The Royal Groom (Wrong Way Weddings Book 4)

by Lori Wilde

  “Did Albert buy those jeans for you?” she asked.

  “Absolutely not!”

  He laughed so hard she started laughing with him. She saw the concierge frown as they passed his desk, and a dignified couple made a disparaging remark about drunkenness.

  “You’re going to get us kicked out of the hotel,” she warned, still giggling.

  “I’m not intoxicated. Wine has never made me feel this way. It’s being with you.”

  “I’m glad.” She lowered her voice to a whisper because he was practically shouting. “Let’s catch the elevator.”

  “Let’s do that!”

  He literally swept her off her feet and over his shoulder, her head hanging behind him. She squealed in protest.

  “Max! Stop! You can’t... Put me down.”

  He did as the elevator door slid shut.

  Without noticing whether anyone else was in the car, he gathered her in his arms and began where they’d left off on the dance floor.

  Leigh reached behind him and pushed the button for their floor.

  They were alone in the elevator...

  10

  “The evening doesn’t have to end.” It wasn’t the wine talking. Max had never wanted anything more than to keep her with him tonight. What would it be like to make love to her as the elevator rose from floor to floor? What would it be like to make love to her all night long?

  “Everything ends sometime.”

  She sounded sad enough to raise his hopes. He knew she had fire and passion behind her cool beautiful exterior, but he didn’t know how to ignite it.

  Her hair framed her face like the halo on a Renaissance Madonna when she took off her hat, and he was awestruck by the luminous quality of her beauty. Then the bell chimed, and the elevator opened.

  They reached her door too quickly, and he groped for words to keep her from leaving him.

  “Some coffee perhaps?” he asked hopefully.

  “I tried making some in my room. It tasted like burned rubber.”

  “Coffee isn’t really what I want.”

  “I didn’t think it was.” Her words were playful, but she avoided meeting his eyes.

  “I have my room card here.” She reached into a deep pocket of her rain poncho. “No, I must have put it in the other one.”

  She checked both pockets twice, as though a thorough search would make the missing keycard reappear.

  “My money is gone, too. I had a ten-dollar bill, a tissue, and the card. I’ve been robbed!”

  “You left your poncho hanging on the back of the chair while we danced. It’s my fault. I should have warned you against pickpockets. It only takes them an unguarded instant to relieve you of your property.”

  “I know without being warned. Where was my head? I’m usually careful. At least I took the card out of the hotel folder. There’s no way the thief can know the room number or even the hotel. But my spare is locked inside my room.”

  She sounded truly distressed, but he knew her well enough to realize she could handle a major crisis. This was only a minor inconvenience.

  “Don’t be angry with yourself,” he said soothingly. “It’s a small loss.”

  “It’s embarrassing. I expect better of myself.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “I’ll call the desk from my room and have a replacement sent up. I’ll take the blame, say I was carrying your card for you.”

  “No, I should go down and explain it myself.”

  He bent to kiss her cheek, intending to reassure her with a platonic gesture, but she turned her head at that instant. His lips grazed hers, and he felt a surge of desire so powerful he enveloped her in his arms without conscious thought.

  She seemed to melt, and he kissed her as he’d never kissed anyone.

  “Come to my room,” he said, looking down at her face.

  She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and stared at him with stunned eyes, as though she’d lost the ability to comprehend.

  “I’ll call the desk from there,” he said, willing to promise anything to keep her with him.

  “That would be nice of you,” she said in a halting voice, not sounding at all convinced.

  He guided her down the corridor to his door and reached into his hip pocket. Much to his relief, his wallet was still there. His fingers felt thick and clumsy, and he inserted the card upside down on the first try, getting the red light that denied access.

  “Your card doesn’t work.”

  “It does if I use it properly.”

  He forced himself to focus on the random holes in the plastic, this time doing it right. The green light flickered, and he opened the door, snapped on a light, and stepped aside to let her enter.

  “This is practically like my room,” she said.

  “You sound surprised. What were you expecting?”

  “A suite, I guess. With Albert standing in the vestibule to take our coats and your bodyguards at attention on either side of the...” She hesitated.

  “Bed?” He turned away so she wouldn’t see him smile at her discomfort.

  “You have a king-size.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “No, but I don’t need one. I’m a very quiet sleeper. I stay on one pillow even if there are two others beside it.”

  Her cheeks were bright pink, and he marveled that a woman as worldly as Leigh could still blush in a man’s bedroom. She intrigued him in more ways than he could count.

  “I remember. You gave your men the night off,” she said.

  “They have their own rooms.”

  “Of course.”

  She shrugged, but he wasn’t fooled. She was too curious about the lifestyle of a prince not to have questions about his personal habits.

  “I shave myself, wash my own back, and dress myself. Does that answer some of your questions?”

  “I didn’t ask!”

  He ignored her protest, too amused to give up the game. “Albert does take care of laundering, cleaning, and laying out my clothes. He keeps my shoes shined—I’m a fanatic about that—and makes sure the room is done to his satisfaction. He keeps my appointment schedule, checks messages, and shops for me. I sometimes give him the odd job, too.”

