Romancing the Crown Series

by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)

  Her wicked smile took the sting out of her last words, and he was about to respond similarly when she slipped and, seemingly in slow motion, started to fall. He reached forward to catch hold of her hand, but she'd fallen back too far and he was too off-balance to counter it.

  She sank through the snow, landing on her back, and he fell on top of her. Silhouette-shaped walls of snow towered over them, sending little avalanches of icy flakes down on them, coating their clothes, dotting her dark curls, drifting over his collar onto his too-warm skin. Her first response was to laugh, but the humor disappeared soon enough—about the time she became aware of his erection, he figured—and instead she stared up at him, her brown eyes rounded and hazy, her lips slightly parted, her body soft and unnaturally warm for the circumstances. That was fair enough, though, since he was hot enough to melt ice.

  The cold, the snow and the fact that he was most definitely not keeping his distance faded from his mind as he stared at her. There was a hopeful look in her eyes, and he wondered what it was she hoped for. That he would kiss her? Or that he wouldn't?

  Bracing himself on his elbow, he removed one glove, then brushed a few flakes of snow from her cheek. Though her face was flushed beneath her natural tan, her skin was cold and smooth as ice beneath his fingers. As he watched her watch him, his simple action became something more—a lingering touch, a much-needed caress—and he saw clearly the answer to his earlier question. She wanted him to kiss her, nearly as much as he wanted to. His mouth went dry at the prospect, and his blood turned so hot he swore he could feel steam rising.

  When his fingers wandered close to her mouth, she turned her head just enough to bring her lips in contact with them for one brief moment. Then she smiled, and her expression turned so incredibly sad that raw pain throbbed straight through him. "We mustn't do this, Tyler," she gently reminded him. "Nothing has changed."

  She was right. Nothing had changed. She wanted him, and he wanted her more. She was the king's treasured virgin daughter, and the biggest obstacle he faced in completing this job successfully. Making love to her might seem like the most important thing in his life at this moment, but it could cost him his career, his relationship with his family and his own self-respect. It could endanger or even destroy the organization's working relationship with King Marcus, which was of utmost importance. It could destroy him.

  She could destroy him. And how much harm could he bring to her?

  Pushing away from her took more willpower than he'd known he possessed. He struggled to his feet, then pulled her up. The scarf that had covered her hair fell, draping around her neck in a soft black cloud, and her curls tempted him to slide his fingers through them just once. He was reaching up to do just that when he forced his hands back to his side. This wasn't the time to give in to even the smallest of temptations, because if he did it once, it would be easier to do again. Besides, he was a weak man. If he filled his hands with her curls, it would be too easy to tilt her head back, to lean close, to brush his mouth across hers, to slide his tongue inside her mouth, to slide his hands inside her clothing and his…

  Biting back a groan, he turned back toward the porch but reached behind him for her hand. She clasped his hand with both of hers and let him pull her through the snow to the porch. He kicked most of the snow from the steps, then hustled her up and to the door. There she stopped to brush the snow from her coat and jeans, to stomp it from her boots, while he did the same.

  When she started to turn the doorknob, he laid his hand over hers. "I'm sorry, Annie. I wish … I wish things were different."

  She smiled faintly. "You say I'm young, and yet I learned a lesson at nine years of age that you haven't yet learned at twenty plus that. Wishes are a waste of time, energy and imagination, Tyler. They certainly don't come true."

  Still wearing that bittersweet smile, she pulled away, opened the door and went inside. He stood there in the cold, wishing he could be the one to prove her wrong, wishing he could be the man to make every wish she'd never thought to make come true. But the sad fact was, once again she was right.

  Wishes didn't come true.

  At least, not for them.

  Chapter 7

  S unday passed harmlessly enough. While Tyler spent the entire day with his nose in a book, Anna worked her way through the video library. She watched classic old westerns that Roberto loved, comedies, a love story—but only one—and several action thrillers. She was so very tired of movies by the time she went to bed that night that she feared she might never sit willingly through another.

