by Romy Sommer
She continued, her gaze still on the road ahead: “If only half the money spent on frivolous things, like movies and actors’ lavish lifestyles, were used to help the less fortunate this world would be a much better place.”
Great, a Greenpeace Evangelist. The vision of those long legs wrapped intimately around him flickered out and died.
“Are you always this judgie about people you’ve just met?” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the window. “You think you know me, but I’ll have you know I was on my way tonight to a charity banquet to raise funds for a new children’s hospital in Los Pajaros.”
Teresa flicked him a contemptuous glance. “A society event packed with pretentious people all showing off their designer wear and eating gourmet food? That’s not helping others. That’s helping yourself.”
She was right, of course. Tonight was all about him, not about the charity. His appearance as guest speaker tonight had been arranged by his publicist. And even free publicity hadn’t been his real incentive. He’d only agreed to attend when he’d heard his latest co-star was going to be there too.
But he wasn’t going to admit that this prissy bitch was right.
He forced a crooked smile. “And what’s wrong with that?”
The look she cast him could have out-frozen the Antarctic. “Do you even care about anyone other than yourself?”
Not any more.
Teresa pulled the car to a stop. Glancing out the window, he recognised the forecourt of his hotel.
Then she turned her clear, frigid gaze on him, and every repressed childhood memory, every insult and every torture he’d endured rose up. He kept his fury in check and resisted the urge to fist his hands. He thought he’d left the past behind, but clearly it still lingered beneath the surface, waiting for a moment just like this. He wanted to lash out, to take revenge on this superior ice queen, who suddenly represented every person who’d ever slighted the outcast mixed-race child from Los Pajaros.
But he was an actor. He could control his emotions. And he would die before letting her see how she’d got to him.
He opened the door and the chill night air rushed in. “I’m a narcissist and proud of it. But before you judge another person, Miss High and Mighty, you should take a walk in their shoes.”
A slight smile tugged at the edge of her full lips. “Are you upset because I haven’t fallen at your feet?”
He stepped out the car. “Thank you for the ride, Princess.” He slammed the door shut and the trailing tail of his evening jacket caught in it, but he didn’t care. He heard the fabric rip as he stalked away, head high, shoulders back, barely seeing the doorman as he pushed past into the plush lobby.
Tessa sat for a long moment, her hands on the steering wheel, which vibrated with the engine’s purr. Now he was gone and the adrenalin rush faded, reaction set in.
Her hands began to shake.
She’d been unpardonably rude.
It wasn’t like her.
Blood thundered in her ears and she laid her forehead down on the steering wheel. She could blame it on the shock of having a strange man jump into her car, invading her personal space, but it was so much more than that.
She was angry with herself.
If Daddy found out about her lapse tonight, she’d never hear the end of it. She’d been raised better than that. Remember your manners, keep your temper, and don’t be rude. She’d broken all three tonight.
Not to mention that he’d warned her that danger could come when you least expected it and that she needed to be vigilant. But she’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts, in herself, she hadn’t even seen Christian until he’d leapt into her car. Nor had she noticed the women chasing after him. She’d been as self-absorbed as she’d accused him of being.
If her father heard of this incident, he’d have a security detail on her in a heartbeat, and she hated having eyes and ears trained on her. How could she go about planning the biggest day of her life with a bodyguard stalking her every move? She felt claustrophobic enough in her life as it was.
She could only pray that by then the escaped convicts would be back behind bars and they could stop living in fear. And that this dreadful feeling of being caged would go away.
She lifted her head and put the car in gear.
Still, neither fear nor anger was an excuse. She’d behaved insufferably tonight. Christian was right – she’d been judgmental and condescending. Just because he represented everything she distrusted and despised didn’t mean she had to say it out loud.
She’d lied too. She’d pretended not to know who he was. But even she, enclosed in her ivory tower, had heard of Christian Taylor, the man who’d made his fame playing the ultimate superhero.
She sucked in a deep breath and pulled away from the hotel forecourt.
The last thing she felt like right now was a charity banquet. Especially one where she’d just insulted the guest of honour. She turned the car in the opposite direction to the banquet hall and headed home. She’d have a bath and curl up in bed with a book. And if her father wanted to know if she’d done as he asked and met Christian Taylor, at least she could answer honestly that she had.
And she’d send up a prayer that it was over and done with and she never need see him again.
Chapter 2
“You may go straight in. Your father’s expecting you.”
His executive assistant waved her in, and with only the barest pause in her stride to acknowledge the older woman, Tessa headed towards the closed office door. Her heels beat out a firm rhythm on the parquet floor. She hesitated at the door; her hand suspended a centimetre from the solid wood door.
Did her father know what had happened last night? He always knew everything. Was he disappointed in her? Or had he summoned her here today to insist on a bodyguard? Whatever it was, his assistant had said it was urgent. So urgent she’d left one of the world’s leading dress designers standing open-mouthed in the bridal boutique.
She steeled herself with a deep breath, straightened her back, and knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
She opened the door and stepped in.
