by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)
And enjoy they did. For now they were just Jessie and Joe, in a fairy-tale setting, savoring this time stolen out of a complicated and painful situation.
When dinner was finally done, and the last drop of wine drunk, they went for a walk along the water, in the light of a three-quarter moon. Jessie's mood held, and when she looked up at him and smiled, his heart seemed to take a little tumble in his chest. He took the chance of slipping his arm around her shoulders, and she didn't pull away.
"It's beautiful," she said softly as they paused at an overlook above the yacht harbor. "I can see why people just want to get on a boat and sail away."
"I've thought of it, more than once," he said wryly. Then, hesitantly. "Do you want to see the family boat?"
"Let me guess," she said. "It's that one?"
She pointed to the largest yacht in sight, anchored out in the turning basin.
"Actually, no. That one belongs to one of the businessmen who came here for our annual meetings." She gave him an odd look that he couldn't interpret, but when she said nothing, he pointed out the lovely but smaller boat at the end of the dock they were looking down on. "That's the Sophia. My grandfather had her built, and named her after his queen. Come, I'll show her to you."
He kept his hand on her elbow as they went down the gangway, which was a fairly steep angle at the moment. She managed it easily, however, as he expected she would.
The uniformed watchman aboard the Sophia hailed them, then stood aside with great ceremony when he recognized Lucas. He nodded politely to Jessie, and answered Lucas's quiet query with a "Everything is shipshape, Your Highness."
He hadn't been aboard in some time, since seeing his parents off on their anniversary cruise three years ago, in fact. But everything was warmly familiar, and his mother's gracious touch showed in the vessel's furnishings and the rich color scheme. They were of the highest quality, but chosen for practicality and function. It was comfortable and welcoming, indeed a home afloat. He knew that among royal yachts, it was much less ornate—he preferred to think of it as less ostentatious—than most, and he liked it that way.
"It's lovely," Jessie said as he gave her the tour. "Much.. .simpler than I expected."
"My mother says she has a palace aground, she doesn't need one afloat."
Jessie laughed. "Your mother is a very wise woman."
"Yes, she is."
When they left, the man in uniform stood at attention until they were down the steps and back on the dock. Again Lucas took Jessie's arm as they walked along the boat slip to the main dock. And then she stopped in her tracks. And he knew she'd seen.
She was staring at the sailboat in the next slip. Staring at the stern, at the name newly painted on the transom above the three oblong portholes.
" Colorado Dreaming?' she read aloud. And then she looked at him.
"I renamed her the week I got back."
He didn't mention that the prior name had been a rather racy double entendre he'd chosen when his father had given him the boat when he'd graduated college.
"Why?"
"It fit my.. .state of mind, I guess." He hesitated, then decided to risk it. "Would you like to go aboard?"
She hesitated in turn. She looked at the stern, read the name again. "Yes," she said at last. "I would."
In a brief moment of panic he wondered what shape he'd last left the boat in. But he decided that with Jessie it didn't matter. She already knew most of his bad habits; as Joe, that was one of the few things he'd brought with him, it seemed.
He led her up the dock steps—several fewer than it took to board the Sophia—and once they were on deck pulled out his keys and unlocked the door to the cabin.
"The steps are steep," he said, "so let me go first." The heels on her sandals weren't particularly high, but he guessed she was more used to boots and he didn't want to take any chances.
He watched as Jessie looked around, wondering what she thought. Next to his parents' yacht, this boat was almost utilitarian, devoted much more to function than luxury. The blue and dark green upholstery was rich and inviting, but the teak and stainless steel of the rest, along with the bank of instruments at the navigation station, made it clear this was a boat made for serious sailing.
"My mother picked the colors, since she says I'm hopeless, but the rest is mine," he said.
She didn't speak, merely nodded as she walked slowly around the main cabin. She looked at the large table with the thickly cushioned horseshoe-shaped banquette. She seemed to admire the compact organization of the galley with the small fridge and microwave, and she smiled when she saw the stove could pivot.
