by Nora Roberts
When she felt the top of her bikini loosen there wasn’t any self-consciousness, only pleasure. Touch me. Her mind hummed the words only an instant before they were obeyed.
Lost in each other, they twisted on the bunk, demanding as much as they gave, offering as quickly as taking. As his mouth followed after his hands, she arched, crying out in astonished delight. If there was more, she’d have more. But if this was everything, she’d need nothing else.
Had she known her body was so sensitive? Had he? Incredibly, he seemed to know just where she craved to be touched, where she longed to have his lips brush or linger. There would be no less for him.
Bold, confident, she yanked at his brief trunks until there was nothing between him and her hands. Excitement careened through her when he groaned, when he shuddered. When she felt the last dregs of civilization desert him.
He’d made love before. He could remember what it was to feel a woman’s body, to bury himself in one. Why was it he couldn’t remember anything like this? If needs had ever clawed at him this sharply before, he had no knowledge of it. She was filling him, overwhelming him. All at once, there was nothing else—no sea lapping, no sun streaming through a door, no subtle movement of a boat beneath. There was only Gabriella, strong, sleek and seductive. There was only Gabriella, and a desire so tangled with emotion he couldn’t fight it. He couldn’t fight what he didn’t understand. Instead he gave himself to it, and to her.
She arched, with her fingers digging into him like spurs. He heard her gasp, felt her stiffen. Then she was going with him, racing with him. Neither knew nor cared who set the pace.
* * *
Perhaps only moments had passed. It seemed like only moments. They were still tangled together, damp flesh against damp flesh, fast heart against fast heart. She wasn’t relaxed, but stunned. Perhaps, she thought as Reeve’s breathing continued to come unsteadily against her ear, she’d never relax again. Certainly she’d never be the same again.
She looked at the sun coming into the cabin. The same sun. She heard and felt the motion of the sea. The same sea. But not the same Gabriella. Never the same, from this moment. Innocence was gone. It was only now that she could be certain she’d had it to lose. And it was only now, she realized, that she was sure she’d wanted to.
“So there was no one else,” she murmured, thinking aloud.
He felt something twist inside him. Lying still, he closed his eyes until it eased. When he lifted his head, he saw that her eyes were heavy, but her skin had that glow that spoke of the aftermath of passion. And he saw, when he looked down at her, that he’d lost a great deal more than his objectivity.
His heart, which he’d always believed was very firmly in his possession, was hers. At that moment, he knew, she could break him in half with a careless word. So it was he who spoke almost carelessly.
“No, there was no one else. Do you want an apology?”
She wasn’t sure how to react or how to respond. Did a man feel responsible when he’d taken a woman’s innocence? How would she know? Maybe not responsible, she thought, but uncomfortable. She couldn’t afford the luxury of showing just how that idea hurt. Instead she kept her eyes level and her voice calm. “No, I don’t look for apologies. Do you?”
His tone didn’t change, nor his expression. She could read nothing in either one. “Why would I?”
“I started this, Reeve. I’m well aware of that.” She started to rise, but he held her in place.
“Regrets?”
Her chin came up, just a bit, but enough to show him her mood. “No. Have you?”
The first time she’d been with a man, he thought, and he’d started a stilted, foolish conversation for his own defense. She was entitled to some tenderness, some sweetness and some truth. He touched her face, just a fingertip along her cheek.
“How could I regret being given something beautiful?” He kissed her then, softly, lengthily. “How can I regret having made love to you when it’s something I’m already thinking about doing again?”
Reeve saw her lips curve just before he shifted so that he could cradle her against him. When they started back to Cordina, he knew he’d have to begin thinking again, planning. If he was to help her … but not now. Not just yet.
Content, and finding she could indeed relax. Brie rested a hand over his heart. It put her engagement ring directly in her line of vision. In the shadowed light it didn’t seem so stunning, so demanding. It seemed—almost—as if it belonged there. But it wasn’t real, she told herself quickly. It wasn’t anything more than a prop in a complicated game. Not real. She closed her eyes, settling her body against Reeve’s.
