by Sandra Hyatt
Her gaze was steady on him, a measure of the confusion he felt seemed to shimmer there. She cleared her throat. “Yes.”
“You have hot chocolate on your lip.”
“Oh.” Her quick burst of laughter held uncertainty and she glanced away. Adam passed her a napkin from the tray. “Thank you.” She dabbed away the hot chocolate. He almost regretted its loss. But if it stopped him thinking about Danni’s lips in ways he had no right to be thinking, then it could only be a good thing.
When he’d woken in the car the first time she drove for him the other night, with her leaning in close, smelling of mint and the cool night, he’d been swamped by an instinctive reaction of purely primal desire. The sort that had been blatantly missing from his date with Clara. It had kicked in before he’d thought to stop it.
And then, before he’d had time to rationalize it, he’d covered his unwanted response with cool civility. He’d tried to create distance and barriers. But he’d been so disconcerted that he spoke without realizing how she might interpret his words. And he’d hurt her. She was one hundred percent the woman he’d claimed he didn’t see her as. No matter how desperately he wanted that claim to be true.
She watched him now, waiting for him to speak. “As for fun.” That had been what they’d been talking about, hadn’t it? “I don’t think there’s time for that right now.”
She took a few steps away, putting a distance he simultaneously regretted and welcomed between them. That distance helped him think a little more clearly, and if he kept his gaze from her petite curves, it helped even more. The uniform she wore did her no favors but he’d seen those curves lovingly revealed by nothing more elegant than jeans and a soft sweater when he’d called at the gatehouse.
“You’re kidding. Right?” Her eyes danced with ever-present intelligence and passion and a hint of mockery. Fortunately some things about her hadn’t changed—the way she spoke her mind and the way she challenged him. Mostly he appreciated her frankness. Mostly. Other times it drove him nuts.
“This is a serious business.”
“I get that,” she said with a condescension he hadn’t heard anybody use on him in a long time.
“Of course the woman and I need to enjoy each other’s company. I want to like her, a lot, and to eventually love her, but I haven’t got time to dither and get sidetracked. I’d like to be seeing someone by the time Rebecca and Logan get married. Whoever I take to that wedding will immediately come under public scrutiny. And just because I can have fun with a woman doesn’t mean she’s going to be suitable as a partner.” If only it was that easy.
Danni sighed. “So, fun to be with isn’t anywhere on your list of criteria.”
He heard and ignored the criticism in her tone. “No.”
“That explains Clara I guess.”
“Clara was very nice.”
“You have to admit, even if she didn’t want fun, she wanted romance.”
“Apparently. And I take the blame for that.” He hadn’t seen that one coming. “In my defense, Clara had seemed more than happy to discuss weighty issues. She was the one who introduced most of the more serious topics throughout our evening.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Two syllables laden with cynicism and reproof.
He sighed. Her skepticism was warranted. “The thing is, in political situations I’m good at interpreting mixed messages and subtext. I look for it. I just hadn’t realized the extent to which I’d need those skills for dating. I don’t want to have to use those skills while dating.”
“It’s just about listening, Adam, about not being totally fixated on your own agenda.” She set down her hot chocolate. “If your work is all seriousness, then doesn’t that make it more important than ever for you to have someone who can remind you to have fun occasionally, someone who’s fun to be with?”
“I can see your point but you’re missing mine. Besides, my list of criteria is my decision.”
“You’re not interviewing job candidates.”
Adam said nothing.
“You’re not!”
He cleared his throat. “It doesn’t seem like an unreasonable way to approach it.”
He could see that she wanted to argue but she bit her lip and long seconds later limited herself to a patient, “What else is on your list?”
“Just the usual.”
She laughed. The sound, light and almost infectious, broke the tension. How did she make what a moment ago had seemed perfectly reasonable suddenly seem ludicrous? “There is no usual, Adam. People have preferences but they don’t usually have such rigidly official lists of criteria in the first place.”
“How on earth do they expect to find the right person?” His days and weeks were so full that he lived them by lists. They’d served him well so far.
She shrugged. “They just know. Like Rafe and Lexie just knew and Rebecca and Logan just knew. Without lists.”
“It seems unreliable. I can’t trust in anything as nebulous as just knowing.”
She shook her head in reluctant defeat. “So spill—what’s on your list?”
He hesitated.
“Maybe I know someone suitable.”
His list made sense but he knew that Danni would somehow make it seem to not make sense. But it was his list and it didn’t matter what Danni St. Claire, pest from his childhood, thought of it, so long as she helped him.
“She’ll need to speak multiple languages.” How had it come to this? He was sharing his dating woes with Danni. His driver. Next he’d be asking the head gardener how to manage diplomatic appointments.
“I guess I can see why you’d want that,” she said.
Despite her words he didn’t believe her; there was a light in her eyes he couldn’t quite trust.
“You can argue and make love in a range of languages. That’ll give variety, that’s important. It’ll keep things fresh.”
