The Reluctant Prince

by Candice Gilmer

“Sci-fi, mysteries, thrillers, that kind of thing.”

  She smirked. “Have you invested in any of those electronic book thingies?” She pulled out a notebook and a pen.

  Hadrian took it and scrawled out a note to her friend and his autograph. “I have actually. The Amazon one, the Kindle.” He handed her back the notebook.

  “Aren’t those things super expensive?” Sydney asked.

  “They are not cheap, but it’s technology.”

  She rolled her eyes. “So you’re a chef, but you like to have the latest gadgets?”

  “Naturally. I’m a guy.”

  “Of that there is no doubt,” Sydney said then her face turned bright red. “I just said that out loud, didn’t I?”

  He laughed. “You did. Now, the question remains, is it a good thing or a bad thing that I’m a guy?”

  Her eyes raked over him, a long, slow procession, and she licked her lips. His jeans got tighter. “A good thing. A very good thing,” she whispered, her cheeks blushing again.

  They continued to talk, he learned Sydney had very little, if any culinary skills, but she loved chocolate. They talked about his show, and she asked a lot of questions about how things worked.

  The waitress stopped by, checking on their drinks. They both waived her away, and she switched out the ashtray with a clean one, and went back to her duties.

  Hadrian smiled at her, glad he’d stopped her from throwing her penny.

  “What?” she asked, a real, true smile gracing her face as she met his gaze, while she stuffed her books back in her purse.

  “You’re so refreshing from the people I usually meet in LA. Most people are out to get something from everyone, and it’s nice to talk to someone.”

  “You get a lot of that?” Sydney raised her eyebrow. “I would think a cook on a television show wouldn’t get it as bad.”

  Hadrian shrugged. “The show’s doing really well, which is great. But with every success, there’s a downfall—I get less time in private. It’s really weird when I go shopping in the grocery store and people start following me and buy the same stuff in my basket.”

  She laughed. “That really happens?” She took another sip of her tea.

  “More times than I like to admit.”

  She rolled an unlit cigarette around in her fingers. “Guess being famous isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “It’s a double-edged sword.” He ran a hand through his hair, and she watched, staring at him with a critical eye.

  “You should cut your hair off.”

  He blinked. “Why would I do that?” The production people at the show had been trying to get him to do it for the better part of a year.

  Reaching up, she brushed part of his hair away from his face. Her fingertip grazed his cheek, and he felt the heat all the way down into his pants.

  “You have amazing bone structure.” This time she meant to touch his cheek. She ran her knuckle down his jaw line, and tipped her head to the side, like she was plotting his haircut.

  Again, the graze of her fingers ran through him like wild fire.

  “Thank you.” He pulled back away from her, partially because it was an awkward thing for anyone to do, touch his face, and partially because he liked that she’d done it, and he wanted her to do it again.

  She smiled at him, one that didn’t quite meet her eyes, like a professional. “Cutting the sides and back short, you’d be able to open up your face for people to see the structure of your face. Now, it’s like you hide behind your waves.”

  “I do, somewhat.”

  She pulled her hand back. “Why?”

  “Because I like hiding,” he heard himself say.

  Leaning back, she crossed her arms over her chest. “There’s a helluva lot more to that comment than you’re letting out.”

  “Maybe, but I’d rather not bore you with it.”

  “Fair enough.” She shifted on the chair, fiddling with her glass of tea again. “So what do you hate about your job?”

  He couldn’t help smiling at the question. It was exactly not what he expected her to say. And he appreciated that.

  She was so unexpected. Yet he found himself telling her anything she asked, even the downfalls of his job—the long hours, the frustration with not getting something right, the promo stuff he had to do. He stopped himself a couple of time, trying to keep from unloading on her.

  Yet she took it all in without judgment.

  And he couldn’t help noticing how much better he felt spilling his guts.

  The waitress came back, and Sydney ordered a glass of wine.

  “You like wine?”

  “I do, but I don’t like dry wine. I prefer sweeter wines.”

