by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)
"The old man joked," Kyle said quietly. "He's not real good with emotions, you know? And he wasn't around often enough when we were growing up to get any better with them. If he was worried, he joked. If he wasn't worried, he joked. But he wasn't disappointed in you. He was probably bewildered that anyone as smart as you didn't know what he wanted to do, especially since he'd always known for himself. But he didn't have any problem with the fact that it took you a while to figure it out. If he did, he never would have gotten you in with the Noble Men."
"Maybe. But he did have to get me in. I couldn't have done it on my own."
"Well, hell, Ty, we all got help from our fathers. This isn't a job where any joker off the street can put in an application and get hired. This party's by invitation only, and you gotta know somebody to get your name on the guest list."
That was true. Even Jack Dalton—hotshot former Navy SEAL—had been brought into the organization by his father. Somehow Tyler had forgotten about that.
"Listen, little brother, do yourself a favor. Quit thinking so much, take this girl out to a nice dinner, maybe go dancing and spend a wild night with her. Don't expect it to change your life, and don't be disappointed if you wake up in the morning and you're not in love with her, and don't feel like you could be, should be, would be, if you just tried a little harder. What's that saying—'Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar'? Well, no matter how much you try to pretty it up, sometimes lust is just lust. It's not a failure, and it doesn't make you a screwup. It just means you're a human being."
How quickly would his brother's advice change if he knew the girl in question was King Marcus's youngest, most sheltered, most pampered daughter? In a heartbeat, he'd bet. "Thanks, Kyle. Listen, I've gotta go. I'll check in with you later."
Hanging up, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the laundry room again. In spite of all the water everywhere, there was still plenty of snow on the ground, and as the sun set and the temperatures started to drop, it was going to be joined by ice. He wouldn't mind a hell of a lot if the weather kept them in Garden City another day or so, though that would almost certainly seal his fate. He was beginning to think his fate was already sealed, anyway.
Anna was standing at the laundry room table, singing softly to herself as she folded a pile of damp clothes that couldn't be run through the dryers. The dryers were running, as were the washers, and the piles of dirty clothes were all gone.
She paused when she saw him. "The washing machines stopped while you were gone, so I put the clothes in the dryer, and I added one sheet of fabric softener to each load. Then I started the washing machines again, and I selected the temperatures from the chart on the back of the detergent box and added detergent in the amount indicated on the box, plus bleach for the sheets and towels in the amount indicated on the bottle, and put the clothes in." She smiled happily. "There's really not so very much to this laundry business, you know?"
She looked so beautiful, and so damn pleased with herself for managing to figure out the mysteries of dirty laundry, that Tyler knew he'd guessed right on the walk from the cabin. His fate was sealed.
Now it was just a question of whether he would survive the choices that had been made for him.
Chapter 9
P erhaps it was too mundane for most people, as well as an indication of how incredibly spoiled her life had been, but Anna had truly enjoyed doing laundry that afternoon. She had liked taking the clothing from the dryers, hot and fresh-scented, and learning to fold the bath towels in half, then thirds, then in half again, in pairing socks and smoothing wrinkles from jeans. Granted, it wasn't a job she would want to do every day of her life, but at least now she knew how, and that made her feel more competent. More like a real person.
She finished hanging the last of her undergarments over the shower curtain rod in the bathroom. The rest dangled from the railing in her loft bedroom, as well as from doorknobs and hooks. The sweaters were already neatly laid out over furniture protected by still-warm towels, and the rest of the laundry was put away where it belonged.
Now it was dinnertime.
She took the stairs two at a time, then went into the kitchen, where Tyler was marinating two thick steaks in a blend of bourbon and spices. He'd already scrubbed two potatoes and placed them in the oven. Now she was going to help him make a salad and cook mushrooms and onions to go with the beef.
"You're rather a handy man to have around," she remarked as she washed, then dried her hands. "You cook and do laundry, you dance quite well—" a fact she knew, sadly, from watching him with Cindy at the Silver Spur and not from personal experience "—and you're handy with various weapons. Oh, and you kiss quite well, too." Not that she'd had enough of his kisses or, frankly, had had so very many others to compare against. But she could endure kisses from a million men only to prove what she'd already learned with Tyler—you couldn't improve on perfection.
"Why, it's a wonder some woman hasn't taken me off the market and set me up in a home of my own," he said dryly.
"Well, there are a few rather prickly personality issues," she replied, automatically reaching for the mushrooms to clean. "You're a bit on the bossy side. You're as stubborn as any man I've ever known. You tend to be a little smug and arrogant at times. You're exceedingly polite, and you suffer at times from a one-track mind."
The smile he gave her was thin and sarcastic. "Gee, thank you, Your Highness. Would it be a little arrogant for me to point out that you might have chosen a better time to deliver such a personality assessment than when I'm cooking your dinner?"
"Only a little." She grinned. "But there are cookbooks on the bookshelf over there. If I can learn to do laundry from the back of a detergent box, then I'm quite certain I can learn to grill steaks from a cookbook. Except … if I may ask, where is the grill?"
