by Tara Wyatt
She rolled over in her hotel bed, staring at the shadowed popcorn ceiling in the dark, the quiet hum of Toronto traffic buzzing through the window. She’d pushed him away because she’d been scared she was getting in too deep, too fast with a guy who seemed too good to be true.
The simple truth was that Jeff hadn’t been half the man Adam was, and he’d found her lacking. She’d been so scared Adam would eventually feel the same way.
She blinked, and two fat tears rolled down over her temples and into her hair. With a frustrated grunt, she rubbed her palms over her eyes, trying to stem the flow of tears making their nightly appearance.
God, she’d blown it, hadn’t she? Adam was hot as hell, funny, hardworking and sweet in a rough-around-the-edges kind of way. He was…fuck, he was amazing. She’d had a chance at something great and she’d let that fucker Jeff ruin it, just like he’d ruined so much else in her life. Adam had never made her feel like she was less than. Like she didn’t deserve happiness. Adam had only ever made her feel good. He’d only ever taken her exactly as she was, never expecting her to be something she wasn’t.
Because, as hard as it was for her to believe, she’d been enough. She’d shown him exactly who she was, and he’d wanted her, not for who she could be, but for who she was.
All the days she’d been gone, he hadn’t called or texted. Hadn’t reached out at all, and she knew it was because she’d hurt him. Sitting up in the dark, she grabbed her phone from the table beside the bed. In some distant part of her brain, she registered that it was late, after one in the morning, and that he was probably sleeping, but she scrolled to his name anyway. She touched the little phone icon, a million horrible thoughts streaming through her. What if he didn’t want to talk to her? What if he was with someone else? What if he told her to go to hell?
It started to ring, and she pushed them all away. At least then she’d know. She felt brave until she heard his voice, deep and rusty with sleep. He didn’t say hello. Just her name.
“Charlie.”
Those two syllables slammed into her and she clammed up. Everything stopped. Her heart. Her brain. Her lungs. She was a statue made of fear and guilt and confusing uncertainty.
“Hi,” she managed to whisper, curling her hand around her phone. A muscle in her pinky finger cramped in protest, but she needed to hang on to the phone or she’d fall apart.
“Hi.” It was all he said, and after a few seconds of silence, he let out a sigh. “Are you okay?”
She blinked, tears stinging her eyes as her throat thickened. “Not really.”
“Me neither.”
His words cut through her, and she couldn’t remember why she’d called. She kicked her legs free of the blankets tangled around her, suddenly too hot. Her heart thumped in her chest and the hand holding the phone started to shake.
Oh, God. She was freezing up and chickening out.
Still scared.
“Are you gonna say anything?” he asked, and she could hear the edge of frustration in his voice. She opened her mouth, but all that came out was a choked little sob. She wanted to say so much, but what if she got it wrong?
“I don’t want to play this game with you,” he said. “I can’t.” He waited another second, and she blinked, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Goodbye, Charlie.” He disconnected the call, and Charlie marveled at how silence could be so heavy and so empty at the same time.
She rolled to her side and sobbed into her pillow, aching over what she’d thrown away and knowing it was too late.
Sweat rolled down Adam’s back as he moved his sander over the antique door he was refinishing for a client. He’d finished up with Charlie’s deck the day before and had thrown himself into another project, not wanting to think about her. Not wanting to think about how much he missed her or how pissed he was at her for not even giving what they had a chance.
He switched the sander off and grabbed a sanding block, working it over the delicate edges of the door. Moving. He had to keep moving. It was when he held still that the wound she’d left started to hurt.
He’d laid it all out that night at the wedding. He’d been honest with her, and she’d run. From him. From them. And then when she’d called the other night, God, his entire body had jolted to life. He’d hoped, but she hadn’t said a damn thing. Hadn’t said she was sorry. That she missed him. That she couldn’t stop thinking about him. That she wanted a second chance. She hadn’t said a fucking word, and he’d had to hang up.