  “You should try Korosian wine, or some wines from Sicily. You’d probably like them.”

  “And how do you know about Korosian and Sicilian wines?”

  “Part of the job. And there are days when I want to quit pouring the wine in the skillet and start drinking it.”

  She smiled. “I bet those cooking people are total divas.”

  “How do you figure?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Well, I know how much of a control freak my mom is making Thanksgiving dinner. I can’t begin to imagine someone who’s got a camera stuck up their nose while cooking.”

  He let the corner of his mouth tip up. “Some can be divas, I guess.”

  “Who is the biggest diva?” she asked, her eyes glittering with enthusiasm.

  “Oh no, I’m not answering that.”

  “Come on, it’s not like I even know who they are. I don’t watch the channel.”

  “Ah, but you are a hairdresser, and your type is prone to gossip.” And as soon as he said it, Hadrian wanted to bury himself in the nearest sand dune.

  Could he be more of an ass?

  A blue strand fell in front of her face. As much as he didn’t like that look, it really suited her. Why, he didn’t know. “Have I told you I love your blue hair?”

  She laughed. “No. And you’re right. We hairdressers are prone to gossip. Didn’t you know it’s one of the classes we have to take in beauty school?”

  “I thought I’d heard that.”

  “Women are natural gossips. However, I have found men are just as bad.”

  “No we aren’t.”

  She raised her eyebrow again, challenging. “Sure you’re not. You particularly may not be a gossip, but trust me, most men know things, and they do share it. The conversation may not be coupled with ‘do I look fat in this?’ but you all do. I was married for a while. My husband and his drinking buddies were the biggest bunch of gossips I’d ever met.”

  “Were married?”

  “We divorced last year.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not.” She glanced at her left wrist, where her thick black watchband rested.

  A strange sort of panic hit him at the thought of her leaving. “Oh, you’re not leaving yet.”

  “And who’s keeping me here?” Sydney’s posture went rigid, and her face was no longer the same friendly face he’d been privy to.

  He leaned back, trying to be as non-threatening as possible. Even when he didn’t want to admit it, his father’s natural diplomacy could be a valuable asset. “No one. But I would hate to see you leave so soon.”

  Her face softened. And a bit of a smile quirked up in the corner of her mouth.

  Why oh why wasn’t I luxuriating in a hot bath or gambling away my hard earned money at the slot machines?

  One glance at my company answered that.

  Hadrian surprised me—easy to talk to, and easy on the eyes, always a pleasant combination. He seemed actually interested in what I had to say, a strange feeling to say the least.

  Even in the beginning, with Jim, there was that obsessive tendency. I’d ruled it out in the beginning as important, thinking it a strong attraction that overpowered everything.

  Boy was I wrong.

  However, with this Hadrian guy, he felt c
omfortable, strong and confident in himself. I mean, it takes a comfortable person to interrupt someone’s wish mid-throw. I did sort of feel guilty for knocking him in the stomach, but, well, not really.

  And who wouldn’t like to sit with an attractive man in public, even if it was for a drink.

  I half-wished Jim could see I could move on.

  That weird feeling came over me again, and I thought I was being watched. As casual as I could, I turned around in my chair, looking for someone who might be checking me out.

  “Are you okay?” Hadrian asked.

  I shifted back facing him. “Uh yeah, I’m good.”

  “That is the fourth time you have looked around. Are you expecting someone?”

  “No. I just… You ever get that nagging feeling someone’s looking at you?”

  “I have before.”

  I met his gaze, and was surprised to see that he seemed concerned. “Uh, well, I’ve been feeling it ever since I arrived.” Damn. I did it again. I wondered if I needed to quit speaking to him. Or at least, quit looking at him. I could talk to the waitress, but I couldn’t seem to be capable of talking to him without sounding like an idiot.

  What am I? Twelve? I must sound like some stammering teenager. ’Course, really incredibly sexy guys did that to me.

