“I hope you’re not trying to pass yourself off as a poet.”
He squinted at her. “Didn’t work?”
She shook her head. “Nope. I think we should get back to the house and call it a night, before we happen upon more compellingly romantic holiday decorations that’ll make me feel the need to rip my clothes off.”
“Are you trying to torment me?”
“It seems to come with the territory with me. Sorry. Let’s go back to the house and have a taffy pull or maybe we can practice our knitting or something equally unsexy so that temptation doesn’t take hold again. Deal?” She reached out her hand to shake his.
“That is so not my deal, but I’ll respect your wishes if that’s what you’d prefer.” He shook her hand, trying to hold on a little longer just because it felt so perfect.
~*~
Emma helped Adrian get settled into her parents’ bedroom and retreated to her own room as soon as possible, locking her door just in case she failed in self-control (which was guaranteed, if Adrian chose to show up unannounced, in, say, an hour). She drifted off to sleep, thinking this royal rescue stuff she’d gotten herself into was apparently harder work than she could have imagined.
~*~
Unable to fall asleep, Adrian sent a quick email on his phone to Darcy.
“It’s the damndest thing,” he wrote. “For the life of me I can’t remember a time in which a woman completely shunned my advances. It’s making me crazy! Not to mention horny. It’s made me realize that I rather like a woman who buckles at even the most fleeting of attention I pay them. Sure, it’s a little pathetic, but it’s so damned easy that way.
“I say that, but then again this challenge from Emma is a bit intriguing. The more unlikely she is to reciprocate my advances, the more determined I seem to be to press on. What the hell is the matter with me? Am I that daft? Or just desperately horny?”
Adrian could only laugh when he read Darcy’s minimalist response a few seconds later.
“Horny.”
Adrian sighed. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Eleven
“BOB! You frisky devil, you!” Emma’s mother Ellen squealed when her husband squeezed her ample behind as she mounted the steps to their beach house.
“I still got it, don’t I sweetheart?”
“You’ve got something, that’s for sure,” she said with a laugh, opening the front door and then lugging her overnight bag and toiletry kit across the living room to the master bedroom down the hall. Her husband followed closely behind with his own duffle, and grabbed her just as she was about to enter their bedroom.
“Across the threshold, my dear,” he said, bowing, and with a gallant swoop, lifted his bride up and over his shoulder to gales of laughter from her as she pounded on his backside to let her down. Her bottle-blonde graying hair dangled upside down from her roots toward the floor, and her face turned red from being the wrong direction.
“You’re going to throw your back out again! And you know how long it takes to get an appointment with Dr. Farrington!” She flailed her arms and legs, an aging damsel in faux distress.
Bob crossed the doorway with her, not even bothering to flick on the overhead light, and instead dropped her onto the queen-sized bed, whereupon Ellen squealed even louder.
“Ouch!” she said. “What the devil is the lumpy thing under this quilt? It feels as if there’s a body beneath me!”
“There will be in two seconds if I have any say—” her husband said with a growl, only to be interrupted by a near-naked Adrian sitting up abruptly, jarred from a deep sleep and face-to-face with two raucous strangers who seemed about to have much better luck in the sack than he’d had.
The woman let out a scream that certainly would have woken the man up had he not already been frightened awake upon having a two-hundred-pound woman hefted atop him like a sack of concrete in the middle of the night. Adrian yelled, which then caused Ellen to scream louder. Bob fumbled for the nearest potential weapon, which unfortunately happened to be the lamp on the nightstand, and he had to choose between shining some light on the situation or clocking the stranger in his bed with the thing. Only he couldn’t figure a way to get a good grip on it without the lampshade getting in the way.
“Robert!” Ellen shouted, invoking his birth name, something she reserved for rare occasions, like, say, if she was furious with him for having finished off the pie she’d been saving for her dessert. “Do something! There’s a strange man in our bed and he’s naked!”
