by Lori Wilde
She’d taken her old nursemaid’s last name, and that felt right too. Annabella had been closer to Rosalind Coste than she had ever been to her own mother.
Immediately, that thought made her feel disloyal. It was unfair to gauge her mother against Rosalind. Queen Evangeline had died at age fifty-two of a heart attack at her mother’s funeral. In the course of one short week, eight-year-old Annabella had lost both her mother and her only surviving grandparent. If she was being truthful, she scarcely missed them. Rosalind was the one who had really raised her.
But Brady’s mouth was doing crazy things to her, making her stomach pitch and her knees wobble, and she forgot about all that ancient history.
His tongue strummed lightly over her lips, his breath came in hot, electric waves against her skin. The intimate taste of him flooded her with intense, unexpected desire. She melted against his chest, shaken to the core, aroused and hoarding every sensation lighting up her body, tucking it into her memory for those long, tedious years ahead with Teddy.
She forgot they were in the dining room of a truck stop. She forgot that she had asked him to kiss her in the first place because her bodyguards, Chandler and Strawn, had somehow traced her here in spite of the disguise she donned and she was desperate to hide her face. She forgot about everything except Brady Talmadge and the fact she had a very narrow window of time in which to live out her dreams.
Knowing this experience was short made it that much sweeter. At any moment, Chandler could clamp his hand on one shoulder, Strawn on the other, and they would drag her back to the limo, back to the president’s compound to collect her things, and then back to the private plane that would whisk her back to Monesta. Adventure over before it ever really began.
She was making the most out of every second. She had her eyes wide open. She knew precisely what she was doing.
Annie curled her fingers through Brady’s unruly cocoa-colored hair. His masculine scent—leather, spice, and cotton—filled her nostrils. He was sheer rugged poetry. His dark eyes drew her in, the romance of the West. She’d been fascinated with cowboys since childhood when Rosalind had read her bedtime stories from the novels of Louis L’Amour and Zane Grey.
It felt like the wickedest kind of freedom, stolen and sweet. What she was doing was wrong. She knew it, and yet, for the first time in her life, she felt as if she’d found her true self. She was so tired of rules and protocol and performing her duties. She always worked hard to be a good girl, a good daughter, and a good princess. She accepted her fate of marrying wealthy Prince Theodore without complaint because it was good politics for her country. She’d been born into privilege and luxury. She knew how lucky she was. She felt guilty for wanting more, for longing to be ordinary.
But Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday had wanted the same thing. Just one sweet taste of an ordinary life. One brief period of time when the heavy yoke of noble responsibility was off her shoulders. Audrey gave her hope for a short-term reprieve.
While other young girls dreamed of being royalty, Annie had dreamed of going to school like a normal child instead of having tutors come to her. She longed for friends she picked herself rather than having confidantes selected for her. She ached to go out alone without an entourage of bodyguards and yes-people tagging along.
In childhood, she used to lie in bed at night and imagine that Gypsies had kidnapped her from her cradle in the middle of the night. Stolen her from her real family. Jack and Jane Jones, who lived in a cottage by the sea and ate bacon and scrambled egg sandwiches for supper.
She pretended she had lots of brothers and sisters and she had to wear hand-me-downs and walk to school because her family had only one car. Of course, she couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation for how she had ended up in the household of King Phillip and Queen Evangeline, or why the Gypsies would steal such an ordinary girl.
But it was a fantasy she could not conquer. Annabella had always felt like a fish out of water. She once thought that other children of royalty might feel this way as well, so on one of the courtship dates, she asked Teddy if this was what it had been like for him growing up, if he too felt as if he didn’t belong on the throne. Did his heart long for an ordinary life among ordinary people?
He had looked at her as if she had completely lost her mind. “Annabella,” he said, placing his palm on her forehead, “do you have a fever?”
