by A. C. Arthur
Especially Malayka Sampson.
When the meal was thankfully over and second rounds of Chef Murray’s crêpes Suzette had been devoured, Kris stood, eager to excuse himself. His plan was to retreat to his rooms, to the solitary space he craved so much after a long day of doing his job.
The job that hung around his neck like a heavy chain.
“Well, I’m off for the night,” Roland announced as he, too, stood after dropping his napkin to the table. “It has, as always, been a pleasure. But duty calls.”
Kris didn’t bother to hide his displeasure. “Duty?” he asked and looked down at his watch. “It’s almost seven thirty. What business do you have at this hour?”
“Don’t you mean what date does he have at this hour?” Sam asked with a smirk.
Roland had already moved from his spot and was now leaning over to kiss his sister’s offered cheek.
“Ha ha. And they say I’m the funny one,” Roland joked.
Sam took the hand that Roland had rested on her shoulder, squeezing it gently before saying, “Be careful.”
“Yes,” Rafe began after loudly clearing his throat. “As I mentioned there will be members of the press lingering about once our engagement is announced.”
Roland and Kris shared a look. Kris stood slowly and Roland gave a stiff bow to his father, his smile still in place.
“I hear you loud and clear, Dad. But the announcement isn’t until tomorrow. That gives me plenty of time to get into as much trouble as I possibly can before then.” Roland wiggled his brows as he finished and Kris felt compelled to step in before his father lost his patience.
“I’ll walk out with you,” Kris announced and then looked to Rafe. “You and I can figure out a time to meet tomorrow after your press conference and my meeting at the bank, but before the meeting with Denton. Good night, everyone.”
It was easier to be formal, Kris thought to himself as he recalled Roland and Sam’s warm exchange. This relieved the tension of knowing that he would never kiss Malayka’s cheek or smile warmly at her. Roland didn’t care about how that could be construed to the one person at the table who was an outsider. His brother simply acted, consequences would come later, those that Roland would likely ignore. Kris, on the other hand, did not ignore consequences or repercussions. He was duty bound to consider them with everything he did, from the clothes he wore to the way he pronounced a person’s name. He was always under the microscope. Always expected to do and say the right thing.
“Let’s go,” Roland said after smiling and giving another bow to Landry.
Kris nodded curtly in her direction and found her staring at him after she smiled up at Roland. He chose to walk away then because he did not like how looking at her made him feel.
“She’s a looker, I know,” Roland said the moment they were out of the dining room.
Their dress shoes clicked somberly on the floors as they walked toward the foyer. Roland was already unfastening the top button of his shirt. It was as close to being dressed for dinner as his brother had ever deigned to become. While Kris and their father wore a suit and tie, as was most usually their attire, and Sam dressed elegantly as always, getting Roland in slacks, a dress shirt and jacket was as good as they could manage.
“She’s working for Malayka,” Kris reminded his brother. He did not want to think of how she looked.
“Yeah, that’s kind of strange, but then I guess not. That woman acts like an American superstar. She’s had an entourage with her since the first time she set foot on this island. And Dad lets her have whatever she wants,” Roland stated. “What do you think about that?”
Kris shook his head. “I’m trying not to think about it,” he lied. “We’re about to conduct the yearly audit on the banks. A few of the board members are nervous about one of the accounts. I’ve been looking into it, but I want to play it close.”
Roland chuckled. “Don’t want to step on any toes, huh, big brother? You’ll tread lightly with the bankers, just like you will proceed with extreme caution where this royal wedding is concerned.” He clapped Kris on the back. “I’m so glad you were born first.”
Kris stopped walking just as they approached the double staircase in the family wing of the palace.
“You’re still a member of this family, Roland. You still have duties and responsibilities to the monarch. The people of our country still depend on you,” Kris told him in a serious tone.
“They depend on me to entertain them,” Roland said. “I give them relief from our stuffy family filled with traditions and pomp and circumstance. I breathe a breath of fresh air into this stately fortress and stern but compassionate rule of the DeSaunters family. Don’t be dismayed, Kris—I know my role in this family and I play it very well.”
He did, Kris thought. Roland played his part perfectly and sometimes, for just a few hours out of a month or possibly year, Kris wished he could be as laid-back and carefree as his brother.
“We do not need any bad press right now,” Kris said, shifting gears slightly. “Whatever you’re up to tonight, keep it discreet.”
Roland pulled off his jacket, holding it by a finger as he tossed it over his shoulder. “Don’t I always?”
They both shared a knowing look then, before Roland laughed and Kris reluctantly cracked a smile. He loved his brother and his family, he truly did. That’s why his job was so important. Everything he did was for them, for their country.
Once Roland was gone, Kris stood looking around at all the gray-streaked white marble, the shining columns and sprawling staircase. He looked up to the domed top of the room that was painted with puffy white clouds and a soft blue background. He had no idea whose concept that was but suspected it was meant to make a person standing there feel better. Though, for him, it didn’t. Every day couldn’t be a beautiful and picture-perfect day.
