Romancing the Crown Series

by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)

  She tilted her head, giving him a slow perusal. "We're off-duty. Don't you think you could call me Shannon?"

  "And I'm Joe," Reilly said. "But you can call me whatever you like."

  "Sergeant Winters is with the Montebellan police, Reilly," Sam said. "She's part of the team who is working at the base."

  Reilly smiled. "You can play on my team anytime, darlin'."

  The blond policewoman spared Reilly only a brief glance before she turned her attention to Sam. She dipped the tip of her little finger in her wine, then lifted it to her mouth while she watched him. "Mind if I join you?"

  Sam was certain the wineglass she held was far from the first she'd emptied this evening. He gave her a polite smile and took a step to follow Reilly. "I'm sorry, Sergeant Winters, but I need to get back to the base. I'll see you tomorrow."

  She lifted one shoulder in an uncoordinated shrug. "Okay. Can't blame a girl for trying," she muttered, moving off.

  Reilly gave Sam an elbow in the ribs as they reached the parking lot. "Yup, that's our good old Cass, all right. Wouldn't know an opportunity if it wiggled in front of his face."

  "Shut up, Reilly," Sam said mildly, heading for the jeep Reilly had borrowed.

  "You're so ugly, I don't know how you do it. What do women see in you, anyway? Do you think it's the challenge? This blond cop, that tall chick you were running with who had legs that went on forever—"

  "Her name is Lieutenant Mulvaney, mister. She's not just some chick, so give her some respect."

  Reilly lost his smile. "Hey, take it easy."

  "Kate and I work together."

  "Right. You mentioned that." Reilly climbed behind the wheel and slipped the key in the ignition, then paused. He watched Sam settle into the passenger seat. "It just hit me. Your friend with the legs is named Kate."

  "Right."

  "She wouldn't happen to be your Kate, would she?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Kate. The woman you told me about. The one you spent that leave with in Florida and haven't been able to forget. The one who got away. That Kate."

  Sam hesitated. "Yes, she's that Kate."

  Reilly gave a long, slow whistle and started the engine. "Oh, man, I had no idea. Sorry if I came on too strong to her back there on the road."

  "She ignored you. Most women do."

  "Damn, she's as much of a knockout as I imagined. No wonder you wanted to stay put."

  "I'm in Montebello under the king's command. Kate just happened to be here, too. It was a coincidence."

  "And I thought it was your bullet wound that was making you look this way."

  "What way?"

  "Like you've been hit by a truck."

  The comparison made Sam uneasy. That's how he'd described Prince Lucas on more than one occasion. But the prince looked that way because he was in love.

  Sam knew what was between him and Kate was far simpler than that. He wasn't in love. There was no room for love in the career he'd chosen. Love meant marriage and family. Responsibility, commitment and roots.

  He'd left that behind when he'd joined the Navy. Oh, sure, he loved his family, but he'd shouldered the responsibility for them from the time he was a teenager. Love meant giving up a part of yourself, giving up your freedom.

  Above all, love meant vulnerability. He'd seen how devastated his mother had been after his father had died. And there was no mistaking the prince's grief over losing Jessica. Sam wanted no part of that.

  No, he wasn't in love with Kate. She had it right. What was between them was sex. Great sex. Any red-blooded male who'd had a taste of what they'd shared would want more. That's the reason she had haunted him for five years. That's why he couldn't leave her alone now.

  And when this mission was over, they would... What? Go their separate ways again? He wouldn't feel her lithe body next to his or inhale the scent of gardenias for another five years. Is that what he wanted?

  Sam was silent as they drove to the base, his gaze on the darkness beyond the headlights. He'd been too focused on chasing Kate and on wondering what she was running from.

  One of these days he was going to have to consider what he was running toward.

  Chapter 10

  Ursula crossed the room to the plain wooden table where she'd left her handbag, her shoes stirring up puffs of dust as she went. Coughing, she took a nail file from her bag and went to work on the rough edge of her thumbnail. Somebody really should clean the place. This so-called hillside cottage was a hovel. She deserved better than this, but Edwardo Scarpa swore it was the best he could find for her.

