Falling for the Princess

by Sandra Hyatt

  He’d helped her with her chin strap at the rafting, this was no different. Only then she hadn’t been quite so aware of the breadth of his chest or his scent. He hadn’t been wearing the cologne—citrusy and subtly spicy—that he wore now.

  Nor, then, had he yet kissed her.

  So she hadn’t been thinking of his lips, the precise full shape of them. And she wouldn’t now. She reached up, the back of her hands brushed the underside of his jaw and she felt the gentle abrasion of hours-old beard. She pulled her hands away and stepped back, ignoring his grin.

  “Perfect,” she said, focusing her gaze on the black bow tie.

  “Thank you. You’re not too bad yourself.”

  “I was referring to the bow tie.”

  “And I was referring to you. You look…beautiful.”

  Rebecca opened her mouth, suddenly lost for words at the sincerity in his voice and eyes.

  She’d spent an inordinately long time deciding what to wear this evening. As a princess her dress was scrutinized at the best of times. But tonight she had to send the right message to the public and be careful not to send the wrong message to Logan. She didn’t want him to think she’d dressed for him. After trying on innumerable outfits she’d gone back to her first choice—a simple ice-blue gown beaded with tiny crystals. It had a scooped neckline at the front and at the back it dipped rather more daringly. The slim-fitting skirt fell to the floor with a slit in the side—nothing too revealing—that allowed her to walk.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. Please don’t let that be a blush she could feel heating her face.

  He held out his arm. “Shall we?”

  Rebecca hesitated then looped her arm through his, felt the fabric of his suit shift over the muscles of his forearm. “You spoke to my father this morning?” she asked, as much to distract herself from his nearness as anything else.

  “Yes. And he warned me, very diplomatically, that if I hurt you in any way I’ll suffer the consequences of his enduring wrath.”

  She nodded. “He has that talk with anyone who wants to date me.”

  “It’s very effective.”

  “You’re not…”

  “No. It’d take more than that to scare me off.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first one.” Several relationships she’d had hopes and dreams for had faltered at that hurdle.

  He glanced at her. “Then the ones who were scared off weren’t worthy.”

  “Thank you. But you do remember that for our plan to work I need to look heartbroken. Dad could turn people against you.”

  “I remember. But our breakup will be mutual. You’ll assure him of that. And I’ll be just as heartbroken as you,” he said lightly. “Though of course I’ll hide it better.”

  She sat in the Ferrari’s passenger seat. “I usually have a royal car take me to formal engagements like this one.”

  “And I prefer to drive. I like the control.”

  “Figures.”

  His lips twitched.

  What it meant for Rebecca was that rather than being the width of a broad seat away from him she was the width of a gear stick away. And dependent on him. On the plus side it meant that, with his hands occupied with the steering wheel and gearshift, he couldn’t slide his hand behind her neck as he’d done yesterday in the car. Couldn’t disconcert her that way.

  He pulled to a stop in front of the royal theater house. A valet opened her door and Rebecca got out. It was also harder to exit a low-slung Ferrari with the appropriate royal dignity than it was a limousine. But she managed.

  Logan tossed his keys to the valet and approached, his gaze narrowed intently on her, seeming to focus on her lips, and a smile played about his eyes.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she whispered as he stopped in front of her.

  “About what?”

  “You were going to kiss me.”

  Dark eyebrows lifted. “Actually, no, but if it’s what you want.”

  Had he not been intending to kiss her? Was that her imagination? “It’s not what I want,” she insisted. “We’ve already kissed enough.”

  “Was that in the Royal Kissing Rules, frequency as well as duration? I’m sure I don’t remember.”

  “You remember.”

  He reached for her hand, and interlaced his fingers with hers. An intimate joining, his larger fingers stretching hers apart. “A curious question, Princess. So if I understand it—” they began walking the stairs to the grand, arched building “—in your world, lovers kiss for no more than five seconds and no more than once a day?”