“It’s beautiful,” he heard her say and slowly tore his gaze away from the ceiling.
“The murals and sculptures I’ve seen in the palace so far are simply stunning. I’m not usually an art buff, but I know what looks good.”
She continued to talk as she walked, her high-heeled shoes clicking over the gleaming floors. Her dress was drastically different from the formfitting outfit Malayka wore and was certainly more intriguing. Kris found himself staring at—of all things—her shoulders. They were pretty, her skin tone the perfect shade of brown, and appeared smooth to the touch. To the taste, he thought as he wondered about kissing her there. He would drag his tongue slowly from one shoulder to the next. Would she tremble beneath him? Would his mouth water? It already was.
“I’ve never seen a place like this before,” she said, reaching her arms behind her back and clasping her fingers together.
Her hair was dark and pulled up so that her slender neck was visible. She walked slowly from one part of the room to the other, looking at things that Kris had seen so many times he could describe them each while blindfolded.
“I should probably head back to my rooms, but every time I come out I see something different. Something more beautiful,” she said.
“There is nothing...” Kris said impulsively. Nothing more beautiful than her, he thought, but wisely, did not finish his comment.
She turned then, facing him with her head tilted slightly. “Excuse me?”
No, Kris’s mind screamed. No, he would not excuse her and as he was already walking toward her, he apparently would not stay away from her either.
“There is nothing here that you cannot look at as long as you like,” he told her. “As a matter of fact, I’ve asked my sister to give you a full tour of the island tomorrow.”
“Oh,” she said, seemingly surprised. “I’m only here to work. I don’t mean to take up any of the royal family’s official time. Besides, I’ll be with Malayka early tomorrow morning until after the press conferenc
e.”
He stopped only a few feet away from her. He was so close he could smell the soft scent of whatever fragrance she wore. It wasn’t the powerful come-get-me scent that he’d smelled on so many women he’d met. No, this was lighter, with a sweet, musky aroma instead of a heavy floral one. He liked it. A lot. He also liked how she was looking up at his six-foot-two-inch frame now.
“Sam will be attending the press conference as well. The two of you can leave afterward,” he stated.
Then Kris did something he rarely ever did while in someone’s company. He slipped both hands into his front pant pockets. It was a casual stance, one that did not equate to the role of a leader.
“I wouldn’t want to impose,” she said.
Her voice had changed. It was subtle and he doubted even she realized it, but Kris did. There was a smoky tinge to her words and just as he made that realization, she licked her lips. His body tensed.
“She’s the president of the tourism board—it’s her duty to welcome all tourists to the island,” Kris told her and instinctively took another step closer.
“Why?” she asked and he paused. “Why did you ask her to show me around? You know I’m not technically a tourist. I’m here to work for Malayka.”
“I know why you’re here.”
“Then why did you insist I come to dinner? You did that, didn’t you? The housekeeper—”
“Ingrid,” he interrupted.
She nodded. “Ingrid said I was supposed to be ready at six, that I was expected at dinner. She was in the hall waiting when I left your office earlier today, as if she knew I would be coming out. Why didn’t you invite Malayka’s hair stylist and makeup artist? Why only me?”
Kris did not have the answers to any of her questions. Another first for him. He had instructed Ingrid to tell her about dinner. All he’d known at that time was that he’d wanted to see her again. Just as he hadn’t been able to stop looking at her pictures all week, Kris now couldn’t keep his eyes off her. While his more official thought had been that he wanted to know everything there was to know about Malayka’s staff, it was Landry, in particular, who had awakened something in him.
“You don’t care for dinner? Is that why you’re questioning me?” he asked.
She smiled then, a slow and deliberate action.
“You don’t want to answer my question,” she said. “That’s fine. Still, I don’t want to impose on anyone. I’ll do some sightseeing whenever I’m not working, but I don’t think I need a guide.”
“What do you need?”
The question was quick and impulsive. Her response was even quicker and bold. Yes, Kris thought as he sucked in a quick breath when she’d taken that step closing the distance between them, it was damn bold.
“Why?” she asked. “What do you need, Prince Kristian?”
He stared at her for much longer than he figured a smooth and charismatic man should. Then again, those had never been traits Kris possessed. He was the mature prince, the serious one who was all business, all the time. But he’d never done business with a woman who looked and smiled like Landry Norris. None of his dealings were filled with the scent she wore, or the sound of Landry Norris’s voice. And nobody, not even the women he’d dated over the years, whether for convenience or for political reasons, had ever made him lose track of what he should be doing.
Yet, his response to her was simple and came as naturally as his next breath. Kris touched a finger to her chin, tilting her head up farther. Her lips parted slightly as her hazel eyes stared back at him. He leaned in closer, wanting desperately to see those eyes filled with lust. Wanting, even more hungrily, to touch his lips to hers, to taste the sweetness of her.
He shouldn’t.
