by Valerie Parv
While he still could, he lifted her hands from his neck, kissing the knuckles of her linked fingers, and lowered them to her sides. "I didn't mean to do that. I was going to tell you how much I admired what you did today."
She wondered if she looked as shell-shocked as she felt. Freeing one hand, she raked it through her hair. "What did I do?"
"The idea of scuba diving scares you half to death. You could have stayed in the boat, yet you came, and you got yourself out of trouble. That took guts."
He couldn't know that he was the wellspring of her courage. Just knowing he was with her empowered her to push herself beyond what she ordinarily thought of as her limits. And not only under the water. She was by no means a passive woman, but neither was she normally as bold as Garth made her feel.
Wanton was an old-fashioned word, but nothing else applied. He made her want to flout every moral rule life had ever drummed into her. She yearned to shed her clothes and make love with him in the most outrageous places—the deck of his boat, the ocean floor, the middle of the castle green. The realization should have shocked her. Instead it excited her.
He'd had the same effect on her when they were teenagers, she remembered. His sporting prowess had inspired her, and in his kiss she'd tasted heaven. She had transmuted her feelings for him into the energy to go out and conquer the world. Not to settle for less than everything she could be.
Now she was fully aware of what he made her feel, and he was stepping back from it. She felt as if he'd thrown seawater into her face. "Thanks for the compliment," she said stiffly.
He seemed to hear what she wasn't saying. "Believe me, it's better this way. You don't need me messing with your future."
Recalling the night they'd already spent together, she laughed hollowly. "Isn't it a bit late to have regrets?"
His gaze darkened. "I don't regret what happened between us for a single minute."
His conviction thrummed through her. "Then what's the problem?"
His hands skimmed her shoulders and settled lightly on her upper arms, allowing her the freedom to shrug him off. When she didn't, he said, "Haven't you worked it out yet? Good sex is all I have to offer you, Serena. This is my life. No home, no kids, and we both know what happened to my career."
"That was a mistake," she said with such conviction that he was shaken.
Having someone believe in him unconditionally was a novelty, even though he didn't want it. "Unfortunately, the navy doesn't agree with you."
The glint of battle flashed in her eyes. "We can make them agree. Prince Lorne has the power."
"If the truth isn't enough, the hell with it." Garth said, bringing her up short. There was only one way to stop her from sacrificing herself for him, although it made him feel like a brute. "I don't want Prince Lorne's charity, or yours for that matter. My life was fine the way it was until you came into it."
Anger stemmed any trace of tears in her eyes. "Then be my guest, go right back to wallowing in your black-sheep status. Too bad if it turns out you're the heir to the throne, because that will really complicate your life." She dragged in a breath. "Oh, I forgot. If that happens, you'll abdicate in favor of Prince Lorne. Shall I tell him the DNA test is a waste of time, because you've already made up your mind to wimp out?"
She had taken two steps when he grabbed her and whirled her to face him. "What was that about wimping out?"
"What else do you call it?"
"You could try concern for the good of the kingdom."
His calm assertion defused some of her anger. "You really believe that, don't you? You're not being cowardly or arrogant."
He met her gaze levelly. "I like to think I'm neither. Running a country isn't like running a business. Lorne was born to it. I wasn't."
"If I believed that, I'd still be modeling," she said softly. "I have you to thank for planting the seed making me aware that I was in control of my life."
An odd light came into his eyes. "Maybe I was arrogant. You might have become a supermodel earning millions just for getting out of bed in the morning. You're still beautiful enough to grace magazine covers."
An unwelcome warmth stole over her. "Thanks, but I'm happy with my choice." A sudden realization made her gasp. "It's not the possibility of the crown. It's the lack of control over your destiny that you object to."
He smiled mockingly. "You took your time but you got there. Now in case you haven't noticed, it's getting late."
While they talked the sun had become a brilliant orange disk low on the horizon. Discussion over, she understood, knowing she was right all the same. She reached a decision. "I'm not going back to the castle tonight."
His jaw firmed. "I hope you'll be comfortable sleeping in your car."
She kept her expression calm. "If it comes to that. I'm sure you'll take pity on me and let me use your shower in the morning."
"Don't count on it."
"Fine, as long as your conscience won't be bothered by the sight of me camping in your driveway all night."
"You're assuming I have one."
"I know you do," she said softly and seated herself at the table. "So—stalemate."
He ignored her while he snapped off lights and secured the cabin, then he picked up the duffel and walked to the steps. Looking back at her, he said, "If you're coming, you'd better get a move on."
* * *
The Remy family home was like Garth himself, one of a kind. The first thing she noticed when she pulled up behind Garth's pickup was the long, narrow jetty extending like a crooked finger into Katira Cove. The second thing was the unmistakably nautical style of the building. Crouching on its rocky headland the house looked like a squat white lighthouse.
"Built by my grandfather," Garth explained. "When he was a boy his family were lighthouse keepers on Nuee, and he always wanted to live in one. This was the closest he came."
