Royal Target

by Susan Kearney

  She attempted to stare him down, her eyes hot, her tone icy. “Maybe you don’t want to obey the laws of your country any more than I do, although I doubt you would put your brothers at risk. But perhaps the remote control didn’t work as you’d hoped.”

  So now she thought him an incompetent murderer. “You go too far, woman.”

  Her shoulders squared as if for battle. “I haven’t gone far enough. There are many questions that need answers.”

  “They aren’t your questions to ask,” he countered.

  She stood up to him with dignity. “Asking questions is my job.”

  “And my job—to make sure you’re safe—takes priority.” Dismissing her objections, he turned to Ira. “Is the road back to the palace clear of the protesters?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “We leave within the hour.”

  Ira nodded and departed as swiftly as he’d come, leaving behind him a stiff and uncomfortable silence. Nicholas figured he now owed her an apology, but didn’t know where to begin. How one small American woman could look so delicate and be so stubborn, he had no idea. He suspected neither a debate nor logic would win her over because they came to their disagreement from different places, different experiences, with different expectations. Breaching the gap between them had him at a loss.

  Yet, he would not resort to Alexander’s tactics—no matter how appealing kissing her might be. He would not gather her into his arms and kiss her while such heated words remained between them. Somehow, he had to ease the damage he had done without yielding to her demands to go public with a story that could put his brothers in additional jeopardy.

  Her eyes flashed daggers at him, but she spoke with a softness that belied her inner strength. “I can keep the story under wraps until—”

  “Under wraps?”

  “Delay it.”

  Surprised that she would offer a compromise, he felt like taking her into his arms and kissing her. Instead, he considered the merits of her suggestion with care. They might both accomplish their goals if cooler heads prevailed. “How long would you—”

  “Hold the story?” She gazed at him thoughtfully. “Until the culprit is caught and the danger to you and your family has passed.”

  Her generous offer caused guilt to stab him. First she’d helped to save the children, and now she was offering to hold back her story. In his experience with reporters, they only did that when they expected something in return. However, so far she had asked for nothing.

  He took in her serious eyes, the stubborn slant of her lips, the graceful angle of her neck and wondered what she expected from him, as all the while he tried to deny his own wish to stop talking and simply taste her lips. Again he told himself he would not kiss her—no matter how much he wanted to.

  “Your offer is generous,” he said, hiding his interest in her as well as his suspicions that the other shoe was about to drop. “This way I’ll be free to fill you in on every aspect of our investigation.”

  She didn’t move a muscle in her face, yet he could have sworn her eyes flashed with satisfaction. He realized he’d given her exactly what she wanted. Like any good reporter, she wanted the details of the investigation for her story. His admiration for her tactics soared, and although he’d been outgunned by a master, the beauty of her shot was that she’d hit the target without leaving him bleeding.

  “You could have been a politician,” he marvelled aloud. He couldn’t keep his gaze off her mouth. A mouth that looked smooth and sinful and very, very, seductive.

  “I don’t think so.” She shook her head, her auburn hair floating up in the breeze, the reddish-gold highlights sparkling in the sunlight. “I have too much respect for the truth.”

  He ached to run his fingers through her hair, comb it back into place just so he’d have the pleasure of watching the wind mess it up again. “I shouldn’t have told you that the out-of-control boat was an accident.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have. Apology accepted.”

  She was letting him off the hook with a grace that made his heart beat accelerate. “And I want to thank you for coming back for Nikita. If you hadn’t—”

  “No thanks are necessary.”

  “But they are.” And he lowered his head to kiss her.

  Chapter Seven

  Nicholas looked straight into Ericka’s eyes, pausing when their lips were just a centimeter apart, giving her time to gauge his intentions, to retreat, to turn away, or to say “no.” She didn’t stir, her eyes locking with his, her pupils dilating, her lips parting invitingly, her breath slightly ragged.