He pointed to the stove, then, when she remained unenlightened, lifted the center portion. Underneath, running from front to back, was a gas grill.
"How convenient. You Americans do love your barbecuing, don't you?" Circling to the other side of the counter, she sat down on a stool and began tearing lettuce into a bowl. "When you spoke to your brother this afternoon, did he have any news of my brother?"
"Afraid not. If we don't find anything in Golden, I'm going to Colorado to talk to Ursula Chambers again. Maybe she's remembered something else."
Though she didn't look up from her task, she'd noticed his choice of pronouns. If we don't find anything in Golden, I'm going to Colorado. What did he intend to do with her? Send her back to Christina in Billings? Or arrange for Lorenzo to send the Gulfstream to the airport nearest Golden and send her all the way back to Montebello?
So, unless they found themselves snowbound again, she had another two, perhaps even three or four, days with him, and then he intended to send her, one way or another, back to her family. And then … how many weeks or months would pass before she saw him again, and how would he behave when he did see her? Would he keep his distance, as he'd always done before? Or would he perhaps become a more frequent visitor at the palace? Would she see him on occasion in San Sebastian's nightclubs, speaking with other women, charming them, dancing with them, leaving with them?
Feeling a hot quiver of jealousy vibrate through her, she wished she had turned down his suggestion for a quiet dinner in the cabin. She wished she had told the mayor to have one or both of her sons pick her up for dinner out this evening. Then, instead of brooding over the prospect of Tyler with another woman, perhaps he would brood over the prospect of her with another man.
And perhaps it would be only his sense of duty as a temporary bodyguard that would make him pay even the slightest attention.
"Do you mind a suggestion, Your Highness?"
It took a moment for his voice to penetrate her thoughts, then she blinked and focused on him. "About what?"
"An easier way to do that." He gestured toward the green onion she was cutting for the salad. He'd entrusted her with a small knife, its blade only four inches and none
too terribly sharp—though sharp enough, honesty forced her to admit—while he used a large knife, its blade approximately a foot long and sharp enough to cut through hot-house tomatoes without a hitch. "Line up the onions on the cutting board—" he did so "—then cut off the ends all at once." Folding his fingers around hers on the knife handle, he demonstrated once more. "Then cut through them all at once." Still holding her hand—and the knife—he made two cuts, then released her.
Slowly, or so it seemed.
Her fingers tingled, her chest grew tight and her face warmed. Clearing her throat, she pretended she couldn't still feel the pressure of his large hand over hers. "Th—that's most efficient. Thank you."
"Your sister, Christina, seems to be extremely self-sufficient for a princess," he remarked as he removed a mass of tomato chunks from his own cutting board to the salad bowl. "It must have been a shock to your parents—their daughter wanting to leave the palace and live alone in another country. No housekeeper, no cook, no staff, no bodyguards."
Anna shrugged. "They had concerns. But tell me your mother didn't worry about your undergoing training for a dangerous job in another country."
He shrugged, also.
"Papa granted Christina a great deal of independence, but there were requirements on his part, also—the house, the security system, the bodyguard when threats arose."
"The bodyguard she later married. That must have made the king happy."
"And why would it not?"
"His daughter married to a mercenary and living in Montana? No royal son-in-law, no power, no riches, no alliances that would benefit Montebello? He must have been disappointed."
"Jack's not really a mercenary," she said, repeating his own denial back to him. "And, no, Papa wasn't disappointed in the least. He knew Christina loved Jack, and Jack loved her in return, and that was all that mattered."
"And yet he tries to marry you off to strangers."
She scraped the onions into the salad, then picked up a long, fat cucumber. Though she may not have ever made a salad, she knew the tough, waxy skin would add nothing to it, so she concentrated for a moment on peeling it. When she had a clean cucumber with minimal waste, she smiled, then laid it down to chop. "Papa would never marry me off to anyone I didn't want to marry. He simply passes on the offers he receives in case there's something he's unaware of—someone to whom I might say yes. Also, considering the odds of my running into these men at some event or another, it's only polite if I know that I've rejected them."
"Would you ever marry a stranger?"
A few weeks ago her answer would have been an emphatic, unequivocal no! Marriage was too significant an undertaking—and too difficult—to attempt without love. In the morose mood that had come over her since learning that he intended to send her on her way in a few days, she could reverse herself and say that marriage was too significant and difficult to attempt with love. Emotion clouded the mind, while dispassion would serve to clear it. Business arrangements were often far more successful than marriages for just that reason.
"Perhaps I would," she remarked thoughtfully. "There would be many advantages to such an arrangement."
Tyler scowled at her. "Such as?"
"If you have no feelings for a person, then you have no feelings to get hurt. A marriage entered into calmly, rationally and with detachment would be made quite stable by the very lack of emotional involvement. Like any good business arrangement, it would be based on the mutual benefits each partner would derive from the union. Decisions would be handled logically, and there would be little reason for arguments, disagreements or dissatisfaction. All in all, it could be a quite comfortable arrangement."
