Cordina's Royal Family Collection

by Nora Roberts

  “No, I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because then I’d have to accept your apology.” Taking a deep breath, she faced him directly. “If I don’t accept it, I’ll stay annoyed with you and it won’t happen again.”

  “There’s a flaw in your logic, Eve.” He continued to sit after the car stopped at the palace steps. Even when the driver opened the door, Alexander stayed where he was, watching her, compelling her to watch him. “You are most often annoyed with me, yet it did happen. But for the sake of your argument, I won’t apologize.”

  He stepped from the car and offered his hand, leaving her no choice but to accept it. “Somehow I think I was outmaneuvered,” she muttered.

  “You were.” Then he smiled, abruptly charming, and led her up the palace steps.

  She matched her steps with his, but for the first time found herself hesitating to pass through the large ornate doors of the palace. “I never considered you much of a game player, Your Highness.”

  “On the contrary, I enjoy games very much.”

  “Chess, fencing, polo.” She moved her shoulders restlessly. “Not people games.”

  Her scent was the same, the same as it had been the last time he’d seen her, touched her. The same scent that had awoken him in the middle of the night when she’d been thousands of miles away. “You called me a politician. What is politics but a people game?” The heavy door slid open soundlessly. Eve sent him a long, cautious look before she stepped inside.

  “My father wishes to see you. I’ll take you to him. Your bags should arrive shortly.”

  “All right.” She started up the steps beside him. “The prince is well?”

  “Yes.” He wouldn’t elaborate on her unspoken question. The Paris incident wasn’t a closed book, but one he thought best to leave untouched.

  Feeling the snub, Eve started the climb from the second to the third floor in silence. “You don’t want me to speak of what happened in Paris to your father.”

  “There’s no reason for you to speak of it.”

  “Of course not.” The words came out with the brittleness of hurt. “It was nothing to me, after all.” She swung up the last of the stairs and down the hall ahead of him, only to be forced to wait at the closed door that led to Prince Armand’s office.

  “Your emotions remain too close to the surface,” Alexander noted. He’d recognized this, even envied it, as a man who’d been forced year after year to keep his own buried. “That wasn’t said to offend you.”

  “No, you don’t have to deliberately try to offend.”

  “Touché,” he said with something close to a sigh.

  “I don’t want to cross swords with you. I don’t expect you to include me in your family feelings.” She looked away and didn’t see his gaze come back to search her face. “The sad thing is you’ve never understood that I care very much.” She folded her arms as if to distance herself when he stared at her. “Will you knock?”

  He didn’t. A man in his position could afford few mistakes. When he made one, it was best to admit it quickly. “He’ll look strained, a bit thinner. The incident in Paris weighs on him.” Alexander looked at the closed door, recognizing it for a barricade, one that someday he would have to use. “He doesn’t sleep well.”

  “What can I do?”

  God, could it be so simple for her? The words made him want to rest his brow against hers, only for a moment. Rest, be comforted, be eased. But it could never be so simple for him. “You’re doing it,” he said briefly, and knocked.

  “Entrez.”

  “Father.” Alexander opened the door, then stepped to the side. “I’ve brought you a gift.”

  Prince Armand rose from his desk. He was a sternly handsome man, straight and lean. When Eve had first met him, his hair had been threaded with gray. Now it was steely, like his eyes, like his body. Seeing her, he smiled, and the rigid lines softened.

  “A lovely one.” He came around the desk to her in a gesture of friendship she knew wasn’t given to many. As she curtsied, he caught both her hands. His were strong. If age sat lightly on him, responsibility didn’t. She saw the signs of strain, of sleeplessness, and forgot protocol. Rising on her toes, she kissed both his cheeks.

  “It’s good to be back, Your Highness.”

  “It’s you who are good for us. Alexander, you didn’t tell me she’d grown more beautiful.”

  “He doesn’t notice,” she said with a careless glance over her shoulder.

