by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)
Yeah, right.
Cindy slid her hands down from his neck, rubbing his spine with easy, sure touches, when suddenly she stopped. Her arm was pressed against his side—more accurately, against his shoulder holster. She blinked in surprise, then gave him a lush, sexual smile. "Hmm … what other surprises do you have for me, darlin'?" She slid her hands lower, as if she intended to find out. Over at the table good ol' Rusty stood up and took the princess's arm as she got up, and Tyler decided he'd had more than enough.
He untangled himself from Cindy, crossed to the princess in four strides, removed her from Rusty's grip and swept her back to the table with him. There he tossed down enough money to cover their bill, grabbed their coats and pushed her ahead of him to the door and outside.
"Well, that was certainly—"
He raised a hand in warning, and the princess fell silent. Ignoring new customers arriving, he helped her into her coat, shoved his arms into his own jacket, then headed for the motel.
"Rude," she finished once they reached her room. "You were very rude."
He unlocked and opened the door, then made a big gesture for her to enter. He followed right on her heels, locked the door, then turned on the lights in his own room before facing her. "What? Were you planning another late evening with Rusty? Maybe this time he'd pay you with something more than a cheesy T-shirt."
For a long time she simply looked at him. Even in a badly lit, badly furnished cheap motel room, she looked every bit the elegant, well-bred, privileged princess she was, and with nothing more than a look, she made him feel … undeserving. Unworthy. "Rusty gave me this shirt because he thought I would get a—a kick out of it. He didn't ask for anything in return, and I didn't offer him anything other than my thanks."
"Call it what you want, Princess. It doesn't matter to me." Turning into his room, he jerked off his parka, then the sports jacket underneath it. He didn't hear any sounds but the ones he was making—the rustle of clothing, his uneven breathing, the anger and jealousy and frustration boiling just below the surface—but suddenly she was in the doorway.
"You think I 'got lucky' with Rusty last night? You think I had sex with him?"
He couldn't look at her because his face was hot, so he kept his back to her and pretended that unpacking the smaller of his bags was vital at that moment. "I don't care what you did with him last night—" liar "—but whatever it was, it's not happening again."
"You do," she repeated, her voice soft and underlaid with surprise. "You think I was intimate with Rusty and you're—"
Before she could say "jealous," Tyler swung around to face her. "Do you think I give a damn if you were intimate with every man in that bar? I don't care if you've slept with every man you've ever met, but you're not doing it on my watch! Your father entrusted me with your safety, and I'll be damned if I'll screw up my career because you like to bring men home from bars with you! The extracurricular activities are over until you get back to Montebello. Get used to it, Princess."
She stared at him, regal and cold, no doubt thinking of all the royal punishments she'd like to condemn him to. Then, without a word or even so much as a blink, she turned, went back to her room, and closed and locked the connecting door on her side.
Muttering curses, he went to the door, but he stopped short of banging on it, yelling out his frustration or demanding she unlock the door immediately. Instead, he leaned against the unyielding steel, cool against the flush of shame that warmed him, and closed his eyes.
What the hell was wrong with him? He couldn't talk to the king's daughter that way! No matter what she did, no matter how he felt about it, he owed her the respect and deference her title commanded. He couldn't yell at her, insult her, criticize her—and he damn well couldn't do any of that merely because he was jealous. She was out of his league. He had no right to even want her. He had a career to consider, and she had a father who could destroy him. Hell, she could destroy him.
He rubbed his hand over his face. It was just a matter of perspective. He needed to remember that he was a professional with a job to do, that she was a privileged princess whom he never would have gotten near without that job. This was a protection detail, no different than if the protectee were her sixty-some-year-old father or her months-old nephew.
Perspective. Pure and simple.
