Seduced by the Prince

by Cristina Grenier

  When the food arrived, Max — she remembered being introduced to him before — set it on a bed tray for her and gave her some more of the nasty-tasting medicine before helping her to drink the broth, which was delicious and which warmed her completely. Then he left her to handle the two crackers and cheese and the small bunch of grapes on her own. When she was done, and only a glass of water remained, she asked him to put it on the nightstand and he took the tray away. Now she was full and feeling strangely content. He returned with books and a tablet in his hands.

  “Are you feeling well enough to solve word puzzles?” he wanted to know.

  Tina looked into his handsome face with its warm honey-colored eyes and wondered fleetingly why she couldn't have met a man like this before she wasted her time and her hopes on a loser like John Sampson. He was charming, attentive, and focused on her comfort above his own. Then she dismissed the thought, refusing to give in to depression. She was feeling well enough to sit up a bit longer, she told him instead, and accepted the tablet from him after deciding she’d rather swipe letters in the word-finding game there than have to hold a pen to draw lines in the paper version. He settled in beside her in the big armchair, a thick book in his hands. She eyed him surreptitiously, not wanting him to know she was checking him out.

  He had long limbs, thick thighs, muscular arms, and wide shoulders. He was also quite tall, and he had a presence to him that she couldn’t quite explain. She remembered that he had what he called a man, which she assumed was either his companion or his manservant. Either way, she was out of luck. If he was gay, he wouldn’t be interested in her, and if he was rich, he still wouldn’t be. She sighed, returning her eyes to her puzzle, but she could feel that his attention had switched to her.

  “Why the heavy sigh?” he wanted to know, slipping a book mark into his book before closing it.

  “Nothing, really,” she lied. “What are you reading?” She would prefer to talk about him.

  He smiled as though he knew what she was doing, but he answered her anyway. “Leviathan, by Thomas Hobbes.” When Tina wrinkled her nose, he laughed outright. “Not your cup of tea, eh?

  “Well, it’s not exactly what you would call ‘light reading’, is it?” she countered. He seemed to hesitate before he answered, and she wondered why.

  “I like to read philosophy,” he said, and left it at that.

  “I like to read action romances and science fiction,” she offered, needing for some reason to keep the conversation going. “Those are my two most favorite genres.” She paused, then added, “For light reading, anyway.” She returned his smile at her comment.

  “And what do you read when you wish to be serious?” he asked.

  “History. I’ve just bought The Federalist Papers by Alexander Hamilton. He’s currently a thing here in the States.”

  “Yes, I know,” he replied, and she wanted to ask how he did, but something told her she might not like his answer.

  It was bad enough that she was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he was out of her league. She didn’t need it confirmed by anything he told her in what was supposed to be a light conversation. Time to try a different conversational tack.

  “I guess you’re here on holiday,” she began again. “I’m sorry I’ve spoiled it. I know you didn’t have nursemaid on your vacation to-do list.”

  His knowing golden eyes surveyed her for a long moment before he replied, his expression perfectly serious, “It has been my pleasure to serve you, Tina. You were ill, and I cared for you. It’s what I do.”

  “Oh? Are you a doctor?” That might not be such a bad thing after all, she thought. At least he wasn’t entirely out of her league.

  “No, but it’s my job to care for others.”

  He didn’t elaborate, and she decided it was best to let it go. He was some kind of social worker or other health professional, but he didn’t want to talk about it. She could live with that. She didn’t necessarily want everyone to know what she did for a living, and if he didn’t recognize her, that was all to the good. It didn’t always pan out well for her when she was recognized.

  “Well, thank you for taking care of me. I promise to be out of your hair by tomorrow.”

  He chuckled. “I very much doubt that either of us will be going anywhere tomorrow, Tina,” he said. “The snowfall has just ended, and I have not seen or heard any plows all day.” He paused, as though he were trying to decide what next to say, and then he asked. “Why were you out driving in a blizzard to begin with?”

  “It hadn’t been snowing so badly when I left,” she said, avoiding his question. “I was heading for a motel in the valley where I planned to stay until the storm passed.”

  Max was a stranger, and she would rather not rehearse her humiliation by a deceitful bastard with another man. Despite his kind actions on her behalf, she didn’t know if he could be trusted, and as she wasn’t looking to trust any man again for a while, it didn’t matter. She avoided his gaze and turned her eyes out to the night sky above his head.

  “The sky is always beautiful here,” she said.

  “Do you come here often?” he wanted to know.

  “Not really, but every time I do, I enjoy how beautiful it is here.”

  “Do you ski or enjoy any of the other winter activities?”

  Tina laughed. “I have two left feet, no coordination whatsoever, and a fear of heights. Does that answer your question?”

