by Linda Turner
Nothing meant anything to her. Life had no sparkle—she had no sparkle! Over the past few days, she'd lost five pounds she couldn't afford to lose, and all of it in tears. How could one woman have so many tears in her? If anyone so much as looked at her wrong, she cried.
And it had to stop! This wasn't who she was. She'd been hurt before and she'd always been able to shake it off without missing a beat. She had her career to turn to, and her friends. That had always been enough for her in the past. Why wasn't it now?
Because she'd never known anyone quite like Lorenzo.
Pain squeezed her heart at the mere thought of him, and with a muttered oath, she hit the print button on her computer. No! she told herself furiously as she waited for the printer to do its job. She wouldn't do this. She wouldn't let him make her miserable again. She spent her days daydreaming about him, her nights reaching for him in her sleep, and she couldn't take it anymore. Every time she wrote about a royal—any royal!—she found her thoughts drifting to him. It was nuts, crazy, unacceptable! If she didn't get a grip on her emotions, and damn soon, she was going to ask Simon to transfer her to sports. Maybe then she'd find someone else to dream about!
"Hey, there's our wonder girl," Simon teased when she walked into his office with her latest column. "Guess who I had lunch with today? The big man himself! And he couldn't stop singing your praises. The readers love your column about Duke Lorenzo and Elizabeth. Sales are up, and Mr. Jones is convinced it's because of you. He can't wait to see the feature you do on the prince when he's found. Just wait, Red. When all this is said and done, you're going to get a big bonus...maybe even that Pulitzer you've been chasing."
That was high praise, indeed, from Simon, and the old Eliza would have been crowing like a proud peacock at the first sign of a compliment. But a Pulitzer was no longer the be-all and end-all of her existence. Oh, she still wanted one, of course. But she didn't need one to make her happy. She couldn't say the same thing about Lorenzo, which was why she'd written the column telling him how she felt. He had to know. But even though she'd sent him a copy of the column, she hadn't heard from him. And that hurt. She'd hoped—
"Eliza? Have you heard a word I've said?"
Startled out of her silent, painful musings, she jumped... and glanced up to find him watching her with knowing eyes that saw far too much. "Of course," she replied, only to curse the revealing color that stained her cheeks. "Mr. Jones is pleased with my work."
"So am I," he said gruffly. "So why don't you tell me why the hell you have such a long face? You've been moping around here for days. You didn't even notice when Debbie got snooty with you yesterday."
"Deborah's attitude is not my concern."
"See? That's what I mean! Has an alien invaded your body? This isn't you! You don't let that little twit get by with sneezing in public without putting her in her place. What's wrong? C'mon, you can tell Uncle Simon. You know I won't tell anyone."
For the first time in days, she laughed. "Nice try, La-Gree. What is this? The new, improved, gentler you? I don't think so."
Far from offended, he only grinned crookedly. "Okay, so I went a little far. I'm worried about you, dammit! I've never seen you like this, and I don't like it. You fell in love with him, didn't you?"
The question came out of left field and caught her completely off guard. Stiffening, she said, "I beg your pardon?"
"Damn, I knew this was going to happen! That Lorenzo fellow's not your ordinary namby-pamby duke—if he had been, you never would have looked twice at him."
"Wait a minute. I never said—"
"He's a military hero, and royalty, to boot," he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Guts, brains and a title would be a hard combination for you to resist. And I can't blame you for that. You spent a lot of time alone with him, and he was probably charming as hell."
"Actually, there were times when he could be the most irritating man I'd ever met," she retorted.
"Then there you go," he said, pleased. "He got your blood boiling. Smart man. There's no faster way to get a woman's attention than to get her all hot and bothered. No wonder you fell for him. You always did love a good confrontation."
He summed her up in just a few short sentences—and hit the nail on the head. He'd never even met Lorenzo or seen them together, she thought, stunned. How had he known? Studying him through narrowed eyes, she said, "What did you do? Have us followed? How'd you know that?"
His brown eyes twinkling, he shrugged. "I'm psychic." His smile faded. "The point is, I don't need to be psychic to figure this one out, Red. I wish I could take you to lunch and order champagne and celebrate your being in love. There's no better feeling in the world. But royals don't make commitments to commoners. You know that as well as I do."
If anyone else but Simon had told her that, she might have resented it, but she knew he was only trying to help her in his gruff, tell-it-like-it-is way. And she appreciated it. But it still hurt. Stupid tears once again stinging her eyes, she smiled sadly. "I screwed up. I couldn't help it. It just happened."
