by S. A. Gordon
Then what?
Here was her brain, trying once more to rationalize. But “then what?” indeed. David wasn’t exactly available—to her, to anyone who wasn’t his sister or the British people. There had been precisely no stories about him in the press that involved him seeing anyone; there had been no photos of him in the company of any women other than his sisters. It was like he’d entered a royal monastery. So even if they saw each other and the spark was still there, what could either of them expect from it? Even if she took the attitude that things would sort themselves out, this situation was an exception—because there was no one like David in the world. Nothing in his life was just sorted out. Everything was planned. And she was fairly sure that she would never fit into any kind of plan that was being made for him.
Now Caitlin’s smile had disappeared and she fairly gulped the rest of her wine. She was being a fool, now, she was sure. She was foolish to see him, because it could only cause her to long for him more and there was just no chance—no chance at all—of anything coming of it. What if she saw him a few more times while he was in New York? She would just become more fond of him. And maybe him of her. But then he’d leave and she’d be left with memories again. She felt like a stupid little fan, dreaming of a future with her idol when it was just an impossibility beyond the realm of impossibilities. She felt embarrassed, even though there were no witnesses to this foolishness but herself and David. And she felt disappointed—in herself, for giving so much time to dreams. That’s all they were: dreams. Her mother had always told her that she was a dreamer; she hadn’t meant it unkindly, but now Caitlin wondered if it had been a warning: Your dreams won’t get you anywhere, she could hear her mother say, the antithesis of all of those parents who encouraged their children to have expectations of life that could never be fulfilled. Caitlin had always appreciated her mother’s no-nonsense ways; they’d kept her grounded. Now she wished she’d applied them more rigorously to herself since leaving home.
Still, there was that spark of excitement kindling in her. She wondered if she could manage her thoughts so that she didn’t expect anything from seeing David again, but just enjoyed being with him. Perhaps she should focus on Liam and how good he was to her and for her. Liam, who was so bound up with her friends and so enmeshed in her life now. That had been what he’d wanted—he’d wanted to know everything about her, so that he could participate in it with her. It had annoyed her a bit at first but she’d come to realize it was his way of showing her how interested he was in her.
Yes, focusing on Liam was the answer. Caitlin closed her eyes and hummed to herself as she conjured up Liam’s classically handsome face and bright blue eyes and big smile. But she couldn’t stop the image that intruded: of a man with brown eyes, rich and deep, with a hint of burden within them; of sensual lips; the planes in his face that were not so much chiseled as hewn; of a strong jaw and nose, and a smile that was electric when it appeared. Not Liam. She couldn’t make him turn into Liam no matter how hard she tried. She squeezed her eyes tight and hummed louder but David was still there, laughing at her attempts to get rid of him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
David waited in the same bar where he’d waited for Caitlin once before. He wore the same hat. Mick and Stan were both there with him, dressed in the same casually smart, unobtrusive—apart from the fact that they were matching—outfits, their faces impassive and their intent deadly. He watched them watching the room—their state of permanent wariness, a level of alertness that they had to maintain at all times. They must be exhausted, he often thought—having to be on guard like that, never relaxing until their shift ended or, as was the case when they traveled with him, when they went back to England and were given a few days off. He was glad they had each other and he envied them that relationship—that they could work with someone they loved, share the stresses and strains.
It was a relationship he’d have to emulate in his own way; his wife—whoever she turned out to be and whenever he married her—would have to marry his job as well as him. She’d have to be prepared to not only work beside him but share the stresses and strains of his own position, which now looked like it was arriving earlier and being greater than he’d thought. Than any of them had thought. He didn’t know why he, Alix and Margaret hadn’t reckoned on their father becoming ill. After their mother died, well, why had they thought it wouldn’t happen to their father? They’d been naïve. Or maybe naïvely hopeful, thinking he’d just die of old age. Now Alix had to prepare to be Queen—was already acting as Queen—and David felt alone, and selfish with it, knowing that his sister had more right to feel that way than he.
David checked his watch—still five minutes to go before their allotted meeting time. He’d arrived early, wanting to find a good spot in the bar, as usual, so that his back was to the door but he could still see most of the room. He’d leave the rest of the room to Mick and Stan.
He thought about Caitlin; about the way she made him feel. It was such a ridiculous thing, really—how humans tended to form their opinions based on how other people made them feel. But what else could he go on? If he didn’t feel good around her, he wouldn’t want to see her again. But she made him feel something no other woman had ever made him feel before: safe. Another ridiculousness, that he should need to feel safe. Men weren’t supposed to worry about such things. But he did. Ever since his mother had died he’d felt unsafe unless he was with his father or his sisters. He’d felt like the world was too harsh, too cruel—that he could just as easily fall into its crevices as he could stand on the edges and look in. He so rarely felt safe enough to look up and see what was bright and promising. He so rarely even laughed unless he was around his family.
