She nibbled her bottom lip and her nipples tightened into hard points even under the winter-weight v-neck she wore. There may be hope for him, after all.
“Down boy,” she said, clearly flustered.
He held a hand up in a gesture of surrender, but he was pleased with how he had affected her. They were both spared further comment by Kelly’s approach, pushing a second serving cart with their meals.
“Time to eat,” she said, unbuckled, and walked across the narrow distance to the small table, where she buckled in again.
Peter followed and sat across from her, and the hostess efficiently served their meals, then returned to the galley. Judging from the clink of forks and china, she and the chef were sharing a bite, as well.
The filet was perfectly done and seasoned, and accompanied by peas and scalloped potatoes. In a gratin dish set in the middle of the table, the sauce still bubbled around the edges of the cheese-topped vegetarian lasagna.
“Want some?” he asked, and motioned to the gratin dish.
“No, thanks,” she said, and judging from the quiet as they ate, she was as hungry as he was. Or maybe still hiding that she was hot for him…hopefully. He refilled their glasses halfway through the meal and when they finished, Kelly returned to clear the table and offer an assortment of desserts.
“So many tasty ones,” he murmured, his sweet tooth kicking in big time.
“Let me guess. You’d like two,” Tatiana said with an impish smile.
He would, but bit back his desire for the sweets. “Actually, I can’t decide between the crème brûlée and the molten chocolate cake.”
“Both are quite good,” Kelly said.
Tatiana seemed to settle it for them. “If you could bring both, as well as a bowl of strawberries? A bottle of Dom Perignon, too.”
“Of course, Princess,” she said, and quickly went to work fulfilling the request.
“Thank you,” he said, but Tatiana shook her head.
“I just figure if you’re stuffed and well-lubricated, it’ll help you sleep for the rest of the flight instead of worrying about whether we’re about to crash.” She winked.
“Or thinking about getting sexy with you,” he teased, bringing a fresh stain of color to her cheeks.
After finishing both desserts and two glasses of champagne, he was feeling decidedly relaxed and all thoughts of crashing had disappeared. When he yawned, she pointed in the direction of the bedroom. “Why don’t you get some sleep? We’ve got at least six hours before we land in Nice.”
“What about you?” He would feel guilty taking the bed and leaving her to sleep in one of the airplane seats.
“Still wide awake. I plan on finishing off the champagne and a good book. Then I’ll stretch out in one of the sleeper seats.” She jerked her head in the direction of another set of oversized seats a few feet away.
“I’d like to take your notes on the security systems with me. I want to look at them again before we do the walk around tomorrow afternoon.”
“Not a problem.” She rose and pulled the folder she had been reviewing earlier from her bag, and handed it to him. “Tony will be meeting us and can answer any questions you have. He’s also arranged for you to have a carry permit and weapon while you’re in Monaco.”
“Thank you. I feel naked without it.”
She smiled and quirked her lips in a gesture that was becoming a familiar sign of either disbelief or imminent teasing. “Naked, or lacking?”
He chuckled and rose from the seat. “Lacking, eh. Wouldn’t you like to find out.”
He chucked her under the chin to close her mouth as it dropped open.
“Good night, Princess. Dream of me.”
Her muttered curse chased him into the bedroom, but once he was in there, he wondered if maybe this wasn’t a good time to explain who he was. The teasing and relaxed feel during the dinner and afterward certainly hinted at the fact that she might be in the kind of mood to handle news like that.
The confined space of the airplane was good in two ways. First, she couldn’t run off anywhere and avoid the discussion. Second, she had to maintain decorum in front of Kelly, the chef, and the pilots up front. Plus, he doubted she’d toss him out of the plane without a parachute. Putting the file on the top of the bed, he took a deep breath to brace himself, and walked back out to where Tatiana had stretched out in one of the sleeper seats, a glass of champagne at her side along with some strawberries. Her head was buried between the covers of a romance novel and she raised her head as he stepped back out.