"To stay level at sea?" she guessed, and he nodded.
"Gimbaled, they call it."
She leaned forward to peer out an oblong porthole window. She touched here, ran a finger down a sleek surface there, and as Lucas watched her focus on the tactile, he became aware of a gradual tightening of his body.
Touch me like that, he wanted to say. He didn't.
She paused at the nav-station, looking curiously at all the instruments. "The radio I recognize, but what is all this?"
"Satellite navigation, autopilot, radar, a few other toys."
"And this?" she asked, gesturing toward the velvet-lined box that sat on the first shelf above the chart table.
"A sextant," he said. "The original navigation device. Comes in handy if you have an electronics problem or failure."
"This one looks old," she said.
"It is. It was my.. .let me see, my great-great-greatgrandfather's. The kings of Montebello have always been seagoers, but he was truly a sailor. He thought nothing of sailing to Britain, on a boat much smaller than this one."
Jessie shook her head. "I'd need at least this much boat to brave that," she said frankly. "It's very different than the other, isn't it?"
"It's more a working boat than a home afloat, yes."
Again she shook her head. "I meant it feels different. The shape, and so much is below the deck."
He should have known she hadn't been commenting on the lack of luxury. "Yes, a sailboat is an entirely different feel than a powerboat. Since you have to compensate for the push of the wind above, most of her weight and hull are below."
"That makes sense." She peeked into the small forward cabin, where there was a crew bunk and lockers for storage. She turned and came back then, to the narrow hallway that led to the stern of the boat. She looked at him questioningly, and he nodded.
"No point in my giving a tour, she's not that big."
The truth was, he was thinking he'd be better off if he kept his itchy hands anchored firmly on the table he was leaning against.
She looked into the first cabin on the left, the one he'd converted into a workshop of sorts, with a workbench, spare parts and tools. And then at the closet that held the small washer and dryer.
"All the comforts and necessities, on a small scale," she murmured, and he smiled. He had a sudden vision of taking off with her, sailing away for an endless string of warm, sunny days and hot nights. His hands gripped the table harder.
She went farther down the hall, glancing in the two staterooms with the small but functional head in between. And then she went to the master cabin, and he nearly held his breath, wondering what she would think.
She stepped through the doorway, paused, he saw her look around. And then she laughed.
"This is wonderful!" she said. "It's like a pirate ship!"
He let out a sigh of relief and walked toward her. The master cabin was his own personal conceit; he'd let his imagination run wild, and his imagination had indeed been in pirate mode. The bed, custom built for his height, ran sideways across the stern. It was atop a bank of shelves and cupboards so you had to climb up to get into it, but it was even with a row of portholes across the stern, enabling you to look out without moving.
With the bunk up against the stern, it left more room in the cabin itself, room enough for a big, rough-hewn desk, over which hung a brass lant
ern, just like he'd always imagined a pirate captain's cabin would look. Along the sides were hanging closets and more storage.
"The head is modern," he assured her, "even has a small tub. But in here I kind of went...." He shrugged, not sure what word applied.
"Whimsical?" she suggested, still smiling.
"Yeah," he agreed, "that's it."
"It's wonderful," she said. "Makes you want to take off and sail the seven seas."
"Yes, it does. Shall we?"
"What?"
"Sail the seven seas."
"Right now?" She let out a soft sigh. "It sounds lovely."
She turned then, to face him head-on. She studied him for a long silent moment, and he sensed there was something uppermost in her mind she was pondering whether to say or not.
"What, Jessie?"
"Sometimes," she whispered, "I wish we could go back. I miss Joe. His life was so much simpler, I...."
She stopped. And Lucas realized he'd gone so far in trying to convince her that he'd changed, that he wasn't that Playboy Prince who was fodder for the tabloids anymore, that he'd managed to convince her he wasn't the man she'd fallen in love with on her ranch, either.
