This version of the prince, though? Well, the heat and power rolling off him could demand a little of her respect. She was big enough to concede she might need to leave one hand untethered.
“I won’t think less of you,” she finally said, knowing better than to tell a royal what she was really thinking.
“Okay, then.” As he spoke, he reached up and touched a strand of her hair, smoothing it back, letting his fingertips brush across her cheek.
Olivia remained stiff, shocked that he would do such a thing, reach out and touch her so casually. The stroke was deliberate, sweet. Nobody had touched her hair like that since she was a child, and an hour ago, she would have sworn that if anyone had tried, they’d have lost a few fingers.
Now? Something deep inside her didn’t mind so much.
“You’ve really caught me. I never do this,” he said.
“Do what?”
“What we’re about to do. I was that guy once, but I haven’t been for a long time. Yet here I am, ready to walk away with you, damn the consequences.”
“Oh, I know you’re not who you used to be,” she insisted. “Though, I must admit, I thought you would prove more resistant.”
“Hey, you said you’d still respect me in the morning.” He lifted his other hand, resting it on her bare shoulder, running his fingers across her skin as if noting its texture.
This connection, possessive and deliberate, shocked her more than the first. Especially because something deep inside her—a molten core of nearly forgotten femininity—reacted. Her first impulse wasn’t to throw the hand off and flip him onto his back for his temerity, but to curl even closer.
What is going on?
She didn’t understand. This was Ruprecht, the bane of her childhood, the weakest man she’d ever known. How could he be affecting her in such a way? Not even the most powerful warriors of Elatyria had ever elicited from her much more than a hint of interest for the way they could fell a sky-high beanstalk with one blow. Yet his touch had put a quiver in her center.
There was something wrong with the air here. Or perhaps with the food—she shouldn’t have sunk her teeth into that sweet, round confection with the hole in the center. It had addled her mind.
“You don’t mind me not resisting, do you?” he asked. Then, leaning even closer, until his lips actually brushed her temple, he added, “Because I admit, I find you irresistible.” As if he couldn’t help himself, he moved his mouth down, pressing faint kisses on her cheek, inching close to her mouth.
Shocked, Olivia couldn’t speak. She told herself it was merely surprise, but wasn’t sure why she didn’t pull away to remind him of his position—and hers. Instead, she stood there, stiff, unsure, even as he pressed that warm mouth against her own. She sucked in a surprised breath, parting her lips, and he took advantage. His tongue stole inside, languorously gliding against hers.
Olivia hadn’t been kissed in nearly a decade. Nor was she sure she’d ever been kissed like this. Warm and wet and deep.
Certainly no kiss had ever made her feel so…tingly. Right down to her feet. Warmth and heady pleasure stole through her, the connection of their lips seeming to touch her in so many other places. Mysterious places. Feminine places unused for many years.
She didn’t quite know what to do. So she simply let him taste her, fill her mouth with his flavor, wondering how it could possibly grow more pleasurable just because he lifted his hands to her face and cupped her cheeks.
“Relax,” he whispered. “Easy.”
She couldn’t do that, no matter how much she liked the sensations. Her entire body remained unyielding, the feelings too unusual, too unexpected to allow for anything like relaxation.
Finally, he ended the kiss and stared down at her, appearing a little disappointed. “Sorry. It isn’t the place. I’m sure you weren’t expecting that here.”
Almost shaking, Olivia sucked in a deep breath, regretting it when her lungs were filled with every masculine bit of him, which awakened her senses even more. Swallowing hard, she said, “No, I wasn’t expecting that.” Feeling unsure, she waved back and forth between them. “I wasn’t expecting any of this. Your kiss, your cooperation, none of it.”
“My cooperation?”
“No. I thought you might try to argue with me. I came here prepared to persuade you to my cause.”
Or to overpower you. Now she had to wonder, who was on the verge of overpowering whom?
“Your top persuaded me,” he muttered. His hot stare slid down her body and he added, “The skirt helped.”
Again puzzled, she scrunched her brow. Then she realized he meant her uniform. When Ruprecht had seen his mother had sent the Captain of the Amazonian Royal Guard to fetch him, he’d realized the woman was in a dangerous mood.
Thinking of the queen, she was at last able to force herself to step away, gain some distance. Without his touch, his scent—oh, Gods, his mouth—she could think more clearly. “I understand. You saw that I came dressed for business.”
He stiffened. “Business? Wait, this…you’re not a professional, right?”
The man had picked up some strange language habits over here, because she was having a difficult time understanding what he meant. “A professional what?”
Shaking his head, he said, “Never mind. Just a crazy thought. A working girl wouldn’t accost a john in a back alley.”
“You’re not a John,” she said, growing ever more confused.
“Definitely not.”
They stared at one another, and though Olivia still had the feeling they were talking at cross-purposes, she pushed the worry away. She needed to stop looking a gift unicorn in the mouth and accept that this mission had been easier than she’d expected.
Easier? Are you joking? Well, easier in one way. Much more difficult in another.
“Very well, then, shall we go? I want to have a lot of ground covered by sunrise.”
One side of his mouth curled up in a grin. “All night, huh?”