No, the ring wasn’t real, but this was, she thought as she let herself drift. This was real—for as long as it lasted.
Chapter 8
Nothing seemed to become easier, Brie thought as she walked down the wide, window-lined corridor toward the Grand Ballroom. There were paintings that any artist with a soul might have wept over. There was furniture that had been lovingly polished for centuries. She passed by without a glance.
Rather than simplifying with each day, life became more complicated. Hadn’t Reeve told her life was never simple? It wasn’t any use wishing he’d been wrong.
Nearly a week before, she’d lain beside him on a narrow little bunk, half dozing until they’d turned to each other again. And made love again. Didn’t that make them lovers? she asked herself as she stopped by one of the windows. Weren’t lovers supposed to be at ease with each other—continue to desire each other? Yet a week had passed. In that week, Reeve had been faultlessly polite, outwardly attentive. He’d even in his own way been kind. And he’d gone out of his way to avoid touching her.
Putting her hands on the sill, Brie looked down. The guards were changing. As she watched the quiet, rather charming procedure, she wondered if Reeve felt it was time her guard also changed. And what she’d do if he left.
Of course, she’d known all along she’d have to face the gossip. Their engagement was still top news, not only in Cordina and Europe, but in the United States, as well. It wasn’t possible to leaf through a magazine without finding herself.
That was nothing, Brie told herself with a little shrug. Gossip came and went. Unconsciously she twisted the diamond on her finger. Yes, gossip wasn’t important. But Reeve was—perhaps too important.
If she understood herself better, her life better, would she know how to deal with what was happening? Or should she be dealing with what wasn’t happening? No, life wasn’t simple.
Falling in love must be difficult enough when everything was normal, but when there were so many blank pages, so many responsibilities to be learned, it was more frightening than exhilarating.
He’d go back to his farm, she reminded herself. To his farm, to his country, to his life. She, her family and a handful of people who had to be trusted were already aware of that. Even if Reeve asked her, could she go? He wouldn’t ask, she told herself, trying to accept it. After all, she was just one lover in his life, one woman, one incident. It couldn’t be for him as it was for her, where he was the only one.
Responsibility. She closed her eyes a moment as she forced the word into her head. She had to think of her responsibilities and stop dreaming. There’d be no splashy wedding, no lovely white dress and veil that every designer in the world was hoping to make. There’d be no huge cake, no crossed swords. There’d be an end, and a polite goodbye. She had no right to wish differently. But she hadn’t the strength not to.
When she turned, the figure across the wide corridor had her jolting back toward the windows.
“Alexander.” Brie dropped the hand she’d pressed instinctively to her heart. “You frightened me.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked …” Unhappy, he wanted to say. Lost. “Thoughtful.”
“I was watching the guards.” The smile she gave him was the same polite one she gave to everyone. Everyone but Reeve. But unlike Alexander, she didn’t notice. “They l
ook so trim and handsome in their uniforms. I was on my way to the ballroom to make sure everything was in order. It’s hard to believe there’s so little time left before the ball and yet so much to be done. Nearly all the responses are in, so—”
“Brie, must you talk to me as if I were someone you had to be polite to?”
She opened her mouth, then shut it again. He’d described it perfectly. She couldn’t deny it. “I’m sorry. It’s still so awkward.”
“I’d rather you didn’t put on that well-rehearsed front with me.” He was young, tall and unquestionably annoyed. “You don’t seem to find it necessary with Reeve.”
Brie’s voice chilled. “I apologized once. I’ve no intention of giving you another apology.”
“I didn’t want the first one.” He crossed over to her with the quick measured steps of a man who had to know where he was going. One day he’d rule; the path was already worn. Though he was taller, they met now, as they always had, on level ground. “What I want is for you to give your family the same consideration you do a stranger.”
