by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)
The man didn't need his royal robes to look regal. The only crown he wore was a full head of silvery hair. He was about the same height as Ryan and almost as broad-shouldered and lean.
She searched for any resemblance to her half brother, but found none other than a very slight cleft in the chin. The king's was barely noticeable whereas Desmond's had been prominent.
The king looked directly at her. "What happened last night must have given you a fright, Miss Caruso," he said. "Are you quite recovered?"
Nina ducked her head in a swift nod. "Yes, sir. I'm all right."
He nodded, then he directed his gaze to Ryan. "The plane will be available to return Miss Caruso to California this afternoon. Until then, you remain charged with her safety."
Nina rose and began shaking her head even as the king spoke. "No, please, Your Majesty. I need to stay here."
She looked to Ryan as if he would support her when she knew very well he wouldn't. And none of the reasons she had gone over in her head justified her staying in Montebello. At least none she could relate to the king. And especially not in front of Ryan. "Please?" she added.
The king motioned for her to take her seat. When she had done so, he watched her for a full minute, his dark gaze intense, before he spoke. "Do you know of an enemy who might wish to see the Caruso family destroyed?"
The very idea made her shudder. It had never occurred to her that it could be someone she actually knew. "No, sir, of course not! Desmond left us when he was twenty to come and live here. He hasn't been around to make any enemies. And I haven't any that I know about. Certainly none who would travel this far to get rid of me."
She frowned and thought for a minute. "Everyone loved my father. He was a good man. I can't believe what you're suggesting is feasible."
"Very well," the king said. "Then we must assume that we are dealing with someone native to Montebello."
Ryan spoke up. "No, Your Majesty. It's dangerous to assume anything until we have more information."
The king considered. "Granted. Do you have any theories you wish to relate?"
Nina waited, breath stilled, while Ryan seemed to process his thoughts.
When he began, he spoke firmly and without hesitation. "Yes. I believe someone killed Desmond Caruso in the heat of anger, without prior intent. When this person realized Desmond was dead, an attempt was made to destroy any evidence. The weapon was wiped along with anything else the killer might have touched in the guesthouse. But there remained a chance trace evidence might be found, hairs, fibers and so forth. Therefore the fire was meant to take care of it."
He paused, then continued, "The fact that the fire was set after the initial sweep by the police tells me that the perpetrator either believed evidence had not yet been collected or had lacked an earlier opportunity to set the fire."
"What about my being there trapped in the bathroom?" Nina demanded. "Whoever it was meant to kill me, too! Why?"
Ryan smiled. "That's a good question, isn't it? You were on TV and saying why you came to Montebello. Maybe you were in the right place at the right time," he said. Then added, "From the killer's point of view, that is. The attempt on your life was a crime of opportunity."
"And last night's break-in?" she asked.
Ryan frowned. "Right now, all I can do is guess. If we rule out revenge, then the killer either fears you will find the truth, that you already know something that could be incriminating, or hates you simply because you are related to Desmond. And we had better consider greed. Who would benefit if you died?"
Nina closed her eyes and leaned forward, her face in her hands. "I don't know. I don't have any relatives left except two first cousins in Milan. I've never even met them."
"Locate these cousins," the king ordered Ryan. To her, he said, "Until we judge whether the threat to you is confined to this island, you will be safer here than alone in California."
He stood, signaling the audience was over. Ryan rose immediately and reached for her hand as if she needed help getting up. Her legs did feel weak and her mind reeled with this new possibility.
The king pressed a button on his desk and the king's secretary who had shown them in, appeared immediately. "You must move from the apartments," the king said. "Albert will summon one of the cars to take you directly to the Royal Montebello Hotel. He will also secure a suite for you on the floor in reserve for our guests. Security will be sufficient there and the hotel will be convenient to the police station and the palace. Your personal things will be collected and delivered to you both this afternoon. Someone from Lorenzo's offices will bring whatever you need in the way of equipment."