  “On the contrary. I simply didn’t think it necessary to explain what my father would see for himself.”

  “A born diplomat,” Armand said, and laughed. “Alex, ring for tea, please. We’ll keep Eve to ourselves for a little while before we have to share her with the rest of Cordina. So, the young girl is now an important producer.” He led her to a chair. “You’ve come to entertain us.”

  “I hope so.”

  “My son tells me the center is fortunate to have your company. Your reputation in America is growing, and as your first international host, we’re honored.”

  Eve smiled. “Bennett loves to flatter.”

  “True enough.” Armand drew out a cigarette. “But in this case it was Alex.”

  “Alex?” Caught off guard, she turned her head to stare as Alexander took a chair beside her.

  “Eve doesn’t expect flattery from me, Father.” He drew out his lighter and flicked it at the end of his father’s cigarette. “She’s more prepared to dodge a blow.”

  “Well, when you’ve been doing it for seven years, it gets to be—” She caught herself, bit her tongue smartly, then turned back to the prince. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness.”

  “There’s no need. I’m used to squabbling children. Here’s our tea. Will you pour, Eve?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Allowing himself the luxury of relaxing, Armand sat back as the tray was set beside Eve. “Alexander tells me you’ve chosen four interesting plays. The first is a rather passionate and—what is the word you used, Alex?”

  “Steamy,” he said, and smiled at Eve’s quick look.

  “Yes, a steamy story set in your American South. It deals with a family?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” She handed him his tea. “A power struggle within a family, both for money and for love. A rich, dominating father, two brothers, one the black sheep, the other a weakling, and their manipulative wives. It’s really a story of needs and disillusionment as much as passion.”

  “A story that holds true in any culture.”

  “I’m counting on it.” She handed Alexander his tea but avoided looking at him. “The plays I’ve chosen all lean heavily on emotion, though the two comedies accent the lighter side. My troupe’s looking forward to working here. I want to thank you for giving us the opportunity.”

  “It was Alex who did the work and dealt with the board of directors for the center. From some of his comments, I take it they were not as open-minded as he would have liked.”

  Alexander’s strong fingers curled around the delicate china handle. “They simply needed some persuasion.”

  She couldn’t imagine Alexander going to bat for her. At the first flutter of pleasure, Eve pulled herself back. He’d done it for himself—more accurately, for Cordina. “However it was arranged, I’m grateful. We won’t disappoint you.”

  “I’m sure you won’t. I’m looking forward to meeting the rest of your company this evening.”

  Understanding this to be a gentle dismissal, Eve rose. “If you’ll excuse me, then, I’d better get unpacked.” Because her nature demanded it, she kissed Armand’s cheek again. “It really is good to be back.”

  * * *

  Though her bags weren’t yet delivered, Eve’s room was ready, scented with fresh flowers, windows open to the sea. Slipping out of her shoes, then her jacket, she pushed the billowing curtains aside.

  The view took her breath away. It was the same every time—the initial disbelief that anything coul
d be that beautiful, then the dizzying pleasure that it was real. The gardens were far below, vivid, delightful in color. Whoever had planted them, whoever tended them, appreciated the need for flowers to grow as they pleased, rather than in neat, orderly rows. The result was dreamlike rather than perfection.

  Beyond the garden was the seawall, worn smooth by centuries of wind and salt. The cliff fell off sharply then, sheerly vertical with juts and mounds of rocks for seabirds to nest in. Then there was the sea itself, dark, deep, radiantly blue. Boats glided across it now.

  She saw a boat with red sails racing with the wind, and a pleasure yacht so white it hurt the eyes. Someone was waterskiing. She squinted to see if it was a man or woman, but distance made the figure just a figure skimming along the searing blue surface. Enchanted, she knelt on the window seat, propped her chin on her hands and continued to watch.

  The knock at her door meant her bags had arrived. Half dreaming, Eve stayed where she was. “Entrez, s’il vous plâit.”