Her father stood in the bay window, which overlooked one of Neustadt’s numerous squares, a leafy oasis amongst the eighteenth-century buildings, his back to her and his hands clasped behind his back, like a king surveying his domain. Which wasn’t far off.
Victor Thomas Adler, Twelfth Count of Arelat, former Supreme Court Judge and new head of the nation’s Intelligence Service, wielded almost as much power in the little European nation as the Archduke or the Prime Minister.
He turned as she closed the door behind her. “Thank you for coming so quickly.” He waved her to the seat across the desk and she sat, folding her hands demurely in her lap. Her hand felt bare where her engagement ring usually sat. She’d barely had it a few months and already it felt like a part of her. As soon as this interrogation was over, she needed to collect it from the jeweller’s, along with the insurance valuation certificate.
“Your assistant said it was urgent.”
Please, please don’t let him have heard about last night… she hated to disappoint her father.
“Did you enjoy the banquet last night?”
She blinked.
He never indulged in small-talk. So why did he want to talk about some charity event? She crossed her fingers in her lap, careful they were out of her father’s line of vision. She nodded. “It was a lovely evening.”
“Did Stefan go with you?”
“I told you last week that he’s away. He has meetings in New York.”
He wasn’t happy with that. He’d already made his feelings known on that score – he didn’t think Stefan would make a good husband for his only child. He’s too wrapped up in his work. He should take better care of you.
Her father was a good one to talk. He was married to his job.
She was used to being alone. And tough if he didn’t think Stefan was good enough. T
he man he’d thought suitable – the man they’d both thought eminently suitable – now lived in exile half a world away and she had to move forward with her life.
She didn’t want to be alone. She wanted a family. And since Fredrik’s departure, she and Stefan had seemed inevitable. She’d known Stefan since they were children. They’d grown up in the same social circles and his family lineage was almost as impeccable as her own. They were friends.
“You met the American actor?”
“I did.” At least that wasn’t a lie.
Her father moved to the chair behind his desk and sat, steepling his fingers together.
Oh-oh, she was in trouble. She just didn’t know what for, yet. For lying to him, or for paying so little attention to her safety that she’d endangered herself? Or both?
“I spoke to him.”
His eyes narrowed. Worse, then. Did he know how rude she’d been to a visiting celebrity? He might not be big on small-talk but he was big on manners. And for reasons she couldn’t fathom, he’d wanted her to meet the man.
“What did you discuss?”
She’d replayed the conversation enough times in her head since last night to be able to answer that. But somehow she didn’t think ‘I mistook him for an escaped con’ or ‘I insulted him’ would rank highly in her father’s estimation.
“We spoke about opera and ballet … and the Los Pajaros children’s charity, of course.”
“Of course. And what was he wearing when you had this scintillating conversation?”
He wanted to talk men’s fashions? Something was going on here she couldn’t quite see. Did he know she hadn’t attended the banquet last night? Did he know she was lying? He always knew everything… but she was in so deep now.
She closed her eyes briefly and summoned up an image of Christian Taylor. Torn evening jacket, crisp white shirt ripped to reveal bare, hard chest beneath. Smooth, muscled chest… skin a rich cappuccino colour. “He wore an evening suit, like everyone else.”
Her father leaned forward in his seat. “Very interesting… in view of the fact that he never made it to the banquet last night.”
Oh-oh. She cleared her throat but couldn’t think where to start.
“Which means you never attended either.”
She lifted her chin. “It’s a long story.”
He waved his hand, not interested, and she breathed an inward sigh of relief at not having to divulge the entire sorry story.
“You have the opportunity to redeem yourself. After last night’s stunt, the film production company is looking for a PA for Mr Taylor. Someone local who knows their way around this city and who can ensure he gets to where he’s needed on time. I suggested you.”
Tessa choked. “I’m not a PA!” And it wasn’t as if she needed a job.
She flinched as Christian’s words reverberated, still sharp in her memory. “So what difference are you making in the world?” Spoken in a tone so scathing, it had burned at her all night.
“It’s not much different from being a social secretary. You have plenty of experience at that.” Her father relaxed a fraction and almost smiled. “You’ve been doing it for me long enough.”
She tried to think, but her head had turned to mush. See Christian Taylor again? Oh no! Not after last night… “I’m planning a wedding.”
“You have an assistant,” he pointed out.
Precisely. She had an assistant. “You can use Anna. I could pull her off the wedding preparations for the next week, and she’s an excellent PA.”
And Anna would probably love the idea of being around movie people all day.
Her father shook his head. “Not just anyone can do this job. I need your help.”
She shut her mouth. He never needed help from anyone. Her father was the most self-assured, most formidable man she’d ever known. She’d often had reason to be grateful she was his daughter, the one person in the world he cared about, and not on the receiving end of his less-merciful side.
Even so, he wasn’t above manipulating her or trying to control her life. Her eyes narrowed. Was this a ploy to keep tabs on her? An actor as famous as Christian Taylor no doubt had an entourage of drivers and bodyguards. People who could just as easily watch over her too. If she’d thought her life was suffocating before now, it would have nothing on that.
