Waking Up in Vegas: HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance

by Romy Sommer

  “Don’t move,” he instructed.

  “Where are you going?” She struggled up on her elbows, her body already crying out for more of him.

  “I need to find protection. We used the last of mine last night.”

  She laid a hand on his arm to stop him. “We don’t need it.”

  From the sudden hopeful light in his eyes, she realised he read a whole lot more into her words than she meant. He saw this as taking the next step towards commitment. She’d only meant that since she was on the pill they didn’t have to worry about contraception.

  But now wasn’t the moment to set him right. She didn’t want a serious talk. Her body needed him with a desperation bordering on madness. Again.

  Max cradled Phoenix’s head against his chest, as his heartbeat recovered and returned to its regular steady pattern. If it weren’t for her insistence on going to work, they could spend all day like this. Sunday was his one day off and there was nothing he would rather do than spend it with her.

  But she remained adamant. Something about not wanting special favours or to leave Rebekah in the lurch. Much though he admired the sentiments, he had to struggle against the urge to shake her. What normal woman chose working as a waitress over being a princess?

  Phoenix was anything but normal, and that was why he loved her.

  He stroked her hair. “You can’t go to work wearing the same clothes as yesterday.” He leaned across her to pick up the phone and dial the internal number, spoke in rapid local dialect to the housekeeper, then set the phone back in its cradle. “Your new clothes will be here by the time we finish breakfast.”

  “Have you bought the entire shop again?” she asked.

  “No need. This time I know your size.”

  “You’re a quick learner. You’ll be an awesome Arch Duke if you keep that up.”

  “I’ll be an awesome Arch Duke as long as I have you at my side.”

  She shrugged out of his grasp and rose from the bed, the sheet slipping away to reveal long tanned limbs. She didn’t reach for her clothes but instead for the shirt he’d worn yesterday. She only turned back to him when she’d done up the buttons, by which time his body was already tight and erect. The shirt barely reached her thighs, leaving a great deal of smooth skin exposed. He didn’t need to touch her to know how silken smooth those thighs felt beneath his hands.

  She raised an eyebrow, fully aware of her effect on him. “You promised me breakfast,” she chided gently.

  With any luck he’d manage to draw breakfast out long enough to put an end to her talk of going to work at the café today.

  He pulled on his sweatpants, not bothering with a shirt this time. Judging by the hungry flare of her eyes as her gaze stroked his chest, it was a wise move. He took her hand and led her down the spiral staircase to the ground floor.

  “Isn’t the dining room that way?” she asked, pausing on the first landing.

  He shook his head and grinned. “I asked the staff to set up breakfast in the garden.”

  “I’m not exactly dressed for public scrutiny.” She licked her lips.”And neither are you.”

  He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her hard against him. “That almost sounds like you want to keep me to yourself.”

  “I’m just concerned for your reputation.” But her gaze dipped, giving her away.

  “Liar.” He laughed softly and kissed her, only breaking the kiss when breathing made it imperative. “This garden is secluded enough to keep both our reputations intact.” He slid his hand from the hollow of her back and down over the curve of her ass, pulling her against him. “No matter what we do there.”

  The door at the very bottom of the stairwell stood open, the summer breeze wafting in the rich fragrance before the garden itself became visible.

  Phoenix gasped and let go his hand.

  It was not a large garden, just a patch of neat lawn edged by colourful beds of fragrant herbs and bright flowers and encircled entirely by high walls of grey stone. The only entrance to this piece of paradise was the single door from the private apartments.

  The servants had set up breakfast in the colonnaded cloister that ran along one side of the garden. No matter how hungry Phoenix professed to be, she took the time first to wander through the garden, pausing to rub a sprig of rosemary between her fingers, and to smell the yellow roses that grew up a stone colonnade, while Max watched, the pleasure in her joy of discovery unfurling inside him.

  She belonged here.

