Romancing the Crown Series

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

  * * *

  "I thought you would sleep the afternoon away. It's still early morning on Colorado time."

  Anna glanced up at her father and smiled. "I slept on the plane. I'm quite rested." She slid to the side, and he joined her on the marble bench where she had a lovely view of the palace and the gardens in one direction and the city and the sea in the other. If pressed, though, she wouldn't be able to answer which direction she'd been looking before Papa had joined her. Inward, perhaps—or outward. All the way to Colorado.

  "How was your vacation?"

  "Lovely. Montana is a wonderful place. I understand why Christina loves it there."

  "You and your sister got caught up on all your visiting?"

  Rather than tell an outright lie, she smiled. "Sisters never get completely caught up, Papa."

  "She and Jack must have shown you a good time."

  "I had an exceptional time."

  "Lovely, wonderful, exceptional… For a woman who uses such superlatives so freely, you certainly look down, figlia mia." He chucked her under the chin, the way he'd done when she was a small child and climbed onto his lap for hugs. "Is there anything you want to share with your papa?"

  Fearing she couldn't say a word without giving in to the tears that burned behind her eyes, she smiled brightly and shook her head.

  "Nothing at all? Then perhaps you would like to tell me how you wound up in Colorado with your cousin when I distinctly recall sending you off to Montana to your sister."

  His look was so knowing that Anna realized he already possessed at least the basic details of her grand adventure. Had Tyler told him? Christina? Or had he discovered the information from other sources?

  Whatever his source, he didn't wait for confirmation from her. "Or perhaps you'll share with me your opinion of your bodyguard. No? Then I'll share with you the news that he's meeting with your cousin, Max, in a day or two. He'll fill Max in on everything that's happened so far, and then Max will take over this part of the investigation."

  Anna clenched her jaw to keep from crying out that she didn't care what Max did—cousin or not, she hardly knew him—and from asking about Tyler. Where would he go? What would he do? Would he come and see her, or would he be grateful she was out of his life?

  But because she was determined to keep her misery to herself, and her father was waiting for a response, she smiled again, albeit sadly. "That's nice, Papa."

  "We will find Lucas, bambina."

  Of course they would. Tyler had said so, and he wouldn't lie.

  He'd also said his job was the most important thing in his life. That he had no time for distractions. That she was a distraction. That a relationship between them was wrong.

  And he wouldn't lie.

  Turning to her father, she burst into tears. Just as he'd done countless times when she was young, he lifted her onto his lap, wrapped his arms around her and patted her soothingly. "There, there, Anna bella, it's all right. Everything will be all right. I am the king, and that makes it so, eh?"

  She wept as if her heart were breaking—wept as she'd never wept before. When finally her tears ran out, Papa's shirt was soaked and her eyes were puffy, her nose stuffy.

  "Do you love Tyler so very much?" her father asked quietly.

  She didn't wonder how he knew—didn't even care. "Yes."

  "I shall command his presence—"

  "No, Papa! If he comes, it must be because he loves me—not because he was commanded."

  Her father's dark eyes lighted with mischief. "Then I shall command him to love you … though how anyone could not love you is beyond me."

  "Please … don't do a thing. This must be between Tyler and me."

  "I can't bear to see you unhappy."

  She wiped her eyes, then sniffed. "I appreciate your concern, Papa, but whether together or apart, Tyler and I must deal with our problems ourselves. We created them. Now we must live with them."

  * * *

  On Wednesday, Tyler moved to a hotel in Denver and restlessly awaited the arrival of the king's nephew on Thursday. He'd never met Max Ryker Sebastiani, but he'd picked up bits of information about him in the course of his training. Max was the middle of three sons produced by King Marcus's younger brother, Antonio. Desmond was the eldest, Lorenzo the youngest. Being the first-born legitimate son meant that Max inherited his father's title upon his death, though it didn't appear to mean much to him. After a stint in the Royal Montebellan Army, he'd dropped the Sebastiani name and come to the U.S., where he'd opened his own private investigations firm. Rumor was, he'd wanted to distance himself from the royal family and had done a damn good job of it.

