by Nora Roberts
“You aren’t staying at the hotel. You stay at the palace. It’s been arranged.”
“Then unarrange it.” The formality, as well as the brief moment of weakness, was gone. “I’m staying at the hotel with my people.”
“It serves neither you nor me for you to stay at the hotel.” Calmly he pushed a button. A compact bar slid out. “Would you like a drink?”
“No, I wouldn’t like a drink, I’d like an explanation of why I’m being kidnapped.”
He’d forgotten she could amuse him. After pouring himself a glass of mineral water, he smiled at her. “Strong words, Eve. My father would be interested that you find our invitation to the palace tantamount to kidnapping.”
“This has nothing to do with your father.”
“It is at his request that you stay with us. The security at the hotel has, of course, been strengthened.”
“Why?”
“These are uneasy times.”
There was a ripple of anxiety, but it was for him, not her, not her company. “So your sister said to me a few months ago. Your Highness, if you or your father feels there’s danger, I want to be with my people.”
“I understand.” He set down his glass. “The hotel is very secure, Eve, and we don’t feel your troupe is in any danger. My father feels, and I agree, that you, because of your personal connection with our family, are another matter. We would prefer it if you’d stay in the palace if for no other reason than to avoid the reporters who will clog the hotel lobby for the next few weeks. Or you can simply accept the invitation because my father is fond of you.”
“You put it so that if I do what I choose I’m ungracious.”
“Yes.” He smiled again and picked up his glass.
“Very well, I accept your invitation. And I’ll have some diet soda—something with caffeine. A lot of caffeine.”
“You’re tired from the flight.”
“From the flight,” she agreed as he added ice to a glass. “From the weeks before the flight. I think I’ve been averaging about five hours a night between preproduction meetings, auditions, dry rehearsing and paperwork. I didn’t realize all my people would have to go through the security clearances.” Absently she fiddled with the daisy. He watched her fingers stroke the white petals. “Then when I hired two more, we had to rush them through. I hope it’s worth it.” She sipped and waited for the caffeine to jolt her system back to life.
“Do you doubt it?”
“Only several times a day.” Her feet had eased out of the toes of her shoes without her being conscious of it. Her shoulders were relaxed. Heavy, her eyes drooped down to sensuous slits. “I am pleased with the new people. She’s an ingenue, straight out of college, with a lot of potential. I’m going to have her understudy the second lead in the Neil Simon play. And Russ Talbot’s a real pro. He’s done a lot of little theater and off-off-Broadway stuff. We’re lucky to have him. He’s cast as Brick for Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. That’s going to be our first production.”
She drank again and hoped she wasn’t making a mistake there. It was such a steamy play, such a passionate one. For weeks she’d toyed with doing a comedy first, to give both the audience and the troupe a running start. Instinct had her opting for Tennessee Williams as an opener.
“I sent copies of all the scripts with the staging. I assume your assistant has read them all.”
“They’ve been read,” he said simply. By him. There was no need for her to know now just how closely he intended to work with her. “They’ve been approved—tentatively.”
“Tentatively.” That had been something that had had her back up for weeks. “I find it difficult to understand why you feel it necessary to have two alternates. From an artistic angle and a practical one, it’s going to be very difficult if we have to switch things around now. We open in three weeks.”
“Time enough to replace one of your productions if we find it unsuitable.”
“Unsuitable? Just who makes that kind of judgment? You?”
He studied his mineral water and said nothing for a moment. There was no one, no one outside his immediate family, who would have dared use that tone with him. Deciding on patience, Alexander wondered if Americans were audacious as a rule, or if she were simply an exception.
“In my capacity as president of the center, the final judgment would be mine.”
“Swell.” She chugged down more soda. “Just swell. Prince or president, you don’t make my life easy. I selected these four because—”
“I’ll listen to your reasons tomorrow. We have a meeting scheduled for—nine, I believe. You’ll meet Cornelius Manderson, who manages the center. My sister will also be there.”
“I can be grateful to have at least one reasonable person around.”
“Eve, you go on the defensive before it’s necessary.”
“Boy Scout motto.”
“Pardon?”
“Be prepared,” she said, and was amused enough to smile. “All right, then, I won’t pick a fight yet. Tomorrow’s another matter. I’m ready to go to the wall on this, Your Highness, and you’re going to find I’m not easy to beat.”
