At least she'd agreed. Where she'd sleep was one less worry.
How exactly had he ended up here?
Pieter was a prince of Glorvaird. He'd never slept on the floor before in his life, except for those few awful nights during his childhood. He didn't like to think about those times. Ever.
But now he shifted on the uncomfortable thin carpet, a T-shirt and his sweatpants his only shield from the itchy fibers. His head rested on his bent elbow, and he stared up at the ceiling and the small red light that shone from the smoke detector. The pillow was missing half its stuffing and did nothing for him. Neither did the light blanket he'd found in the small hotel closet.
McKenna breathed deeply and evenly from the queen bed nearby. She'd wanted to refuse his offer to purchase supper. Maybe she didn't want to accept his charity, or maybe she didn't want to owe him.
He hadn't realized she was in such dire straits, even with the broken-down pickup and secondhand makeup bag. Should he have left her on the side of the road, instead of bringing her here? At least she'd been closer to family there, and surely one of her annoying cousins would've come and picked her up. Probably. Maybe.
He'd had to talk faster than ever before in his life to get her to accept a couple of slices of the pizza he'd bought from a fast food place on the way to the hotel. Surprising him again.
She'd practically inhaled the awful, cardboard tasting stuff, sitting cross-legged on the bedspread with no plate, only a paper towel in hand, watching television.
With her long hair spilling over her shoulders and her makeup all washed off, she looked like a teenager. But she’d kissed like a woman. Maybe an inexperienced woman, but he'd never felt such powerful emotion in a kiss.
Until she'd started crying. Had he frightened her? That certainly hadn’t been his intention.
And what had been his intention?
No, he didn’t want to go there, because he certainly hadn’t been thinking, only reacting.
He couldn't tell whether McKenna had actually shed any tears, though, because she'd kept her face turned to the window the entire, silent ride to the hotel. She hadn't sniffled, hadn't wiped at her face, so he didn't think she'd cried, but she'd been close.
What had he been thinking, kissing her like that? He hadn't, obviously. He'd been turned upside-down, as if he'd taken a hard tumble from a fast-moving bicycle.
How had things gotten so terribly mixed up?
He'd lost his focus. He'd come to the States for one reason only.
But somehow, from the moment he'd met her, his focus had shifted to McKenna and her troubles. Her innocence and her mission to win the pageant.
He tapped the fingers of his free hand in cadence against his chest. Then just his pinkie. His family crest ring was warm against his skin. Its weight reminded him of his purpose, reminded him that he hadn't checked in with the hospital. Probably his Mother had upset a nurse. It wouldn't be the first time, and he didn't feel a particular urgency to call. It could wait until morning.
Ah, Mother. All the reminder he needed that he couldn't afford to be tied up with McKenna.
He could never forget the little eight-year-old boy he’d once been, an innocent child, locked in the pitch-black closet of his mother's suite of rooms. Just the once, just one night. She’d put him there in a fit of temper.
When she’d let him out the next morning, she'd been all apologies and tears until he said he forgave her. But saying the words aloud didn't necessarily make them true, did it?
Because he still remembered the awful fear of being alone in the dark, remembered screaming until he'd gone hoarse, remembered banging on the closet door, praying she'd come back.
But she didn’t come back.
And he remembered curling into a ball, shedding silent tears because he wanted a normal mother. Not one who sometimes lived in her own head for weeks at a time. Not one who forgot important dates, like when she was supposed to deliver him to his boarding school. One who forgot his birthday. Not one who cared nothing if he ate or starved.
And not one who maintained delusions of grandeur, imagining that she deserved the crown herself.
All he'd wanted was one person who loved him. Someone to take care of him.
And he'd been so resentful of the cousins that Mother had told him about. The ones who had a mother and father. Who never had to fear for their lives.
Where had they been all this time? Living in their Glorvaird castle.
When he'd needed someone.
Fury and resentment boiled through his veins, igniting the dormant emotion that had spiked next to McKenna's trailer. He'd stuffed away the desperate fear and anger at her carelessness in his effort to protect her.
He'd make a bank withdrawal tomorrow, that's what he’d do. He'd force McKenna to take some cash—or, if she absolutely refused, he’d hide it on her person. Then he’d wash his hands of her. She wasn't his problem.
And he didn't want to have to see that fear in her eyes.
It was like looking into a mirror from his childhood, one he'd ached to escape for so long.
He couldn't bear it again.
6
McKenna had slept hard and woken with her left arm asleep—a sign she hadn't moved in hours.
The hotel room was empty, sunlight streaming through a crack in the blinds. Pieter had left a short note on the dresser saying he'd had to run an errand and would return shortly.
And she was a little glad. She didn't know how to deal with the crazy emotions that the night before had made her feel as if she'd been bucked from a bull.
Her first kiss. And boy, what a kiss it was. She'd never imagined that kissing someone could feel like that. Like she was competing in a barrel race, adrenaline skyrocketing, galloping horseback flat out, the wind in her face. And how could somebody feel all that and as if they were spinning at the same time? No wonder she was all jumbled up.
