by Leslie Kelly
“I am Olivia Vanderbrook, Captain of the Guard.” You’ve known me your whole life, you dolt!
“Okay, Olivia. Here’s the thing. I’m not Rupie.”
“I should never have called you by that…”
“Shut up and let me finish. I’m not Rupie, I’m not this Rup-rick, I’m not a majesty, and I have no idea what the hell is going on.” He leaned closer, crowding her even more. A frisson of excitement jolted through her as she realized he might have gained the upper hand on her physically, at least for the minute it would take her to twist him in a knot and put him on his back.
Then she stopped focusing on how close he was—how big, strong and present—and thought about his words. “What, what did you say? You…you’re not…”
“No. I’m not.”
Another inch closer, she could now feel the warmth of his breaths on her skin, not to mention the blazing heat of his body.
“Which means,” he added in a throaty whisper, “that you need to start talking.”
CHAPTER 3
THOUGH HE WANTED ANSWERS immediately, Rafe knew they couldn’t stay here in the alley. The crowd would be pouring out of the club after last call in a few minutes, and some overly amorous woman—or man, he ruefully conceded—would almost certainly interrupt. So he took her arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
He again noted her incredibly soft, silky skin covering sculpted muscle before she jerked it away.
“What is this madness you speak? Have you been bewitched?”
Sighing as he wondered whether this was some big, fat joke or if she was simply nutso, he said, “That crowd is going to be coming out soon. We need to go.”
She glanced toward the back door, then the street.
“My place is a few blocks from here. I want you to come with me and tell me all about this Rupie guy, because you’re not the first person to mistake me for him.”
Rising on tiptoe, though he was only a few inches taller, she studied him, like she was looking over a horse for purchase.
He let her. Rafe’s libido had been in charge for the initial part of this conversation, but his brain had finally caught up. Though his first conclusion was that this was some role-playing game, and his second that she was stark, raving mad, he’d come up with a few more. All of which he wanted to talk about.
And none of which included him getting laid tonight.
Because whether she was a prostitute or a mental patient or someone his buddies had hired to play a joke on him, the spark he’d felt from the minute he’d seen her obviously hadn’t really been returned. Her total nonreaction to his kiss confirmed it.
To be honest, that disappointed him more than anything else.
“I’m going. Come with me, or don’t,” he snapped, turning on his heel and heading across the street.
As expected, she came, her long strides eating up the ground as she kept pace with him. They didn’t speak for the few minutes it took to get to his place, but he noticed the way her eyes kept moving, constantly scanning dark corners and shadowy spaces. She was on alert, tense and coiled like a big cat on the prowl.
Hot. So hot.
Crazy. So freaking crazy.
Trying to avoid that whole idea, he focused on some of the other possible explanations as he led her up to his loft apartment. Some were better than others. Some worse.
Locking the door and gesturing for her to precede him inside, he said, “Make yourself at home.”
She took one step, cautious, only going in after he’d flipped the light switch. “Ooh,” she said. Looking up, her eyes widened in appreciation as she stared toward the ceiling, which was, indeed, impressive. He’d spent months uncovering the original beams and installing the soft oak planking that he’d painstakingly put into place. He’d worked almost upside down on a scaffold to get the joints straight and make the seams disappear.
“’Tis like a tree house.”
“That’s what I was going for,” he admitted. “Took a while, but it was worth it.”
“You are claiming you had something to do with this craftsmanship?” she asked, sounding accusing.
“Did every inch of it with my own two hands.”
She hesitated, then, without a word, grabbed one of his hands. Lifting it, she traced a fingertip over his calluses, appearing fascinated by his rough palms and blunt fingers.
Though her skin was silky, her grip was strong, too. Just like the rest of her. She was a contradiction. Beautiful and soft, yet hard, almost ruthless. Blunt yet incomprehensible. Smart, but out of touch with reality. Or so it seemed.
There has to be an explanation.
Finally, she let him go. “I don’t understand.”
“That makes two of us. Let’s sit down and figure it out.”
She glanced at the big sectional couch dominating the large, open space that flowed directly into a small kitchen on one side, and a sleeping area on the other. Saying nothing, she walked to the center of the room and dropped to the floor. One leg tucked beneath her, the other bent, knee up, she looked ready to launch to her feet again in an instant. Primed for danger.
Or some other kind of action. He just didn’t know what kind.
“Did Adam hire you? Or Jeremy? Are you a prostitute?”
“Prostitute?” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you mean a strumpet?”
“Yeah. I guess that’s one way to put it.”
“No, I am not,” she said, sounding like she’d chewed the words up before spitting them out.
That was good. The possibility had been a slim one. He hadn’t mentioned being called by that strange name—Rupie—before tonight, so his friends couldn’t have cued her to it as part of her seduction plan. Still, he liked crossing it off the list altogether. Though it probably didn’t speak well of him that he considered “absolutely insane” better than “hooker.”
“So what’s the story? Are you an actress?” He gestured toward her clothes. “I mean, given the outfit, the mystery, the whole Amazon warrior schtick…”
“I am an Amazon warrior,” she snapped, still sounding really ticked about his prostitute remark.