  On Monday, snow fell again for a few dreary hours and cabin fever set in in earnest. She attempted to read but couldn't concentrate. She did manage to write a few postcards to friends, nap, listen to music and contemplate taking another stab at a walk in the snow. Considering how the last such excursion had ended, though, she decided it would be in her best interests to stay inside and go quietly insane.

  By Tuesday afternoon, she wasn't content to do anything quietly. There were so many places she wanted to go, so many things she needed to do, and the inactivity was quickly approaching unbearable. The situation with Tyler was no longer so tense—they were able to make small talk—but both of them were on their guard constantly to keep things from becoming more intimate than was good for them.

  Rather, than was good for him. She couldn't think of a single thing in the world that could be better for her than becoming intimate with Tyler Ramsey.

  It had occurred to her that, if she were as experienced as people presumed her to be, she could attempt to seduce the man. But she wasn't experienced, and she found the idea of coercing him into making love to her against his better judgment reprehensible at best—though if she left the choice completely up to him, it would probably never happen at all. But that was a possibility—a probability—she very well might have to live with.

  She was in the midst of surfing through the satellite channels once again available to them when the cell phone rang. Scrambling to her feet, she located it on the table where it had been silently plugged into the charger ever since their arrival at the lodge. Delightedly, she pressed the send button and answered the call.

  She'd expected Christina, but it was her mother's voice at the other end. "How is your vacation?" Gwendolyn asked after dispensing with the greetings.

  "I'm having a wonderful time," Anna lied. "Montana is a wonderful place, though it's very cold. I believe next time I shall come in the summer, when it surely must be more hospitable."

  "And are you enjoying your visit with Christina?"

  "Oh, yes." Two falsehoods in less than two minutes. She probably hadn't told her mother more than ten lies in her entire life, and now she couldn't seem to tell the truth.

  As she settled on the sofa again, she saw Tyler glance up from his book across the room, one eyebrow raised in silent question. He must have realized right away that it wasn't Christina and probably worried it was Papa instead. Tucking her feet underneath her, she answered his question indirectly. "Oh, Mama, you should see her home. It's lovely—set in the woods, with windows everywhere—and she's so happy. She seems so … American." At least that was true. After so many years in Montana, Christina had acquired an American accent, an American style of dress, and most assuredly an American sense of independence. No one who saw her driving her truck, wearing her jeans and behaving so competently and capably would ever guess she was a princess.

  Her mother chuckled. "We all tend to adapt to our situations. Not long after I came here from England, I'm certain I seemed so … Montebellan."

  "Sometimes I forget you aren't." Would she ever become something else? Anna wondered, and her gaze crept against her will to Tyler. Arizonan, perhaps? And what exactly was required to be an Arizonan?

  To start with, the cooperation of a man who was most uncooperative.

  "So, sweetheart, tell me what you've done," Gwendolyn requested.

  "I've eaten buffalo," Anna replied, injecting a note of enthusiasm into her v
oice, "and it really was quite delicious. And I've met some very nice people and seen some lovely scenery. Do you know they have mountains here called Castle Mountains? And a town named Buckingham and another range called the Crazy Mountains? And Montana is one of only fifty states, but it's much, much bigger than the entire kingdom of Montebello. But did I mention that it's very cold?"

  "Yes, you did. I suppose having lived all your life in San Sebastian, the Montana winter must be quite a shock to you. Christina said you were … how did she put it? Like a child at Christmas when the snow started. Do you recall, when you were little, that was often all you ever asked for for Christmas? You never quite understood how your father could be the king and yet lack the power to make it snow for you."

  "Yes, I remember." And if she were still that same little girl, at this very moment she would be begging her father to make the snow go away so she could go away. "How is Papa?"

  "He's fine, as always. He's sitting right here, waiting for me to hand him the phone. Give Christina a hug for me, sweetheart, and enjoy your vacation. I love you."

