by Any Hahn
Chloe couldn't believe her brashness. She had always been a bit shy in the bedroom. But there was something about Max, something special that made him different from every man she'd ever met or had a relationship with. She didn't feel self-conscious standing before him in her birthday suit; she felt glorious and womanly and powerful. And he looked at her with so much heat in his eyes she melted inside. She wanted to share everything with him. She wanted to give him her entire self.
"Come to me,” she commanded in a voice that sounded like some exotic temptress from a Greek myth. She crooked her finger at him, beckoning him to join her on the bed.
He complied, jumping onto the bed none too gracefully. He wrapped his arms around her and dragged her down onto the bed. His lips burned trails of delicious kisses up and down her arms and legs and across her belly and breasts, where the feel of his mouth enclosing her nipples sent her into a tailspin of ecstasy.
She moved her hips eagerly, encouragingly beneath him. The turbulent, delicious, soul-shattering emotions he provoked in her overwhelmed her. Tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. It was so beautiful. They were so beautiful together. This was heaven on earth.
Max placed his elbows on either side of her head, resting his weight on his arms. His fingers splayed through her hair. He looked down into her eyes ... and she lost herself to him all over again. This time she lost her heart and soul. The tears continued to fall, and she bit her lower lip to keep from sobbing.
He smiled sadly. “I think I know why you cry. I know because I feel the same."
A sob escaped. He brushed the tears from her cheeks with his kisses. He showered kisses upon her, kissing her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, her lips, and the curve of her jaw. She clutched at him, holding him as close as she could. Her body strained towards his.
"Max. Max.” She said his name over and over again. Ten times. Fifty times. One hundred times. She didn't know. “Love me, Max. Love me."
"Yes,” he murmured against her collarbone.
He plunged deep inside her.
Chloe screamed with pleasure. She threw her head back and danced with him, matching each of his thrusts with her own. It didn't take long for her to reach her climax. It came quick and hot and shattering, exploding through her like a million fireworks on the Fourth of July. The orgasm was so intense she bit his shoulder and tasted the saltiness of blood. Her nails dug into the skin of his back. He followed her scream with one of his own, his body tensing as his orgasm ripped through his body.
Finally, he collapsed at her side and snuggled close to her. Chloe hugged him tightly, enjoying the last echoes of her orgasm.
"Wow,” she let out in utter amazement.
"Wow,” he agreed, kissing the crown of her head.
"You were right."
"About what?"
She waved one arm in the air, indicating their entwined bodies. “About doing this."
"You're one incredible woman, Chloe Tanner."
She traced his mouth with her fingers. “And you are one incredible man, Prince Max of Romalia. Stay with me tonight."
Max kissed her tenderly. “I can't imagine going anywhere else."
"Hmmm. Good.” Chloe closed her eyes and draped a leg over his hip. “I should hate this blasted show."
"And why don't you?"
Chloe yawned. The day and their lovemaking had exhausted her. “Because it brought us together for a little while. We wouldn't be together without it."
"But it's also keeping us apart."
"I know. That's why I should hate it.” Chloe rested her head in the crook of his shoulder. He smelled so good—a scent of soap and chlorine and masculinity. His chest hairs tickled her nose.
"But I don't hate it—at least not tonight. Goodnight, my prince."
She felt his smile against her hair. “Goodnight, my lady."
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Chapter Nine
Chloe curled further under the sheets. She didn't want to open her eyes. She didn't want to face the day. She preferred to stay buried under the covers, blocking out the entire world and remembering the steamy night she'd shared with Max.
Just the thought of his hands on her, his lips on her, and his body on hers made her flush. He'd been so extraordinary last night, so amazingly wonderful, and she wanted to stay in his strong arms forever. They'd made love three times in the early hours of the morning, neither getting a bit of sleep. When they weren't ravishing each other, they talked and talked and talked. She felt she'd never known a man so intimately, on so many levels.