He glanced around his workshop, at the tools and shelves lined with hardware and stains and rags. A helplessness he hadn’t felt since the divorce washed over him. Just like with Melissa, he couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t make Charlie feel something she didn’t, no matter how badly he wanted her to.
His phone buzzed from his back pocket and he yanked it free, squinting at the screen.
Charlie.
Again.
This marked the third time she’d called since their conversation—if you could call it that—the other night. And as he’d done the previous two times, he declined the call. But he didn’t jam the phone back into his pocket. No, idiot that he was, he stared at the screen, waiting to see if the voicemail icon would pop up. Still hoping.
It didn’t.
Charlie knocked on the door and fought the urge to hold her breath. It swung open and Jared’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he stared at her.
“You have the other Red Sox ticket, right?” she said by way of greeting. She crossed her arms, her heart pounding furiously, so hard it might actually break free of her body.
“Uh, what?” Jared stared at her, his mouth open.
“I gave Adam tickets. Did he give you the other one?”
Jared frowned. “Why?”
“I need it.”
“Why?”
Charlie ground her teeth together, calling on every ounce of patience she had. She needed his help, and if she ripped his head off, he wouldn’t give it to her. “Because Adam’s not talking to me, and I need to find him and apologize to him. I know he’s going to the game. I need to be there.”
“Oh.”
Charlie’s shoulders slumped, her mouth dry. “I’ll get you tickets to another game. Please.”
The morning after she’d called Adam, she’d known she needed to find a way to make it right between them. To tell him she was sorry. To try to explain. But he wasn’t taking her calls, and she didn’t want to just send an email.
She wasn’t going to let fear dictate her life. Not anymore. She had to take this chance.
Jared disappeared into the house and came back with the ticket in his hand. “I’m supposed to meet him there.” He held it out to her, but then pulled it back when she reached for it. “He misses you. You hurt him, and that means he cares about you. It’s been a while since he cared about someone, and if you can make him happy, then I want you to go and fix whatever it is that happened between you guys.”
She nodded and took the ticket, slipping it into her purse. “Thanks, Jared.”
He smiled and shook his head. “He asks, you threatened to beat me up.”
She returned the smile. “Deal.”
The red plastic of Adam’s seat was warm against his back, and he took a sip of his beer. Checking his watch, he took another sip before extending his arm over the back of the empty seat beside him. He glanced around the stadium, taking in the billboards, the vendors walking up and down the aisles, the affectionately named Green Monster. The scents of beer and popcorn and grass filled the warm afternoon air, and the crowd stretched out before him, a buzzing sea of red and white. It had been a while since he’d been to a game, and his chest clenched when he thought of who’d given him the tickets.
And then, as though he’d somehow conjured her, she was there, scooting her way down the row of seats toward him. He watched her, not sure what to think. Or say. Or do. So he just watched her, heat kicking low in his gut, and she sat down in the seat beside him without a word. She held a bag of
popcorn in her hands and without looking at him, tilted it toward him.
His cheek twitched, the seedling of a smile, and he took a small handful of popcorn and settled back in his seat. “Where’s Jared?”
Charlie tossed a piece of popcorn high in the air and caught it in her mouth. “I made him give me his ticket.” She caught another piece of popcorn in her mouth, and his cheek twitched again. It wasn’t fair how damn cute she was.
“Why?”
She set the bag of popcorn down between her feet and turned to face him, sliding her sunglasses off her face. “Because I miss you and I’m sorry.”
Relief and hope tangled together, and that smile finally surfaced. He could feel it taking over his whole damn face. “I miss you, too. A lot.”
