“I wasn’t a virgin,” she reminded him.
“Yeah, babe, you were,” he said, so tender, sweet. He lifted a hand to her face, cupping her cheek, twining his fingers in her hair. “Besides, the woman I’m going to spend my wedding night with has a knife strapped to her thigh. Nobody’s going to get close to my heart…except her.”
Olivia froze, unsure of his meaning, even though it wasn’t too difficult to understand.
“This isn’t the time, and it isn’t the place. But I’m telling you now, Olivia Vanderbrook, when this is over, and we’re free, I’m going to ask you a question.”
She licked her lips, gazing into his beautiful eyes, memorizing each line and curve of his handsome face. This man was risking his life, not just for her but for her family—for those she cared about, people he’d never even met. He was willing to lay down everything not just to keep her safe, but to make her happy.
Did his world make many such men? Hers certainly didn’t. She had never met a single one.
“Go,” he told her. “I’ll buy you as much time as I can.”
She thrust her hands into his hair and tugged him close. “I’ll be back for you, even if I have to slay a dragon, I will come back,” she promised, then kissed him, hard, fast, deep, then added, “I swear it.”
“I know.”
Moving closer to the door, he backed against it to prevent anyone from entering until she’d made her escape.
She climbed back onto the ledge.
“I love you, Olivia,” he told her with a simple smile that reached into her chest and twisted her heart.
And then she jumped.
8
THE DAY OF HIS CORONATION dawned bright and clear, and from within his badly decorated, stuffy room, Rafe could hear the maids singing and the guards whistling like they were all part of some movie made by Walt Disney.
Oh. And Wes Craven.
Because though it was cheerful, it was also shaping up to be pretty damn scary.
Rafe no longer had any doubt Olivia was right about Queen Verona’s plans. The woman had all but admitted it, daring him to challenge her intentions for his wedding to a princess named Bumblebee or Butterfly or Bambi or something, a young woman who lived in a neighboring kingdom and had the personality of a freshly pulled turnip. He had no doubt she would be easy for Verona to control once she managed to get rid of him.
The queen hadn’t gone as far as accusing him of being an imposter. But she had talked about arranging a “proof of lineage” ceremony before the coronation. All so he could show his bare, totally not birthmarked backside to a bunch of people who would immediately realize he wasn’t the prince of the realm.
My kingdom for a purple Sharpie.
Rafe didn’t fear that Olivia wouldn’t return. Honestly, his biggest fear was that she would—alone. Ruprecht was a stubborn man. If he still didn’t want to come home—even knowing it could cost Rafe his life—the prince would probably do everything he could to escape her.
She’d come anyway. Of that, he had no doubt.
And the queen would be waiting for her.
Ever since Olivia had leapt out of his window, Verona had been making ominous comments about her “unreliable” captain of the guard. Rafe had said she’d received some urgent message from home and had to leave, but the queen hadn’t really bought it.
Still, she hadn’t ordered Olivia’s arrest. She had to fear Rafe would back out of everything if she did. But he knew it was only a matter of time. Once the crown was on his head and a ring on his finger, Olivia’s name would be on a death warrant. No doubt about it.
“Are you ready, Your Majesty?” asked one of the tailors who’d made this awful, ugly coronation costume. With the amount of gold and precious jewels on the thing, it should have come from Tiffany’s.
“I’m fine,” he barked. “When do we have to go?”
The tailor bobbed his head, bowing. “Within the hour.”
Which meant, in Earth time, about fifty minutes.
He had that long to figure out how to remain single, not to mention alive, throughout the night.
Soon enough, that hour came to an end. Two armed guards—men, not Amazons, who might be more loyal to Olivia—came to his door to escort him to the great hall, where rulers from all the kingdoms were waiting to see him take over as king of Grand Falls.
Including his so-called mother. Not to mention his so-called wife.
His head up, he walked down the long stone corridor, hearing the ominous click of his fussy shoes on the floor. The two guards clomped along behind him.
But suddenly, between one stride and the next, he heard an extra tap. He strode again—heard the clomps, and another tap. Soft, nearly inaudible. He figured it was meant for his ears alone, so he could ready himself for her assault.
Rafe was smiling before he reached the junction between the private quarters and the public part of the castle.
Because they were being followed. Stalked.
“Oh, dear,” he said, imitating Ruprecht as he dropped a nauseatingly scented handkerchief to the floor. He stared at it, arrogant, knowing a prince would never bend over to retrieve it for himself. Of course, one of the guards did.
Olivia leapt the moment the guy’s knee hit the stone floor. Swinging on a velvet tapestry, she flew out from a side hallway, her booted feet sending the upright guard flying. She landed in a squat, swinging her leg to kick the kneeling one in the face. Her fists were as fast as her feet and in less than twenty seconds, both men were flat on their backs, unconscious.
Three seconds after that, she was in his arms.
“Rafe!” she cried, throwing herself against him. He caught her, tangling his hands in her blond hair, looking down at her beautiful, exhausted face.
“Cutting it a little close, weren’t you, babe?” he asked.