  Ryker had booked a room in the same hotel Tyler was staying at, and they'd arranged to meet in the main bar soon after his arrival. Tyler got there first, choosing a table where he could see the entrance, ordered a beer and waited.

  When this assignment was completed, he would have a week off before reporting back to the Middle East for further training. When he'd heard the news, for one moment he'd hoped he would be returning to Montebello. Finding out that he wouldn't had been so damn disappointing that he'd decided he might never hope for anything again.

  He hadn't decided yet what he would do with the time off. Maybe visit his parents in Arizona. Maybe see how his only nephew and sister-in-law were doing. Or, hell, maybe he would just stay there in the hotel until it was time to report. At this point, nothing much really mattered.

  "Ramsey?"

  Shaking himself out of his morose thoughts, Tyler looked up to find an older, tougher version of Lorenzo standing beside the table. With a nod, he shook hands, then gestured toward a chair. "Have a seat."

  Ryker wasted no time on small talk, but got right down to business. Within a half hour, Tyler had given him every last piece of information he had on the search for Lucas, Ursula Chambers and Kevin Weber, and they were both ready to call it quits. Tyler had gone so far as to pay his tab and head for the door before he suddenly turned back.

  "Do you speak Italian?"

  "No more than I have to," Ryker said, then shrugged. "The Sebastiani family has plenty of good Italian blood flowing through their veins. Along with it, we got a love of Italian food and at least a passable command of the language. You have something you need translated?"

  "Yeah. My pronunciation may not be the best, but it's something like Misono inamorata deti." He stumbled over the unfamiliar words. "I think it has something to do with being safe."

  Ryker laughed. "If someone said those words to me, I'd consider them pretty damn dangerous. I guess it depends on your point of view."

  "What do they mean?"

  "'I love you.'"

  Tyler's room key slipped through his fingers and clattered on the table as he stared at him. "No… There must be… That can't…"

  "I can't think of anything having to do with being safe that would sound remotely like that. It was a woman who said it, right?"

  "Yes, but … she knows I don't speak Italian. Why would she…?"

  "Maybe she was afraid you'd run the other way if she said it in English."

  And why shouldn't she be afraid? With all his stupid talk about how important his career was, about making mistakes and ruining chances, he'd given her plenty of reasons to believe that nothing serious could ever develop between them, and not one damn reason to believe it could. He'd never told her he loved her. Even when he'd put her on a plane back home, he'd never even hinted that he was going to miss her or that he might want to see her again. He sure as hell hadn't told her he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

  Abruptly he grabbed the key where it had fallen, spun around and headed for the door.

  "Hey, where are you going?" Ryker called.

  "To Montebello," Tyler replied. "I have to see the king."

  * * *

  Saturday was another beautiful day in paradise. The sun was shining with a bright, merciless clarity that brought everything into sharp relief, and the breezes off the Mediterra
nean were cool and refreshing. As they traveled through the garden, Anna caught a mélange of scents and fragrances that couldn't possibly exist in the same mixture anyplace else but here.

  For the first time since her return, she felt a sense of peace. She had reached a decision in the early hours of the morning as she'd paced the balcony outside her apartment. She was going to locate Tyler, and one way or another they would find some resolution. Either he would give her hope or take it from her, break her heart or make it whole, but she simply couldn't go on this way. Being weepy and weak and delicate wasn't her nature. Yes, the stakes were high, but wasn't the prize worth it?

  She'd been making plans in her quarters when a summons from her father had arrived. She was to meet the king in the gardens, the servant had announced, but he'd offered nothing else. It wasn't a rare request She often spent much of the week-end with one parent or both, and she loved the time with them. But this particular afternoon, she would prefer to be packing her bags and selecting the best method for discovering where she might find Tyler.

