California Royale

by Deborah Smith

  Eight

  If the population of Beverly Hills ever rioted, this is what it would look like, Shea decided as she gazed around her crowded office. It was as though Gucci, Givenchy, Yves St. Laurent, and Adolfo had organized a sit-in.

  She held up both hands and spoke calmly to the worried guests who’d just received notice of Duke’s project. “These kids will be supervised every minute they’re on the estate grounds. They won’t affect the schedule of classes or your use of the facilities. They’ll spend most of their time at their own place, which will remain entirely separate from the estate.”

  “But they’re … they’re criminals,” protested a woman who wore a pink tennis dress to match her hair.

  “I could go to L.A. and jog the streets if I wanted punks to watch me exercise,” someone else commented.

  “There’s nothing to be concerned about,” Shea assured everyone. “These kids aren’t candidates for San Quentin; they’re good kids who just need a little guidance.”

  “Boys. All boys,” a lithe, fidgety male guest noted sarcastically. “If I wish to see juvenile delinquents, I’ll go visit my sons.”

  “The boys will only be here for two weeks,” Shea explained to him. “The group after that is all girls. The plan is to alternate.”

  “Great. Teenage hoodlum girls. I did the sound track for a movie about their type. It was called Lips And Chains.”

  Shea’s cajoling mood began to fade. Duke was right about some of the estate’s guests—they were obnoxiously self-centered and pampered. She struggled for tactful words, but a gravelly female voice interrupted her.

  “What are ya?” the voice demanded of everyone. “A bunch of snobs?”

  Shea watched in amazement as a small, robust woman elbowed her way out of the crowd and gazed lethally at her fellow guests. Sally Rogers, four-time Emmy winner, two-time Oscar nominee, was a legend among comic actresses. She wore a flowing caftan and so much bulky jewelry that she looked like a human Christmas tree. Her long, artfully tangled auburn hair had long since forgotten its natural color.

  “What’s your beef?” Sally asked, eyeing the crowd. “Afraid some teenage slob is gonna spit in the pool? Come on, people. Nobody’s gonna bother us. Hell, maybe we need to be bothered. By the way, I grew up in a tough part of New Jersey. You guys ought to worry about my habits, not about a bunch of wet-nosed kids.”

  Shea silently vowed to add every one of Sally’s movies to her tape collection. “Thank you, Ms. Rogers.” To the other guests, she added, “That’s right. None of these teenagers will bother you. You have my word on it.”

  As the guests filed out, looking uncertain and unhappy, Sally Rogers gave Shea a thumbs-up. Shea smiled wanly and sat down at her desk. One ally out of 123 guests, she thought. Not good bettin’ odds, as Alejandro would say.

  Alejandro. She studied her calendar wistfully. He’d promised to come back to the estate as soon as he could, but he had to organize the ranch’s business first. That way he’d be able to stay indefinitely when he returned.

  “Boss. Ohh, boss.” Jennie stepped into the office, shut the door behind her, and smiled apologetically. “Another group of guests are here to ask you about Duke’s camp for wayward children.”

  Shea grasped her throat dramatically. “Lions and tigers and bears. Oh, my.”

  “That’s right, Dorothy, we’re not in Kansas anymore,” Jennie noted. She opened the office door wide arid began motioning people inside.

  “Your Highness, I assure you that you have no need of bodyguards under the new circumstances,” Shea murmured into the phone. “These aren’t … no … we’re not starting a terrorist training camp next door. Yes. Basic American kids. Like Michael J. Fox on Family Ties? No, not quite like that, but you have nothing to worry about. Yes. Shok-no ben armen to you, as well. And please convey my greetings to your wives.”

  Shea hung up and stared wearily out the back window of her cottage. It was nearly midnight, which meant that it was daytime in the South China Sea. Prince Shalukan had called as soon as he received her letter about the estate’s new focus.

  Bone tired and depressed, she pulled her robe tighter around her, padded to the kitchen, and poured herself a glass of wine. “Here’s to trouble,” she muttered, and downed it in three big swallows. Coughing, Shea went to the living room and lay on the couch. Within thirty seconds she fell asleep.