  “No, but…we’re not lovers.”

  “It’s what we want people to think, isn’t it?”

  “No,” she said more abruptly than she’d intended, something like fear making her blurt the word out.

  He stopped walking and turned to her. “No?”

  “They can…wonder, they can perhaps guess or assume but…”

  He leaned closer. “So they can wonder if when I get you home—” his words were low, barely more than a whisper “—I’ll be peeling this beautiful dress off your exquisite body, baring your pale skin to the moonlight and touching my hands, my lips—”

  “Stop it.”

  Behind a cordoned-off area flashes were popping wildly as they stood halfway up the stairs having a conversation in which she was completely out of her depth.

  “What is it that frightens you, ma chérie?” As if sensing her desire to run, his hand tightened around hers. “No one is close enough to hear.”

  Out of her depth and getting deeper. “Nothing frightens me,” she lied.

  “Nothing? Oh, to be you.”

  “Logan.” She tugged at his hand. “Now isn’t the time or the place.”

  “Perhaps not.”

  Slowly he turned and Rebecca used the opportunity to disengage her hand. Which only meant that as they reached the top of the stairs and approached the door he could lift his hand to her back, rest warm, blunt fingers along her spine. The images that she’d conjured in her mind—Logan peeling off her dress, touching her skin with those large calloused hands—returned, sending a bolt of unwanted yearning through her.

  The ballet was… Rebecca couldn’t say what it was. She barely knew which ballet was being performed, and she couldn’t say whether it was being performed well. It was the royal ballet company so one could make assumptions, but her lack of focus had been complete. Logan—his words, his actions, his proximity—prevented coherent thought. Though she’d refused to look at him through the first act of the ballet, all her thoughts were on him, the way he disconcerted her—deliberately—as he’d done tonight. The way he took what should have been ordinary conversation and twisted it. The way he made her think thoughts she didn’t want to think. The way just his fingers interlaced with hers made her think of other joinings and interlacings.

  He had her—usually serene and in control—tied in knots, and she didn’t know how to manage it, how to untangle herself, or her thoughts.

  At a small sound beside her she turned. Logan sat low in his seat, his head tipped back and his eyes…closed! The sound had been a gentle snore. It had also caught her sister-in-law’s attention. Lexie, sitting on Logan’s other side, looked from Logan to Rebecca and then, suppressing a grin, returned her attention to the ballet. Lexie might think it funny but Adam, here with the Swedish ambassador’s daughter, would not. He took his duties seriously. Some would say too seriously, the weight of his future responsibilities already weighing heavily. It had been a long time since she’d heard her brother’s laughter and the last thing she wanted to do was call down his censure on her now.

  Rebecca elbowed Logan in the arm. Slowly, he opened his eyes, then narrowed them on her. “What was that for?”

  “What was it for? You were sleeping,” she hissed. She’d never hissed in her life.

  “I wasn’t sleeping. I was reliving one of those beautiful earlier moments in my head.”

  “You were snoring.”

&nbs
p; Even in the dim light of the theater she could see the amusement in his eyes as he feigned interest and asked, “So, this new lead dancer…what do you think of her?”

  Rebecca turned back in her seat.

  “Nice legs.”

  “You’re not supposed to be looking at her legs.”

  “I meant yours.”

  She looked down to see that with her twisting in her seat the side split in her dress had ridden up and parted, revealing a glimpse of her thigh. Which was still vastly more than she wanted Logan looking at. She rearranged the dress so that it sat properly.

  He leaned closer. “I’m still imagining taking it off you.”

  Maybe she shouldn’t have woken him.

  At the intermission he took her hand and walked with her to the royal lounge. When he would have approached a cluster of people that included her brothers and Eduardo she steered him instead to a quiet corner of the room.

  Still holding her hand, he turned to her. “You want to make out? Here? Do you think that’s really appropriate?”