  When she spied her father sitting on a bench under an arbor, she couldn't help but smile. He was a handsome man, so distinguished looking and powerful. It was no wonder that her mother loved him even more today than when they'd first met nearly forty years ago—and no secret that he loved her mother dearly, madly, desperately. They were the happiest couple she'd ever known, and she was determined to be just like them.

  "Papa." She greeted him with a kiss. "I received your message."

  "Obviously, for here you are. Have a seat, my daughter."

  She obediently sat on the warm marble bench.

  "How are you today?"

  "Better."

  He studied her a moment, then nodded. "You look better. No more clown nose."

  When he tweaked her nose, she playfully slapped his hand away and scolded him. "It's rude to comment unfavorably upon a person's appearance. Hasn't Mama managed to teach you that lesson yet?"

  "Your mother has despaired of teaching me anything … such as minding my own business."

  Anna stared at him, a sense of dismay growing inside her. "Oh, Papa, what have you done?"

  "I haven't done a thing, bambina. Besides, you are my business. Your mother says this is the wrong time, that I should wait, but as I told her—as I've told you before—you're getting a reputation for being finicky. Men are becoming reluctant to offer for you, knowing that chances are better than even you'll reject them."

  She gave a soft relieved sigh. In spite of his desire that she marry, she knew he would never force her into an alliance she didn't make for herself. Though the timing was off, as her mother insisted, if he felt it necessary to pass along another ill-suited offer, then he was welcome to do so.

  Just as she was welcome to turn it down.

  "Are you saying some brave soul has expressed an interest in marrying me?" she asked, able to tease in spite of the ache in her chest.

  "Yes. And I've accepted on your behalf."

  Chills racing through her, Anna jumped to her feet as she stared at him. "You what? You can't do that, Papa! You can't—! I'm a grown woman! You promised I could choose! You wouldn't—! You can't!"

  "Now, Anna bella, you've said no to every suitor who's come along. And he's a fine young man who promises to be a good husband to you and a good father to your children." His voice turned coaxing, wheedling. "You know your mother has been longing for more grandchildren since Omar's arrival. This suitor is respectful and respectable, and I do believe he can take care of you as well—no, even better than I. And you'll be happy, if you set your mind to it."

  She debated between feeling angry, betrayed or hurt, but settled on rebellious. "I won't do it, Papa! I won't marry some—some damned prince or duke or king, and you can't make me!"

  "Such language for a lady."

  The soft, chiding voice care from behind her and made her chest tighten until she could barely breathe. She saw her father's broad smile as he rose from the bench, and she realized what she should have known all along—that he'd been teasing. Hope so intense it made her weak rushed through her, leaving tiny trembles in its wake. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and summoned the power of all the wishes she hadn't made since she was a small child. I hope it's Tyler. I hope he loves me. I hope he wants me forever and ever.

  Then she opened her eyes and turned.

  He was standing on the shell walkway a dozen feet away, looking so dear and handsome that the sight of him would have made her heart break if it hadn't healed it instead. She stared at him hungrily, wanting to touch him, to kiss him, to throw herself into his arms and never, ever let go. But she stood where she was, not moving, staring, silently rejoicing. The wishes had come true. She could see it in his emerald eyes.

  "I know it's arrogant of me to ask the king for his youngest daughter in marriage," he said quietly. "I don't have a kingdom or a title. I can't offer power, riches or influence, and I can't strengthen any alliances. But I can give you these promises—I'll protect you with my life and keep you safe. I'll adore you when you're adorable and even more when you're not. I'll thank God every day for having you in my life. I'll do my best to make your wishes come true. I'll be a better person for you. And I will always, always love you, Anna bella, my beautiful Annie."

  She took a few hesitant steps toward him. "Papa has a kingdom," she said, gesturing in her father's direction, then noticing that he'd gone and left them alone, "and I have my own title. There are many kinds of power, riches and influence, and you have an abundance of the best kinds. The only alliance I care about strengthening is the one between you and me. I couldn't ask for anything more than the promises you've already offered. And just between you and me…" She closed the distance between them and raised one hand to brush her fingertips across his jaw. When she spoke again, her voice had turned husky and soft. "I find your arrogance so very American and so very sexy."