“Yeah. And I’m Humpty Dumpty.”
“No, you are not,” she said, serious, apparently worried he was the one who’d left a few brain cells back in the nineties. “Humpty Dumpty never existed. He was merely an allegory for the inability of an ancient king to make things right for the chicken farmers in his country. He’s a fictional character, like…like George Washington, meant to impart a lesson.”
“The whole cherry tree thing, huh? Ha ha.”
She ignored the interruption. “You’re Prince Ruprecht, heir to the throne of Grand Falls. And you’ve either been bewitched or injured in some manner, for you have forgotten who you are.” She waved toward his hands. “Someone has stolen your memory and tricked you into doing some form of manual labor.”
Ignoring all the rest of the crap, he zoned in on the most interesting part of her crazy story. “I’m a prince, huh?”
“Yes. Prince Ruprecht.” She then proceeded to spell it out for him. Literally.
“From where again?”
“Great Falls.”
“Is that in Europe?”
“No, it’s in Elatyria.”
He couldn’t resist teasing her. “How’s that one spelled?”
She huffed a little, then told him.
Rafe had never been fond of geography. But he didn’t remember ever hearing the name of that place before. “Not ringing any bells.”
“What do bells have to do with it? Your mother, the queen, sent me to find you and fetch you back for your coronation.”
Plopping onto the couch and lifting his feet onto the coffee table, Rafe replied, “My mother’s a hairdresser in Reseda.”
Their eyes met, locked, hers a stormy green that said she didn’t like being questioned. His probably skeptical, wondering what she was up to.
But when she didn’t look away, and that frown didn’t come close to fading, he thought of
one way to get her to admit she had made a mistake—something he doubted she did very often. Rafe leaned forward and pulled a photo album off the bottom shelf of the table. Opening it, he pushed it across to the hot blonde who was a couple of notes short of a chord.
“See? That’s my mother. That’s me with her.”
Olivia studied the photograph, taken two years ago when he’d gone home for Christmas. She began flipping pages, slowly at first, then quickly. Back to his childhood, then forward to now.
“I do not understand,” she whispered, setting the book down.
“I guess I have a double,” Rafe admitted. “Like I said, you aren’t the first person who’s mistaken me for him recently.”
She hesitated, as if trying to take it in. “Very recently?”
“It started about four months ago. Just a couple of times at first, but now it’s happening a lot.” Sighing, he added, “Believe me, I’m not happy about it. This prince of yours, is he a little light in the loafers?”
“What are loafers?”
“Never mind,” he said, wondering how long she would play this stranger-in-a-strange-land game.
She shook her head. “How is this possible?”
“They say everyone has a double somewhere in this world.”
“Or in the next,” she muttered, sinking down in shock. She suddenly looked more ready to fall over than leap on somebody. Pity, since he was the only somebody around.
Forget it. It was all in your head.
He’d been talking about a one-night stand and she’d been talking to another guy entirely. The whole thing had been a case of mistaken identity, he saw that now.
Well, there was one positive thing. At least she wasn’t entirely crazy. Despite the prince stuff, he truly believed she had been looking for someone who looked like him.
She proved it by reaching into a pouch on her belt, grabbing a locket the size of a silver dollar. “See for yourself.”
She handed him the locket, which was ornate and looked old. It was made of a strangely colored greenish metal he couldn’t identify. Studying the picture, he saw a miniaturized image of himself. His face, his eye color, his nose, his chin. The hair was shorter, the eyes a little closer together, the lips more thin. But otherwise, this guy could be his double.
“This is your prince?”
“Yes, Prince Ruprecht,” she said, a wondering note still in her voice. “And you truly are not he?”
Rafe slowly shook his head. “I definitely am not he.”
She took a deep breath, still staring, her gaze roving over him from head to foot. As she looked, she visibly relaxed. Her jaw became less stiff, her back lost its ramrod straightness. Her sensual lips parted and her tongue flicked out to moisten them.
Her whole demeanor suddenly changed. It was as if she was finally looking at him and not seeing this prince guy. Why she would be happy about that, since it meant her job had just gotten harder, he didn’t know. But her next words confirmed she was.
“Oh, thank Athena. Then I have not completely lost my senses.”
* * *
OLIVIA COULDN’T HIDE HER relief as she realized the truth.
He wasn’t Ruprecht. She hadn’t been struck with a sudden, shocking interest in a man for whom she had absolutely no respect, one for whom she’d never spared a thought in the past.
She wouldn’t call it lust. Or desire. She’d worked those female weaknesses out of herself, deciding to follow the true Amazon path of celibacy, though she knew of some who engaged in the occasional discreet dalliance.
But not her. Never her. So this reaction to him had truly caught her by surprise.
No matter. Whatever the cause of those strange sensations he’d invoked in her, the point remained. The man sitting across from her was not Prince Ruprecht. Not the boy she’d loathed. Not the weak-kneed prince. Not the old king’s son.
She couldn’t recall a moment when she’d been more relieved.
“What are you called?” she asked.
“Rafe Cabot.”