“I got scared, Adam, and I ran. I shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t fair to you, or to…” She paused and licked her lips, swallowing thickly. He noticed her hands were shaking, and he dropped the popcorn and laced his fingers through hers. Her shoulders relaxed a little. “It wasn’t fair to us.” She glanced down at their hands and then back up at him, her eyes softer than he’d ever seen them. “I’m so sorry for what happened at the wedding. Because the truth is…” She looked up at him, tears clinging to her lashes, and God, he wanted to kiss her. “I really like you, Adam.”
Heat radiated through his chest, a feeling he didn’t quite have a name for. Happiness and forgiveness and hope and all kinds of fantastic shit, all mixed together. He shrugged. “People do stupid shit when they’re scared. Like not showing up for dates.”
Her mouth twitched with a smile. “Like ditching their date at a wedding.”
Although what she’d done at the wedding had hurt, he got it. Got it and forgave her, because more than anything, he wanted a chance to find out what they could be. “Ah, so it was a date.”
She laughed and a tear slipped down over her cheek. “Yeah, it was. Adam, God.” She shook her head and met his gaze. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for acting like what we had wasn’t something. Because it was. It was more than something. And I know I don’t deserve one, but I want a second chance.” She took a deep breath. “I want to date you.”
He closed his lips over hers in a tender kiss, swallowing her tears, her smile, her fears, all of it. He’d take it all on for her. For a shot at a future. For the chance to be happy again. It was all he wanted.
He broke the kiss and winked at her. “Get ready, Charlie Grant, because I’m gonna date the shit out of you.” He slung an arm over her shoulders and tucked her close as the Red Sox took the field.
“Bring it on, Hennessy,” she said as they eased back in their seats. “I’m ready.”
* * *
THE END
Keep reading for a sneak peek at Royal Treatment, available September 4th!
* * *
Chapter 1
Callum MacLeod watched the private jet roll to a slow, easy stop on the tarmac, engines still humming and blasting out heat behind them. The air shimmered around him, the heat a palpable thing as it rose off of the steaming asphalt. He squinted against the mid-day sun beating down from above, raising a hand to shield his eyes as he studied the sleek jet. A hot wind blew, sending dust and grit bouncing off of his skin. He fought back a grimace, schooling his face into a practiced, neutral expression. Nothing like a little sand in just about every orifice to remind him how much he hated tropical climates. Sweltering heat. Bugs the size of an elephant’s arse. Diseases most had never heard of back in Scotland.
But inhospitable conditions were something he was used to. As a protection officer—a bodyguard—for one of the world’s most elite private military contractors, he spent his working hours guarding very important people in very dangerous places. High ranking politicians, dignitaries and diplomats, powerful business people. He was a professional. Battled-hardened and tested. Experienced. And yet the woman inside the private jet was a first for him, and that fact had him just a little on edge. He wasn’t used to firsts. Not anymore.
He especially wasn’t used to that first showing up in the form of a gorgeous princess. He’d never worked for royalty before, and he knew there’d be hell to pay if this job didn’t go smoothly. His boss, Darby Cross, was the head of Southgate Group, one of the world’s most elite private military contractors, and wanted to expand their services to include providing security to royalty.
Callum adjusted his sunglasses on his face, scanning the tarmac for anything suspicious. Although the civil unrest in Ndola, the small African country nestled on the coast of the Indian Ocean between Mozambique and South Africa, had been over for nearly a year now, there were still pockets of rebels roaming the country. Most of them had retreated to more remote areas, staying away from Ndola’s capital city, Makembi. The country was in the midst of a revitalization, which was why the United Nations had elected to hold their symposium on educating girls here. The UN had subcontracted all security to PMCs, including Southgate, and Callum was one of several Southgate Group officers on the ground in Makembi.
The jet stopped completely, giving Callum a view of the elegant black and gold crest of the royal family of Clervaux adorning the side. Clervaux was a small European principality with one foot in Belgium, the other in France, poking its borders into each country. It was one of those countries you’d heard of before, but didn’t really know what went on there. Like Luxembourg, or Malta. In preparation for the assignment, Callum had researched the princess, and had been impressed with what he’d learned.