  His amused chuckle touched off a thrill of sensation inside her. It was a warm wash of sound over her skin and in her ears. Disregarding the feeling, she pressed on with the new conversation, happy he didn’t call her on her non-answer to his question about her being out in the storm.

  “I take it that you do?”

  “Yes, I do,” he replied, “and I enjoy all the other winter activities as well.” He stared at her, suddenly serious, and added, “But if we were to be out together, I would choose to do what you are comfortable with doing.”

  Was he flirting with her? The thought warmed her, but again she dismissed it. After all, he was a self-proclaimed caregiver, so he would naturally take care of anyone he was with. It didn’t mean anything. And she didn't need it to mean anything, she told herself sternly. She glanced up when he called her name.

  “Sorry?” Something about this man was messing with her mind. She wanted to blame it on her illness, but she felt much better now than she had felt only that morning, and definitely better than she had the night before. What a difference a day makes, as the song says. “I didn’t hear what you said.”

  Instead of repeating himself, Max asked, “Are you feeling tired now? I should let you rest.”

  Knowing it was the coward’s way out, because she also knew she needed to get a grip on her emotions, she nodded.

  “Thank you for the puzzle. May I keep the tablet? In case I wake up and would like to play again?”

  “Of course you may. And if you need anything, please just ring the bell.” He gestured to a dinner bell that she had not noticed before sitting on the nightstand. “Either Peter or I will answer.”

  She nodded, although she knew she would never summon assistance with it. Suddenly, the idea of being alone and helpless in a house with two men was overwhelming, though she wasn’t exactly afraid. So far, neither man had done anything but been kind to her. She wondered where the women were, but didn’t have a chance to ask as Max was already at the door.

  “Thank you, Max,” she managed to say before he disappeared.

  He looked over his shoulder at her, piercing her with his gaze, and smiled. “You’re welcome. Good night.”

  And then he was gone, and she was alone with her thoughts and her disturbed emotions. She didn’t even know Max’s last name, and he had been pretty mysterious about what he did for a living, and yet she found herself inexplicably trusting him. She wasn’t one to give her trust easily, but somehow she sensed that, at least when it came to her person, neither Max nor the man who worked for him, Peter, would hurt he
r. The thought that a man could be as selfless as he had been with her was a revelation to Tina, especially after John, whom she now realized had been showing her what sort of man he was all along. She had just been too needy to see it and at her age, it was galling to be so ignorant and gullible.

  Snuggling beneath the covers, she tried to stop her racing mind from harboring the recriminations that were building as she considered her situation. She had been beyond foolish to plan a weekend with John, but had she not done so, she would not have met Max. And while she wasn’t planning or even ready to be in another relationship, it felt good to be looked after, to be given every consideration, to be watched over and protected. She had not had that in a long time, and all she needed to do was keep her guard up while she enjoyed the good treatment.

  When she woke up again, it was morning, and she felt even better than she had the night before. She tested her limbs, and they were stronger, enough so that she was able to get out of bed on her own and make it to the bathroom to do her business. She decided she could handle a quick shower, and washed her face and brushed her teeth as well. Then she decided she would try again to get out of the bedroom, and dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved red sweater. She found her fuzzy striped socks and slid them onto her feet. Feeling better, and thankfully warm, she ventured out of the bedroom in the direction from which she heard voices.

  “Yes, my lord,” she heard one voice say. That must be Max’s man. Why was he calling Max ‘my lord’? Was he some kind of butler or something?

  “Oh, and Peter, is there any of that broth left?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Broth for breakfast might be just the thing for Tina when she wakes up again. With some toast and butter. Oh, and she enjoyed the grapes, so a few of those as well, please.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, Tina stepped away and then walked in as though she had only just arrived.

  “Ah, Tina, good morning!” Max’s smile made his whole face light up.

  “Good morning, Max, Peter,” she replied.

  “Good morning, madam,” Peter said, and walked out.

  “Are you hungry?” Max asked.

  “A little, yes. I hope I haven’t missed breakfast.”

  Tina tried to calm her nervous reaction to the fact that he had stood up and walked toward her. She hadn’t really realized, in her feverish haze the day before, just how tall he was. He practically towered over her, and she was no shrimp. His cologne and his smile did things to her that she didn’t want to happen, and she tried to hide her nerves from him. He took her by the elbow and led her back to the sofa on which she had fallen asleep only the day before.

  “You don’t feel as hot as you did yesterday,” he informed her, “but you are still too warm. We will give you another dose of the meds to knock this out of your system. And I brought the blanket back in here for you, in case you feel chilly.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you, Max. Thank you.”

  Tina wedged herself back into the corner of the sofa and slid her feet up under her. Max threw the blanket over her thighs and legs, and she smiled up at him.

  “Comfy?” he asked.

