The Princess's Bodyguard

by Beverly Barton

  Matt didn't like the peculiar look in her silvery-gray eyes. "But what?" he asked.

  "Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. I just thought of a rather interesting gentleman who would be simply perfect for Adele."

  An odd tightening in his gut warned Matt that trouble was brewing. Just who did Dia have in mind? And was this guy really suitable? "Whoever he is, I'll need to run a check on him. We can't allow her to marry just any­body."

  "You're quite right, Mr. O'Brien." Dia laced her arm through his. "Walk me to Theo's library, will you? I'll have to get their phone numbers from him."

  "Their phone numbers?"

  A suspicious Cheshire Cat grin lit Dia's face. "While we were talking, I thought of another gentleman. And since Adele needs a husband immediately, I think it best to act quickly, don't you? I'll invite both Stavros and Antonio to dinner tonight. That way Adele can get to know them in a social setting, and by tomorrow night's party here at the villa, she can announce her engagement to the one she chooses."

  "Hey, don't you think that's moving awfully fast?" Something about Dia's little plan didn't sit quite right with Matt. He was not jealous! he told himself. No way. It was a simple matter of making sure the princess didn't make a huge mistake by choosing some jerk to play the part of her husband. After all, it was his job to protect her—even from herself, if necessary.

  "Time is of the essence, is it not?" Dia led Matt into the house and along the corridor toward Theo's library. "King Leopold will not wait much longer for you to return Adele to Orlantha."

  "It's hardly fair to expect the princess to ask some guy to marry her after meeting him only once."

  "She has known you only a few days," Dia said. "And she asked you, didn't she?"

  "That's different. I'm her bodyguard. She knows who I am, who I work for and what I'm all about. Adele. . . Princess Adele knows that her safety is my top priority."

  "Yes, of course." Dia knocked on the closed library door, and when Theo responded, she opened the door and walked in with Matt on her arm. "Theo, darling, I need a couple of telephone numbers. I want to invite two special guests for dinner tonight."

  "With our party tomorrow night, why would you want guests tonight?" Theo asked.

  "Adele is husband hunting," Dia replied.

  Theo's mouth dropped open.

  "I was thinking of Stavros and Antonio as candidates. You do have their numbers, don't you?"

  "You don't mean Stavros Christofides and Antonio Fabrizio?"

  "Yes, dear, that's exactly who I mean."

  "Dia, you've totally confused me. Why is Adele hus­band hunting? I thought her problem was trying to rid herself of the fiancé she already has. Why would she need— Aha. Marry one man to avoid marrying another. Who's idea was this?"

  "It was Mr. O'Brien's," Dia said as she turned to smile at Matt.

  "Is this true?" Theo asked.

  Matt shook his head, then nodded. Damn! "Yes and no. The first night I met the princess, I did suggest maybe she should marry someone else, but—"

  "Mr. O'Brien was the logical choice, of course," Dia explained. "But I'm afraid he rejected Adele's proposal, so I'm going to provide two candidates for Adele's ap­proval, and then Mr. O'Brien can check them out and—"

  Theo lifted his hand to gesture stop. "Enough! You're giving me a headache with this confusing nonsense." Theo turned to Matt. "Did Adele ask you to marry her?''

  "Yeah, she did." Matt couldn't bring himself to make eye contact with Theo.

  Dia eased across the room, cuddled up against her hus­band and said softly, "And when Mr. O'Brien turned down her offer of a million dollars as a bonus and instead asked for s-e-x during their make-believe marriage, Adele withdrew the offer."

  A look of total bafflement crossed Theo Constantine's face. He glanced from his wife to Matt and then back to his wife.

  "I can explain about that." Heat rose up Matt's neck and warmed his face.

  "No need to explain," Theo replied. "I believe I un­derstand what happened." He slipped his arm around his wife's waist. "I'd like to speak to you alone, darling."

  "Yeah, well, I should go check on Adele," Matt said. "Princess Adele." Let Theo talk some sense into his wife. God knew somebody needed to.

  The minute Matt closed the library door, Theo grasped Dia's chin and forced her to look him in the eye.

  "What is the real reason you want to invite Stavros and Antonio here tonight?"

