Operation: Monarch

by Valerie Parv

  When she had reminded the prince that she was fully occupied with security preparations for the president's visit in two weeks' time, Lorne had said he would have her duties assigned to Jarvis Reid, her rival in the R.P.D.

  Although there was nothing she could do about it, Serena hated the thought of Reid being at the president's side while she worked on what she still suspected was a hoax. The high profile of the presidential tour meant when it came to choosing the new head of the Solano division, a job Serena had been working hard to earn, Jarvis would have an edge. Once again it seemed Garth was going to interfere in her life.

  He had done it before when she was sixteen and he was nineteen, she recalled. She had been drawn to the darkly brooding young man who shone at all kinds of solo sports. If she closed her eyes she could still see his muscular legs eating up the running track or his arms carving through the water as he swam to victory.

  She was seized by a sudden, unexpected memory of rising to her feet in the stands and cheering her lungs out the day he won the men's medley by half a pool length. He hadn't acknowledged her cheers, looking stonily ahead as he left the water and headed for the locker room. It was as if he had raced for himself alone, and winning was enough. She had told herself not to take it personally. He hadn't asked her to cheer for him. But her fragile teenage ego had ached for a sign that he appreciated her support, and her heart had bled when none came.

  Instead of getting the message, she had started seeing what she wanted to see. Every half smile or brusque word they exchanged had been read as encouragement that she was finally getting through to him. Soon he would ask her for a date and they would be a couple.

  How naive could one person be? The date had never happened. The blossoming romance had been all in her head. Garth's lone-wolf persona wasn't a cover for shyness or anything else. It was who he was. Who he probably still was.

  When she ran a background check on him, parts of his naval record couldn't be accessed, suggesting he'd been involved in covert assignments. The discovery seemed appropriate for one who liked being closed off from others, she thought. Not long after making lieutenant, he had been involved in a deep-sea diving mishap resulting in a trainee under his care being injured. Instructor error, the record showed. Defective equipment, Garth had argued. He had lost, and left the service under a cloud.

  He hadn't had much luck in his life, she thought. With his navy career in ruins, he had dived on wrecks around the region, living off his salvage efforts. He had also worked part-time in his parents' fishing business, the same one the other students had maligned, she remembered. Even the same boat, as far as she could tell. The aging engine had blown up only a month before, sending the boat to the bottom of Solano Harbor. Both Garth's parents had drowned. A stab of concern welled up inside her. No matter how she felt about him, he didn't deserve so much tragedy.

  The record showed no sign of a wife and children. Had he been involved with anyone? She told herself she didn't care. Another woman was welcome to him. But it didn't stop her stomach muscles from clenching at the thought.

  As Princess Alison had suspected, Serena's crush on Garth had been deep enough to make her feel hot more than thirteen years afterward. She blushed to recall how her friends had caught her practicing signing her name as Serena Remy and had teased her unmercifully. They had bet her she wouldn't have the courage to kiss him.

  Knowing how much she wanted to kiss him, she had accepted the bet, waiting until she found him alone, then throwing herself into his arms and fastening her innocent lips on his. When his strong, youthful arms automatically closed around her, her heart had pounded as if it would leap right out of her chest.

  Instead of admitting to overhearing her make the bet, he had kissed her back as if he had been waiting for her all his life. She had felt the stars in her eyes as he held her away from him, and she had been shocked to see how cold he looked. "Looks like you win," he had drawled.

  She vividly recalled the sensation of ice water sliding along her veins, his switch from passion to indifference making her light-headed. "What are you saying?"

  "You can go back to your high-society friends and collect on your bet. If they want proof, I'll vouch that you kissed me. How much was I worth?"

  No money had been involved. Only her pride. "You know about the bet?"

  He had leaned indolently against a wall. "I'm not stupid enough to think you'd do it for any other reason. A spoiled society princess doesn't waste her time on the guy from the other side of the tracks unless there's something in it for her."