“You’ve the strength for it? The stamina?”
“It’s been a while, but I think I can manage,” he replied, his tone dry. His hand came up and he touched her hair again.
Jerking away, throwing off the strange sensations caused by his touch, she snapped, “I hope so. We don’t have time to waste. And I certainly don’t want to have to bear your weight if you can’t carry yourself.”
“Is that a nice way of saying you like to be on top?”
Wondering if he was challenging her for domination before they even began their journey, she said, “I won’t forget my place once we get back to the real world. Until then, I’m asking you to follow my lead and do what I say. It’s for your own protection.”
“Uh, who do I need protection from? You?”
“Certainly not. I would die for you.”
He stiffened. For the first time since she’d grabbed him, he looked disturbed, wary. Though why, she couldn’t say.
She supposed he had reason to be comfortable here, given that he appeared at least somewhat capable of defending himself. Perhaps he liked forgetting that he had enemies. But his nice new muscles wouldn’t stop a giant hungry for a royal appetizer, nor would his firm legs be able to outrun a herd of angry centaurs who’d vowed to punish his mother for encroaching on their lands.
“You know as well as I do that your family’s enemies would enjoy having you at their mercy, Your Majesty. You can’t have forgotten that in your time away.”
He suddenly bent over, coughing into his fist. Worried, Olivia dared to touch the royal person once more, pounding him on the back. “Are you all right?”
More coughing.
“Rupie, are you ill?”
Finally, he stopped and straightened. His amusement gone, his eyes no longer twinkling, he asked, “What did you call me?”
She flushed, bowing her head, put firmly back in her place, even though he’d been the one who’d kissed her a few minutes ago. “I beg your pardon, Prince Ruprecht, forgive my im
pertinence.”
The prince started to walk away, mumbling something, then turned and stalked back, edging closer, one step at a time. She reacted by taking small steps back. This time, she was the one who ended up crowded against the brick building.
She allowed it, knowing he was more annoyed at her for reminding him of a childish nickname than he’d been when she’d pinned him by the throat. Bad move, Captain. Ruprecht’s moods had always been terribly mercurial.
“That name you called me. Rupie.”
“Again, I apologize…”
“Why’d you call me that?
“It was an awful breach of protocol, Your Majesty.”
He lifted a hand and thrust it through his thick hair, so much longer than she’d ever seen it, then peered fiercely into her eyes. “Are you stoned? What are you on?”
“Stoned?” She frowned, revolted. “Stoning has been banned for centuries!”
Her response seemed to confuse him. “What is your name?”
Shocked, she shook her head. “Surely you know me, Your Majesty. We played together as children.”
“Humor me.”
“I am Olivia Vanderbrook, Captain of the Guard.” You’ve known me your whole life, you dolt!
“Okay, Olivia. Here’s the thing. I’m not Rupie.”
“I should never have called you by that…”
“Shut up and let me finish. I’m not Rupie, I’m not this Rup-rick, I’m not a majesty, and I have no idea what the hell is going on.” He leaned closer, crowding her even more. A frisson of excitement jolted through her as she realized he might have gained the upper hand on her physically, at least for the minute it would take her to twist him in a knot and put him on his back.
Then she stopped focusing on how close he was—how big, strong and present—and thought about his words. “What, what did you say? You…you’re not…”
“No. I’m not.”
Another inch closer, she could now feel the warmth of his breaths on her skin, not to mention the blazing heat of his body.
“Which means,” he added in a throaty whisper, “that you need to start talking.”
3
THOUGH HE WANTED ANSWERS immediately, Rafe knew they couldn’t stay here in the alley. The crowd would be pouring out of the club after last call in a few minutes, and some overly amorous woman—or man, he ruefully conceded—would almost certainly interrupt. So he took her arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
He again noted her incredibly soft, silky skin covering sculpted muscle before she jerked it away.
“What is this madness you speak? Have you been bewitched?”
Sighing as he wondered whether this was some big, fat joke or if she was simply nutso, he said, “That crowd is going to be coming out soon. We need to go.”
She glanced toward the back door, then the street.
“My place is a few blocks from here. I want you to come with me and tell me all about this Rupie guy, because you’re not the first person to mistake me for him.”
Rising on tiptoe, though he was only a few inches taller, she studied him, like she was looking over a horse for purchase.
He let her. Rafe’s libido had been in charge for the initial part of this conversation, but his brain had finally caught up. Though his first conclusion was that this was some role-playing game, and his second that she was stark, raving mad, he’d come up with a few more. All of which he wanted to talk about.
And none of which included him getting laid tonight.
Because whether she was a prostitute or a mental patient or someone his buddies had hired to play a joke on him, the spark he’d felt from the minute he’d seen her obviously hadn’t really been returned. Her total nonreaction to his kiss confirmed it.
To be honest, that disappointed him more than anything else.
“I’m going. Come with me, or don’t,” he snapped, turning on his heel and heading across the street.
As expected, she came, her long strides eating up the ground as she kept pace with him. They didn’t speak for the few minutes it took to get to his place, but he noticed the way her eyes kept moving, constantly scanning dark corners and shadowy spaces. She was on alert, tense and coiled like a big cat on the prowl.