* * *
By the time Tyler knocked at the door the next morning, Anna had been dressed, packed and ready to go for more than an hour. She ignored his subdued greeting and made a production of putting on her coat, scarf and gloves while he delivered their luggage to the vehicle. As she adjusted the black wool scarf over her hair in front of the mirror, she searched her reflection for any outward indications of the restless night she'd spent. No reddened eyes from the tears she'd shed in the shower before bed, no dark shadows from the hours of tossing and turning—at least, none that a deft hand with cosmetics couldn't disguise.
When was the last time a man had made her weep? Of course she'd cried many tears upon hearing the tragic news of Lucas's plane crash. She'd been unable to believe that the elder brother who'd doted on her since birth had been taken from their lives, and at times she'd thought she couldn't live without him. But other than that … when had she last cared enough about a man that he'd had the ability to bring her to tears?
The memory came to her with astonishing clarity. She had been fifteen, and he was seventeen, and she'd nursed a schoolgirl crush on him through the entire year. He'd given her reason to believe that he was going to invite her to their end-of-the-year dance, an event akin to an American school prom, and she had been breathless with excitement … right up to the moment he'd asked her best friend instead.
That had been her first and last broken heart. No way was she allowing Tyler Ramsey to become the second. Her feelings for him were as foolish and pointless as her crush on that boy had been. And look at her now. Neither the boy's name nor his face would come to mind.
She couldn't fathom ever being unable to recall Tyler's image. Even as that stubborn thought popped into her mind, his image appeared in the mirror next to hers. "Are you ready?" He sounded cool, polite, deferential—as he should.
She didn't trust herself to speak at all. Instead, she picked up her bag and followed him to the vehicle.
They ate breakfast in awkward silence at a restaurant on the outskirts of town, then took a highway in a southwesterly direction. Their next destination was Garden City, located practically in Wyoming, only miles from Yellowstone. Lucas had spent a week there once and had returned with a fuzzy stuffed bear for her as a souvenir. Someday, he'd said, they would visit the park together and he would show her the mountains, the geyser called Old Faithful and, with luck, one of the black bears after which her stuffed one had been modeled.
If only someday could be today!
Their route took them between the Big Snowy and Little Belt Mountains. Perusing the atlas she'd found between the seats, she located the Castle Mountains not far out of their way, near a town called Castle Town and another named Buckingham, and south of that range was the Crazy Mountains.
For a time she allowed the names to distract her—allowed her mind to roam six thousand miles home to Montebello. No doubt it was a sunny, warm day on the island—probably seventy degrees warmer than it was in central Montana. It was late afternoon there, and her mother would be preparing for whatever guests the palace would entertain that evening. Whether Anna's presence would be required would depend on the nature of Papa's business with them. Often he requested that she join them, but just as often she was free to entertain her own guests in her apartment or to go out clubbing with her friends.
To hear Tyler tell it, she went out only to collect new men so the revolving door on her bedroom wouldn't grow rusty from disuse. If he knew the truth, would he be ashamed of his unkind thoughts? She didn't know. She did know, though, that she cared not one bit what he thought. He was less than nothing to her. An employee, and a temporary one at that.
Th
ough she vowed she would stay on Montebello forever before she would accept him as a bodyguard again. There was no place on earth she wanted to go badly enough to go with him.
"Are you warm enough?"
She refused to look directly at him, though she did turn her head enough to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye. "If I weren't, I would increase the temperature," she replied haughtily.
He grew silent again for a mile, perhaps two, before speaking again. "If you get tired, you can recline that seat and take a nap."
"Yes, I am well aware of that."
After another mile, he cleared his throat. "Listen, about last night…"
She gave him a frigid look. "I am also well aware they teach you in your training that, except for an emergency, you're not to speak to the dignitary you're protecting unless he or she speaks to you first. I haven't spoken to you first even once this morning, and yet you persist in your awkward attempts at conversation. If I want to talk with you, Mr. Ramsey, I'll let you know."
