by Gwen Hayes
“Sha-la-la.”
He relaxed, glad she remembered the code they’d practiced for “all is well.” If she had been coerced, if she had captors watching her, the phrase was “giggity.” Obviously, Merriam had chosen her own pass phrases.
She sipped her beer. Though the brand was dubious. They both preferred Sivartanian beer, but it was hard to find anywhere but Sivartania—something Prince Matthew was hoping to rectify and part of the reason for this trip to the states.
She nudged his foot under the table. “What is going on?” she whispered loudly. “I’m not leaving. I just got here. I want to stay.”
“Can you keep smiling, please? We need to talk.” And he didn’t need someone thinking his attention was unwanted.
“You can’t make me leave.”
While it was true that, as princess, she outranked him, it was not true that he could not do whatever necessary to ensure her safety. Including throwing her over his shoulder and packing her out of a party if he so chose.
“You’re not safe.”
“Matthew knew I was leaving.”
“Matthew did not arrange the alarm.”
She cocked her head, those dark eyes assessing his level of alarm. Then she blanched the same way her brother had. “Are you sure—?”
“The tape shows one of the Stone family pulling the lever.”
The Stones were known to the royals of course. As longstanding dissidents, the entire line had caused security issues for centuries. Usually, though, it was nothing serious. Harmon wondered how long until real trouble started. And maybe it already had.
Not on my watch.
“Is everyone okay?”
“We’ve doubled protection on your family. You, of course, were our main concern as you were unaccounted for.”
She had the grace to look sorry for that. “How did you find me?”
“I will always find you.”
The words hung in the air between them, causing her to pause whatever she meant to say next. He hadn’t meant it to come out that way, as if it was from the deepest part of him. It was his job to protect her. Of course, he would always find her.
But that isn’t what he meant and damn if she couldn’t hear that.
“The woman next to you called you Maryanne. Does anyone know who you are? Have you told anyone your real name? Did they recognize you?”
She shook her head. “When I got on the bus, I assumed the name of the camper that hadn’t checked in yet.”
“Then we’ll stay here until they find Stone.” He’d secured camp accommodations and a safe house in town for his perimeter team.
“I want to stay the whole week. Please?” He was about to say no when her hand on his arm made him pause. “Please, Harmon. Look, I know my father is planning to announce my engagement next week. And I’ll marry whoever he chooses. I know it’s my duty. I just want this one week where I choose.”
So that’s what precipitated the running away. How much had she heard?
“One week, please, Harmon. I’ll be a good little girl, I promise. I’ll do whatever you say.”
He snorted.
“No, I will. I’ll follow all your safety orders.”
It wasn’t fair, what her father was suggesting. It wasn’t even right. And she obviously hadn’t heard the entire conversation or she wouldn’t be speaking to him now. “You’ll do whatever I say?”
Once again, the words hung between them. He tried to banish the erotic suggestions crossing his mind, pictures of what he could order her to do. Having her at his mercy, in his bed.
One side of her mouth lifted in a half-grin. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
He schooled his face into a scowl. He couldn’t allow her to see just how much he’d love to have her in his bed, following orders or otherwise.
The scowl wiped off her smile. “I just want to have fun for a few days. Date some cute guys—”
“No.”
“No?” She checked out the room…looking for cute guys maybe. The idea of it pissed him off. “It’s a week dedicated to dating. I’m not just going to sit in my cabin so you can secure a perimeter around me.”
So much for doing whatever he said. “You’re already fighting me.”
“Am I supposed to turn down every invitation and never leave your side…oh God. That is exactly what you have in mind. Forget it.”
“I believe you are safe from Stone here, but I cannot allow you to cavort with men who haven’t been vetted. I’m sorry, Princess.”
“Did you really just say cavort? Who says that, Duke? You’re like a throwback from the Regency era.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew he was humorless and stodgy. It was no secret he was also old fashioned.
“So how is that going to work? Don’t you think it will draw more attention to me if I come to singles’ week and ignore everyone except my dour bodyguard who, by the way, is going to have to figure out how to not act like a bodyguard for this cover story to work. What’s the point of pretending to be a regular camper if I can’t date the other campers? It’s a singles’ week.”
“Is it really so important to you to date men you don’t know and who you’ll never see again?”
“You make it sound sordid. It’s just fun. I don’t think anyone expects to find their one true love here.”
He didn’t think anyone here was even looking for true love.
“I can’t face my father right now. Please tell me you understand. Please just let me be Maryanne Marsh until next weekend.”
If he were a different man, he would have given her anything she wished whenever she wished for it.
But he wasn’t a different man. He was the man in charge of keeping her safe, not happy.
She twisted her ring, her mother’s ring, and it affected him more than he’d have cared to admit. Because he knew her all her wheedling moves, and that one she’d never used to get her way. She only played with that ring when she was close to breaking.
He didn’t want her broken.
“We can stay as long as it’s safe. That’s all I can promise you.”
