The Trouble with Mojitos: HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance

by Romy Sommer

  Her stomach was so tied in knots she could barely stand. Would there be press waiting on the tarmac? Would they be bombarded by camera flashes the moment they stepped out? It seemed remarkably quiet out there.

  She rose on shaky legs and moved to the door. Rik dropped his hand and preceded her down the stairs. She stepped out, the relief overwhelming when she saw that the runway was empty except for another sedan with tinted windows.

  “Welcome to Westerwald,” Rik said, holding the car door open for her.

  The airport looked like any other, and the highway that carried them into the city of Neustadt could have been any highway. Darkness concealed the landscape, and then they were in the outskirts of the city, surrounded by warehouses and factories and ghostly office blocks. It was only when they reached the city centre that the place took on that otherwordly feel of a foreign place.

  The capital city of Neustadt, as its name suggested, was relatively new by European standards, only a few hundred years old. It had the feeling of Paris, with broad tree-lined avenues, grand houses, and elegant storefronts. Then right in the heart of the old town, set back behind imposing railings, lay the palace. She’d seen photographs, of course, but none could beat the sight of its facade illuminated by soft uplights, a big moon hanging clear and bright and full overhead.

  And then her heart contracted. There, unmistakeably, was her greatest fear. A phalanx of reporters and photographers pressed around the gate to which they were headed.

  Their car might have darkened windows, but at the sight of dozens of flashbulbs popping, Kenzie slunk back in her seat. Her heart was beating so quickly she was sure it was about to take off like a rocket. And she felt an urge to throw up. Again.

  The only thing that stopped her from puking all over the back of the luxury sedan was the clear and certain knowledge that somehow that would be the picture that would make tomorrow’s headlines.

  “Are you okay?” Rik asked.

  She gritted her teeth. “I’d kill for that concierge’s magic potion about now.”

  “And here I thought I’d be the one having the panic attack.” He grinned.

  “I don’t like the press.” Which was the under-statement of the century.

  “They can’t get any further than the gate,” he re-assured her as the driver pulled up at the gate’s security checkpoint. “Security around the palace is tight.”

  That still didn’t diminish her urge to throw up. Or the black dots flickering before her eyes. Though perhaps that was the result of the camera flashes exploding as they nudged through the crowd.

  At the last minute the intimidating wrought iron gates, with the Westerwald coat of arms picked out in gold scrollwork, slid open. Military guards stepped forward to hold back the surging crowd as the car drove through and the gates closed behind them.

  Kenzie sighed out the breath she’d been holding.

  There was still another set of gates, and another security checkpoint, before they rounded the palace building, passing out of sight of the press and into a gravel courtyard. The car pulled up beside a very ordinary looking side door that would have been unremarkable if it hadn’t been flanked by two stocky men in black suits wearing those fancy earpieces that movie tough guys always wore.

  How she wished Lee could see this.

  One of the tough guys stepped forward and opened her car door.

  This was it. Last chance to cower under the seat like a lunatic and ask the chauffeur to get her out of here at the speed of light.

  Then Rik squeezed her hand and she remembered to breathe again. The dizziness passed. The nausea ebbed.

  “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again. “We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.”

  What were her options? Going back to the flat in Shoreditch, to a cold, empty bed and the constant nausea she’d felt since she left Los Pajaros? Or a cold, empty bed in a hotel room in Warsaw?

  Either way, she hadn’t felt happy since she’d parted from Rik. Even if it was only tonight, and even if it meant smiling when she felt like crying, she wanted to be with him. When this ordeal was over, she planned to cuddle up to him and make love to him and pretend they were back in the tropics.

  “Okay, let’s do this,” she said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The tough guys had the side door open before they’d even stepped out the car. Rik barely glanced at the men flanking the doors as he strode inside and Kenzie had to hurry to keep up, which wasn’t easy in heels. Then they were inside a large antechamber, and someone awaited them.

  “You’re late, bro,” the Archduke said, engulfing his big brother in a hug.