His cheeks flushed heatedly and his ears—at least, the one she could see—turned red as his fingers clenched the steering wheel. He clamped his jaw shut, but that didn't stop the muscle there from twitching as it had done repeatedly the two days previous. His dark glasses hid his eyes from her, but she didn't need to see them to know the derision that clouded them.
Foolishly she felt the urge to weep again, and she turned to stare out the side window to hide it from him. As the scenery flew past unnoticed, she wished she were home in Montebello, with Christina in Billings—anywhere other than here, with anyone other than Tyler.
She was lost in regretful thoughts when abruptly he swore aloud, stomped on the brake and steered the vehicle to a shuddering stop on the shoulder of the highway. While she attempted to gather her wits—had he seen something? had they hit something? was there a problem with the vehicle?—he jumped out of the driver's seat, slammed the door hard enough to rock the SUV, then stalked around to her side. Before she could react, he jerked her door open, grabbed a handful of her sweater and handed her—as if she were no more than a sack of grain!—out of the vehicle and set her on the ground.
"I'm sorry, okay?" he shouted, leaning menacingly close to her. "I'm sorry I refused to call you Anna. I'm sorry I wasn't as friendly as you wanted. I'm sorry I dragged you out of the Silver Nugget last night, I'm sorry I said the things I did, I'm sorry if I hurt you, and I'm damned sorry I can't do this—"
And just like that, he kissed her—hungrily, greedily, possessively, as no man had ever kissed her before, as if he'd waited forever to do it, as if he'd wanted forever to do it. He slid his arms around her and pulled her against him, lifted her with one hand so her hips pressed snugly against his, and tangled his other hand in her hair, and he thrust his tongue inside her mouth, probing, stunning, melting her. Her arms automatically wrapped around his neck, and her body rubbed against his as naturally as breathing. Though the air around them was frigid, heat radiated through her, along with need, hunger, pleasure and an immeasurable sense of rightness. His arms about her, his tongue in her mouth, his arousal searing her … nothing she'd ever known had felt so right, so special, so … perfect.
And then, as abruptly as he'd taken her, he released her, put her away and took steps to move himself even farther away. She stared at him, dazed, aching, wanting nothing so much as another of his embraces, another of his kisses, and more, everything more he could give. And he stared back, appalled, angry … and still noticeably aroused.
After a time he dragged his hand through his hair and swore. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."
The words hurt, but this time she didn't turn away to hide it. She touched her fingers lightly to her lips, still able to feel the tingle from his mouth, to savor the taste of him, then regretfully asked, "Then why did you?"
Anger flared in his green eyes as he all but growled, "It won't happen again."
"To me it felt very right," she said hesitantly, gently. "Was it so different for you?"
"You're a princess, damn it!"
She was well aware of that—though, obviously, not as much as he was. She'd known people who sought her friendship merely because of her rank, as well as people who'd wanted nothing to do with her merely because of her rank. It always hurt, but it was a fact of royal life. She couldn't change that people judged her on her position within the monarchy and not on the woman she was any more than she could change the fact that she was a part of the monarchy.
But for this man—this man who could kiss her as no other man she'd ever known—to so judge her… An ache settled in her chest.
Though she feared he would reject her, she closed the distance between them and clasped his hand in hers. She was right. He shrugged off her touch as if he found it unpleasant. "Does it matter so much to you—my being a princess?"
"Yes, it matters," he replied with a harsh scowl.
"And if I weren't … would you kiss me again?"
"If you weren't," he said harshly, "we wouldn't be having this conversation."
He walked away, heading for the opposite side of the vehicle, but she moved only to watch him. Folding her arms across her chest to combat the sudden chill shivering through her, she called after him. "What does that mean, Mr. Ramsey? You wouldn't have looked twice at me if you weren't being paid to do so?"
He stalked back, coming right up to her, so close she could feel the tension vibrating through him, and he glared down into her face. "It means I would have you stripped naked in the back of that truck and we wouldn't be talking at all. And my name is Tyler, damn it!"
