A part of her cringed a bit at being so dependent on this man, who was still almost a stranger to her. Yet she couldn’t help feeling relieved he would accompany her.
“We can have someone from Europcar meet us in Győr with a set of master keys,” he advised. “That way you can retrieve any luggage you might have left locked in the trunk.”
“Assuming it’s still there. Rental cars are always such targets.”
“True. Now we’d better see about getting you a replacement passport.”
He pulled up the necessary information from the US Embassy’s consular services on his iPhone. “As I thought. You’ll need proof of US citizenship. A birth certificate, driver’s license or previous passport.”
“None of which I have.”
“I can help there. I’ll have one my contacts obtain a copy of your driver’s license.”
“You can do that?”
When he just smiled, she slapped the heel of her hand against her forehead. “Of course you can. You’re 007.”
They walked to the car and he opened the passenger door for her. Before she slid into the seat, Natalie turned. “You’re a man of many different personas, Dominic St. Sebastian. Grand Duke. Secret agent. Rescuer of damsels in distress.”
His mouth curved. “Of the three, I enjoy the last most.”
“Hmm.” He was so close, almost caging her in, that she had to tip her chin to look up at him. “That comes naturally to you, doesn’t it?”
“Rescuing damsels in distress?”
“No, that slow, sexy, let’s-get-naked grin.”
“Is that the message it sends?”
“Yes.”
“Is it working?”
She pursed her lips. “No.”
“Ah, drágám,” he said, laughter springing into his eyes, “every time you do that, I want to do this.”
She sensed what was coming. Knew she should duck under his arm, drop into her seat and slam the door. Instead she stood there like an idiot while he stooped, placed his mouth over hers and kissed the disapproval off her lips.
Six
It was just a kiss. Nothing to get all jittery about. And certainly no reason for a purr to start deep in Natalie’s throat and heat to ball in her belly. She could feel both, though, right along with the sensual movement of Dominic’s lips over hers.
She’d thought it would end there. One touch. One pass of his mouth over hers. It should have ended there. Traffic was coursing along the busy street, for pity’s sake. A streetcar clanged by. Yet Natalie didn’t move as his arm went around her waist, drawing her closer, while her pulse pounded in her veins.
She was breathing hard when Dominic raised his head. He was, too, but recovered much quicker than she did.
“There,” he teased. “That’s better. You don’t want to walk around with your mouth all pruned up.”
She couldn’t think of an appropriate response, so she merely sniffed and ducked into the car.
* * *
She struggled to regain her equilibrium as the car negotiated the narrow, winding streets of Castle Hill. Yet with every turn of the wheels she could feel Dominic’s mouth on hers, still taste him.
She snuck a sideways glance, wondering if he was experiencing any aftershocks. No, of course not. He was supercool Mr. Secret Agent. Sexy Mr. Grand Duke, who had women slipping outrageously expensive panties into his carryall. The thought of him cuddling with Kissy Face Arabella struck a sour note in Natalie’s mind. Not that it was any of her business who he cuddled with, she reminded herself sternly. She certainly had no claim on the man, other than being dropped on his doorstep like an abandoned baby.
That thought, in turn, triggered alternating ripples of worry and fear. She had to battle both emotions as Dom pulled into his parking space in the underground garage and they climbed the five flights of stairs. The enclosed stairwell blocked any glimpse of the river but it did afford a backside view of the uniformed delivery man trudging up ahead of them.
When they caught up with him at the landing outside the loft, Dom gestured to the large envelope in his hand. “Is that for me?”
“It is if you’re Dominic St. Sebastian.”
He signed for the delivery, noting the address of the sender. “It’s from Sarah.”
He pulled the tab on the outer envelope and handed Natalie the one inside. She fingered the bulging package before slipping it into her new straw tote. She didn’t know the currency or the denomination of the notes her employer had sent but it felt like a fat wad. More than enough, she was sure, to repay Dom for her new clothes and the consult with Dr. Kovacs.