  “It’s not just pretty,” Phoenix said on a sigh, turning to him. “This garden smells like heaven.”

  “My grandmother lost her sight as she grew older, so my grandfather had this planted as a garden for the other senses. Listen.”

  Phoenix closed her eyes and listened. As attuned as he was to this place, he didn’t need to close his eyes to hear the rustle of the long grasses that edged the cloistered walk, or the whisper of the breeze through the leaves of the ancient oak that shaded half the garden.

  Instead, he watched Phoenix’s face, noting the moment when she breathed out and the tension in her shoulders eased. Like a deer sniffing the air and not scenting danger, she lost a little of the wariness she wore around her like a cloak. When she turned back to him the usual hard edge in her dark eyes was also absent.

  “Okay, I’ll admit it. Motorbikes, secret gardens…this princess gig is very tempting.”

  But was it tempting enough? They might have crossed a threshold this morning, and she may have lost a little of her wariness but he wasn’t yet sure enough of her.

  He headed for the breakfast table and held out a chair. When she sat, he lifted the silver cloche from her plate. She licked her lips again, an unconscious gesture that pulled his body tight.

  Once they’d eaten, omelettes flavoured with herbs from this very garden and the wild mushrooms that were a local delicacy, accompanied by fresh squeezed juice made from oranges from the greenhouses at his palace in Neustadt, Phoenix poured them thick coffee from the silver flask that had been a wedding gift to a long dead ancestor from the Tsarina of Russia. That last bit of trivia he kept to himself. He remembered all too well the glazed look in her eyes as she’d viewed the coats of armour in the Great Hall.

  How they viewed time was still the biggest difference between them. No matter how far from Westerwald he lived, he felt rooted in the past; his life just a moment in a history stretching back a thousand years and stretching forward another thousand. Phoenix, on the other hand, was very definitely a here and now person. She lived in the moment and gave very little thought to either past or future.

  She set down her empty coffee cup and rose to inspect the red leather box set to one side of the breakfast table, which Max had been doing his best to ignore. “What’s in the box?”

  “My homework.”

  “I thought you said the government was on vacation?”

  “It is.” He pulled a face. “But my prime minister still sees me as that wild, impetuous boy who earned the title of Rave Prince, and he thinks if he can just break me in and train me right, I’ll be more pliable and biddable than Rik.”

  Phoenix laughed softly and opened the box. “I think he’s in for a rude wake up call.”

  “Call it a reality check. I’m not a kid anymore and I’m way more stubborn than he realises.” Max grinned. “Besides, I’ll outlast him. Our legislation limits the prime minister to two terms. I’ll still be here long after he’s retired.” He sipped down a last mouthful of sweet coffee. “That’s why the monarchy still has a place in this day and age: I’m in this for the long haul. My job is to look at the long term. It’s not about being re-elected, or about lining my pockets as quickly as I can, or making a name for myself.”

  Phoenix lifted a few of the folders from the box and flicked through them. “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s going to be working all day.” A newspaper clipping fell out of one of the folders and Phoenix bent to pick it up. She opened the folder to replace it, glancing at the ha
ndful of typed reports, each with a bunch of magazine or newspaper clippings attached. “What are these?”

  He tried to grab the folder from her. “Albert’s idea of a joke. They’re portfolios of prospective brides.”

  She held the papers out of his reach. “What – you dial up Brides R Us and they send over a bunch of suitable candidates?”

  “Something like that. Except the portfolios are compiled by our Intelligence Service. I really need to tell Albert I’m already married, before he gets his hopes up.”

  “Oh no you don’t!” She glanced at the contents of the folder. He didn’t need to look to know what she was seeing. A minor European princess with impeccable family connections, the heiress to a prominent English hotelier, an American blue blood whose face was recognisable from the tabloids. “Any of these women would make a far more suitable bride than a waitress from nowhere.”

  From the neutral tone of her voice, he had no idea what she was thinking. It wasn’t like Phoenix to fish for compliments, so he only shrugged. “But you’re the woman I chose to marry.”