  She had needed something to hold on to, but the only available anchor was him, and if she touched him again she was lost. She had lifted her head, letting a defiance she didn't feel shimmer in her gaze. "I'd hate you to think I wanted to kiss you."

  "Oh, you wanted to. You want to do it again," he said. "You might have kissed me for a bet but you enjoyed every minute of it."

  How had he known? "You have a high opinion of yourself," she had snapped.

  He had straightened. "Yes, I do. Unlike you, I have plans for my life."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "You're no more than a beautiful doll who lets herself be used to satisfy her family's ego. Before I get involved with a girl, she'll have to do more with her life than trade on her looks."

  He had walked away. She had stayed frozen in place until she was sure he was gone, before letting the tears come. All her dreams of togetherness with him lay in pieces at her feet. He not only didn't want her company, he despised what he thought she was.

  The worst part was knowing that she had let her parents use her to fulfill their ambitions. She had barely noticed when her father gave up his banking job to manage her career. Her mother, once a capable casting agent, had always called herself Serena's stylist. When had that become her sole occupation?

  She had known she disappointed them bitterly by walking away from a future as a supermodel. Her mother had been horrified when she chose a career in law enforcement, mainly because of the risk to her perfect features, she assumed. They were happier now she was with the R.P.D., little knowing that the royal security could be as hazardous as any other security work. The modern world was a dangerous place. One day she might have to put her life on the line to protect her royal employers.

  She had never expected to have to risk her heart.

  * * *

  The gymnasium overlooked Solano Harbor. She took her own car, and wore a plain teal sweatsuit. Normally she worked out in the luxurious palace gym and wore sweats monogrammed with the royal crest, hardly an option to meet Garth. She had no idea how she was going to convince him to see Lorne and had a feeling that the lower the profile she adopted the better.

  He used the gym on Tuesdays and Thursdays, she had learned when she called from the palace. She waited outside the gymnasium in her car until she saw him pull up in a battered pickup, the back cluttered with diving paraphernalia. In contrast to the state of the car, the gear looked pristine.

  Garth didn't look so bad himself, she thought, watching him lock the car and securely cover the diving gear. A familiar longing washed over her but she fought it. This time she was no teenager, wishing for the moon. She ducked low but he didn't look around, merely hitched a navy-issue duffel bag over his shoulder and headed for the entrance.

  Still as dark and brooding as she remembered, she thought, keeping down as he stalked past. Same sinfully broad shoulders, same narrow hips and grabbable rear, sculpted by the tight jeans he wore slung low like a cowboy's. All he needed was a Stetson to complete the image.

  He'd let his hair grow long, she noticed. Dark with lighter streaks from the sun and sea, it touched the collar of his rumpled blue golf shirt. One errant lock still fell across his eyes. She watched him push it back with an impatient gesture that was all too familiar.

  Serena knew her scrutiny was hardly professional, but couldn't help noticing how tanned he was from years of outdoor exposure, and the way faint lines radiated from
his eyes. His wide mouth was so grimly set that she doubted he smiled any more now than he had when he was younger. Although it was late morning, his chin was dusted with stubble. His rugged appearance should have repelled her but instead she felt a dangerous prickle of excitement.

  At the entrance he looked around as if sensing her eyes on him. She felt his jet gaze skim over her, so penetrating that she expected him to wrench her car door open and demand to know why she was watching him. Then he shrugged as if shaking off a phantom touch, pushed the door open and disappeared inside.

  Sitting up, she swallowed hard, swimming in more phantoms. Memories of how she had imagined herself as his girl, cheering his sporting prowess from the sidelines, threatened to swamp her. Few others had cheered for him even when he won, she remembered. He had been too self-sufficient, making it clear he didn't need anyone's adulation. She had been the only girl stupid enough to think she was different.