  He turned his head to leave a fleeting kiss on her fingers, then caught her hand. "And?"

  "And what?"

  Using his hold, he backed her toward a small private alcove where a marble statue of a busty nude presided. "Say it, Annie," he commanded.

  She felt the solid stone at her back and the tingle of awareness of his body in front, and offered him a sultry smile. "Say what?"

  "Tell me you love me. You did it before. I want to hear it again, in words I can understand."

  "Can you understand this?" Grasping his shoulders, she pressed her body to his and claimed his mouth in a greedy, needy, desperately longing kiss that made him hard and turned her all soft and warm and achy.

  "Words, Annie," he murmured when he freed his mouth. He nuzzled her throat, then left a line of damp kisses along the vee of her blouse, before raising his head and locking gazes with her. "Have pity on me, darlin'. These last few days, thinking it was over with you, have been hell. Don't make me beg. Give me the words, please."

  She lifted her chin and smiled. "I love you, Tyler."

  "And you'll marry me?" He grinned endearingly. "Say yes, Annie. I've already got the honeymoon all planned out."

  He was every dream, every wish and every hope she'd ever had, all combined in one. How could she possibly say anything else?

  * * *

  Sometime later—hours, she thought, or maybe only moments—she raised her head from his chest and drowsily watched until he could feign sleep no more. His lashes fluttered first, then the corners of his mouth twitched, and finally he opened his eyes to look at her.

  "You said you had our honeymoon all planned, but you never told me. Where will we go?"

  He drew her on top of him, with only the folds of the cool linen sheet between them, and tangled his fingers in her curls. "The only place we possibly could go."

  She thought of all the exotic locales throughout the world—sophisticated cities, tropical paradises, resorts of every kind—but none of them held any particular appeal. But, as she'd told him before, it wasn't the place that counted, but wi
th whom you were there. Then, as his grin stirred the heat deep in her belly once again, as they both began tugging the sheet from between them so he could slide slowly, deeply, completely, inside her, she knew exactly where he meant, and the answer brought her a smile of delight.

  "When shall we go?"

  His hands gripped her thighs, holding her still as he thrust hard into her. "Later, darlin'. Right now I'm in heaven."

  All their time together would be heaven, she thought dreamily. But, frankly, she couldn't wait until they were married and making love on their honeymoon.

  In Arkansas.

  * * * THE END * * *

  Wrong Place, Right Girl

  MARIE FERRARELLA

  Chapter One

  Chelsea Mack kept her smile in place, digging deep for patience as she looked down at the barrel-chested, white-haired man in the wheelchair who was bent on sending her away empty-handed.

  Yes, you do, you crafty old man. You’re just too loyal to him to admit it.

  Playing the game, still hoping to coax an admission out of him, Chelsea pretended she hadn’t heard him and repeated, "I’m looking for the former Duke of Montebello. Maximillian Sebastiani." She watched William Ryker’s eyes closely, looking for some kind of a sign that she’d broken through. There was no indication that he was even familiar with the name. "Isn’t he your grandson?"

  Starting to turn away, Bill suddenly brought his wheelchair around to face her, executing a sharp turn within the confines of the small, first-floor office that would have filled the heart of any stunt car driver with pride.

  "Duke? Duke of what?" He laughed shortly, gesturing around the two room, L.A. office, as if that would reinforce his denial. "Do I look like the grandfather of a duke to you?"

  Chelsea never blinked. "Actually, yes, you do. Very much so," she tacked on for good measure.

  Her solemn affirmation drew a tolerant smile from Bill. He liked people with guts. Even annoying ones, as long as they were pretty, and this one certainly was. She reminded him a little of his late daughter when she was that age. Helen’d had the same stubborn streak, like a bull terrier when she latched on to something. And she had been dearly in love with Antonio — the scum.