“I’m aware of that already.” And he was already looking forward to it. “Perhaps it would be best if we agreed to keep our personal relationship separate from our work at the center.”
She held her glass in her hand and tried to concentrate on the palace as they rode through the gates. It always gave her a sense of peace and security. But not this time. She shifted a bit in her seat. “We haven’t got a personal relationship.”
“No?”
When she turned her head she was surprised and a bit unnerved to see he was amused. She wasn’t going to find his smiles as easy to deal with as his scowls. “No. What happened the last time was …” Finding no definition available, she shrugged the attempt away.
“Was unfortunate,” he finished, then took her empty glass and set it down. “Unfortunate that it occurred in that manner and ended poorly. Shall I apologize?”
“No, I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because then I’d have to accept your apology.” Taking a deep breath, she faced him directly. “If I don’t accept it, I’ll stay annoyed with you and it won’t happen again.”
“There’s a flaw in your logic, Eve.” He continued to sit after the car stopped at the palace steps. Even when the driver opened the door, Alexander stayed where he was, watching her, compelling her to watch him. “You are most often annoyed with me, yet it did happen. But for the sake of your argument, I won’t apologize.”
He stepped from the car and offered his hand, leaving her no choice but to accept it. “Somehow I think I was outmaneuvered,” she muttered.
“You were.” Then he smiled, abruptly charming, and led her up the palace steps.
She matched her steps with his, but for the first time found herself hesitating to pass through the large ornate doors of the palace. “I never considered you much of a game player, Your Highness.”
“On the contrary, I enjoy games very much.”
“Chess, fencing, polo.” She moved her shoulders restlessly. “Not people games.”
Her scent was the same, the same as it had been the last time he’d seen her, touched her. The same scent that had awoken him in the middle of the night when she’d been thousands of miles away. “You called me a politician. What is politics but a people game?” The heavy door slid open soundlessly. Eve sent him a long, cautious look before she stepped inside.
“My father wishes to see you. I’ll take you to him. Your bags should arrive shortly.”
“All right.” She started up the steps beside him. “The prince is well?”
“Yes.” He wouldn’t elaborate on her unspoken question. The Paris incident wasn’t a closed book, but one he thought best to leave untouched.
Feeling the snub, Eve started the climb from the second to the third floor in silence. “You don’t want me to speak of what happened in Paris to your fathe
r.”
“There’s no reason for you to speak of it.”
“Of course not.” The words came out with the brittleness of hurt. “It was nothing to me, after all.” She swung up the last of the stairs and down the hall ahead of him, only to be forced to wait at the closed door that led to Prince Armand’s office.
“Your emotions remain too close to the surface,” Alexander noted. He’d recognized this, even envied it, as a man who’d been forced year after year to keep his own buried. “That wasn’t said to offend you.”
“No, you don’t have to deliberately try to offend.”
“Touché,” he said with something close to a sigh.
“I don’t want to cross swords with you. I don’t expect you to include me in your family feelings.” She looked away and didn’t see his gaze come back to search her face. “The sad thing is you’ve never understood that I care very much.” She folded her arms as if to distance herself when he stared at her. “Will you knock?”
He didn’t. A man in his position could afford few mistakes. When he made one, it was best to admit it quickly. “He’ll look strained, a bit thinner. The incident in Paris weighs on him.” Alexander looked at the closed door, recognizing it for a barricade, one that someday he would have to use. “He doesn’t sleep well.”
“What can I do?”
God, could it be so simple for her? The words made him want to rest his brow against hers, only for a moment. Rest, be comforted, be eased. But it could never be so simple for him. “You’re doing it,” he said briefly, and knocked.
“Entrez.”
“Father.” Alexander opened the door, then stepped to the side. “I’ve brought you a gift.”
Prince Armand rose from his desk. He was a sternly handsome man, straight and lean. When Eve had first met him, his hair had been threaded with gray. Now it was steely, like his eyes, like his body. Seeing her, he smiled, and the rigid lines softened.
“A lovely one.” He came around the desk to her in a gesture of friendship she knew wasn’t given to many. As she curtsied, he caught both her hands. His were strong. If age sat lightly on him, responsibility didn’t. She saw the signs of strain, of sleeplessness, and forgot protocol. Rising on her toes, she kissed both his cheeks.
“It’s good to be back, Your Highness.”
“It’s you who are good for us. Alexander, you didn’t tell me she’d grown more beautiful.”
