While he wanted to answer her questions honestly, she was in a position to use his answers against him, compromise security and incite civil unrest. Although her story would be published overseas, Vashmiran newspapers and television stations would report back here on what she wrote. He already had enough problems; he didn’t need more.
Perhaps he should have lied and told her that he believed the driver had been drunk. But what kind of way was that to start a relationship? He’d preferred honesty and realized he’d put himself in an extremely awkward position. He risked damaging their potential relationship if he stretched the truth, but risked compromising security if he didn’t.
“Your Majesty,” the driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “There are protesters blocking our route to the palace.”
“What kind of protest?” Ericka asked, squirming to one side and moving off his lap.
Nicholas took care of business and spoke first to the driver. “Can we go around?”
The driver pressed his hand to his earpiece, a tiny radio device through which he received orders. “The chief suggests we head for Montene until the streets calm.”
“Do it. Are the protests violent?” Nicholas asked, then could have bit his tongue. He was accustomed to guarding his words when he spoke to the press, but not in private. He didn’t want Ericka to think she was in danger, write about his country as if today’s incident was an everyday occurrence and scare away tourists over a minor affair.
“Sorry, Your Highness. I have no further information and the radio won’t work on this side of the ridge.”
“Understood.” Nicholas leaned back in the seat, took one look at Ericka’s arched eyebrow and selected his next words with care. “We aren’t in danger.”
“Of course not. Your guards were just shooting at that car in the park for target practice. No doubt your protesters are marching to burn off calories.”
He almost smiled at her wit. “You Americans love your sarcasm.”
“We also love the truth,” she countered.
Soft and silky and sensuous, she peered into his eyes with an acute intelligence that challenged him to explain. He dropped his gaze to her straight nose and full lips, wondered if she’d taste as good as she looked. Although she’d scooted off his lap, they sat close together, so close that he need merely dip his head to capture her lips.
She must have read his intentions. A cocky tilt of her eyebrow, a slight increase in the dilation of her pupils and a ragged breath told him she was responding to him, but clearly didn’t like it.
She must be accustomed to men taking her into their arms, trying to kiss her. He wanted to be different from the rest. Waiting until she was receptive would be the wisest move. However, pulling back wasn’t easy, and he had to remind himself that he plotted not just a seduction, but a courtship.
“The truth,” he told her, “is that on any given day, someone in this country is angry at me. We always have protesters in our streets. These particular protesters want to open our northern borders to accept more immigrants. But the majority of Vashmiran people are against such a move. We simply cannot afford the financial burden of caring for additional refugees.”
As he spoke, he studied her carefully and realized that she’d accepted his decision not to kiss her with just a mere flicker of relief. Superb at hiding her feelings, she could respond on many levels without batting an eyelash. Yet, when he’d pulled back, for just an instant, he’d seen surprise and possibly disappointment battle with relief.
“Since you weren’t elected, how do you know what the majority of people want?” she challenged him again.
“We have meetings and take polls here, too. We are not so backward.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that you were. I’m not sure anyone in government really understands working folks.”
“It’s not so hard to listen to people…. We all basically have the same wants and needs.”
“We do?” The concept appeared to interest her.
“Yes, I believe so. We all want to live in a safe neighborhood, have enough food on our table, educate our children, heal our sick, care for the elderly. And let’s not forget our need for the freedom to pursue happiness and fall in love.”
At the word love, a stillness came over her. She appeared to concentrate so completely that he felt as if she’d gone somewhere else. When a full minute passed and she said nothing, he waved a hand in front of her eyes. “Ericka. Ericka. Where are you?”
“Sorry.” She squirmed to put inches between them on the seat.
He could only be thankful for the patience his father had demanded he learn as a child because he ached to draw her back against his side—even though he knew he would be moving too fast for her. So he controlled himself—barely. “Where did you go off to in your head?”
“I was just thinking…” She bit her bottom lip.
Was she deliberately teasing him? He doubted she even realized the effect she was having on him. “Thinking about what?”
“You think every human being needs love?” she asked him, her eyes honest, but wary.
“Absolutely.”
She grinned. “No hesitation. No equivocation. I like that.”
“And you disagree?”
“It depends on the definition of need,” she told him. “I need air, food and water or I’d die. However, without love, I certainly wouldn’t die.”
“But would you be happy?” he pressed, a little puzzled by the turn the conversation had taken. The woman on the seat beside him was beautiful, smart and full of startling revelations, so much so that he found himself holding his breath as he waited for her to reply.
“I am happy,” she told him. “My life is very much the way I planned it.”
“You have no husband? No children? And nothing’s missing?”
“If I had those kind of permanent ties,” she countered, “I wouldn’t be here with you. And right now, I can’t think of a better place to be.”
When she leaned toward him and looked at him with intensity, those eyes peering straight into him, he had difficulty thinking, breathing. He leaned down, kissed her forehead. “I’m glad you came.”
“MONTENE IS OUR SUMMER beach house on the Black Sea,” Nicholas told Ericka twenty minutes later. “We can stay there until the protesters get hungry and tired and go home.”
