Falling for the Princess

by Sandra Hyatt

  Three days later Rebecca sat with Logan in the plush cabin of his private jet as they flew to San Philippe. News had filtered through to the media that she had been spotted with a mystery man, so they were expecting something of a photographers’ welcoming party. She’d even been reported on one site as “cavorting with her new beau at an island retreat.” Rebecca, who knew better than to get upset by anything in the media, had taken exception to the use of the word cavorting. She never cavorted, and walking along the surf’s edge with someone, as she’d done with Logan twice at George and Therese’s place, hardly counted as such. Next thing they’d say was that she’d been canoodling.

  She finished reading through her notes on her next week’s schedule and looked at the man reclining in the armchair across from her as he worked at his laptop, large fingers moving surprisingly deftly over the keyboard, a frown of concentration etching two vertical lines above his nose.

  There was no cavorting or canoodling when they were in private. Their relationship was, as agreed, strictly business. In fact, he barely spoke to her. Occasionally she caught him looking at her but his expression revealed nothing of what he thought. And occasionally she caught herself looking at him. Sometimes in an effort to try and figure him out. Sometimes in reluctant fascination.

  Upon landing they would part ways and she’d see him tomorrow for the ballet. Something he’d made clear he wasn’t looking forward to. The jet taxied to a halt and Logan shut down his laptop and looked at her. “Are you ready for this?”

  “Not really.” It didn’t feel right. On so many levels. “I’ve never tried to trick people before.”

  He stowed the laptop in its case and stood. “What, you’ve never pretended you were happy when you were actually seething mad, or pretended to look interested when you were bored out of your skull? Never pretended you were fine when you were frightened?”

  “Well, yes, but this is different.” She made no move to unfasten her seat belt.

  Logan nodded at the novel open in her lap. “How long do you think you can hide out in the jet for?”

  Reluctantly, she closed the book and slipped it into her tote. “I’m not usually the center of media speculation. That’s traditionally been Rafe’s role because he was the one getting into scrapes, or Adam’s because he’s heir to the throne.”

  He held a hand toward her. “Come on, Princess. I’ve seen you work vast cheering crowds.”

  She looked at his hand.

  He followed her gaze. “You may as well get used to it.” The fact that she was getting used to it was part of her problem. He offered his hand with such unthinking ease, as though it were a perfectly normal thing to do. Just another sign of the differences between them. In her world nothing could be done, or said, without thought for the consequences, for the appearances, for the interpretations and implications.

  She took the offered hand—still there was that little frisson of sensation that ought to have gone by now—and let him help her to standing, and they walked toward the door. “This’ll be a cinch,” he said. “We get off the jet, we smile, we wave. A quick kiss. We get in the waiting car together but it drops you off at the palace and takes me to my hotel. We don’t see each other again until I pick you up for the ballet.”

  Rebecca had been analyzing—again—how it felt to rest her hand in his. It was different, but not unpleasant. His firm, dry grip was certainly more appealing than Eduardo’s somewhat clammy grip. “Back up a second. What did you say?”

  “You go to the palace, I go to my hotel. And then I’ll pick you up tomorrow night for the ballet.”

  They’d reached the open doorway at the top of the stairs and as predicted a crowd had gathered behind a roped-off area.

  “That wasn’t the bit I meant.”

  “You meant this, no doubt.” He smiled and waved at the crowd and then he slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulled her toward him, bent his head to hers and kissed her—stealing her breath, along with rational thought and the strength in her knees.

  Heat.

  It scorched through her. His lips were gentle and seeking and in that first surprised instant she forgot to pull back, forgot to analyze, and instead gave herself to the kiss, let herself experience it, the touch of his lips to hers an intimate joining. His warmth surrounded her. His arm around her back shielded and supported her. And held her close. She let herself enjoy—

  Enjoy? No.

  She pulled back and recognized the sound of a cheer from the crowd. What on earth had she just done?