  “It’s good to see you too.”

  The brothers were nothing alike. Where Rik was tall, dark and brooding, Max was all sunshine, fair-haired and smiling. He even had dimples. If his hair had been a little longer and shaggier, he’d have fitted in with those dive instructors on Christianstad no problem.

  Kenzie was still struggling to take in the sight of two such gorgeous men in one eyeful when the door at the far end of the room opened and a young woman entered. Max let go of his brother and turned to her, and the look in his eyes told Kenzie exactly who she was – the bride to be.

  She walked boldly, sass in every step. Up close she was stunning, with laughing eyes and tousled blonde hair. “Claus told me you’d arrived. I’m Phoenix, and you must be Rik.”

  Rik bent to give her a formal, polite kiss on her cheeks.

  “This is Kenzie,” he said, stepping back to draw her in.

  In the presence of such a beauty, Kenzie would normally have felt like something the cat had thrown up, but then Phoenix smiled and looped an arm through hers, and her discomfort fled. “The party’s in the Orangery. I don’t know about you, but I could do with a drink.”

  Hell, yes.

  “Kenzie’s an unusual name,” Phoenix observed, leading her out the antechamber and into a long gallery lined with portraits.

  “No more than Phoenix is,” Kenzie said, laughing a little. There was something about Phoenix that she made her instantly likable, instantly approachable.

  “That’s just a nickname. I loathe my given name.” Phoenix sighed. “But I’m slowly getting used to answering to Georgiana.” She made a face.

  “Kenzie’s short for Mackenzie. My mother was born a Mackenzie and she’s very proud of her Scottish roots. I sometimes wonder what my parents were smoking when they named me.”

  Phoenix rolled her eyes. “Oh, I know what my parents were smoking.” Unlike Kenzie, she sounded deadly serious.

  The Orangery was at the rear of the building, a long conservatory with glass skylights and French doors that opened onto a formal garden. Kenzie could appreciate how the room lived up to its name. It was lined with potted orange trees, and though it was completely the wrong season, every tree seemed to be in blossom. She breathed in the scent that hung heavy in the air.

  Rik stood beside her and breathed it in too. “My favourite scent,” he said, taking her hand.

  She was grateful for the anchor of his touch, because at that moment it was as though every conversation in the room ceased and every head in the room, nearly two hundred people, turned to look at them. Max and Phoenix scarcely seemed to notice, but Kenzie felt Rik stiffen beside her. She cast him a glance. He was formidable, every bit the regal prince.

  Then he squeezed her hand, and she knew this wasn’t as easy for him as it looked. This was what she was here for. So he could walk through this crowd as the guy with the pretty girl on his arm, looking for all the world as if he’d just interrupted a holiday to be here, rather than like the man who’d lost everything.

  She could do that for him.

  The crowd parted before them as they followed Max and Phoenix down the long room to the bar at the far end. The bar seemed incongruous in the space, a modern construction of mirrored glass and steel, reflecting every light in the room.

  “Red or white?” the bow-tied barman asked.

  “Wh
ite.” Kenzie recognised the label and glanced at Rik, raising an eyebrow. His eyes glinted and he smiled, and suddenly he was her pirate again and not some distant, intimidating stranger.

  ***

  “The wine is from our grandfather’s vineyard in California,” Rik said. “It was one of Max’s own blends from before he had to give up wine farming.”

  He watched as Kenzie raised the glass to her lips and took a sip. Then she ran her tongue along her lips, licking every last drop. There was no way she wasn’t remembering just how much they’d both enjoyed this wine before.

  “I almost thought you weren’t coming. I was so pleased to get the call saying you’d requested a palace car at the airport.” Max slung an arm around Rik’s shoulder. “So you flew in from London – is that where you’ve been hiding all this time?”

  Rik shook his head and dragged his eyes away from Kenzie’s mouth. “I’ve been staying at Adam’s place in the islands.”

