by J. Kenner
He tilted his head in acquiescence. “I’ve been on His Highness’s security team since his thirteenth birthday. I was sixteen and following in my father’s footsteps. His Highness promoted me to the office of security chief on his twenty-first birthday.
“I thought you were friends. But I guess the whole damn thing was one big show.”
Jürgen’s shoulders stiffened. “It is my honor to count Leopold among my closest friends.” He spoke formally, his words clipped. He said nothing else, and although he met her eyes, she couldn’t help but think she saw a hint of regret there.
Yeah, well, she regretted a lot, too.
“Lucky you,” she said, knowing she should stay quiet. “To have such an honorable prince as your friend.”
He didn’t waver from his military rest pose, but his lips parted. Whether it was a reflex or he intended to say something else, she didn’t know because the door to the bedroom opened, and his eyes cut that direction, his body stiffening to attention.
Skye turned, expecting Leo, only to see a petite brunette with an elfin face and cherry red lips step through the doorway, her fingers working the final button on a man’s white dress shirt worn untucked over a gray pencil skirt. A leather tote hung carelessly off her shoulder.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” she said, as Leo followed her out of the room, looking deliciously casual in jeans and a plain white T-shirt. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I look forward to it.” He gave the girl a quick smile, and she headed out, Jürgen following her into the hallway, presumably to escort her down the elevator, a royal walk of shame if ever there was one.
“Skye,” Leo said, closing the distance between them in two long strides.
She took a step back, suddenly wishing that Jürgen was in the room, because his presence might—might—cool her temper.
“Re…really, Leo?” She cringed, wanting to roll into a ball right then because this was how she came off? Not cool and unaffected, but instead so gobsmacked that her words misbehaved even more than usual.
“Really, what?”
“I called … up. You knew … I was coming. And … this is what … I walk in on?”
His brows rose, but he said nothing.
She exhaled loudly, then shook her head. No longer even caring about how she sounded. “I guess I … dodged a bullet … when you left.”
For a moment, he only studied her. Then he dipped his head. “I suppose you did.” His voice was as polished as it had been in the conference room earlier that afternoon. “But if you’re talking about Talia, you have no reason to be jealous.”
“Jealous?” She took a step back, shaking her head. “I am so over … you. I’m just saying that I knew you were a … ridiculous playboy in your own country. But … I didn’t realize you were playing that game here, too. Should I be honored to be one of your … American contingent? Me and—what was her name? Tabby Cat?”
He raised his brows and she wanted to kick herself for going too far. For letting her jealousy spew out. But, dammit, she’d been unprepared for how strong it was. For how much she’d actually missed him.
And for how much it hurt seeing him with another woman.
She’d read all the articles and seen all the pictures, of course. For a prince who’d before kept a reasonably low profile, he’d been all over the tabloids after he’d left her, his escapades with socialites and film stars and other royals popping up so regularly in her social media that she finally just closed most of her accounts.
It had hurt, yeah. But mostly it had only reassured her that his departure was for the best. He was a player, and not the kind of man she wanted.
She knew that about him. And yet one real live glimpse of him with another woman, and she turned into a jealous girlfriend.
Except, of course, she wasn’t his girlfriend.
For that matter, she never really had been. She’d simply been one in a string. Not photographed or filmed, but part of that chain nonetheless.
“How can I help you, Ms. Porter?”
His voice wasn’t cold, but its formality bothered her more than it should.
No. That’s good. Formal and professional.
She cleared her throat and concentrated on speaking slowly. “I changed my mind.”
His brow rose. “Did you? And what exactly are we talking about?”
“My paper. You said you … wanted to work with me. How exactly?”
For a moment, she thought she saw heat flare in those ice-blue eyes. But it faded as quickly as it came, and she convinced herself it was only her imagination. “An education,” he said. “Talking points. A plan. I want to go back home with the framework of a proposal I can present to Parliament. A plan for amending our constitution, as well as a rationale to support the proposal.”
She nodded slowly. “Why?”
“Considering you wrote that paper, I imagine you already know.”
“My paper wasn’t specific to Avelle-am-see.”
Technically, that was true. But as he studied her face, she was certain he knew exactly what had prompted her to choose an international law topic for her Law Review article.
To his credit, he didn’t call her out on it. Instead, he simply said, “In my country, the monarch stands as head of the executive branch. A king who resembles your president, but with a bit more power, though it is balanced by the role and rights of the parliament.
She nodded. She already knew all of that, of course. It was amazing how much learning your ex-boyfriend was really a playboy prince could lead a girl down dozens of rabbit trails of research.
“In theory, I don’t have a problem with the monarchy. Our country is small, and the royal family is not only integral to our identity, but it also acts as the underpinnings of tourism, which is essential to our economy.”
“But?”
“But I do have a problem with our particular system.”
“Agnatic primogeniture. Only a male heir can inherit the crown.”
He nodded. One quick tip of his head.
“You think you’re incompetent.” She raised a brow as she looked him up and down, then shrugged carelessly. “I could see that.”