She looked out the window at the very blue water. Sailboats, the occasional sailboarder and swimmers took advantage of the temperate climate and calm waters, which matched those of any European resort along the Mediterranean. Sunbathers reclined on lounge chairs around swimming pools or lay on colorful towels spread on the golden sand beach. Along the roadside, a Turkish mosque reminded her that Vashmira had one foot firmly in the East.
The driver’s route wound around a grassy hill, and she lost sight of the sparkling water and contented herself with viewing the magnificent Mediterranean villas in the area. Both rustic and magnificent homes of varying architectures dotted the landscape. As they approached the seashore, early nineteenth-century homes characterized by stone ground floors and wooden upper floors gave way to ornate homes built more recently that sported sunny verandas, multicolored facades and jutting eaves. Colorful and welcoming wildflowers sprouted in window boxes, planters and along the sidewalks. Ivy-covered perimeter fences or massive hedges and thick gates hid the summer homes of Vashmira’s wealthy. Clearly this was an area where the owners valued their privacy, and Ericka could easily enjoy vacationing here, but she reminded herself this was not a vacation. She had work to do and turned her attention from the view to her host.
“You’re looking forward to staying a while?” she asked, breathing in the scent of flowers through the now open window, at the same time trying to forget how good it had felt when he’d wrapped his arms around her. She’d absorbed the warmth of his body, and she no longer needed his arms around her—but she wanted them. However, she absolutely wouldn’t make a move in his direction. She never flirted with the men she
interviewed. Her job required a clear head, and she refused to let personal feelings interfere with her career. Long ago she had set limits, limits that didn’t include mixing business and pleasure, since she wouldn’t consider tarnishing her professional reputation. Which didn’t mean she didn’t like men—just that she kept that area of her life separate from work. Unfortunately, work often kept her on the road for weeks, not exactly conducive to maintaining a relationship. While she had no interest in Nicholas beyond obtaining a terrific interview, she still couldn’t help recalling how hard it had been to force herself to scoot away.
It wasn’t as if she’d never sat on a man’s lap before. But she’d never before felt so aware. She’d noticed every rise and fall of his chest as he’d breathed, heard his steady heartbeat under her cheek, but worst of all, she’d never felt so attracted to a man. However, she could handle it. Many famous people had charisma. That didn’t mean her relationship would be anything but professional.
“I am looking forward to a break from state business. There’s no finance minister, secretary of state or military advisor waiting for me here. No tedious meetings. No protesters.”
He sounded boyishly happy, and she smiled in response. “So you’re playing hooky with me, and you have a good excuse.”
“Exactly.”
Ericka liked the way he dealt with the protesters. No macho call to bring out the troops. No embarrassment over the fact that he couldn’t return to the palace. No complaint over the inconvenience. Just a simple change of plans which he’d adapted to his benefit. And hers.
His calm, rational thinking gave her hope that he would not ever attempt to use that old marriage contract against her. He seemed thoroughly modern and at ease with himself.
Although she wasn’t naive enough to think they would be alone in the summerhouse, their time together here would probably be less scheduled and more relaxed than at the palace. While she regretted that her baggage had been sent elsewhere, she had her laptop and could work.
However, she wasn’t nearly ready to start writing. She still had much data to collect. In fact, she had yet to decide how to slant her first story. Her impressions of the king kept changing. When she’d asked about his father he’d been almost dark and brooding, minutes later he’d been cheerful and entertaining. While he was clearly a dedicated workaholic, she often caught hints of intriguing playfulness.
She’d give up a shot at this year’s Pulitzer prize to know his intentions toward her. One moment she’d seen sparks of desire in his eyes and had thought he would kiss her, the next, he’d been remote, as if he’d had to pull himself back from a natural impulse and remind himself to go slowly.
She was woman of the world enough to know she was having an effect on him. But she also knew she wasn’t sending him signals of encouragement. So why did she feel as if she were being subjected to a slow, methodical campaign to bring down her defenses? She considered and rejected the idea that he was deliberately trying to create such an impression. No doubt the man simply oozed charm 24/7 and couldn’t help himself.
The tension between them wouldn’t go on for too much longer without him at least trying to kiss her. Although she would avoid the situation if possible and had no intention of kissing him back, she couldn’t help wondering if his kiss might be as seductive as the looks he gave her. Past experience told her that saying no to him might cause difficulties. Some men sulked when she refused their advances. Others refused to cooperate with the interview. But she could cope with this behavior as she had in the past.
She was dying to ask him who he intended to announce as his bride at the coronation ceremony but didn’t yet dare. She didn’t want him to clam up on her.
In some ways this assignment was turning out better than she’d expected. Nicholas Zared had surprised her and intrigued her. He would make a fascinating study for her story. Commanding, compelling, capable, he didn’t try to throw his weight around.