She pictured herself, trapped in the back seat of a limousine with the man she’d insulted last night, watched over by beady-eyed security men. It was enough to make her break out in hives.
But not for nothing was she her father’s daughter. She summoned up her own most formidable expression. “Why me?”
His gaze bore into her. “Because I need someone I trust to get close to him. I need to know everything about him. It’s a matter of national security.”
She couldn’t keep the surprise from her face. Since when was a frivolous Hollywood actor a matter of national security?
Her father rose from his chair and paced back to the window. “You’ve seen Fredrik’s ring – the Waldburg ring?”
She nodded. Of course she had. Her former boyfriend had worn that ring as a symbol of who he was. She swallowed against the lump in her throat. The last time she’d seen him, at his brother Max’s engagement party, he hadn’t worn it.
That night had been one of the hardest she’d ever had to endure. Almost everyone there had known she and Fredrik were dating before he’d been summarily exiled. Most had expected them to get engaged. She certainly had.
She’d been so grateful for the protection of Stefan’s engagement ring on her finger that night, even though he’d been away on business and she’d had to brave the lion’s den alone.
It should have been even worse for Fredrik. He’d lost so much more than she had. Instead, he’d been so wrapped around his new girlfriend Kenzie he’d scarcely noticed anyone else.
She frowned. Fredrik had disappointed her. She’d believed he was above vulgar public displays of affection. That’s what one expected from a Hollywood actor, not from a European prince.
“You would recognise the Waldburg ring again if you saw it?”
She forced the past back where it belonged and lifted her chin. “Of course.”
“Did Fredrik ever tell you there are three rings?”
She shook her head. They were the rings of the heirs of the Archdukes of Westerwald. Fredrik had one. His brother Max, the new Archduke, had one. Of course there could be another, locked away in safety in the event of a third son and heir being born, though that hadn’t happened in over a century.
Her father contemplated the view beyond the window. “It’s not known outside the royal family, but the third ring disappeared more than thirty-five years ago. Fredrik believes he saw it on a chain around Mr Taylor’s neck a few nights ago.”
Tessa tried hard to remember what she’d seen last night. She had to struggle past the vision of toned, dark-skinned chest.
A flash of silver.
It was possible. A lot of men wore jewellery these days. But if the ring was genuine – and she trusted Fredrik implicitly – then how had Christian Taylor come by it? A royal heirloom like that must surely have been as closely guarded as the crown itself.
Her father smiled, answering her train of thought. “Yes, that’s what I need to know. Christian told Fredrik that he got it from his mother. I checked her out. She worked as a political intern in the palace here in Neustadt many years ago, on a policy think-tank. She left before he was born. I need to know how she got that ring, and anything else she may have taken. It shouldn’t take more than a week or two at most. Then we can send Anna in to replace you.”
She thought quickly. An intern would never have had access to the royal vaults. Christian’s mother must have had inside help. But who, and how deep did this go?
Her father was right. This wasn’t a job for any ordinary PA. And this way she could restore her father’s faith in her too. Wedding or not, she’d do whatever she could to help. Even lose her independence. Even face Ch
ristian Taylor again.
She wouldn’t only be doing it for her father, or out of friendship for Fredrik, but out of love for her nation. This was her home, her security, and she loved Westerwald more than she’d ever loved any man.
“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you to keep this strictly between us. Fredrik has asked me to keep this from Max until we have real evidence.” Her father slid a file across the desk to her. “Read this before you leave. The address is inside. You’re expected there in an hour.”
“How did you persuade them to hire me?”
He smiled. “I didn’t. Kenzie did.”
The film’s production office was in the warehouse district on the outskirts of town. Though it was another balmy day, unseasonably so for January, and the sky an enticing blue, Tessa kept the top firmly closed as she drove. She wasn’t taking any more chances.
A security guard signed her in and she circled the enormous car park looking for an empty space. Half the car park was filled with trucks and motor homes. People scurried between buildings and vehicles with an almost frenetic sense of urgency.
She sat in the car for a long moment, hands gripping the steering wheel. She wasn’t sure which was worse. Having to face Christian Taylor again, or having to make nice with Fredrik’s new girlfriend. No, not girlfriend. Fiancée.
Sucking in a deep breath, she climbed out of the car.
The offices were above a voluminous warehouse space, where a construction team hammered and sawed and raised voices echoed. Up a narrow flight of stairs she found the reception and was shown to a waiting room with faux-leather sofas, a water cooler and a pile of outdated magazines. Beyond the door she heard voices, phones ringing, laughter.
Suppressing the urge to pace, she sat with her ankles crossed and her hands clasped in her lap. And tried very, very hard not to imagine how abjectly she’d have to apologise to Christian for her behaviour last night before he’d even give her the time of day.
She would do or say whatever it took. Though for someone who always knew all the right words, who wasn’t fazed in any company, the sudden attack of butterflies in her stomach was disconcerting.