by Rebecca York
Still, for just a moment, she let herself wonder what it would be like to go off alone with a man like Shane Peters. What it would be like to let her hair down and do anything she wanted.
“Is something wrong, Your Highness?”
She blinked, coming out of her reverie and ruthlessly snapping off the fantasy. Turning to her bodyguard, Manfred, she flashed a brilliant smile.
“No. I was just admiring the Beau Pays sapphire,” she said, smoothly disguising her state of mind.
“Yes. It looks stunning,” Manfred agreed. “The centerpiece of the reception.”
“As it should be,” she murmured, then took a slow, calming breath as she looked around the room, taking in the richly dressed men and women. The Americans, she noticed, tended to overdo the glamour scene, and the women often showed too much flesh in their choice of attire.
As she and Manfred talked, she couldn’t stop herself from looking for Shane Peters in the crowd. He appeared to be circulating around the room, talking easily to people he knew. But she could tell he was keeping her in his sights.
Well, she knew he was brash. What did he think—that they were going to slip off into some private room together?
She felt her skin heat as she realized she’d been having exactly that thought. The wrong thought.
Or did she have an excuse for talking to the man? After all, he’d been on that mission with her father. That gave them something in common. And maybe he could fill her in on some of the details from that long-ago night that she’d never been able to get her father to talk about.
Still, the back of her neck prickled as she watched the security expert circle toward her, making it look as if she weren’t in his radar at all. But as a princess, she had a lot of experience reading people.
Well, she didn’t like being stalked. Maybe she could leave before he made his move. Right after the president made his little speech, she’d go back to her room at the Ritz-Carlton to study the Women’s Workshop proposal.
She felt herself wavering again. The indecision wasn’t like her.
Lifting her head, she turned away from Peters, looking for one of the waiters circulating through the room. One glass of champagne wouldn’t hurt, she decided.
Just as she found one of the servers and took a step forward, the lights flickered, then went out.
Chapter Two
In the darkness, some of the guests gasped. Others laughed nervously. To Shane’s amusement, the ambassador from Wintonia began shouting something belligerent about American incompetence.
“What’s going on?”
“Turn on the lights.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“Is it a terrorist attack?” a woman whispered to the man beside her.
The large reception room had turned into a shadowy cavern, except for the radiance of the moon shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows and the candles flickering on the linen-clad tables.
Shane cursed under his breath, remembering his earlier premonition. In the sudden darkness, he felt naked without a gun in his hand. But it would have been impossible to get into the reception with a weapon.
He’d already marked the location of Ariana LeBron and her bodyguard, a guy named Manfred Werner. Shane started toward them, shouldering his way through the immobilized party guests, just as the lights flicked back on again.
People blinked in the suddenly renewed brightness as gasps and nervous comments were replaced by sighs of relief.
Shane found the princess and her muscular bodyguard and was relieved to see that the brawny man was doing his job. He had moved her into a corner where she wouldn’t get trampled if people suddenly started to panic.
With the light level back to normal, a murmur of conversation and questions had started up in the room. Everybody, including Shane, wanted to know what had happened. To find out, he needed inside information—or outside information, depending on how you thought about it.
He saw his friend Ben Parker across the room and wove his way through the crowd toward the FBI agent.
Parker looked as if he was staring into space, but Shane knew he was listening to a transmission through his earpiece. Hopefully, his government sources were telling him what had caused the momentary blackout, and he’d be willing to share the information with a friend.
When Parker appeared to be ready for a live conversation, Shane asked, “What was that business with the lights?”
The agent’s expression turned disparaging. “Just the usual summer problems with Boston Power and Light. They need to update some of their equipment.”
“No chance of a repeat?”
“The mayor and the president of the power company don’t think so.”
“You guys still going to allow both the president and the vice president to be here?”
“We’ve got it under control,” Parker bit out.
“Thanks,” Shane answered, still on edge, but thinking the momentary blackout had given him a perfect opportunity. Everybody was focusing on what had just happened. They wouldn’t be thinking about the Beau Pays sapphire at the moment.
ARIANA FELT MANFRED SHIFT his position. He’d curved his body around hers earlier and now he straightened, tugging at his jacket.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
She knew the physical contact had made him uncomfortable, but she also knew he’d been doing his job.
“Do you think that happens often in the United States?” she asked.
“I hope not. But this is summer, and the Americans love their air-conditioning. There’s more drain than usual on the power system.”
“Was it just this building, do you think?”
“It was the whole city,” Manfred answered immediately. “I looked out the window and saw all the lights go out. There was nothing illuminated as far as the eye can see, except the motor-vehicle headlights and some boats in the harbor.”
She shuddered. From her research, she knew that the population of Boston was six hundred thousand, and the metro area was much bigger. How far had the blackout extended? And what had happened during the moments of blackness?