  Dia caressed Theo's hand that clutched her chin. "I want to help Adele, of course. She needs a husband right away."

  Theo released his wife. "Ah, you're playing a game, aren't you? Stavros is a conceited idiot. And Antonio is a money-hungry womanizer. Adele would never consider marrying either man, not even on a temporary basis."

  "Probably not," Dia agreed. "But if Mr. O'Brien thinks she might marry one of them, then—''

  "You're setting a trap for Matt, aren't you?" Theo sighed. "Be careful, my dear, that your plan doesn't back­fire on you."

  "Since you are a man and thus a better judge of other men than I am, don't you think that once Mr. O'Brien sees Adele heading toward danger, he will come to her rescue? Wouldn't you have done so for me?"

  "Yes, of course I would have, but then I am in love with— My God! You're playing matchmaker, aren't you? You think there is something romantic between Adele and Matt?"

  "Don't you think there is?"

  Theo shrugged. "There is tension between them, yes. But something romantic? I'm not sure."

  "But I am sure." Dia patted her husband's arm. "Adele is very attracted to Mr. O'Brien, and unless I'm very much mistaken, he feels the same."

  "Heaven help us if you're wrong." Theo laughed. "And heaven help Matt if you're right."

  Adele sat between Theo and Dia's two guests at the dinner table that night and wondered why on earth her friends had thought that either of these men could be hus­band material. For the delicate job of pretending to be her husband, she needed an intelligent man, with the ability to at least pretend to be in love with her. And he had to be someone that everyone would believe she could love.

  Intelligence ruled out both of these "candidates," as Dia referred to them. Candidates indeed! Candidates for "loser of the century." Her own dismay seemed to be equaled only by Matt's seething, just-below-the-surface animosity toward Stavros and Antonio. He had been studying the two since the moment they arrived at the villa, and it was ap­parent that his appraisal of them was similar to her own.

  Tall, slender and beautiful in an effeminate way, Stavros Christofides was unable to pass a mirror without inspecting himself. Smiling at his own reflection, he would shake his head just to see the light dance off his black curls. And his favorite topic of conversation was—what else?— Stavros. But Adele had to admit that he had impeccable manners, if you could overlook his egotistical self-centeredness.

  A stocky, swarthy Italian, who claimed his uncle was a count, Antonio Fabrizio had kissed Adele's hand six times in the past two hours. The sixth time she'd jerked her hand away just as his lips began moving up her arm. It was obvious that he considered himself a true Casanova and probably believed that she found him irresistible. His fa­vorite topic of conversation was love. He loved love. He loved the ladies. And the ladies loved him. And he loved Adele's dress, her hair, her eyes, her smile.

  Adele realized that Theo was as uneasy as she and Matt, although he hid his discomfort well. The consummate host, Theo did his best to remain charming throughout the eve­ning. Only Dia seemed thoroughly entertained by Stavros and Antonio. She smiled, laughed and even giggled a few times. Apparently she saw something special in her guests that no one else could see.

  When they adjourned to the terrace, they were served brandy, and Theo offered the gentlemen cigars. Matt and Stavros declined, but Antonio accepted, and soon he and Theo were enjoying their after-dinner pleasures.

  "Isn't it a glorious evening," Dia said. "So warm and pleasant. And just look at that sky."

  Stavros reacted imm
ediately and rushed to Adele's side before Antonio could flick his cigar ash into his empty brandy snifter.

  "Princess, would you care to take a walk with me to one of the lower balconies?" Stavros bowed from the waist quite gallantly.

  "Uh, er—" How could she refuse him without an ex­cuse? She could hardly say, I find you quite annoying.

  Before Adele could respond, Dia lifted Adele's arm and slipped it through Stavros's. "She'd love to, wouldn't you, Adele?'' Dia gave Adele a little push. "Now, you two go on and enjoy the moonlight. The lower terraces are quite romantic in the moonlight."

  Adele glared at Dia, who seemed totally unaware of Adele's displeasure. Out of the corner of her eye, Adele noticed Matt move toward her, then stop abruptly. A fierce scowl marred his handsome face. Some irrational, com­pletely feminine part of her wanted to scream, ' 'Save me, Matt. Please save me." But as Stavros led her from the balcony and down the steps to the next level, Matt neither said nor did anything. Some protector he was turning out to be.