The money provided an unexpected anchor in her drifting world. When Dom unlocked the door to the loft and stood aside for her to enter, the hound provided another. Delirious with joy at their return, he woofed and waggled and whirled in ecstatic circles.
“Okay, Dog, okay.” Laughing, Natalie dropped to her knees and fondled his ears. “I missed you, too.”
He got in a few quick licks on her cheeks and chin before she could dodge them. The silly grin on his face tugged at her heart.
“You can’t keep calling him ‘Dog,’” she scolded Dom. “He needs a proper name.”
“What do you suggest?”
She studied the animal’s madly whipping tail and white coat with its saddle-brown markings. “He looks a lot like a greyhound, but he’s not, is he?”
“There may be some greyhound in him but he’s mostly Magyar Agár.”
“Magyar Agár.” She rolled the words around in her head but drew a blank. “I’m not familiar with that breed.”
“They’re long-distance-racing and hunting hounds. In the old days, they would run alongside horsemen, often for twenty miles or more, to take down fast game like deer or hare. Anyone could own one, but big fellows like this one normally belonged to royalty.”
“Royalty, huh. That settles it.” She gave the cropped ears another tug. “You have to call him Duke.”
“No.”
“It’s perfect,” she insisted with a wicked glint in her eyes.
“No, Natalie.”
“Think of the fun you can have if some pesky reporter wants to interview the duke.”
Even better, think of the fun she could have whistling and ordering him to heel. “What do you say?” she asked the hound. “Think you could live with a royal title?”
Her answer was an ear-rattling woof.
“There, that settles the matter.” She rose and dusted her hands. “What happens to Duke here when you’re off doing your James Bond thing?”
“There’s a girl in the apartment downstairs who looks after him for me.”
Of course there was. Probably another Arabella-From-London type. Natalie could just imagine what kind of payment she demanded for her dog-sitting services.
The thought was small and nasty and not one she was proud of. She chalked it up to these bizarre circumstances and the fact that she could still feel the imprint of Dom’s mouth on her.
“I’d better take his highness out,” he said. “Do you want to walk with us?”
She did, but she couldn’t get the memory of their kiss out of her head. It didn’t help that Dom was leaning against the counter, looking at her with those bedroom eyes.
“You go ahead,” she said, needing some time and space. As an excuse she held up the straw tote with its cache of newly purchased toiletries. “Do you mind if I put some of these things in your bathroom?”
“Be my guest, drágám.”
“I asked you not to call me that.”
Nerves and a spark of temper made her sound waspish even to her own ears. He noted the tone but shrugged it off.
“So you did. I’ll call you Natushka, then. Little Natalie.”
That didn’t sound any more dignified but she decided not to argue.
When he left with the dog, she emptied the tote. The toothbrush came out of its protective plastic sleeve first. A good brushing made up for her earlier finger-work, but she grimaced when she tried to
find a spot in the bathroom for the rest of her purchases.
The sink area was littered with shaving gear, a hairbrush with a few short hairs that might or might not belong to the dog, dental floss and a dusty bottle of aftershave with the cap crusted on. The rest of the bathroom wasn’t much better. Her wrinkled clothes occupied the towel rack. A shampoo bottle lay tipped on its side in the shower. The damp towels from their morning showers were draped over the shower door.
When she swept her skirt, blouse and jacket from the rack, her nose wrinkled at the faint but still-present river smell. They were too far gone to salvage. Not that Natalie wanted to. She couldn’t believe she’d traipsed around the capitals of Europe in such a shapeless, ugly suit. Wadding it into a ball, she took it to the kitchen and searched for a wastebasket.
She found one in the cupboard under the sink, right next to some basic cleaning supplies. The suit and blouse went in. A sponge, a bottle of glass cleaner and a spray can of foaming disinfectant came out. Since Dominic was letting her crash at his loft, the least she could do was clean up a little.