Adrian, groggy but finally grasping what was going on, fumbled around for some more sheet to pull up over him as he wrested his way out of the bed, as if modesty was the most important thing at the moment—a hazard of the job when you were royalty, especially after your brother’s been caught starkers in the tabloids. Besides, with an enraged man and shrieking woman at arm’s length, flapping those family jewels at this moment would be a particular mistake, likely even jeopardizing their very existence.
But thank goodness he did cover up enough, or Ellen would’ve fainted clear away at the sight of this evidently well-endowed — if People magazine was to be believed — unclad crazy man standing over top of her.
“Robert! Call the police!” Ellen shouted, even though at that point she was perfectly capable of reaching the phone on the nightstand just as easily as he was.
~*~
In the distance, in the middle of her REM sleep cycle, Emma heard what sounded like some sort of fracas and at first thought it was a really fun party she was attending in her dream. She was with Adrian and that little friend of his, who was making out with Caroline in a corner. Typical, that hussy. Emma was holding Adrian’s hand and somewhere someone was introducing the royal couple and all of a sudden she realized that it was she! Well, it was they! Well, they were the royal couple that were being announced while Caroline sucked face with that Darcy fellow back behind the bar, where her hottie bartender was shaking cocktails just like he did the other night, oblivious that Caroline had gone to greener — and more sexily accented — pastures.
But the screaming was getting louder and louder and even though Emma was so excited that she was Her Royal Highness Mrs. Adrian Whatever-his-last-name-was, somewhere in the back of her sleep-fogged brain she recognized that squealing screaming sound—her mother. Surely her mother wasn’t objecting to her being married to a prince. Hell, Ellen wouldn’t object to Emma being married to a toad, for that matter. As long as the creature put a ring on it. But then Emma morphed out of the reverie of her dream and realized there was a whole lot of screaming going on.
Flummoxed by the sounds, she raced out of bed and down the stairs and back to her parents’ bedroom, flicking on the overhead light to find a kerfuffle on a grand scale unfolding before her very tired eyes. As she assessed the situation she saw her mother on her back kicking her legs in the air like a toddler having a tantrum, her granny pants exposed, and her father — what was left of his hair askew atop his head like a nutty professor — fumbling around in search of what? A weapon? And Adrian standing there so damned close to his natural state that Emma’s mouth dried up at the thought. She raced over to separate her parents from Adrian before any injury ensued, and found herself wrapping her body around Adrian to prevent her father from striking him with the hand mirror he’d just picked up off the dresser. Talk about seven years’ bad luck!
“Daddy! Stop!” Emma shouted as Adrian slung one arm around her while still holding up the sheet against his crotch and inching ever more backward away from her father’s reach. Emma couldn’t help but notice how warm Adrian’s body felt pressed up against hers, but she banished that thought immediately in order to prevent bodily harm from coming to him, not to mention emotional harm to her. Adrian is off-off-off limits, down doggie, she mentally repeated over and over.
“It’s me, Daddy, Emma, your daughter,” she shouted at her father above her mother’s operatic yelping.
“Baby doll?” her father called out. “Sugar
?”
“Yes, Daddy, it’s okay. This is my friend, Adrian. He’s not an intruder and he’s not going to threaten Mom’s virtue, trust me.” She winked at Adrian. “Mom, you can calm down now. Everything is fine.”
Her mother’s noises settled down to a quiet whimper finally as her father regained his composure and smoothed his hair back into its normal slicked-back position. Adrian, though, held tight to Emma as he gazed with mistrust upon these two demented gray-hairs who’d accosted him. Her father was wearing a pair of very bright green pants with erect-standing English Pointers embroidered all over the things. His crisp knit golf shirt was red, white and blue plaid; his matching skills were notoriously ghastly. Adrian hesitated to look too closely at her mother, whose girdle was exposed from her kicking around in her floral print dress while flat on her back on the bed. He gave her a minute to straighten up before glancing at her again.