  Logan’s gaze sought hers. Something serious in those dark eyes quickly transformed into amusement. He winked. “Not so icy after all, Princess. In fact, not bad for a first kiss. You tensed up a little at the end, but we can work on that.”

  “First and last. We won’t be working on anything.” She searched for the ice he accused her of. Her refuge. Her armor. She was desperate that he not know that inside she was a shaken mess and anything but icy.

  He took her hand and together they descended the steps.

  “Last? That’ll never convince anyone. I can’t let you be right about that.”

  “The cavorting was bad enough,” she said, relieved that the words came out with just the right touch of distance. He laughed, just as he had when he’d first realized her outrage over that word. “I have a reputation and an image to maintain, both while you’re here and after you’ve gone. And I don’t think—”

  He kissed her again, quick and hard, and came up smiling broadly. “Good. Don’t think. Some things are better that way.” Dimly, she heard another cheer from the crowd. “That’s tomorrow’s papers taken care of,” he said easily. “I have a reputation to consider, too.”

  She couldn’t push him away, that wouldn’t look right at all, and she definitely couldn’t touch her fingers to her lips. She withdrew her hand from his, lifted her chin and continued to the bottom of the stairs, Logan at her side.

  And she just knew he was smirking.

  The chauffeur shut the door behind him and Logan waited. The princess sat on the far side of the seat from him—as far as she could get in the confines of the luxury car. Her gaze—part irritation, part contemplation—was fixed straight ahead as she fed the strap of her handbag back and forth through her fingers. A small frown drew her finely arched eyebrows closer together.

  Logan leaned back, crossed one foot over the other and laced his fingers behind his head. Doubtless she’d have something to say about the kiss.

  Finally her fingers stilled. She pressed the button that raised the privacy screen and turned to him. “About that kiss.”

  He smiled.

  “It wasn’t funny.”

  “No. It definitely wasn’t funny. Intriguing, I would have said. There was distinct potential.” And though he was deliberately trying to needle her, he spoke the truth. The kiss, her flash of response, the taste of her, had hit him harder than he could have imagined, had tempted him, had him wondering. “I think with a little practice you’ll—”

  “We agreed we were going to be seen together. We didn’t talk about kissing.” Her tone was wintry and controlled, as though at any moment she was going to issue a royal edict banishing him to the Arctic or wherever people from San Philippe got banished to.

  “You want people to believe we’re in a relationship, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but…” She looked away, suddenly uncertain.

  “But what?”

  “Surely we can achieve that without kissing.”

  “No, we can’t. I’ll look like your bodyguard or a brother. And that’s not the look I’m aiming for.”

  “We could hold hands and look lovingly at one an other.”

  “We’ll be doing that, too.”

  “Though the looking lovingly is going to be a struggle,” she said with feeling as she glared at him. Nothing remotely loving there.

  “We’ll manage. Listen, Princess. I didn’t enjoy it any more than you.” At least, he knew he shouldn’t have.

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nbsp; Her frown deepened. Clearly she thought he ought to have enjoyed it and only she had the right to complain. “It’s one of those tasks we’ll have to endure.”

  Her jaw worked for several seconds. “Then there need to be some parameters.”

  “Such as?” He turned more fully toward her. “This ought to be good. Royal kissing rules.”

  “Only in public.”

  He nodded. “Fair enough.”

  “And there should be a time limit.”

  “Makes sense. Forty-five seconds? A minute?”

  She turned to look at him. “Good gracious, no.”

  His gaze dipped to her lips—the lips in question. Today they were a soft pink that matched the silk of her blouse. Silk that had shifted beneath his hands as he’d held her shoulders to kiss her. “Too short. You’d like more? I guess I can work with that.”

  “This is no time for joking. I was thinking a maximum of five seconds.”

  “Now who’s joking?”

  “I’m perfectly serious.”