He inclined his head in dismissal. "Take care."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Ryan said, bowing again, still holding on to her.
Nina curtsied, feeling clumsy and more shaken than when she'd entered the king's office. She murmured her own thanks and they quickly left the spacious chamber.
As they retraced their steps along the long marble corridor that led to the entrance, Ryan looked ready to explode. She realized he had been counting heavily on the king sending her away.
What if he had done so? And what if the killer had followed her all the way home and Ryan hadn't been there to protect her? She placed her hand over his where it gripped her arm.
He threw her an impatient glance, his jaw clenched. But when she looked closer, she saw he looked bleak rather than angry.
"Why are you so anxious to be rid of me?" she whispered.
He said nothing for so long, she thought he wouldn't even answer. When he did speak, his voice was low-pitched and gruff and he had stopped looking at her. His hand tightened on her arm. "Because I want you to stay. I want it too damn much. And now there's no choice. Are you satisfied?"
"Not really," she said under her breath.
* * *
Ryan tried to ignore Nina's reaction to the Royal Montebello Hotel. He resented the necessity of working out of here. They stood waiting for the elevator that would take them up to the sixth floor.
"Would you look at this place!" she insisted, her back to the elevator doors, her eyes wide with wonder as she took in the marble-and-gilt interior of the lobby. "I mean, you expect a palace to be outfitted in splendor, so I wasn't surprised there, but this...." She gestured toward the massive reception desk flanked by gigantic floral arrangements, the heavy silk draperies gracing the floor-length windows, and walls bearing enormous paintings in wide, ornate gold frames.
"I think it's tacky," he muttered, much preferring simplicity. All this was too, too. "I just hope we don't get stuck with the bill."
Nina laughed. "I'm sure the king wouldn't have sent us here if he planned to make us pay. The manager told the desk clerk who registered us that we were guests of His Majesty."
"Yeah, I heard," Ryan admitted as the elevator doors opened and they entered. "I doubt they'll leave us alone long enough to get anything productive done. Maids in and out, meals and all that. I hate hotels."
"Well, I don't see how you could possibly hate this place," Nina declared, running her forefinger along the gilded handrail that surrounded them on three sides. Gold-veined mirrors reached from the rail to the top of the elevator, making it seem larger than it actually was. After a quick glance around, Ryan kept his eyes on the door.
Trapped in splendor, he thought angrily. With Nina. How was he supposed to keep his mind on work when he'd be imagining them enjoying all this together under other circumstances? "Come on, spoilsport, chill," she said when the elevator dinged and the doors parted. "At least you won't have to boil soup for us while we're here."
"And you won't be getting any oatmeal," he countered, pushing past her down the hallway to locate the number of their suite.
There was nothing at all common about the common room they would share. The walls were covered in patterned silk. The two sofas and chairs were striped damask and looked geared more for show than comfort. "At least they have a desk," he said, shedding his jacket and tossing
it over one of the chair arms. He tugged at the knot of his tie, loosening it. "Nothing we can do until they get here with our stuff."
"Oh. My. God!"
"What's wrong?" He hurried over to the door of the bedroom where Nina stood gaping.
"Look!" she whispered as she reached out and grasped his forearm. "It's a movie set."
He looked. And was impressed in spite of himself. Gilt, satin and lace. White, off-white and gold. "Yeah, but is the film set in Las Vegas or Windsor Palace? Hard to tell."
She laughed.
Ryan pushed away from her and crossed to the bathroom. Unable to speak, he just pointed and shook his head. She joined him, squeezing past to enter the mirrored room. She sat down on the pink marble platform that surrounded an enormous tub with gold fittings. "Ryan?"
"What?" he asked, frowning at the way his shoes sank into the deep pile of the ivory-colored carpet.
"I think they gave us a bridal suite by mistake. Did you notice those nude paintings in the bedroom?"
"Old masters, I'm sure," he said.
"See this?" she pointed to the array of exotic bath oils. "Or do you think this is standard fare for all the guests? Surely you don't think the king—"
"—is throwing us together?" Ryan considered it. "Why would he do something like that? Surely he has enough to do without trying to play matchmaker."