She smiled. Now is when she would start wheedling to get her way. “And I can take part in the camp activities?”
“Many of them yes.”
“Harmon.”
He held his hands up. “I need to inspect the activity park, make sure the trapeze and rock wall are safe. I’m not crazy about the zip line just from looking at the setup on the website.”
“Tennis?”
“Fine.”
“Swimming?”
“Not alone.”
“Speed dating?”
“No.”
“It’s not even real dating. C’mon. It’s going to really make me stand out if I don’t take part in the activities. You know they’ll speculate about why I’m even here.”
“I’ve thought of that, Your Highness. So, you don’t need to worry. Everyone will assume you are hard at work on your own happily ever after.”
She set her beer down and eyed him warily. “Why is that?”
“You’re one of the lucky ones, Maryanne. You get to find your Prince Charming on the very first night.”
Surprise widened her eyes. “Are you supposed to be the Prince Charming in this scenario?”
He rubbed his beard. Was that so hard for her to imagine? “You will not be dating anyone else because you found your match tonight at the first mixer.”
“You?”
“You act so surprised. Your friend thinks I’m hot. You could do worse.” This was fun. She was squirming in her seat, looking alarmed.
“No one will believe it, Harmon.”
Now he was offended. “Why not?”
“Because,” she reached for an answer, “Because I annoy you too much. You’ll…what are you doing?”
He’d moved in closer, nuzzled her neck. “I’m expressing an interest in the woman I’m going to date this week.”
Breathing her in was proving to be a pr
oblem. He intended to be convincing enough to keep the other men away from her, but not so convincing that his body reacted to her nearness. God, the smell of her hair made him want to…stop it, Carlysle.
She pulled back to look at him. “I want to have fun this week.”
“You don’t think I can have fun.”
She didn’t have to say, “Seriously?” because her look said it all.
“I can be fun.”
She still said nothing.
“I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you.”
“There is not one person here who will believe we are a couple, Harmon. Everything I do aggravates you.”
“That’s not true.”
“Oh please.”
“Well, that part is true. I meant the other. I can have fun.” It had been a while, but he was sure he could do it.
“If we are going this, you have to go all in. No Duke of Curmudgeon allowed. If you won’t let me date the other men here, then you need to be the perfect boyfriend. I want to be treated like…”
“A queen?”
She shook her head. “Funny. But no. I want to feel normal.”
“What is so good about normal, Princess? Most women would love to be you for a week.”
“I know how blessed I am.” She stared into the distance. He wanted to know where she went when she did that. “But I won’t ever get to fall in love, Harmon.”
The words were uncharacteristically heavy coming from Merriam. He didn’t know how to fill up the silence, but he had to because it was like a sinkhole sucking her down and away from him.
“Maybe you will fall in love with the man your father chooses for you?”
She straightened her spine, and he wondered if she were having an internal conversation with her Aunt Elaine. “Maybe.”
She clearly didn’t think she would.
But she was right. She might have everything else in the world, but she might never love her husband. Or he may never love her. Though Harmon couldn’t imagine a world in which that could happen. She was exasperating, but she was not unlovable. Any man would be lucky to call her wife.
But it was best not to go down that road. For he was not any man. He was the Duke of Carlysle.
“So, Duke, do you think you have what it takes to make me not regret dating anyone else on my last week of being single? You’re going to be my last boyfriend. Will you be my best?”
He felt his pulse pick up in his temples. She was testing him. She was daring him.
“I can.”
She snorted, a most unprincesslike reaction.
“I’m damn sure I’d be a better boyfriend than Balton.”
“You’re not setting the bar very high.” She narrowed her eyes. “You just smiled. Someone break out the calendar.”
He picked up her hand, kissed her knuckles, and stood.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he tugged her up with him.
“Starting.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Dance with me, Maryanne.”
Seriously?
Well, it’s not like Harmon ever joked about anything.
She’d danced with him once before. She’d been twelve and her crush on him had been unbearable. That was before he was duke and miserable, of course. Back then, he’d been fun, exciting, and pretty sweet to her preteen self now that she thought about it.
He hadn’t been like that in a long time.
He held her hand as they made their way to the dance floor.
Unlike the urban club scene, the Firefly Falls mixer was supposed to be like camp dances. She’d never been to summer camp, of course, so she didn’t know if it was. The slow songs were sprinkled in liberally, perhaps to encourage close dancing. She felt a bit like a teen again. She hoped her hand wasn’t sweaty.
He pulled her in close, closer than she expected. He was so firm, hard. A wall of a man. Usually, the wall meant he was keeping her out of trouble or in when she wanted out. Now, now it felt different. Like he was some kind of buffer. And for the first time, she wanted to keep the world out. She always felt safe with Harmon.
She looped her arms around his neck. He was all masculine heat and smoky-gray eyes and she suddenly had very naughty fantasies that were a world apart from the preteen crush she’d been reliving only a few moments ago.