  She certainly looked it, her wide gray eyes intent. But she had to be having him on. “Who kisses for five seconds? I’ve seen my grandparents kiss for longer. Though,” he added, “it was an image that stayed with me for a disturbingly long time.”

  She said nothing.

  “Seriously. Who kisses for five seconds? Your first kiss behind the bike shed at school maybe.” But then again she’d probably been to an all-girls school that didn’t have a bike shed. Just a limo parking area.

  Her gaze went to the window and her fingers again began working at the strap of her handbag.

  “Who was the last man you dated, Princess?” Now he was curious. It’d be easy enough to find out. Doubtless there were entire gossip columns devoted to the subject. “Some namby-pamby royal hanger-on?”

  “My dating history is nothing you need to know about. You’re getting sidetracked. I’ll go as high as ten seconds. No more.”

  “I can have you begging for more.”

  “You flatter yourself, Logan. Ten seconds will be all I can stomach and I’ll be counting every one of those.”

  “Is that a dare, Princess? A challenge? I’ve told you how seriously the men in my family take a challenge.”

  “It was a statement of fact. I’m just warning you. Don’t take it as anything else.”

  “Ten seconds is scarcely enough time to get started.”

  “You seem to be forgetting that we’ll only be kissing to perpetuate a myth. It’s not as though we’ll really be kissing.”

  “And when we’re eating together are we only going to pretend to eat the food? Pretend to enjoy the food?” he asked.

  “No. Of course we’ll be eating and if it tastes good…”

  “My point exactly.”

  “But if we’re not enjoying the meal we still have to look like we are,” she said, desperately trying to regain ground in this conversation. “And we won’t prolong meals unnecessarily.”

  He slid his arm along the backseat of the car, slipped his hand beneath the fall of her blond hair and ran his thumb along her jaw. She tensed beneath his touch, sat a little straighter. “I’m not sure whether you're just trying to fool me or whether you’re fooling yourself, as well. I’ve been watching you.” Again he caressed her jaw with his thumb. He waited to see whether she’d move away from his touch. She didn’t, but she was doing her best to ignore it. Maybe it was only him who was struggling. Her skin was so soft it invited touch. “You’re more tactile than I’d first thought. You like to touch things, textures and shapes. I saw you in that art gallery in New Zealand and in the gift shop afterward. You felt the silks, ran your fingertips over the pottery, you closed your eyes when you sniffed the soaps. And I’m guessing there’s a far more sensual nature beneath the cool exterior than you let on.”

  “You’re wrong. I’m naturally cool and reserved and I like it that way.”

  “I’d say you’re naturally passionate and sensuous and you’ve trained yourself not to reveal it. You keep your thoughts and feelings hidden, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have them.”

  He had to stop. He didn’t want to be thinking about her as passionate, it was easier—necessary even—to safely categorize her as the cool, reserved woman she categorized herself. Haughty even, that was how he’d thought of her since he’d first met her. Remote. Unfeeling.

  But there’d been nothing haughty about the way she’d clung to his hand in the caves, and haughty had been the furthest word from his mind when he’d seen her in that full-length wet suit, seen the sensuous curves that were usually hidden beneath tailored skirts and blouses like the one she wore now.

  And there had been nothing remote or unfeeling about their kiss.

  If he wasn’t careful he’d find himself orchestrating public occasions at which to kiss her. And he’d take every one of his allotted seconds. And more. Though who’d be being taught a lesson, her or him, he wasn’t entirely sure.

  He withdrew his hand from the vulnerable curve of her neck, and dropped it to the seat. Strictly business, he had to remember that, focus on the ultimate goal, buying the subsidiary he needed. That was what mattered here.

  The car eased to a stop beneath the hotel’s portico.

  As the doorman opened his door Logan saw a posse of photographers standing in waiting. “See you tomorrow, ma chérie.”