  She removed the last report from the pile and scrutinised it. An A-list Hollywood actress famous for her romantic comedy roles. “You should fire your Intelligence Service.”

  “Oh?”

  She pointed to a paragraph two thirds of the way down the page. “This supposed spiritual retreat in the Bahamas was actually a stint in rehab. And it was nowhere near the Caribbean.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because an ex-boyfriend of mine was there at the same time. In fact, she’s a large part of the reason we broke up. Well, that and the drugs, of course.”

  Another ex-boyfriend. His hands fisted. Of course, she’d had a past. A woman like Phoenix didn’t get to nearly thirty years old without having a few skeletons in her closet. But just the thought of her with another man made his blood boil. And the thought of another man cheating on her made him want to commit murder.

  He whipped the folders from her hands and stuck them back in the box. “Enough of this. I’m already married, so it’s all moot. Now unless you’ve changed your mind about going to work today, we’re running out of time.”

  “Out of time for what?”

  “For this.” He pulled her down into his lap, and slid his fingers down her neck, flirting with the skin of her throat, to reach the first button of the shirt she wore. He undid the top button and his fingers moved to the next one, hovering above the cleft between her breasts. “Sod it,” he said, “it’s my shirt anyway.” And with both hands he ripped the shirt, sending buttons flying.

  “You could have just lifted it over my head,” she pointed out, voice husky.

  “That wouldn’t have been nearly as satisfying.” He dropped his mouth to her throat, and his tongue began to trail the same path his fingers had taken moments before.

  Max hadn’t lied about the press presence at the café, but a handful of reporters sticking cameras in her face and asking obvious questions were easy to ignore. Phoenix was far more concerned about the reception she’d get from her boss and colleagues. She held her head high as she made her way between the crowded tables, aware of the whispers and the heads turning her way. Rebekah was nowhere in sight and someone else served at the ice cream counter today, the teenager who helped Rebekah on weekends. Phoenix’s stomach knotted as she pushed open the swing door into the kitchen.

  “When were you going to tell me?” Rebekah set her hands on her hips and glared.

  So this was how it felt. Phoenix squirmed beneath the glare, as the chef and his assistant ducked into the pantry and out of the crossfire.

  Rebekah bit her lip, her face softening. “I blame myself. I should have known, shouldn’t I? Half American, recently returned from the States… I could have put it together, if it wasn’t so…”

  “Improbable? Unlikely? Unnatural?” Phoenix supplied.

  Rebekah frowned. “Don’t be silly. As soon as I thought about it, of course it made sense. Max has always been a bit wild. He’d never be interested in some dull, stay-at-home type of woman like any of the Westerwald women who’ve chosen to stay. He needs a woman who’ll challenge him.”

  Oh yay. So she was the challenge he’d mistaken for the love of his life. Phoenix sighed. “Max might need a woman who challenges him, but Westerwald needs an Arch Duchess.” A brood mare to raise the next generation of Arch Dukes.

  Rebekah’s eyes lit up. “A royal wedding is just what we all need.”

  Phoenix rolled her eyes. Was everyone in Westerwald this focussed on fairy tale endings? “No wedding. You’ll just have to be satisfied with a coronation.”

  Her friend’s face fell. It would have been comical but Phoenix felt no desire to laugh. “I’m really sorry to disappoint you, but this isn’t anything serious. It’s just a little fun, another item on my Bucket List. Last month it was the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, this month it’s Be Seduced by Royalty and next month it’ll be the Oktoberfest in Munich.”

  “That’s still two months away.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Rebekah crossed the kitchen and wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a loose hug. “Who says you can’t have it all? This is a prosperous nation and money is no object for Max. As his wife, you could travel wherever you wanted.”

  But not whenever she wanted, and not with the same freedom she had now. “What if I wanted to sunbathe topless or get drunk or camp out on a beach somewhere? I’d have the paparazzi all over me, and the government ministers all over Max.”