She gave him a puzzled look when he approached and sat beside her.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“I know about the marriage bargain that your parents made with Grand Duke Roman Alexandrovich,” he began. She dog-eared her page in the novel and closed it, her demeanor deceptively calm, though he could see her eyes had grown turbulent.
“How do you know about that stupid plan?”
“Because I’m Velikiy Knjaz Pyotr Romanovich, the only son of the Grand Duke.”
She waved her hands and shook her head, making a face. “You’re the prince? No way.”
“I never kid about things like this,” he replied, and met her gaze dead-on so she would realize that he wasn’t kidding.
Hot color flooded her face, but she retained control, staring silently at him for a long time.
At length, she leaned toward him, and said in low tones, “All this time we’ve known you, that I’ve known you, and you’ve been lying to me about who you are?”
“It’s a complicated situation, Tatochka.”
“Do not call me that. Only friends or family call me that, and you are neither right now.” She surged from the chair and stalked a few steps away, contained by the size of the plane, just as he had hoped. She raked her fingers through her ebony hair and held them there for a moment before allowing the thick strands to fall back into place.
She whirled to face him. “Why? And why tell me now?”
He drew in a breath. “The first why is complicated. I hated having my life plastered all over the papers.”
“You mean like when my college roommate and supposed friend stole my diary and sold it off to one of the tabloids?”
He finally remembered the details of the incident and understood now how that had made her distrustful of others. How, as royals, too many people wanted to be their “friends” for ulterior motives.
“I would never—”
“You already did, Detective. A lie of omission is still a lie isn’t it? So why are you coming clean now?”
“It’s only fair you know exactly who’s involved in this crazy-ass marriage arrangement. And I also wanted to let you know that I have no intention of going ahead with it, even though our parents are suddenly deciding to push on it.”
She stared at him and her shoulders notched down a fraction. “Good, because I’m not doing it either. Especially with a man who lies like the proverbial rug. A man I obviously can’t trust.”
“I never meant to hurt you or lie to you. I never wanted that,” he said and rose from the seat. He walked to her and cupped her cheek, hating how she flinched from his touch.
“I was just trying to protect myself from—” He cut off. No sense going there. “My decision had nothing to do with you,” he said, and swiped his thumb across her lips before heading to the bedroom. “You can trust me, Princess. Believe that.”
…
Tatiana's lips tingled as if she had been thoroughly kissed. She battled her reaction as Peter shuffled off to the bedroom and shut the door. Jumping up to storm back and forth in the airplane’s tiny lounge, she considered the bombshell Peter had just dropped.
He wasn’t just a cop or a commoner. And damn it, he was still just too damned sexy for his own good.
But worse, he was the only son of a Grand Duke. Peter Roman was none other than Prince Pyotr Romanovich. The man she was supposed to marry.
Suddenly, she gasped. Alexander! Damn him
. Her brother had known about Peter all along! Even though he had told her he knew the identity of the man her parents had arranged for her to marry, it had never occurred to her that she would know him personally, much less that her old-fashioned brother would allow him to accompany her on this trip. Now that she thought about it, Alexander had been throwing them together at every opportunity for the last few years.
What had he been thinking? She could understand that he had promised to keep Peter’s identity secret, but why throw them together like this? Especially now. Did he hope that they would get all romantic in Monaco and go ahead with the whole insane marriage thing?
No. Alexander had never been that Machiavellian. If he had wanted her and Peter to get to know each other, he would have said so. But why hadn’t she guessed at Peter’s royal lineage before now? His close friendship with her brother, the thinly disguised name, his regal if rumpled bearing—the clues had been staring her in the face all along.
Damn, how could she be so dense?
But she wasn’t going to be as dense with the whole insane marriage arrangement. Especially now that she knew that she couldn’t trust Peter. That he had been lying to her for nearly a decade. Frickin’ unbelievable.