  “How convenient for you,” she said dryly, fixing her eyes on a nondescript floral print hanging over the bed.

  “He also tactfully rebukes me when I’m impatient and scolds me when I deserve it. He’s frightfully good at holding up a mirror to my faults. He was, by the way, originally appointed to his post by my father, but I’ve grown too fond of him to consider employing anyone else.”

  “Why are we talking about Albert? I need to get into my room.”

  “I’m talking about him—you aren’t. And it’s only a shameless ploy to keep you here as long as possible. If it’s not working, I can try something else.”

  She was rooted to a spot halfway between the door and the bed.

  “Max...”

  She turned toward him, her eyes meeting his in a silent exchange that told him all he needed to know.

  Leigh watched him walk toward her, seeing him in slow motion as she tried to think of a reason to rush out of the room. Then he took her in his arms, and her mind went blank.

  “May I kiss you?” he asked softly.

  She hadn’t expected him to ask. Her lips were parted, and she lifted her face to his, surprised to realize he was waiting for her consent.

  “A good-night kiss would be very nice,” she murmured.

  “I don’t think I can.” He made no move to kiss her but didn’t release her.

  “Oh?”

  “If I kiss you now, you’ll spend the night in my arms.”

  “Don’t count on it.” It was a feeble protest.

  “It’s destiny.”

  “Oh, Max!” She couldn’t help laughing. “That sounds like dialogue from a 1950s movie—a cast of thousands and Victor Mature fighting single-handedly against an army. I love those oldies, but I don�
�t want to live one.”

  He released her and stalked to the window, staring out the rain-streaked glass to the blur of lights below.

  “Is that how you see me, a throwback of a prince with a comical little kingdom?”

  “Oh, no! Nothing like that. You’re special—you’re wonderful. I’ve never met a man like you.”

  “Come here.” It was a command, and not a gentle, coaxing one.

  “I apologize for laughing, but that doesn’t mean you can give me orders.”

  “Come here.” He didn’t soften his tone a bit, and now she was annoyed.

  “I’m going down to the desk to get a new card.” It was only a threat; she was rooted to the spot, too intrigued by the man to walk away.

  “Leigh, I wish you wouldn’t do that quite yet.”

  “Oh, Max.”

  Her lower lip was trembling. Why couldn’t he be a plumber or a professor or a pig farmer? Anyone but a prince. Even when he was arrogant, he touched her in places she’d never known existed. This was her chance to walk, to put him out of her life.

  She took one unsteady step backward, her eyes still riveted on his face. She was making the right decision. The closer they became, the worse it would be when he left her. If they made love, her heart would turn to ice and shatter in a million pieces when he turned his back on her to marry a suitable princess.

  “Come here, please.” His voice was so low she could just make out his words, but there was no mistaking the passion or the longing. He was begging her to stay as surely as if he’d dropped to his knees.

  “It’s not a good idea.” Her chest ached; she nearly stammered the words.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “We’ll both regret it.”

  “No, never.” There wasn’t an iota of doubt in his voice.

  “I wish I’d never met you.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  She didn’t. It was frightening to realize he meant more to her than anything in the world.

  “It has to be your choice,” he said. “I gave my word not to betray your trust. Come to me, Leigh, darling. Free me from my promise.”

  “You’re free.”

  “Not until you come willingly into my arms.”

  “Stop it!” She didn’t know what she wanted him to stop. Tempting her? Wanting her?

  She was still wearing her poncho with the empty pockets. The thief had even taken her tissue, so she didn’t dare cry. She was hot and bothered, and the boots pinched after all that dancing. She shrugged out of the poncho and let it fall to the floor, but her face still felt feverishly warm.

  “We should talk about this,” she cautiously suggested.

  “Words are the tools of your trade, aren’t they?” he asked in a suspicious voice.

  “Yes, but they’ll also help me understand how you feel—and how I feel.”

  “How I feel?” He sounded bemused. “I can’t compare the way I feel about you to anything else in my experience. I’m light-headed...”

  “That’s only the wine.”

  “I can’t turn a corner, enter a room, look down a crowded street without hoping I’ll see you.”

  “I sit in hotel lobbies hoping you’ll walk past,” she said.

  “I wake up in the morning trying to think of excuses to cancel all my engagements so I can be with you.”

  “I live for the moment when you come to my door.”

  She knew the space between them was shrinking even though neither had moved.

  “I ache to hold you in my arms,” he said.

  “I’m dying to be there.” She took a tentative step toward him.

  “Nothing in life is simple.”

  Was he warning her? She didn’t care. His eyes were dark beacons showing her the way she wanted to go.

  “I’m not afraid.” She tried to convince herself.

  “Leigh, come to me.” It was still an order, but she heard sweet longing and desperate need in his quiet words.

  “I’m going to regret this.” She took two more tentative steps.

  “Not tonight you aren’t.”

  She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, too focused on the open V of his shirt and the snug fit of his jeans to say more. Everything about him suggested strength: his straight regal nose, his unwavering gaze, his powerful chin line, the swell of muscles under his jacket. Her mouth was dry and her heart racing, but she let herself believe him. She was going to dream about this moment for the rest of her life.