The bathroom was small enough that it didn’t take her long to get it gleaming and smelling like an Alpine forest. On a roll, she attacked the kitchen next. The coffee mugs and breakfast plates hit the dishwasher. The paper napkins and white bag with its grease stains from the apple pancakes joined her clothes in the trash. The stovetop and oven door got a scrubbing, as did the dog dish in a corner next to a cupboard containing a giant-size bag of dried food. She opened the refrigerator, intending to wipe down the shelves, and jumped back.
“Omig…!”
Gulping, she identified the gory objects in the gallon-size plastic bag as bones. Big bones. Belonging, she guessed, to a cow or boar. The kind of bones a Hungarian hunting dog would gnaw to sharpen his teeth.
The only other objects in the fridge were a to-go carton from an Asian restaurant and a dozen or so bottles of beer with labels touting unfamiliar brands. Curiosity had her opening the cupboards above the sink and stove. She found a few staples, some spices and a half loaf of bread keeping company with a dusty bottle of something called Tokaji. Dominic St. Sebastian, she decided, was not into cooking at home.
Abandoning the cupboards, she turned her attention to the stainless-steel sink. The scrubbing gave Natalie a sense of fierce satisfaction. She might not be a James Bond type but she knew how to take out sink and shower grunge!
The kitchen done, she attacked the sitting area. Books got straightened, old newspapers stacked. The sleek little laptop nested next to a pair of running shoes on the floor was moved to the drop-down shelf that doubled as a desk. Natalie ran her fingers over the keyboard, gripped by a sudden urge to power up the computer.
She was a research assistant, according to Dom. An archivist. She probably spent most of her waking hours on the computer. What would she find if she went online and researched one Natalie Clark? Or had Dom already done that? She’d have to ask him.
She was dusting the black-and-glass stand of the wide-screen TV when he and the hound returned. The dog burst in first, of course, his claws tattooing on the oak floor. Dominic followed and placed a brown paper sack on the counter. Lifting a brow, he glanced at the now spotless kitchen.
“You’ve been busy.”
“Just straightened up a bit. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Why would I mind?” Amusement glinted in his eyes. “Although I can think of better ways for both of us to work off excess energy than cleaning and dog walking.”
She didn’t doubt it for a moment. She was wearing proof of one of his workouts in the form of black silk hipsters. No doubt Kiss Kiss Arabella would supply an enthusiastic endorsement of his abilities in that area.
Not that Natalie required a second opinion. He’d already given her a hint of just how disturbing he could be to her equanimity if she let him. Which she wouldn’t. She couldn’t! Her life was in enough turmoil without adding the complication of a wild tumble between the sheets with Dominic St. Sebastian. The mere thought made her so nervous that she flapped the dust cloth like a shield.
“What’s in the bag?”
“I stopped by the butcher shop and picked up our supper.”
“I hope you’ve got more than bones in there,” she said with a little grimace.
“You found those, did you?”
“They were hard to miss.”
“Not to worry. Dog will take care of those, although I’m sure he would much rather share our goulash.”
Natalie eyed the tall, round carton he extracted dubiously. “The butcher shop sells goulash?”
“No, but Frau Kemper, the butcher’s wife, always makes extra for me when she cooks up a pot.”
“Oh?” She caught the prune before it formed but couldn’t quite keep the disdain from her tone. “It must be a burden having so many women showering you with gifts.”
“It is,” he said sadly. “A terrible burden. Especially Frau Kemper. If she keeps forcing stews and cakes on me, I’ll soon match her weight of a hundred and fifty kilos or more.”
“A hundred and fifty kilos?” Natalie did the math. “Ha! I’d like to see you at three hundred plus pounds.”
“No, you would not.” He cocked his head. “But you did that calculation very quickly.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Surprise gave way to panic. “How can I remember metric conversions and not my name? My past? Anything about my family?”
Dom hesitated a fraction of a second too long. He knew something. Something he didn’t want to reveal.
“Tell me!” she said fiercely.
“Sarah says you have no family.”
“What?” Her fist bunched, crumpling the cloth she’d forgotten she still held. “Everyone has family.”