The glassed-in upper story did look like a lighthouse beacon. It was accessible by a white wrought-iron staircase winding around the lower floors. The view must be spectacular. There couldn't be more than one or two rooms to a floor, she thought. All the windows were round like the portholes of a ship.
There was also no mistaking the general air of neglect as she drove after him into the garage attached to one side of the house. An internal door led directly into the house. Hardly aware of doing so, she automatically assessed the level of security. It was far from ideal but she could do nothing about it other than remain on her guard.
With the key in his hand, Garth hesitated, and she remembered her impression that he'd been living out of his pickup when she tracked him down. "Have you been back here since your parents died?" she asked, gentling her tone.
"Once, to get some things that were needed for the funeral."
She wasn't fooled by his gruff manner. "I went through the same thing after my maternal grandmother died. My mother couldn't bring herself to set foot in grandma's house, so Dad and I sorted through her things. It's hard, isn't it?"
Without answering he turned the key in the lock. The door stuck slightly but yielded to his insistent push. When she went in ahead of him, the hallway glowed in the early-evening light and the air smelled stale.
"Welcome to Chez Remy," he said, closing the front door. "It's a long way from Pearl Point."
She refused to rise to the bait. Although separated from here by only a couple of miles, there was a world of difference between Katira Cove and the affluent suburb of Pearl Point where her parents still lived. The high school they had both attended was located roughly midway between.
"It's different," she said, not sure how to describe the mix of modern furnishings and pieces that looked as if they'd been washed up by the tide. The end result was bizarre but somehow homey.
Thinking of the impersonal apartment she occupied in the staff wing at the castle, she felt wistful. She had thought about making a real home for herself without doing anything about it. Being here made her think it was time she did.
He led the w
ay into a combined kitchen and dining room, dumped his bag on a chair, then went around opening windows. As a fresh sea breeze swirled through the room, she inhaled deeply. "This is a nice place."
"You don't have to be tactful."
"I'm not. The house has warmth and character. It could use a little TLC, but it's a real home." One where you could raise a family, she thought unexpectedly. "You have a problem with it because it isn't moving under your feet."
Touché, she thought when she saw his frown deepen. "So I prefer boats. It isn't a crime."
She touched his hand. "Your parents didn't inherit this house until you were a teenager. It's hardly surprising you feel more at home in the environment you knew best. I like boats myself. I used to envy your living aboard one all the time."
He looked at her in frank surprise, as if he couldn't imagine her envying anything about his life. "You did?"
She dragged a wooden stool nearer to the open window and angled it so she could look at the view while watching him. "I used to think living on a boat was romantic, with the seven seas as your garden."
He opened the duffel and took out a packet of crackers and an assortment of cans, placing them on a counter top. "You always were a dreamer."
"My favorite song says if you never dream, you can't have your dreams come true."
He didn't respond, and she remembered what had happened to his dreams. "How are you at cooking?" he asked, the swift change making it clear the discussion was over. He obviously didn't want her feeling sorry for him.
Like a game-show host, he waved a hand over the line-up of cans. "They're our ingredients. Unless you have a problem with them."
On the stool she drew herself up, pretending to be offended. "I'll have you know I passed can opening with flying colors."
He tossed her a can. "Prove it."
She fielded it deftly, reading the label on the chicken soup out loud, "Fillet steak with lobster sauce."
He didn't miss a beat. "My mistake, I thought that was the caviar." He scooped up a can of asparagus. "Ah, here it is."
"Did I see pecan pie for dessert."
"Must be in this one." He held up a battered can clearly marked Sliced Peaches.
Enjoying the game, she smiled. "No cream for the pie?"
He rummaged in the hold all and held up two chocolate bars. "Will these do?"
She let her legs swing. "All the comforts of home."
"It's not too late to change your mind and go back to the castle."
If she had any sense she would say yes. This was entirely too cozy. The air felt charged like the atmosphere before a storm, although the evening sky was clear. She opened her mouth to opt for retreat, and instead heard herself say, "I'm staying."
The husky assurance fired Garth's blood and he couldn't resist moving closer. With the endless expanse of sea and sky framed in the window behind her, she looked like a mermaid sitting on her rock, awaiting a lover.
She didn't seem aware that she'd kicked off her shoes. Her toenails were painted an iridescent blue. He liked the frivolity. Liked the suggestion of softness underpinning her tough security-officer persona.
Her eyes were bright with a desire he could feel to the depths of his being. Out on the water the sun had kissed her skin with gold. She had said she wasn't hungry but she looked as if she was. He had enough masculine pride to hope it was for him.
He had never been a fan of fighting temptation as long as giving in to it hurt no one, although this time he couldn't be sure. And he didn't want to hurt Serena. What he did want to do surprised even him.
Making love to her was only part of it. For the first time he wondered how it would feel to share everything with a woman. Preparing a meal together and eating it by candlelight. Rubbing her feet as she rested them on his lap after a hard day. Holding her hand and lending her his strength as she brought their child into the world.