No, she did not have a fever, just a heartfelt longing for normalcy. But considering Teddy’s reaction, she was way off base about how other royals felt about their lot in life. But of course he would not question his path; how silly of her to have considered it. This was a man who would be king. A man who loved playing polo, his silver Bugatti, skiing the Swiss Alps, flying his Gulfstream on weekend jaunts to Monte Carlo. A man who had christened his yacht The Teddy Too. A man with an irrational fear of mice, mentholated medications, tetherballs, and therapeutic massage. Why would he long for a regular Joe life?
Brought up to be a perfect princess by never rocking the boat, Annie had smiled at Teddy, forced a laugh. “I was simply making a joke.”
“Well,” he said, “don’t bring that up with anyone else. People would not understand.”
No, she supposed they wouldn’t. Most people would give their eyeteeth to be members of a royal family. What they didn’t understand was that royalty carried such a tremendous burden. She didn’t feel up for the job. But no one wanted to hear the rich and privileged whine about their problems. So Annabella shut up and tucked her secret away, but she never stopped longing for the experience of just once in her life being like everyone else.
And now here she was, kissing a cowboy in a truck stop restaurant. A dream come true.
Maybe she could make this last just a wee bit longer. She knew it had to end, even if Chandler and Strawn had left for now. They’d be back. And if they couldn’t find her, once they accepted defeat, they’d gird their loins and grit their teeth and call her father and admit they’d lost her. Then the media hoopla would begin. Would her thin disguise be enough to save her at that point?
Briefly, she felt sorry for her bodyguards. They didn’t deserve to lose their jobs because she’d given them the slip. When this was over, she’d talk to her father and make sure they kept their positions. It wasn’t their fault. She and Echo had been plotting this caper for months. Echo was the only one who even semi-understood Annie’s motives.
In the meantime, Annie was fully enjoying this kiss. She might never get another kiss from anyone except Teddy, and that depressed her more than she could say.
It was not that Teddy was such a bad guy. He was okay enough for a balding, short man with a banty rooster strut. It wasn’t as if there were many options. For the most part, royalty still married royalty. Yes, Prince William had married Kate Middleton, but Monesta wasn’t as forward thinking as England. Potential suitors for her hand arose from a very small pool of candidates. Teddy had been the best of the limited lot.
Then Brady slipped his hot tongue between her lips and all other thoughts flew from her head. Unbelievable, this sensation. Sheer heaven.
At last she let go of her fears, loosened her jaw, let him in, and succumbed fully and completely.
He cradled her in his arms, at once bold, yet gentle, exploring her with his lips. She closed her eyes, savoring everything—the taste of his warm mouth, the feel of his arms tightening around her waist, the sound of patrons chuckling. They were on display, but she didn’t care. That in itself was something. She’d been groomed, schooled, educated on the proper etiquette in every social situation. She’d been taught never to show her true emotions. Never do anything in public that would embarrass her or the House of Farrington.
For over twenty-four years, she had kowtowed. Obeyed the rules. Done as she’d been told.
Now, she was flaunting her freedom.
It would not last. Could not last. She knew that. She had a responsibility to the people of Monesta, even though her father had remarried a much younger woman and h
er stepmother Birgit had given birth to Annabella’s half brother Prince Henry, which meant she would never sit on the throne. She had been indoctrinated into service of her country from birth. It was as much a part of her as the color of her hair. Which for now was dyed jet black. She had chopped it off short with a pair of scissors in Echo Glover’s bathroom and colored it with hair dye Echo had smuggled in for her.
For the first time it occurred to her that she could be big trouble for anyone who came to her assistance. People like Echo, who’d helped her elude her bodyguards, and Brady, who’d been so kind to pick her up on the roadside and buy her a meal.
Guilt hobbled her and she put a hand to his chest, pushed him away, broke the kiss.
The dining room erupted in applause.
Annie’s cheeks heated. She ducked her head. This was bad. Calling attention to herself. If she wanted her six-week-long adventure, she definitely had to maintain a low profile, especially if Chandler and Strawn were still in the vicinity. She darted a glance out the window and saw to her relief that the limo had departed. They were gone.