  “Very.” She looked over at him as he sat down in his big armchair and opened his book. “How’s Mr. Hobbes today?”

  “As dry as ever,” he said, his face expressionless. She almost missed the twinkle in his eyes.

  “So why are you reading him?” she wondered with a chuckle. “Is it a homework assignment? Will you get an ‘F’ if you don’t complete it?”

  He studied her for a moment, all amusement wiped from his features. “Something like that,” he said cryptically. “As you know, we oftentimes must do things we would not choose to do if our lives were differently arranged. And always, one must keep one’s word. It is a duty of honor.”

  Max was so serious in that moment that Tina knew he was talking about much more than just reading a dry philosophical tome. The sense that he was a man of consequence overwhelmed her, but she respected his need to keep things about himself private. They were not friends. She was grateful for his kindness and she wouldn’t be crude enough to press him for details if he chose not to give them. Gratitude, not curiosity, was all she could allow herself to feel.

  Peter’s arrival with breakfast broke the awkward silence, and as he placed the tray with her food on the table next to her sofa, she wondered what his exact role was in Max’s life. There was a quiet familiarity between them, and yet it was clear that the older man held Max in the highest esteem, and was more respectful than seemed necessary, even if he was his servant. While Max’s speech was unaccented, Peter was clearly a foreigner, and his accent suggested he was Russian or some other Eastern European. She wanted to ask where they were from, but held her tongue, and instead enjoyed the simple repast before her.

  “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, Tina,” Max said, startling her.

  She looked up to find his eyes on her, the expression in them clear for the first time. He liked what he was seeing. The thought made her feel warm in a way that had nothing to do with the fever she was recovering from, and everything to do with her benefactor’s interest in her. Which was most inconvenient, seeing that she had decided to call a fast on men. And she knew she would need at least one more day to rest before she could drive away and leave the temptation of this stranger behind. Looking away from him to the scene outside, she tried to make a plan of action moving forward. Because she could not let Max make any further inroads into her consciousness. His interest must be nipped in the bud. She just wasn’t ready to face another disappointment. And when he left, as she was sure he would — nobody stayed in the Poconos unless they lived there — she would be disappointed, if she let herself engage with him on any level. She just wished she knew how to stem the tide.

  Chapter 3: Secrets

  The phone call to his father earlier had been made mostly so that Max could keep tabs on the older Prince’s health. He was scheduled to return home in five days, but if his father’s health changed for the worse, he would leave as soon as he could get off the mountain. But Max found himself praying that his sire would remain stable, because the woman sitting in the sofa across from him was captivating and lovely beyond words. He knew she had been watching him when she thought he wasn’t looking last night in her room, and he knew she had been doing it again just now as they ate. And he was glad that she found him worth a second look. It would make his task easier. Because what he wanted to do was keep her with him, at least for the next few days, so he could quench his inexplicable but growing thirst to know her.

  “I’ve not asked before,” he said, knowing she had skirted around the issue of their occupations yesterday, “but what do you do for a living?”

  He saw her hesitate, and then she spoke softly. “I’m a writer.”

  Nothing more, just the fact, but it seemed to hold volumes of untold, unexplained information. Did she want him not to ask any more? Would he stop? He didn’t know the answers until he responded,

  “Ah! And are you as serious in your writing as The Federalist Papers that you plan to read?”

  She stared at him for a long moment, then looked away again. “I write romance novels.”

  Again she added nothing, but this time there was attitude in her tone, a kind of defiance, as though she expected him to sneer or object. He was enthralled.

  “Ah…a woman with a hopeful heart. What kind of romance novels do you write?” He really wanted to know what sort of men she wrote about, but that question might be answered without his having to ask it.

  “For myself, I write contemporary romances. When I write for clients, I write whatever they ask me to write.”

  “Clients?” He was puzzled by that. Was she a ghostwriter as well?

  “I started out as a freelance ghostwriter,” she told him. “It was a great learning experience for me. Once I felt confident enough to do my own thing, I published my first manus
cript, which was actually a kind of continuation of one the stories I had written for a client. There were two characters in it whose stories demanded to be told. I asked the client if he would mind me using them in my own story, and he said I could, as long as there was no connection between the two, aside from in my head. I changed their names, put them in a whole new world, and created a background for them that included more than the sparse details in his story.”

  “And what was the result? How were your sales?”

  “Through the roof, actually. I upped the price after a year, and still people were buying it. I realized I could make a lot of money this way, if I learned to grow my business. So I started a website, opened a few social media pages for fans, worked the online circuit, did ads…everything to sell the book, and to build anticipation for the second one. But I missed working with clients, so I added the ghostwriting back in two years ago. Now I write two of my own novels a year, and five or six for two clients who have kept me on long-term.”