Stolen Kiss From a Prince

by Teresa Carpenter

  “Yes.” He stood straight and proud before her. “I realize it is highly inappropriate to ask.” He fixated on a spot over her shoulder, as if unable to meet her gaze. “You are, of course, at liberty to refuse.”

  His uncharacteristic hesitancy tore at her heart, drew her forward. “What can I do?”

  His eyes met hers, and his Adam’s apple worked as he swallowed hard. “Would you hold my hand for a minute?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “JUL—IAN.” HER voice broke. Not hesitating, she went to him, wrapped both hands around his. He was cold, shaking. “I am so sorry.”

  “I didn’t really believe it until now.” His head bowed so his breath fanned over her cheek. “I knew the probability, but it wasn’t real. My big brother is gone.”

  “He is in a better place,” she offered, knowing it was too little, too mundane. She squeezed his hand, wished she could do more to ease his pain. No longer a Prince worried about duty, this was a man hurting for the loss of a dearly loved brother.

  He shook his head less in denial than hopelessness. His forehead nearly touched hers, and she lifted a hand to his cheek and took the necessary half step to complete the connection, the comfort of skin to skin. A strangled noise came from his throat at the same time he clutched her to him.

  “He’s always been there for me. Such a bruiser, but he had the kindest heart. I don’t want him to be gone.”

  “I know.” She stroked his back; he shuddered under her palm. “You will always have him in your heart.”

  He didn’t say anything more, just continued to hold her. She let him, holding him, too. So much stretched ahead of him. He’d been preparing for this—had felt guilty for doing so—but many would look to him now his brother was gone. Just as King Lowell had looked to his heir when he took sick last year. Those duties would now fall to Julian, as well. This time on the train might be his only opportunity to grieve in relative privacy.

  Poor King Lowell. How awful to lose your son and heir. She could not imagine his sorrow, his grief. She’d seen him on the news yesterday talking of hope and staying strong while rescuers searched and the weather hampered efforts. Surely having Julian and Sammy home would bring him some measure of comfort.

  Tears welled and overflowed, sliding down her cheek. She made no effort to stop them. Tightening her arms around Julian, she buried her face in his chest, allowing the fine silk of his shirt to absorb the wetness. In response, the arms that enfolded her were strong, and the cheek that rested against her temple held its own dampness.

  “My father broke on the phone,” he whispered. “Just broke down and cried.” She heard how his father’s pain cut him deeply.

  Okay, this was so not the way to achieve distance in their relationship. And she didn’t care. His pain touched her. It would take a colder person than her to ignore his bid for comfort.

  “It is okay for him to cry,” she assured him in case the tears embarrassed him. “Even kings are allowed to mourn their sons.”

  “He would hate for anyone to know.”

  “His secret is safe with me.” She backed up and gently cleaned his face with a tissue from her pocket. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “How am I going to tell Sammy?” he demanded, voice raw.

  “Wait,” she suggested. “There is no need for him to know yet. Wait until he is home, surrounded by those he knows and loves in a familiar setting. I believe it would be less traumatic in those circumstances.”

  “Perhaps.” He closed his eyes as if the weight of the decision took total concentration. “I am no good at these flash decisions. I like to gather my information, act from a position of knowledge.”

  “Making quick decisions is really no different. You just use the information you have. And then you gather more knowledge so you are better informed the next time you have to act.”

  “So wise.” He kissed the back of her hand; the heat of his breath tickling over her skin made her shiver, distracting her for a moment. The old-fashioned gesture was definitely not meant to be shared between employer and nanny. And then he turned her hand over and kissed the palm.

  Her breath caught. Oh my.

  He regained her attention when he framed her face in two large hands and lifted her gaze to his.

  “Thank you.” His thumbs feathered over her cheeks collecting the last of her tears. “You are a very giving woman.”

  “No one should be alone at such a time.” She lifted her right hand and wrapped her fingers around one thick wrist, not knowing if she meant to hold him to her or pull him free.

