Searching For Her Prince

by Karen Rose Smith

  After taking a sip of water, she set down her glass. “Thank you so much for sharing your dinner with me. I don’t even know your name.”

  The wheels in Marcus’s head spun. When he was a boy away at school, he used his middle name, Brent, since there was another boy in his class named Marcus. “My name is Brent,” he responded now. Then choosing a last name from thin air, he added, “It’s Brent Carpenter.”

  She held out her hand to him. “It’s good to meet you, Brent.”

  When he enfolded her hand in his, it felt delicate and fragile. Yet he sensed a strength about Amira that intrigued him as much as everything else. The softness of her skin under his made his blood rush faster, and he told himself to slow down. He told himself this was a woman like none he’d ever met. He had the urge to bring her hand to his lips…to do much more than that.

  Before he could analyze his attraction to her, the waiter came in, carrying two apple tarts topped with whipped cream. Amira pulled her gaze from his, glanced at the tart and smiled. “Oh, that looks good.”

  He laughed.

  The waiter left as unobtrusively as he’d come in and Marcus breathed a sigh of relief. The staff usually addressed him as “sir” and when he had a guest, they didn’t converse with him at all. But there was always a chance someone would call him by name. He found himself liking the idea of becoming Brent Carpenter more and more. He needed a vacation, not only from the city, but from who he was and what he did and everyone’s expectations of him. From now on when he was with Amira, he would think of himself as Brent.

  As they both sampled their tarts, he asked her, “Have you seen anything of the city?”

  “Nothing but the airport,” she said with a sigh. “During the taxi ride from the airport to the hotel, I had to hold on to the seat in fear for my life, so I haven’t dared take another one. After the warnings the queen gave me about big American cities, I didn’t think it was a good idea to go out alone at night.”

  “Chicago’s a wonderful city, Amira. You should see some of it.”

  “I’m not really here for a vacation.”

  She’d eaten her tart as delicately as any lady, but her beautifully curved upper lip was smudged with a dot of whipped cream. He couldn’t help leaning toward her and sliding his thumb over the spot. Her deep-violet eyes became wider, and her intake of breath at his touch told him she was affected by it. He was, too.

  His voice was husky as he explained, “Whipped cream,” and brought his thumb to his own lips and licked the sweet topping.

  They gazed at each other, lost in the moment. The thrum of sexual awareness between them practically filled the room.

  Her cheeks became flushed and her lashes fluttered down as she demurely cast her eyes at what was left of her tart.

  “Amira?” he asked.

  She looked up at him once more.

  “How old are you?”

  “I’m twenty.”

  That’s what he’d suspected. But he’d also guessed she was a very innocent twenty. Not at all like Rhonda. The familiar pain, guilt and blame rushed in with the remembrance of his fiancée. For two years he’d hardly looked at women. For two years he hadn’t wanted the responsibility of a relationship…and he wasn’t contemplating a relationship now, he told himself. Amira would be going back to her island. After next week’s vacation, he’d be returning to mergers and interest rates and building a new hotel in St. Louis. But for the next few days…

  Amira sipped the coffee the waiter had brought with dessert. He’d noticed her load it down with cream and sugar.

  As she returned her cup to the saucer, she couldn’t stifle a yawn. “I’m so sorry,” she said embarrassed. “I think I’m still adjusting to the time change.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for. How are you feeling?”

  “Wonderfully satisfied. Everything was delicious.” She took her purse from the table where she’d laid it. “You must let me pay for this.”

  “Nope. It’s my treat. You saved me from another dinner alone.”

  “Do you have dinner alone a lot? Never mind,” she said with a flutter of her hand. “That’s none of my business.”

  Her chagrin was enchanting. She was definitely a proper lady. “For a long while now, I’ve had lots of dinners alone. By choice. I put in a long day and just want peace and quiet in the evening.”

  “What do you do?”

  He didn’t want to lie to her, but he didn’t know what she knew about Marcus Cordello, either. He answered vaguely, “I work in finance.” To forestall her asking any more questions about his work, he laid down his napkin and stood. “I have a meeting in half an hour, but before I leave the hotel, I want to see you safely to your room.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “It’s very necessary.” He wanted to make sure her lack of food had been her only problem, and she wasn’t hiding a more serious condition as Rhonda had.

  Amira gave him a smile that made him feel ten feet tall as she acquiesced. “All right. An escort will make me feel as if I’m back home.”

  “You have a bodyguard?”

  “Not as the queen and king do. But when I go out at night I have a chauffeur, and when I attend public functions I have an escort from the Royal Guard.”

  “Do you feel as if you’re always being watched?” he asked, knowing he could never give up his freedom like that.

  “I’m used to it, so it doesn’t seem out of the ordinary.”

  A few minutes later Amira was following Brent from the room, feeling as if this dinner had been a milestone in her life. She’d never had dinner alone with a man before. She’d never felt the sizzling attraction she felt toward this man. When his finger had touched her lip…heat had seemed to fill her and she’d been unable to look away from his green eyes. Fantasies had crowded her head and she’d known she shouldn’t entertain them.

