by Liz Johnson
“Hush, now.” She slapped at his bicep, unable to ignore both the tingles in her fingers at the contact and the laughter he conjured despite her glum mood.
They both bent to retrieve the dropped magazine, but Miles was faster. A glimmer of surprise flickered across his face as he took in the cover, and a muscle in his jaw jumped. “Quality reading material, here.”
“I realize it’s no Charles Shultz.” She held out her hand and Miles hesitantly passed the tabloid back to her, his expression tight. “You’re early, by the way.”
He shrugged, and the stiffness of his jaw relaxed. “That’s better than late, right?”
“Perhaps. You did save me from a full-on pity party.”
A faux-serious expression claimed his face. “Were there going to be snacks?”
“If Mrs. Hough has anything to say about it. She’s already trying to force feed me scones.”
“Then I shall RSVP to this pity party at once.”
“That’s unfortunate, because I’m trying to cancel it.”
“I see.” He tilted his head. “Need to vent?”
“Princesses don’t vent.” The admonishment rolled off her tongue automatically. Her tone even lilted in the same manner as her mother. Oh, dear. That wouldn’t do.
“Then good thing you’re off duty, huh?”
A lump filled her throat. “I thought it was a good thing, but now I’m not so sure.” She tried to keep her tone casual to hide the depth of emotion lingering behind that truth.
But as usual, Miles saw right through it.
“Okay, that’s it. You need to talk. This way.” Miles gripped both her shoulders and steered her back toward the dining room, where she realized with a start she’d left her computer on the table. That was a huge security breach—she could almost hear the admonition from her mother now.
Miles deposited her into the chair by her computer. “Is this official crown business, or are you free to tell me what happened?”
“Nothing happened, other than the inevitable consequence of a decision already made.” She propped her chin on her hand and swiveled to face him as he took the seat next to her. His blue eyes shone with genuine interest, and the knot in her stomach loosened a notch. “Brightloch’s council rejected my proposal for hospital improvements, and I realized via email a moment ago that no one has told the director yet.”
He winced. “Bummer.”
She spun the dainty gold ring on her pinky finger—the one her dad gave her when she turned twelve—around and around. “It would have been my duty to do so, but since I’m on a sabbatical of sorts, I legally can’t.”
“And you feel guilty?”
Guilty. Responsible. Weren’t they the same thing at this point? “I led them to believe it would happen prematurely. But I had no reason at the time to think my suggestion would be dismissed.” She let out a breath. “Actually, I should have expected it. It happens a lot. But with this…it just seemed so obviously the right thing to do.”
She still didn’t understand why they didn’t want to route the funds in that direction. And because everyone on the council still treated her like a child—mostly because of her mother’s influence—then she might never know.
Miles rocked back in his chair and crossed his arms, his expression thoughtful. “This might come as a shock to you, but I haven’t always been a chauffeur.”
She raised her eyebrow at him. “Shocking indeed.”
He grinned that contagious grin of his, landing both chair legs back on the floor. “I’m just saying, I’ve had to make business decisions before, from a financial standpoint, that people in my family didn’t agree with. And by family, I mean my dad.” He paused. “In fact, I’m planning to start a new company now, one they don’t even know about.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Security. Private detail, mostly.”
She nodded. “That sounds like something you’d be great at.” He’d already proven that by skulking around her at the general store. He certainly seemed continually aware of his surroundings—and hers. “So why doesn’t your father know?”
He hesitated. “That’s a long story. Mostly, because he wouldn’t approve.” He twisted his lips. “Then again, I don’t always approve of his choices, either.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Miles lowered his voice. “Sometimes approval is overrated, and we have to do what we know is right. Even if that’s on our own.”
The pieces fell together, and she leaned back in her chair. “Are you suggesting I somehow pay for the hospital improvements anyway, behind the council’s back?”
“I would never tell you to do that.” He waggled his eyebrows intentionally at her beneath his beanie, as if baiting her to take the hint.
