She’d never dated a man like Hank before—and had certainly never made love to one. He was everything she’d never believed she’d wanted, yet at the same time fantasized about loving. Taming. The rough cowboy. The primitive male. And yet Hank was so different from those stereotypes. He was sensitive to the feelings of others, intelligent and talented beyond her expectations when she’d asked him for help.
He knelt on the afghan, his golden skin dry from the heat that scorched them. For once he wasn’t grinning or teasing; he was deadly serious as he reached for the shoulder straps of her bathing suit.
“Yes,” she whispered to his unasked question.
His blue eyes blazed as he peeled away the black bathing suit. The stretchy material clung, imprisoning her arms as he pulled it lower, as her breasts were freed to the warm air and his even hotter gaze.
“Magnificent,” he said with a slight smile and faint English accent, and she knew he remembered her coaxing to concentrate on a few words Alexi might use. But she wanted Hank’s words, not those of her own imaginings, so she levered herself up on her elbows to remove the bathing suit. When she was bare from the waist up, she reached for him.
The feel of his chest, all golden muscles and light brown hair, pressed against her tight nipples. Her softness molded to his hardness, as nature intended, and she reveled in their differences. Who cared that he was Texan and she was English? Who cared that they would never have known each other except for a runaway prince? They were here now, in this shady glade, beneath the cloudless sky as blue as Hank McCauley’s eyes.
His leg slipped between hers as his arousal pressed against her thigh, making her groan in longing. He breathed against her neck, his lips caressing the sensitive skin below her ear while her hands roamed the thick muscles of his back. She had never thought of herself as a sensual person, but she wanted to revel in each sensation she experienced in his arms.
Like so many of her experiences in Texas, this was exciting, exhilarating and new. She would store it away, cherish it forever. She knew she’d never meet another man like Hank McCauley, even if she searched forever. The thought brought a tear to her eye, one that she blinked away.
But not rapidly enough.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“Nothing. I just felt…overwhelmed.”
“Good overwhelmed or bad overwhelmed?”
She shook her head. “Kiss me. Don’t ask me to explain.”
He frowned, but she ran her hands over him, pulled him closer and rose to kiss his lips. He surrendered, kissing her in return. His palm closed over her breast and she moaned, begging him to touch her more intimately, to make her forget that she was leaving him very soon. Maybe tomorrow, maybe one more day.
She moaned again, this time more in anguish than passion.
“Wendy?”
“Gwendolyn,” she whispered. “My name is Gwendolyn.” She wasn’t the caricatured English lady he’d teased her about, the one he’d created with a nickname. She had a life, a career, and a family beyond the limited scope of their relationship.
He narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
She closed her eyes and turned away. “I can’t do this. I want to be with you. I truly do, but…”
“What?”
“I’m leaving. At first I wasn’t thinking about tomorrow, or perhaps the next day, but now I can’t get it out of my mind.” She opened her eyes and looked at him. “I wanted you to make me forget, but that’s wrong.”
Hank closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. “I don’t want to think about that, either, but can’t we have today?”
“I wanted to think we could, but now…I’m not sure.”
He lay beside her, still aroused, still incredibly sexy. A part of her wanted to take back her doubts, to hold him close and continue making love. But she’d never been the type of person who could hide from her feelings, or ignore her inner voice.
“Then we’d better go back to the ranch,” he said, turning away.
“Hank?”
“Yes?”
“Please don’t be angry with me,” she said as she pulled the swimsuit over her naked breasts.
“Sweetheart, I’m not angry. Disappointed, maybe, but I’m trying to understand.”
Gwendolyn nodded, then smiled sadly. “You’ve lost your Texas accent again.”
Hank tried to smile, but he looked sad, too. “Yeah, maybe I have. But don’t you worry, it’ll be back.”
Just in time for her to leave, she thought as she pushed herself up from the afghan in the hidden, beautiful glade. As the pool shimmered through a veil of tears, and as she began to say goodbye to Hank McCauley.
Chapter Ten
Tension mounted as they neared the ranch. The ride back had been mostly silent, with just an occasional caution or necessary comment to keep them company. He’d looked back several times to make sure Wendy—or perhaps he should start calling her Lady Gwendolyn—was okay, and each time she’d tried to smile convincingly.
He sure as hell wasn’t convinced. He wasn’t okay. He still throbbed for her. Her taste lingered on his lips while he felt her creamy skin, rather than the worn leather of his gloves, beneath his fingers.
Worst of all, he’d never be able to forget the sight of her lying in his wooded retreat, her whiskey eyes wide and slumberous with desire, her peach-tipped breasts pale and perfect in the filtered sunlight.
“Damn,” he muttered as they neared the barn. He’d never be able to see that ugly afghan his aunt Martha had crocheted without thinking of the English lady who had stormed into his life and wheedled her way into his heart.
He pulled his pinto to a halt. “I’ll take care of the horses if you’d like to go on in and check the messages.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, her normally crisp voice without the lively quality he’d come to expect. He didn’t offer to help as she swung her right leg over the saddle and eased her left foot out of the stirrup, just as he’d shown her, and jumped to the ground.