  "I love you, too, Mama," she murmured, then a moment later her father's voice came over the line. "Hello, Papa. Have you heard anything new about Lucas?"

  "Nothing yet, bambina, but don't worry. We'll find him. Your mother tells me you ate buffalo. Roberto will be jealous."

  "I know. You really should have let him come with me, Papa. He would love Montana." And not once in her entire life had she ever been tempted to kiss him, or any of her other bodyguards.

  "I'm sure he would, but why bother sending two men when one can get the job done?" A curious note entered her father's voice. "What did you think of Tyler?"

  She glanced at him guiltily, stretched out in an easy chair, a book in his hands but his attention openly on her. "He—he is a most polite young man."

  "Yes, and…?"

  "And … he has a great fondness for books."

  "Such important perceptions," Marcus chided. "You flew six thousand miles with him, and that's all you learned?"

  "What is this, Papa? A performance evaluation? Very well. He was quiet. He didn't want to chat." Except with Mareta. "He was polite and professional, and he refused to call me Anna, even though Roberto and the others always do when we're alone."

  "So he didn't indulge and pander to you as Roberto and the others always do."

  "No." But he'd given her a kiss that could have curled her hair if nature hadn't beaten him to it. And he made her feel safe in a way that none of her other bodyguards ever had.

  "So … would you welcome him as your escort on future trips?"

  Feeling her cheeks redden with guilt, she directed her gaze to the ceiling. "No, Papa. I was glad to see the last of him when he dropped me off at Christina's."

  Marcus laughed. "Thank you, mia figlia. I'll tell his father you gave him a glowing recommendation. Edward will be pleased." Without awaiting a response from her, he changed subjects. "Do you remember Prince Arthur of Cartageña? You met him a few years ago when he attended a reception at the palace."

  Anna called to mind the man who had represented the tiny island nation off the coast of Spain at some dreadfully dull event and wrinkled her nose. "My height, no chin, no personality and no interests other than his polo ponies? Yes, I remember him. Why?"

  "He's let it be known that he intends to make a formal offer for you."

  With a shiver of distaste, she covered her eyes with one hand. "Oh, Papa, I don't want to marry him. Sitting next to him at one palace dinner is the extent of my tolerance for him. He bored me to tears."

  "But he can provide well for you."

  "I'd rather get a job and provide for myself."

  "From what I gather, he's really quite intelligent."

  "Intelligent and deadly dull. He's unable to converse on any subject but horses, and he lacks manners. He gave me a short lesson on the benefits of artificial insemination over the main course. Besides, Papa, I'm not an object up for sale. Prince Arthur doesn't even know me. How presumptuous of him to think he can 'make an offer' and gain a wife with no more effort than that."

  "Very well, bambina. I'll add him to the list of those who tried and failed. But you know, sweetheart, you're not getting any younger."

  "Christina was twenty-nine when she married Jack, and Julia was thirty and pregnant before she married Rashid. I'm only twenty-five."

  "Twenty-five, and you've turned down every man who's dared look your way. You're getting a reputation for being finicky."

  "If accepting a marriage proposal isn't the time to be finicky, such a time doesn't exist I won't be married to someone who sees me as part of a business arrangement."

  "And you won't be married to any of the young men you've dated. Before you know it, you'll be an old maid," her father gently teased.

  Anna swallowed over the lump in her throat. "Better an old maid than an unhappy wife or a bitter ex-wife."

  "You know I only want to see you settled and content."

  But she didn't want to be content! she silently protested. She wanted to be deliriously happy and in love, like her sisters, like her parents. She wanted a husband who owned her heart and shared her soul—a husband who loved her as much as she loved him, whose life was incomplete without her in it, whose commitment to her far and away exceeded his commitments to anyone or anything else.

  She wanted a man who felt about her the way Tyler felt about his job.

  "I am settled, Papa, and I am content." Two lies, to match the two she'd told her mother. "I have no need of a husband for that. In fact, Julia getting pregnant the way she did made me realize I have no need of a husband for anything." She paused a moment to let that sink in, then forced a cheerfulness she didn't feel into her voice and changed the subject. "Now tell me, Papa, what shall I bring you as a souvenir from Montana?"