  She put away her nail file and inspected the dirt on her pumps with dismay. She'd already had to get rid of one pair of shoes because of the blood that had seeped into them when she'd had to kill Desmond. She'd had to get rid of the dress she'd worn that day, too. It had been one of her favorites, but the bloodstains had ruined it.

  If things had gone as she'd planned, she would have been shopping for designer gowns by now. She'd be rubbing elbows with royalty at the palace instead of hiding in this miserable excuse for a shack.

  She moved to the room's only window, checking her reflection in the darkened glass. Why did these things happen to her? She was beautiful and sexy. She was smart. That should have guaranteed her what she wanted. It should have been enough for Desmond. Yet again she wondered why he had spoiled all the plans they'd had by messing around with that little brunette princess.

  Men. They were all the same. Not an ounce of loyalty in the lot of them. She'd thought she'd picked a winner this time. Desmond had been so suave and sophisticated, he'd been nothing like the jerk in New York who had mismanaged her acting career, yet he'd betrayed her, too.

  Still, being betrayed by men had started long before Ursula had hooked up with Desmond. It had started with her father. He'd never given her a chance once his darling Jessica had come along. He'd made no secret about loving Jessica best. She could still hear his grating, sanctimonious voice. "Ursula, if you concentrated on your schoolwork instead of carousing with those boyfriends, you'd get straight As like Jessica." And, "Please don't swear like that, Ursula, you're setting a bad example for your little sister." And, "If you don't start demonstrating some responsibility and pulling your weight around this ranch the way Jessica does I'll have to cut off your allowance."

  It wasn't fair. Little Miss Goody Two-shoes hadn't had to work for anything. And as a final betrayal, their father had even willed the ranch to Jessica when he'd died. It should have gone to Ursula. She was the oldest. She needed the money its sale would have brought. Yet again, Jessica had stood in the way of what Ursula deserved.

  And now Jessica was dead. Her body was in the grave where Gretchen's stupid brother, Gerald, had buried her. Jessica's death had been a necessary part of the plan. How else would Ursula have been able to use the prince's baby to ensure her own future?

  For a split second, Ursula thought she saw Jessica's face superimpose itself over her reflection. Soft blue eyes stared into hers with unfathomable sadness.

  Ursula gasped and took a step back from the window. Her eyes were so much like her baby sister's, it had momentarily startled her. And just for an instant, she felt a stab of something sharp, something uncomfortably close to guilt.

  She remembered how Jessica had been toward the end, swollen and awkward with the last stage of her pregnancy. Jessica hadn't been the favored sister then. She'd been helpless and vulnerable, devastated because her Prince Charming had deserted her. She'd been completely dependent on her older sister. For the first time in their lives, Ursula had been the one on top, the one with the power.

  She spun away, clasping her hands over the back of a rickety wooden chair. What was done was done. She wasn't going to feel guilty about it. Why should she? Jessica had stolen their father's love on the day she was born. For twenty-nine years she had robbed Ursula of the life she should have had. Jessica's death had evened the score.

  So Ursula should have been happy. The hard lit
tle core of discontent that gnawed away inside her should have dissolved. Why hadn't it?

  Why? Because her plan hadn't worked, that's why. Everything would have been different if Desmond hadn't made her kill him, if Gretchen hadn't told the cops Ursula's name, and if that loser Scarpa had done what he'd promised and had found her a boat by now. She was surrounded by idiots. It wasn't her fault.

  A mouse scurried across the floor. Ursula lifted the chair and smashed it toward the mouse, but she wasn't fast enough. The rodent raced away unhurt.

  Ursula stared after it, her chest heaving. Suddenly, her frustration boiled over. With a cry of rage she brought the chair down again and again, striking at the dust-covered floor until the wood splintered in her hands.

  A dog barked in the distance. The door to the shack swung open, and Edwardo Scarpa slipped inside. "Hey, what's going on?" he demanded, closing the door behind him and throwing the bolt. "I could hear the noise from the street."