  “It’s a dangerous trait.” The thumb of the hand she held continued to caress her cheek, though he seemed almost unaware of the gesture.

  “Why?” she breathed.

  “Someone may take advantage of you.”

  A knot clenched her gut. Someone had. The harsh memory threatened to destroy the moment. She should step back, return to her duties. But she didn’t. Because of the glint of vulnerability in his eyes.

  Instead she bit her bottom lip and stayed put. For the first time she successfully stayed quiet. Perhaps because she needed this moment as much as he did.

  “There is only you and me here.” She blinked, noting the look in his eyes had changed. The pain lingered but awareness joined the grief. “Are you going to take advantage?”

  “Yes.” He lowered his head. “I am.” And he pressed his mouth to hers. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips then nipped her bottom lip. “You tempt me so when you torture this lip.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he took full advantage, sealing her mouth with his. Heat bloomed, senses taking over as sensation ignited passion. Large and warm, he dwarfed her, his strong body a shelter against the craziness of the past few days. He drew her closer, aligning her curves with his hard contours, taking the sensual escape to deeper levels.

  For long moments she surrendered to his touch, to his heat, to his need. Lifting onto tiptoes, she looped her arms around his neck and got lost with him in a world without loss, without hurt, without protocol.

  His thumb had found a new resting place, and her nipple peaked in response as a shot of raw craving ran through her. Too soon his hand shifted, moved down her side to the small of her back and lower. He cupped her derriere and lifted her off her feet. A trail of kisses led him to the curve of her neck. She arched into his hold.

  Something vibrated against her thigh. A ring followed.

  The real world beckoned.

  Julian gently set her on her feet. But he stole a last kiss before he released her. He stepped back and pulled his phone from his pants pocket to check it.

  She ran damp hands over her hips and took a step backward. She supposed it was something that he rejected the call.

  She cleared her throat. “I should check on Sammy.”

  He nodded and crossed his hands behind his back in a formal pose. To remind himself of duty or to keep his hands to himself? “I suppose we’re going to allocate this to comfort, as well.”

  “It would be best,” she agreed, knowing as she did there’d be even less chance of forgetting these moments in his arms than their last embrace.

  “Hardly logical.” His eyebrows drew together.

  “But for the best.” She took another step back. “Do you not agree?”

  He hesitated and then shook his head. “I’m not in a position to disagree.”

  What did that mean? Katrina stopped her retreat. Had the time in her arms meant more to him than a sensual escape?

  But the moment was lost.

  “You are right. It is best if we wait to tell Samson once we are home.”

  With that, he turned back to the window and lifted his phone.

  *

  The next two days were the worst of Julian’s life. Waiting for his brother’s body, and Helene’s too, broke his patience. It took two days for them to be delivered off the mountain and be loaded into an attached cargo car.

  His phone never stopped ringing. He
accomplished much but recalled little of what he did. The weather improved enough that his assistant was able to fly down and join him, which helped tremendously.

  Perhaps he should have flown Samson and Katrina on to Kardana, but he preferred to keep them with him. With his father’s health issues, the raising of Samson fell to Julian now. It was right that the boy stay with him. That it kept Katrina close, too, was incidental. Or so he told himself.

  That looking up and seeing her across the room calmed his frayed nerves had nothing to do with his decision. Nor did the memory of her kisses play any part in his decree. He’d be forever grateful for the comfort she gave him. He’d been hurting, and she got him past those horrible first moments.

  To prevent Samson from being distressed, he’d issued the order for no one to talk about his brother’s passing. He kept all such discussions between him and his assistant for when they were working alone at the dining table upstairs in the dome.

  “My lord—” the porter appeared next to the table “—you asked to be advised when we were within an hour of Kardana. We should reach the tunnel in an hour.”

  This would be the first time Julian had ridden a train through the twenty-three-mile rail and auto tunnel to the island of Kardana since the inaugural run.

  “Thank you. Please advise Ms. Vicente.”

