No, she thought, there would be no time for confessions of love.
Luke nuzzled her neck, and she felt her pulse quicken.
"There's something I need to tell you," she said softly.
He ended their embrace. "What is it?"
She looked right at him. "I love you. And not just as a friend. I love you the way a wife loves a husband."
He went perfectly still, and when he finally spoke, his voice sounded raw. "You just think you do. What you're experiencing is some sort of youthful infatuation."
Hurt, she squared her shoulders, preparing to defend herself. "Please don't talk to me like I'm a fickle-hearted teenager. I'm a grown woman. And I love you, whether you believe it or not."
He shook his head. "I don't believe it."
Drawing strength from her pride, she did her damnedest to keep her eyes dry. She wouldn't cry in front of him. Not now. Why would I have dared you to marry me? Why would I have offered you that kind of commitment?"
"Because you think you love me. You're confused."
"Damn you." Her temper rose, and unable to stop the blast of anger, she socked his arm. The least he could do was acknowledge how she felt. "You're a jerk, you know that?"
He grabbed her wrists before she could pummel him again. And then he straddled her, pinning her to the couch. "I have no idea what in the hell to do about you, Maggie. You're driving me crazy."
You could love me back, she wanted to say. You could open your stubborn heart.
They stared at each other, and for a moment she thought that he might kiss her, that his frustration might turn to passion. Or, she prayed, to an admission of love.
But it didn't.
Breaking eye contact, he released her. "Go back to your own room, Maggie. Get some sleep and forget about this."
"You're asking me to forget about the way I feel? To convince myself that I don't love you?"
"Yes," he said. "I am."
* * *
Chapter 12
«^»
The Connelly siblings weren't a quiet bunch. They were, in Luke's opinion, an interesting gene pool sired by Maggie's father, Grant.
Three out of the eight boys had been conceived with women other than Maggie's mother, Emma. Thirty-six-year-old twins, Chance and Douglas, sons Grant hadn't been aware of until this year, were products of a relationship he'd had before he'd married Emma. Thirty-two-year-old Seth, on the other hand, had been produced from an affair Grant had had with his secretary while his marriage to Emma had been on shaky ground.
Grant and Emma, now completely loyal to each other, weren't staying at the beach house, but there were enough Connelly heirs present to keep Luke's head spinning. Through the lively conversation and rustle of linen napkins, no one seemed to notice Luke's discomfort. He sat at the cherry-wood table, doing his damnedest to dodge eye contact with six-year-old Amanda, or Mandy, as she was often called.
The child watched him, and he didn't know why. Luke couldn't read kids. He'd spent a lifetime analyzing his peers, yet children managed to elude him. But as far as he could tell, Mandy was the apple of her daddy's eye and quite enamored of Kristina, the woman twenty-seven-year-old Drew Connelly had married.
"Where's Aunt Maggie?" the little girl asked Luke.
He finally turned and met Mandy's curious gaze. "She's in her room. She isn't feeling well." Or more than likely, he thought, she was avoiding him.
"What's wrong with her?"
"She has a headache."
"Did she take some aspirin?"
"Yeah, I suppose she did."
A maid served their salads, and Luke breathed a sigh of relief. Mandy would be too busy eating to chat.
Serving bowls of ranch dressing were passed around the table. After Mandy doused her salad, Luke accepted the dressing, poured some onto his greens and then handed it to Seth, who thanked him with a polite nod.
Luke considered Seth the black sheep of the family. His mother, Angie Donahue, the secretary Grant had dallied with, had turned Seth over to Grant and Emma when he was a hard-edged, scrappy twelve-year-old. Unable to control the wild youth, they'd shipped him off to military school, where he'd learned to distance himself from his prominent family.
But these days, Luke noticed, Seth seemed right at home with the Connelly clan. He'd overcome plenty, including the heart-wrenching knowledge that his mother had come back into his life for the sole purpose of aiding the Kelly crime family in the smuggling scam.
As Luke picked up his fork and concentrated on his salad, Seth leaned toward his wife, Lynn. They bent their heads together like the newlyweds they were.