“Let me put the goulash on to simmer, and I’ll tell you what I know. But first…” He reached into the bag again and produced a gold-labeled bottle. “I’ll open this and we’ll drink a glass while we talk, yes?”
A vague memory stirred. Something or someone splashing pale gold liquid into crystal snifter. A man? This man? Desperately, she fought to drag the details to the front of her mind.
“What’s in the bottle?”
“A chardonnay from the Badacsony vineyards.”
The fragments shifted, realigned, wouldn’t fit together.
“Not…? Not apple brandy?”
“Pálinka? No,” he said casually. Too casually. “That’s what the duchess and I drank the last time I visited her in New York. You chose not to join us. This is much less potent.”
He retrieved two wineglasses and rummaged in a drawer for an opener. She held up a hand before he poured. “None for me, thanks.”
“Are you sure? It’s light and crisp, one of Hungary’s best whites.”
“I’m not a drinker.” As soon as the words were out, she sensed they were true. “You go ahead. I’m good with water.”
“Then I’ll have water, also.”
With swift efficiency, he poured the goulash into a pot that had seen much better days. Once it was covered and set on low heat, he retrieved a bone for the hound and left him happily gnawing on the mat strategically placed under one of the eaves. Then he added ice to the two wineglasses and filled them with water.
“Let’s take them to the balcony.”
“Balcony,” Natalie discovered when he held aside the drapes on one side of the windows and opened an access door, was a grandiose term for the narrow platform that jutted out from the steep, sloping roof. Banded by a wrought-iron safety rail, it contained two bar chairs and a bistro-style table. Dominic edged past the table and settled in the farther chair.
Natalie had to drag in a deep breath before feeling her way cautiously to the closer chairs. She hitched up and peered nervously at the sheer drop on the other side of the railing.
“You’re sure this is safe?”
“I’m sure. I built it myself.”
Another persona. How many was that now? She had to do a mental recap. Grand Duke.
Secret agent. Sex object of kissy-faced Englishwomen and full-bodied butcher’s wives. General handyman and balcony-builder. All those facets to his personality, and hers was as flat and lifeless as a marble slab. More lifeless than she’d realized.
“You said I don’t have any family,” she prompted.
His glance strayed to the magnificence across the river. The slowly setting sun was gilding the turrets and spires and towering dome. The sight held him for several seconds. When it came back to her, Natalie braced herself.
“Sarah ran a background check on you before she hired you. According to her sources, there’s no record of who your parents were or why they abandoned you as an infant. You were raised in a series of foster homes.”
She must have known. On some subconscious level, she must have known. She’d been tossed out like trash. Unwanted. Unwelcome.
“You said a ‘series’ of foster homes. How many? Three? Five?”
“I don’t have a number. I’ll get one if you want.”
“Never mind.” Bitterness layered over the aching emptiness. “The total doesn’t really matter, does it? What does is that in a country with couples desperate to adopt, apparently no one wanted me.”
“You don’t know that. I’m not familiar with adoption laws in the United States. There may have been some legal impediment.”
He played with his glass, his long fingers turning the stem. There was more coming, and she guessed it wouldn’t be good. It wasn’t.
“We also have to take into account the fact that no one appears to have raised an alarm over your whereabouts. The Budapest police, my contacts at Interpol, Sarah and Dev…none of them have received queries or concerns that you may have gone missing.”
“So in addition to no family, I have no friends or acquaintances close enough to worry about me.”
She stared unseeing at the stunning vista of shining river and glittering spires. “What a pathetic life I must lead,” she murmured.
“Perhaps.”
She hadn’t been fishing for a shoulder to cry on, but the less-than-sympathetic response rankled…until it occurred to her that he was holding something back.
The thought brought her head up with a snap. She scowled at him, sitting so calm and relaxed on his tiny handkerchief of a balcony. The slanting rays of the late-afternoon sun highlighted the short, glossy black hair, the golden oak of his skin, the strong cheekbones and chin. The speculative look in his dark eyes…
Her Unforgettable Royal Lover Page 7