Was the crisis a good enough excuse for her to slip out of the reception now? Couldn’t she cite security concerns?
Even as she asked the question, she silently admitted that her disappearance would be conspicuous. The news would surely get back to her father. He’d sent her all the way across the Atlantic to attend this reception, and he’d be disappointed in her if she slipped out so soon. Once again, she was reminded of her duty.
Just as she finished the internal debate, the orchestra began playing “Hail to the Chief.” Even if she’d wanted to leave, it was too late now. Like everyone else in the reception hall, she turned toward the double doors that led to the elevators, watching the tall, salt-and-pepper-haired man stride in.
In her royal role, she’d met many heads of state, and she saw instantly that President Stack had the presence of a ruler. Vice President Davis was also quite impressive, standing with the straight posture of a military man.
“Thank you for coming, especially those of you who have traveled here from outside the United States,” the president said.
“I believe the new international trade agreement that our countries have signed is a good step toward global cooperation. Whether we like it or not, we’ve entered the era of a global economy. And helping that economy run smoothly benefits every nation of the world, no matter how large or how small.
“I’d like to especially welcome some of our distinguished guests.”
He named the British secretary of commerce, the French foreign minister and then looked in her direction.
“And we’re particularly honored to have Princess Ariana of Beau Pays with us this evening.”
She gave him a gracious smile, then turned to acknowledge the applause that filled the room, glad that she hadn’t ducked out before this moment. She didn’t love being singled out, but she understood that her royal status added cachet to the occasi
on. Many of the people here would go home and talk about meeting her, even if they’d been no closer than the other side of the room.
She was happy that the president had specifically mentioned her country’s participation in the agreement. Beau Pays might be small, but her father and her grandfather had made a point of cooperating in treaties and initiatives that would benefit the world community.
Her training allowed her to pretend that she didn’t mind the extra attention the other guests were giving her. Yet she couldn’t shrug off an unsettling feeling that prickled at the back of her neck. The feeling that someone in the room did not wish her well.
Beside her, Manfred was scanning the formally clad men and women, and she suspected he was picking up the same vibes that she had. Was there someone here who had a bone to pick with Beau Pays?
Perhaps now was the time to leave.
She was about to tell Manfred to alert their driver when a movement in the crowd made her glance up to find Shane Peters striding toward her, looking inordinately pleased with himself, she noted.
As he stopped in front of her, she felt Manfred tense and knew that she had to defuse the situation at once before her bodyguard took the man out in the hallway and demanded to know why he was getting so close to his charge.
Smoothly, she gestured toward the newcomer. “Manfred, this is Shane Peters, an old friend of my father’s.”
Peters didn’t miss a beat. “I came over to introduce myself, but it seems you’ve been reading my bio.”
“Yes, I recognize you from your dossier,” she answered, deliberately making it sound as if there were a secret file on the man. Up close he was even more devastatingly handsome than he had been from across the room, and she wanted to put some distance between them. If not physical distance, then emotional distance.
Really, the “dossier” contained only general information of the sort she’d found on the other people who would be here tonight.
“I hope you enjoyed reading about my checkered career.”
She refused to take the bait.
A more polite man would have understood what she was doing and backed off. In this brief encounter she had already learned that Shane Peters didn’t necessarily observe the social niceties.
He kept his gaze on her, and she had to remind herself to breathe calmly in and out.
“I was hoping to see your father here.”
“He was indisposed. He sent me in his place.”
Peters’s face clouded with what looked like genuine concern. “I hope he’s all right.”
“It’s nothing serious,” she quickly assured him. Gout was painful but not life threatening. Her father was back on his special diet now and medication that would diminish the attack.
“Good.” Peters gave her a smile that must have melted many female hearts. “We should dance.”
“Dance?” As she spoke the question, she realized that the orchestra had begun to play a waltz. It was one of her favorites. “The Blue Danube.”
Peters opened his hands, as though inviting her to step into his embrace. “To celebrate the trade agreement,” he said.
The invitation was very tempting, but she knew on a deeply personal level that she shouldn’t accept. She was also aware that Manfred was watching the exchange with interest. He had been with her for the past three years, and he knew how she always behaved in public.
True to form, she gave Peters her standard answer. “I prefer to stay on the sidelines.”
“One dance won’t hurt you, will it?” the American pressed. Obviously he didn’t know anything about royal protocol.
She wanted to tell him that he’d already disturbed her equanimity enough for one evening, but that would give away far too much.
So she thought of another way to create distance between them, to take them away from this place and time, at least temporarily.
“My father met you on a rescue mission, right?”
“Yes. In Barik. It’s near Libya.”
“I know where it is.”
“Sorry. I should have realized you’re a lot better educated than the average American who probably hasn’t even heard of the place.”