Caitlin made him feel like he could stand on the edge, lift his head and not worry about falling in. She didn’t seem to want him to be someone else, and he didn’t think it was to do with his title. He was used to disappointing people who, because of his title, wanted him to be someone different—someone suave or swashbuckling; sometimes they wanted him to be tough or mean or whatever their idea of him was. No one expected him to just be him. No one ever came to him without expectations of who he was. But Caitlin took him as she found him.
He could tell she’d been nervous at first, but that tended to happen whenever someone met a person whose image they’d seen countless times—he got nervous around famous footballers and tennis players, which would seem illogical to anyone if he told them, but there it was: the brain did funny things. After her initial nervousness had faded, though, she’d just treated him like a man. They had talked. They had flirted. And they had kissed. He’d felt like he could do all of those things with her because she made it easy for him to do so. She wasn’t going to run to the newspapers and tell her story—and she hadn’t, even though she could have been disgruntled enough to do so. She also had enough self-belief to stand up to him about the fact that he hadn’t called her. She wasn’t obsequious; she didn’t want his approval at any cost. He didn’t know why she was all of these things but he was prepared to spend a lot of time finding out. He just hoped she felt the same way about him.
The door of the bar opened—he could tell because Mick’s and Stan’s spines got a little straighter and their eyes swiveled in the same direction. Then he saw them relax—as much as they could relax—and knew that it was Caitlin who was entering. He smiled even before he turned his head and felt a sensation that he hadn’t felt in a long time: butterflies.
As their eyes met it was clear how happy she was to see him again—she wore a radiant smile and her eyes sparkled. He knew that she was beautiful—any fool could see that—but it was her radiance that had first attracted him, and he was glad that it hadn’t dimmed in his absence.
He stood. “Hello,” he said, surprised to hear himself sounding hesitant.
“Hello,” she said, beaming but stopping just a bit short of him.
He moved closer and kissed her once, twice, on the cheeks. He wanted to kiss her on the lips.
He wanted to pull her to him and hold her for the next three hours. But she’d told him that she had a boyfriend—no matter how gormless he thought the young man—and he had to respect that. She wasn’t available to him, just as he hadn’t been available to her. Somehow they had to find a way to be available to each other. Somehow he was going to have to make it clear to her that she could trust him not to desert her all the time. He knew he had to do that, now—seeing her again, he could feel it. He couldn’t be without her. But he didn’t want to scare her off either.
“You look wonderful,” he said, letting his eyes roam over her hair and nose and lips. “Just wonderful.”
“Thanks,” she said, her voice soft. “So do you.” She was still smiling as he gestured to the seat next to his, simultaneously looking up to see Mick and Stan grinning at him, to which he pulled a face, which only made them grin harder.
“Please,” David said, pulling out a stool, “sit down. Do you mind the stools?”
“No, they’re fine.” Caitlin smiled nostalgically. “They’re familiar.”
“So they are. A drink?”
She nodded. “Red wine, please,” she said and fumbled with the coat she’d placed on her lap, a very heavy number that looked like it belonged on a snowfield.
“Here, let me take your coat,” David said, holding out his hand as he simultaneously gave a drink order across the bar.
“Oh—thanks,” Caitlin said, handing it over.
“It looks like it would keep you very warm,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he placed it on the stool beside him.
“Well, I’m a Southern California gal—I am still not used to the winters here. San Diego is pretty much the same temperature all year round—which is warm. It can get so cold here.”
“Yes, it can.”
David nodded to the bartender as he placed Caitlin’s drink in front of her.
“So we’re doing small talk then,” David said with a note of amusement.
Caitlin looked at him in surprise, which quickly became relief. “You noticed, huh?” She giggled.
“We’re not strangers, Caity,” he said, his voice low.
“No,” she said, quickly taking a gulp of her wine. “We’re not.”
David leaned on an elbow and placed his head into his hand, looking at her intensely. “I want to kiss you,” he said.
Caitlin spluttered into her glass.
“Sorry, was that too forward?” He grinned.
“Maybe,” she said meekly, taking another sip.
“I don’t care that you have a boyfriend,” he said.
“I can see that.”
“I should care.” His eyes darkened. “But I don’t.”
“David …” She sounded wary.
“It was too much, wasn’t it?” He felt suddenly stricken, worried that he’d done the very thing he knew he shouldn’t and pushed her. “I just wanted you to know that I still feel … that way about you.”
Caitlin bit her lip and nodded.
“I should have waited,” he said, frowning.
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s fine. I’m just not used to hearing that kind of line out of the mouth of someone I actually want to kiss back.”
She looked so kind and so desirable at the same time that David immediately sat on his hands so he wouldn’t leap at her.
“But I can’t, David. Not now.”
He sighed, gazing at her. “Then when?” he said.
Now it was Caitlin’s turn to sigh. “I don’t know,” she said. “David, I can’t just say I’ll break up with Liam—I can’t break up with Liam—just because you’re here tonight.”