  “Darling,” she whispered.

  She was in his arms at the foot of the bed. He hadn’t waited by the window. His kiss was sweeter because he’d met her halfway.

  His lips brushed against her closed lids, then moved across her brow. Panic penetrated her euphoria. She wasn’t ready for this. She was wearing way too much makeup, and her heavily sprayed hair was matted. If they made love—when they made love—he’d see her at her worst.

  His mouth was on target again, giving her slow sensual kisses, but she couldn’t surrender to the pleasure. She looked horrible, and the smoky atmosphere of Logan’s Saloon still clung to her clothes. She was Cinderella in her hearth-cleaning rags, not a desirable partner for a prince. “I should go to my room, take a shower.”

  “You can’t get in,” he murmured in her ear, doing something wonderful with his tongue.

  “I’ll call the desk.”

  “Don’t even think of it.”

  He slipped off her cowgirl vest and spread his hands across her back, kneading away her tension.

  “Just long enough to shower. I’ll come back. I promise.” His fingers were busy with the row of little metal buttons on the front of her dress. They parted like magic for him, and he gently cupped her lace-clad breasts.

  “Beautiful,” he said so softly she had to strain to hear. If she didn’t assert herself now, he was going to stroke her sticky hair. She wanted to be perfect for him. This was only going to happen once, and she didn’t want it ruined by makeup smeared on the pillowcase.

  “Max, you have to let me go back to my room.”

  “If you’re concerned about protection”—he released her and crossed to the large mirrored dresser—“I’m guilty of hoping something would happen between us.”

  He held up a bunch of foil-wrapped packets, then put them on the bedside table, giving her just enough time to retreat to his bathroom.

  “I’m going to take a shower. I need to wash away Logan’s Saloon,” she said firmly, then shut the door and clicked the lock.

  Was she crazy? She didn’t do one-night stands. In fact, she didn’t do much at all. Max was out of her league. She didn’t want to be his playmate, and genuine royal princes didn’t marry women they picked up on the highway in a storm.

  She needed to clear her head and think about what was happening. She didn’t want bad wine to make the call for her.

  Tugging off the boots with a sigh of relief, she wiggled her toes and tried not to think about Max’s dreamy eyes and sheltering arms. She was in a tight spot, torn between letting her heart or her head rule. Compromise was out of the question this time.

  A few minutes later she stepped into the bathtub and let water from the shower nozzle stream over her head. She soaped her hair vigorously with the hotel’s shampoo and closed her eyes to let the jet of water rinse away the suds.

  Her heart stopped for an instant when she heard a noise, then she remembered locking the door. Anyway, this wasn’t the Bates Motel. A man wasn’t going to burst through the shower curtain and—

  “Eeeeek!”

  “Darling, I’m sorry for frightening you.” Max stepped into the tub and caught her in his arms. “I thought you heard me.”

  “I locked the door.”

  “Hotel bathrooms have flimsy locks in case a guest slips in the bath.”

  “You picked the lock.”

  She wanted to be furious with him, but oh, he was gorgeous. His shoulders were sleek and muscular, his chest breathtaking, his waist slim, his tummy flat
...

  She embarrassed herself by looking lower and gasped.

  He stepped closer and let water cascade over him.

  She’d never taken a shower with a man. Did she wash him? Did he wash her? What if...? Did they...? Would he...?

  He reached around her and took a large bar of pale-yellow soap from a niche in the tile wall.

  “My own special blend,” he said, rubbing it between his hands until he had a fistful of suds.

  He wasn’t... He was.

  His slippery hands caressed her back and shoulders and slid down her arms, covering her with wonderfully scented bubbles. Then he reached around her and slowly soaped her front.

  Nothing compared to the ecstasy of his fingers on her breasts, teasing her nipples into hard, aching peaks. Gradually he made her forget her inhibitions until, when he went down on one knee, she trusted him implicitly.

  “Oh, oh, oh. Oh, yes.”

  She didn’t know she was speaking out loud. She buried her fingers in the wet strands of his hair and was lost in sensation until he rose, gave her a playful tap on her bottom, and placed the big oval of soap in her hand.

  She couldn’t... She didn’t know how. But she did.

  Everywhere.

  Water slides in amusement parks would always seem tame after this. She reveled in the firmness of his body. She found his soft spots and was surprised and excited by the contrast.

  When he reached behind her again and turned off the water, she was disappointed.

  “It’s only begun,” he promised, looking down at her with solemn eyes.

  He stepped out first, then offered his hand and wrapped her in the folds of the big white towel he held for her.

  He dried her with slow gentle pats, then squeezed water from her hair and used his own comb to work out the tangles. When she reached for a fresh towel to reciprocate, he smiled sheepishly and scooped her off her feet.

  “The air dried me, and this endurance test has to end soon. You’ve had me in knots for longer than any man should have to suffer.”

  “You’re being melodramatic.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and inhaled the wonderful soapy fragrance of the skin on his shoulder.

  “Probably.” He covered the distance to the bed in a few long strides and lowered her to the mattress, already stripped of the bedspread and blanket.