  “The bastard! I asked him if you were there and he lied to my face and told me he had no idea where you were. Still, I take it he got my letter through to you? I’ll have to thank him. He’s around here somewhere.”

  Phoenix laughed. “Don’t expect to see him any time soon. I saw him heading out into the gardens with a rather buxom brunette.”

  Rik glanced around the packed conservatory. Everywhere he looked there were familiar faces. A couple of cousins, friends of his and Max’s from their school days, local aristocrats, and Westerwald’s young and fabulous. He smiled at a familiar face – Claus, one of Max’s closest friends from their childhood days.

  The prickle of eyes on his back made him turn. His mother.

  He would have thought she’d skip the more public part of the evening.

  He turned quickly away.

  “What is it?” Kenzie mouthed at him, concern in her eyes.

  He looped his arm around her and pulled her close. He’d only shared two nights with her, yet her body moulded to his, familiar and comforting.

  She looked past his shoulder. “Isn’t she the reason you’re here tonight?” she asked softly.

  He shook his head but said nothing. Kenzie could have no clue that he was only here tonight because of her. He’d needed an excuse to chase after her, to keep her at his side. Once he’d searched her Facebook profile and read every tweet she’d ever written – which was plenty – he’d had a far better idea of what she wanted. And how he could get what he wanted.

  She was a sucker for a person in need. All he’d had to do was give her a reason to feel needed. And that was easy. He did need her.

  “I’m here for my brother,” he said. “I have nothing left to say to her.”

  Kenzie pulled a little away from him. “No one understands mummy issues like I do, but you have to talk to her some time. She’s still your mother.”

  “You want me to forgive her so we can all play happy families again?”

  She shrugged. “Hey, I’m Switzerland in this. I just don’t want you to have any regrets. All you have to do is listen. If you still feel you can’t forgive her, then that’s your choice.”

  “I’ll talk to her.” He buried his face in her hair. “But not tonight.”

  The party swirled about them. People stood in little groups talking, others dancing. The bright overhead lights of the chandeliers dimmed, replaced by swirling coloured lights which reflected in the glass-fronted bar. The room looked less like a formal room in a palace and more like a nightclub. Phoenix sure knew how to throw a party. There was no way Max had thought beyond what alcohol to serve.

  The live band moved into the slow, seductive rhythm of a rumba.

  “Let’s dance,” Rik suggested, turning her into his arms.

  “I can’t.” Kenzie blushed. “Lee tried to teach me, but he says I’m useless at being led.”

  “That depends on who’s doing the leading.” He spun her into a dance hold, and began to move.

  ***

  Kenzie had watched enough episodes of Strictly Come Dancing to know the most romantic of all dances wasn’t easy. Yet somehow with Rik it did feel easy. Or perhaps that was simply because in his arms she felt lighter than air.

  She was vaguely aware of other people beyond her vision, but they were mere shadows. None of them mattered. The only thing that mattered was that she was with Rik, dancing with him, touching him, pressed against him.

  The way she’d wanted to be last night when she’d cried herself to sleep.

  Only when the dance ended, did the rest of the room come back into focus.

  “Ooh, you’re good,” she breathed.

  He laughed, a low, sultry sound. “Say that again, louder so everyone can hear.”

  “As if you need compliments. You’re arrogant enough already without them.”

  “Am not!” His fingers skated down her back, tracing the line of her zip. Even through the fabric of her dress, the touch of his fingers sent a shiver through her.

  “I missed you,” he whispered.

  She swallowed the catch in her throat. “It’s only been a couple of days.”

  She’d missed him too. So much she’d even had a mad thought that it wasn’t a stomach bug she’d picked up in the tropics, but that she’d felt sick because she wanted him so badly. Now that he was here, the nausea was history.

  He took her hand in his and headed back towards the bar. “I need a refill. I’m thinking something with more of a kick in it than wine.”

  “A mojito?” she suggested, twinkling up at him.