He had said it was complicated as to why he had kept his real identity a secret. That he didn’t want to be in the public eye, and on some level she could understand that. It would be tough for him to be undercover or work his beat if the press and others found out he was a prince.
But there was more that he wasn’t saying. He’d started to, then changed his mind. What could the big badass detective need to protect himself from?
He’d said she could trust him, but obviously he didn’t trust her enough to tell her the truth. So no, she couldn’t trust him.
Not until he gave her the real reason for hiding who he was.
…
Peter’s knees wobbled as he stepped from the helicopter onto the grounds of the Monaco Heliport. Luckily the stomach-churning, sweat-inducing ride from the Côte d’Azur airport in Nice had barely taken ten minutes.
Ten minutes of torture, but he’d be damned if he’d let Tatiana see his discomfort. He placed his hand at the small of her back, and although she did a little shimmy to shake it off, he directed her toward the polished silver Rolls Royce limo waiting for them yards away.
Tony Martino, head of security at the Jewel of Russia, the Ivanovs’ Monaco casino and hotel complex, waited by the vehicle. Peter recognized him from the materials Alexander had provided so he could get to know the various people he’d be working with.
Tony bowed as Tatiana approached. “Princess. It’s nice to see you again,” the man said in a way that made Peter want to punch his lights out, especially when his gaze settled for far too long on Tatiana’s body.
“Thank you, Tony. May I introduce Detective Peter Roman,” she said, ice dripping from every syllable of what she knew to be his alias. “He’ll be assisting us for the next week,” she added with obvious reluctance.
Peter shook the security chief’s hand and didn’t fail to notice the way the other man sized him up and found him lacking. In the world of TV detectives, Peter was the rumpled and shaggy Colombo while this man was the very smooth and elegant Remington Steele.
Tony would be shocked and soon. Like his TV counterpart, Peter greatly enjoyed the moment when others realized they’d totally underestimated him.
After they slipped into the back of the limo, Tony opened a briefcase on the seat beside him and pulled out the Sig-Sauer that Peter had requested, along with a slip of paper. The carry permit.
Peter eased the gun into his ever-present shoulder holster and tucked the paper into his wallet.
“What can you tell us?” he asked, earning a moue of annoyance from Tatiana.
Tony turned to her for permission to respond and she nodded. Peter banked his own irritation. He wasn’t accustomed to anyone questioning his authority. He wasn’t the Head Detective in Charge of his field office—yet—but his bosses trusted him implicitly and normally left him to use his own judgment on his cases.
“Everything is going according to plan,” the security chief advised. “You can see for yourself in a few minutes.” He then focused his attentions on Tatiana once again.
“A tour would be perfect, Tony. Afterward, we can take a moment to freshen up before dining. Will your wife be able to join us?” she asked pointedly, and Peter barely contained his amusement.
Her subtle reminder about his marital status controlled the man much more effectively than the punch Peter had been thinking about.
Tony forced a smile and worked a finger beneath the collar of his expensive shirt, tugging at it. “I will call and ask, Your Highness,” he replied with a deferential nod.
“Wonderful,” she murmured, and shot a glance at Peter, making it clear she was more than capable of handling herself. Making it clear she’d handle him also, if need be.
Peter settled back to enjoy the sights during the very short trip to the Jewel of Russia casino. Beyond the heliport, a marina was home to boats of various sizes, including sailboats and luxury yachts nearly as big as cruise ships. Beyond the gleaming chrome, rich teak, and white fiberglass, the cerulean surface of the Mediterranean sparkled with morning sunlight. All along the road, high end condos rose up overlooking the harbor, then climbed up toward the rocky hillsides that housed Monaco’s fabulous gardens and the Rock of Monaco monolith. A few minutes later, the limo stopped before the Ivanovs’ Jewel of Russia building, which housed not only their casino, but an over-the-top hotel that only the very wealthy could afford. Very different from their Atlantic City location that catered to a varied collection of patrons.