Damn it. There were too many married couples at the table, he thought. Too many happy, madly-in-love Connellys.
"How come you're frowning?"
Luke turned to see Mandy, her head tilted, white-blond bangs dusting observant green eyes.
"I wasn't frowning. I was eating."
"Nuh-uh. You were making a face like this." She furrowed her brow and turned down her lips, exaggerating a bitter scowl.
He wondered if he looked that surly all the time. "I guess I've got some things on my mind."
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing that concerns you," he responded. "Grown-ups always say stuff like that." Quite properly, she adjusted the napkin on her lap. "But they don't fool me. I'll bet you had a fight with Aunt Maggie. You probably gave her a headache."
At this point, Luke decided that Miss Mandy was six going on forty. "You're pretty smart for a kid." And he was a first-rate heel. He'd hurt Maggie's feelings last night, refusing to believe that what she felt for him was real.
But he didn't want her to be in love with him. Nor did he want to face the fact that he might be falling in love, too.
"I saw you dancing with her," Mandy said.
His chest constricted. Terpsichore. The muse of dance. "You did?"
She nodded. "At Uncle Rafe's wedding. I could tell she liked you. I was going to help you guys be together, but my dad and Kristina said I already did enough matchmaking. They got married because of me."
He couldn't help but smile. Amanda Connelly was an angel, an adorable little girl with invisible wings.
Don't be sad, Luke. I think Gwen is watching over you. Like an angel.
Maybe she was, he thought as Mandy grinned at him. Maybe she was.
After dinner, Luke went into the kitchen and asked the maid if she would prepare a plate for him to take to Maggie.
He carried the tray upstairs and received a boy-has-our-little-sister-got-you-whipped look from three of Maggie's brothers. In return, he sent the Connelly men a hard stare. Single guys were supposed to rib married ones, not the other way around. But that hadn't stopped Rafe, Seth and Drew from chuckling.
Luke knocked on Maggie's door – the door in the hallway rather than the one that connected their rooms.
She answered, clearly surprised to see him. She wore a satin robe, and her hair was coiled into a hasty topknot, damp tendrils falling from the confinement. She smelled like sunshine on a breezy, winter day.
"I thought maybe you could use a little food," he said.
"I was going to order something later."
"Oh, well … I can take this back." He shifted uncomfortably, picturing himself passing her brothers again.
"No. That's okay. You can come in."
He entered her room and set the tray on a nearby table. "How's your head?"
"Better, thank you."
Because he didn't know what else to do with his hands, he shoved them in his pockets. Her nipples were hard. He could see them pearling against the satin robe. He suspected that she'd just stepped out of the tub, which accounted for the flowery scent clinging to her skin.
"Is something on your mind, Luke?"
"No. I just stopped by to bring you dinner." And to tell her that she'd healed a deep and painful part of him. Although he would never forget what had happened to his sister, Maggie had helped him see Gwen as an angel rather than the victi
m of a violent crime.
But now that he was here, preparing to talk to Maggie, he couldn't form the words, fearing they would lead to another discussion – one he wasn't ready to confront.
Love. Marriage. Babies.
Luke was still afraid of making that kind of soul-searching commitment, especially with Maggie. He didn't trust her reckless spirit, the youth and the vigor that made her who she was.
She drove him crazy with worry. What if she tried to go after Paulus on her own? He knew damn well that the thought had crossed her mind.
"I want a promise from you," he said. "A solemn vow."
She searched his gaze. "What?"
"That you'll stay away from Paulus."
Her shoulders tensed. "We've already established the fact that I'm not getting involved in the sting operation." She looked him directly in the eye. "But if you want a vow, then you've got it. I'll stay away from Paulus."
"Okay." He backed off, but she was still meeting him eye to eye.
"It's your turn," she said. "To promise that you won't try to end the marriage dare before New Year's Eve."
He expelled the air in his lungs. The sheers that draped the sliding glass doors were open. Beyond the balcony, the moon lit the beach in a golden hue. He imagined watching her dance on the shore, her robe billowing, her hair catching the moonlight.
