Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love

by Beverly Barton

  With the exception of two phone calls, wrong numbers where the caller listened to her greeting then hung up, the morning passed uneventfully. Rory was relieved when Tom, the owner, arrived to take the afternoon shift. Tanned and fit in navy slacks and a yacht club shirt, Tom was lugging a bag of books in a Book Nook bag and had a fistful of mail.

  “You look great today,” her boss said, eyeing her new outfit. “Got a date for lunch?”

  Rory blushed. “No.”

  Tom winked at her. “Keep wearing that dress and you will.” He set the bag of books on the counter.

  “Are you returning some purchases?” she asked.

  “No, the mail carrier found these this morning when he was making his rounds.” Tom emptied the bag.

  Rory paused, staring at the titles, recalling the blond man with the French accent who’d bought them yesterday.

  Unease shifted within her. He’d seemed more interested in hitting on her than buying books. It occurred to her that the rogue surfer on the beach this morning had been blond. Was it the same man? She shook herself. She was becoming paranoid. They had tourists in the store every day from all parts of the globe. But still. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to take note of his name. Run it by Heinrich.

  “I remember the customer. He paid by credit card. I could look through yesterday’s receipts if you like.”

  “That would be great,” Tom said. “We’ll leave the books here with his name on them, and if he doesn’t claim them in a week, I’ll credit his account.”

  Rory went into the office at the back and found the receipt with Claude Dupont’s signature on it. She made a copy of it and tucked it inside her purse. Maybe Claude Dupont was an ordinary tourist and would come back to collect his books. But after the frightening attacks she’d experienced, she couldn’t be too careful.

  She wrote Dupont’s name on a sticky note and left it with Tom. She slipped her sunglasses on as she stepped out into midday sunshine that was blindingly bright. Her bank was just on the corner.

  Franz, her hawk-nosed bodyguard, escorted her into the bank while she made her transaction. When they exited, the other bodyguard was waiting for them at the curb behind the wheel of Rory’s red Mercedes. The top of the convertible was up.

  She hoped Sebastian would be meeting her at her home to continue her lessons. She wanted to ask him about the necklace and talk to Heinrich. But instead of heading toward Neptune Place, the bodyguard drove into La Jolla Shores past lushly landscaped Spanish-Craftsmen-and Mediterranean-style homes that sprawled luxuriously across the hill. He zipped up and down quiet residential streets at a speed more suitable to a freeway.

  “Where are we going?” she asked Franz, who was routinely checking the side mirror to see if they were being followed.

  “La Belleza. You have an appointment.”

  Rory knew the exclusive spa. Being pampered for the afternoon sounded less intimidating than trying on clothes or reciting German phrases. She caught her breath as the Mercedes pulled into a palm-lined, gated drive. An oval looking-glass was intricately worked into the massive brass-plated gates.

  The bodyguard punched a code into a keypad and the gates automatically swung open. They drove into a slate courtyard. The spa was a majestic Italian-style villa, a graceful cream stucco building with arched windows and a double staircase that parted in a heart shape around a Venus de Milo fountain.

  The interior of the spa possessed a timeless air with travertine floors and trompe l’oeil designs embellishing walls that were the faded, golden hue of late-afternoon sunshine. Cello music played in the background, and potted palms and stone urns massed with exotic flowers made Rory feel as if she’d entered a peaceful courtyard.

  Odette rose from a tasseled chaise, where she’d been taking coffee in a porcelain cup with a palmetto design, to greet Rory. She looked elegant and princess perfect in a classic Chanel black-and-white silk dress. The publicist’s gray-green eyes assessed Rory’s misty-blue dress critically. She finally nodded approvingly. “Much better. I hope you’re in the spirit to focus on details today. A princess needs to be impeccably groomed—hair, makeup, nails, legs.” Odette paused a beat. “Eyebrows.”

  Rory’s stomach churned. She’d rather be riding a wall of water or indulging herself in the latest hot read than be tortured with smelly color rinses, facials and tweezers. “I’m in,” she said, defeated.