To his credit, he didn’t take the bait. “My sister is the first born, and she’s a natural leader. As far as I’m concerned, she’s being denied her birthright.”
“Others would say it’s your birthright.”
“And they would be correct under the law as it now stands. But it’s not my ambition.”
“Physics,” she said, remembering his passion. The way his face had lit up when he talked about his work with Professor Malkin.
He said nothing, and she wondered at his silence, but didn’t ask. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and nodded. “I honestly don’t know how much help I can be, but I can help you understand the issues, the arguments, the pros and cons so that you can go back and advocate for the change.”
“That would be most helpful.”
“But I have a price.”
His brows rose. “Over and above your firm’s already hefty hourly rate?”
“Yes.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, but all he said was, “I’m listening.”
“I … I have to speak. At the symposium. My father thinks … well, he’s wrong. I’ll … mess up, and it … it won’t reflect … well on the firm. And my dad … I’ll end up … disappointing him.”
Leo looked at her for so long that she feared he would say no. Then he slowly nodded. “I can’t help you with how to speak—you already know what to do. The breathing. The pacing.”
She started to argue, but he continued, cutting her off.
“But I can work with you. I can help you become more comfortable in front of a group, so that you don’t rush and so that your nerves don’t get the better of you. In this instance, I think that is key.”
He wasn’t wrong. “You’d do that?”
“In exchange for your help?” He met her eyes, his expression unreaso
nable. “Yes, Skye. I will do that.”
He smiled, and her stomach flipped over. And right then, Skye wasn’t sure if she’d gotten the help she needed, or if she’d set herself up for heartbreak all over again.
Chapter Twelve
“Be careful, Sire.”
Leopold turned to Jürgen. “Sire?”
His friend shrugged, then spoke in their native tongue. “In my official capacity, I feel I must remind you that anything more than helping Ms. Porter prepare for her speech could prove to be … difficult.”
His friend wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean Leopold appreciated the reminder. More importantly, he knew that nothing would happen between him and Skye. Or, rather, nothing physical, despite the visceral longing he felt whenever he was near her.
That, however, would be a bad idea for so many reasons. Even so, he did hope that by working together he could make amends for hurting her. He could never completely make it up to her, but perhaps this time together would at least begin to heal the wounds he’d inflicted.
“I appreciate the concern, though I assure you it isn’t necessary.”
Jürgen looked about to argue, but held his tongue.
“You can go back to the hotel,” Leopold said as he entered Skye’s building, a tall glass box dotted with balconies overlooking the Austin skyline or the river. They’d agreed to meet at her condo at seven, though he had no intention of staying there. Being alone with her would only make things more difficult. Besides, if he wanted to help her, he needed someplace where they could find an audience.
“I’ll escort you up, Sire.”
“That’s not necessary.”
The elevator doors opened, and Leopold stepped on. So did Jürgen.
“The hotel. Now.”
His security chief merely stared him down.
“Do you honestly believe someone is waiting outside Skye’s condo to take me down? Even the press doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Yet,” Jürgen said. “I imagine they will soon. Besides, you know that I don’t have a choice, Sire. Not any more than you do.”
Leopold scowled, but didn’t argue. Jürgen might be the head of Leopold’s security detail, but he answered to the king, not the prince. “At least be discreet.”
“I shall endeavor to be invisible, Sire.”
Leopold ignored his friend and pushed the button for Skye’s floor. They rode in silence, with Jürgen stepping down the hall as Leopold headed for the door. “Aren’t you afraid there’s an assassin waiting to jump me in there?”
“Considering how Skye feels about you now, I wouldn’t be surprised.” He held up a hand as if in apology; Leopold knew that Jürgen and Skye had become friends two years ago. Hurting her hadn’t sat well with him. “I will wait here.”
“Thanks.” Leopold took a breath, then rang the bell. He heard the footsteps approaching, then the door opened and Skye stood there, her face alight with laughter.
“Sorry. I was just—something funny. It doesn’t matter.”
But it did, because it suited her. He’d forgotten how beautiful she was when she laughed. Until now, he’d yet to see pure joy on her face during this trip.
She ushered him in, then closed the door behind him, leaving Jürgen alone in the hall. Not that Leopold cared. He was just glad they had this moment alone.
“—and that’s when Larry said. Oh.”
The voice was as full of laughter as Skye’s expression—and was decidedly male.
So maybe they weren’t so alone after all.
“Um, sorry.” The man had golden hair and the kind of pecs that would put Jürgen’s to shame. Leopold knew that because the only thing the man was wearing was the navy blue towel wrapped around his hips.
“Sorry,” he said, looking at Skye. “I didn’t realize we had company.”
We.
“This is Leo,” Skye said. “He’s here to help me with my talk for the symposium. I told you, remember? Leo,” she continued, her attention turning to him, “this is Bart. My … boyfriend.”
The word hit Leopold like a knife.
Across the room, Bart’s eyes widened. “Boyfr—”
Bart cut himself off with a chuckle, then shook his head before hooking his arm around Skye. “She’s supposed to be introducing me as her fiancé now. Right, honeybun?”