  * * *

  Another cold Colorado Thursday found Ursula standing at the sliding glass door that led from her tiny apartment to a laughably tiny balcony, listening to the soft murmur of voices coming from the closet-sized space that passed as a guest room. Gretchen was in there with Jessica, doing whatever it was midwives did with their patients. In the parking lot Gretchen's goofy brother, Gerald was shifting his weight from foot to foot and watching the kids play in what was left of the snow. If they invited him to join them, he wouldn't hesitate to jump right in, despite the fact he was thirty-three years old and topped six feet. Of course, mentally, he probably wasn't much more than six or eight anyway.

  He was Gretchen's cross to bear. He'd lived the last sixteen years with her and had brought her nothing but hardship and grief. It wasn't easy having a life of your own when you were responsible for a kid in a man's body. It sure wasn't easy having a love life. Single mothers thought they had a hard time finding a man who didn't mind their "baggage." They didn't know hard until they tried to find a man who wouldn't mind taking on a wife and a feebleminded adult who would be an anchor around their necks for the rest of his life. Even Gretchen's fiancé, who'd sworn to love her dearly, had bailed out rather than take on responsibility for Gerald, too.

  At least Ursula's sister was relatively competent. Oh, she was hardheaded as hell and determined to obstruct Ursula's plans for the future, but she could live alone. She'd never needed anything from Ursula beyond a little comforting after their parents' deaths, and a little comforting over Joe.

  The guest room door opened, and in the glass reflection Ursula saw Gretchen come out, followed by Jessica. Truth was, Jessica wasn't real thrilled with the idea of using a midwife, but big sister Ursula had pointed out that there were few alternatives. The nearest doctor was miles away over treacherous mountain roads, and first babies often came so quickly. Of course, Jessica could move closer to the doctor, but how in the world would Joe find her if he came back looking for her? And Gretchen was a perfectly good midwife. She'd delivered half the babies in the county and hadn't lost a patient yet.

  Of course, Ursula thought with a faint smile, there was
a first tine for everything.

  Broadening the smile, she turned to face them. "So how's the little mother?"

  "Mom and baby are fine," Gretchen said. "Don't forget to take your prenatal vitamins every day, Jessica—and eat. No matter how upset you are, you're not your primary concern anymore. You've got to take good care of your baby, and the way to do that is to take good care of yourself."

  "I will," Jessica said, letting her hand slide down to rest on her belly. It was such a sweet maternal gesture, and it left Ursula cold.

  "I'll walk out with you, Gretchen," she said as her friend started pulling on her coat. She took a short sable jacket from the closet, uncaring how silly it looked with her jeans and T-shirt, and followed Gretchen from the apartment.

  Neither of them spoke until they reached the parking lot, where they stood for a moment next to Gretchen's old clunker. Gerald had gotten his invitation to join the kids and was now rolling in the snow, making a mess and giggling with the youngest of them. Just the sight of him made Gretchen's mouth tighten—made her turn away as if she couldn't bear to watch him. Instead she stared at the mountains off in the distance. "Do you think there might be enough money for me to put Gerald in a home with other people like him, and to leave here?"

  Ursula resisted the urge to smile triumphantly. "I'm sure of it."

  "It's not that I don't love him. I do. It's just…"

  "He's a major responsibility."

  "I've done the best I can, but…"

  "You deserve a life, too."

  "It's not as if he wouldn't be just as happy with other people as he is with me. And I wouldn't be abandoning him. Just living my own life."

  "Letting someone else share the burden," Ursula agreed sympathetically.

  "It would have to be a good home. And for the rest of his life. And maybe some money—just a little—to buy me a new start."

  "Absolutely."

  Gretchen continued to stare at the mountains for a moment. Feeling the cold seep into her bones, Ursula ignored her discomfort and waited patiently.