He’d known she wasn’t taking this seriously. “It’s not for the purposes of arguing or making love. I attend endless diplomatic functions with dignitaries from around the world.”
Danni was grinning at him.
“You’re winding me up, aren’t you?”
“You do leave yourself wide open for it. Anyway, like I said, you clearly don’t need me driving for you, or giving you advice. You’re managing and I don’t think we’re going to agree on anything important.”
“No,” he said slowly.
“So, I’ll get going.” She turned away and headed for the table to get her hat and gloves.
“I wasn’t agreeing with you, I was disagreeing.”
Slowly, she turned back and a smile quirked her lips. “You usually are.”
Which was exactly the kind of comment he expected from her. “Anna was clearly a mistake.”
“That might be one area where we agree.”
“But she’s not the type of woman I expect to be dating in future. I don’t think there’s going to be anyone else quite as…forward as her on the list. At least I hope not.” If Danni didn’t stop grinning at him he really was going to have to kiss her. He turned back to the window. “And I’ll admit you were right about the tie.” The tie she’d made him take off, practically ordering him to undress.
He shook his head sharply, disallowing the sudden image that wanted to insinuate itself there. He rested his fists on the window ledge and stared into the night. “A college education.” Focus. He had to stay focused. “Preferably post graduate. Preferably international.”
“Go on,” he heard her say and could discern nothing of her thoughts from her voice. That was probably a good thing.
“A good conversationalist, a good hostess, diplomatic.”
“Of course. Anything else?”
“She’ll need to be good with the press and the public, especially children.”
“What about looks?”
“Tall, slim, attractive, graceful.”
“Hair color?” There was something different about her voice, something controlled. Which wasn’t li
ke Danni at all.
“It makes no difference.”
“Big of you.” That had definitely been a hint of anger in her voice.
He turned to see her standing with her hands on her hips, her gaze narrowed on him and her lips thin. “What have I done now?” he asked.
She dropped her hands to her sides and shook her head. “You honestly have no idea, do you.”
“I have no idea why you’re suddenly so angry, like a vengeful pixie, when all I did was answer the questions you asked. You were worried about me not taking criticism well but it seems to be you who’s not handling the honesty.”
“I’m outraged on behalf of all women.”
“Why? Because I have criteria? You can’t tell me women don’t do that. Must be tall, must be good-looking, must not have a beard, must drive a luxury car and be able to support the lifestyle I’d like to have.”
“It’s not what was on it that I objected to, it’s what you left off. What about kindness, Adam? A sense of humor? What about love and someone you can just be with in the quiet moments of your life? All these criteria you have, they’re just more of your barriers.”
“I don’t have barriers.”
She laughed. At him. “You have more barriers than we’ll need for the Grand Prix.”
“I do not.”
“You do. And they’re all designed to stop people seeing the real you. You only want them to see the prince, a leader. But, trust me, you don’t want to marry someone who sees you like that. You want a companion for life, not a subject. You don’t want someone who’s going to jump to do your bidding, who says only what you want to hear.”
“Actually, that might be pleasant. Surely it would be better than living with someone who constantly challenged and provoked me.”
“I give up. There’s no point in me doing this, I can’t help you if you won’t even try.”
She headed for the door. But the Danni he remembered from the days they’d played chess and the times they’d played baseball never gave up. Ever. She wasn’t bluffing, she was mad. He thought quickly. “Skiing.”
She stopped and looked back at him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“I enjoy skiing. It’s…fun.” Even the word sounded frivolous and insubstantial.
Her smile reappeared and felt like a reward. “See, that wasn’t difficult, was it?”
It hadn’t been as easy as it should have been. Maybe she was right and he’d become a complete bore. “I’m not a frivolous person.”
She crossed back toward him. “Nobody wants you to be. It’s part of your appeal. But all work and no play…”
She’d used the word appeal or appealing in conjunction with him before. And she looked at him now as though there was something there that intrigued her. There was most definitely something in her that intrigued him.
And he had to quash it.
“So, you’ll drive me and a date of my choice to the mountains next weekend?” Focus on the task at hand. That was all he had to do.
She shook her head. “I only agreed to drive for you once.”
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
Her gaze narrowed on him as though she was affronted. “I’m not that mercenary.”
“You used to be,” he said evenly, not buying the mock offense.
Her grin slipped out. “When I was ten and only because my Dad never gave me pocket money and you and Rafe always had some. You’d pay for anything that you didn’t want to do yourselves.” She smiled, perhaps remembering the same things he was, the errands she’d run for them.
“I have more pocket money now.” He winked at her.
She seemed as surprised by the gesture as he was. He hadn’t winked at anyone in a very long time. But somehow Danni made the years slip away. He touched the bridge of his nose.
She sighed heavily. “I’ll drive for you if you promise never to touch your nose again.”
“Pardon?”
“You do it deliberately to make me feel guilty. So that I’ll do what you want.”
“How on earth does my touching my nose make you feel guilty?”
She rolled her eyes. “Because every time you touch that little bump, I remember how you got it in the first place.”