She was tired of guilt, smothered by it. Her voice held no apology, only a challenge. “Is that advice or an order?”
“No one’s ever been able to give you an order,” he snapped as the temper he’d been clinging to for weeks broke free. “No one’s ever been able to give you advice, for that matter. If you could be trusted to behave, it wouldn’t be necessary for us to call in outsiders.”
“I don’t think it’s necessary to bring Reeve into this conversation.”
“No?” He took her arm as he spoke, an old habit. “Just what’s between the two of you?”
Her voice had chilled before. Now her eyes followed suit. “None of your business.”
“Damn it, Brie, I’m your brother.”
“So I’m told,” she said slowly, forgetting in temper any hurt she might cause. “And my younger brother by a few years. I don’t find it necessary to be accountable to you, or to anyone, for my personal life.”
“I might be younger,” Alexander said between his teeth, “but I’m a man, and I know what’s in a man’s mind when he looks at a woman the way the American looks at you.”
“Alexander, you should stop referring to him as ‘the American,’ as though he were an inferior breed. And,” she continued before he could respond, “if I didn’t like the way Reeve looked at me, I’d put a stop to it. I’m capable of taking care of myself.”
“If you were, none of us would have gone through that agony a few weeks ago.” He saw her pale, but anger carried him further. “You were abducted, held, hospitalized. For days we waited, prayed, sat helpless. Doesn’t it occur to you that the rest of us went through hell? Maybe you don’t remember us, maybe we mean nothing to you right now. But that doesn’t change the way we feel.”
“Do you think I like it?” Unexpectedly tears started. If she’d had any warning, she might have stopped them. “Don’t you know how hard I’m trying to get back? Now you push me into a corner, criticizing, demanding, insulting.”
Temper faded, to be replaced by guilt. He’d forgotten just how lost she’d looked when she’d stood by the window. “It’s what I’ve always done,” he said gently. “You used to say that I’d practice ruling Cordina by trying to rule you and Bennett. I’m sorry, Brie. I love you. I can’t stop loving you until you’re ready for it.”
“Oh, Alex.” She went to him, for the first time holding him against her. He was so tall, so straight, so driven. But this time she felt a certain pride in knowing this. It wasn’t easy for her to wait until things were clear, nor would it be easy for a man like her brother. “Did we always argue a great deal?”
“Always.” He tightened his hold for a moment, then kissed the top of her head. “Father used to say it was because we both thought we knew everything.”
“Well, at least I can’t claim that anymore.” With a quick, cleansing breath, she drew away. “Please don’t resent Reeve, Alex. I can’t say I didn’t in the beginning, but the point is he’s making quite a sacrifice staying here, going through all these maneuvers, when he’d rather be in his own country.”
“It’s difficult.” Alex put his hands in his pockets and looked out the window. “I know he’s under no obligation and what he’s doing is done as a favor. I like him, actually.”
Brie smiled, remembering that Bennett had used the same phrase. “I thought you did.”
“It’s just that I don’t think things like this should go out of the family. Loubet’s bad enough, but unavoidable.”
“Would you get angry if I said I’d rather have Reeve hovering around me than Loubet?”
For the first time she saw Alexander grin. It was fast and endearing. “I’d think you’d lost your mind if you said otherwise.”
“Your Highness.”
Both Alexander and Brie turned. Janet Smithers gave them each a faultless curtsy. “I beg your pardon, Prince Alexander, Princess Gabriella.”
She was, as usual, flawlessly groomed, with her dark hair tidy in a chignon and her rather thin face touched by only the most discreet of cosmetics. Her diction was perfect, unaccented, clear. Her suit was classically and cleanly cut. And, to Brie’s eyes, boring. Janet Smithers was efficient, intelligent, quick and quiet. If she were in a room with more than four people, no one would notice her. Perhaps for that reason alone, Brie was driven to be kind to her.
“Did you need me for something, Janet?”