  Sometime later she had a highly sensual dream in which Alejandro nibbled her neck and ran his hands under her robe. Suddenly Shea realized that she wasn’t dreaming. She opened her eyes to find the man of her dreams grinning at her.

  “Hombre!” she exclaimed.

  “Surprise, surprise, surprise.” His grin was replaced by a hungry half smile that made her heart rate leap. “Lord, woman, I’ve missed you the past week.”

  “You’re here early!”

  “I got business settled sooner than I expected. So I hopped into the Ferrari and hit the trail for Mendocino. Did I upset your schedule?”

  Shea blinked the remnants of sleep from her eyes and shook her head fervently. Happiness filled her with giddy excitement. “No!” She threw both arms around his neck and pulled him to her for a kiss that was both wanton and tender.

  Laughing, he lay down on top of her, and she wrapped her legs around his blue-jeaned hips. Shea stripped his white windbreaker off his shoulders. He wore a faded work shirt underneath, and the contrast between the soft material and his hard torso was irresistible. Shea sighed as she ran her hands down his long, muscled back and pulled his hips closer.

  “Welcome back,” she whispered in Spanish.

  “A wild mare. Hmmm. Bueno.” Duke kissed her face and neck while his arms slid under her in a tight, possessive embrace. “I wanted to do this at the ranch. Did you have any idea what it did to me to watch you sleep naked without touching you?”

  “I had a plane to catch. You forced me to leave as soon as I woke up!”

  “For your own good. I was on the verge of holding you hostage in my bedroom.”

  “Bandolero,” she called him in a gentle tone.

  He studied her eyes for a moment, then frowned. “You look tired, querida. And a little pale.”

  “I spent the whole day putting out fires.”

  “Ah. You notified the clientele that the loco owner is making some changes in the estate. And?”

  “People are worried. But we have a couple of allies, at least.” She told him about Sally Rogers.

  “What a lady,” he said with respect.

  “And Chip Greeson called from Burbank. He said you’ve blown your chance to get the estate featured on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. And that he’s going to create a new game show in your honor. Dialing for Delinquents. He also said that he admires you tremendously.”

  Duke looked at her with great tenderness. “You’ve done a helluva job setting this up, Palomino. I know it still isn’t easy for you to get behind the project.”

  She nodded. “I’m keeping an open mind.”

  “And I love you for it.”

  “I love you.… What are you doing?”

  He pushed himself up and sat on the couch, then pulled her upright too. Her legs were still draped around him, and he ran a hand up one thigh. His eyes half shut, he smiled in a greedy, impatient way that was very masculine and very erotic.

  “You’re naked under this robe,” he noted. “I’m taking you to bed.”

  “Ah. I thought you’d never ask.”

  After they were both naked and under the covers, he held her spoon-style. As he stroked her breasts, his arousal pressed against the backs of her thighs. She moved seductively, encouraging it.

  “My poor, tired querida,” he murmured into her ear. “I feel the tension in you. You’re quivering.”

  “I’m tried, but I’m trembling because I want you so much, Alejandro.”

  He groaned softly. “Relax, love, and I’ll take care of you.”

  Duke pulled the covers away from their bodies and Shea turned to l
ay on her back. Passion gathered inside her like a wild storm as he began to nuzzle and lick the taut peaks of her breasts.

  Shea’s head tilted back on the pillow and she shut her eyes. She and Alejandro were floating in the middle of the night, just the two of them, lost in a world that was only sensation and sound. She heard the sweet, soft sucking noises his mouth made on her body as he moved his attention downward. She felt his hands parting her legs. Teasing her, then carefully learning her intimacies as if he were loving her for the first time.

  His mouth followed, and he tantalized her. Shea wound her fingers into his hair as he cherished the most tender skin. He was rough, then gentle, mixing the contrasts skillfully so that she never knew what to expect. His hands held her hips and raised her body so that he could please her even more. He groaned against her, his breath hot. Shea sensed his desperate restraint and realized that he was trembling violently.