  “Excellent.” Odette gave Rory a reassuring smile that seemed forced. “By the end of the day you’re going to walk out of here a new woman.”

  Rory thought of hot wax and shuddered.

  ODETTE HADN’T EXAGGERATED.

  Four hours later Rory stared at the miracle of her hair, dazed beyond words. Her amber curls had been hacked at, layered and conditioned into submission. Her hair now framed her face in striking silky ringlets that made her feel beautiful. Unique—just as Chandale had predicted.

  She’d worried that the makeup artist would slather layers of color on her face and eyes, but the result was sparing and gave her skin a polished glow. Oh, this was much better than reading the latest antics of Janet Evanovich’s female bounty hunter! Although, she was convinced the impeccable French manicure would be ruined the moment she hit the beach.

  She met Odette’s gaze in the mirror, awaiting her verdict. Odette had sat in a chair all afternoon with her hands folded delicately in her lap and her legs crossed at the ankles, observing the transformation with a critical eye. Rory had taken advantage of the opportunity to ask the publicist questions about her life in the hopes of becoming more comfortable with her. Although Odette had chosen her words carefully because their conversation was being overheard, she had revealed that she was a career woman, single and still hoping to meet the right man, and that she’d known her employer most of her life. Their families had taken Mediterranean cruises and enjoyed ski holidays together.

  Though Odette provided slim details, Rory realized from the affection that laced the publicist’s voice why Prince Laurent had appointed her to the task force of transforming Rory into a princess. Odette was a trusted member of the royal family’s inner circle. She understood what was fully at stake for the marriage and she was determined to ensure that Rory meet her high level of expectations.

  Which made it seem all the more unlikely that Odette had stolen the necklace. It was more logical that opposition to the marriage would come from within Estaire.

  Odette still hadn’t said one word.

  Rory nervously fingered one of her silky ringlets and wished she were sharing this moment with her mother. “What do you think?”

  Odette rose gracefully from her chair, an enigmatic smile tracing her lips. To Rory’s surprise, the blonde squeezed her shoulder in a sisterly overture. “I think your fiancé will find you irresistible.”

  “Thank you.” A bubble of relief popped inside Rory at the high praise. She wiggled her newly polished toes and couldn’t help wondering if Sebastian would approve of the dramatic change in her appearance, then told herself to stop. It wasn’t Sebastian who needed to approve.

  She would give Prince Laurent a fair chance—if it killed her. But it would be much easier if she at least had a mental image to connect to the sparse personal information she was learning about him.

  “Do you have a picture of him?” she asked Odette, hoping she would be more sympathetic to her request than Sebastian had been. She understood why Sebastian wanted her to focus on her lessons, but then, he also seemed to think there was nothing wrong with expecting her to marry a perfect stranger out of a sense of duty to a father she’d never met. She hoped Odette, who was waiting for the right man to come along, would understand her curiosity.

  Odette blanched and turned away to retrieve her purse from a marble-topped console. “The car is waiting. You have a fitting with the stylist next on your schedule. Then a deportment lesson.”

  Rory grabbed her own purse and thanked the makeup artist, who presented her with a goodie bag containing the cosmetics she’d purchased. Clutch
ing the bag, Rory raced to catch up with Odette in the galleria outside their private salon. She laid a hand on her arm. “Please.”

  Odette paused, her gray-green eyes indicating she was mulling over Rory’s request. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Follow me, sir. The princess is in the midst of a deportment lesson.”

  Laurent followed Pierce to the great room at a clipped pace, anxious to reassure himself that his princess was okay. He and Prince Olivier had thought of little else but the princess’s safety all day. The police had retrieved five bullets from tree trunks and the wall of Rory’s home, as well as five bullet casings. And they had tracked the shooter’s path through the neighboring yards where some fingerprints had been found on a wrought-iron fence. The police had obtained fingerprint samples from the bodyguards to eliminate the possibility that a guard had left the prints while pursuing the shooter.