  I had been trying to avoid looking at him, but it wasn’t working, his eyes drew me like nothing I’d ever seen. Those amber eyes were powerful. So powerful, I made myself look down his body.

  His clothes were casual enough—black cotton button-down shirt and a pair of blue jeans. My gaze roamed to the button line. A crinkle under the first hooked button, like it hadn’t been straightened out right when ironed, kept drawing my eye.

  I could look at that. It wasn’t his face.

  But as he shifted around, I could catch glimpses of his chest underneath the shirt—shadows of muscle definition around his neck and upper chest.

  My mind wandered to touching the small patch of skin, letting my finger trace the lines.

  Okay, this isn’t helping.

  How was it some people wound up looking like they were carved from the gods? With his dark features and amber eyes, I could almost see the gods carving him themselves.

  “Well, then, Sydney, I have just the thing.” He stood, and the waitress appeared with the check. He handed the gal a bill I couldn’t identify, and told her to keep the change. The waitress raised her eyebrow, and Hadrian nodded. She walked off, a smile on her face.

  Must have been a heckuva tip.

  “Come on.” He touched the back of my chair.

  As I stood, I knew I wanted to go with this guy. Though I was starting to lose some of the first time in Vegas giddiness and my big bathtub upstairs was starting to really seem like the place to be, I also couldn’t help wanting to see what could happen with this hottie.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To do what people do in Las Vegas.” He held out his arm, and I slipped my hand in the crook of his elbow, my fingers barely touching him. I was beginning to understand why women in the past wore gloves—I could feel the heat of him through the fabric, and it was more overwhelming than I would have imagined. That coupled with the sexy sweet masculine scent of him, combined with whatever his cologne was.

  Or was it even cologne? It was too exotic to be. Maybe an oil? Patchouli? I started fiddling with my bangs, smoothing the pieces out of my eye.

  “Uh, actually, I don’t know how to gamble.” Well, true enough, to a point. Sure, I’d bought a lottery ticket, and I had played a slot machine or two, but actual gambling? Like at a table with cards? Nope. Not a friggin’ clue.

  I didn’t even play poker as a kid for M&M’s.

  “I’ll show you what to do.” His eyebrow quirked up as he spoke, and his amber eyes got darker, like good whiskey.

  Oh, I really wasn’t going to think about how much more was underneath what he said. My body was humming enough as it was.

  We made our way through the mammoth pyramid toward the gaming floor.

  As we walked, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, and I started to notice people pointing and staring at us. The sensation had been bothering me at the bar, and I’d hoped it would have gone away.

  Evidently not.

  Hadrian acted like he didn’t notice it, and so I did my best to ignore the feeling, even though I wondered if I’d have to tape the hairs down on my neck.

  A young gal, barely of legal drinking age, bounced over toward us.

  “Um, excuse me, Mister Drake?” Her boobs were bouncing all over the place, and I bet she wasn’t wearing a bra. The gal needed to be wearing one.

  Hadrian stopped, and a dark shadow passed over his features, but he recovered it quickly, smiling at the gal.

  “Yes?”

  She got really close to him, ignoring me, which only made me tighten my grip. Hadrian merely glanced at my hand, and I smiled at him, like I wasn’t doing a darn thing wrong.

  “Um,” she said with a giggle, “could I uh, get your autograph, please?” She handed him a magazine, and Hadrian grimaced. He let go and stood there for a second, like he couldn’t figure out how to sign the thing, until the girl spun around.

  “Here, use my back,” she said, giggling again.

  The People Magazine he signed had a really great picture of him on it, his shirt open and a spatula in his hand. I blinked, my eyes darting back and forth between the cover of the magazine and him.

  I’ll have to go home and see if we had a copy of the magazine back at the shop.

  “Here you go,” Hadrian said, handing the marker and magazine back to her. She spun around, and grinned.

  “Thank you so much. Can I get a picture too?” She bobbed up and down, her boobs bouncing like runaway helium balloons, and I couldn’t help noticing how she pushed her chest out toward him as she talked.