In the meantime, Emma noticed that Adrian was holding up the sheet only over the front part of him, and she could see in the nearby mirror that his back half was all hers to reach for if she just moved her hands a few inches downward, which she simply couldn’t resist. It was a moral dilemma whether to look at the mirror, at him, or at her parents, who had no idea what was going on. Finally she had to suck it up and talk to her folks, keeping her hand firmly planted on that gorgeous butt of his nonetheless, hoping no one would notice in the dim light.
“Mom, Dad, or I should say, Ellen, Bob, I’d like you to meet my friend Adrian,” Emma said, finally letting go of Adrian. Only Adrian realized there was no way in hell he was releasing her in this state, what with having had this hot girl pressed up against his sensitive male parts, one with whom he’d already experienced an unrequited make-out session already tonight. Just the mere touch of her body to his, coupled with a flashback to earlier in the evening, was enough to expose Adrian’s true intentions toward their daughter to Bob and Ellen, a fact he would prefer to keep to himself, particularly under the circumstances.
He reached around Emma to shake their hands, holding the sheet around his crotch just so. All the while trying hard not to stare at Emma in her tiny pink camisole top with her luscious exposed belly — the one that was just in the most perfect contact with his own but a few minutes ago — and how much he’d love to be exploring that with his tongue instead of naked-meeting the woman’s parents. All he knew was if his mother learned about this she’d kill him. That was, after frog-marching him down the aisle with that wretched Serena.
Normally Adrian wasn’t naturally inclined to shake hands, being that most people bowed or curtsied in his presence. But he knew protocol was differed in the States, and he knew he had some making up to do in the parent department with Emma’s folks. It was bad enough he was an uninvited guest, but to be one stark naked in their bed, well, he supposed it could be worse. At least he wasn’t in it with their daughter in a mutual state of disrobing. Must look on the bright side…
“So very pleased to make your acquaintance,” Adrian said, “albeit I’d prefer to have done so in a more conventional manner.”
Bob eyed him with a modicum of suspicion even though Emma had already vetted the man. Nevertheless he stuck his own hand out, taking care to not get too close to Adrian in so doing, just in case he’d grab something else by accident. He’d lose his lifetime membership to the Manly Man Club for that type of transgression.
“To what do we owe this, er, surprise?”
“He’s my friend, Daddy,” Emma said. “Adrian and I were working together.”
“Oh, a photographer?”
“Not exactly,” she said, locking eyes with Adrian while trying to discern how much truth she could reveal to her father. “I worked with him recently and we got to be friends.”
Her father looked from his daughter to Adrian and back again, sizing up the situation. The two of them wore game faces, not revealing anything more than one could while barely covered in the middle of the night. The fact that they had been in separate bedrooms on separate floors of the house attested to the veracity of the relationship.
“Not exactly the warmest of hospitality, dropping in on you like we did!” Ellen said, giggling. “Can’t say I’ve ever had that happen to me before! I’m just grateful you weren’t a dead body!”
“Since when have you ever found a body in your bed, Mom?” Emma asked, her eyes wide open, wondering what the heck had gotten into her vivid imagination.
“You missed the beginning of this whole fiasco, honey,” she said. “Your father was being a joker and dropped me on the bed with a thud, right on top of your sleeping young man here.”
Your young man. Leave it to her mother to slap on the possessive to the relationship. Wishful thinking, much?
“I suppose in hindsight it’s all very funny,” her mother continued. If they only knew Bob plunked her mother down on top of a very naked European prince. Her mother would probably pee her pants in horror at that one. But thank goodness this way Emma could be spared the indignity of maternal matchmaking with an entirely fruitless relationship. Because she’d not put it past her mother to try to pair her up with Adrian. Not that she wouldn’t even without Emma’s unwitting assistance. But throw in the royalty aspect and her mother would need a drool cloth to stop the slavering. Nevertheless, this forced Emma to think quickly to keep her mother from trying to pair the two up. It was what she did best. She winked at Adrian, indicating he needed to play along with her ruse.