She couldn't help it. Even though he appeared more intimidating and commanding than virtually any man she knew besides her father, she smiled sweetly. "Call me Annie, and I'll call you Tyler."
He glared at her mutely, and she smiled back. After a long moment, he turned his back on her, drew a deep breath, then swung around to face her. "We need to get going. It's cold out here."
"You don't look chilled. Your cheeks, ears and throat are flushed red. Permit me to determine whether you feel chilled." She reached out to lay her hand against his cheek, but he grabbed her fingers an instant before she made contact.
"I'm not chilled," he growled.
"No, I didn't think so. You rather look as if you might give off steam, Mr. Ramsey."
He wrapped his fingers around hers and used the hold to back her toward the SUV. "Tyler."
"I believe we're both well aware of your given name, Mr. Ramsey."
"Say it. Tyler."
"Not until you call me Annie."
Feeling the cold metal of the vehicle at her back, she could retreat no farther, but that didn't stop him from advancing. He pinned her to the side panel with his body and slid both hands into her hair, anchoring them in the curls, tilting her face for his kiss. Her blood turned hot and sluggish and her lids fluttered shut as his mouth brushed her temple, the corner of her eye, her cheek. "Say it, Princess," he demanded in a husky whisper. "Say my name."
He traced her ear with the tip of his tongue, and she whimpered deep in her throat. Her fingers clutched handfuls of his shirt as if he might save her from floating away on a tide of sensation, and she whimpered again when at last he touched his mouth briefly, chastely, to hers. "Say my name, Annie," he groaned, his mouth so near that she tasted his words. "Please…"
"Yes … Tyler…" She couldn't think of any other words to add—pleas, demands, needs—but that was sufficient because the instant she whispered his name, he kissed her again, and she lost the ability to speak at all.
She was filled with aches to which she had no means of giving voice when the sound of a clearing throat penetrated the haze that had enveloped her. It startled her, but not nearly as much as it startled Tyler. He spun around, pushing her behind him at the same time he reached inside his jacket where his weapon was holstered, then stilled when he saw that the intruder was a policeman.
"I thought you folks might be having some trouble," the gentleman sa
id with a broad grin, "but it looks like you got it straightened out on your own."
Peeking around Tyler, she smiled. "Yes, we're fine, but it was very kind of you to stop and check."
"Nah, just part of my job. You're not from around here, are you?"
"No." She sidestepped Tyler's restraining arm and moved to stand beside him. "We're from Arkansas. Have you ever been there?"
"A time or two."
"It's not so bad."
"No, ma'am," he agreed with a chuckle, "I suppose it's not."
"I'm sorry, deputy," Tyler said, attempting to unobtrusively nudge her toward the open door of the SUV. Stubbornly she planted her feet and refused to be nudged. "We're up here on our honeymoon, and we stopped to look at the mountains out there and just sort of … forgot where we were."
The deputy grinned again. "Those are the Crazy Mountains. You can't pick 'em out from here, but there's one at this end called Loco Mountain and one farther south called Crazy Peak. Kind of appropriate for the situation, huh?"
"Very appropriate." Tyler's smile wasn't very convincing … but his blush was, Anna thought. "Why don't you get in the car, Princess, so we can all be on our way."
He boosted her into the vehicle, then closed the door before she could do more than wave goodbye to the policeman. After fastening her seat belt, she held her icy fingers to the hot air blowing from the vents and wondered how a simple matter such as a kiss could so thoroughly change the nature of a word. Tyler calling her princess before the kiss had been unwelcome. Tyler calling her princess after the kiss was unbearably sweet.
When he got into the driver's seat, he gave her a triumphant look. "You called me Tyler."
"Yes, I did." She waited until he'd pulled back onto the highway and resumed speed to add, "But not before you called me Annie."
"Did I?"
"Yes, you did." In a pained groan that had made her legs go weak and her body feverish. After that husky, pleading Please … she would have given anything he wanted, would have done anything he asked.