She'd felt… like she'd mattered to him.
But she hadn't been able to quiet her thoughts and one important question: why had he kissed her?
Because she'd made him angry? Or because he wanted something from her? Because he certainly hadn’t kissed her because she mattered to him. How could she when they barely knew each other?
Was he just using her?
All her cousins' voices in her head had frightened her, as had the intensity of her emotions, and she'd pulled back.
She didn't want to be just another notch on Pieter's bedpost. Another one of the women he'd dated.
It would be better if they both went their separate ways today. She knew that.
But she couldn't forget hint of vulnerability he'd shown when he'd persuaded her to stay in his room last night. There had been something behind his eyes, something he wasn't saying that had prompted his actions. It confused her.
She ran through the shower and donned the pale jeans and shirt she'd wear for the horsemanship round midmorning. Tonight would be the fashion show, and she wasn't ready to think about that. To remember Pieter as he'd applied her makeup. Close enough to kiss.
When she emerged from the bathroom, Pieter still hadn't returned, but a local newspaper had been shoved beneath the hotel room door. She carried it to the bed and started reading, her ear half on the door to listen for Pieter's arrival.
The current event headlines were depressing, and she flipped to the local news section, where a picture of a beautiful blonde woman in a fancy ballgown graced the front page of the section.
Princess Alessandra of Glorvaird rumored to be in Austin for rodeo.
A real-life princess? Here in town? It seemed ludicrous. McKenna read through the article quickly. It talked about an assassination attempt from months ago, how the princess had met a real Texas cowboy and fallen in love.
There weren't any details about whether the princess would visit the rodeo, only speculation as to why she'd come to Austin and whether the rodeo was the draw.
But niggling questions darted through McKenna's head like minnows in a s
hallow pond. She didn't know where Glorvaird was—somewhere in Europe, possibly?—but Pieter had an accent. He'd claimed to be attending the rodeo to meet his cousin, but he hadn't said that the meeting was planned. His new clothes, the fancy rented truck. How his hands were more manicured than hers.
It was all circumstantial evidence, but… could Pieter be cousin to a princess?
Would that make him a prince?
It seemed crazy. Completely crazy.
She heard the electronic lock click as the door unlocked. Pieter pushed the door open slowly, peeking inside.
"Good, you're up." He came into the room and closed the door behind him. He wore a crisp black T-shirt, another pair of pressed, brand-new Wranglers, and those stupid dress boots.
Was he trying to fool someone? Pretending to be something he wasn't?
It was subtle, but he seemed different than he had yesterday. More closed off. Or maybe she was imagining things, trying to make him fit the image of a prince that was now burned into her brain.
She held up the paper for him to see the princess's photo.
"Is this your cousin? The one you're trying to meet?"
His face went white beneath his tan, which was confirmation—sort of.
She jumped to her feet, unable to remain still. "You're a… a prince? Why didn't you want me to know?"
Why was he trying to dress like a cowboy instead of the royalty he was? That behavior—it was suspicious, that's what it was.
He pushed one hand through his hair. "It's complicated."
She let her hands rest on her hips. "I'll bet. And the country girl wouldn't be able to understand it?"
He frowned. "Ha. Look, I didn't want to announce my arrival because I'm not sure she'll see me if she knows I'm here. We're not…close."
His expression might be closed off, but she sensed he wasn’t telling the full truth. "So you didn't tell me because…?"
"What does it matter? I didn't tell anyone. It was a lucky guess on your part."
She snorted. "Not likely, not the way you're trying to dress. And your accent gives you away."
He didn't seem to have a response for that. He twisted a ring on his little finger.
"What's so important about you meeting up with her anyway?"
Pieter turned away. He ran one finger over the edge of the dresser across the room, his shoulders tense and set.
There was a small wall-mounted mirror, and she could see the side of his face, the muscle jumping in his jaw again, and the angry set of his lips.
And she couldn't help remembering what she'd just read. Someone had tried to assassinate the princess.
And suddenly her heart was pounding.
"You're not going to…hurt her. Are you?"
She wasn't sure where she got the courage to say the words. Maybe all those arguments with her cousins, trying to prove she could be something they said she never could.
He didn't respond.
Was his silence confirmation?
After the way he'd insisted she not be alone last night, the things he'd done to help her get here to Austin and get through her first interview, she couldn't imagine him trying to physically harm another person.
Had she been that wrong about him this whole time? Had she accepted a ride from a criminal?
She took two sidesteps toward the door.
He caught sight of her in the mirror, whirled, his eyes a little wild. "Are you kidding me? You're scared of me now? Not of spending the night in the same room with me, but you think I'll what…try to kill you?"
He was angry. Sparks flew from his eyes, but he didn't make a move toward her. And if she wasn't mistaken, there was also a hint of pain there…
She crossed her arms, stuck out her chin, and stood her ground.
"Then what? Tell me what you came to Austin for. Because sneaking around the way you are doesn't exactly seem like the behavior of someone trying to reconcile a broken relationship."
Pieter blew out a frustrated breath.