  Her mouth, softer than he expected, was warm and welcoming. He especially liked the fact that she didn’t close her eyes, kissing him the same way she lived life—boldly and honestly. She met his kiss with an openness that turned him on, a fearlessness he admired, and a heat he craved.

  Her tawny skin carried the scent of sun-kissed sand and sea air, promising a memorable, exotic voyage that he couldn’t resist taking. But like a fine journey to be savored, he wanted to experience every nuance, linger over the honeyed flavor of her, and he refused to rush. He took the opportunity to thread his fingers through her auburn hair that was like silk, so soft, so fine.

  The texture of her skin reminded him of crème brûlée, rich, sweet. He thought he could never get enough of her. And then he didn’t think at all.

  He simply reacted, gathering her close, deepening the kiss, enjoying her arms wrapped around his neck. She didn’t hold back, giving as much as she took, encouraging him with the tiny sounds of pleasure coming from the back of her throat. Her breasts rose and fell against his chest, her hips pressed against his, revealing to her the depths of his desire.

  Damn, the woman could kiss.

  Nicholas had no idea how long they stood locked together. He lost track of time. He lost track of his location. He forgot everything except the woman in his arms.

  Man-oh-man, the woman could kiss.

  “You two should find a room.”

  Ericka pulled back, her face flushed, her eyes slightly unfocused, and he barely found the strength to let her go. But words finally penetrated his consciousness, and when his spinning head finally cleared, it took him another moment to realize that his sister Tashya had ridden over to scold him with amusement in her eyes.

  She gestured to the interested spectators on the beach. “Our esteemed secretary of state’s wife, Natalie, thought I should remind you that you have an audience.”

  He’d forgotten. Something he never did. He’d forgotten the local press, the paparazzi, the tourists and his position. He’d forgotten everything except Ericka.

  Even now, his blood surged hotly through his veins, and he ached to gather her back into his arms.

  Think. With your brain—the big one between your ears not the…

  Damn it to hell! He hadn’t been this hot or ready to go up in flames since…since…not ever. But he couldn’t stop to analyze how Ericka had fired him up hotter than a bottle rocket while the press took pictures.

  He might be able to stop the Vashmiran paparazzi from publishing their photographs, but no matter how much he would like to, Nicholas never interfered with the press to avert personal embarrassment. Even if he was willing to stop the reporters, too many people had seen their actions to stop the rumors.

  For months his people had been watching his every move closely, speculating on who would become their queen. Gossip would spread like lightning, shocking friends and enemies alike. Nicholas should have known better than to create a public spectacle, yet as he looked at Ericka’s slightly swollen lips and wind-tossed hair and eyes wide with passion and wonder and fear, he couldn’t bring himself to regret one moment of their spectacular kiss.

  Ericka glanced at the growing press corps inching closer, despite the efforts of the palace guards, and she stiffened. She didn’t say a word, but she had that deer-caught-in-the-headlights look about her that said she’d rather be anywhere else.

  “It’s di
fferent on this side of the fence,” Nicholas told her gently, knowing she had once been part of that pack that shouted questions. As she’d moved up the ranks in her profession, she’d moved on to scheduled interviews, but she had to be familiar with the press’ tactics. Still, she’d most likely never been the subject. And accustomed as he was to being hounded, he still didn’t like the intrusions into his personal life. Ericka didn’t have to say a word for him to realize that she felt as though her privacy had been invaded.

  It was about to get worse. To return to the palace, they would have to face the press directly. He was about to put an arm over Ericka’s shoulder in the hope of giving her strength, when Tashya caught his eye and very slightly shook her head.

  Tashya reached down to Ericka and offered her hand. “How about a ride back to the stable?” She flashed a friendly smile. “We’ll leave Nicholas to deal with the press.”

  Ericka didn’t hesitate. She didn’t look to him to make a decision. Without so much as a murmured goodbye, she seized Tashya’s hand, vaulted behind her without even waiting for an assist from Nicholas.