“It doesn’t work that way in Brightloch. I don’t have a paycheck of significance that I’m free to use for my own means.” Wouldn’t that solve so many problems if she did? “As it stands, I don’t obtain real use of any family money until my mother passes and I become queen.”
Assuming she was even in Brightloch at that time to accept the crown. The knot reappeared in her stomach. What was she going to do?
“Are you planning to return?”
There he went reading her mind again.
She shook her head, nodded, then shook it again. “I’m so torn right now. The planner in me wants to make a decision, but the other part of me wants to ignore the entire situation until after Christmas and hope it goes away.”
He drew his chair a few inches closer to hers, his voice dropping an octave. “Would it be completely inappropriate to tell you that I hope you’ll stay around Tinsel a while longer?”
“Not completely.” She stared at the table, where his hand inched closer to hers. The heat of the near touch seared her skin.
“Would it be completely inappropriate if I told you something else?” His fingers grazed hers, tracing the ring and then tugging her palm to connect with his.
Her heart stuttered and she relished in the warmth of their linked hands. “Knowing you, probably.”
He grinned and leaned closer, his elbow braced on his knee, and used his free hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re growing on me, Princess.”
His nearness tightened her chest. She froze as he tugged another lock of hair, chills racing down the back of her neck at the gentle touch. She closed her eyes and leaned into it. “You’re not romantic.”
“I know. Just honest.” Then he stood, pulling her up with him and taking her other hand in his. “This is probably a completely inappropriate proximity.”
“Agreed.” And yet, she closed the remaining inch of distance in a heartbeat.
His lips found hers immediately, and she soaked in the warmth of him, the breadth of him, the depth of him, as they kissed. Her fingers raked the hat off his head and ran through his hair.
He groaned in the back of his throat and pulled her in closer, hands tight around her waist. There was nothing but him, and his lips, and the taste of peppermint gum and the smell of the most masculine aftershave she’d ever encountered, like a forest in the throes of spring.
He broke away and drew her into a hug, his voice rumbling low in her ear. “You make me want to fix your problems.”
She relaxed into his embrace, her heart thumping like a run-away deer. “You can’t.”
“Men hate that.”
“So do we.” She snuggled an inch closer, her cheek resting on his shoulder, the fabric of his green henley soft against her cheek. “But you can hug me.”
His grip tightened in promise. “As you wish.”
Chapter 9
So much for keeping his distance.
Liam checked his rearview mirror for traffic as he carefully merged onto the highway. Eleanor had insisted on sitting up front with him, and he in turn insisted for safety’s sake that she stay in the back, since they were technically leaving Tinsel’s city limits.
His mirror check provided a gl
impse of her flushed face, cheeks pink from the cold—or was it from their kiss? He’d held her in the kitchen for he didn’t know how long. But it’d been long enough to give him time to decide two things.
One, he wanted to kiss her again.
And two, they weren’t going to do errands and buy Cheez-its today.
There was a third thought, but he hadn’t decided on it fully, so in the meantime, it remained on the back burner of his mind, heating up slowly.
Not unlike the temperature in the car every time her hooded gaze caught his in the mirror. He pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and took the north exit toward Burlington.
“Where are we going?” Eleanor leaned forward from the backseat as far as her seatbelt would allow, eyes bright, her dark brown hair tucked behind her ears giving her an eager, youthful look that was more college-kid than royalty. She might not know what she needed to do with her life after Christmas, but there was no denying this break had been good for her.
He swallowed. And good for him.
His lips tingled from the memory of hers, and his arms demanded to be wrapped around her one more time. Chemistry, check. But this was something else. He’d had chemistry with some of Hollywood’s hottest celebrities—and tried to a date a few with which he had none. This was different.
Eleanor was different.
The knot in his stomach that made him feel like he might throw-up and die of simultaneous fear and joy was definitely different.