“Rafe Cabot.” A nice name. Different. She liked how it filled her mouth. “I apologize, Rafe. I was in error.”
He shrugged, as if she hadn’t attacked him in a dark thoroughfare a short time ago. “It’s okay. I made a mistake, too. Thinking you meant something you obviously didn’t mean.”
Not understanding, she merely waited.
“So what are you going to do now?”
She glanced out the windows at the pitch-black night. The sun wouldn’t rise for some time yet. Time was shaped differently here, with longer minutes, longer hours—though things apparently evened out since Elatyria had more days in its months and years. “I’ll return to my campsite nearby, await the dawn, then begin again to look for the prince.”
“A campsite? In the city?” His brow quirked over his incredibly attractive, gleaming eyes. “Just stay. I dragged you over here, I can at least offer you my couch for a few hours.”
“Thank you, but I must return to my mission.” Though she knew he was skeptical of her story—since fewer people on Earth were as aware of Elatyria’s existence as her people were aware of Earth’s—she explained. “Time is running out and the queen is likely growing impatient.”
“The queen. Right.”
“You doubt me?”
“I’ve got a pretty open mind,” he told her. “If you say there’s a country I’ve never heard of, with some bitchy queen who wants her son back, I’m not going to argue.” Then, he asked, “What if I told you I could help you find this prince?”
“How?”
Rafe rose to his feet. She looked up at him, breathing air that felt thicker, heavier. Like she was moving through a dense fog. For here, indoors, his breadth became much more apparent.
How she’d ever taken him for the lean prince of her youth, she had no idea. Because while his face certainly resembled Ruprecht’s, his strong, powerful body definitely did not.
“The people who’ve been mistaking me for this guy? I suspect they usually hang out in one particular part of the city. I think this Rupie might be onstage, too.”
“I doubt that,” she said, wondering now how she had been foolish enough to think the arrogant prince would exert himself to entertain people he considered peasants.
“Judging by some things people have said, I get the feeling he might be performing in drag.”
“What is…in drag?”
“I’ll explain it tomorrow. Just trust me on this.” Crossing the large room, he opened a door set into the wall, revealing a closet. He pulled out linens, then carried them over to the couch. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll help you find this prince.”
Olivia rose to her feet. “But I don’t understand. Despite what you say about your gaping mind…”
“Open,” he interjected.
“Your open mind, I still have the impression you didn’t believe what I told you. So why would you want to help me?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Probably because I do believe this guy is out there, and I’d like to see for myself why people are mistaking me for him.”
She had to admit it. “You’re nothing like him.”
“Took you long enough to notice.”
Lowering her eyes, she mumbled, “I was blind.”
“Forget it. Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”
The man was obviously trusting. He didn’t know her, couldn’t know how highly she valued her honor, and yet he had opened his home to her and intended to let her stay.
“You have my thanks. Please be assured I will not take advantage of your kindness,” she said.
“Got it.” He jerked a thumb toward another closed door. “Guest bathroom’s in there. Help yourself to whatever you need.”
Then he headed toward the back section of the living quarters, where a large screen separated the area from what appeared to be a sleeping chamber, complete with a bed sized for a king. But before he ducked behind it, he said, “Answer me one thing.
”
“Of course.”
“Why did you seem so relieved when you finally figured it out? You seemed almost happy I’m not the guy you’re looking for.”
Blunt, knowing no other way to be, she said, “I was relieved to know it hadn’t been Prince Ruprecht whose kiss I enjoyed.”
His jaw dropped. “Wait, that was you enjoying a kiss?”
Offering him a brief nod, she said, “It was.”
“Jeez, lady, I’d hate to see what happens to you when you come. Do you actually, I dunno, breathe a little hard?”
“Come where?”
He froze. Though he stood several feet away, she could almost feel the tension of his body. “I mean, when you climax. Have an orgasm?”
She shook her head, still not following.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know what an orgasm is.”
She licked her lips, remaining silent.
“You don’t know what that is?”
“You instructed me not to tell you.”
He thrust a hand through his longish hair again, and Olivia was suddenly curious about what it felt like. Just as he’d tangled his fingers in hers, she suddenly wanted to do the same, to test the silkness, to hold him close while they tried another one of those kisses she’d obviously gotten terribly wrong, if he thought she hadn’t liked it.
“What country did you say you’re from? It’s not one of those crazy ones where women aren’t allowed to feel pleasure, is it? Because that would be a crime against nature.”
“I am capable of feeling great pleasure,” she said, striving to sound cool since she suspected he was making fun of her. “I take pleasure in my training and in protecting others.”
He stepped closer, his stare never leaving her face. “Not that kind of pleasure.”
Clearing her throat, she wondered why, as he stepped closer, she was reminded of a predator stalking its prey. Because nobody in their right mind would ever call her prey. “I enjoy sporting games and competitions.”
Another step. His eyes seemed to grow darker, his mouth curled up on one corner.
“And…and battle.”
Laughing softly, he came closer still, until only a few inches separated them. “I’m talking about pleasures of the flesh, Olivia. The pleasure a man and woman give each other with their naked bodies.”