“Really? And it makes you feel guilty? But it was an accident. As much my fault as yours.” He’d been sixteen and she’d only been eleven. But she’d had a hell of a swing with the baseball bat. And he’d been distracted. He’d been arguing with Rafe instead of paying attention to a game he hadn’t even really wanted to be a part of. The ball had come out of nowhere. That was the only time he’d ever seen Danni cry. Not because she’d been hurt but because she’d hurt him. And then she got mad at him for making her cry.
“I know that. But I still feel guilty about it.”
“So, if I do this—” he touched the bump “—and ask nicely, will you drive for me this weekend? Please, Danni.”
“Don’t. That’s not fair.”
He touched the bump again. “It’s actually hardly noticeable. I don’t see it when I look in the mirror, I can scarcely feel it.”
“Adam. You’re playing dirty.”
“No, seriously. Touch it. It’s nothing. I think you’re imagining it.” He reached for her, circling his fingers around her wrist—she had such delicate wrists, like the rest of her—and he lifted her hand.
Curiosity lit her eyes and she bit her bottom lip as she ever-so-tentatively touched the bridge of his nose. Her fingers were so close that he couldn’t focus on them but he could see her eyes, could see a certain longing in them. Her lips were softly parted and she smelled as sweet as the promise of spring.
And, damn, there was that urge again. The one that would have him pull her into his arms. He shifted his grip from her wrist and grasped her hand instead and pressed a kiss to the back of it. That was as much as he could allow himself.
And apparently more than she wanted. She pulled her hand free. Hid it behind her back. A fierce blush heated her cheeks.
“You know, maybe it is a little sore still, you could kiss it and make it better.” Where had the words come from, the teasing?
“Don’t play games with me, Adam.” Sudden anger tinged her voice, taking him aback. “I know I’m not sophisticated. But you know it, too. So do not make fun of me. You’re better than that.”
“Make fun of you? Danni, I’d never. The one time I tried it, when you were about seven, you kicked me in the shins.”
“You just did,” she said. The anger had gone, only to be replaced by suspicion.
Usually he communicated well, allowing for no misunderstanding. He’d soothed ruffled diplomatic feathers on many occasions. How was he making such a mess of this when it should be so simple? “No.” Making fun of her had been the very last thing on his mind. He’d wanted to kiss her and had settled, at great cost, for her hand instead. Because kissing her, when she was effectively a member of his staff, when he was on the lookout for a wife, and when she was…Danni, would be all kinds of wrong. But he could still feel the cool imprint of her skin on his lips. And that chaste, courtly gesture had stirred far more than the kiss he’d shared with Anna earlier this evening.
“I’ve offended you and I’m sorry.” He needed time to make it better. To get their relationship back to where it ought to be, amiable and respectful.
“You haven’t offended me. I’m not that soft.”
He liked her indignation, the stubborn tilt to her chin.
“I have offended you, I can see it.”
“You haven’t. Believe me.”
“Prove it. Drive for me next weekend.”
She gave a little gasp and her eyes narrowed. “You’ve done it again, haven’t you? You’ve manipulated me halfway to saying yes and I’m not even sure how you did it.”
“I wouldn’t try to manipulate you.”
“I know. You do it without trying.”
Had he? He hadn’t meant to. “You’re free to drive for me or not. But I’d really like
it if you would.” She’d been right about Clara, she’d been right about the tie.
She opened her mouth.
“It’ll be the last time, I promise,” he said before she could deny him, because suddenly this seemed important. “You see things differently from me. In a good way. So, I’m taking your advice seriously. I’m going to go skiing and I’m going to have fun.”
“Whether you like it or not?”
“Exactly.” He tried to keep a straight face.
She laughed, breaking the tension he’d caused when he’d kissed her hand. The familiar sparkle returned to her eyes. “This will definitely be the last time. After that, you’re on your own and you can take your fun as seriously as you like.”
“You’ll be able to pick me up next Friday at two?” He had to get her final commitment while he could.
“Okay.”
A frown pleated her brow and she imbued that small word with a world of reluctance, but she’d agreed. That was all that mattered.
“Who are you taking?”
“I haven’t decided yet. There are a number of prospective candidates.”
“Hmmph. Who meet all your criteria?”
“Yes.”
“Are their names in a list?”
He said nothing.
“Can I see it?”
He folded his arms.
“Why not leave earlier than two? Let the fun start sooner?”
“I have meetings in the morning.”
She didn’t roll her eyes, but he thought it might have taken effort on her part not to. She headed for the table and picked up her cap and gloves.
“And don’t worry about the uniform. This is definitely outside of regular palace business. We’ll be friends.”
“That’s what worries me. It feels like the ground is shifting and I don’t know where I stand.”
He held the door for her. “Since when did you ever not like a challenge?”
“Since you started using them to work against me.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the tie he’d forgotten about. He reached for it, and for a second they were connected by that strip of silk. The fabric had been subtly warmed by her body. Her gaze flicked to his and then quickly away as she released the tie. “See you Friday.”