Chloe snuggled against the pillow. She knew he was gone. He'd slipped from her bed at daybreak, placing a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth before he left. She missed him. She missed the feel of his long, muscled body next to hers. She loved how he spooned her gently against his naked body and kissed her neck and rested the palm of his hand against her belly.
She loved him.
And he could never be hers.
Chloe tossed off the covers with a strangled cry and glanced over at the alarm clock on the nightstand by her bed. It was ten o'clock. She should've been up two hours ago. The crew had probably arrived already. She couldn't remember her itinerary for the day, but she knew Max was booked the entire day. The I-want-to-be-a-princess hopefuls arrived today for a catered dinner held poolside. They would meet Max at the dinner, and Courting His Royal Highness would officially begin.
"I hate this,” Chloe mumbled to the empty room. “I hate this, hate this, hate this!"
She felt like calling Julia, but refrained from picking up her cell phone. Communication with the outside was strictly forbidden. Secrecy enveloped the show; it was important for its success. She was surprised they hadn't snatched away her link to the outside world, but they probably would eventually. It was just a matter of time. EVE was obsessed with protecting the show's secrets from the public until it aired. Max's choice of a bride had to be a surprise for the viewers; otherwise, they wouldn't watch, and EVE's expensive endeavor would be one expensive disaster.
Chloe heard voices outside the window. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, stretching and wiggling her fingertips at the ceiling. She grabbed a silky robe, slid her feet into flip-flops, and crossed the floor to the open balcony doors. A soft breeze ruffled her tousled hair as she stepped out onto the small patio. She leaned over the railing and saw the production crew hard at work.
About a dozen people mingled below. Some set up lights, others yelled orders, and others rearranged the multitude of potted flowers and other plants that decorated the pool area. All were dressed in khaki shorts and matching blue T-shirts with Courting His Royal Highness emblazoned across the back.
She was disappointed not to see Max among them. She already missed his lopsided grin, the bright twinkle in his eyes, and the foreign accent of his voice. She wondered what he looked like in full royal attire. She'd only ever seen him dressed like a regular guy. To be fair, he looked better than any regular guy she'd ever seen dressed in a suit or jeans or a simple pair of dress pants, but she still wondered what he looked like attending a royal Romalian ceremony.
It dawned on her as she watched the hectic activity below that she knew absolutely nothing about his country. She knew it was a small European nation, so tiny it had about as much landmass as Rhode Island. She knew Max was due to inherit and become king as soon as his mother made the decision to relinquish the crown, which she'd held for thirty years. He had twin brothers and one sister, all of whom made headlines on a daily basis because they were single and loving it; however, they could afford to continue their single-and-free antics. Max couldn't. Not any longer, anyway. He was the oldest; therefore, it was time for him to get serious about his role as heir to Romalia, find a wife, and produce heirs to continue tradition.
Chloe crossed her arms on top of the railing and smiled as one of the frantic assistants almost fell in the pool because she was too busy jotting down directions, which one of the producers was
yelling at her, in a notebook. Poor thing. She looked about ready to cry; she appeared to be about nineteen or twenty. A young thing, probably her first job.
Chloe focused her attention back on Max. She couldn't imagine the pressure of being an heir to a kingdom. Max seemed to take it all in stride. He'd been born into his position. He knew his role in life, who he was, and he accepted it.
Now, she wondered where she belonged. She wished she knew. She only knew she was always reaching, always looking, and always searching for something. She'd thought her goal was a career in the movies, but after meeting Max, she wasn't so sure. She felt safe and comfortable with him; she felt at home with him. The knowledge was at once wonderful and unsettling.
Chloe pushed away from the railing and went back into her room, where she collapsed into an oversized chair decorated in a Southwestern motif and curled her legs up underneath her. Resting her head on its back, she closed her eyes and tried a yoga-meditation technique.