  “As you wish.” He bowed and headed down the stairs.

  Julian glanced at his assistant, Carl Brams, and met pale brown eyes through dark-rimmed glasses. Impeccable in a slate-gray suit, Carl didn’t wait for instructions but reached for his mobile phone on the table.

  “Security is already in place at the train station, but I’ll alert them to our imminent arrival and ask them to advise his majesty. I’ll also confirm the conveyance arrangements for transfer of the Prince and Princess.”

  “Remind them that Samson doesn’t know. My father will want to see him. I do not want any slipups. This is too important.”

  As his assistant walked into the lounge area to make his calls, Julian leaned back in his high-backed chair, away from the latest changes proposed for the initiative adding a police agency to Europol, the joint European law enforcement agency, which was currently investigative only. The vote would precede the International Peace Symposium in just under a month.

  For the past few days his total focus revolved around collecting his family and returning home. But with that goal on the brink of reality, he realized how much he’d miss these days of quiet isolation.

  Yes, he’d been connected to the world, and he’d stepped out to thank the French president for his assistance and expressed his gratitude to all those involved in the search and recovery operations. But for the most part this time on the train had given him an opportunity to mourn in private. More so than if he’d been at home.

  A large part of that was due to the gentle solace of Samson’s nanny. He purposely used the reminder of her position to aid in his constant battle to seek her out. Her quiet beauty and giving nature drew him like a bee to an apple blossom. Another time he may explore the potential of their heated embraces, but the chaos of his life made that a luxury he could ill afford.

  Once they reached the palace, he expected to see little of her, something he both looked forward to and dreaded. Less temptation, but he’d miss their chats.

  And the curve of her breasts in her prim, button-up shirts.

  Plus the sweet sway of her derriere as she tended to Samson.

  Heaven knew the taste of her already haunted him, and his arms felt empty without her in them. How could that be after such a short acquaintance? He could only hope the reverse would hold true, too, and out of sight would firmly put her out of his mind.

  The plan held some flaws, as Julian intended to foster the growing relationship between him and Samson. The boy would need the extra care and attention after he learned of his parents’ passing. To that end, Julian reluctantly made a note to address a replacement nanny for Samson as a top priority.

  Carl returned to the table and time moved quickly from that point forward. Soon Julian exited the luxury train car and escorted Samson and his nanny through a storm of flashing lights and the thunder of hollered questions. The press swarmed the security barricades, aggressive in their demand for answers.

  As prearranged, Julian paused to address the hungry mob of press. He stepped up to the microphone provided for the impromptu conference. At his direction Carl continued onto the waiting limousine with Samson and Katrina. They’d managed to keep the news from the boy, and this was not how Julian wanted him to learn the truth.

  “Kardana suffers a great loss as I return today with the remains of Donal and Helene Ettenburl, Prince and Princess of Kardana. My brother traveled to Pasadonia to attend a forum on ending world hunger. After the forum he and Helene decided to join a ski party on a jaunt to the Southern Alps. The storm that took much of Europe by surprise threw the plane off course and ultimately into the side of a mountain. There were no survivors. Prince Samson Alexander was left in the safety and care of the Prince and Princess of Pasadonia and returns with me today. An announcement of the funeral arrangements will be made soon. The royal family thanks you for your condolences and asks that you respect our request for privacy as we mourn for my brother and sister-in-law.”

  His statement made, Julian stepped away from the microphone. A barrage of questions followed his exit, and he happily left them for the press secretary. Within minutes he was sliding into the backseat of the limousine next to Katrina. Samson had been strapped into a car seat across from them next to Carl.

  The fresh scent of apple blossoms drifted to him as Katrina shifted to provide him with more room. He reached out to wrap a hand around her fingers, intent on holding her in place. Instead he pulled back and clenched his hand into a fist at his side. He’d just had this internal conversation. He was home. He could no longer allow the softness of her comfort.

  “Look, Unca Julie.” Samson pointed to something out the window. “That’s by my house. K’tina, I home. Mama and Papa at home.”