She drew in a shaky breath. Reached up to finger her lips still tingling from Brady’s kiss.
He possessed a strong chin stubbled with dark beard. The rough scruff had scratched her skin during the kiss, but in a wholly attractive way. Teddy never had beard stubble, his cheeks baby-butt smooth. Then again, he never kissed like that. Full of raw, hungry passion that made her toes curl inside her cowboy boots.
Brady’s eyes were the color of strong coffee—black and hot. His nose was straight and just a bit too big for his face, but it lent him a noble air, a king by nature, if not by birth. But while his face declared power, his manner suggested easygoing fun. He walked with a slow, loose-limbed gait as if nothing alarmed or excited him. He had a bad-boy glimmer in his eyes, and Annie suspected women stood in line to capture his attention.
“Well,” he said, “well.”
That’s when she knew their kiss had left him as speechless as it had her. What did you say after a kiss like that? My world has been upended, never to be righted again? Of course she couldn’t say that, but she felt it. Her stomach rose, fell, lurched. Jubilance buoyed her. It was crazy, getting swept away by the first man she met on her adventure.
But that’s the way it had happened for Princess Ann. Joe Bradley all the way. Honestly, if she squinted, Brady did have a bit of Gregory Peck in him. The height. The lankiness. The steady, easy speech.
Brady fished out his wallet. Laid money on the table, picked up his cowboy hat, and settled it on his head. “As pleasurable as that was, Buttercup, I’ve got to hit the road.”
Buttercup.
He’d called her Buttercup. Another movie princess. Princess Buttercup from The Princess Bride.
Had he somehow guessed who she was? Her pulse somersaulted. Was her game over?
But no, he was smiling without suspicion in his eyes. Guileless.
That was when she realized the jukebox was playing “Build Me Up Buttercup.” He had stolen the nickname from a 1960s-era song about a fickle girlfriend, but she did not mind. Annie smiled back. No matter where he’d gotten it, Buttercup was a term of endearment. Flattered, she pressed a hand to her chest. No one besides Rosalind had ever used a term of endearment for her and Rosalind called her Noodle. Buttercup was a step up. Perhaps it was the cowboy way. Giving out nicknames that made a woman feel special. She embraced the word.
Buttercup.
“I will be right with you,” she said, picking up her satchel. Lady Astor moved inside the carrier. She could feel the little dog against her rib cage. “I must first visit the . . .” She paused, unaccustomed to speaking about bodily functions in public.
“Oh, I’m not taking you with me,” he said.
“What?” She tried not to sound alarmed, but she heard it in her voice. “You are going to leave me here alone?”
“This is where I found you.”
“But you were going to give me a ride to Jubilee.”
“I never said that.”
“What am I going to do? Where am I going to go?” She was disappointed, but now she sounded needy. She did not wish to sound needy. Needy was unattractive. So was fear. But the shine was swiftly wearing off her adventure.
Not yet. Not so soon. She was just getting started.
“I’ll give you some money so you can get a room for the night,” he said.
“What have I done to displease you?” It was something she asked her father quite frequently. He was the kind of man who withheld his affection when she displeased him. Now she was sounding desperate to go along with the neediness. Unbecoming.
Stop whining. You are a princess. You do not need to beg or cling.
“You pleased me too much,” he said gruffly.
She frowned. “I do not understand.”
“That kiss . . .” He shook his head. “Well, it could get a man into a lot of trouble.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re a fine-looking woman, probably real nice too. In fact, you’re too nice.”
“You are abandoning me because I am nice?” Perplexed, she stared at him.
“You’re a big complication and I’m an uncomplicated guy. With me what you see is what you get.”
She raised her chin. “I see a chicken.”
A grin crawled across his handsome face. “You’re going for the insults, huh? Does that normally work for you?”
“I just want a ride.”
“Somehow, I don’t believe that.”
“Sir, obviously you have mistaken me for a woman of loose moral character,” she said.