She didn’t answer. Instead, Prince Ruprecht, who emerged from the side corridor, did. “Sorry. I asked her to wait until we at least got to do our number for the semifinals.”
We. Rafe peered past the prince, seeing an average-looking guy whose eyes were about the size of dinner plates hovering behind Ruprecht. This, he assumed, was Jess. Who looked like he feared he’d landed in Mother Goose hell.
Ruprecht, who sounded much more subdued and looked much more regal than he had the last time Rafe had seen him, extended his hand in an Earth-like gesture of friendship. “I owe you an apology. I never dreamed my mother would sink to such depths. I would not have asked you to do this had I thought you would actually be in any danger.”
Rafe shook his double’s hand. “I know that.”
The future king, his posture straight, his voice deep and unwavering, asked, “Are we ready, then?”
“More than,” Rafe told the prince, shrugging out of the royal robes and handing them over. “You have a plan?”
Olivia answered. “Yep. First things first. Ruprecht gets the crown on his head. Once he’s officially king, he gets Queen Verona alone to prove to her that he’s the real deal, then breaks his engagement.”
“And sends mother off to a distant castle,” the prince added, “where she will live out the rest of her days under guard.”
“Yep, that sounds like a plan, all right.” Rafe grinned at the prince. “I would love to see the queen’s face when you moon her to prove who you really are.”
The prince, who’d spent a lot of time in the U.S. of A., obviously knew what he meant, because he laughed heartily. Though his laughter faded, his smile remained as he said, “I hear you’ve done some good things since you’ve been here.”
He shrugged. “Common sense stuff.”
“Earth common sense,” Ruprecht said. “Some of which, you might be glad to know, has rubbed off.”
Rafe was glad to hear that. “Just try to go easy on the dwarf union. They really did get screwed on that last mining contract.”
“Done. Goodbye, Rafe Cabot.”
“Goodbye, Your Majesty.”
Ruprecht and Olivia exc
hanged a long look, then the prince and his friend walked a few paces down the corridor to give them privacy.
“You need to go,” she said as soon as they were alone. “Two of my most trusted lieutenants are waiting outside with fresh horses. They’ll get you to the borderland.”
“Why can’t I wait for you?”
“Rafe, no matter what the prince says, you and I both know Queen Verona isn’t going to take this quietly. She likes this new plan of hers. She’ll fight, and some who are loyal to her will help.”
He tensed, not liking the thought of her going into some kind of battle.
“If you’re here, she’ll try to use you to discredit the prince, raise doubts about his intentions and his judgment. You have to go.”
That made sense. But he didn’t think it was the whole story.
“Is that all? Or are you desperate to get me out of the line of arrow-fire?”
She shrugged, a weary smile tugging at her mouth. “Well, there is that.”
He stepped closer, dropping his hands to cup her waist, his fingertips stroking small circles on her back. “You know, Olivia Vanderbrook, you make it awfully hard for a guy to be your knight in shining armor.”
He didn’t doubt she knew what he meant. In one of their late-night conversations in his bed, he’d told her about that, admitting he’d made mistakes in his effort to save women from their own sad situations.
She’d told him the day she needed a man to save her was the day she gave up her sword for a funeral shroud.
“Don’t worry about it.” She wrinkled her nose. “The real ones—noble and chivalrous, sweeping their ladies off their feet—are all gone. Those who are left are flatulent and crass.”
“Such a romantic,” he said, laughing as he bent to kiss her softly, gently.
She kissed him back, sliding her arms around his neck, pressing hard against him, as if she feared letting go. But she didn’t relax in his embrace, remaining tense, a little stiff.
A hint of worry began to crawl up his spine.
When the kiss ended, he said, “Okay, beautiful. Go have fun playing war.” His voice light, he added, “When can I expect you to join me?”
Her eyes dropped closed.
And that’s when he knew why she’d been tense.
“You’re not coming,” he whispered.
She shook her head.
“Ever.”
Another shake, and her eyes opened again. They swam with moisture, emotion. “I can’t, Rafe. My duty…”
“Is to yourself,” he snapped. “Or it should be. To your own happiness. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
She licked her lips, then stepped back, her body hardening even as her voice grew soft and tremulous. “I want to be with you. Truly. But I have promised Ruprecht I would take Verona away and guard over her so she doesn’t try to cause trouble. I fear she might try to incite a civil war.”
“There are plenty of other soldiers in this kingdom,” he said, not believing she was choosing this solitary, sad life over what they had together.
“It’s a great honor to be asked,” she murmured. “I will be high in the king’s favor, which means…”
“That your family will be, too.”
She nodded once.
He couldn’t let it end like this, couldn’t let her walk away. “Don’t do this. Come with me, Liv.”
The prince cleared his throat, and at their feet, the two guards groaned as they started to come around. Loud bells began to peal and he knew the kingdom was being called to celebrate the impending crowning of the new king.
They sounded like the bells out of Poe’s nightmare. Like sadness, loss. The end.
“Don’t,” he urged her.
“I have no other choice,” she whispered. “Goodbye, Rafe.”
Then, turning her back to him, the woman he loved walked solemnly to her monarch, and led him to his coronation.
