by Any Hahn
Max sighed. “She's pretty, but I'm not interested. I only have eyes for you, Chloe. I've only had eyes for you since we met."
"We just met.” She looked at her watch. “Have we even known each other for twenty-four hours?"
He chuckled. The corners of his blue eyes crinkled. She loved that. Gosh, how she loved that. And he dimpled. Gosh, she loved that too. Was there anything she didn't like—love—about him? Oh, yeah, he was off-limits. That sucked. She just had to keep reminding herself of that fact. Otherwise her heart would be lost. And she couldn't take that chance.
"All I can think about is loving you."
Her heart flip-flopped. “Loving me?” she squeaked.
"Yeah.” He took her hand and brushed his lips against the tender skin of her wrist. “Loving your entire body like I did at the party. Making love to you. You were so wonderful, Chloe. You've intoxicated me."
So that was what he meant. He didn't actually love her. He simply loved having sex with her. Two completely different things. Opposite ends of the spectrum, really.
"Max, stop kissing me."
He stopped and pulled away, a hurt expression on his handsome face. Chloe hid her hands under the table and tucked her feet under her seat. The best thing to do was to avoid contact with him—when he touched her, she lost all self-control.
She sighed sadly. “What you must think of me."
He raised an eyebrow. “What? You must know I think you're wonderful."
"In bed!” She spoke the words before she thought and was instantly mortified. She covered her face with one hand and then peeked between her fingers and looked around to make sure no one had heard her outburst. But nobody was there to witness it, because the secluded booth was separated from everyone else's. She looked at Max. He was fighting a smile. Nope. He was trying not to laugh. His eyes sparkled. She almost flung her napkin at him. “This is not funny!"
"It is. Didn't we clear this up?"
"Will we ever?” she asked softly, removing her hand from her face and setting it on the table.
"I don't think any less of you because you slept with me on the first date."
She grimaced. “We weren't even on a date. I didn't know you at all."
"We'll call it a blind date."
Chloe groaned and slouched in her seat. “Great. That's much better. So much for Midwestern values.” She shook her pointer finger at him. “Don't laugh. Don't you dare."
He bit his lower lip. “I'm trying to convince you that it hardly matters to me. I know you don't make it a habit to sleep with men, and—"
"Strangers. I don't make it a habit to sleep with strangers."
"So, you do sleep with lots of men?"
She gasped. “I most certainly do not."
He laughed. “I didn't think so."
Honeyed warmth flowed through Chloe at the sound of his masculine laughter. It was rich and timbered, and it wrapped her in a cozy, fuzzy, irresistible blanket. She could listen to him laugh all day long.
"Well, I'm certainly not wife-material for a royal prince. What I did with you"—the heat in her cheeks flamed bright—"was very unladylike."
Max snorted. “Nonsense. You're a lady, Chloe. You're more of a lady than half the blue-bloods in Europe."
The corner of her mouth lifted. “Truly? You don't think less of me?"
"Absolutely not."
"But you'd never think seriously about a woman who—"
"I would."
"Would what?” she whispered. His opinion was very important to her. She wanted him to respect her. She wanted him to look at her and not see a passionate one-night encounter, but a woman he could spend the rest of his life with.
"I would because I am. I'm thinking very seriously about you, Chloe. You have no idea how seriously."
Chloe swallowed another drink of wine. She didn't know what else to do. She didn't know what to say to him; she didn't know how to respond. Why had she brought it up? Why? It didn't matter. They couldn't possibly be together. It just couldn't happen.
"It's nice to know, even though—” Suddenly, she couldn't speak a word. Her throat constricted. She looked away from him, at the shimmering liquid in the wineglass. She could use another glass.
"Chloe, what do you think about me?"
She blinked, startled by his question and stared up into his amazing blue, blue, blue eyes. “Pardon?"
"Me. Tell me what you think about me."
"You're a prince."
He rolled his eyes. “Besides that."
"Well, I like you."
"Like me?"