"But since we can't do that, sailing the seven seas sounds wonderful."
She looked up at him with a world of longing in her eyes, and he lost his battle for self-control. He reached out and touched her hair, brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
"Any self-respecting pirate would be a fool to let you out of this cabin without ravishing you first."
She took a deep, visible breath. She gazed up at him, and he had the crazed thought that she looked as if he were that pirate captain, and about to make her walk the plank.
"I don't think you're a fool," she said softly.
Lucas's heart slammed into overdrive. He stared at her, unable to believe the implication of what she'd said. There had been a sad sort of undertone to her voice, but he couldn't dwell on that, not if she was saying what he thought she was.
"Jessie," he said, and found he couldn't go on.
And then she reached for him. She did nothing more than lay her hand flat on his chest, her palm over his heart, but it was all he needed. All he could bear without pulling her fiercely into his arms.
He still half expected her to pull away when he kissed her, but she didn't. She opened for him, urged him on with teasing flicks of her tongue, and in that moment she was the old Jessie, the woman he'd held and loved in the night on a quiet ranch in Colorado. It was as if the time between had never happened, as if they were as close as they had been before he'd walked out on her.
The Playboy Prince would never have questioned her, would have assumed she had no reservations. But the new Lucas couldn't. He put his hands on her shoulders and broke the kiss, reluctantly, pulling back to look into her face.
"You mean this, Jessie? You want this? I don't want you to regret this tomorrow."
"I want you," she said, and he couldn't deny the truth of her words, it was glowing hot and intense in her eyes. "And it won't matter tomorrow."
He shuddered under the impact of her words. "I love that dress," he said thickly, "but right now I'd love it more off of you."
She said nothing, simply turned her back to him and lifted her hair. With fingers that were none too steady he found the small tab of the zipper and lowered it. He wanted to go slowly, to savor every inch of lovely skin revealed, but he was still afraid she would change her mind. So instead he let the dress fall, and she stepped out of it.
She turned back, clad now only in a pair of lavender panties and a matching, lacy strapless bra that was somehow no more sexy than her plain cotton underwear had been; sexy, he finally realized, was in the wearer. He picked her up then, lifted her onto the high bunk, before she could change her mind.
He shed his clothes quickly, nearly groaning at the ache of his aroused body. He didn't bother with the steps and was up beside her in a rush.
"Jessie," he breathed, burying his hands in her hair and his face in the soft swell of flesh above the pale bra. "I want to go slow, but—"
"Don't. Don't go slow."
On the last word she reached up and unfastened the front clasp of the bra, and it fell away, freeing her breasts. His hands moved quickly, eagerly to cup them, and lift them to his mouth. He took first one nipple, then the other, and sucked them to pebble hardness, his own body tightening unbearably at her swift, moaning response.
Her eagerness fired him beyond restraint, and he felt as if he'd gone years instead of weeks without touching her like this. Every sign she gave him, every stroke of her hands across his skin, every tiny moan, every arching shift of her body drove him to a madness he'd never known with anyone but her.
He moved his hands downward until his fingers snagged in the silk of her panties. She lifted her hips to help him slide them off, and the thought of her moving like that when he was buried inside her made him nearly lose control right then. When he slid his hands up the silken length of her legs she parted them for him. He gently probed through the soft curls, gritting his teeth to keep from driving himself into the depths of her when he found her wet and ready. Clamping down on a new surge of desperate need, he stroked further, until he found the tiny knot of nerves that made her gasp.
"Don't go slow."
She said it again, breathlessly, and it shattered the last bit of restraint he had. He levered himself over her, and she reached up for him in the same moment. In a moment he was sliding into her, losing himself in her tight, slick heat. The old magic leapt to life, and he groaned low and deep in his chest as his entire body cramped with the need to move.
He drove deep, withdrew, and at her tiny moan of protest, drove forward again. She cried out, and he'd never heard anything so sweet as her husky voice in that moment. He lowered his head to her breast once more, and drew one taut nipple into his mouth and flicked it with his tongue. She cried out again, and her body bowed beneath him, driving him so deep it took the breath out of him.