As soon as Peter stepped from the limo, he smelled it. Money. Shitloads of it. He glanced around the area that housed most of the casinos in Monte Carlo. It was like a scene from a motion picture, with the ornate and elegant Belle Époque buildings, the Riviera’s signature palm trees, and perfectly manicured gardens. A world away from his current and very average life.
A world that had once been his, before he walked away from it.
A twinge tightened his gut. Regret? No. Nothing that simple. More like uncertainty over everything that hadn’t happened—both good and bad.
“Something up, Peter?” Tatiana asked, putting aside her earlier anger and laying a hand on the arm of his wrinkled suit.
He smiled tightly. “Nothing. It’s just been a while since I’ve been here.” If it weren’t for his desire to protect her, it was the kind of life he wanted to avoid. Much as Alexander did, or for that matter, Tatiana. Outwardly, she might be a little more regal than her brother, but Peter knew that in private she’d ditch the elegant suit because she was a jeans kind of girl.
“We can go for a walk later, if you feel like it,” she said. He again placed his hand at the small of her back, earning a raised eyebrow from Tony. Unlike earlier, she didn’t protest his action, bringing hope that she was handling the big reveal of his real identity.
Inside the Jewel of Russia’s lobby, Tony instructed the bellhops about the bags and handed Tatiana their keys. “The Royal Suite, Princess.”
A suite? The two of them stuck so close together? Peter was about to protest, but Tatiana beat him to it.
“I didn’t ask for a suite, Tony. We were supposed to have separate rooms on the same floor.”
Tony stammered, “I’m s-sorry, Princess. I received the instructions directly from Prince Alexander and he was quite specific—”
Her lips thinned. “I understand, Tony. But this is not acceptable. The paparazzi would just love to dish about his arrangement. Please ask the manager—”
“I’m sorry, but we’re fully booked, Princess Tatiana,” he said, coloring to a deep crimson at having to tell her the news.
A pained inhalation came from Tatiana, and with a quick look at Peter from the corner of her eye, she forced a smile. “It’s okay, Tony. It’ll make it easier for us to coordinate what needs to be done. Pe
ter and I will simply have to be discreet.”
Peter resigned himself to never sleeping, since he would be aware of her every move in the next room. He strangled thoughts of being so close, and hoped he could handle the temptation. Of course, he only needed to remind himself of what being involved with Tatiana meant—namely, getting pulled back into a world he had worked so hard to avoid for so long.
“Thanks, Tatiana,” he said, and silently added, “I think.”
Peter barely contained a laugh at Tony’s upturned nose and sniff before the security chief swept a hand out and said, “Shall we start our tour? The ballroom is straight ahead and to the left.”
Tatiana obviously knew the way and led them there.
Peter fought his awareness of her, from the sexy way she walked to the still fresh smell of her hair, and turned his attention to what he was there to do: Protecting the jewels and Tatiana.
They walked across marble floors polished to mirror brightness, and walls holding priceless artwork highlighted by ornately carved and gilded wood. Patrons as elegant as the environs strutted and sashayed beside them, foreigners one and all since the Monégasque citizens were forbidden to enter or work in the casinos.
At the end of the hall they stopped at the door of the ballroom, where two large, armed security guards were posted. They glanced at Tatiana and bowed their heads respectfully, but waited for Tony’s approval to allow them entry. “Everything all right, sir?”
“We’re fine,” the security chief said, and one of the men stepped forward to open the door.
Once they were inside and the door was locked behind them, Tony paused and said, “If there’s an issue and you need help from Security, the response to the guards should be, ‘We’re golden.’ As it is, your weapon has already been noticed by the metal detectors we passed through at the main entrance. I should receive a call any—”
Tony’s cell phone rang and he immediately answered. “He’s clear. He’s with me.”
Peter nodded his approval. “Good work.”
With that taken care of, Tony showed them the various preparations that were already underway. It all looked efficient and well thought out. Despite Peter’s reservations about the man on a personal level, professionally he was top notch.
To Catch a Princess (Entangled Ignite) Page 5