by JoAnn Ross
"Hello, Caine," she said with studied calm, wondering if he could see the galloping beat of her heart. "Whatever are you doing here?"
Her haughty tone was pure princess, but in her eyes he caught a glimpse of the Chantal he'd come to love. "I don't suppose you'd believe I came to bring you these." Reaching into his suit-jacket pocket, he pulled out a handful of silver-wrapped chocolate kisses.
She longed to go to him, but pride kept her where she was. "Since Switzerland is just across the border and world famous for its chocolate, I feel obliged to point out that it's a bit like carrying coals to Newcastle."
She wasn't going to make it easy on him. Caine wondered why he'd thought she might.
"I lied." He dropped the candies back into his pocket.
"Oh?"
"I didn't come all this way to bring you any damned candy."
"I didn't think you had." Something else occurred to her. "How did you find me out here?"
"Burke gave me a ride from the airport. Noel said you liked to walk along the lake this time of day."
"It sounds as if my family's orchestrating my life again."
"They love you...I love you." He was amazed at how good those three simple words made him feel. Why had it taken him so damn long to say them?
"I know."
She was too calm. Too remote. He walked over to her, his stomach twisting into knots as he took both her hands in his and drew her to her feet. "And you love me," he insisted.
"I did." She took a deep breath, trying to turn away, but Caine wouldn't let her. "I don't any longer."
"And I thought I was a rotten liar."
"Even if I did love you," she said reluctantly, "and I'm not saying I do, what difference would it make? Someone once told me that love wasn't always enough." The hardness in her eyes was softening slowly, hesitantly. But it was a beginning.
"I've always thought you were an intelligent woman."
"I thought I was, too." Until I let my heart run away with my head, she could have added, but didn't.
"So why would such an intelligent woman pay any attention to an idiot jerk who didn't know what he was talking about?" The evening breeze ruffled her hair; Caine brushed it away from her face with hands so remarkably gentle that Chantal's breath caught in her throat.
"If I remember correctly, you were against marriage because of your career. It was too dangerous, you said. Have you changed your mind in a mere two weeks?"
"I may have been wrong about that," he admitted. "But it's a moot point. I've resigned from Presidential Security."
"But why?"
Caine shrugged. "Several reasons. One of them being all the guns I've had pointed at me in the past three months. I'm getting too old for that cops and robbers stuff."
"What will you do?"
"Drew and I are setting up a private security firm. Nothing dangerous, just surveillance—sweeping offices for electronic eavesdropping devices, that sort of thing." As nervous as he was, Caine managed a smile. "Fortunately, everyone in Washington is so paranoid about bugs, we've already got more jobs than we can handle."
"I'm pleased for you."
"Thanks."
Silence settled over them. "Why did you come here, Caine?" she asked finally, looking up at him, her eyes wide and vulnerable.
She'd already been hurt more than any one person deserved. Caine vowed that he'd never allow anything, or anyone—himself included—to hurt Chantal ever again.
"To ask you to marry me." He took a deep breath. "I love you, Chantal. And I want to have a family with you. Kids, dogs, a station wagon, the whole works."
"The big, sprawling house in the country," she said softly, remembering their conversation.
"With the wide front porch for watching our neighbors. Rose bushes in the front yard and a big tree in the back for a swing. And something I forgot to mention—a studio, with lots of high, wide windows and skylights for the family's resident artist." He framed her uplifted face in his palms. "No one has ever made me want those things. No woman until you."
A shimmering golden joy coursed through her. "There's something you need to know, Caine, before I give you my answer."
"What's that?"
"We are a little old-fashioned here in Montacroix. Although I realize that the rest of the world might consider it an anachronism, it is traditional to ask the father for his daughter's hand."
It was going to be all right. They were going to be all right. "I know. Burke warned me before I arrived."
"And?"
"And your father insists on the wedding being held in the palace chapel before I take you home with me to Washington. Your mother, as we speak, is planning the reception menu with the kitchen staff, Noel has been put in charge of floral arrangements and musicians, and Burke is on his way into town to bribe the parish priest into forgoing the usual four-week posting of the banns."
"My brother would never bribe anyone, let alone a priest."
"Correction, my mistake. It's not a bribe. It's a donation to the church building fund."
"My, my," she murmured. "Everyone certainly sounds in a hurry to get me married off."
Caine grinned, that rare, wonderful smile that Chantal knew would still have the power to thrill her when she was ninety.
"I think they're all anxious for me to make an honest woman of you," he said, lowering his lips to hers. Cupping the back of her neck, he lingered over the kiss. "So what's your answer, Princess? Are you going to make your family—and the man who loves you—very, very happy, or not?"
"I'll marry you, Caine, on one condition."
Caine didn't hesitate. "Name it."
As she twined her arms around his neck, the brightness of Chantal's smile rivaled the dazzling Montacroix sunset. "I won't darn your socks."