  He took far too much pleasure in needling her. “It’d be more appropriate than me killing you. Here.” She tried to slide her hand from his but his grasp tightened.

  “So you do want to make out?” His gaze dropped to her lips then flicked to the split in her dress before coming back to connect with hers. Deliberately provocative. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.

  “No. But I do want to kill you,” she said, smiling sweetly for the benefit on any watchers.

  “Because?” His thumb probed gently between her fingers.

  And Rebecca had to fight to keep her focus on what she was saying and not on what he was doing. “You fell asleep. And you made me hiss.”

  “Bet I can make you sizzle, too.”

  “Be serious.” She didn’t want to contemplate that assertion for fear that he might be right. “We’re talking about you falling asleep during the ballet.”

  “And that’s a capital offense in San Philippe?”

  “I’m a patron of the ballet,” she said in a low voice.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  For a moment she almost believed he was sincere in his regret. He took two champagne flutes from a hovering waiter and passed one to her.

  “That must be awful for you. Do you have to come very often?”

  “I love the ballet.”

  “You do?” For the first time this evening she knew she was hearing genuine sentiment—surprise—in his question.

  Eduardo appeared at Logan’s side. She’d been so intent on Logan that she hadn’t seen him approach. “Rebecca.” He nodded and gave a small tight smile. “Logan.”

  She knew the two men had met previously. She just didn’t think they’d got along. Even looking at them now, and even both good-looking and dressed in tuxedos, they were polar opposites. Eduardo lean and fair, Logan with his darker coloring and more powerful build.

  “How are you enjoying the ballet, Logan? I wouldn’t have thought it was your thing.” Eduardo had been raised in the same circles she had, privileged and cultured—a world away from the blue-collar background Logan had told her a little of, and of which he was so proud. Eduardo was basically a decent man when things were going his way, but he could be cold and calculating and could, at times, be a complete and utter prat. She had the feeling now might be one of those times. She’d refused his offer to accompany her to this very ballet.

  Logan darted a glance at Rebecca, amusement in those dark eyes of his, and she tried to convey with her gaze that she needed him to take this seriously. Her family and friends, many surreptitiously watching, needed to be convinced that they really were in a relationship. That they had things in common.

  “I’m enjoying it almost as much as I’m enjoying Becs’s company.” Hopefully only she knew that meant not at all.

  “Becs?” Eduardo repeated disapprovingly, echoing Rebecca’s surprise. Logan moved so that he stood beside her. He lifted his hand and touched the bare skin of her back, sending a shiver coursing through her. She couldn’t step away from the touch without destroying the image they wanted to create. And a part of her—a small rebellious part—didn’t want to. His fingers were warm and gentle. His touch possessive. Rebecca took a sip of champagne.

  Eduardo looked intently at Logan for long seconds. “I heard you two were an item,” he said. “I’ll admit I didn’t believe it until I saw you here together.”

  “We ran into each other in New Zealand. Becs hasn’t been able to tear herself from my side since.” His fingers trailed up and down her spine. He couldn’t know the strange effect that movement had on her, causing heat to coil and swirl low within her. She tried to ease just a little away from him, but he spread his fingers and pulled her in closer. She felt the imprint of his palm and of each fingertip. She couldn’t be certain but she thought perhaps those fingertips had slipped beneath the edge of the back of her dress. And again, that image that he’d planted outside on the steps, of him peeling her dress off, came back to her. Those large calloused hands of his that she knew, from watching him at his laptop and tying his bow tie, could also be deft and clever.

  Rebecca swallowed another sip of champagne and marshaled her errant thoughts as she tried to force the heat from her face. “He’s joking, of course. Logan does so love to twist things. He’s the one who can’t seem to let go of me. I was scarcely aware of him until he invited me to dinner that first night.”

  “Ahh, but you’re aware of me now, aren’t you, ma chérie?” His thumb circled slowly.

  Far too aware.