And then she convulsed around him, clenching, squeezing, until he could wait no longer and with a final groan of her name, he let go and flew.
Jessie crept silently back into her room. Eliya was dutifully sitting up, stitching as usual on what appeared to be the same length of silk. She looked up as Jessie came in, and smiled. Jessie went immediately to the crib and looked down at her sleeping son.
"You look lovely," Eliya said.
"Thank you."
Jessie blushed, knowing exactly what she looked like; she'd seen herself in the mirror in the head aboard Colorado Dreaming, and known she had little hope of putting herself fully to rights again. Her hair was still in a tangle from Lucas's hands, her body still humming from his touch. She'd gone a little crazy, and Lucas had responded in kind, and it had been exactly what she'd wanted, a night to remember forever. She thought that it must be emblazoned on her face, that she'd spent the evening in a pirate's bed.
Her color deepened at the hot, erotic memories; she could feel the heat flooding her face. At the same time her heart ached inside her, because she knew what was coming. She knew that it was the last time. Because she knew that in the morning she and Luke would leave for Tamir.
And they wouldn't be coming back.
Chapter 17
Jessie hunched over her son as she sat in the back of the taxi, which was an almost luxurious sedan that spoke of Tamir's wealth and strong economy. She touched Luke's cheek, and when he reached up for her finger and clasped it, she smiled through the tears that suddenly welled up in her eyes.
Could she really handle this? She didn't know anything about being a mother. She'd read copiously after she'd discovered her pregnancy, but she had been missing Joe so much, had been feeling so betrayed by his middle-ofthe-night desertion, that she wasn't sure how much she had absorbed.
And she had no one close to really turn to. Even if her sister hadn't turned on her, Ursula was hardly the type to give out motherly advice.
&n
bsp; She had never realized before how isolated she had become on the ranch. Her nearest neighbors on all sides were elderly or crusty old bachelor men. Since her parents' deaths she'd been so consumed by keeping the ranch going she'd had little time left for maintaining friendships. She, Mrs. Winstead and the ranch hands, plus the wives of the two who were married, had formed a family of sorts, and she'd never really thought about missing the company of women her own age. She'd missed her mother terribly, of course, but that had been a different, separate ache.
It was Julia, she realized with a little shock. It was Julia with her gracious friendliness and easy charm who had reminded her how much she missed the company of women, especially women her own age. She felt a pang of sadness at the fact that the sense of connection with Julia that she'd felt so quickly would be severed before it ever had the chance to develop into something stronger.
Luke squirmed and made a tiny gurgling sound, then his little forehead scrunched up as if in pain. He let out a cry that startled her, then subsided into silence. Trepidation filled her as she looked at him, but he seemed to settle quietly. She checked his diaper, but it didn't need attention. Puzzled, she watched him carefully, but he seemed to have gone right back to sleep.
She sighed, wondering if she would ever learn enough to be comfortable about taking care of him, know when and when not to worry.
Mrs. Winstead could probably help, she thought. She knew a lot, even though she'd never had kids of her own. And Barney had a grandchild barely a year old, so he was even more used to babies. She'd get by, somehow.
She leaned back in the seat of the cab, letting her eyes drift closed. She'd slept little last night; even after she'd packed, she'd been unable to rest. Doubts had assailed her all night long; Lucas had been so sweet, so loving. As she had asked, he hadn't put any pressure at all on her about the future; he didn't bring it up at all. But neither had he spoken of love, so the sweetness of his caresses was lacking the one thing that might have changed her mind.
There were many reasons to accept his proposition, business-like though it was, and only two reasons not to. But those two reasons—her own need to be loved as Joe had loved her, and her son's precious right to choose his own path in life—outweighed all the reasons on the other side by a large margin. And those two reasons made her decision, if not easy, then at least clear-cut.