“Miles?”
He’d been daydreaming about her and never answered. He cleared his throat and shot Eleanor a smile in the mirror. “You’ll see.”
He guided the limousine off the highway and toward a nearby neighborhood, one his uncle had sent him to last week for a few items Tinsel didn’t carry. Eleanor’s lack of argument over his vague answer showed growing trust on her part—or maybe she still felt bad for how she’d gone off on him the other day before the cookie surprise.
Speaking of, if this surprise today turned out to be as emotional as that one, he might have just made a poor life choice.
He risked one more glance in the mirror and caught her profile as she gazed out the window. In a few weeks, she might be completely gone from his view, staring out the window of a plane as she headed back to Brightloch.
His stomach sank. Even if she stayed, he’d be returning to California eventually. He couldn’t escape his family forever—they needed him. Without his influence, who knew what his dad would do? And what would happen to Tristan if he wasn’t there to run interference? At the end of the day, Eleanor couldn’t fully disown her family, either. She might stay in Tinsel, or somewhere else in America, but she’d never escape the royal blood flowing through her veins—or want anything to do with his scandalous family.
The thought sobered his elation as he put on his blinker and turned into the parking lot of the local Target, aiming for a space in the back by the cart return. He took a deep breath.
This next part was going to be tricky.
Eleanor followed Miles into the empty hospital elevator and held her breath as he pushed the button marked 6. Her head and heart swam with the magnitude of what they were about to do—and what he’d done in Target.
“You ready for this?” Miles smiled across the elevator, the same mischievous grin he’d given her back at the store, when he’d handed her a credit card. We’re going to the children’s hospital—pick whatever you want.
After she recovered from the initial shock and asked for a budget, he’d simply turned her toward the Lego Sets and baby dolls and offered a gentle shove.
Was she ready? Yes. And no.
The elevator rose and so did the emotion welling from the depths of her soul. She wasn’t sure at all if she was ready to see the children on the other side of the elevator door. She’d fought for the ones in Brightloch for so long now, she’d almost forgotten there were other children in other countries in just as bad of shape. What if it triggered rough memories from her father’s hospital stay? What if she broke down?
But even more than that, she wasn’t sure she was ready for the man across from her—the generous specimen she couldn’t stop staring at, the one who kissed like it was an Olympic event and whose heart stretched broader than her entire country. Once again, he’d heard her and taken action.
But one question lingered—how did a chauffeur working for his uncle’s company have endless funds for charity? The card he’d given had some vague business name she’d never heard of. Did he own a company outside of working for his uncle?
So many questions—and no time to ask.
The elevator chimed as the doors opened, and she and Miles lugged their haul toward the nurses’ station. Her heart pounded in anticipation, and her mind raced in a quest for the right words. What should they say? They weren’t expected. How would—
“Merry Christmas.” Miles leaned over the counter and the middle-aged, red-haired woman in purple scrubs looked up from a chart in surprise. He slid a box that the store had gift-wrapped across the desk. “We didn’t forget you guys.”
So that’s how. Eleanor hid a smile. She should have known. She hung back a few steps, hoping the nurses wouldn’t recognize her with her low ponytail and casual attire. They had to be careful—Tinsel’s no-media ban didn’t stretch into Burlington.
“What’s going on?” A dark-skinned woman in matching scrubs ambled over, hands fisted on her hips and a curious grin stretching wide across her face. Her ID badge read SHAN in bold letters.
The redhead eagerly took the package and began opening the wrapped ends. “Looks like Santa came early.”
Shan lowered her chin and peered at Miles. “In that case, his beard is shorter than I expected.”
“Hey, mugs! And coffee.” The redhead pulled several coffee cups, packages of gourmet brew, candy and striped stirring sticks from the box and began lining them up on the desk. “Come look at this, Cindy!”