  “It’s been arranged for you to have a maid.”

  Alexander’s voice had her jolting straight and nearly losing her balance on the window seat. “Oh, thank you, but it really isn’t necessary.”

  Alexander murmured to the servant to set her bags down and leave. “She can deal with your unpacking at your convenience. Her name is Collette. She won’t disturb you until you ring.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You look tired.” Without the jacket, she looked more fragile, more approachable, almost as if she were a woman he could sit with, talk with, be only a man with. He wanted to smooth the hair from her brow, gently, even tenderly. His hands curled at his sides. “You might want to rest first.”

  “No, I’m not tired really. I’ve just been hypnotizing myself with the view.”

  She waited for him to leave, but instead he crossed to her, drawing the curtains aside a little more. “I have the same view from my window.”

  “I suppose you’re used to it, then. I don’t think I’d ever be.”

  “Early, just after dawn, the fishing boats go out.” He rested his hand on the sill beside hers. Eve’s gaze was drawn to it, to the long, tanned fingers, the wide back and the ring that stated who and what he was. “They look so fragile, yet they go out day after day.”

  His hands fascinated her. They had touched her once, not gently but potently. There was strength in them a woman could rely on, as well as a strength to be feared. She wondered why at the moment she should feel only the first.

  “I’ve never been a terribly good sailor myself, but I like to watch. When I was young, my father had a sailboat. I was forever tangling up the lines or getting bashed by the boom. Eventually he got tired of it and bought a power-boat. I had a shot at waterskiing.”

  “Did you have better luck?” he asked.

  “Some.” She turned again and searched for the sexless skier. As she did, he or she took an impressive spill. Laughing, Eve leaned back on her heels. “That was about as good as I got, too.”

  “So you prefer to swim.”

  “I prefer to have control. That’s why I took up karate. I like making my own moves rather than being at the mercy of the wind or a towline or whatever.”

  “Not at the mercy of the wind,” Alexander corrected. “You work with or outwit the wind.”

  “Maybe you do.”

  “I could teach you.”

  Surprised—no, stunned—she looked up at him. It had been said casually, but she’d never known him to do anything casually. She could imagine herself sailing with him, the sun, the wind, his body gleaming in the shimmering light. She could imagine it too well. “Thank you, but my father already judged me hopeless.”

  “You were a child.” The breeze ruffled her hair against his arm. “You’re not a child now.”

  “No.” Unnerved and feeling foolish because of it, she looked out the window again. “But I doubt either of us will have much time for sailing lessons while I’m here. Work starts tomorrow.”

  “And today?”

  Her heart was pounding in her throat. It was ridiculous. She wasn’t subject to flights of fancy and wide swings of emotion. Meet it head-on, Eve advised herself. Meet it head-on and push it aside. She turned again and looked at him. “I don’t know what you want. I don’t—” When he reached down to brush the hair from her cheek, the words simply slid away.

  “I think you do.”

  “No.” She managed to find the strength to shake her head. “That’s impossible.”

  “So I’ve told myself.” His fingers tightened on her hair. His eyes weren’t so secretive now. In them she saw need, and felt the longing grow in herself to fulfill it. “It becomes more difficult to accept.”

  “Your Highness.” Her hand flew to his wrist when he framed her face. “Alex, please, this isn’t right.”

  “The hell with right.”

  He took her then, mouth, soul and heart, as the salt-scented breeze billowed at the curtains. Her hands were still at his wrists, her fingers clamping harder and harder, whether in denial or acceptance neither of them knew.

  He’d wanted, needed, yearned for the passion and spirit that were so much a part of her. He’d craved the softness and sweetness that offset the rest. If it was wrong, if it was impossible, he’d fight his way through the obstacles. He’d known, the moment he’d seen her again, that he had no choice.

  How could she deny what was happening to her? She wasn’t a woman who lied to herself, who refused to see her own flaws. Desire, hot and liquid, ruled her thoughts. And it was Alexander, heir to the throne, whom she wanted. Desperately, she realized. Uncontrollably. Even as she tried to reason it out, her body was pulsing with more needs.