"It happens to all of us at one time or another," he retorted with a grimace. "That's life, Red. Cry your tears, then let go of it and find someone else. Trust me. That's the fastest way to get over a broken heart."
He would have said more, but the phone on his desk rang then, and he snatched it up. "Yes?"
"Mr. Maxwell? This is George, at the front desk. There's a Duke Lorenzo Sebastiani down here to see Eliza Wind-mere. I buzzed her desk, but she didn't answer."
Surprised, Simon nearly dropped the phone. "What?!"
"Ms. Windmere has a visitor," he repeated. "Should I send him up or take a message?"
Glancing at Eliza, who didn't have a clue what the call was about, he said, "No, don't take a message. Ask him to wait. I want to speak to him. I'll be right there."
"Problems?" Eliza asked with a frown when he hung up and quickly came to his feet. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he assured her quickly. "I just have to take care of something downstairs. It'll only take a minute. So stay right here, okay? I'll be back in just a second."
Not giving her time to question him further, he hurried out of his office and quickly strode to the wall of elevators down the hall. A split second later, he was on his way to the lobby, worry knitting his brow in a scowl. He didn't know what the duke wanted, but if he thought he was going to come here and make Eliza more miserable than she already was, he would soon learn he was sadly mistaken.
* * *
Now that he had his courage up, Lorenzo didn't like cooling his heels in the lobby, but he didn't have much choice. The security guard wouldn't even tell him if she was there, and now someone by the name of Maxwell was coming down to speak with him. Great. All he wanted to do was see Eliza and tell her he loved her. Why did everyone have to make it so complicated?
Frowning impatiently, he turned away from the reception desk just in time to see the elevator doors open and a short, rounded man step out into the lobby. His shirt was wrinkled, his tie loosened, and the only hair on his head was his busy gray eyebrows, which were currently knit in a straight line across his sharp brown eyes. Immediately spying Lorenzo near the reception desk, he headed straight for him.
"Your Grace? I'm Simon Maxwell," he said, holding out his hand to him. "I understand you're here to talk to Eliza."
So this was the infamous Simon, he thought. From what Eliza had told him, he was a gruff, shrewd man who didn't care about anything but the newspaper. So why had he come downstairs instead of Eliza? Had she refused to see him?
His heart constricting at the thought, he returned his handshake with a frown. "If Eliza's not here, I can come back later."
"Actually, she's upstairs in my office," the older man retorted. "I didn't tell her you were here. I wanted to talk to you first and get a few things straight."
Well, that was certainly blunt enough. If anyone else had talked to him in that tone, Lorenzo would have put them in their place. But despite Eli
za's claims to the contrary, Simon obviously had more than printer's ink in his veins. His dark eyes were grim with determination and held a concern that couldn't be denied.
And Lorenzo couldn't hold that against him. How could he? She had friends who cared about her as much as he did. Only a self-centered man would resent that. "All right," he said quietly. "What did you want to discuss?"
"Your intentions," he growled. "What are they?"
In spite of the seriousness of the question, Lorenzo couldn't help but smile. "You don't beat around the bush, do you?"
"Life's too short," he said simply. "You're here for a reason, and I want to know what it is. Granted, I don't really have the right—I'm not her father or family—but she's a damn good kid and I don't want to see her get hurt. So like it or not, I'm asking. What are your intentions?"
Lorenzo didn't so much as blink. "I love her. I came back to ask her to marry me."
He'd expected a nod of approval from the older man. What he got was a broad smile and a slap on the back. "It's about damn time! What took you so long?"
"I didn't think she loved me," he replied honestly. "I didn't want to make a fool of myself."
Simon couldn't believe he was serious, but there was no doubting the less than confident look in his eyes. Stunned, he nearly dropped his teeth. He was a duke, for God's sake! With movie star looks. He wasn't the kind of man women usually turned down. Now if he'd looked like him, Simon thought ruefully, that would have been another matter. It took a rare woman like his Ginger to see beneath his rough exterior to the catch that he was.
Curious, he said, "I know you haven't talked to Red—I would have been able to tell." She'd been moping around the office like a sick duck for days, though that was something Simon didn't intend to tell him. That was privileged information. "So what changed your mind? You got her column, didn't you? About you and Elizabeth?"
He didn't deny it. "Yes, but I still don't know if she loves me. After reading her column, though, I'm no longer afraid of making a fool of myself. I love her. I have to tell her."
Just that easily, he bared his soul, and any last lingering doubts that Simon had about him vanished. Eliza needed a man with guts. She'd found one. "She's in my office," he said huskily. "Take the elevator to the third floor and turn right. It's the second door on the left."