"I don't know," she admitted. "It wasn't anything he said, but he looked at us... you know, with a speculative gleam or something. Didn't you notice?"
Ryan shrugged. He hadn't thought anything of it then, but now that Nina mentioned it.... "But why?"
"How well do you know him?" Nina asked. "I mean, personally, with all the formality aside?"
He laughed. "Honey, with King Marcus, you never put formality aside. No, I don't think any of this was his idea." Ryan thoughts quickly shifted. "But come to think of it, Lorenzo...."
"Lorenzo, the duke?"
"Bingo," he said wryly, light dawning. He shook his finger at Nina. "And he showed up right after you got to my office, remember?" Ryan paced for a minute, recalling their conversation. Then he pointed at Nina. "You wait right here. I'm going to straighten this out. Damned interfering sonofa—"
"No! Wait! What if you're wrong?"
What if he was? Ryan stopped and turned to Nina, still trying to piece together some kind of reason why he might be right. Gut hunch didn't get it. Neither did the spindly facts on which he was basing his assumption.
"Why would he want to pair us off, do you think?" Nina asked, her lips quirking up at the corners. "We're like oil and water. Surely he noticed that."
"Maybe he cooked this up before he saw us together." Ryan marched into the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed.
"What do you mean?"
"Okay, try this on for size. You," he said, pointing at her, "are a poor little girl all alone in the world now that Desmond is dead, right?"
"Wrong! I'm not a poor little girl!" she said with a huff. "And you think I live in a vacuum? I have friends."
He waved that away. "Yeah, but no family in the States, though. Let's say Lorenzo feels sort of responsible for you in a roundabout way. I mean, he was Desmond's brother and you were Desmond's sister. Even though you two aren't related by blood, I can see where he'd feel obliged to see you settled and taken care of. Can't you?"
She scoffed. "That's absurd. But let's put that aside for a minute. Why would he stick me with you, of all people?"
Ryan didn't take offense at her question. And he didn't want to tell her why Lorenzo would want to fix him up with a woman, but this whole scenario was beginning to make more and more sense to him.
He gave Nina a partial truth. "I've been a little resistant to his ploys before. Lorenzo was married earlier this year. You know how newlyweds are. Misery loves company, I guess."
"Oh? He's that miserable?" Nina asked, still looking amused by the whole thing.
"Well, maybe he's not exactly miserable." Ryan felt terrible for even implying that. "Actually, he's deliriously happy. I think."
Nina laughed, sat down on the bed beside him and poked him on the knee with one finger. "You, my friend, should appreciate the thought if not the deed. I know I do. It's great to have somebody care what happens to you, even if they do meddle."
Ryan glared at her, brushed her finger away and rapidly got up. That perfume of hers had been driving him crazy all day. Worse, now that they were so close. And here in this satin-infested bedroom, he couldn't get past the image of her lying virtually naked on that bed. He didn't need to be in the vicinity of any bed with Nina Caruso right now.
"You think we should appreciate it? The duke should damn well mind his own business. If he's behind these incidents—"
"You know better than that. If he cared enough to try to set us up with one another, he surely wouldn't try to scare me to death, much less put me in danger."
"Yeah," he admitted. "You're right." Ryan ran a hand through his hair, then squeezed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension there. "But I'm calling him just the same and find out what's what."
"Why? You want him angry with you?"
Ryan snapped. "Well, I'm damned well angry with him! Being the king's godson and nephew gives him no right to go around tryin' to arrange people's lives like some... some godfather or something." He flung out his arms. "And you said yourself that the king is in on it! He must be. Why else have we got a suite instead of private rooms? And why is it this suite? Damn thing looks like an upscale whorehouse. What the hell was he thinking?"
He watched as Nina fell back on the satin covers and covered her face with her hands. She was laughing.
"What's so damned funny?"