His green eyes were dark and stormy, and the muscle in his jaw twitched as he carefully set the knife down, flattened both palms on the counter and leaned toward her. "That's a load of garbage."
She blinked. "Pardon me?"
"A marriage is not an arrangement. If there's no emotional involvement, there's no point."
"The point," she patiently explained, "is the mutual benefits each partner receives. For example, if I married Prince Arthur—" she managed to contain the shudder the mere thought sent through her "—his country is small and none too forward-thinking. They've lived under an absolute monarchy for generations, which, for them, translates to a luxurious lifestyle for the royal family and relative poverty for their subjects. The current king is working toward creating a democracy instead, which is something with which Papa could assist them. He would provide advisors to help the king achieve his goals, as well as keep Arthur in line both prior to and following his ascension to the throne. Frankly, Arthur's capable of neither running an absolute monarchy nor heading a democracy, even in name only. All he cares about is his polo ponies, which are quite an expensive hobby, you know. In effect, in marrying me, Arthur would gain the expertise—albeit in the form of others—to run his country."
"And what would you gain besides an idiot for a husband?"
"I would eventually become queen—" not that she'd ever harbored any such desire "—and I would have children." Perhaps. Much as she treasured her maternal urges, the idea of intimacy with Arthur left her feeling a bit queasy. And as for allowing him to provide half the genetic material necessary to create children… It would be so unfair to the poor babes. Perhaps they could rise above having an idiot for a father, but perhaps they couldn't. And perhaps she could love them in spite of their having an idiot for a father … but perhaps she couldn't.
"In case I didn't make my opinion clear earlier…" Tyler leaned a few inches closer. "That's a load of garbage." Then he offered her a sarcastic smile. "Oh, pardon me. That's a load of garbage, Your Highness."
"And you've formed that opinion based upon what?"
"How about the fact that I've spent more time with you than any other man in the world, excluding your father and your brother? That I know you better than any other man in the world?"
"You think so?" she asked casually. "Did I mention that you tend to be quite arrogant at times?"
"It comes so naturally with you that I don't even have to work at it."
She carelessly scraped the cucumber pieces into the bowl, laid the knife and cutting board aside and folded her hands together to hide the tremble she couldn't control. "In this instance, you're quite right. I've never slept even one night, let alone seven, with any other man in my quarters, no matter how innocently. No other man has ever kissed me the way you did. Certainly no other man has ever … touched me the way you did this morning." The mere thought of it made her throat tighten and sent an ache through her. "Most certainly I've never asked any other man to make love to me … though you did refuse."
Though she knew it was quite impossible, for an instant it seemed that time stopped. She could no longer smell the potatoes baking or the pungent spices in the marinade, could no longer hear the soft music coming from the stereo or feel the heat from the fireplace. Instead she heard the ragged rhythm of her own breathing, and the uneven beat of her heart. She smelled the spicy musk of Tyler's cologne and felt the heat emanating from him, from her, from the very air between them.
For that timeless moment, he stared at her, his green eyes darkly intense, and she stared back, barely breathing, barely thinking, overwhelmed by feeling. Then he spoke, his voice husky and thick. "Ask me again."
She attempted to smile but couldn't, to reach for him but couldn't do that, either. What if this was nothing more than a very cruel joke—his way of ensuring she would never again try to seduce him? But there was no humor, cruel or otherwise, in his expression. His cheeks were flushed, his jaw taut, but the telltale muscle there was still. His entire body had gone tense, his hands pushing so hard against the counter that the pressure points had turned white.
This was no joke.
Tension drained from her body, leaving warmth and easiness in its place. She disentangled her hands and raised one to tentatively, then gently, touch his cheek. "Will you make love to me, Tyler?"
&n
bsp; "Yes."
"Why?"
"Does it matter?"
She reflected on that. Tomorrow morning, possibly it would. In a few days, when she'd returned to her family, she was quite certain it would. But tonight, at that very moment… With a small smile, she shook her head, and then she slid to her feet and awkwardly shifted her weight. "I presume… Shall we…? What do we do now?"
He drew a deep breath, then grinned, and everything seemed normal again. But how could it ever be normal again when he'd finally agreed to make love to her? How could she be normal again when he was soon going to make her heart whole … or break it beyond repair?
"Now we finish cooking dinner," he said. "There's no hurry, Annie. We've got all night."
All night . That sounded most promising.
Though she found it more difficult than he to return to their mundane tasks, eventually she managed … but all the while, her thoughts were on him, them and what they would soon be doing. Wanting, needing, anticipating. Ah, yes, anticipating.
While she tossed the salad, then set the table, he sautéed the mushrooms and onions in a skillet with butter, then finished them off with wine. He tossed the steaks on the grill, sending a lovely, mouth-watering aroma through the cabin, and before long he dished them onto their dinner plates.
In a brief moment of panic she wished she could call Christina for advice, but her sister would surely be shocked that they hadn't passed this hurdle days ago. Then Anna would have no choice but to admit that she'd lied about her relationship with Tyler, and she sincerely didn't want to admit any such thing.
But it would be all right. Tyler would provide the only guidance she required.