"Yes.” Her voice sounded slightly shaky, and his lopsided grin made her want to jump across the table, throw her arms about his neck, and kiss him.
"Well, that's good to know. But maybe you don't think I'm much of a gentleman."
She studied him for a long moment, admiring the breadth of his shoulders and the broad expanse of his chest. “I said I liked you, didn't I? Why would I like you if I didn't consider you a gentleman?"
"Good point. But a true gentleman wouldn't take advantage of a drunk woman."
Feeling insulted, she stiffened. “I was not drunk. Tipsy, maybe, but not drunk."
His eyes widened. His eyebrows lifted. His dimples deepened. She saw the merriment in his eyes. He was enjoying this exchange—and she was too. More than she'd thought possible.
She hoped the food would never arrive. She wanted to talk and laugh with him all night long. It felt natural; it felt intimate, far more intimate than their sexual encounter of the night of the ball.
"Still, a gentleman does not seduce a woman whom he knows is intoxicated."
"You did not seduce me. I seduced you."
He chuckled. “Perhaps we're both to blame."
She agreed and hoisted the wineglass in the air. “Should we toast on it?"
Max lifted his glass. “To being ungentlemanly and—"
"Unladylike,” she finished with a giddy giggle.
"Because I wouldn't trade our night for anything."
Chloe looked deep into his eyes as their glasses clanked together. “Neither would I, Max. Neither would I."
And she meant it with her whole heart. No matter what happened in the weeks to come, she'd never ever regret the one night they'd shared together. It was too beautiful to regret. It was too real and glorious and magical. She'd never forget. The memories of that night would have to last her for years to come, because she knew she loved the man who sat before her. It was the type of love that was meant to last forever.
It was the type of love that could never be.
She felt like a gloom-and-doom heroine in a romance novel.
Hot tears filled Chloe's eyes as she finished the last of the Riesling, trying not to look at Max. She didn't want him to see the tears; she didn't want him to see how deeply she cared. What was the use? He was going to marry someone else. She wasn't even a candidate to be his wife. Life was not fair. It wasn't fair at all.
The food arrived, and Chloe was thankful for the distraction. She wiped the edges of her eyes with the corners of the soft napkin while the flirtatious waitress leaned between Max and her and set the fondue oil on the built-in burner.
Chloe had no idea how to get through the night. Actually, she had no idea how to keep her sanity over the next six weeks. She'd go crazy being with Max every day but not really being with him.
She couldn't shake the horrible thought of seeing Max with another woman. Her heart constricted tightly just thinking about him kissing someone else. Envy slashed through her, green envy at each of the women who would vie for his attention and ultimately his lifetime commitment.
Max smiled at her, the corners of his very blue eyes crinkling at the corners. The idea of that gorgeous smile focused on another woman broke her heart.
* * * *
Three hours later she was trying to erase the image of Max's handsome face and toe-curling smile from her mind. But it was no use. She was intoxicated, drunk on not only his smile,
but on his laugh and on his voice and on his hot, appreciative stares.
She sighed sadly and sank into the soft bench stationed in front of the bedroom vanity, grabbing a brush and dragging it ruthlessly through her mass of coffee-colored hair. She tried to focus on anything but Max. And she failed—miserably. She chucked the brush across the room in frustration, knowing there would be no sleep for her tonight. Zip. Zilch. Nada.
"You're a pathetic creature,” she mumbled to her pathetic reflection. “There are plenty of other guys out there, nice guys just waiting to find someone like you."
Her image in the mirror blinked back at her. She released a miserable groan and turned her back on herself. She didn't want to gaze upon the wretch in the mirror any longer. The tears shimmering in her eyes, the trembling of her lower lip, the total anguished and dejected look on her face made her wish to sink into the tiled floor and die.
"I'm made of stronger stuff than this,” she shouted into the empty room. “I can handle this. I've got to handle this. My entire future depends on it."
