to the hotel.”

  “You won’t get wet. The driver will have an umbrella.”

  “Of course. I forget how people rush to wait on you.”

  “That smacks of criticism. In your democratic zeal, you Americans forget how many jobs—well-paying jobs—depend on my lifestyle.”

  “I don’t want to offend you, but really? Can you imagine how boring it must be for Hans and Fred to follow you around like a pair of mastiffs?”

  “Their jobs are considered prestigious in my country. They are well paid and enjoy travel, fine food, good hotels...”

  “No family life, no time for girlfriends or wives...”

  “My visits abroad are important to my country’s economy,” he said stiffly, resenting the truth in what she said almost as much as her cheekiness in bringing it up.

  “Uh-oh, you’re angry with me,” she said with a trace of contriteness.

  “You have a right to
express your opinions, however misguided they are.”

  “If you’d rather I don’t go tonight...”

  He put his hand on her upper arm and tried to ignore the softness of her skin and the firmness of the muscle under it.

  “The reservations have been made.”

  “Yes, it’s on the itinerary.” She was angrier than he was, her words crackling in the quiet room.

  “Tell me more about what you did today,” he said, regretting the bad start to their evening. “Unfortunately, I won’t have any time for sightseeing here.”

  He guided her into the hallway with a light touch on her shoulder, pulling the door shut behind them.

  “All right,” she said, slightly mollified. “I heard another theory. The same space aliens who took Elvis kidnapped JFK.”

  “What else did you do?” He steered her toward the elevators, his hand resting lightly on the side of her waist.

  “You’re not really interested.”

  He’d never seen her pout like this, her lips pursing, the lower one protruding slightly more than the top. If ever a mouth invited a kiss...

  “Do you ever consider the possibility that something isn’t exactly what it seems?” she went on.

  “I prefer to deal in facts. You can save the wild rumors for your magazine,” he said, unused to women who challenged him and not sure how to deal with her.

  “It’s not that kind of magazine!”

  She pushed his hand away and stopped walking, confronting him with hands on her hips, legs spread, eyes sparkling with anger. Her anger made his dissolve. Fighting wasn’t at the top of the list of things he wanted to do with her.

  “It was unthinking of me to make a remark about a magazine I’ve never read. I apologize.”

  “Just like that? You apologize?”

  “Can we get on an elevator? The limo is waiting.”

  “I don’t want your apology. I want to be mad at you.”

  “So you’ll have an excuse not to go this evening?”

  “No—I don’t know. You make me absolutely crazy. I can’t sort out where the prince ends and the man begins. You can be so judgmental...”

  “Judgmental? Because I don’t believe Elvis and JFK were abducted by extraterrestrials?”

  To his relief—and delight—she laughed, genuine heartfelt laughter that compelled him to join in. Surprising himself and her, he took her in his arms and kissed her, long and hard and a little desperately. There wasn’t time for this to go anywhere, and he was probably ruining her lipstick and smearing it all over his mouth, but heaven help him, he needed her. He wanted her.

  “Excuse me, please,” a stranger’s voice interrupted.

  They were blocking the corridor, forcing a silver-haired couple to get their attention in order to pass.

  “Very sorry,” Max murmured, stepping aside and taking Leigh with him.

  “I liked that apology,” she teased softly. “It was worth the fight. I should make you angry more often.”

  She gave him a sly little smile and reached up to touch his mouth with her fingertips.

  “You’re wearing most of my lipstick. Should we go back to the room and clean up?” she asked.

  “Regretfully, I must get to this dinner.” He pulled out his handkerchief and rubbed his lips.

  “I wasn’t suggesting otherwise,” she said sweetly—too sweetly.

  “I like you without lipstick. Your lips are naturally rosy.” He folded the square of linen and wiped her mouth, as well.

  “Say it,” she challenged.

  He looked perplexed. “Say what?”

  “Admit that was the best kiss you’ve ever had, maybe the best kiss ever. Tell me something. Can’t you fend off potential princesses by now? I’m tired of this...this game.”

  “Do you want to go home, forget your article?”

  “No way, Your Highness! You promised.”

  “I did, didn’t I? And so did you.” He placed his hands on the striped wallpaper behind her, trapping her between his arms. “And you’re playing a cat-and-mouse game yourself, making up the rules as you go. What do you really want to know about me, Leigh?”

  He didn’t let her answer; he didn’t want to hear about her dedication as a writer or her career aspirations. He kissed her one more time, hoping she’d suffer in some small way for the denial that was driving him crazy.

  “We have to go,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  She broke free and walked toward the elevator, her high heels throwing her off-kilter just enough to make her backside sway provocatively.

  He took a deep breath and followed. It was going to be a long evening.