“I realize that,” David said evenly. “I wasn’t expecting that. I’m just …” He sighed, more heavily now. “I guess I’m trying—clumsily—to signal some sort of intention. And I’m not used to this, Caitlin—I’m not. The intentions I have toward women usually only last a night.”
His gaze was frank as he met her slightly alarmed eyes.
“I’m being honest,” he continued. “I want to be honest with you. You’re honest with me, so it’s the least I can do. And there’s something here, don’t you think? Between us?”
“Yes, but what?” she said quickly.
“Do we need to know what it is? Does anyone ever know what it is? Whenever anyone is attracted to anyone else, don’t you think they just try to rationalize something that has absolutely no rational explanation and never will? Why can’t we all just say, ‘Because I like you,’ and have that be enough?”
She smiled at him. “All good points,” she said with a nod. She looked thoughtful as she had another sip of wine. “I like you, David.”
He was relieved beyond measure. “I like you too.”
“But …”
He groaned. “I knew it.”
“Let me finish. Since we’re being so philosophical and everything.” She grinned.
“All right.” He sipped his own drink.
“You’re … extraordinary. You aren’t like any man I’ve ever met, and that’s not because of … your job or whatever.” She swallowed. “Although maybe you’re the way you are because of the life you’ve had,” she rushed on. “I don’t know. So I wanted to get that straight—I like you for you. I like your company. But your life …”
She looked away from him, to Stan and Mick, then back.
“Your life is also extraordinary. It’s beyond anything I think I could get my head around. I’m a simple girl from a city that isn’t even the capital of its state. New York is adventurous for me. Do you know what I mean?”
“I do,” David said slowly, seriously. “But I think you’re wrong about me. I have an extraordinary life, yes, but I’m an ordinary guy living an extraordinary life. I don’t have special talents. I want all the same things other people want—food, shelter, warmth, love.” He put his hand on hers and rubbed her skin gently with his thumb. “You’re layering on too much extraordinariness and no doubt it seems daunting—but it’s not real. I’m not that extraordinary.”
Caitlin looked at him sceptically. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m not!” David said with a note of protest. “As I said, I just have an extraordinary life. And an extraordinary family. I can assure you that individually we are quite boring, really.”
She pulled a face.
“My sisters are … normal girls. They want to find love and I’d say they want to find work they like but they’re as stuck as I am on that front.”
“Does that bother you?”
“That I can’t choose my work?” David sipped her beer and shrugged. “It used to. Now it’s almost a relief. And I have been able to choose some of it—you know, the charities. The few years I spent in the Navy.”
“Oh, yes,” Caitlin said knowingly, “I read about those.”
David grimaced. “You and millions of others.”
“So why did you choose the Navy?”
David paused and looked into his drink then back up at Caitlin. “Papa thought it was the safest option. After Mummy died, he didn’t want anything happening to me. I wasn’t going to university so the armed forces were the next thing. Planes can crash. Soldiers fire bullets. In the Navy, in an aircraft carrier, there wasn’t much chance of me coming to any harm.”
“Until you shagged one of your coworkers,” Caitlin said teasingly.
“What?” David said, feigning outrage. “It goes on!”
“Of course it does,” Caitlin said with a laugh. “You just should’ve checked that she didn’t have her camera turned on.”
Suddenly, looking almost sad, David quietly drank.
“Did I say something wrong?” Caitlin said softly, to which David shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I was just reflecting on how stupid I’ve been in my life. How reckless.” He swore under his breath. “How much worry I’ve caused my family when they’d already been through enough.”
“You’re still a young man,” Caitlin said kindly. “Don’t be too hard on yourse
lf.”
David looked at her, his face a picture of wonder. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll try. And now enough about me—tell me about this Liam.”
With that David grinned and signaled to the bartender for another drink, his actions hiding what he truly felt: that this woman was right for him, that she was who he’d been looking for, that he thought he may already love her, her warmth and kindness and intelligence and … and … that radiance—but he didn’t know if he’d ever get to tell her.
*
The phone call awakened David in the middle of the night. He leaped out of bed, his heart in his throat as he imagined the worst. For only the worst could produce a call at this time. Only a handful of people had the number for the phone that was ringing—one of two he owned. This was the phone that only his family and his protection officers knew about. And Caitlin—in a fit of romantic feeling that his PPOs would object to, he’d given her the number. But he doubted she was calling.
He reached the phone—hooked up to its charger in the next room—and saw that it was Alix calling. Yes, it had to be the worst news. About his father. Now that he was confronting it he had no idea how to prepare himself.
“Alexandra,” he said, trying to sound calm and in control.
“David,” she wailed.
“Papa?” he said, still trying to sound calm.
“W-what?” she said, sounding like she was sobbing.
“What’s happened to Papa?” His tone was urgent now.