  Julian met Katrina’s gaze. His dismay was echoed in her violet eyes. He gave a slight shake of his head.

  “Mama and Papa are not home yet. But you shall see your grandpère.”

  “The queen mother, Giselle, is also in residence.” Carl informed the car.

  “GiGi?” Samson asked tearfully, successfully distracted by mention of his great-grandmother. “She bing me a present?”

  “I am sure she did.” Julian flicked a glance at Carl, who pulled out his phone and began to text. Helped along by Katrina, Samson chatted on about favorite toys.

  Julian turned his gaze to the window. Thoughts of the upcoming visit with his father occupied his mind. He hoped Father had found some peace in the past few days. Julian couldn’t stand the thought of seeing his proud father broken. He feared witnessing it might destroy his own fortitude.

  *

  Katrina stared at her hand on the black leather seat, at the darker hand next to it but not touching her. Julian confused her. He obviously found comfort in her touch. A fact she took satisfaction in. It felt good knowing she was helping someone through a difficult time.

  Yet now he held back. Which made her question, had it been her touch that soothed him, or just the warmth of human-to-human connection? She wished she knew, but it didn’t really matter. The forced intimacy of the train trip was over. Best if they both retreated to their separate corners.

  The royal Kardana palace was a fairy-tale castle set right in the middle of the capital city. Surrounded by beautiful garden grounds and made of brown stone, the huge house had turret-topped towers on both ends of the front of the manor. Gables and spires abounded and a broad two-tiered stone staircase led to a spiked gate.

  Katrina craned her neck to see everything as the car turned into the curved drive leading to the main entrance. “It is beautiful,” she breathed.

  “It’s home,” Julian answered. He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “We will en
counter many people on our way through the palace. People may be upset and not watch what they say. Please take care as we go.”

  “I will do my best,” she promised, but now they were here and the logistics came into play, it seemed delaying telling Sammy might not have been the best course to take. When she quietly mentioned her worry to Julian, he gave a half shrug.

  “Too late to change things now. Between the two of us, we’ll make sure it’s okay.”

  Hearing him pair them as a team warmed her. She held the feeling to her as she followed Julian through the beautiful royal residence. She was awestruck by the museum quality antiques and art. She longed for time to linger and admire, to explore.

  Thinking of Sammy, she stayed close to Julian. The staff they passed, nodded respectfully and showered sympathetic looks on Sammy, but no one mentioned his parents or the accident.

  “K’tina, down please.” He wiggled to be put down.

  “Not yet, sweetie. First we need to see grandpère.”

  “My lord—” a portly man in a formal black suit met them in the grand hall “—his majesty and the queen mother are in the formal parlor.” He bowed and led the way to a door off a long hallway. He announced, “His Highnesses, Prince Julian and Prince Samson. And nanny, Ms. Vicente.”

  Carl stopped at the door, which made Katrina hesitate, but Grimes, the butler, gave her an encouraging nod, so she followed Julian’s broad back through the opulent room. A mix of stunning antiques and modern comfort, the cream and burgundy room was both elegant and welcoming.

  Lowell Ettenburl, King of Kardana, sat in a cream and gold high-backed chair. An imposing man with a full head of thick gray hair, his grief showed in the slump of broad shoulders and shadowed brown eyes.

  “Julian.” A sheen grew in his eyes, and he stood to embrace his remaining son.

  The two men clung to each other and Katrina heard a few mumbled words. Her throat tightened as tears threatened. Finding the sight too profound to watch, she looked away, to give them privacy and to gather her composure.

  She met the sad blue eyes of a grand dame. Dressed in a suit a shade darker than her eyes, she sat in a companion chair to the King. Short and a little plump, only her regal demeanor and rigid posture kept her from being swallowed by the thronelike seat. White hair wound around her head in an elaborate yet refined bun. Her lined face was made up to perfection. But the best cosmetics in the world could not hide the bone-deep sorrow as she watched her son and grandson.