  Yet as the dining room door closed behind them, Brent took her hand and secured it in the crook of his arm. “To keep you steady,” he said with a wink.

  The fine material of his suit was smooth under her fingers, and she could feel his muscled strength underneath.

  When they stepped into the elevator and the doors swooshed shut, intimacy seemed to surround them. She peeked up at Brent and saw he was gazing down at her.

  “What floor?” he asked, his voice deep and low.

  “Twelve,” she answered. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and her heart was beating much too fast.

  When the elevator stopped on the twelfth floor, they stepped out onto plush wine carpeting. They passed marble-topped mahogany credenzas, Victorian-style velvet-covered chairs and arrangements created from fresh flowers.

  Amira pointed out her room number. “Would you like to come in?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she felt flustered, not knowing why she’d asked him. Somehow it had just seemed the polite thing to do!

  Brent hesitated. “Just for a few moments.” Then he took the key card from her hand and unlocked her door. Opening it, he let her precede him inside. She was close enough to him to smell his cologne, to see the scar on the right side of his brow, to know that being alone with him in her room had been a foolish decision to make.

  The small foyer led into a large room with a king-size bed, dresser and chest on one side, and a sitting area with a love seat, chair and entertainment center on the other. A maid had obviously cleaned the room and made the bed, but Amira’s pink-and-green-satin nightgown lay folded on the side of the bed so she wouldn’t have to look far for it.

  Brent’s gaze seemed riveted to the satin garment and the king-size bed. “You do know, Amira, it’s not a good idea to invite strange men into your room.”

  “I’ve never done it before.” Her experience with men was indeed limited. At seventeen she’d thought she’d been in love with the gardener, but after an uncomfortable groping session, she’d realized he was only concerned with getting her into bed. That had been her only “intimate” experience with a man.

 
Now Brent was looking down at her with a flare of heat in his eyes that seemed to consume her. Everything disappeared except Brent Carpenter and the longing inside her. He lowered his head very slowly. Then his lips covered hers and his arms enfolded her in an exciting embrace.

  Swept away. Now Amira knew what the phrase meant. Nothing but his kiss mattered. The taut heat of him, the trace of his cologne lingering at the end of the day and his musky male scent brought to her mind visions of both of them naked, sharing a bed. Passion she’d dreamed about, but never known seemed within her reach.

  Instinctively her arms moved up to circle his neck, and he pulled her tighter against him. The amazing maleness of his body almost shocked her, but the shock gave way to pure pleasure as his tongue slid along the seam of her lips, coaxing them apart.

  She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, and he seemed to sense that because he murmured, “Open your mouth to me.”

  She didn’t even think of denying his husky command. She wanted to know more about desire, more about becoming a woman, more about Brent. Something inside whispered that this man could teach her everything.

  The tantalizing invasion of his tongue sent her senses reeling. Licks of fire seemed to reach deep into the center of her, and she became frightened by it, frightened by her reaction to him. She’d never met a man this sensual or this compelling.

  Suddenly her hands were on his chest and she was pushing away. “I can’t,” she said as she looked up and saw the deep desire intensifying the green of his eyes.

  What would he do? Would he be angry? He was in her room. What would her mother think about her daughter having a meal with a stranger and sharing a kiss before she really even knew the man? What would the queen think? Had she put herself in harm’s way? Would her life be irrevocably changed?

  She stood frozen with the fear of everything that could happen.

  Brent must have seen it. “It’s okay, Amira. It’s okay,” he soothed again. “We both just got carried away.”

  For the first time in her life she’d followed her instincts without propriety guiding her, and her instincts had been right. Brent wasn’t the type of man to force his attentions on a woman. “I…I shouldn’t have asked you in. It’s not…proper.”

  A wry smile curved his lips. “Being proper is important to you, isn’t it?”

  She just nodded and managed to say, “It’s the way I was raised.”

  Although he released her, as if he couldn’t help himself, he touched the back of his hand gently to her cheek. “I never met a true lady before.” He dropped his hand to his side. “I’d better leave.” Then he crossed to the door quickly and opened it.

  She stayed where she was, knowing she couldn’t chase after him, knowing she couldn’t ask him to stay. “Thank you again for dinner.”

  “My pleasure,” he said without smiling, and then he was gone.

  After the heavy door closed with a click, Amira ran to it and secured the safety lock, sure that Brent Carpenter considered her the most naive woman he’d ever met…sure that she’d never see him again.

  Chapter Two

  Three loud raps on Amira’s hotel room door awakened her. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, she noted it was 8:00 a.m. She’d slept through the night again in a strange place! Maybe she’d left her nightmares in Penwyck. Maybe the news her mother had given her before she’d left—that her father’s assassin was dead—had freed her.

  There was another rap at the door.

  Thinking the maid wanted to clean her room, she slid from the bed, pushed her hair from her eyes and grabbed her robe on the bedside chair. Slipping on the pink-and-green, flowered-satin garment, she quickly belted it.

  When she looked out the peephole of the door, she blinked twice. It was Brent! With a room service table.

  Opening the door, she couldn’t keep from smiling or hide the breathlessness in her voice. “This is a surprise.”