Her Royal Highness, Princess Audrey of Clervaux was a humanitarian and a philanthropist, using her position to help those in need. Her causes seemed to center around women and children in impoverished areas, which was why she’d been invited to speak at the Symposium for Female Education in Makembi—the same Symposium that had hired Callum to provide security for her. She’d attended Benenden and then Oxford for a degree in philosophy, politics and economics. Before she’d graduated, she’d founded Our Pantry, an organization responsible for collecting and distributing food and sanitary products to women’s shelters across the UK. She was involved in poverty reduction, literacy, and female education initiatives across Europe. She’d spoken at the United Nations, Harvard University, on the BBC, had delivered speeches with Desmond Tutu and Michelle Obama. She’d written essays for The Washington Post, Forbes, Harper’s Bazaar, and Time Magazine. She’d won awards for her humanitarian efforts, and she’d done it all with grace, humility and humor.
Like he’d said: impressive.
She was a media darling, and was often photographed wherever she went. Callum had been able to find recent photographs of her doing such scandalous things as shopping, attending a yoga class, and eating at a restaurant with her mother. But she attracted attention because of her looks—which were stunning—and her royal title.
The jet’s engines stopped, leaving his ears tingling, and the door opened, a set of stairs unfurling down to the asphalt. A handful of royal attendants emerged first, standing at attention and lining the pathway in front of the stairs, somber expressions on their faces. Callum stood up a bit straighter, squaring his shoulders and clasping his hands in front of him. A tiny shadow darkened the jet’s door, and then Princess Audrey began making her way down the stairs. Her thick, dark brown hair was pulled back into a braid that hung over one shoulder, and she wore a plain white button-down shirt, open over a white tank top and a pair of green khaki shorts. Her slender legs were bare, sturdy hiking-style boots on her feet. Her face appeared free of makeup. All in all, her look was a far cry from the glammed-up image she often presented when attending charity galas, but it had raised his respect for her yet another notch.
She faltered slightly on the stairs as she caught sight of him, her hand grabbing the banister. She paused, staring at him, and it felt as though her eyes were pinning him in place. As though she weren’t just looking at him, but truly seeing him.
Which was daft. Shit, he was probably dehydrated. And in any case, he hoped what he’d fel
t wasn’t real, because he was harboring a lot of shit he didn’t want anyone to see.
She finished descending the stairs and he approached. He’d been about to bow and introduce himself when her toe caught on a rock and she stumbled forward. Instinct took over and Callum’s hands shot out, grabbing her hips to steady her. Her small, round breasts flattened against his chest and everything inside him went very still. She looked up at him through her lashes, her full lips parted.
“I…thank you,” she said. Her voice was rich and feminine with a slight rasp to it, paired with an alluring accent that had a British base with hints of French and German. She felt so tiny against him, all soft curves and warm skin, and for a second, all he could do was stare. As though he’d been struck by lightning and frozen in place. It was a completely unsettling feeling, especially given that she was both a client and royalty.
“You’re welcome,” he said, fighting the urge to flex his fingers into her hips. A princess’s hips, he reminded himself. A client’s hips. What the hell was wrong with him?
She swallowed, but didn’t move away. “You must be Mr. MacLeod.”
“Aye. And please, call me Callum, Your Highness. I dinnae like to stand on formality with clients.”
A warm smile curved her lips. “Then just call me Audrey, please. Since we dinnae want to stand on formality,” she said, gently imitating his accent. He felt a flush rise up his neck, and nodded. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was flirting.
“As you wish. Audrey.” She watched his mouth as he spoke, making him hyperaware of his lips as they formed the syllables of her name.
One of the royal attendants cleared her throat, and Audrey glanced down to where Callum’s hands rested still on her hips. Her cheeks turned a very appealing shade of pink and she took a careful step back. He dropped his hands, taking in the disapproving glares of her attendants.