  “Okay, I don’t have an answer for that one. You’re right. But couldn’t you find it in your heart to love Max enough to forego topless tanning?”

  Phoenix pretended to debate the issue, then shook her head. “Sorry, no.” She ignored Rebekah’s appalled expression and knocked on her chest. “Can’t you hear? I’m the Tin Man. I have no heart.”

  Rebekah burst out laughing. Phoenix was glad someone thought it was a joke. But the truth was she couldn’t afford to have a heart. She couldn’t afford to let the moonlight and roses get to her. Because if she did…no, not going there.

  The vision she saw every time she thought of loving someone was too horrid to contemplate. It was her father, prostrate across the coffin of the woman he’d loved so much that after her death he was never the same again. He’d tried so hard to be there for Phoenix, to love her, but he’d been only a shell of a man, drowning himself in whisky and loud music and a constant need to keep moving in order to keep the pain at bay. And Phoenix was very much her father’s daughter, in many ways.

  Rebekah let go of Phoenix’s shoulder. “You and I are so different, I don’t think I’ll ever understand you. That all sounds like fun, but it’s so empty and meaningless without someone special to share it with. I’d rather spend my whole life here in Waldburg with Claus than travel the world alone.”

  Phoenix shrugged. “And the thought of staying in one place too long gives me chills. I still have so many things I want to accomplish in this lifetime. I told you when I arrived, that I’d only be here a few weeks. Nothing’s changed.” She reached for the apron hanging beside the door. “Now which tables do you want me to cover today?”

  “I think perhaps you’d better stay behind the till today.”

  Out of sight, right where she belonged. Phoenix nodded and headed into the café to take her place. It was a beautiful day, far too beautiful to waste on what ifs and why nots. She’d take every day as it came, the way she always did, and leave tomorrow to take care of itself.

  Chapter Ten

  At the polite knock on the door of his study, Max looked up. Albert stood in the doorway. No doubt come to check Max had been a good boy and done his homework. Max suppressed a sigh and waved the man in. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

  “There is something we need to discuss that couldn’t wait.”

  “And you couldn’t call?”

  “This isn’t the sort of thing we could discuss on the phone. You m
ade the papers this morning.”

  “I seem to make the papers quite often these days. Was there anything in particular that caught your attention?”

  “This.” With a flourish, Albert set the morning paper down on the desk between them.

  Max glanced at the lurid headline and the over-sized picture beneath it. A grainy picture taken through the window of a tour bus, of an indistinguishable couple entwined in a kiss. “That brought you haring up from Neustadt?”

  “No, this did.” Albert laid another picture beside it. This one was less grainy, a colour photograph in close up of Max and Phoenix as they headed towards the wine cellar, oblivious of the curious eyes of the tourists in the coach. “I managed to keep this one out of the papers.”

  Max frowned. “We’re holding hands. So what?”

  “This girl you’re with is wearing the Waldburg ring around her neck.”

  Max arched an eyebrow. He might have been an outward picture of restraint, but inwardly he began to seethe. “The ring is mine and I’m free to give it to anyone I want.”

  “But in many people’s eyes that is tantamount to an engagement!”

  Max allowed himself a very real grin. “Yes, I thought so myself.”

  “You cannot possibly intend to marry this girl!”

  “Woman,” Max corrected. “Why not?”

  “She is completely unsuitable. Did you not look at the folders I gave you?”

  Max pulled the offending folders from the red box on his desk. “You mean these incomplete, poorly researched documents? You’d rather I marry a recovering drug addict?”

  Albert’s gaze narrowed. “How do you know that?”

  “You might want to put a tabloid reporter or two on the Intelligence payroll.”

  “Be that as it may, you still cannot marry a girl you picked up in a Las Vegas motel.”

  The blood roared between Max’s ears and it was only with great effort he remained seated. “You want to bet?”