  Not anymore. She was here for a purpose, not to revisit yearnings she had grown out of thirteen years ago. She had, hadn't she? The dryness in her throat argued differently. Not sure how honestly, she told herself she wasn't looking forward to this meeting. Only Prince Lorne's assurance that the country's stability depended on resolving Garth's claim to the throne—if he had one—got her out of the car and sauntering across the car park after him as if she hadn't a care in the world.

  In truth, she had a handful. This morning at the palace Jarvis Reid had swooped down on her, demanding her files on the presidential visit. He had looked like a cat with his first canary, as well he might. All her hard work preparing for the visit would now give Reid's ambition a boost at the cost of her own. The thought of reporting to him as head of the Solano division made her feel ill. She had counted on it being the other way around.

  Garth Remy had better be the lost prince, she thought angrily. If this was a clever hoax and he was somehow involved, she'd be kicking his fine-looking rear instead of grabbing it.

  At the same time, she had difficulty imagining him being involved in a hoax. He may have been aloof, but he hadn't lied to her. He could easily have taken advantage of her infatuation, but beyond the first kiss, he hadn't. He had told her openly that he knew about the bet and had walked away. A man who lived by his own code of honor, however brutal it had seemed to her younger self.

  Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door of the gymnasium and stepped inside. Garth was nowhere in sight, probably changing in the men's locker room. She signed in and headed for the women's locker room where she peeled off her sweatsuit to reveal a burgundy sports top and black leggings. With her long blond hair caught in a high ponytail, she still looked about eighteen, she thought, grimacing at herself in the full-length mirror. She supposed she should be happy, given the rapid approach of her next milestone birthday. But the image held too many reminders of the girl who had mooned around, waiting for Garth to notice her.

  She wasn't about to do any such thing today, she reminded herself. She was a grown woman at the top of her profession. Well nearly at the top. She'd had affairs of varying degrees of satisfaction. Nobody current, through her decision to focus on achieving promotion. The ingenuous girl whose feelings Garth had trampled no longer existed.

  So close to lunchtime, the main floor was almost deserted except for an attendant straightening up equipment on the far side of the room. In the background the steady bass beat of rock music signaled a class in progress elsewhere in the building.

  Playing the part of a gym regular, she climbed aboard a stationary bike to warm up. Pedaling steadily, she glanced around, finding Garth doing the same at the other end of the row. He didn't see her. He wore a tank top and light-blue gym shorts with a navy stripe down each side and a pair of well-worn cross trainers.

  After warming up for ten minutes he got off and went to a bench press where he picked out a pair of dumbbells, then lay on his back on the bench, planting his feet on the floor.

  She stopped pedaling to watch as he exhaled and slowly pressed both weights toward the ceiling. With perfect control he inhaled and lowered the weights to the starting position, his muscles gleaming in the artificial light. She counted about four beats on the exhalation and eight on the inhalation phases. Impressive.

  In danger of becoming mesmerized by the sight of his self-assured movements, she slid off the bike and chose an opal-colored balance ball suited to her height, nudging the sphere closer to Garth's station. Wedging the ball between her lower back and the wall, she inhaled and lowered herself to a sitting position, bending her hips and knees. The pressure on the ball against her back felt as good as a massage.

  Exhaling, she stood, keeping the pressure on the ball with her back. Several repetitions later, she felt muscle fatigue creeping up, but Garth was too intent on his own workout to notice her. Déjà vu, she thought, determined not to let it bother her this time. No wonder he was still unattached.

  Deliberately she let the ball escape from under her so it bounced against his bench press. "I'm sorry," she said as she went to retrieve it. Garth had the weights lowered to his shoulders. She injected surprise into her voice. "Garth? Garth Remy?"

  Noticing her at last, he swung himself upright. "Serena Cordeaux? It is you, isn't it?"

  He didn't exactly sound thrilled to see her, she thought. She forced a grin. "How long has it been?"

  He placed the weights on the floor and swabbed his face with a towel, although he had barely raised a sweat. "Years. I heard you left Solano after graduation."