9
Ten Days Later
THE DOWNTOWN SAN FRANCISCO bar was packed.
Laughing, drinking revelers filled every table, and each bit of floor space was taken up with women in tight dresses and men trying to look down them. The exchange of drinks and smiles for meaningless sex was all but given.
A meat market.
Olivia hadn’t understood that term before. Now she got it. And considering how many of the women here had been talking about the hot, sexy lead singer of the band, as if he were a juicy side of mutton and they a pack of hungry dogs, she definitely did not like it.
As she stood in the shadows, in a corner near the door, she tried to figure out what she was going to say to Rafe when they finally came face-to-face.
It probably depended on his expression. Would he be happy to see her? Would he possibly repeat those amazing words he had whispered before she’d leapt out of the castle window?
I love you.
Did he still? Could he possibly still care for her after she’d rejected him, choosing her career, her duty, her family, over what they could have together?
She’d regretted that choice as soon as she’d turned around and walked away from him. It had been all she could do not to let the prince see the tears filling the eyes of his strongest, most powerful guard.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. They would be the first words she would say. She only hoped he would want to hear the rest.
She’d been watching him for an hour, having slipped into the bar while his band performed, but staying out of sight. It had been enough to watch him for a while, drink in his familiar face while noting the slight gauntness in his cheeks and the weariness in his eyes.
He looked unwell. As if he’d been sick, or hadn’t slept for a fortnight.
She understood. Their separation had been the same for her. She hadn’t slept a full night since she’d let him get away.
“Last call!” the man behind the bar said, his voice rising to be heard over the song Rafe and his group had started to perform.
Time was running out. No more lurking in the shadows, waiting with the kind of uncertainty she had never, in her life, felt about anything. She took a deep breath and eased through the throng, winding her way toward the stage.
Listening to the song, she never took her eyes off the singer. As she moved, she thought about the first time she’d laid eyes on him, the way she hadn’t liked his music.
Now she knew why.
It stirred her, aroused her, and she hadn’t been able to deal with that before. Never having felt desire, she had been uncomfortable with the instinctive way her body had reacted to his raw, sensual performance.
Now that she understood, she realized why her heart was pounding and she felt edgy. Aware.
Rafe’s raspy voice defined sexy, and the evocative word pictures he painted made her think wild, sensual thoughts. The hard, thrumming beat reverberated deep inside her, reminding her of the way they would lose themselves in deep, pounding passion.
Oh, she definitely liked his songs now. She thought she could listen to him sing every day for the rest of her life and always react with that primal hunger.
“Hey, watch out…” someone said as she pushed past the final few people surrounding the stage.
She ignored them, knowing immediately when Rafe spotted her. He stumbled over his words, falling silent right in the middle of a verse.
Olivia looked up at him, seeing the shock on his handsome face. Shock—but nothing more that she could identify. His eyes didn’t light up with happiness, nor did he smile in greeting. And he said not a word. Instead, he simply stared down at her, hard, intensity rolling off him as the seconds dragged on and he continued to ignore everyone else in the room.
Then, without a word, he pulled his instrument—his guitar—up and off his shoulders. He shoved it to one of his surprised-looking bandmates. Olivia held her breath, not knowing if he was going to storm out without even speaking to her. It would be no more than she deserved.
She let the breath out when he hopped off the stage right
in front of her. And sighed with utter happiness when, still saying nothing, Rafe lifted his hands, slid them into her hair and pulled her forward to kiss her.
Flooded with joy, Olivia threw her arms around his neck. Parting her lips, she kissed him back, deeply and hungrily. She pressed against him, soaking up the heat and power of his sweat-slicked body, inhaling his manly scent, letting herself believe he was really here and really wanted her and she was never going to be parted from him again.
Finally, he ended the kiss, but he didn’t let her go, continuing to cup her face.
“What are you…”
“I’m sorry!”
They smiled as their words overlapped.
“It took me a while,” she said, “but I got here.”
“Have to slay any dragons along the way?”
“Not yet,” she said with a shy smile. “But you never know.”
He kissed her again, even deeper this time, and she began to shake, her legs trembling as desire and emotion and love and gratitude flooded her body.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said when they drew apart.
“Yes, please.”
Without warning, he bent and swooped her off her feet, one powerful arm looped beneath her bare knees, the other curled around her back. Every place his fingers touched, her skin tingled with delight.
He carried her like a damsel, easily, as if she weighed nothing at all. For the first time in her life, Olivia felt feminine and claimed, cherished and wanted.
Glancing over his shoulder at his friends, he mouthed something. They nodded, smiling broadly at Olivia. She smiled back, thinking about this new life she’d have to get used to—meeting other people, getting to know them in this strange new place.
There were good things to explore—like television, and the movies Ruprecht had gone on about. There were also bad ones—like stoplights and exact change. Olivia felt ready to confront them with all of her warrior’s heart, as long as Rafe was right there with her. Or, sometimes, carrying her.
She tightened her arms around his neck, amazed at how much she liked this. Being literally swept off her feet.
Leslie Kelly, Jennifer LaBrecque Page 10