But her heart ricocheted against her ribs the same way it had all those years ago.
His strong hands on her hips, he tugged her even closer. She looked up, way up. He was watching her. In that careful way he had that usually made her spill her secrets.
She didn’t want to do that now. She wasn’t even sure what her secrets were yet, but she didn’t want him to know them, so she rested her head on his chest. The cotton of his t-shirt was soft against her cheek and stretched tautly over those pecs of doom. Her doom, she could sense.
God, she’d always known he was attractive—handsome, even sexy. But this, being in his arms, swaying to the music yet barely moving, this was different. For ten years, she’d only known him as the Carlysle. The commander. The guard, the enforcer, the obstruction.
Right now, he was Harmon again.
Was life just as hard for him? Did he miss being the person instead of the title? What kind of man would he be now if his had father lived? He’d still have been next in line, but he wouldn’t have been thrust into such a responsible role with no warning. No time even to grieve.
Maybe this week, this one week she had of freedom, could be his week, too. Maybe she could help him find a way to hold on to parts of Harmon when he had to be the duke. Like she wanted to hold on to parts of Merriam when she had to be the princess. And someone’s bride.
Maybe, for one week, together they could both just be.
He placed a finger under her chin, bringing her gaze up to his. His perma-scowl in place. “I can feel you plotting something. What is going on in that head of yours?”
She pressed into him, her breasts moving against him in a way that had his eyes widening. “I just decided something.”
“I don’t want to know, do I?”
“Since you so gamely offered to be the perfect boyfriend this week, I’ve decided to be the best girlfriend you’ve ever had.”
“Why do I have a feeling this doesn’t mean you are going to make me sandwiches and rub my feet?”
“Because it doesn’t. We have one week where you don’t have to be the Duke of Carlysle and I don’t have to be Princess Merriam. We are going to make the most of it together and I’m going to help you.”
He pulled back, wary, as he should be. “Whatever that means, I want no part of it. No.”
Oh, but you do. You just don’t know it yet.
“I’m going to help you have fun, Harmon.” Remembering how he’d nuzzled her neck, she rose on tiptoe and licked the shell of his ear. “So much fun.”
Harmon’s hands were no longer connected to his brain. If they were, they wouldn’t have slid to cup the ass of the princess he was trying to protect. But when her tongue touched his ear, the reflex to squeeze her curves was instantaneous.
She felt incredible. They fit together like she was made for him. Heat deep in his belly started to coil and radiate. He wanted to knead the globe of her ass. Slide his hand under her short skirt and feel the satin of her skin under his palm.
Then his mind caught up. Finally.
He placed his hands back in a safe place. “No. No fun.” Which he realized he’d been telling her for some time.
The song ended and his excuse to hold her with it. But she was dragging him across the dance floor and outside the boathouse.
“Where are we going?”
“Fun!”
Fun for him, right now, would have been laying her down on a bed and tasting every inch of her.
Jesus. That was not going to happen. What was wrong with him?
He couldn’t afford to get caught up in his own cover story. They could pretend to date, but he could never have her.
He pulled her to a sto
p. “Where are we going?”
“The gazebo.” She tugged, but he didn’t move. “They’re playing a game out there.”
He wasn’t stupid. “What game?”
She stopped tugging and eased into the new slack between their bodies, still holding his hand. “It’s called Seven Minutes in Heaven.”
She bit her lip and he realized she was playing him and he didn’t care. Not even a little bit. Let her use her wiles. He wanted to see all of them. Just because he couldn’t act on his feelings didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the show.
It must have been the night air. Or the moon. Or the sound of crickets or the smell of the campfire. Something in the air at this damn camp was working on him. He felt…freer. More relaxed. And curious. Very curious. “I don’t know that game.”
She dropped his hand, turned and started walking, confidant he would follow. And he would. And he did.
In the gazebo, they were spinning a bottle in the middle of a circle. He sat next to her on the floor, resisting the urge to wipe her spot clean before she sat, and watched as the bottle stopped and pointed at a woman across from them. She picked a man from the circle and, since he was willing, they went off toward a tent in a nearby copse of trees.
He was not getting a good feeling about this.
While they were gone, shots of Jell-O were passed around until a timer went off and a counselor went off to fetch the couple.
“What are the rules of this game?” he asked a man next to him. Because he knew Merriam was not going to answer him truthfully. She often didn’t.
“If the bottle points to you, you get to choose anyone in the game to be your partner. If they agree, you both go to the tent and get in the sleeping bag together for seven minutes. Sometimes people talk.” The man smiled. “Sometimes you do more.”
Harmon whipped his head to Merriam who sat expectantly with a smug smile on her face as the counselor came back and stepped into the circle to spin the bottle again.
He leaned in close to Merriam, felt the hitch of her breath, smelled the coconut of her shampoo. “What are you planning to do if someone chooses you?”
She shrugged. “Rules are rules.”
“I forbid you to go into a tent with anyone.”