“He doesn’t notice,” she said with a careless glance over her shoulder.
“On the contrary. I simply didn’t think it necessary to explain what my father would see for himself.”
“A born diplomat,” Armand said, and laughed. “Alex, ring for tea, please. We’ll keep Eve to ourselves for a little while before we have to share her with the rest of Cordina. So, the young girl is now an important producer.” He led her to a chair. “You’ve come to entertain us.”
“I hope so.”
“My son tells me the center is fortunate to have your company. Your reputation in America is growing, and as your first international host, we’re honored.”
Eve smiled. “Bennett loves to flatter.”
“True enough.” Armand drew out a cigarette. “But in this case it was Alex.”
“Alex?” Caught off guard, she turned her head to stare as Alexander took a chair beside her.
“Eve doesn’t expect flattery from me, Father.” He drew out his lighter and flicked it at the end of his father’s cigarette. “She’s more prepared to dodge a blow.”
“Well, when you’ve been doing it for seven years, it gets to be—” She caught herself, bit her tongue smartly, then turned back to the prince. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness.”
“There’s no need. I’m used to squabbling children. Here’s our tea. Will you pour, Eve?”
“Yes, of course.”
Allowing himself the luxury of relaxing, Armand sat back as the tray was set beside Eve. “Alexander tells me you’ve chosen four interesting plays. The first is a rather passionate and—what is the word you used, Alex?”
“Steamy,” he said, and smiled at Eve’s quick look.
“Yes, a steamy story set in your American South. It deals with a family?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” She handed him his tea. “A power struggle within a family, both for money and for love. A rich, dominating father, two brothers, one the black sheep, the other a weakling, and their manipulative wives. It’s really a story of needs and disillusionment as much as passion.”
“A story that holds true in any culture.”
“I’m counting on it.” She handed Alexander his tea but avoided looking at him. “The plays I’ve chosen all lean heavily on emotion, though the two comedies accent the lighter side. My troupe’s looking forward to working here. I want to thank you for giving us the opportunity.”
“It was Alex who did the work and dealt with the board of directors for the center. From some of his comments, I take it they were not as open-minded as he would have liked.”
Alexander’s strong fingers curled around the delicate china handle. “They simply needed some persuasion.”
She couldn’t imagine Alexander going to bat for her. At the first flutter of pleasure, Eve pulled herself back. He’d done it for himself—more accurately, for Cordina. “However it was arranged, I’m grateful. We won’t disappoint you.”
“I’m sure you won’t. I’m looking forward to meeting the rest of your company this evening.”
Understanding this to be a gentle dismissal, Eve rose. “If you’ll excuse me, then, I’d better get unpacked.” Because her nature demanded it, she kissed Armand’s cheek again. “It really is good to be back.”
* * *
Though her bags weren’t yet delivered, Eve’s room was ready, scented with fresh flowers, windows open to the sea. Slipping out of her shoes, then her jacket, she pushed the billowing curtains aside.
The view took her breath away. It was the same every time—the initial disbelief that anything could be that beautiful, then the dizzying pleasure that it was real. The gardens were far below, vivid, delightful in color. Whoever had planted them, whoever tended them, appreciated the need for flowers to grow as they pleased, rather than in neat, orderly rows. The result was dreamlike rather than perfection.
Beyond the garden was the seawall, worn smooth by centuries of wind and salt. The cliff fell off sharply then, sheerly vertical with juts and mounds of rocks for seabirds to nest in. Then there was the sea itself, dark, deep, radiantly blue. Boats glided across it now.
She saw a boat with red sails racing with the wind, and a pleasure yacht so white it hurt the eyes. Someone was waterskiing. She squinted to see if it was a man or woman, but distance made the figure just a figure skimming along the searing blue surface. Enchanted, she knelt on the window seat, propped her chin on her hands and continued to watch.
The knock at her door meant her bags had arrived. Half dreaming, Eve stayed where she was. “Entrez, s’il vous plâit.”
“It’s been arranged for you to have a maid.”
Alexander’s voice had her jolting straight and nearly losing her balance on the window seat. “Oh, thank you, but it really isn’t necessary.”
Alexander murmured to the servant to set her bags down and leave. “She can deal with your unpacking at your convenience. Her name is Collette. She won’t disturb you until you ring.”
“Thank you.”