She acknowledged the apology, then turned the conversation away from herself again. “My father is an expert in Middle Eastern languages.”
“I always wondered why,” Peters answered without missing a beat.
“Because he said that the Middle East would emerge as a center of power in the world and he wanted to be prepared.”
“Very wise of him. And of course, his being able to speak Arabic helps him in negotiating for oil.”
She smiled. “That, too.” Before he could get too far into economic issues, she brought the conversation back to the topic that interested her. “Tell me about the mission.”
“What did your father say about it?” Peters countered.
“He said that you went in to rescue a group of fifty-eight hostages, mostly engineers, teachers and missionaries, who were being held in the basement of a building in the densely populated downtown area. The captives were from the U.S., England, Australia and Beau Pays.”
Peters’s face took on a faraway look, and she knew that, in some sense, he was back there in that civil war-torn country reliving the night he’d been dropped off by helicopter in the capital city.
“They were held for weeks in horrible conditions. The world prayed for their safety, but the country was becoming more and more unstable, with insurgents fighting the government and fighting each other. The captors kept up negotiations, but they seemed to be getting nowhere. Finally, the only option was a rescue mission.”
“Who else was on the team?”
“Chase Vickers was our engineering expert. Ethan Matalon was our computer ace. Ty Jones was our demolitions man. And, of course, Vice President Davis was our tactical expert.”
“You keep in touch with them?”
“Well, I haven’t seen the vice president in years. But the others are still my friends. Chase is a driver who gets a lot of jobs working for VIPs when they’re in town. Ty is right over there.” He gestured with his hand.
“He’s with the Secret Service guarding the vice president. A very prestigious assignment.”
“You and the others got the hostages out of there.”
“Most of them,” he answered, and she caught a flash of pain on his face. There were aspects of the mission that her father never talked about, and it looked as if she wouldn’t get a straight story from Peters, either. Something, she knew, had gone terribly wrong. But what?
Peters was silent for several moments. Then, before she realized what was happening, he reached out and touched her hand.
She wasn’t sure why he’d done it. To change the subject? To break through the barrier that she’d tried to erect between them? All she knew was that she felt a jolt of sensation like an electric shock going through her body.
Her breath caught, and when she looked into his eyes, he appeared to be as stunned as she was.
Life had taught her to be a realist. She knew a lot of men wanted to be seen with her because she was Princess Ariana, the heir to the throne of Beau Pays.
But this man looked as if he was reacting to her on a very personal level.
He was attracted to her. And she had the honesty to admit that she was attracted to him as well.
So what would be the harm of one dance? They weren’t going to see each other after tonight. She’d be safely home tomorrow. And safely married six months after that.
“Let’s dance,” she whispered.
Manfred looked startled and started to say something, but she shook her head, and he closed his mouth.
But obviously he would report this incident to King Frederick.
“Watch my purse,” she said to him as she set it down on one of the tables.
He nodded curtly.
Yes, he would speak to her father. And if the king chastised her, she could always fall back on the excuse that she was being nice to
one of his old friends.
She let Peters lead her to the dance floor. She already knew that the two of them had nothing in common beyond the man’s long-ago mission with her father. In the span of a waltz, she’d find out that they really had nothing to say to each other, and she could walk away from him without regret.
But she didn’t have to walk away yet. Not when he had taken her in his arms and pulled her to him so that her body touched his.
She liked the way the man held her. The way he smelled—a combination of masculine skin and some woodsy scent she couldn’t identify. And she liked the way his large hand splayed across her back, his fingers grazing the line where her evening gown dipped along her backbone.
She realized with a start that she was enjoying the proximity entirely too much. She should take a step back and put some distance between them. Instead she stayed where she was as he began to move her around the floor.
He was an excellent dancer, and if he’d been anyone else, she could have relaxed in his arms and let him guide her smoothly through the waltz steps.
But with proximity came tingling awareness spreading through her bloodstream. She tried her best to ignore the sensation. Yet when he gathered her closer and stared down into her eyes, she had to fight a swirl of unaccustomed emotions.
A look of pure, burning sexuality passed between them. No man of her acquaintance would have dared to be so bold. Which only proved that she didn’t belong in Shane Peters’s arms. He must have had a lot of sexual experience. She had virtually none, because as the princess of Beau Pays, she was expected to maintain high standards of decorum. She had never stepped over the line—not even with Jean Claude.
ONE OF THE WAITERS STOPPED for a minute and stared at the couples circling on the dance floor.
He saw Shane Peters and the little blond princess from Beau Pays. Automatically, he noted their location, then told himself not to bother. By the time he needed to find them again, they’d be long gone from that part of the floor.
But he’d find them. There was no doubt in his mind.
He stepped from the reception room into the kitchen area, put down the empty tray he’d been carrying and looked at his watch.