  “Sure,” he said. By this time, there were more people staring, not a whole lot, but enough to get security’s attention, anyway.

  The gal pushed her way to Hadrian’s side, and handed me the fancy digital camera. I raised my eyebrow, and resisted the urge to drop it. Instead, I played the nice girl, and stepped in front of them, and brought the camera up.

  “Say cheese.”

  Hadrian grinned, but as I snapped the picture, the gal planted a big wet kiss on his cheek. Hadrian laughed, and hugged the gal, but as he did, he kept staring at me. He did not look pleased about the kiss, either.

  I couldn’t help smirking.

  The little menu button to bring up the picture and delete it screamed for me to click it, but I decided not to tap it. ’Course, when I tapped the button to display the shot, I grinned. When the girl had jumped to plant the kiss on his cheek, she’d moved too fast for the camera, and it made the whole picture a blur.

  “Is it good?” she said, grinning.

  “Oh, definitely a keeper,” I replied.

  She grinned and reached out for the camera. “It must be so cool being Hadrian Drake’s assistant.”

  “I’m not his assistant.” My finger loomed precariously close to the delete button.

  The girl looked at her, then back at Hadrian, then back at her, a disbelieving look on her face.

  “You’re Alicia,” she said, nodding her head as if to convince me of my identity.

  “No, really.” I clicked the button. Oops. Image deleted. Dang. Hate it when that happens.

  Serves her right for having a total stranger operate her camera. I handed her back the camera, an unnatural smile on my face.

  Hadrian caught my arm and pulled me tight against him. Right up next to him. Like body heat scorching next to him. I hoped my eyes didn’t betray the heat of his touch, because I really thought I was on fire.

  “Actually, this isn’t Alicia,” Hadrian said. As he spoke, a couple of security men approached. “And we’re about to go do a bit of gambling.”

  “Oh, well, sorry,” she said. “Have fun.”

  The security officers approached,
looking at Hadrian and then at the girl. “Is there a problem?”

  “No,” the gal said as she walked away. Her hips swayed a bit too much, and I kinda wished Hadrian would kiss me, to upstage the gal.

  Hadrian released me, his arm now ran across my back, and slipped into my left hand. “Actually, we were on our way to play some poker. Are there any open tables available?”

  My pulse drummed like wild, and Hadrian ran his thumb up and down my hand as he spoke to the security man. The man spoke through a tiny microphone by his mouth attached to an earpiece, and it reminded me a little too much of secret service men.

  The guard led us to a poker room. There were four other tables in the room, all occupied, but the fifth table was empty, and Hadrian led me to the table, pulling the chair out.

  He sat down, tossed a one hundred dollar bill on the table, and had the dealer split the chips between the two of us. The chips were worth five dollars, and I had a stack of ten of them.

  As I glanced around, the other people at the different tables had stacks in various colors, most of them huge stacks, and when they bet, they’d put large piles of their chips on the table.

  Hadrian and I seemed to be the cheapest ones in the room. A chilling thought, considering we had a hundred dollars between us.

  A waitress stopped by and took our drink orders, and the dealer started shuffling the cards.

  “Does that happen a lot?” I asked, thinking about the bobbing fan girl.

  “More than I like.”

  I picked up the stack of chips and let them fall to the table in a stack. “Teach me how to play this game.”

  “Okay.”

  I reached over and rubbed the raspberry lipstick the fan left on his cheek.

  Hadrian leaned closer, allowing me to remove the stain. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” I smoothed the last bit off with my thumb and tried really hard not to notice the tingles running through me as I touched his cheek. The feel of stubble under the surface sent my nerves into overdrive.

  “Now that’ll wind up on the Internet somewhere…”

  “Well, probably not.”

  “Huh?”

  “I think I deleted it.”

  Hadrian grinned. “You are bad.”

  I held up my arms. “Hey, I never claimed to be able to take pictures well. Besides,” I managed to say, “it was blurry anyway. Couldn’t tell who was in the picture.”