  “Don’t—”

  He touched a finger to her lips, then replaced the finger with his mouth, felt her soft, made-for-kissing lips part with a yielding gasp of surprise. So much more mobile than when she was arguing with him.

  He didn’t have time to savor the taste or feel of her before he lifted his head. “Five seconds.” Or thereabouts. He’d lost count after one second but had definitely kept it short. “Short enough for you? I’ll work on the getting-you-to-beg-for-more kisses later.”

  He exited the car, waved to the photographers and strolled into the hotel.

  Five

  The tower clock chimed the hour as Rebecca stepped into the blue room at the palace and stopped. Logan, his back to her, stood in front of the window that overlooked the manicured gardens.

  She’d had time to gather her thoughts after their…encounters on the steps of the plane and in the car. And she knew he was toying with her. Yes, he was more experienced than she was, but she was no fool.

  Slowly, he turned and they surveyed each other. He wore an expertly tailored tuxedo that highlighted a physique that needed no highlighting. The change, after the jeans and T-shirts of the past week, was an intriguing, almost breath-stealing contrast. If she were the sort to have her breath stolen.

  As if in defiance of the refinement of the tux, his bow tie dangled untied around his neck and a five o’clock shadow darkened his jaw. He didn’t look like any man she’d ever dated.

  Or any man she’d ever known.

  A raw masculinity always lurked beneath the surface.

  He dominated the room, seeming to dwarf the antique furnishings, making them look flimsy and overly ornate. But it was more than just his size—he had a presence, a sheer force of will that cloaked him. He would never blend in or fade into the background as some people did. She’d once walked in on Eduardo in this same room and taken far too long to realize he was even in it.

  Yet she couldn’t let Logan exercise that will on her or she’d find herself trampled. Most people kept their distance from her, and she relied on that fact. Logan seemed to want to push boundaries. It was in his nature. But now that he’d made her aware of that with his kisses, she was better prepared to deal with him. The kisses had caught her off guard. That was the only reason she’d found herself responding, almost…wanting. His arm, powerful yet gentle as he’d swept it around her shoulders, pulling her to him, against him, had made her feel—

  “Princess.” Logan nodded.

  Her thoughts snapped back to the present and the decision she’d made to maintain her distance from him, to show him she was in control of herself, at least. She�
�d quickly realized she’d never have a hope of exercising any control over Logan. “Are you always going to call me that?” She hated the formality of that label coming from him, carrying, as she knew it did, his unflattering sentiments on royalty.

  “I thought you’d ruled out Sweet Thing and Punkin?”

  She met the challenge in his dark gaze. “I was thinking Rebecca might do.”

  “Or Becs or Becky?”

  “Or just Rebecca,” she said, patiently refusing to react.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “It’s not right. I’m not sure what is. I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

  “How can you tell me my name’s not right and that you’ll let me know when you figure out what is? It’s my name. Who are you to say otherwise?”

  “My apologies.” He paused. “Princess. Forgive my presumption.” One side of his mouth quirked up in a grin. He was enjoying himself immensely, getting pleasure from riling her.

  “I’ll let you know when you’re forgiven.” She couldn’t help but respond to that grin. “In the meantime we ought to get going.”

  Logan crossed to her and held out his arm.

  “Your bow tie.” She gestured to the dark strip of fabric that dangled around his neck. “Do you want me to call someone to tie it for you?”

  His eyes narrowed on her and he lifted his hands, buttoned the top button of his dress shirt and with practiced movements began tying the bow. “Is there a mirror in here?” he asked when he was all but done. “No.”

  He finished the knot. “Is it even?”

  “Almost. You just need to tug that side—” she pointed to left of the bow “—out a little.”

  He adjusted it but unbalanced it the other way. He looked at her and she shook her head.

  “Could you?” he asked. “It’s tricky without a mirror.” She could see in his eyes that he expected her to refuse.

  Rebecca hesitated then stepped closer. Apparently she was little better than his brothers at turning down an unspoken dare.