  To be his, she thought as she released his wrist to comb her fingers through his hair. To be his would be everything.

  He was edging toward madness. She was so smooth, so warm. The fire was licking at him, what was his, what had come from her. If he didn’t bank it now, it would overwhelm both of them. He couldn’t allow it to happen this way, not now, not here. Alexander drew her away, swore, then kissed her again until she went limp in his arms.

  “You’ll have to choose.” His voice wasn’t steady, but he drew her head back and kept his eyes on hers. “And you’ll have to choose soon.”

  She ran a hand that trembled over her face. “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t intend to lose.” He had her hair in his hand, holding her still. She wouldn’t have moved in any case. His eyes would have held her. “Understand that. I didn’t apologize for before, and I won’t apologize now.”

  He released her, then strode to the door and out.

  Alone, Eve eased herself down on the seat like a woman who’d had too much sun or wine. Perhaps she’d had both somehow. His kiss had been both hot and potent. She had to think. With a shaky sigh, she pressed her fingers to her eyes. The trouble was, she didn’t know where to start.

  Chapter 5

  Eve felt secure in the theater, satisfied with the office that had been prepared for her and grateful for the hours per day she would have away from the palace. And Alexander.

  She was a professional woman. A businesswoman with her career in full swing and the ultimate success just at the tip of her fingers. Her biggest challenge to date was spread out before her. Nearly a hundred people were depending on her to make decisions, give orders and do things right. She couldn’t afford to spend her nights tossing and turning, trying to figure out a man. She couldn’t daydream about him when there were a million things to be done.

  But when he’d kissed her in front of the window with the scent of the sea creeping in around them, it had been no less devastating, no less illuminating than the first time. Need, both sharply physical and deeply emotional, had run through her. Not need for a man, for a lover, for a companion, but for Alexander. She’d wanted him—to make love with her there near the window while the sky and the sea were still a perfect blue.

  It wouldn’t have been lovemaking, Eve r
eminded herself as she pressed fingers against her tired eyes. It would have been sex, plain and simple. She didn’t want that, didn’t need it, and she wasn’t going to think of it anymore.

  It was barely two on her first full day in Cordina. Her morning meeting had gone well enough. Alexander had been more his familiar self—distant, businesslike and exacting. That was a man she knew how to deal with. The man who had kissed her the afternoon before, the man who had made her feel weak and strong and desperate all at once—she didn’t know how to deal with him.

  He’d been the perfect host to her company the evening before. His charm was on the formal side, but her people had been impressed. In fact, she mused, more than one of her female players had been overly impressed. She’d have to keep her eyes open. It wouldn’t do to have anyone distracted over the next few weeks. Including her. With that in mind she began checking and cross-checking her lists.

  The glamour of theater, she thought wryly as she rubbed the back of her neck. Just how many tubes of makeup had they shipped—and where the hell were they? Then there was the crate of cable that had left Houston just fine, but had never made the transfer in New York. If the airport didn’t call her back by four, she was going to—

  “Yes, come in.” Harried, Eve barely glanced up. “Yes, Russ. There can’t be a problem already can there? But wait.” She held up a hand before he could speak. “You and the rest of the troupe aren’t due in until tomorrow, right?”

  “Yes to both questions. There is a problem already and I’m not due in—but I couldn’t stay away.” He was a young-looking thirty with a well-built body and a lantern jaw. Eve had liked his looks from the beginning, but had still put him through three readings before she’d signed him. The wavy blond hair and the blue eyes were a plus, but she looked for substance. She’d never have cast him as Brick if she hadn’t found it. When he perched on the edge of her desk, she leaned back and grimaced.

  “Tell me the problem first.”

  “Lighting director’s having an artistic difference with a twenty K spotlight. Nobody can put his hands on the crate of extra bulbs.”