  “Come here,” she begged. “I can wait.”

  Duke raised his head for just a moment and kissed her inner thigh. “Sssh. I have so much to give. Take it. Take it and know how much your pleasure means to me.”

  Shea had never received such a loving, unselfish gift. Calling his name with husky cries she let the caress of his mouth and tongue drive her beyond rational thought. When her body’s sweet turbulence finally quieted, she was crying.

  “No, no,” Duke murmured anxiously, and moved upwards to take her head between his hands. He wondered if he’d upset her in some way. “What’s wrong, querida?”

  Her violet eyes were luminous behind the sheen of tears, and she smiled. “I’m really certain now, Alejandro. I know how it feels to be loved. And I know how much I love you, because … a moment ago, I realized that I’d die for you.”

  Whispering her name, Duke sheathed himself in her welcoming body. He smiled back at her, his chest nearly bursting with emotion, and she reached a hand up to gently brush away the tears he gave her in return.

  The first group of teenagers arrived at the Mendocino Group Home on a hot July afternoon. Duke had hired a husband-wife team of social workers to manage the home, and they hired two assistants who had previous experience with group-home programs.

  As Duke watched a dozen boys drag their meager luggage off the home’s new van, he kept telling himself that Shea’s worries were unfounded. These teens and the groups that followed in the weeks to come would benefit from contact with the estate. There wouldn’t be any trouble.

  One of the counselors walked up and handed Duke a list of names. “This is what we have. A colorful group.” The counselor paused, and grinned. “I’ve worked with worse.”

  “Don’t scare me, son,” Duke told him wryly. He scanned the list, looking at the notes beside each boy’s name. “Petty theft, fighting at school, disobeys parents, seduced several teachers at his high school …” Duke blinked and looked at the last entry again. “Parker Jones, sixteen, seduced several teachers?”

  “Afraid so, Duke.”

  “Hell, I was bad, but I never went after teachers.” Feeling grimly amused Duke glanced at the boy. “Which one is the lover?”

  “Tall kid with the brown hair and the muscles.”

  The kid was good looking and walked with a confident swagger. Duke watched him carry an old duffel bag into the house. With a sigh Duke tossed the name chart back to the counselor. “Whatever you do, keep that underage stud away from the estate’s female guests.”

  “Got it.” The counselor walked away, nodding his head.

  Trouble, Duke thought in dismay. He could smell it in the hot wind, and he wanted to avoid it at all costs. Shea was trying so hard to accept his project, and he was trying to make her happy in return. He’d let her teach him how to meditate. She’d weaned him off coffee and gently gotten him to trade his three-egg breakfasts for oatmeal or cold cereal. He’d never felt better—or more worried about the future.

  Shea came back from her evening run to find Duke stretched out on her couch, asleep, wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts. A crumpled beer can lay on his flat stomach. She tiptoed to him and whisked the can away carefully, noting as she did that he seemed to be frowning in his sleep.

  Several days had passed since the boys’ arrival at the group home. She’d avoided meeting the teenagers, and Duke hadn’t pressured her. She loved him for that. She also loved him for taking a hotel room in Mendocino so that the staff wouldn’t gossip about his presence at her cottage. The staff knew about their relationship, she felt certain; the lack of questions so far was evidence of everyone’s devotion to her and their fondness for Duke.

  Shea went to the bathroom, removed her sweaty jogging outfit, and put on her robe. She ran cool water over a washcloth and carried it back to the couch. Kneeling beside Duke, she wiped his forehead. My hombre is exhausted, she thought anxiously. His dark eyes opened slowly, and he gave her a groggy smile.

  “Long day?” she whispered.

  He nodded slightly. “Good day, though. Jason only called me a son of a bitch once today, and I only threatened to kick his butt once. I think we’re making progress.”

  Shea sighed, then leaned over and kissed his nose in sympathy. Jason Greggers was one of the tougher kids, and he was only thirteen years old. “You need to leave the counseling to the counselors,” she said.