  Unwillingly pleased that he'd tracked her progress for a time at least, she nodded. "I went to the police academy."

  If she had hoped to impress him, he didn't show it. Merely nodded. "Quite a switch for you, wasn't it?"

  "Modeling was my parents' choice for me, not mine. I gave it up as soon as I was of age."

  His eyes narrowed slightly. "I hope I didn't have anything to do with that?"

  Annoyed because he had, she shook her head, feeling the old attraction resurface. Along with something far less welcome. Desire. Hot, potent, stinging because she didn't want to feel it. She had been talking to him for less than five minutes out of thirteen years, and already she wanted to be in his arms so much she could taste the need. Some people never learned.

  "You have a high opinion of yourself," she said, then felt even more annoyed because she had said the same thing to him after they kissed.

  He remembered too, she saw in the sudden gleam of interest flaring in his gaze. The flame died as she watched. "Always did," he said easily, but the trace of pain in his voice wasn't lost on her.

  She touched his arm. "I'm sorry about your parents' accident."

  He half closed his eyes, then opened them, his expression impassive. Too impassive, she thought, as if he was suffering but didn't want anyone to know it. Same old Garth Remy, she thought. Never let anyone get too close.

  "I meant to get in touch and thank you for the wreath," he said.

  She'd ordered it after seeing the news on television, telling herself it was the decent thing to do, not because she expected a response from him. "That's okay. It can't have been an easy time for you." She hadn't meant her tone to soften in concern for him, but it happened anyway.

  "I'm fine."

  He moved to a mat on the far side of the bench press, snaring a length of resistance tubing as he went. Dropping to the floor, he stretched his legs out in front of him and anchored the tubing around his feet, then exhaled as he pulled the tubing in to his abdomen. The rowing movement was harder than it looked, she knew, and would help to account for his washboard-flat stomach.

  Picking up another length of tubing, she joined him on a neighboring mat. She preferred the cable-row machines but they were on the other side of the room, hardly conducive to continuing a conversation. Not that he seemed to welcome her company. His body language told her he considered the reunion over.

  She didn't.

  She looped the tubing around her feet. "What have you been doing with yourse
lf?"

  His slow exhalation as he pulled the cable taut was the only sound between them. She had decided he wasn't going to answer when he said, "I worked my way through college. You might recall I had some catching up to do."

  The defensive tone reminded her that he had been the oldest boy in their high school. His parents had pulled him out of class to help in the family business so often that he had fallen behind academically, although his IQ was the equal of hers. Being older than their classmates, he'd endured considerable teasing, not all of it good-natured. "Good for you," she said sincerely. "What did you do then?"

  "Joined the navy."

  Her arm muscles protested as she paused with the cable at full stretch. "I joined the police, you joined the navy. Interesting."

  "Not particularly. It was the only way I could make a career out of diving."

  "You didn't want to work with your folks on their boat?"

  Seeing his mouth tighten, she cursed herself for mentioning the boat. Its shabby condition had always been a sore point with him. Now it also reminded him of his loss. "Not enough money in it for three people," he said. From what she remembered, the boat had barely supported the family all along.

  Too many questions would make him suspicious. She decided to try another angle. "A few years ago, I moved from the police to the R.P.D., the Royal Protection Detail," she explained.

  "I know what the R.P.D. is. I've seen you on TV, shadowing Prince Lorne. Being beautiful must be an asset in royal protection."

  Torn because he thought her beautiful, but obviously still believed she traded on her looks, she let her anger surface. "I was hired for my skills, not my appearance."

  "Such as a black belt in shopping?"

  Goaded beyond her limits, she vaulted to her feet and lassoed his broad shoulders with her resistance band, hog-tying him before he had time to react. Leaning back to tighten the band, she let it bite into his flesh just enough to get his attention.

  He didn't move but his gaze held a new glimmer of respect. "Old habit. And you are beautiful."