His thoughts stunned him. No woman had ever made him want those things the way Serena did. Maybe if the DNA test proved he was a prince, he could offer them to her and more. Until then, he had better remember how little he did have to offer her: a run-down old house, a boat named after another woman and a promising career in ruins. She deserved better.
She didn't seem to know it as she slid off the stool and came to him, her skin flushed and her eyes bright. Could it really be so simple? Would she be content with what he could give her? Burn for him the way he burned for her?
Even if the answer was yes—hell, especially if the answer was yes—he owed it to her not to take advantage until the current crisis was resolved.
It took every bit of self-control he possessed to steer for the window as if admiring the view was what he'd had in mind all along. He could almost feel her puzzlement as he walked past her and stared out to sea. "My grandmother used to say this kitchen has the best view in Solano."
"It's beautiful," she agreed.
The bewilderment he heard in her tone was almost his undoing. One small step, he thought. Then she would be in his arms and he could plunder her mouth with all the abandonment of the pirates that had once roamed this coast. He could sweep her off her feet and carry her upstairs to his old room, to the big sleigh bed his grandfather had made with his own hands. "This is a bed for making babies," his grandfather had said when a young Garth had asked him why he was putting so much care into the construction. Garth had been too young to understand him then, but he did now.
He wanted to make babies with Serena so badly he ached.
Instead he turned slowly, holding his arms rigid at his sides. "We'd better get to work."
Chapter 14
Serena's breath rushed out of her body. She was sure that wasn't what Garth had intended to say. When he came toward her he had looked as if he wanted to kiss her. Annoyed by how much she wanted him too, she contrarily felt disappointed. Never before had she felt so powerfully attracted to a man, and it bothered her. Not so much because it was there, but because it was Garth.
As long as he was convinced he wasn't good enough for her, nothing could come of the pull she felt toward him. The worst of it was, he could be right. She had her life at the castle and a career on the fast track. Involving herself with a known black sheep wouldn't help either one. Too bad her runaway hormones had yet to be convinced.
"You're right," she said, knowing that he was. It was still an effort to sound enthusiastic.
Extending her foot, she felt around under the stool for her shoes. Garth saw the move and picked up one of the pumps that had skidded off as she swung her legs. "Looking for this?"
Dropping to one knee, he took her foot in hand like Cinderella's prince trying the glass slipper on her for size. The touch was so intimate that Serena's resolve trembled on its foundations. As he cupped her instep and slid the shoe slowly over her foot, shivers wound their way up her spine.
She could hardly speak. "I can manage the other one."
But he retrieved it and slid it on to her foot. "You have such neat feet. I like the blue polish."
"It was the beautician's choice. I had a pedicure before all this started." Damn it, why did she have to sound so defensive?
He looked up from his position at her feet. "What else do you do to yourself?"
"Not much. Manicures, a massage now and then. I don't have time for much pampering."
"Remind me to give you a massage sometime. I'm told I have magic fingers."
She hated thinking of the woman—women?—he was quoting. And herself for caring about them. Imagining his strong hands touching, kneading, stroking her, she jellied inside. "Think I'll pass."
"Don't you trust me?"
It was herself she didn't trust in such a situation. "I prefer a woman giving me a massage. They're gentler."
"I can be gentle."
This she already knew from his lovemaking. He could be gentle and caressing, fiercely possessive and everything in between. "What do you want from me?" she asked on a heavy exhalation.
His gaze narrowed and he s
tood up. "Explain."
"We've already agreed we don't want to get involved. Yet you keep saying things that…offering me massages and…" He also turned her into a blithering fool who couldn't string a complete sentence together, she thought angrily. She took a deep breath. "You confuse me."
"Because you insist on mixing up desire with commitment. We can be good in bed together without getting involved."
"I know men are supposed to be better at separating the two, but I don't know if I want to be."
His mouth curved into a challenging smile. "You did very well at Brett's place."
She took refuge in belligerence. "Are you saying we should have a full-blown affair without expecting anything more from each other?"
His smile widened. "Sounds good to me."
"Well, not to me." At least not that she was prepared to admit. "Are you going to show me around, or am I going to find my own way?"
He watched the mixture of emotions cloud her lovely features. She could still model if she chose. He had never encountered a more ideal blend of bone structure, skin like milk and hair as fine as spun silk. Whether or not they added up to classical beauty, he couldn't say, but they fitted any definition he could imagine.
More than that, she was beautiful inside. He had always known she set high standards for herself, some might say impossibly high. Her personnel record showed she hadn't changed. She still did more than was expected of her, cared more, contributed more. Her actions with him demonstrated it. Not only the diving, but accompanying him here because she thought it was the right thing to do, when she could have earned more brownie points by reporting back to Prince Lorne.
Under his scrutiny, she shifted from one foot to the other. "What?"
"Just looking," he said mildly, enjoying the luxury. He pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, felt her quiver like a wild deer meeting man for the first time.
"Well, stop," she said, flustered.
"You're asking the impossible."
Twin spots of color bloomed on her cheeks. "You're doing it again."