* * *
Later, Lorenzo never remembered taking the elevator to the third floor. Suddenly, he found himself standing outside the open door of Simon's office, and there was Eliza right in front of him. Seated at a chair on the visitor side of her boss's desk, she was reading what looked to be a tabloid that she must have taken from the stack on one corner of the desk.
Not surprised that she was keeping abreast of what other publications were doing, he drank in the sight of her and couldn't stop smiling. It hadn't even been a week since they'd parted at the airport, but it seemed like a lifetime since he'd seen her. He wanted to reach for her, to pull her into his arms and hold her like he would never let her go, but he couldn't. Not yet. First, they had to talk.
Stepping into the office, he quietly shut the door behind him. "Hello, Eliza."
At the first sound of his voice, Eliza froze, sure her ears were playing tricks on her. But her imagination wasn't that good, and with a soft gasp, she jumped to her feet and whirled to face him. When he smiled crookedly at her, her heart threatened to pound right out of her breast. "Lorenzo! What are you doing here? I thought—"
"That I was still in Montebello? I flew in this morning. How are you?"
Stunned, she hardly heard him. He was back and all she wanted to do was step into his arms. She'd missed him so much! She just wanted to touch him, to lose herself in the taste of him, and forget the last six days had ever existed.
But even as she started to take a step toward him, she stopped. Just because he was back didn't mean that he'd come back for her. He'd left her once already, and devastated her in the process. She wouldn't let him do that again. She wouldn't even begin to let herself hope until she knew why he was there.
"Has the king reassigned you to the search?" she asked quietly. "Is that why you're here?"
His smile faded slightly, but his eyes never left hers. "Actually, I forgot to wrap up a few things before I left."
He couldn't have hurt her more if he'd slapped her. How could he be so cruel? If he hadn't come back for her, why had he even bothered to contact her? Hadn't he read her column? Couldn't he see what he was doing to her? Didn't he realize this was killing her?
Or did he think she would want to take up the search with him where they'd left off?
Struck by the thought, she froze. Could she do that? If he asked her, could she forget she loved him and pick up the prince's trail again?
The answer came without hesitation. Yes. She had no pride. She loved him. She'd go to the moon and back with him and pretend it was for a story if she could spend time with him.
"If you need any help, all you have to do is ask," she said quietly. "I'm sure Simon would give me some time. He'd be thrilled if we could pick up where we left off."
Last week, that would have been enough to send Lorenzo out the door and back home. But not now. He wasn't giving up that easily—especially when they were talking about two different things. "Actually," he said huskily, "we won't be picking up the search again. My business here has nothing to do with the prince."
"It doesn't? But you said—"
"That I forgot to wrap up a few things before I left," he finished for her. "I was talking about you."
He watched her eyes go wide, then well with tears, and he couldn't wait any longer to touch her. Eliminating the space between them with a single step, he reached for her. "I love you," he rasped. "I couldn't tell you last week. I've never loved anyone the way I love you, and I was afraid of getting hurt. But living without you hurt like hell and I can't do it anymore. That's why I really came back. I love you, and I had to tell you. I hoped, after reading your column, that you felt the same way."
"Oh, Lorenzo, I do!" Joy flooding her heart, she stepped into his arms and lifted her mouth for his kiss. "I love you, too. I was heartbroken when you left. I thought you didn't love me—"
"I thought the same thing. You should have seen me. I couldn't sleep, and I was jealous of everyone who had someone in their life—"
"Me, too," she said, chuckling. "Simon threatened to fire me if I didn't stop feeling sorry for myself. He wouldn't have, of course—I could tell he was just worried about me— but I couldn't help it. I've never been so miserable in all my life."
"I should have told you," he said, kissing her softly, over and over again. "But you acted like the only thing you were interested in was your next headline—"
"Because you couldn't wait to get home—"
"And I didn't think I could bear the rejection. It wasn't until I got home that I realized what I really couldn't bear was being without you."
"I couldn't bear it, either," she said softly. "Please don't ever leave me again."
"I won't," he promised huskily. "I can't. I love you too much. Will you marry me, sweetheart? And run away with me to Montebello? You could still work for Simon—you wouldn't have to give up your column—you'd just be a foreign correspondent. What do you say? Do you think you'd like that?"
For a woman who made a living with words, it only took one to answer all his questions and change both their lives forever. Her heart in her eyes, she kissed him sweetly and grinned. "Yes."
* * * THE END * * *
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