  Ursula flung the remnants of the chair at him. "And who's fault is that, you fool? There are mice in here. Vermin!"

  Scarpa jerked aside to avoid being struck by the pieces of wood, then hurried to the window and pulled down the shade. "You have to be more careful or someone's going to notice you."

  "Then you should have found me someplace more decent to stay." She breathed deeply a few times, waiting for the rage to subside. When she had regained control, she smoothed her hair and straightened her blouse, then regarded Scarpa with narrowed eyes.

  He wore a ridiculous black hat pulled low over his forehead and his collar turned up to his chin. During the past few days his caution about being caught with her was turning to paranoia. For a palace guard who always talked like a big shot, he was surprisingly spineless. It made him easier to manipulate with her threats, but it was proving to be a disadvantage. "Have you obtained a boat yet?" she asked.

  "I'm working on it."

  "What does that mean? Either you have one or you don't."

  "It's been more difficult than I thought it would be. I figured my cousin would lend me his fishing boat, but he says he lent it to someone else for the week."

  "Not only can't you get a boat, you can't even come up with a good excuse."

  "It's the truth. My cousin's a policeman, he wouldn't lie."

  "Right. And neither would a palace guard, eh?"

  Scarpa didn't appear to notice her sarcasm. "Tonight I went to check out the marinas to see if I could rent something," he said. "But there were people hanging around there. I'm sure they were cops."

  "You've got cops on the brain. How do you know who they were? Did you see their badges?"

  "No. They weren't in uniform, but they had this look about them, and they seemed to be watching me."

  "Most of the Montebellan police are watching the airport. Any idiot can see that. That's where they're concentrating their manpower because that's where they're expecting me to go. Which is why I intend to outsmart them and leave by boat." She flicked a contemptuous gaze at his hat, his sorry attempt to conceal his features. "Besides, if they were at the marina, they would have arrested you for fashion crime."

  He snatched off his hat and ran his stubby fingers through his hair. "We shouldn't risk the trip to Tamir tonight, anyway. I heard there's a storm predicted for tomorrow. We'll have to wait until it blows over."

  "Another excuse. I don't accept it. Go talk to your cousin again."

  "I told you, his boat's been loaned for the week. You'll just have to be patient and stay here for a few more days until—"

  "Patient?" Ursula went to the table and picked up her bag. "I've waited all my life for a break. I don't want to be patient."

  "What are you going to do?"

  She dug through her bag and whipped out a silk scarf. She put it loosely over her hair, wrapping the ends around her neck European-fashion, then took out her sunglasses. "You're going to go back to have another chat with your cousin, of course. And this time, you'll take me along."

  Scarpa wrung his hands. "It won't do any good."

  "Leave it to me, Edwardo. I'll get him to change his mind." She took out her compact, touched up her lipstick and kicked aside the broken chair as she walked to the door. Men. Apart from their usefulness in bed, they weren't good for anything. If she wanted something done right, she'd have to do it herself. Mmm. Come to think of it, even in bed it was usually better when she did it herself.

  * * *

  Sam eased the balcony door closed behind him and paused for a full minute to listen for any sign that his presence had been detected. Nothing stirred in the shadows. No sound disturbed the silence other than the whisper of the ceiling fan. Dawn was thirty minutes away. He waited until his eyes had adjusted to the dim light, then cautiously moved forward.

  The layout of the suite was similar to the one he'd been assigned—an oblong sitting room with a door that led to a small bedroom and attached bathroom. Like the other rooms in this former hotel, it was decorated with a Mediterranean flair, heavy furniture, plenty of dark wood embellished with carvings and gilt-framed oil paintings on the papered walls.

  Sam did a thorough survey of what was visible. Other than the books that covered the desk and the briefcase that rested on the floor, there were no traces that someone had lived here for seven months. No snapshots or little mementos cluttered the surfaces. There weren't any homey touches like flowers or potted plants—it was clear the resident was merely passing through. He had a moment of doubt whether or not he had the right room, but then he spotted a pair of discarded running shoes near the door that he recognized as Kate's.