Chloe glanced at the clock. Both hands covered the number twelve. Cinderella's death toll. Just like the night at the masquerade ball. She might as well have turned into a brilliant orange pumpkin. If she had, she wouldn't be dealing with the Max situation right now or the overwhelming emotions he created inside her. Or maybe she would; after all, she'd most likely still be attracted to him, even in pumpkin form.
She stood up and crossed the room to the glass doors leading out onto the verandah. They stood open, letting in the evening breeze. But it was still warm. She stepped out onto the patio and looked down into the immense backyard of the estate. It was breathtaking at night. Lights highlighted curving walkways, exotic palm trees, desert plants, and the flagstone area surrounding the large pool and hot tub. She didn't feel much like a soak in the hot tub, but the blue-green waters of the pool looked very refreshing on such a hot night.
Sleep still eluded her; she needed all her energy to put on a brave face tomorrow. Taping began when the women arrived tomorrow evening, and from that moment on, the cameras would be rolling almost twenty-four hours a day for the next six weeks. She'd have barely any privacy, certainly none with Max. Tonight might be her only chance to take a dip in the tempting pool without prying eyes.
Her decision made, Chloe stepped from her silky robe and pulled on her favorite pink two-piece swimsuit. She knew she looked great in it, which was why it was her very favorite. Of course, no one was going to see her in it. Max was most likely fast asleep in his room down the hall, and she'd be all by herself in the cooling waters of the pool, which included a gorgeous waterfall tumbling over natural stone.
She heard the sound of the waterfall through the open windows. Refreshing water tumbled over rough rocks into the pool below. She couldn't wait to feel it washing over her face and body. Hopefully, it would wash away the heated memory of being in Max's strong arms.
She slipped from her room and hurried down the tiled hallway with an oversized beach towel slung over one shoulder. Her bare feet were silent against the cool tiles; she was happy she'd decided to not wear any shoes. She didn't want Max to hear her. She needed some time alone—time to think.
But what if he feels for me the way I feel about him?
She pushed the thought aside. She'd already gone over this a million times in her mind. She couldn't risk her career, everything she'd worked for, and her entire future on the hope that Max loved her. He was a playboy. He was one of the world's most famous playboys, if not the most famous. He'd had tons of girlfriends and, according to dozens of magazines, left a trail of broken hearts. Yes, there was no doubt he was attracted to her. Yes, there was no doubt he cared—she saw it in his blue eyes—but did he love her? She didn't know. And if he did reciprocate her love, was it enough to bind him to her forever?
Chloe shook her head, hoping to clear it of her rambled thoughts. But it didn't work. Not even a little. She couldn't stop thinking about him. He haunted her. He'd always haunt her.
"Stop it,” she instructed as she walked through the foyer and into the back courtyard, where the pool glimmered welcomingly underneath a sky laden with sparkling stars and a moon so huge and large and low, it looked as though she could reach up and touch it.
Chloe took a few deep breaths, focusing her nervous energy on a yoga breathing exercise to calm her rattled nerves. She missed yoga. It'd been months since she'd attended practice, and she definitely needed to get back into the routine. She felt so much better, physically and emotionally, when she did. But she'd been too busy pursuing her career to make time for anything other than job hunting for the past few months. Julia called it an obsession. She was right, but Chloe was determined to hit it big in Hollywood before she turned thirty, and she was already twenty-five. That didn't leave her too much time to achieve her dream.
She'd already decided that if she didn't get her big break before the age of thirty, she was packing up her bags and moving back home, where she'd probably work at the local Wal-Mart for the rest of her life. Lots of Chloe's high-school friends worked at Wal-Mart and were perfectly happy, but Chloe wanted more. She'd always wanted more, and she knew she was meant for great things. She knew it with every fiber of her being.
It wasn't long before her heart rate slowed and she began to calm down. The silence of the night, broken only by the occasional howl of a coyote and the peaceful splash of the waterfall, soothed her. She took one last breath before dropping the towel on a nearby chair and jumping into the deep end of the pool, where the water encased her in a safe cocoon from Max and the world.