  They only made it halfway down the room before his attention was claimed by someone else. She ducked away and headed to the bar on her own.

  “Two mojitos,” she ordered, leaning against the bar. When the drinks were ready, she reached across the bar for them, then stepped back, onto someone’s toes. “Oh I’m so sorry,” she apologised, turning to her unintended victim.

  “No harm, no foul,” said the young woman beside her, with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  Kenzie nearly dropped the glasses. The icy blonde was unmistakeable. She was even more beautiful in person than in the magazine photographs. Tall and willowy, with white blonde hair, peaches and cream skin, and eyes the colour of the Caribbean sky on a good day. She could have been a Scandinavian supermodel.

  Rik’s one and only girlfriend. The woman he’d planned to marry.

  “You’re Kenzie,” the woman said.

  Kenzie nodded. How on earth did she know?

  The woman laughed, a tinkly, musical sound. “Everyone’s been talking about you from the moment you walked in with Fredrik.”

  Of course. Kenzie felt the heat of a flush start to work its way up her neck. She really hadn’t thought this whole date thing through properly. She’d assumed everyone would be talking about Rik, the prodigal son returned, and that she would be nothing more than an accessory. It hadn’t occurred to her she might also be an object of interest.

  She suddenly felt very exposed. And very scared.

  “I’m Teresa Adler.” The blonde held out a hand, and Kenzie fumbled to put the glasses down so she could shake it.

  Teresa looked over Kenzie’s shoulder to where Rik remained in conversation. “Fredrik looks more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. He looks good.”

  She didn’t sound possessive, or even particularly interested, but Kenzie’s hackles still rose. He’s mine.

  But he wasn’t.

  It was only when Teresa moved to smooth back her already impeccably styled hair that Kenzie caught the glint on her finger. “You’re engaged!”

  Teresa smiled. “Yes, I am.”

  Well that was fast work. Kenzie didn’t know whether to be pleased or offended on Rik’s behalf.

  Teresa stretched past Kenzie to take two flutes of champagne from the barman. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Kenzie.” With another smile she glided off, an image of shimmering perfection.

  Kenzie swallowed a large mouthful of mojito just as Rik disengaged himself from his convers
ation and came to her side.

  “You met Teresa?” he asked.

  She nodded. It was better he heard this from her now, than from someone else. “She’s engaged.”

  “Good for her.” Rik removed his glass from her fingers and took a sip.

  “You’re not upset?”

  He frowned. “Should I be?”

  She should have remembered he’d said he’d never been in love. What hope in hell did she have of capturing Rik’s heart when it hadn’t been moved by that vision of perfection?

  “I’m pleased for her,” Rik said. “Teresa deserves to be happy.”

  Kenzie looked after Teresa’s departing back. The one word she wouldn’t have used to describe Teresa Adler was ‘happy’. She didn’t have the same glow that Phoenix had: the glow of a woman in love.

  “We’ve shown our faces long enough,” he said, his voice brushing her ear. “How about we take these drinks somewhere more private?”

  She followed where he led, back along the gallery, then down a wide corridor with a high, vaulted ceiling. He pushed open a door, and she followed him in.

  The room was dark. Rik moved away from her to flick on a switch and the warm yellow light of a standing lamp bathed the room in light. They stood in an office, dark wood-panelled walls, leather armchairs, and a massive mahogany desk bearing a state of the art desktop computer that looked dusty from lack of use. She’d never seen a desk look so neat, with the papers and books perfectly organised and even the pens lined up at right angles.

  “It’s untouched,” Rik said, glancing around. “Max must be using our father’s office then.”

  So this had been his space. His sanctum.

  “Come here.” Rik held out his hand, and when she took it he pulled her roughly against him. “I’ve wanted to do this all evening.”

  His hand found the zip at her back and eased it down.

  “I thought you liked this dress?” she breathed.

  “I do. But I like you out of it even better.” He slid the sleeves down over her arms, and the dress fell in a puddle at her feet. His breath hitched.