His grin widened. “Those are your words, not mine.”
Why was she holding on to him so tightly? She didn’t need Brady Talmadge to have an adventure. True, he was the most magnificent kisser she had ever come across.
He’s only the second man you’ve ever kissed. How would you know? Let him go.
But it was raining outside and he made her feel safe and . . . and . . . She wanted to go with him. To see this town called Jubilee, to watch him whisper to horses. It might not make much sense to anyone else, it did not really make much sense to her, but the impulse punched against her hard.
“All right,” she said, pulling the strap of the satchel up higher on her shoulder and flapping her hand dismissively. “Away with you.”
She didn’t need him.
Hmm, just as Audrey Hepburn had not needed Gregory Peck?
That was a movie. This was different. She learned from Audrey. She had Lady Astor for company, five hundred dollars in a secret compartment in the satchel. It had been all the money she could get her hands on. Her trust fun paid a monthly stipend to her bank account, but she wasn’t allowed to carry her own cash. Or as her mother had been fond of saying, filthy lucre should never sully royal hands. Cash was crass.
Chandler and Strawn provided her with money when she needed it and she had credit cards. But if she used the credit cards, she could be traced. She planned on getting a job to tide her over through the next six weeks. She wanted a job. Longed to have the pleasure of making her own money. Yearned to feel that surge of independence one presumably got from providing for oneself.
And she would have it. She was determined. She didn’t need Brady to make her dreams come true. There would be other cowboys. She would meet other people. There was nothing special about this man.
“Thank you for the meal,” she said. “It was a pleasure to have made your acquaintance. You have my permission to depart.”
The skin around his eyes crinkled as if he found her amusing. “I wasn’t aware that I needed your permission.”
“You do not.” She had to be careful. She could give herself away with comments like that. She was not in Monesta where everyone was at her beck and call.
“Please have a safe journey to your destination.” Annie held out her hand.
The minute their hands touched, she felt it again, that powerful surge of electricit
y that stole the air from her lungs.
He looked startled and quickly snatched his hand back, his eyes coded. “You have a safe journey too,” he mumbled, and ambled away.
Annie watched him go, a lump of sadness blocking her throat. She would have enjoyed kissing him again, but never mind. She had other problems. Like where to spend the night?
She found the ladies’ room, but when she stepped inside and caught her reflection in the mirror, she startled and for the briefest second wondered: Who is that?
A foreigner looked back.
Inky black hair, which had once been the color of twenty-four-karat gold, curled in short, spiky wisps with impish bangs. Just a few short hours ago her tresses had trailed to the middle of her back. She wore the brand-new cowgirl clothes that she had borrowed from Echo—a white, Western-cut blouse that caused the blue in her gray eyes to pop, a big silver belt buckle with a Texas Star on it, stiff, sharply creased dark blue jeans, brown, round-toed cowboy boots with a slanted riding heel. Just looking at her, no one would believe she was a runaway princess. All she lacked to complete her attire was a cowboy hat.
A thrill pulsed through her. She had done it. She had actually run away.
She filled one of the sinks with water and let Lady Astor out of the satchel to have a drink. When she walked out past the row of truckers at the counter, insecurity gripped her anew. She kept her head held high. She certainly knew how to do that. She stared straight ahead and imagined she was walking the hallways of Farrington Palace where men bowed and women curtsied in her presence.
The bravado did not work. She could feel heads turn as she went by. Anxiety slid under her skin. She was calling attention to herself again. This was not good.
“Hey baby,” one guy said.
She sailed past as if she hadn’t heard him.
“Will you look at that critter?” another one snickered. “Prettiest lot lizard I’ve seen in a long time.”
Was he speaking about her? And what did this term “lot lizard” mean? Annie’s heart thumped faster.
After she had sneaked out of President Glover’s compound while everyone was distracted by the rehearsal dinner, she simply started walking, the sense of adventure stirring her blood. She had Lady Astor. She had been safe. She never once felt in any danger.