His mermaid. His muse.
"I promise," he said, before turning away from the wonder of the sea and the woman who seemed to be part of it. The woman he couldn't get off his mind.
* * *
On the morning of the coronation rehearsal, Maggie wore an elegant apricot-colored dress, spun from the finest silk and accented with a strand of pearls. She was, after all, the daughter of a former princess and the sister of the soon-to-be-crowned king. And today she knew she must look and behave the part.
Gazing at her reflection, she debated on how to style her hair. Should she wear it loose or work it into a French twist?
Maybe something in between, she thought as she pulled it back with a rare, jeweled barrette. Preparing for the long day ahead, she slipped on a pair of low-heeled pumps, then walked onto the balcony and let the ocean breeze caress her face.
And then she saw Luke, exercising the dog. They'd just completed their daily run and were headed toward the house. They made a striking pair – the powerful warrior with his copper skin and raven hair, and the loyal mastiff with his fawn-colored coat and dark, masked face.
Suddenly Luke stopped and glanced up. Did he sense she was there? Did he know she had been watching him?
Everything seemed so uncertain now. She'd admitted that she loved him, and he'd agreed to go on with the dare, yet they engaged in awkward glances and strained conversations.
Even with the distance between them, their eyes met, and she knew he would wait for her on the deck. Strained conversations or not, he wanted to talk, to warn her to be careful at the rehearsal.
She sighed and turned away. She wished he trusted her instincts. At times he made her feel like a child.
Maggie went downstairs and caught the aroma of coffee brewing and bacon frying. Breakfast, she assumed, would be served shortly. She passed two of her brothers on her way outside. They sat in the living room, a newspaper divided between them, both men attired in dark suits. The entire Rosemere-Connelly family would be attending the coronation rehearsal today. And on the afternoon of the actual event, each would hold an esteemed seat in La Cattedrale Grande, the Altarian Grand Cathedral.
Maggie walked onto the redwood deck and caught sight of Luke.
"Hi," he said. "You look incredible."
"Thank you."
He looked incredible, too, but she doubted he would believe her if she told him. Sweat beaded his forehead, and his hair, tousled from the wind, shone with blue-black highlights.
Luke shifted his stance. "I wish you would agree to take Bruno with you today."
Maggie glanced at the mastiff. Bodyguard or not, it didn't seem appropriate to bring a dog to the cathedral. "I'll be fine. My family will be there."
"Don't go anywhere alone," he persisted. "Not even for a second."
"I won't."
"Not just at the cathedral, but at the palace, too."
"Please. Stop worrying. King Daniel and his queen have been living at the palace for nearly a year. My parents are staying there, not to mention Princess Catherine and Sheikh Kaj. And of course there's my sister Alexandra and her husband, Prince Phillip." She paused to finger her pearls. "Paulus isn't going to blow his cover with everyone around."
"I know. I just wanted to warn you to be careful anyway." Or would he feel differently because he would be attending that event? Maybe Gregor Paulus and his accomplices would be caught by then. She certainly hoped so.
"Have some faith in me, Luke. I won't do anything to get Paulus's attention. In fact, I probably won't even see him." She envisioned a long, formal day saturated with Altarian protocol, something most of the Connelly heirs and their spouses were still learning. "If anything, wish me luck. You know how I tend to forget my manners." And royal manners, in her opinion, were staid and tedious.
Luke grinned, and she envied his leisure day. Aside from the presence of a nonintrusive domestic staff, he and Bruno would have the beach house to themselves.
"Good luck," he said, still smiling.
And what a smile, she thought. All those straight white teeth flashing against bronzed skin. "How about going for a midnight stroll with me tonight? We can count the stars." And steal a passionate kiss beneath a bright, crescent moon.
"That sounds nice. I've missed you, baby."
A tingle warmed her spine. "Me, too."
He pulled a hand through his hair. "I better catch a shower before breakfast. I can't come to the table like this."