  His grin was crooked and boyish. “It’s a strategic move on my part to make sure you eat more than two crackers and tea. I don’t want you fainting into another man’s arms.”

  She knew he was teasing, but there was a serious glint in his green eyes, too. She was about to invite him in when she realized she was wearing her nightgown and robe. “Oh, I can’t. I mean—”

  Ignoring her reticence, he pushed the table inside. “You don’t even have to tip me,” he went on as if she hadn’t interrupted.

  Thoroughly flustered, unable to take her gaze from his broad shoulders, collarless blue shirt and his long jeans-clad legs, she stammered, “I…I have to dress.”

  Rolling the table to the sitting area, he set the covered platters on the coffee table. “You look fetching as you are. You don’t have time to dress. The eggs and bacon will get cold, and don’t tell me you don’t eat bacon and eggs, because your figure doesn’t need watching.”

  His appraising gaze raked over her, and she blushed to her toes.

  With a chuckle he caught her hand and tugged her to the love seat. “Come on. I know you’re a proper lady. I won’t do anything improper. I promise.”

  His smile was so beguiling, his manner so offhandedly friendly, she couldn’t resist. Missing her family and friends, she felt alone in a foreign land and she enjoyed Brent’s company. More than enjoyed it.

  Uncovering both their platters, he set the lids aside and settled his gaze on her. For a few moments he simply studied her with such intensity that she couldn’t look away.

  Finally he admitted, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

  His honest admission mandated she be just as honest. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, either.”

  He reached up to touch her then, to brush her tousled waves away from her face…

  The phone rang.

  The sound was a startling intrusion to the beginning of an intimate moment, and Amira really didn’t know if she was relieved or perturbed.

  “Excuse me,” she murmured, and went over to the desk under the window to pick up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Good morning, Amira.”

  “Good morning, Your Majesty.” Amira knew the queen’s voice as well as she knew her own mother’s.

  “I hope I’m not calling too early. I forget about the time difference.”

  Glancing over at Brent, Amira noticed his surprised expression. Maybe he hadn’t really believed she had connections to a royal family. “No, it’s not too early. In fact, other mornings I was sitting in Marcus Cordello’s reception area by now.”

  “How’s that coming, my dear? Did you manage to meet with him?”

  There was no point in beating around the bush. “I would have called you immediately if I had. I’m having a bit of a problem getting to see him. He’s very…elusive and protected. I’ve been camping on his doorstep, but have only seen his staff going in and out. His secretary has informed me he’ll be out of the office in meetings the rest of the week and away next week. So I’m afraid this might take longer than we planned.”

  There was a slight pause. “I see. Well, I know you’re doing your best. Cole Everson is working on getting a few more details for you, including a picture of the man. That might help you spot him.”

  Cole Everson was head of the Royal Intelligence, and Amira knew Queen Marissa counted on him.

  “What will you be doing today, Amira? Meeting with Marcus Cordello is important, but you need some time for yourself, too. Have you seen any of the city?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “It must be very lonely for you in Chicago. Do you want me to find a guide for you?”

  Again Amira looked over at Brent. The queen was being so nice, and Amira suddenly felt as if she was doing something very wrong. There was a man in her room whom she hardly knew. She was in her robe. They’d been about to…

  Suddenly she wished she weren’t on a mission for the queen, and that she hadn’t been raised quite so properly.

  Marcus had begun thinking of himself as Brent Carpenter as
soon as he’d rapped on Amira’s door. He hadn’t slept much last night, between thinking about her and dreaming about her, though fantasizing was probably the better term. The thing was—he felt more than a physical attraction to her. There was something about her that simply fascinated him. Along with rearranging his schedule and canceling today’s appointments, he’d called a friend who was an expert at gathering information and asked him to check Amira’s background. Now, listening to her phone conversation, he decided she must really be a lady in contact with the queen. This performance couldn’t have been put on for his benefit, because she hadn’t known he was coming.

  He didn’t need a dossier to know she was who she said she was and she was looking for him. He should leave right now…forget about breakfast, forget about spending the day with her. It would be safer never to see her again…to never let her meet Marcus Cordello. He didn’t want his life disrupted again.

  It had been disrupted when he and Shane were children and his parents divorced. The divorce had been bitter, and his mother had taken Shane to California while Marcus had stayed in Illinois with his father. They had just settled into that routine, seeing his brother one month every summer, when Marcus’s life was turned upside down again because his father remarried. In a way, that was even more disruptive than the divorce because his stepmother insisted Marcus be sent to boarding school. She didn’t want to be bothered with him. He’d weathered all of that and weathered it well, turning his interest to the financial markets, researching corporations and how they ran, beginning to invest any money he earned.

  Then two years ago, when he’d thought his life was on track, when he’d already become wealthier than he ever dreamed, he lost his fiancée to diabetes. Rhonda had kept her condition from him, and he’d had no idea she was dealing with it. Since she’d died, he’d done nothing but work nineteen or twenty hours a day. He’d cut off all social contact and let his staff deal with the outside world.

  But last night Amira had crashed through all the protective layers he’d built around himself, and he wanted to spend more time with her.