  Nicholas supposed she blamed him for making a public spectacle of them. He should have kept his wits about him. He should have recalled that even his glancing at a woman started rumors in the city streets and hallowed halls of government. He should have waited for a more private moment. He was willing to take the blame because he knew better, because they all could have lost their lives in that explosion, and he was still rattled. But she had encouraged him. Her lips had welcomed his. Her hands had pulled him closer. And she’d responded to him like a dream.

  Now that he had the chance to consider the possibilities, he realized that the close call with death might have made her more receptive to him. She’d been hurled to the ground from the blast, then they’d argued over her writing the story, then he’d kissed her. He’d barely given her time to collect herself before creating a new predicament for her to deal with. But she had kissed him back. Had she ever.

  Then his sister had interrupted and reality had hit like a freight train. Ericka had pulled back from him so fast his head had spun. She hadn’t even looked at him—she’d simply abandoned him as if she’d just made the biggest mistake of her life.

  Now, he was alone. Tashya and Ericka had left him. Alexander was nowhere to be found. Even Natalie and Larissa had disappeared.

  Resigned to making the best of an uncomfortable situation, Nicholas, flanked by security, strode forward to meet the press, not the least bit sorry for that kiss, merely wondering how soon it would be before he might have another.

  He would refuse to talk about the boat. If someone had wanted to kill Ericka and failed, he could make matters worse by allowing the papers to print the story, possibly taunting the killer with his failure or daring him to make another try.

  However, Nicholas vowed to increase Ericka’s personal security. She might not yet be a royal, but she was already a target.

  “NICHOLAS IS IMPOSSIBLY stubborn, but then he grew up striding in my father’s footsteps, so he learned from the expert. No one was more stubborn than our father,” Tashya told Ericka as they meandered from the stable to the summerhouse.

  Ericka’s heart had yet to settle into anything resembling a regular rhythm. How could it after escaping death and then surviving that kiss? A kiss that had knocked her for a loop, stolen her breath, fried her brain. She had to have been crazy to kiss the king of Vashmira.

  God, what had she done?

  She’d violated every rule she’d ever set for herself. She didn’t get involved with the people she interviewed. She certainly didn’t make a public spectacle of herself. And she most definitely didn’t kiss heads of state.

  What had she done?

  Her stomach cramped. She wanted to kick herself, throw herself to the beach and beat the sand with her fists. How could she have been so stupid? If Ira was right, she might have been targeted to die in that explosion because someone feared she might become Nicholas’ wife. So what did she do after she survived? Keep a low profile? Go home? That would have been too smart, too sensible.

  Instead, she had gone and kissed the king. In front of the press. She might as well have simply painted a bull’s-eye on her chest, handed his enemies a gun and offered herself for target practice.

  How could she have lost so much control of herself? After her very public display, she would be romantically linked with Nicholas. Everyone would now assume she’d come over here to marry him.

  She actually felt sick. What had she done?

  There was no going back. No possibility of denying what had happened. She couldn’t plead temporary insanity, but that’s exactly what it had been. Once moment he’d been standing there looking so fine, his eyes revealing his interest, and the next, she’d been wrapping her arms around him, drawing him closer.

  She’d just made the biggest mistake of her life, not so much because she’d made herself a bigger target, but because she’d given Nicholas the response he desired. And she had no idea what to do. She couldn’t just apologize or claim it was a mistake. So sorry I kissed you, Your Royal Highness, I didn’t mean it. I was just carried away by a moment of sheer craziness.

  She groaned aloud, wishing she could just run away and hide. How would she face her colleagues after the fiasco she’d made of this assignment? She’d worked so hard to establish a flawless reputation. When pictures of her indiscretion got out, she’d be a laughingstock. No serious head of state would ever again consent to an interview with her. She could kiss her career goodbye.