“You’ve had a phone call, Your Highness, from Miss Christina Hamilton.”
“Miss …” Brie trailed off a moment as she struggled to put details with the name.
“You went to college with her,” Alexander supplied, dropping a hand on Brie’s shoulder. It struck him that he was explaining to her about her closest friend. His touch was gentle. “She’s an American, the daughter of a builder.”
“Yes, I’ve visited her in—Houston. The press is sure she’ll be in my wedding party, if not the maid of honor.” Brie thought back on the newspaper clipping she’d been provided. A tall, stunning woman with a mane of dark hair and wicked smile. “You said she phoned, Janet. Did she leave a message?”
“She requested that I locate you, Your Highness.” Not by the slightest expression did Janet reveal her thoughts on the request. “I’m to tell you that she’ll phone back at exactly eleven o’clock.”
“I see.” Amused, Brie looked at her watch. That gave her fifteen minutes. “Well, then, I’d best go down to my rooms. Janet, if you don’t mind, could you check the ballroom for me and make notes on anything left undone? I’m afraid I won’t have time now.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” She gave the same lifeless curtsy before she continued on down the corridor.
“What an extraordinarily uninteresting woman,” Alexander commented when she was out of earshot.
“Alex,” Brie murmured, reprimanding him automatically even while she agreed.
“I know her credentials are impeccable and her efficiency’s unquestionable, but God, it must be a bore to have to deal with her every morning.”
Brie made a little movement, half shrug. “It doesn’t start the day with any stimulation. Still, I must have had a reason for hiring her.”
“You said you wanted a single woman you wouldn’t get so attached to. When Alice left—Janet’s predecessor—you moped around for days.”
“I certainly chose wisely, then.” When Alex gave her another quick grin, she shrugged again. “I’d best go down before this phone call comes through.” She didn’t add that she wanted to take a quick look through the notes and refresh her memory on Christina Hamilton. But before she left, she held out her hand. “Friends?”
Alexander took her hand, but gave a mock bow over it. “Friends, but I’m still keeping an eye on the American.”
“As you please,” she said carelessly, and turned to walk down the corridor. Alex watched her until she turned the corner toward the staircase. Perhaps he’d have a little talk with Reeve MacGee, as well.
>
Once in her sitting room, Brie sat down on the love seat with a stack of notes. She’d taken them in detail from instructions given by Reeve and her secretary. They were alphabetized, neat and thorough. They had to be thorough. The words on paper were her only reference to the people she’d once known so well. If her amnesia was to remain a closely guarded secret, she couldn’t make a foolish mistake.
Christina Hamilton, she mused as she found the two pages that would comprise her knowledge of a woman who’d once been her friend. They’d spent four years together at the Sorbonne in Paris. When Brie closed her eyes, she thought she could almost see Paris—rain-washed streets, mad traffic and lovely old buildings, dusty little shops and gardens that could break your heart with color. But she couldn’t see Christina Hamilton.
Chris, Brie corrected, noticing the nickname. Chris had studied art and now owned a gallery in Houston. There was a younger sister, Eve, whom Chris had alternately praised and despaired of. There had been romances. Brie’s brows lifted as she ticked off the names of men Chris had been involved with. But not involved enough to marry. At twenty-five, she remained single, a successful, independent artist and businesswoman. Brie felt a dull twinge of envy that came and went so quickly it nearly went unnoticed.
Interesting, she reflected. Had there been rivalry between them? She could be given facts, data, information, but no one could list feelings to her.
When her private line rang, Brie kept her notes in one hand while she reached for the phone with the other. “Hello.”
“The least you can do when an old friend calls you from across the Atlantic is to be available.”
She liked the voice instantly. It was warm, dry and somewhat lazy. This time the twinge Brie felt was one of regret for not being able to recognize her emotions. “Chris …” She hesitated, then went with instinct. “Don’t you know royalty keeps busy hours?”