Pavement turned to brick, and the driver drove through an impressive set of gates manned by two guards. Well acquainted with the lifestyles of the wealthy, she nonetheless marvelled at the luxury of the lush private grounds. Exotic greenery and a glorious variety of flowers surrounded gurgling fountains and an elaborate gazebo. A patrol discreetly monitored the perimeter, their leashed dogs sniffing towering hedges.
The driveway ended in a graceful circle in front of a sprawling stone beach house that looked as if the architect couldn’t decide whether he was building a castle, a museum or a mosque. The crazy architecture, a patchwork quilt from various styles and eras, had a certain charm.
Ericka kept the blanket around her shoulders and stepped out of the car. The fresh scent of the sea wafted to her on the breeze along with the sweet aroma of flowers, and the shouts of happy children carried through the air from the beach. She wondered if security there was just as tight but was reluctant to bring up the topic and break the peaceful moment.
Nicholas carried her laptop for her, but instead of strolling toward the massive staircase leading to the front entrance, he headed for a side door. “I thought you might appreciate a hot bath and a change of clothes before you meet anyone.”
“Thanks.” The man could be considerate. As a woman who paid attention to her looks, she didn’t like meeting people at such a disadvantage. With her damp hair, wet clothes and smeared makeup, she looked far from her best and would have felt uncomfortable meeting anyone new. Only Nicholas’ similar appearance, his casual acceptance of their situation and genuine good manners kept her from worrying over her appearance with him. However, meeting strangers was another matter.
Nicholas led her down a private brick path and opened a gate which led into a courtyard shaded by huge trees and ivy-covered walls. Mosaic tiles decorated a patio area where Ericka had no trouble imagining spending a pleasant afternoon curled up with a political thriller. A marble chess set stood waiting for players, and chirping birds bathed in a fountain that spouted clear water into a pond with golden-colored fish.
“I could get used to this,” she told him.
His eyes lit up. “Wait until you see the Turkish bath.” He led her to a door of the main building. “An Ottoman emperor built the original baths and my father had them restored.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“There’s a men’s side and a ladies’ side.”
“And never the two shall mix?” she teased, then wished she could take back her words. Whether she liked it or not, sitting on his lap had made their relationship less formal.
“I didn’t say that.” As if she’d placed a naughty visual image in his mind, his lips curled into a tight grin, but he turned away before she could tell if his mouth blossomed into a full-fledged smile.
He took them up a spiral flight of stairs, then another. The lighting was dim, the stairs dusty. It wasn’t hard to visualize former residents sneaking up and down this secret passageway to rendezvous with a lover.
“Here we are.” Nicholas opened a door, and she followed him into a stunning room decorated in deep blues and golden hues. Fresh flowers in Venetian glass vases lent a sweet scent to the sea breeze coming in through open floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto a veranda, the beach and the sea. A domed ceiling overhead reminded her of the mosques she’d seen in Istanbul, but except for the plush Turkish carpets and Russian paintings on the walls, the decor was European. She recognized museum quality antiques in the furnishings, a crystal chandelier from the last century, priceless art on mahogany-paneled walls. Then she peeked into the most modern of bathrooms, all gleaming white marble, elegant golden faucets for the sink and tub, and her very own whirlpool, steam bath and sauna. She snared a towel and wrapped her wet hair into a turban.
A huge closet stood open, and her lower jaw dropped in amazement as she recognized her belongings. Her luggage had been delivered here and unpacked for her!
She whirled around to thank him, thinking a girl could get used to this kind of first-class treatment. “Thanks for having m
y stuff sent over. This is the loveliest room I’ve ever seen.”
He set her laptop on a desk. “I’m pleased you like it.”
“I’m so glad I came.” She crossed over to him, the blanket still around her shoulders but wanting him to know how much his thoughtfulness meant to her. “I almost didn’t accept the assignment, you know.”
“Really? Why is that? I can’t imagine that you were overwhelmed by being picked for the only personal interview.”
“Not a chance of that happening.” So he knew of her ambitions and had played upon them. Interesting. “And you knew it, didn’t you?” she asked him, curious to see how he would respond since neither of them had yet mentioned the marriage contract between them. She’d thought, no hoped, that he’d forgotten its existence. But she now realized she’d been wrong.
“I arranged to offer you what you wanted,” he admitted with no hesitation, his eyes direct and compelling.
“Why?”
“To get what I wanted,” he admitted, his voice as sweet as spun sugar.
“Which is?” she pushed him, needing to know exactly what she had gotten herself into.
“I wanted the best journalist for the job.”
“Bull.”
His eyes narrowed. “I haven’t lied to you.”
“But you haven’t told me the whole truth either, have you?” she countered, her temper starting to sizzle.
“I thought it was time we met,” he admitted.
Before he could say another word, a woman burst through the door which remained open from their entrance. For a moment, Ericka feared another attack.
Then she took a second look. Extremely attractive, with long dark hair, a killer figure and flashing eyes, the woman rushed toward Nicholas and flung herself into his arms with the exuberance of someone assured he would welcome her.
She kissed him on one cheek, then the other, then on the mouth. “Darling, I’m so glad you’re all right.”
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