“Adrian just got over a relationship with a colleague of his,” Emma said.
“Oh, my, heartbroken over a girl?” her mother asked. She had a little bit of a ditzy old lady squawk to her voice, which sometimes made Emma cringe just a bit, especially when she was turning on the nosey.
“Actually…” Emma said. “His name is Darcy.” She looked from her mother to her father and back again, then glanced at Adrian, who looked ready to flay her, something his ancestors probably did quite readily during the Inquisition. They probably first flayed then fricasseed their enemies over an open pit. While wearing suits of armor. And firing things from catapults. This was the extent of Emma’s recall of European history of yore, so it was good she wasn’t sharing her ignorance with Adrian, who was at that very moment stewing over being wrongfully outed from a closet in which he hadn’t been hiding.
“Oh, so you’re—” her mother started to say, then turned to her daughter. “Why is it the best-looking ones are always gay?”
Emma threw a surreptitious glance at Adrian. If her mother only knew. “I know, it’s so unfair,” Emma said with a pout.
“Excuse me, but—“ Adrian started to say before Emma reached around and squeezed his behind to silence him. She clearly had the perfect touch to get her way, as he closed his mouth right up.
“Even right down to that delightful accent,” her mother added. “Where’d you say you’re from again?”
Emma piped in before Adrian could get a chance. “He’s uh, he’s British. Studying here for a while.”
“Interesting,” Ellen said. “What are you studying?”
“Royalty!” Emma shouted out before giving either of them a chance to come up with something better.
“Why would an Englishman, who is steeped in royalty in England, come to America to study that?” her father chimed in.
Emma felt like she ought to be wearing tap shoes, dancing around this mine-infused conversation as she was. “It’s just that—”
“While there is clearly an American fascination with our royalty,” Adrian said, picking up Emma’s slack, “there’s an equal fascination on why Americans are so obsessed with it. After all, you Yanks went out of your way to get rid of the royals, didn’t you?" He gave her mother a sly wink, which she appreciated, keeping her on the inside and all.
“You mean like with Emma and me waking up in the middle of the night to watch the royal wedding of Kate and William?” Ellen smiled broadly, but Emma turned ten shades of red. Nothing like being called out as a shameless royal-sniffer by yo
ur mother in front of a prince to make you feel like a complete schmuck.
“Waking up in the middle of the night?” Bob cackled. “You don’t know the half of it! They had their friends there too, fixed bangers and mash and had English Breakfast tea if I’m not mistaken. Although the bangers and mash were well worth the early wake-up call, mind you.”
Oh Lordie, just shoot me now.
“Bangers and mash, eh?” Adrian asked Emma, one eyebrow cocked skyward. “What, no Pimm’s Cup?”
“And those ridiculous hats they wore,” her father continued, as Emma mentally melted into a puddle of embarrassment. “Feathers shooting everywhere. Practically poked my eye out. Couldn’t believe they could find such monstrosities in the States. We have pictures if you don’t believe—”
Adrian’s grin grew wider the more details were revealed of Emma’s secret fixation.
“Daddy, let’s stop blathering about nonsense,” she interjected. “It’s late, we’re tired. And I’m sure Adrian would rather conduct a lengthy conversation tomorrow, when he’s more conventionally dressed. Can’t we please just get back to sleep?”
Her mother covered her mouth in surprise. “I forgot! We woke you needlessly! We’re so sorry about that!”
“I won’t even ask what brought you here at such a late hour,” Emma said. “Just let me find my bed already!”
“Why don’t we let your gentleman friend sleep here and we’ll take the fold-out sofa in Emma’s room,” her father offered.
“No, I couldn’t deprive you of your bed, sir,” Adrian said. If he had an ulterior motive in mind, it would be conveniently cloaked in his newfound gay status. “Please, allow me. No need in having the two of you give up your own bedroom.”
Something in the Heir (It's Reigning Men Book 1) Page 10