  “I know. My Lord, after this, breaking colts will be a breeze. I played basketball with twelve energetic teenagers for three hours nonstop. I feel real old right now.”

  “Alejandro, you’re in your prime. You’re just worn out from lack of sleep.” She arched one brow at him. “You have nighttime responsibilities that those teenagers can’t begin to fathom.”

  Duke thought about Parker Jones, the high-school Romeo, and his mouth crooked up in a tight smile.

  “I think I’ll drive you over to the hotel soon and put you to bed early,” she informed him.

  “Only if you’ll spend the night with me. I don’t want to ignore my responsibilities.”

  She sighed theatrically. “Oh, I suppose no one would notice if I didn’t come back to the estate until tomorrow morning.” She paused, and her humor faded into concern. “Alejandro, are you worried about something?”

  Duke took evasive action. “Hmmm. Why?”

  “You were frowning in your sleep a minute ago.”

  “I must have been dreaming about you.”

  “Well, what a compliment,” she said in dismay.

  “Yeah … now I remember … you were trying to seduce me in a mud bath, and you kept saying, ‘This little piggy went to market, this little piggy went home, and this little piggy …’ That’s when it got real disgusting …”

  “Oh, hush!” Laughing, she began to whack him with the washcloth.

  The next afternoon Shea stopped by the reception area for the massage and mud-bath rooms. As she bent over an appointment book, noting a schedule change, a female guest came bouncing out of the dressing room. The woman was a fortyish business executive with a slender, well-kept body clothed in colorful print shorts and a barely buttoned white shirt. She was barefoot, and her face was brightly flushed. When she spotted Shea, she laughed merrily and grabbed her hand.

  “The new masseur is extraordinary, darling.”

  Before Shea could reply, the woman breezed out of the area. Shea was humming the theme song from The Summer of ’42. She frowned, bewildered. What new masseur? She had to approve all staff hirings, and there was no new massage therapist.

  “Hi, there. Are you next?”

  Shea studied the tall young man who stepped into the reception area. His brown hair was a little ruffled, and his face was flushed. He wore baggy white shorts and a blue T-shirt with the slogan Once Is Never Enough. The slow head-to-toe look he gave her was followed by a jaunty smile.

  “You sure do justice to that sundress,” he told her. “White’s a terrific color on you.”

  Shea clasped her hands in front of her and struggled to imitate Duke’s best poker face. “Why, thank you,” she answered calmly.
“I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

  “My name’s Parker.”

  “My name’s Shea. Shea Somerton. I’m the manager here, and I don’t recall hiring you.”

  The blood drained out of his face. “Oh, damn.” He groaned. “Are you Araiza’s chick?”

  Shea nodded grimly and gave him a puzzled look. “Who are you?”

  “Uh, never mind. I was just … it was a joke … I gotta go …”

  “Freeze, mister,” she said sternly. “I want to see a guest card or your visitor’s pass.”

  He grimaced, stared at her open mouthed, then plopped down in a chair and tossed his hands in a gesture of defeat. “I’m from the group home,” he admitted. “We came over to swim and I sort of went exploring.”

  Shea stared at him, stunned. “Did you just finish giving a massage to one of the female guests?” she asked between clenched teeth.

  Parker grasped his chest dramatically. “I just … I swear I just came in here to see what it was all about, and this lady walked in, and she thought I was a massage guy, so she got undressed and—”

  “Forget the details,” Shea interjected. “How old are you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  Oh, Lord. She searched her mind for any information on California’s laws concerning minor males and adult females. Not that Parker looked like he’d been victimized.

  Shea pointed toward the door. “Out. Go back to the pool and—”

  “There you are.” A counselor out of breath and obviously upset, burst into the room. He glanced at Shea, his face red with apology. “I won’t blame you if you raise hell, Ms. Somerton. Romeo—I mean Parker—was my responsibility, and I let him get out of sight. I’ll tell Duke what happened.”

  Shea was seething, but she realized that both she and the counselor were in a predicament. He didn’t want to suffer Duke’s wrath, and she didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that the estate was now providing sex therapy along with massages. She looked from the counselor to Parker.