“Just push the play button on the machine in my study.” He gathered the reins of both horses and started leading them inside the barn.
“I don’t want to intrude,” she said softly.
He stopped and turned back to where she still stood, looking smaller and more alone than usual against the vivid sunset. “Dammit, Wendy, I won’t have any calls on there I don’t want you to hear.”
His anger apparently gave her strength, because she straightened her spine and glared. “Very well, then. You needn’t snap.” She turned on her heel and marched toward the house.
Hank narrowed his eyes, knowing this was for the best, but wishing he could charm her out of her huff. Wishing he could put his arms around her and tease her into a smile. But for what purpose? She was leaving tomorrow, or the next day at the latest.
As soon as the prince was found, she wouldn’t need him anymore, he reminded himself as he looped the reins of his pinto around a post. Wendy certainly wouldn’t want him. He didn’t travel in her circles and she didn’t belong in his. They were oil and water, and just because circumstances had shaken them up together like a bottle of salad dressing didn’t mean anything. The mix was only temporary.
He led her buckskin over to the other side of the barn and tied her there. He seemed destined to have short-term relationships. The buckle bunnies who’d chased him when he was a young up-and-comer had used him for the status he provided. They were the rodeo groupies who attached themselves to the winners with the biggest buckles, the largest money winners on the circuit.
Hank snorted as he unsaddled the pinto. He’d thought, when he was younger, that one particular buckle bunny might really care about him, but he’d been sadly disillusioned when a broken leg had taken him off the circuit for weeks. She’d gone on to the next rising star and he’d learned to guard his heart a little closer.
Since then, there’d been other women who loved to be seen with the champion, and he’d let them hang on
to his arm, smile up at him and tell him how great he was. But he didn’t believe them. He always tired of them before they tired of him, and everyone had known the score.
He’d been out of his element with Wendy from the start, he reminded himself as he finished grooming the pinto, then started unsaddling the buckskin. Neither he nor the English lady had known what the hell they were doing, just playing every day—sometimes every hour—by ear until that damned prince returned from his unscheduled holiday.
And the whole thing had culminated in a few minutes of sheer madness that should never have happened. He should have put a stop to their attraction before he’d ever touched her creamy white skin or kissed her soft rosy lips. He should have stuck with teasing and not progressed to action. But he didn’t have a lot of willpower where Wendy was concerned…and the idea that she was leaving had made him a little crazy.
He led the horses into their stalls, measured out their feed and filled the water pails. Good honest work and routine, that’s what he needed to forget about Lady Gwendolyn. And if he never could go back to the pond and swim without remembering her kisses…then he’d just have to build himself a swimming pool in the back of the house and learn to love chlorinated water over the purity of a natural spring.
Just like he was going to learn to live without the aggravation of a bossy, fussy English lady.
GWENDOLYN CHECKED EVERY phone number and source she could imagine, from Milos Anatole in Austin to the royal secretary in Belegovia to Prince Alexi’s mobile phone, but could find no clue to his whereabouts. Except for the call Hank said Mrs. Jacks had received from Kerry, it was as if Alexi had dropped off the face of the earth. She felt defeated, even though she told herself she had one more day before disaster struck.
Perhaps she should tell King Wilheim that Alexi was missing, she thought as she wandered into the kitchen. The uncertainty of the situation caused more stress than almost any reaction she could imagine—except losing her job, of course, and running back to England in disgrace. But she had to think about others, as well. The king would worry incessantly, calling out all types of Texas and United States officials to search for his son. Alexi would be angry because he’d been caught running away from his responsibilities. And Gwendolyn would tender her resignation before she was dismissed because that was the proper thing to do.
She wasn’t sure what was proper anymore, especially when it came to two infuriating look-alike men.
Her stomach growled, reminding her she’d eaten very little that day. Breakfast at the hotel in Austin, no lunch, just a little cheese and crackers beside the pool, followed by several long sips of wine and…Hank.
But she wasn’t going to think about him, his kisses or the caresses they’d shared. She’d stay focused on her job, so dedicated that she’d have no time to remember him…or how he’d made her feel.
“Stop it,” she scolded herself as she looked into the refrigerator. She needed food, a good night’s rest and a wayward prince to get her life back on track.
“There’s not much in there,” Hank announced, making her jump. Once again she hadn’t heard him enter the room because she’d been so caught up in her thoughts.
“I just need a little something. I’m absolutely knackered.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Tired,” she translated. “And I’m hungry.”
“Why don’t I drive on out to Schultze’s Roadhouse and pick up some dinner? They have pretty decent barbecue and burgers.” He paused, then continued. “I’d ask you to go with me, but I’m still not sure how to explain you to my friends and neighbors.”
“I understand.” She didn’t want to get into Hank’s pickup and go anywhere with him, either. She didn’t believe she could tolerate the tension that would surely fill the cab, or sit across from him at this “roadhouse” and watch him eat.
Gwendolyn shut the refrigerator, although she would have liked to hide behind the open door forever. “Very well, then. Please get some dinner for me.”