It didn't help.
He'd judged McKenna all wrong. She might be young, and naive, and innocent.
But she wasn't stupid.
She'd figured out his identity from a newspaper article.
"I don't want to physically hurt her," he said finally. He felt slimy just admitting this aloud.
Admitting the truth aloud made his plan sound...petty.
"But if I find something that would make her life a little more miserable, I would use it."
It was the least the princess deserved for his pain.
But McKenna looked at him as if she wanted to recoil. As if he'd betrayed her somehow.
Which was crazy. He'd saved her from the side of the road yesterday, had provided her food and a safe place to stay. He'd helped her.
He didn't owe her anything.
And he didn't like how he felt when she looked at him like that.
It was a look he'd seen in the mirror, directed at his mother. But he wasn't his mother, and he never would be.
"That's not very...noble," she said finally. Quietly. Like she was resigned that he wasn't going to change his mind.
Why should he?
"I'm afraid my title is more of a formality than anything," he said. He couldn't contain the trace of bitterness in his voice. "My mother was forcibly removed from the kingdom before I was born. I've never met my cousins, never stepped foot in the royal palace. So if I don't act exactly like a prince, perhaps that's why."
Her eyes were shadowed as she looked at him. His words hadn't changed anything. He'd known they wouldn't.
And he couldn't forget the decision he'd come to in the night. It was better to part ways now.
"I'll drive you back to the fairgrounds," he said. "If you want a ride. Or I can call a taxi for you. I've been to the bank and made a withdrawal. I thought...I want you to have it."
He held out the wad of large bills he'd pulled out of the bank earlier. She stared at it as if it was something disgusting.
"I don't want or need your money," she said. "I appreciate all your help, but I can take care of myself."
He'd thought she might say something like that. He shrugged and stuffed the bills in his front pocket—for now. He'd sneak the money into her duffel when he got the chance. Then he’d probably not see her again all weekend.
It was for the best. They both knew it.
But the silence as he drove her back to the fairgrounds was fraught with condemnation, and a boulder that felt suspiciously like guilt settled deep in his gut.
7
At the rodeo grounds later that morning, Pieter didn't think he was doing a horrible job of blending in with the other cowboys, especially since he'd taken McKenna's advice and worn a plain T-shirt instead of the dressy shirt he’d bought.
He couldn't do anything about the boots now.
Rough-and-tumble men were everywhere, traipsing around the dusty outdoor pens near the rodeo arena. A sense of anticipation swelled in the air, or perhaps it was the pressure and humidity building for the coming storm front predicted to arrive later in the day. Whatever the cause, everyone was talkative, especially the bull riders.
Biking as a sport had its inherent risks—such as getting in a crash at nearly forty miles per hour with nothing but a jersey to protect you from the road—but these guys willingly went into the arena against thousand-pound animals that wanted to kill them.
They were crazy.
Of particular note was a handsome blond bloke who didn't seem to talk or brag all that much. Cody Austin. Pieter had heard it rumored that he and Gideon Hale, Alessandra's fiancé, were buddies from elementary school or some such. Pieter kept the man in his peripheral vision but hadn't spoken to him.
Instead, Pieter was talking to two other riders not too far from where Austin sat on the pen railing. That’s when he caught the perfect opportunity.
Alessandra's fiancé approached Austin. They exchanged a friendly handshake, and Hale asked whether Austin was still coming to his weddi
ng.
It was rumored that the fiancé was special ops, and Pieter could readily believe it the way the man scanned for danger all around him. He had a stance that said he could kill you easily—probably with his little finger.
Hale's eyes skimmed right over Pieter without taking notice. Lucky for him, the two cowboys he was talking to made him look like he belonged.
Pieter talked with the two men long enough for it not to be suspicious and then pretended to take a call on his cell. He edged closer to Austin and Hale.
With his phone to his ear and his arm partially blocking his face, he hoped they wouldn't be able to see that he was eavesdropping.
"…how well do you know Cindy? Rumor is you dated her."
Austin snorted. "You know how the rumor mill can be, especially on the circuit. We've crossed paths a few times, but that's all."
Hale didn't seem about to hear that. "I hoped you might have her number."
"Stepping out on your princess already?" Austin teased. Brave soul.
That was juicy, but Pieter didn't believe it for a second. Hale was after something else. The question was, what?
One of the bulls in the pen bellowed and butted the fence on the opposite side, snorting and blowing with strings of saliva running down from his mouth.
Hale and Austin were distracted, started talking about bulls and Austin’s draw.
Pieter knew he couldn't keep standing here for long without drawing suspicion, so he pretended to hang up the phone and acted as if he were texting instead. His chance to find out anything was dwindling, and he knew it.
And then he got incredibly lucky.
From his peripheral vision, Pieter saw Hale craning his neck to look all around. He spoke in a low voice. "Look, the truth is... Alessandra and I are trying to track down someone, and we think Cindy might be her."
Austin was quiet for a moment. "What, does she owe you money?"
Hale sized up his friend. "You seem awfully protective for someone who's only an acquaintance."
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