  With a man other than Stavros, she might have found this night truly romantic. A three-quarter moon, twinkling stars in a black sky, the sound of the surf below, a secluded balcony overlooking the sea, the scent of flowers in the air. But Stavros knew nothing about romancing a woman. The only thing Stavros knew anything about was Stavros. His favorite color, his favorite cologne, his favorite song, etc., etc. Just when Adele thought she would scream at any moment, she heard someone coming down the rock steps from the upper balcony. For a split second her heart caught in her throat. Matt?

  "I will not allow you to monopolize the princess," Antonio said. "You are probably boring her senseless with your prattle."

  Adele's heart sank.

  "Go away you pesky Italian," Stavros said. "Your presence is an unwanted intrusion." Stavros looked soul-fully into Adele's eyes. "Your Highness, tell this insig­nificant person to go away, that you wish to be with only me."

  Before Adele's brain could barely register the comment, Antonio stormed forward and jerked her away from Stavros. Antonio pulled her into his arms, pressing his body intimately against hers, then peered into her eyes and said, "You want a real man, do you not, mia amora. Not this strutting peacock."

  "I, uh—" She shoved against Antonio's chest. "Please, let go of me."

  He tightened his hold and brought his lips within a hair's breadth of hers. The thought of his lips actually touching hers nauseated her. If he kissed her, she would throw up.

  "Unhand Princess Adele this instant." Stavros marched forward, his arms raised, his hands balled into fists.

  If Adele hadn't been so aggravated, she would have laughed. This was just what she needed—two blithering idiots fighting over her. What in this world had Dia been thinking inviting these two imbeciles to dinner tonight?

  Antonio shoved Adele behind him and faced his oppo­nent. "You dare to challenge me? You skinny boy, you. You are no match for me. I am an excellent fighter. I have fought for and won many a lovely lady."

  "Please, don't do this," Adele said, but her plea fell on deaf ears.

  Stavros landed the first blow. His fist clipped Antonio's shoulder. Then Antonio lunged at Stavros, who side­stepped and laughed when Antonio nearly ran into the hedge row across the back wall. Adele closed her eyes momentarily and blew out an exasperated, disgusted huff.

  Suddenly, as if from out of nowhere, a big arm slid around her waist and pulled her away from the humorous battle scene. While her two would-be suitors were duking it out, her rescuer whisked her down the winding rock steps to the terrace below, then, before she could catch her breath, he hurried her along, down the next set of steps. When they reached the narrow beach, far below the villa, Adele turned and stared up at the man whose features she could make out plainly in the moonlight. She eased away from him. He grabbed both of her hands, but didn't try to force her to come closer. They stood and stared at each other, the waves lapping near their feet, the sea breeze caressing them.

  "You're not going to ask either of those bumbling idiots to marry you," Matt O'Brien said.

  "I'm not?" she asked, her tone teasing.

  "Does Dia think you're desperate enough to actually consider either of them?''

  "To be honest, I don't know what Dia was thinking."

  "If you're determined to find a husband. . ."

  Adele moved toward Matt. Slowly. Never breaking eye contact. "I am determined to do whatever is necessary to protect Orlantha from Dedrick and the Royalists."

  "I don't think it will be necessary for you to marry Stavros or Antonio." Matt glanced up toward the terraces overhead.

  Adele heard the sound of voices, faded echoes in the wind. "Do you think they've realized I'm gone?"

  "Probably not," Matt said. "They seemed far more in­terested in themselves than in you."

  Adele laughed. "They did, didn't they?"

  Matt's smile vanished. Adele's heart skipped a beat. He tugged on her hands until she willingly moved directly in front of him, only a few inches separating their bodies.

  "I owe you an apology," he said.

  "I think you owe me more than one apology, so would you mind being specific—for which infraction of etiquette and simple good manners are you apologizing?"

  Matt cursed softly under his breath, then reached out, grabbed the back of her neck and drew her to him. Adele's breath caught in her throat. Hypnotized by his intense stare, she was momentarily rendered speechless.