"You," she answered with a lazy chuckle. "I've never heard you talk that fast." Playfully she peeked at him between her fingers. "C'mon, Mac. A few minutes ago you were in stitches over that silly bathroom. Where's your sense of humor now? You're letting this make you crazy. What's the problem anyway? Afraid I'll take advantage of you?"
"Be careful how you put a question like that, Nina. I might just insist on it."
Actually he was more afraid of what he might do to her, and he didn't think she'd respond well to a one-night stand. Or a one-week stand. Or however long it took to wrap up this case. She'd get involved, just like Lorenzo probably intended. Then Ryan would have to hurt her feelings. He didn't want hurt feelings. He didn't want feelings at all.
But he did want sex.
He backed up and sat down again, careful to keep a good foot of space between them. "Okay, smarty-pants, what do you suggest?"
"Pretend we haven't noticed," she suggested. "Or we could keep them in suspense."
"Or play along," he said before he could stop himself. He leaned closer. God, she was like a magnet. He forced himself to back up a little and tear his gaze away from her lips. "Forget I said that."
"No," she said, her voice a near whisper. "I think it might be... a good idea." Her hand touched his where it was propped on the edge of the bed. Slender fingers traced the tops of his knuckles and trailed to his wrists.
"You'd better watch what you're doing there, sweet pea," he growled as he raked her body with a warning inspection.
She smiled and raised one delicate eyebrow. "Do I really scare you, Mr. Big, Bad Private Investigator?"
Ryan drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. "Yeah, you really do. Does that make you feel good?"
"It could," she whispered, those long dark eyelashes at half-mast and her lips parting in invitation.
He couldn't believe he would cave this easily, but it seemed the most natural thing in the world to lean over this smiling, sensuous woman and give up his sanity for a kiss.
Her mouth was soft, welcoming, giving, so he took, demanded and ravished. She had no right, he thought, no right to be this sweet. So incredibly sweet, and succulent as ripe peaches still warm from the sun.
She purred a warning in her throat that sang through his blood like a challenge.
>
Next thing he knew, he had covered her completely, pressing his chest against her to feel her breasts, fitting his arousal to her mound, moving in a shameless parody of what they really wanted. Then he felt her hands pushing against his shoulders.
Breaking the kiss, he slid to one side and buried his face in the slick satin of the bedcovers. "Okay, all right. Give me a minute." He sucked in a deep breath to keep from panting, cursing in his mind the heady scent of ripe luscious peaches that would not leave him.
Exerting every effort, he pushed up on one elbow and looked down at her. "Sorry," he said. "But you did —"
"Ask for it," she finished. "I know. But I was sliding off this damned comforter. We would have landed on the floor. If we're going to do it, let's not waste all this luxury." She reached out with one hand and dragged the edge of the slippery covers away from the mounds of ridiculous ruffled pillows and the quilted-satin headboard.
Ryan had to smile. "You sure?"
"No. You're not, either, but that's not going to stop us, is it?"
He drew one finger across her velvety cheek and touched her lips. "I hate like hell to admit this, but I'm not prepared. No protection."
She closed her eyes and banged the back of her head against the soft mattress, a study in frustration. Ryan loved it.
"I could call room service," he offered.
She gave a nearly silent scream, deep in her throat.
He laughed, drawing his finger down her exposed throat to the V of her blouse. "Let's see just how far ol' 'Renzo means for us to go." He leaned over to the nightstand and pulled open the drawer. "Lo and behold. In Technicolor, too."
Nina propped up on her elbows and peered at his find. "Goodness, he's an optimistic devil, our friend the duke."
Ryan pushed her back on the bed, making room for himself as he kicked off his shoes. "And you, dear heart, are a bad, bad girl."
"A temporary condition, I assure you," she said, shuddering when he buried his lips in the curve of her neck. "I can be quite good."
"Well, don't start now," he warned playfully, but when she tensed a little, he backed off and looked down at her, trying to gauge whether she was uncomfortable with this. "Second thoughts?"