  She sighed at the very thought of facing Nicholas. Just the thought of seeing him made more heat rise to her face. Tears brimmed in her eyes. Tears she refused to release. She might not have kept much of her dignity, but she wouldn’t cry—at least not in front of his sister. She groaned again.

  Compartmentalize. Put the memory of that kiss away. Here was a perfectly good opportunity to talk with Tashya, and the reporter in her should make the most of it. Ericka had interviewed soldiers on the front lines of battlefields. She’d been in the trenches during a revolution. She’d interviewed men moments before their deaths. She had always, always, always been able to shut down her own emotions and throw herself into her work. Some men had called her ability unnatural and cold, but she’d never been more thankful to turn her mind away from her own problems than right now.

  Tashya let out a long breath of air. “I shouldn’t give advice, but I’m going to do it anyway because I like you, Alexander likes you and Nicholas likes you,” she admitted with breathless candor. “So my advice to you is to go along with Nicholas because he always wins.”

  “Apparently he let you out of marrying the toad,” Ericka muttered, unsure how appropriate it was to be discussing Nicholas with his sister and attempting to change the subject to safer ground.

  “Arguing with him does no good.” Tashya arched her brows, allowing a glimmer of humor to show in her eyes. “But I know how to sweet-talk him. Nicholas may have a political agenda, but he truly wants me to be happy.” Tashya spoke confidentially as if they’d been good friends for years. “And I want the same for him. You’ll be good for him, I think.”

  Ericka thought not but kept her opinion to herself. She didn’t intend to stick around long enough to be good for him. She would investigate the bombing, cover the coronation ceremony, and then she was out of here.

  Still, the princess’ openness surprised Ericka, and she felt compelled to warn her. “You do know I’m in Vashmira to write a story about—”

  “That was just a ruse for Nicholas to get you over here,” Tashya admitted with a little wave of her hand. “He needs to convince you to announce your engagement before the coronation. As usual, he didn’t allow himself enough time, but then he’s a man. What else can one expect?”

  Although Ericka had suspected Nicholas’ duplicity, she hadn’t presumed Tashya would so openly admit it. Nor did she see any reason to respond to her rhetorical question. The princess seemed a bit lo
nely to Ericka, and she imagined that growing up in a household of men couldn’t have been easy. While she couldn’t help being drawn to Tashya’s overtures of friendship, she couldn’t discuss Nicholas without making her position clear.

  “What I’m trying to say is that anything you tell me could end up in print.”

  Tashya shrugged. “Nicholas has no secrets.”

  Ericka disagreed. “Everyone has secrets.”

  “So tell me one of yours.” Tashya flashed her a challenging grin that reminded Ericka of Nicholas. But she didn’t want to think about him right now. She couldn’t think about that stunning kiss and hold her own with Tashya, who’d just proven she had a sharp mind and a keen wit.

  “I’ve always wanted to write a political thriller,” Ericka told her.

  “Why is that a secret?” Tashya asked, her question perceptive.

  Relieved they weren’t talking about Nicholas, Ericka allowed her shoulders to relax. “Because it’s a huge step for me to take. I’d have to give up the security of a stable paycheck to go for the dream. What about you?” Ericka asked, wishing she had the courage to ask Tashya how often she came across her brother kissing a woman in public, but she would not go there.

  “Couldn’t you write the book in your spare time?” Tashya asked.

  Before Ericka could respond, Alexander strode out of the beach house and toward them. “As soon as Nicholas can escape the press, we’re leaving for the palace.”

  Ericka almost asked him about packing and then recalled that it would be done for her. No doubt her things would arrive at the palace before she did. The convenience was nice, but it in no way made up for the difficulties—such as avoiding assassination attempts or putting up with the paparazzi or trying to investigate a story in Vashmira. Or kissing the king.

  She still couldn’t believe the wallop that kiss had packed. She’d resisted placing her hands to her tender lips, but if she looked as disheveled as she felt, Nicholas’ brother and sister were being incredibly kind by not mentioning it.