She gave up after the fifth try. Her body and brain couldn't calm down long enough to relax—and she couldn't clear her mind of images of Max. He was everywhere when she closed her eyes. Blanking out and concentrating on nothing except slow, steady breathing was not going to happen this morning. She was too stressed for yoga practice, but that was why she needed it so badly. It always helped to find her center, to calm her down, and to give her the strength and positive attitude she needed to face life's challenges.
Chloe sighed and admitted defeat, standing and walking into the adjoining bathroom. She turned on the water in the gigantic shower—it could fit four people at once—and quickly brushed her teeth and gurgled with Listerine. She grimaced at the taste. Even the citrus flavor tasted like medicine and left an awful aftertaste. She secured her robe on a hook behind the bathroom door and stepped into the tiled shower surrounded on all four sides by glass doors. Wishing she had time for a nice long soak in the whirlpool tub, she cast a longing glance at it before immersing her body in the spray. Tonight she'd take a bath; she'd need it after seeing Max flirt with gorgeous women.
Her thoughts once again drifted to Max. She couldn't shake him from her mind. He was everywhere. She almost hated to wash his scent from her body; it was probably the last intimate part of him she'd ever share. She wondered what he was doing at that very moment. She wondered if he was thinking of her.
I want to go home. Chloe groaned miserably. She grabbed a bottle of shampoo, squeezed out a dime-sized dollop, and viciously began to lather her hair.
A few weeks ago, when she'd gotten the call she'd been selected to be the hostess of a new reality TV series that was sure to be a hit, she'd been ecstatic. She'd thought the doors were finally opening for her and life was about to change. Well, it had changed all right, but it didn't feel like a change for the better. Her world was topsy-turvy, and not in a good way. Nope. Not at all.
Chloe tipped her head back and rinsed the soapy suds from her dark mass of hair. As soon as the dark tresses squeaked between her fingers, she grabbed the conditioner and massaged the moisturizing balm into the ends.
She needed a game plan in order to survive the next six weeks. It would take all her willpower to push Max from her mind. She had to try and remember he was just a guy, no different than the other guys she'd dated over the years. He didn't mean anything to her. She could forget what they'd shared. She knew she could. She had to—it was the only way she would survive. It was only six weeks. It wasn't like it was a lifetime or anything.
But it felt like a lifetime.
Chloe angrily tossed a chunk of heavy hair over her shoulder and stomped her foot on the wet floor. She loved him. She loved Prince Max of Romalia, but royal princes didn't marry farm girls from Minnesota. It just didn't happen. Okay, maybe in a fairy tale, but this wasn't a fairy tale.
"I'm no princess in disguise,” Chloe murmured woefully. “There's no happy ending for me."
But those women competing for a chance to be his bride weren't members of the royalty either.
"That's right!” Chloe crowed happily. Her happiness quickly vanished. Although it was comforting to know Max didn't care if he married a woman with royal blood or not, she still didn't have a chance in hell at becoming his bride.
She tried to wash Max from her mind by reaching for a bar of soap and quickly covering her entire body with scented fragrance. It smelled of apples and cinnamon. She loved it. It was homemade soap created by an elderly lady in her hometown. She ordered bars by the dozen. The trendy, posh, and outlandishly expensive boutiques in Los Angeles sold dozens of designer lotions and bath products, but they couldn't compete with Apple Orchard Heaven. It was her signature fragrance.
Chloe rinsed with lightening speed. She dried off with an oversized white towel, wrapped it about her body, and hurried back into the bedroom. She was rummaging through the walk-in closet, trying to decide what to wear, when she heard a knock at the door.
"Just a minute."
"Miss Tanner, you're needed downstairs immediately. The director wants to discuss some things with you and with Prince Max about what's happening today on set."
Chloe pulled on lacy pink panties and a matching bra. Over the lingerie, she tugged on a pink tank top and pair of jean shorts. She picked up a comb on the way to the door, dragging it through her mass of hair—conditioner barely helped—and pulled open the door. A wide-eyed assistant stood in the hallway with a large smile plastered on his face and a clipboard in his hands.