He couldn’t.
He was a breath away. She leaned into him, her arms remaining straight by her side. Her lips were still parted, her tongue beyond them, teasing and tempting him.
He was the crown prince. She worked for the woman who planned to marry his father.
He couldn’t.
Kris closed his eyes and leaned in just another inch or so, until her warm breath smelling of the sweet crêpes they’d just had for dessert fanned over his face. He inhaled the aroma, feeling the heat of desire swelling in the pit of his stomach.
* * *
What was she doing? Was she completely out of her mind?
Why on earth had she thought the crown prince of this beautiful island would want to kiss her? They’d only met hours earlier. It was ridiculous. Presumptuous and possibly career ending if she were to be kicked off the island. Malayka was exactly the type to spread vicious rumors. And since this one would have a great amount of truth to it, Malayka would happily report back to everyone she knew in the United States.
Landry sighed, letting her head lull back against the door to her room, which she’d slammed closed and locked a few minutes after she’d left Prince Kristian and run all the way to her temporary sanctuary.
She was such a screwup.
Impulsive. Headstrong. Opinionated. Mouthy.
All words Landry had heard before in reference to her personality.
“Men don’t want women who push too hard, Landry. They want someone agreeable and calm spirited.”
Those were Astelle Norris’s famous words to her daughter. They were famous because she’d spoken them more times than Landry could count.
“Wives are submissive to their husbands,” Astelle would continue as she sat at the kitchen table doing some chore she thought wifely. Like snapping green beans for dinner or sewing socks so that her husband Heinz Norris’s toes wouldn’t poke through as he stood in the pulpit of the Baptist church where he pastored.
Landry could feel her eyes rolling back in her head as she recalled one of the more popular disagreements she’d had over the years with her mother.
“I’m not doing any man’s bidding. He can cook just like I can and he can go out and buy himself a new pair of socks if his have holes in them. I don’t have to be subservient to get and keep a man,” was Landry’s typical response.
Astelle, with her thinning, but still long silver-gray hair, only shook her head. “It doesn’t make you less of a woman, Landry. It makes you a good woman.”
“To who?” Landry had asked. “If I give a man that much control over me, who am I any good to? My future daughters will only see that their mother is so fragile and clueless that she can’t do anything without permission from a man? My future sons will grow up believing they rule the world, not for their brains or intuition, but because they have a penis so it should be so?”
In a rare display of anger, Astelle had stood quickly, dropping the beans she’d held into a large yellow bowl as she glared at her daughter through tired gray eyes. “I’ve never been clueless, Landry Diane Norris. I graduated at the top of my class at Brighton Business School and I worked in a law office for the first five years of my marriage until my husband finished school and received his PhD. I came home and started a family where I took care of my children and the head of my household. Six productive and intelligent people were brought into this world because of me and all the lessons I’ve taught them. My husband is a pillar of this community. He’s a teacher and a confidant and a good provider. I’m just as proud of him as I am of our children. So don’t you stand there after another failed relationship and pretend to know what my life has been like or what may have been better for me. I won’t stand for your disrespect.”
By the time her mother had finished speaking her hands were shaking with rage and Landry felt like crap. Astelle had left her in that kitchen alone, where Landry spent a few more moments wallowing in guilt and wondering how long she should wait before apologizing to her mother. Her father had come in during that time, rubbing his hand over Landry’s head as he used to do when she was a child.
“Put your f
oot in your mouth again, huh, pumpkin?” Heinz had asked with the booming melodic voice of a southern-born minister.
“Yes, sir,” had been her quiet response.
“She’s only telling you what she’s learned. That’s a mother’s job,” he said as he went into the refrigerator and grabbed a bottled water.
Landry watched her father’s strong hands—the same ones that, when she was ten years old, had fixed the chain on her bike—twist the cap off the water before lifting the bottle to his lips and taking a gulp. She saw the man who had carried her mother to the car the night she’d awakened in pain and stayed at the hospital every second Astelle was there having her emergency hysterectomy. Landry had only been sixteen then. He was the same man who had placed money in Landry’s hand and told her to go to the grocery store and get some things to have cooked before Astelle came home. The man who had written check after check for Landry to attend college when the scholarships she’d received had run out.
“I’m not the type of woman she is,” Landry had admitted. “I could never be like her.”
Heinz shook his head, his short-cropped black hair having long ago made the transition to snowy white. “She doesn’t want you to be like her. She just wants you to be good and true.”
“To bow to some man and say what he wants to make him happy. Kevin Blake cheated on me with a freshman that had big boobs and a fake butt. What could I have done to make him happy if that’s the kind of trash he wanted to chase in the first place?”
“Nothing. Because he was a jerk. But not all men are and your mother is simply trying to prepare you for a mature and fulfilling relationship.”
“She’s trying to make me a Leave It to Beaver wife in the age of The Real Housewives.”
Heinz chuckled then. “Now, those women, you should definitely take note of.”