  Under Heinrich’s recommendation they had moved up the defensive-driving course and self-defense lessons in the princess’s schedule. Laurent also thought she should be instructed in how to fire a gun in the event she ever needed to pick one up to defend herself.

  The butler announced his arrival. Laurent barely heard the butler’s voice. The corners of the vibrant-red room blurred as if he were viewing them through the flicker of a gas flame as he laid eyes on the stunning young woman in the gossamer gold organza dress. She would grace his side for the rest of his life. She teetered across the room under Odette’s coaching in a pair of spike heels like a gosling learning to walk.

  Her hair. It had always entranced him, but now a surge of sexual need drove an impulse to catch a fistful of those curls as he brought his mouth down on her lush glossy lips. He had thought Rory beautiful before but now he found her—

  Without conscious volition, he drew back a step as if some inner part of him instinctively recognized danger and urged him to retreat. But the draw of the sexual surge was as magnetic as the song of a siren to a doomed vessel.

  His abdomen tensed as Rory met his gaze with wide, hyacinth eyes. Everything that had passed between them last night flashed in his heart as she hobbled unsteadily toward him. Laurent sensed disaster impending as her spike heels wobbled, but finally her delicate ankles straightened and she beamed at him.

  Then she blushed.

  Laurent remembered in vivid detail the feel of her wet, pliant body and the hungry softness of her mouth. She’d wanted him.

  He trembled inside, unable to restrain the rampant erotic images filling his mind.

  Stiffly he bowed to her, struggling to keep the distance and formality he’d been trained to maintain at all times. “Your Serene Highness. You are a sight to behold.” He failed miserably at shutting out the images. He imagined peeling the filmy gold fabric from her beautiful breasts. He imagined the taste of her in his mouth.

  “I’m flattered.”

  Laurent wanted the room cleared. He was iron hard with a need that demanded release.

  Odette checked her diamond wristwatch. “We’ve nearly finished, Sebastian. Perhaps one more time across the room, madame? Imagine you are a ballet dancer and you are tapping your toes in front of you with each step. It’s not a heel-toe motion as if you are wearing a sandal.”

  Rory shrugged. “Duty calls.” She turned, wobbling precariously as she attempted to tap her toes as instructed.

  Laurent feared for her ankles, but the sway of her sexy bottom as she strained to balance increased his desire.

  “Perhaps we should consider a shoe with a lower heel,” Odette murmured to Chandale. “She doesn’t need the extra height.”

  Laurent discreetly shielded the front of his trousers with his hands as he observed Rory’s progress. She was metamorphosing into a dazzling swan. “It will come,” he assured both women confidently, even though he was sure his princess would always tread charmingly on his toes.

  He glanced down at her toes, transfixed by the polished glow on her nails and by the tiny gold starfish that dangled from a chain circling her ankle.

  His fingers craved to be as intimately close to her skin. “How is her wardrobe coming along?” he inquired in a passably neutral tone.

  He sensed tension pass between Odette and Chandale.

  Rory finished her walk without incident and propped her hands on her hips. A glow of pride illuminated her face. “It’s in the works. I’ve made some choices that I’m comfortable with, and Chandale has asked some designers to submit designs.”

  Odette smoothed a finger along her brow as if smoothing away an imperfection in her makeup. Laurent knew that gesture well. His press secretary excelled at smoothing out problems before they snowballed into media crises. “But of course they must meet with Sebastian’s final approval for color and suitability,” she said diplomatically, smiling at him for confirmation.

  Laurent took the hint. Odette obviously perceived a problem with Rory’s choices.

  Rory pursed her glossy lips, and Laurent felt perspiration dampen his temples. “I hardly think Sebastian’s approval is required. The guidelines you and Renald provided me with were very clear. And you did say I would have an experienced lady’s maid to help me make appropriate decisions.”

  Odette smoothed her finger over her brow again.