"Good morning, Miss Tanner."
"Good morning,” she said, returning his smile.
"I have your itinerary here.” He unclipped a wad of papers and handed the pile to her.
"Thanks.” Chloe didn't have the heart to remind him she already had a complete itinerary still packed in her suitcase. “They want me now?"
The assistant glanced at his clipboard and nodded. “Yes, immediately. I'm sorry I didn't get the itinerary to you sooner.” He swallowed hard and looked back at her. “I hope I don't lose my job over this."
Chloe patted his shoulder sympathetically. “I doubt that. No harm done. You can blame it on me."
"But you didn't have a schedule. I can't do that."
She shrugged. It was sort of her fault; after all, she hadn't bothered to look at her schedule for the past two days. She'd been too distracted by Max. Much too distracted.
"Don't worry about it. I give you permission to tell the producers it's all my fault."
The expression on his face was a mixture of horror and relief. “Thanks a lot. But I feel kind of bad doing that."
"Well, I'm not late yet, am I?"
He shook his head.
"How much time do I have?"
"Fifteen minutes."
She raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said I was needed immediately?"
He flushed. “Sorry about that."
She leaned forward and said in a secretive whisper, “Well, fifteen minutes means immediately for a woman. We need lots of time to look gorgeous, you know. I'm hardly ready for a close-up. I just got out of the shower."
He grinned, blushed a shade deeper, and eyed her appreciatively. “You look pretty to me."
"Thanks."
"I better get going.” He turned away and started walking down the hall.
"What's your name?” she called.
He stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “Jordan."
"Nice to meet you, Jordan."
"You too, Miss Tanner."
"I sound so old when you call me that. Call me Chloe."
"Okay.” He grinned from ear to ear. “It's nice to meet you, Chloe."
Chloe watched him vanish around the corner before stepping back into the bedroom. She didn't bother to shut the door and plopped down on the bed, removing the last of the snarls from her hair. When she was satisfied her hair was not a tangled mass any longer, she tossed the wide-tooth comb on the unmade bed and decided it was time to face the day. Wardrobe and makeup would take care of her appearance. She had no doubt she'd
look like a million bucks by the time the cameras rolled. An ugly duckling could look like a swan with the right people helping her, beauty products, and digital touch-ups.
She took a deep breath, gave herself a mental pep talk, and exited the room, securing the door firmly behind her. She was happy at the prospect of seeing Max again, but not at all thrilled about the circumstances. It would be all business now. The kisses and passionate encounters and tender words were over. That was just the way it was.
* * * *
Max patiently listened while Jack Parker, the show's executive producer and director, discussed the day's shoot with him. He really wasn't interested. His mind was on Chloe; it had been on Chloe the entire morning. He missed her. It had taken all his willpower to pull himself from her. She'd looked so adorable snuggled close against him, a sleepy smile on her lips, one hand tucked under her cheek. He'd wanted to wake her again and make love to her and cuddle with her all day under the tumbled sheets.
But duty called. Duty always called.
"You'll meet the girls as they arrive. After they settle in to their assigned rooms, they will meet you for dinner by the pool,” Mr. Parker said as he typed frantically on a laptop computer.
Max nodded. He'd never met anyone as hyper as Jack. The guy was a continuous ball of energy. Either nature had gifted him with it, or it could be attributed to the six cups of hazelnut coffee he'd gulped down since he arrived two hours ago. The guy's hands were actually shaking. Max smiled. And he'd thought Eric was bad.
No one completed more in a day than Eric, but without his planner he was absolutely lost. Max had seen it happen. Two years ago, as a joke, he'd purposely misplaced the oversized black planner glued to Eric's side. Eric went into fits, hyperventilated, and almost called out Max's complete security guard to find it. He hadn't been too happy to find it was a joke and had given Max the cold shoulder for almost an entire week.