“What?” Another purple-clad nurse with a blonde bun hurried over, a curly-haired toddler in a small hospital gown balanced on her hip. She beamed at the load. “Ohh, yummy. Save me a Hershey bar.”
“And they’ve got more.” Shan pointed to the bags at Miles and Eleanor’s feet.
Then all three sets of nurses’ eyes traveled up Eleanor’s legs to her face, and a hush fell over the ward, save for the too-familiar beeping of a heart monitor in the next room.
Miles quickly jumped in. “We brought gifts for all the kids. And some to leave for later, in case someone new is admitted before Christmas.” But he might as well have been singing carols for all the attention the nurses gave him.
“Princess Eleanor?” Cindy gasped.
The redhead’s hands went to her cheeks and she gaped. “Is it?”
“I—” Eleanor opened her mouth, then closed it. Her fingers gripped the red toy sack and she turned pleading eyes to Miles. “I’m just…”
“Oh, that’s her, all right.” Shan’s chin dropped a notch lower and her eyebrows shot knowingly into her hairline. “Look at that complexion. Like a bowl of fresh milk.”
Dread gripped Eleanor’s stomach in a vice. If the media reported she was here, her mother would throw such a royal tantrum it’d be heard all the way from Brightloch. That wasn’t even bringing into consideration the legal ramifications. And Jackson! She could almost hear the stress in his tone over the safety measure. None of this was secure or following protocol.
“Listen, ladies, your discretion is appreciated.” Miles stepped closer to the purple-clad huddle and held a finger to his lips. “We’re trying to do some off-the-clock good here for these kids, and publicity would ruin the entire thing.”
“Wait a minute. You mean to say, there’s a famous person here who doesn’t want this documented?” Shan pursed her lips as she leaned across the counter. “Okay, I can roll with that.” She abruptly straightened and clapped her hands twice, with such authority that even Eleanor jumped. “Let’s go find some kids!”
Miles slapped a pl
aying card on the coffee table between him and a young boy in a wheelchair and crowed in victory. “That’s two out of three!” He waggled his eyebrows. “Sure you don’t want to play poker next?”
“No worries.” The kid in the hospital gown gave the cards an expert shuffle, fanning them first one direction, then the next. “We’re playing three out of five, and you’re going down, Santa.”
Eleanor met the gaze of the pretty pre-teen girl sitting beside her on the lobby couch and grinned. “Well, at least we know ‘Santa’ isn’t letting him win.”
The kids, after tearing into the presents, had started referring to her and Miles as Santa and Mrs. Clause, which Eleanor had quickly corrected to Ms. But the look Miles had shot her at the first “Mrs.” had lit a fire in her stomach she couldn’t quite douse.
The girl in the gown next to her, whose name she’d just learned was Sarah, snorted as she fiddled with the Rubik’s cube in her hand. “If I know William, he appreciates that. We hate pity around here.” She self-consciously patted her bald head. “Though fake compliments are still appreciated.”
Eleanor’s heart twisted. “You’re truly beautiful, whether you have hair or not.” Sarah had high cheekbones and a narrow chin that reminded Eleanor of royalty.
Sarah shrugged, sliding a row of red squares next to a blue one. “The wig makes my head itch. Plus, there’s only one more round of chemo, then maybe it’ll start growing back.”
Eleanor couldn’t believe the younger girl’s positive attitude. Sarah reminded her so much of the girl she’d played cards with so many years ago. The same bald head, the same hospital gown, the same unexpected visit…the good times and the laughter. Did the girl then, whose name she’d long forgotten, still remember her? Was she healthy now? Suddenly, it mattered greatly. When she returned to Brightloch, she’d do all she could to try to find out.
Reality sent a chill down her spine.
If she returned.
“I will say he’s a lot cuter than Santa.” Sara eyed Miles across the room, squinting. “And he looks kind of familiar, doesn’t he?” She tilted her head to one side. “Like maybe I’ve seen him in a magazine before. He has that celebrity vibe.”