  He slipped the straps of his backpack off his shoulders and moved silently to the bedroom doorway. Kate slept on the left side of the double bed, her knees curled and one arm dangling over the side of the mattress. One pillow was on the floor, and the sheet was wrapped around her legs. The pale nightgown she wore was twisted in taut folds across her breasts. By the looks of things she'd had a restless night.

  He hoped she'd been dreaming of him.

  An aircraft rumbled overhead, rattling the windowpanes. Sam reflexively glanced at the window. He knew the plane that carried his team had left hours ago, yet he still felt a dull pang at the thought of being left behind. All the more reason to finish this mission—and everything connected with it—so he could get on with his life.

  He'd done a lot of thinking since he'd left Reilly and his team after the briefing. He'd lain awake for hours, twisting the sheets almost as badly as Kate had. Twenty minutes ago, he'd come to a realization. Which was why he'd just broken into a fellow officer's quarters and was standing at the foot of her bed while he held a backpack laden with breakfast.

  Kate stirred as the noise from the plane faded. Her forehead creased as she pulled her knees more closely to her chest and drew in her arm, yet she didn't awaken.

  Sam hooked a small table with his foot and slowly dragged it from its place near the wall to a position next to the bed, keeping one eye on Kate all the while. She had always been a heavy sleeper. He'd enjoyed waking her up. She used to greet him with a smile and open arms as she welcomed him into her body.

  But he wasn't here for that, he reminded himself. Sure, he'd taken to carrying condoms in his pocket again like he used to do, but he wasn't here to seduce her. At least, not right away. Not unless it was at her urging. The primary reason for this unconventional visit was to get a chance to talk, and this was one way they could be guaranteed some uninterrupted privacy.

  He switched on the bedside lamp, opened his backpack and began to withdraw the items he'd brought. Paper rustled softly as he unwrapped two pastries. He arranged them on a plate, then opened a flask and poured the contents into two mugs. The aroma of warm cinnamon and sweetened coffee drifted through the room, and Kate stirred again, making a low sound in her throat.

  Sam smiled and squatted beside the bed to bring his face level with hers. "Good morning, Kate," he whispered.

  She frowned, her lips moving in what looked like a si
lent denial.

  "Hey, sleepyhead."

  Her eyelids flickered. She groaned, wrapping her arms around her knees as she curled into a ball.

  Sam's smile faded. He put his hand gently on her shoulder and found her cotton nightgown damp to the touch. "Kate?"

  Her body jerked, and a sound like a sob escaped her parted lips.

  It was obvious to Sam that she was dreaming. And from the looks of her, it wasn't about anything pleasant. His hand firmed on her shoulder. "Kate, wake up."

  "No." Her voice was hoarse, a rasping exhalation. Her breathing grew shallow and rapid. "No!"

  "Kate, it's only a dream. You're all right."

  She flung out her arm, her fingers stretching as if she were trying to reach for something. "No—no—"

  Sam caught her hand. "It's okay, Kate. Wake up."

  Her fingers stiffened. Her body jerked as her chest heaved with another sob.

  Sam wanted to lie down beside her and shelter her from whatever nightmare was tormenting her, but he didn't want to risk frightening her and making it worse. He rubbed his thumb lightly over the back of her knuckles and leaned closer. "Kate, it's me. Sam. I'm right here."

  Her eyes flew open. She looked around blankly.

  "That's it, Kate," he said softly. "Let me see those baby greens."

  Her gaze swept over his face. Sobbing, she propelled herself into his chest.

  Sam caught her easily, wrapping his arms around her to hold her on his lap as he sat on the floor. "Hey, there. It's okay. You're fine."

  Her hair rubbed his chin as she burrowed into his embrace. Her body was still tightly curled, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

  Sam wasn't accustomed to feeling helpless, but that's how he felt now. He wanted to comfort her, drive the nightmare away and turn her into the teasing, carefree Kate he used to know.

  He shifted her on his lap, twisting on the floor to prop his back against the side of the bed. He brushed a kiss over her forehead, then stroked her hair from her cheek. His fingertips came away wet.