  "I'm apologizing for letting you think that I'd marry you if you'd agree to have sex with me."

  "Oh. . .that."

  Adele licked her lips. Matt was big and tall and mus­cular. He exuded an aura of strength and virility that lured her as powerfully as any aphrodisiac. She could feel his heat. Sense the tension inside him. And instinctively un­derstood that he felt what she felt, needed what she needed, wanted what she wanted.

  "Matt?"

  "You're not going to marry anyone else," he told her, his voice gruff and husky.

  "No, I'm not going to marry anyone—"

  He tightened his hold around the back of her neck, low­ered his head and whispered against her parted lips. "Damn it, woman, what am I going to do with you?"

  Apparently a response was irrelevant. Within seconds he was doing to her exactly what she wanted him to do. His mouth covered hers with an urgency born of contin­uous restraint. Soft lips pressing hard. Moist tongue thrust­ing. Two bodies straining for closer contact. And when she clung to him, the heat within them combined like gun­powder and a lit match, and the detonation rocked Adele to her very core.

  Matt murmured her name against her face as he kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her chin and then returned to ravage her mouth once again. She held on for dear life, giving kiss for kiss, losing herself completely in the mo­ment, savoring every passionate exchange.

  And just when she thought she would die from sheer pleasure, Matt lifted her off her feet and swept her into his arms.

  Chapter 9

  Adele preened in front of the cheval mirror. She seldom bought off the rack, but she'd had little choice when she arrived in Golnar without anything except the clothes on her back. She had phoned Yves and instructed him to sim­ply ship the clothes she'd purchased during their Paris shopping spree to the palace in Erembourg. After all, she would be returning home in a few days. As she studied her reflection, Adele had to admit that few people would ever guess this dark-plum silk dress hadn't come straight from one of the Paris couture houses. The addition of minute silver beading that crisscrossed the gown from shoulders to hem in dipping waves added that extra touch of elegance. She stuck out her foot that peeped from be­neath the edge of the slim skirt. The high-heeled sandals were a plum leather, an almost perfect match to the dress.

  When someone knocked on the door, she held her breath for a split second, thinking it might be Matt. But when Dia asked if she could come in, Adele sighed. She hadn't been alone with Matt since early morning, and with so many servants buzzing around through
out the house, they'd had little chance to talk privately. After what had happened between them last night, she thought surely he would need to discuss their plans. He hadn't out-and-out said that he would marry her, but after the way he'd kissed her—and the way she'd responded—Adele believed his agreement was a foregone conclusion. But she couldn't be completely sure, could she? Not with a man like Matt O'Brien.

  "Here are the earrings you wanted to borrow." Dia came into the room and handed Adele a pair of plum-colored Austrian crystal and diamond earrings that dangled two inches long on sterling silver wires.

  "Thanks." Adele slipped the silver wires through the holes in her ears, then turned her head this way and that so that the stones caught the light. "These are perfect."

  She turned around and smiled at her best friend. Dia looked like an exotic model in her gray satin gown, which clung to every curve of her statuesque body. "You look fabulous, as always."

  Dia curtsied playfully and laughed. "Your lady-in-waiting, Princess."

  Adele rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, then grinned and asked, "What time are you expecting the first guests to arrive?"

  "Officially the party begins at eight, but there will be a few eager guests show up at seven-thirty." Dia checked her diamond-studded wristwatch. "We have almost an hour. It's barely six-thirty."

  "Have you seen Matt?" Adele asked.

  Dia smiled. "I believe he's still in his room. Theo had a tuxedo delivered for him this afternoon. We can't have your future husband wearing jeans to his first public out­ing, can we?"

  "He's not my future husband. Not yet. He hasn't agreed to marry me."

  "But he will," Dia said. "I had no doubt that once he thought you might get stuck with Stavros or Antonio, he would do the gallant thing and rescue you. After all, that is his job, isn't it—rescuing fair damsels in distress?"

  Adele laughed. "You could have at least warned me what you were up to last night. For a while, there, I thought you'd lost your mind. Stavros and Antonio have to be two of the worst husband candidates in the world."