  9

  Leigh watched the rain strike the window of her hotel room and made bets with herself whenever two drops raced side by side to the bottom. She picked the wrong drop three consecutive times and gave up. Talk about backing losers.

  She felt like a loser herself this morning. She knew enough about Max to write a book, partly thanks to his great-aunt Lucinda, but he was still a mystery in all the important ways. Why did his eyes generate enough heat to melt ice cream when he looked at her? Why did he run hot and cold, charming one minute and aloof the next?

  And most puzzling of all, if he needed a wife and an heir to ensure his country’s future, why was he using her to keep women at bay?

  She didn’t know much about royal mating habits, but Max seemed too responsible to stay single forever. Maybe his marriage was already arranged; after all, his family must have expected his cousin Darcy to fill the role of temporary fiancée. Or maybe this was his last fling before he settled down with an appropriate wife.

  The endless round of business meetings and social engagements didn’t seem like much of a fling, but she had no way of knowing whether his evening ended when hers did.

  Why had he dragged her into this?

  “Dragged!” she said aloud, suffering from a painful flash of objectivity. “I leaped at the chance to be with him.”

  She turned from the window, sick of dreary weather and gloomy thoughts. She hadn’t felt the sun on her face since her trip to the grassy knoll two days ago. The “Case of the Missing Evening Gowns” in Chicago seemed like fun compared to the demands Dallas was making on Max. She’d never been here before, but she had a feeling she was missing the best the city had to offer.

  Their itinerary for that evening listed a street festival in a nearby town. She was thumbing through a visitors’ magazine, looking for ways to kill time until then when Albert came to her room.

  “I must apologize, Miss Bailey. I misunderstood what was required for the informal affair this evening. His Highness wishes to go in Western wear.”

  “That’s no problem. I have some jeans with me.”

  The valet looked slightly shocked. “I beg your pardon, miss, but trousers wouldn’t be appropriate. I’ve arranged for you to visit the Western apparel shop in the hotel. You can select boots and a hat there, as well as the rest of your costume. If you like, I’ll accompany you.”

  “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your other responsibilities,” she said.

  “Very kind of you, miss.” He looked relieved. “Please charge your purchases to your room. The prince will expect you to secure the nicest possible cattle-woman garb.”

  “Dress like a cowgirl, you mean. I won’t let you down, Albert. I’ll go whole hog.”

  “Whole hog.” He obviously found the phrase distasteful but was man enough to bear it. He backed out of her room and closed the door behind him.

  A few minutes later she was on an elevator, intent on following Albert’s orders. She loved hotel lobbies. They were the best places for people watching, except perhaps zoos, where the animals usually had more dignity than the spectators. Hotel shops, though, had always been strictly for browsing.

  She felt extravagant if she bought so much as a package of breath mints in one, but Albert still intimidated her enough to make her follow his instructions to the letter. If Max wanted a good o
le gal, he’d get one.

  The clerk in the Western-wear store had dark sultry eyes and coal-black hair pulled into a bun, but her accent was West Texas, peppered with casual endearments.

  “You’re the prince’s fiancée,” she said enthusiastically. “His valet said to expect you.”

  Leigh’s plan to kill a couple of hours looking around and trying on clothes was scuttled. She had to endure the royal treatment, which meant the clerk hovered, made suggestions, and brought armloads of skirts, blouses, and dresses into the dressing room, regardless of Leigh’s state of undress.

  The woman oozed politeness, but Leigh felt as though she were under a magnifying glass being checked for cellulite, split ends, and any flaws that would make good coffee-break gossip.

  Maybe she’d do the same thing if their places were reversed. Maybe Max’s jaundiced view of her profession was somewhat justified. People liked to read about the shortcomings of famous people. They probably felt more satisfied with their own lives when they learned that even the rich and beautiful suffered their share of unhappiness. But was it a public service or a violation of privacy to dig out hidden faults?

  Now that she thought about it, Max seemed to take the public clamor in stride. He resented her professional interest in him more than the inaccurate and downright false reports in the newspapers.

  “Pretty, but not what I have in mind,” Leigh finally said, handing back the whole pile of grossly overpriced garments. “Maybe I’ll just think about it for a while.”

  “We have some beautiful silver belts—”

  “Thank you, but I don’t have time to decide on anything now.” She hurried out of the store feeling mean-spirited in the face of the clerk’s obvious disappointment.

  After getting her rain poncho from her room, she grabbed the first cab she could while the doorman was busy with a couple of Japanese businessmen.

  “Take me to a Western-wear shop,” she told the driver. “One where working people shop, not a fancy tourist trap.”

  She watched the meter tick with some alarm, but the cabbie did what she wanted. He stopped at a huge building with the ambiance of a warehouse and bargains advertised on the windows in neon paint. She asked him to come back in an hour.