Her smile was tight but teasing. “Not until you buy me the ring, sweetie.”
He laughed then moved to kiss her on the forehead, but she backed away, waving an unadorned left hand. “Ring first, then the kisses.”
Bart pressed a hand over his heart, pulled an exaggerated frown, then looked at Leo. “You always hurt the ones you love.”
“So I’ve heard.” Leopold cleared his throat, shooting a sideways glance toward Skye. “But, ah, we really should get going.”
“Going?” Her brow furrowed. “Aren’t we … practicing here?”
“What good would that do? You’re already comfortable speaking to me. And presumably you have no qualms about speaking to your fiancé.”
“He makes a good point, snugglemuffins,” Bart said.
Skye’s smile was almost a grimace. Leopold wasn’t surprised. There was a time and place for pet names, and frankly he would prefer that time and place not be here and now. “Thanks for your input, honey.”
“Shall we?” Leopold asked. He hoped she said yes. Otherwise he might have to text Jürgen to pull the fire alarm simply as an escape plan. But then the media might show up, and he might get photographed. Definitely not the best plan.
“Sure,” she said, blowing a kiss too Bart. “Don’t wait up and don’t worry. I have an excellent chaperone.”
Bart blew a kiss back, and Leopold was grateful to escape the treacle. Jürgen followed them onto the elevator, acknowledging Skye only with a nod. “I had no idea you were engaged,” Leopold said as the elevator descended. He caught the rise of Jürgen’s brows, but kept his attention on Skye.
“Why would you?”
A good question, and one he couldn’t answer honestly. Over the years, he’d kept tabs on her career and, he’d thought, her personal life. He knew she had a male roommate, but he’d assumed that they were only friends. He’d never allowed his team to poke around too closely in her life. Now, he regretted maintaining that distance.
Except, no, he didn’t. Or at least he shouldn’t. There was no future between them. Even if it weren’t impossible because of his inevitable coronation, the fact that he walked out on her would be enough to cool the most red-hot of romances.
The unfortunate and inescapable reality was that Skye could never be his. And in light of that fact, he knew that he should be happy for her to have found a man she loved. One she was so clearly comfortable with. Who teased her and laughed with her.
Yes, he was happy for her. Giddy, even. Absolutely, he was.
“—getting off?”
He frowned; those weren’t exactly words he was expecting.
“Are we getting off?” Skye repeated, nodding toward the open elevator doors.
“Yes. Of course.” He stepped to the side, allowing her to exit first, then followed. Jürgen flashed a knowing smirk, then fell in step behind them.
“Where … are we going?”
“Not far,” Leopold said, still pulling himself together. “Come on.”
He led her through downtown to his hotel, then across the lobby to the marble stairs that led up to the Driskill Bar, an atmospheric venue with dark wooden paneling, leather furniture, and bronze sculptures. A pianist was playing soft music, and he led her to a small table for two. Jürgen settled himself on one of the barstools. Far enough away to give them privacy. Close enough to keep an eye on Leopold should a random assassin decide to pop in and take a shot.
“I love this place,” Skye said once they were settled. “It feels like something … out of another era. Like a speak … easy.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Mind what?”
“Being alone with me.”
“Why would I?”
“You’re engaged. Bart doesn’t mind?”
She glanced down at the tabletop. “This is work. Isn’t it?” When she lifted her head, he saw the question in her eyes.
“Of course.” He was about to press further when the waiter arrived. “I’ll let you order for both of us,” he told Skye, who scowled, but didn’t argue.
“Garrison Brothers,” she told the woman. “One … ice cube for me. Neat for … him.”
“Appetizers?”
“Fries … please.”
“You got it.” The woman turned, her blond ponytail swinging.
“You sounded fine,” he said. “Clear and confident.”
She shook her head. “She could have … driven to Dallas … in those pauses.”
“That’s her problem, not yours. You were the one ordering—that pays her bills. And in two weeks, you’ll be the one delivering valuable information to me and everyone else at the symposium. That means you’re the one with the power.”
“Not according to … my dad.”
“What? The client is always right? That may be true later in the relationship, but not when you’re sharing knowledge. We need you, Skye. That gives you power.”
She licked her lips, and that simple swipe of her tongue set off a chain reaction of memories that had him gripping the arms on his chair to forestall a very inappropriate groan. This woman. No one had ever affected him the way she had—and still did. And right then he hated the universe for the cruel game it had played with the two of them.
He cleared his throat. “So, I should apologize for my manners. I believe I owe you congratulations.”
“You do? Oh. About Bart. Yes. Thank you.”
“How long have you two been together?”
She cocked her head, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. “Why are you here, Leo?”
“I believe the term is extortion. You extracted a price for working with me, remember?”
She didn’t laugh. “I mean at all. With all of our history, why come to me? So what if I wrote that paper? It was just a Law Review article. There is nothing in there that hundreds of attorneys across the globe couldn’t counsel you on. What?” she added, when he didn’t answer right away, just smiled.