All rugged and gorgeous. She couldn't imagine why not. Watching him go, she wished she could stay home with him.
And make love until they both ached for more.
* * *
As expected, the coronation rehearsal had been long and exhausting, but awe-inspiring, too. Maggie looked forward to the upcoming ceremony, imagining her brother taking an oath to govern the people of Altaria. She could already see him, kneeling at the altar, strong and handsome in the commander-in-chief uniform that came with the responsibility of the throne.
But for now His Majesty had arranged for a small, private banquet at the palace for the Rosemeres and the Connellys.
Maggie sat at the end of the table, next to her sister, Tara, who had been reunited with her long-lost husband, Michael Paige, a man who had once been presumed dead. The Rosemeres and the Connellys had suffered through tragedies and prevailed in triumphs, and Maggie was proud to be a member of both prestigious families.
The conversation was warm and friendly, but by the time Maggie finished a bowl of chilled pumpkin soup, her tenderhearted mood turned to disorientation. Suddenly she felt ill.
Drawing a deep breath, she lifted her water, then took a small, careful sip. Had the spicy soup disagreed with her? Or had it been the stuffed grape leaves and the shrimp dumpling appetizers?
Somehow that didn't seem possible. Maggie was accustomed to rich, elaborate foods. Then what was wrong?
She frowned at her empty bowl. Maybe she was coming down with the flu.
Not now, she thought. And not here. The last thing she wanted to do was spoil the beauty of this intimate dinner.
But a wave of dizziness had set in. The room was blurring, the unicorn tapestries melting off the walls, horns and hooves bleeding into the carpet.
She turned to her sister. "I'm not feeling very well."
Tara reached for her arm. "Do you want me to walk you to the nearest powder room?"
"Please."
With Tara hovering like a mother hen, Maggie sat on a velvet sofa in the ladies' lounge and cursed her body for failing her. She rarely took ill. Although she'd had a headache yesterday, she'd attributed it to stress. "I think I caught a virus," she told he
r sister.
"Oh, my," Tara said before she turned and asked the powder-room attendant to bring Maggie a moist cloth.
The middle-aged woman returned with the cloth. As Maggie dampened her face, she looked up at Tara, feeling guilty for taking her sister away from the banquet. It wasn't often the entire family spent an evening together. "Go back to the table and finish your meal."
"I'm not leaving you here."
"Please. I'll be fine. I just need to rest."
The powder-room attendant turned to Tara. "Excuse me for interrupting, ma' am. But if Miss Connelly would like to go home, I can call for a palace chauffeur."
"What do you think, Maggie?" her sister asked. "Do you want to return to Dunemere?"
"Maybe. I don't know. Just let me sit here for a while."
Although it took some prodding, Maggie finally convinced Tara to finish her meal. After all, she wasn't completely alone. The powder-room attendant was there.
"I'm coming back to check on you," her sister warned. "And I'm bringing Mother and Alexandra."
Wonderful, Maggie thought. If she vomited, the women in her family would be in attendance. Oh, yes. This was truly a royal affair.
After Tara left, Maggie closed her eyes and willed the queasiness to settle.
"The nausea will pass," she heard the powder-room attendant say, as if her mind had just been read. "But you will experience dizziness, blurred vision and drowsiness. Eventually, you will sleep."
Stunned, Maggie opened her eyes. The dark-haired lady sat in a nearby chair and clasped her hands on her lap, her demeanor suddenly changed. Maggie's stomach rolled. Catching her breath, she met the other woman's gaze, realizing the brunette worked for Paulus. "My food was drugged."
"Yes. When your sister returns, you'll tell her that you want to go home, and you sent me to fetch a guard. And so your family doesn't worry, the guard will escort you to one of the palace limousines with instructions for the driver to take you to Dunemere."
"But that isn't where I'll be going? Is it?" Paulus wouldn't send her home to Luke. "Where's Lucas Starwind? What have you done with him?"
"He hasn't been harmed. Yet," the phony attendant said in a cold voice. "But if you don't cooperate, Mr. Starwind will be killed."
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