  While Laurent understood Odette’s concerns, he was pleased to see his princess grasping the reins of her new role. “As you wish, madame. If today’s dress is any indication of your preferences, I’m confident you’re on the right path. Now, if you ladies will excuse us, I am to escort Her Serene Highness to dinner with her brother.”

  Even with Sebastian’s praise washing over her, Rory knew she was going to break her neck in these shoes. Sebastian was looking at her as if she were a princess. And even though she worried she’d offended Odette, his display of confidence in her was worth the price.

  Rory floated unsteadily in her shoes as Chandale handed her a gold-fringed silk shawl from a hanger and a gold dragonfly evening bag. She excused herself to powder her nose and rotate in front of a full-length mirror ror to ensure that all the details of her appearance were perfect and no embarrassing labels or price tags were showing as Odette had taught her in her deportment lesson. Odette had said that little trick would make her feel confident.

  Looking at the stranger in the mirror, Rory did feel confident. Although she firmly told herself that she was going to give the marriage treaty due consideration, her heart was spinning around like a carnival ride at the prospect of being alone with Sebastian for a few minutes.

  Take a deep breath. You’re just nervous because you’re going to ask him about the necklace, she told herself.

  Liar, her reflection replied.

  A balmy breeze tugged at her shawl and rippled through the trees, rattling palm fronds as Sebastian slowly escorted her out to the limo. Rory found it almost impossible to concentrate on tapping her toes when Sebastian’s strong fingers were creating a disturbance on her elbow.

  Determined to stay true to her mission, she broached the subject of the necklace as soon as they were settled in the buttery soft backseat of the limo. “So much has happened in the last few days, I haven’t had a chance to ask you if you’d found out any information about my father’s necklace.”

  “Forgive me, madame. I made some inquiries yesterday and received a fax at the hotel this afternoon. Apparently, your father commissioned the necklace from a Swiss jeweler ten years ago. Then the necklace was kept in storage with the crown jewels of Estaire.”

  “What’s the jeweler’s name?” she asked.

  “I have it here.” He passed her the fax. “I hope this settles any doubts you may have about your brother’s sincerity.”

  Rory took the paper and wondered if she was making a mistake in not telling him what she intended to do with the information. But before she pointed an accusing finger and created a rift of suspicion between two already feuding countries, she needed substantial proof. “Thank you.”

  However, she saw no re
ason why she couldn’t share her suspicions with him about the customer at the bookstore.

  Haltingly, she told him about her encounter with the blond man with the French accent and how the bag of books he’d bought had been found in the street. “I’m probably being paranoid, but I went surfing this morning and a blond man sideswiped me and knocked me off my board.” She hesitated, not certain how much to tell Sebastian. A fierce glower was rising in his inky eyes. “I can’t be sure because I didn’t get a good enough look at him, but he might be the same man.”

  “Where were your bodyguards when this occurred?” Sebastian asked in a low, dangerous tone that suggested heads were about to roll.

  Rory gulped. No one was going to get fired because she’d chosen to ditch them. “I didn’t take them with me or tell them I was leaving. I wanted—I needed to be alone. This is all so overwhelming. I just needed some space. And when I’m on the water, I feel like I’m in control.”

  Sebastian’s eyes studied her face. Rory felt a chill, unable to guess what he was thinking. “And were you in control when this man sideswiped you?” he asked brusquely.

  “Yes and no,” she admitted. “I had trouble with my leash.”

  At his puzzled expression, she explained. “It’s a cord that you attach to your ankle to keep you from losing your board. It got caught on something. When I was trying to release it, something bumped into me. The man—or his board—I’m not sure.” Her voice trembled. “But I was scared and I was running out of air. By the time I was free, he was already being helped off the beach by the Windansea rats.”

  “Rats?”

  “Local surfers. They’re protective about people who horn in on their breaks without following proper etiquette.”

  “So someone else saw this man? Other witnesses?”

  Rory knew he was thinking the man could be her assassin and that she was lucky she had survived without harm. “Yes. But I can do you one better than that.” She whipped the copy of the sales receipt from her purse. “I know his name and I even have his credit card number.”