Hot. So hot.
Crazy. So freaking crazy.
Trying to avoid that whole idea, he focused on some of the other possible explanations as he led her up to his loft apartment. Some were better than others. Some worse.
Locking the door and gesturing for her to precede him inside, he said, “Make yourself at home.”
She took one step, cautious, only going in after he’d flipped the light switch. “Ooh,” she said. Looking up, her eyes widened in appreciation as she stared toward the ceiling, which was, indeed, impressive. He’d spent months uncovering the original beams and installing the soft oak planking that he’d painstakingly put into place. He’d worked almost upside down on a scaffold to get the joints straight and make the seams disappear.
“’Tis like a tree house.”
“That’s what I was going for,” he admitted. “Took a while, but it was worth it.”
“You are claiming you had something to do with this craftsmanship?” she asked, sounding accusing.
“Did every inch of it with my own two hands.”
She hesitated, then, without a word, grabbed one of his hands. Lifting it, she traced a fingertip over his calluses, appearing fascinated by his rough palms and blunt fingers.
Though her skin was silky, her grip was strong, too. Just like the rest of her. She was a contradiction. Beautiful and soft, yet hard, almost ruthless. Blunt yet incomprehensible. Smart, but out of touch with reality. Or so it seemed.
There has to be an explanation.
Finally, she let him go. “I don’t understand.”
“That makes two of us. Let’s sit down and figure it out.”
She glanced at the big sectional couch dominating the large, open space that flowed directly into a small kitchen on one side, and a sleeping area on the other. Saying nothing, she walked to the center of the room and dropped to the floor. One leg tucked beneath her, the other bent, knee up, she looked ready to launch to her feet again in an instant. Primed for danger.
Or some other kind of action. He just didn’t know what kind.
“Did Adam hire you? Or Jeremy? Are you a prostitute?”
“Prostitute?” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you mean a strumpet?”
“Yeah. I guess that’s one way to put it.”
“No, I am not,” she said, sounding like she’d chewed the words up before spitting them out.
That was good. The possibility had been a slim one. He hadn’t mentioned being called by that strange name—Rupie—before tonight, so his friends couldn’t have cued her to it as part of her seduction plan. Still, he liked crossing it off the list altogether. Though it probably didn’t speak well of him that he considered “absolutely insane” better than “hooker.”
“So what’s the story? Are you an actress?” He gestured toward her clothes. “I mean, given the outfit, the mystery, the whole Amazon warrior schtick…”
“I am an Amazon warrior,” she snapped, still sounding really ticked about his prostitute remark.
“Yeah. And I’m Humpty Dumpty.”
“No, you are not,” she said, serious, apparently worried he was the one who’d left a few brain cells back in the nineties. “Humpty Dumpty never existed. He was merely an allegory for the inability of an ancient king to make things right for the chicken farmers in his country. He’s a fictional character, like…like George Washington, meant to impart a lesson.”
“The whole cherry tree thing, huh? Ha ha.”
She ignored the interruption. “You’re Prince Ruprecht, heir to the throne of Grand Falls. And you’ve either been bewitched or injured in some manner, for you have forgotten who you are.” She waved toward his hands. “Someone has stolen your memory and tricked you into doing some form of manual labor.”
Igno
ring all the rest of the crap, he zoned in on the most interesting part of her crazy story. “I’m a prince, huh?”
“Yes. Prince Ruprecht.” She then proceeded to spell it out for him. Literally.
“From where again?”
“Great Falls.”
“Is that in Europe?”
“No, it’s in Elatyria.”
He couldn’t resist teasing her. “How’s that one spelled?”
She huffed a little, then told him.
Rafe had never been fond of geography. But he didn’t remember ever hearing the name of that place before. “Not ringing any bells.”
“What do bells have to do with it? Your mother, the queen, sent me to find you and fetch you back for your coronation.”
Plopping onto the couch and lifting his feet onto the coffee table, Rafe replied, “My mother’s a hairdresser in Reseda.”
Their eyes met, locked, hers a stormy green that said she didn’t like being questioned. His probably skeptical, wondering what she was up to.
But when she didn’t look away, and that frown didn’t come close to fading, he thought of one way to get her to admit she had made a mistake—something he doubted she did very often. Rafe leaned forward and pulled a photo album off the bottom shelf of the table. Opening it, he pushed it across to the hot blonde who was a couple of notes short of a chord.
“See? That’s my mother. That’s me with her.”
Olivia studied the photograph, taken two years ago when he’d gone home for Christmas. She began flipping pages, slowly at first, then quickly. Back to his childhood, then forward to now.
“I do not understand,” she whispered, setting the book down.
“I guess I have a double,” Rafe admitted. “Like I said, you aren’t the first person who’s mistaken me for him recently.”
She hesitated, as if trying to take it in. “Very recently?”
“It started about four months ago. Just a couple of times at first, but now it’s happening a lot.” Sighing, he added, “Believe me, I’m not happy about it. This prince of yours, is he a little light in the loafers?”
“What are loafers?”
Leslie Kelly, Jennifer LaBrecque Page 3