When she at last broke the surface with a contented sigh, ready for an hour or two of peaceful serenity, she nearly plummeted back under to the bottom at the sound of Max's voice.
"I see I'm not the only one who couldn't sleep."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Eight
Hearing the unmistakable rumble of his all-too-sexy voice shocked Chloe so much, she gulped in a mouthful of chlorinated water. She instantly pushed her way to the surface again and spewed water from her mouth, sputtering a few very unladylike words as she did so. Then she pushed hair from her eyes and glared at Max, who happened to be laughing rather loudly and grinning from ear to ear; his dimples had never looked so darling.
"What are you doing here?” she asked, frantically trying to smooth the matted mass of hair away from her face and hoping she didn't have discharge from her nose smeared all over. Ugh. How attractive was that! She touched her face, skimming her fingertips under her nose. She was clean.
"Can't I enjoy a swim as well?” he asked.
"Of course you can. You just surprised me."
"Obviously. I apologize. I think I almost killed you. Are you going to survive?"
A teasing lilt echoed in his foreign accent. She loved his accent. There had to be something about him she didn't like. No one was perfect. Of course, love was blind. But he sounded perfect and, damn it, he looked perfect: a chiseled example of male perfection. The mold must've been broken after he was made.
Chloe couldn't take her eyes of his bare chest. Droplets of water clung to dark, curly hair; a glowing sheen of water covered his muscular shoulders and arms. His black hair, wet and incredibly sexy, was slicked back from his face. And his heavenly blue eyes watched her intently from under long sooty lashes. He was irresistible. A wildfire of desire swept through Chloe's body. Even the coolness of the water around her couldn't extinguish its fiery heat.
"Chloe?"
She dragged her gaze from his chest to look up into his eyes. Her heart tripped and picked up speed. “I'm fine."
"Glad to hear it,” he said, moving towards her. “Although I wouldn't have minded saving your life by using mouth-to-mouth resuscitation."
He was moving closer. She backed away. This wasn't good at all. She couldn't be this close to him without losing control.
And she didn't want to lose control again because it only caused her heartache. It
was just her luck that she'd fall helplessly in love with a one-night stand. Why couldn't she be like normal people? Lots of her girlfriends let loose and gave into temptation and didn't lose their hearts. Why did she have to lose hers to Prince Max of Romalia?
"Don't come any closer.” She practically shouted the words at him. He paused, clearly startled by the force and volume of her voice. “Please, Max, don't. I can't take this any more. I just can't do it. It's too ... well, it's just too heartbreaking."
He gazed at her over the aqua water, which now covered his chest and shoulders. His chin touched the surface.
"You understand, don't you?” she implored softly.
"I understand.” His eyes gazed deeply into hers. She felt as though he looked directly into her heart and saw all the raw emotion there. She felt vulnerable—and she didn't like it at all.
"But shouldn't we enjoy each other?” he continued. “After tonight we won't be alone any more."
"Stop it. Can't you see this is torture?"
"For you?"
"Yes, for me,” she snapped irritably. She turned from him and swam over to the waterfall; once there, she turned around to face him and wished she could blink him away, just like Jeannie did in the 1960s sitcom I Dream of Jeannie. “Isn't it for you?"
"It will be after tonight, when I can't do anything about my feelings,” he said, respectfully keeping his distance. “But tonight we can do something about the feelings we have."
What was wrong with men, with Max? Was it so easy for him to have sex with one woman and then move on to the next conquest without any emotional attachment? Chloe couldn't. She'd never been able to be intimate with someone and then nonchalantly say goodbye and move on with her life. She'd been with more than a few jerks in her rather uneventful dating career, and she'd been convinced she was in love with each of them. They hadn't been in love with her. Not one. And each one left without a backwards glance, leaving her heart shattered in a million tiny pieces that took her months to put back together.
Chloe leaned back against the pool wall and crossed her arms in front of her, keeping afloat by scissoring her legs in the water. “I'm not sleeping with you again."