“You look tired.” Without the jacket, she looked more fragile, more approachable, almost as if she were a woman he could sit with, talk with, be only a man with. He wanted to smooth the hair from her brow, gently, even tenderly. His hands curled at his sides. “You might want to rest first.”
“No, I’m not tired really. I’ve just been hypnotizing myself with the view.”
She waited for him to leave, but instead he crossed to her, drawing the curtains aside a little more. “I have the same view from my window.”
“I suppose you’re used to it, then. I don�
�t think I’d ever be.”
“Early, just after dawn, the fishing boats go out.” He rested his hand on the sill beside hers. Eve’s gaze was drawn to it, to the long, tanned fingers, the wide back and the ring that stated who and what he was. “They look so fragile, yet they go out day after day.”
His hands fascinated her. They had touched her once, not gently but potently. There was strength in them a woman could rely on, as well as a strength to be feared. She wondered why at the moment she should feel only the first.
“I’ve never been a terribly good sailor myself, but I like to watch. When I was young, my father had a sailboat. I was forever tangling up the lines or getting bashed by the boom. Eventually he got tired of it and bought a power-boat. I had a shot at waterskiing.”
“Did you have better luck?” he asked.
“Some.” She turned again and searched for the sexless skier. As she did, he or she took an impressive spill. Laughing, Eve leaned back on her heels. “That was about as good as I got, too.”
“So you prefer to swim.”
“I prefer to have control. That’s why I took up karate. I like making my own moves rather than being at the mercy of the wind or a towline or whatever.”
“Not at the mercy of the wind,” Alexander corrected. “You work with or outwit the wind.”
“Maybe you do.”
“I could teach you.”
Surprised—no, stunned—she looked up at him. It had been said casually, but she’d never known him to do anything casually. She could imagine herself sailing with him, the sun, the wind, his body gleaming in the shimmering light. She could imagine it too well. “Thank you, but my father already judged me hopeless.”
“You were a child.” The breeze ruffled her hair against his arm. “You’re not a child now.”
“No.” Unnerved and feeling foolish because of it, she looked out the window again. “But I doubt either of us will have much time for sailing lessons while I’m here. Work starts tomorrow.”
“And today?”
Her heart was pounding in her throat. It was ridiculous. She wasn’t subject to flights of fancy and wide swings of emotion. Meet it head-on, Eve advised herself. Meet it head-on and push it aside. She turned again and looked at him. “I don’t know what you want. I don’t—” When he reached down to brush the hair from her cheek, the words simply slid away.
“I think you do.”
“No.” She managed to find the strength to shake her head. “That’s impossible.”
“So I’ve told myself.” His fingers tightened on her hair. His eyes weren’t so secretive now. In them she saw need, and felt the longing grow in herself to fulfill it. “It becomes more difficult to accept.”
“Your Highness.” Her hand flew to his wrist when he framed her face. “Alex, please, this isn’t right.”
“The hell with right.”
He took her then, mouth, soul and heart, as the salt-scented breeze billowed at the curtains. Her hands were still at his wrists, her fingers clamping harder and harder, whether in denial or acceptance neither of them knew.
He’d wanted, needed, yearned for the passion and spirit that were so much a part of her. He’d craved the softness and sweetness that offset the rest. If it was wrong, if it was impossible, he’d fight his way through the obstacles. He’d known, the moment he’d seen her again, that he had no choice.
How could she deny what was happening to her? She wasn’t a woman who lied to herself, who refused to see her own flaws. Desire, hot and liquid, ruled her thoughts. And it was Alexander, heir to the throne, whom she wanted. Desperately, she realized. Uncontrollably. Even as she tried to reason it out, her body was pulsing with more needs.
To be his, she thought as she released his wrist to comb her fingers through his hair. To be his would be everything.
He was edging toward madness. She was so smooth, so warm. The fire was licking at him, what was his, what had come from her. If he didn’t bank it now, it would overwhelm both of them. He couldn’t allow it to happen this way, not now, not here. Alexander drew her away, swore, then kissed her again until she went limp in his arms.
“You’ll have to choose.” His voice wasn’t steady, but he drew her head back and kept his eyes on hers. “And you’ll have to choose soon.”
She ran a hand that trembled over her face. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t intend to lose.” He had her hair in his hand, holding her still. She wouldn’t have moved in any case. His eyes would have held her. “Understand that. I didn’t apologize for before, and I won’t apologize now.”