“Anything special?”
“Perhaps something with chicken or turkey. I’m sure I’ll like whatever you’d recommend.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you,” she said stiffly, almost grimacing at the polite way they now addressed each other. Gone was the teasing, the extravagant accent, the demands that had made Hank so very special.
And tomorrow she’d be gone, so it was for the best.
He grabbed his keys off the kitchen table. “I’ll be back in a half hour or so.”
Gwendolyn folded her arms across her chest and nodded. Within a minute, she heard the roar of the truck’s engine as he backed out, then spun around and rumbled down the drive.
She let out a sigh, then returned to the study. She’d use the time to compose some press releases, just in case Alexi showed up first thing in the morning.
And one just in case he didn’t.
BY THE TIME HANK RETURNED with dinner from the pub, Gwendolyn had set the table and made herself a cup of tea. She needed it, she told herself, to calm her nerves and ground her in this foreign land, where everything from the refrigerator in Hank’s kitchen to her runaway emotions were bigger than normal.
They managed some small talk about ranch life while she ate smoked turkey in a savory sauce and he devoured a rack of ribs. She learned that he’d bought the ranch five years ago, before he’d thought about retiring, because he’d always loved the land. Around here, he told her, you’d better get what you wanted when it was on the market, because it might not be available again for two generations.
Which made her think about what she wanted…Certainly not land in Texas, but what about her personal dreams? She’d put everything on hold for her career, which was understandable. She had no steady boyfriend in Belegovia because of her high-profile position; she simply didn’t feel comfortable becoming intimate with someone who might talk to the numerous paparazzi hanging around European palaces. She didn’t trust anyone to protect her privacy from the press.
Not like she trusted Hank, she thought with a jolt. When had that happened? She tried to remember a time when she didn’t trust him, but couldn’t think of a single moment. From the first time she’d explained the situation, she’d trusted him not to reveal the secret of Alexi’s disappearance. She wouldn’t have told Hank otherwise.
And he hadn’t disappointed her, not once. He’d behaved admirably in public, except for the suggestive words he’d whispered in her ear at the hospital press conference. And, if he wasn’t the model student, then he was at least entertaining. His insistence that life was too short to be serious all the time rang so true when he was tempting her with nights of dancing to country western music, strolling along the Riverwalk, drinking tequila sunrises or talking softly in his hotel suite.
“Finished?” he asked, breaking into her thoughts just when she was on the verge of discovering something important about herself.
“What?” She looked down at her turkey, most of which she’d apparently consumed while she’d been thinking about Hank. “Yes, I am. The meal was delicious. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Would you like dessert? I brought home some peach cobbler. Not made with Parker County peaches, mind you, which won’t be ripe until July, but pretty good, anyway.”
Gwendolyn smiled at the very Hank-like comment. “Then I suppose I should try some.” Another Texas experience to savor and store away for the long nights ahead in Belegovia…or in England.
He pushed away from the table, walked across the room and opened the freezer. “You need some Blue Bell vanilla ice cream or your cobbler just isn’t complete.”
“Just a little, please.”
He fixed them both bowls of steaming cobbler topped with scoops of creamy vanilla ice cream. His was twice as large as hers, which was only fitting since his appetite obviously wasn’t affected by their strained relationship. Or maybe she was being unfair. Perhaps Hank was better at controlling his feelings, or had more experience handlin
g tension than she.
“This is delicious,” she said politely as she dipped her spoon into the rapidly melting ice cream. “If I ever get to Texas again, I’ll be sure to try the version with the genuine Texas peaches.”
“You do that,” he said, staring down into his bowl as if it held the secrets of the universe.
“Well,” she said, pushing out of her chair and walking to the sink, “I’d like to take a shower if this is a good time for you.”
He stared at her blankly.
“I don’t want to use all the hot water or interfere with your schedule.”
“Don’t worry about it.” His spoon clanked in the dish. “I’ll clean up the kitchen while you take your shower. Take your time.”
Gwendolyn worried what she’d done to make him turn cool again, but she wasn’t going to push the situation into depths she wasn’t ready to descend. Hank was entitled to his own feelings. She only wished she understood hers better, because at the moment, she had the strongest urge to go to him, cradle his head against her breasts and apologize for knocking on his door several days ago. Apologize for letting him know how much she’d wanted him just hours ago…and how confused she was because she wanted him still.
THE HOUSE WAS QUIET as it often was this time of night. Outside his open bedroom window, spring insects sang to one another in a natural chorus Hank usually found soothing. Many evenings he’d drift off to sleep, his muscles tired from a full day of honest work, his mind clear of problems, listening to the insects, or sometimes the rain or wind. But tonight he wasn’t relaxed and his mind wasn’t clear.
He regretted being snippy with Wendy after their meal, but the implication that she might come back to Texas in the future—when they both knew that wasn’t true—had irritated him beyond belief. Then she’d thrown out the image of her in the shower and he’d just about lost it. He’d barely been able to talk to her after those comments, retreating to his study while she’d showered and did whatever women did in the bathroom at night.
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