  Rebecca’s gaze latched on to the distant entrance to the restrooms. She hadn’t hidden out in a rest room since her early, awkward teenage years, but the thought of doing so at this instant was infinitely tempting. But, she took a deep breath. Logan was watching her, testing her, seeing how far he could push her and she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of running away. She looked over her shoulder at him. “You’re certainly impossible to ignore.” Her comment could be interpreted as a compliment…or not.

  Her deliberately ambiguous response seemed to please him because he smiled. A smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes. She found herself smiling back and holding his gaze for the longest time, losing herself in the depths that were as tempting and sinful as chocolate. There was something so different, so…invigorating in the way he teased her, and the way he allowed and encouraged her to tease him back.

  Eduardo cleared his throat. “How are the leBlanc negotiations coming along?”

  Logan’s smile vanished and he swung his gaze to Eduardo. “I never discuss business when I’m on a date with a beautiful woman.”

  “Of course not,” Eduardo said, something smug and unattractive in his eyes. “And I’m interrupting.” With a small bow he excused himself.

  Logan dropped his hand from her back.

  Rebecca stepped a little away from him, needing more air, more space. “Shall we go back in? I don’t know that I’m ready for more performances like that.” She put her champagne flute on a passing waiter’s tray.

  “But you’re a natural. If I didn’t know better I would have thought there was real warmth, almost heat, in that gaze.”

  Rebecca lifted her chin. “Then it’s a good thing you do know better.” His laughter was quiet and deep as he offered her his arm and they began walking. Beneath her palm she felt the solid strength of a powerful forearm.

  “What’s Eduardo’s interest in leBlanc?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Probably his new stepfather.”

  “Who is…?”

  They reached their seats and she slid her hand from his arm. “Theo Summerfield.”

  “Damn.”

  “That’s a problem?”

  “No. But I should have known. I hadn’t made the connection.” He stood while he waited for her to sit in one of the plush red seats then lowered himself beside her.

  “Theo is Eduardo’s mother’s fourth husband. And Eduardo is the son of her
second. It’s not easy to keep track of.”

  “No. But it’s the sort of thing I do like to keep track of.”

  “Know your opposition?”

  “Exactly. For instance, I did know that you and pretty boy—”

  “Eduardo.”

  “That you and Eduardo were once an item.”

  He knew her dating history? Not that it required extensive research or even a particularly good memory. In stark contrast to what she knew of him, her list of suitors was short. “Not an item. We went out. Twice.” She really should have learned after the first time. All Eduardo had wanted was the kudos for dating a princess. He still did. He had political aspirations. And from what she knew, his stepfather was currently in the process of seeking “By Royal Appointment” endorsement for his line of breakfast foods. He too wanted her to date Eduardo.

  “It’s beginning to make sense,” Logan said.

  “What is?”

  “The ‘once a day and for five seconds only’ rule you have.”

  She wanted to disagree with him but maybe he was right. The rules she’d tried to establish with Logan had been based on her previous—limited—experience. She’d only dated men who didn’t push boundaries, who respected—too much—her position, failing to see who she was inside. Men who neither tempted nor taunted her.

  But the thought that Logan had researched her was disconcerting on several levels. “Does this interest you appear to have in my social life mean you see me as the op position?”

  He leaned closer. “No. Not the opposition. But I make a point of knowing how things stand with the people I’m…dealing with. We’re allies now, remember.”

  “Now, yes. Uneasy allies, I might add.”

  He shrugged and slipped his arm behind her shoulders, the fabric of his suit brushing against her skin. “But allies nonetheless. And I’m starting to think things might not always be uneasy. That in fact, some things might be very easy and enjoyable.”

  “That’s right. The things that don’t require us to talk. As I recall I’m allowed to sit next to you and whisper in your ear at the rowing regatta.”

  “There are other things that wouldn’t require us to talk.” His thumb moved slowly over her shoulder.