by Cindy Gerard
It was the most natural thing in the world for him to tip her face to his. He wiped her tears with his thumbs, cradled her face in his hands. And still she cried. Silent, heartbreaking tears that cost her the pride she so valued and that he knew only one way to silence.
He brushed his lips across hers, whispered her name, tasted the salt of her tears, the essence of what made her Anna, and threw caution and common sense to the wind. He silenced her soulful sobs with a kiss. Long, strong and innately tender. He cruised his mouth over hers, soothing, gentling, promising with his touch that he’d slay dragons, scale castle walls, anything to stop this endless flow of tears and events that kept happening to her.
She cried harder at first, as if she wanted what he offered but didn’t trust herself to take it. Then under his gentle onslaught, she began to settle. She began to trust—in the comfort that he offered, in the message his tenderness relayed. And she began to take what he so wanted to give.
She opened her eyes, and in their misty-green depths he saw the awakening of hunger. He saw the emergence of need. And he set about satisfying both.
He slanted his mouth over hers, protectively, possessively, taking charge, taking care. For a moment it was enough. For a moment he made it be enough—and then everything changed.
The brush of her hand on his cheek, once tentative and hesitant, became caressing and hot. The fit of her mouth beneath his, once trembling and needy, became wanton and lush. She didn’t just open for him. She invited him home.
Where he’d wanted to be for four long years.
Where, at this moment, he had no doubt in the world, he belonged.
And then he was just taking. He took what she offered. He feasted on what she gave.
It was sweet. It was fine. As sweet as fresh water to a man parched on salt and sand. As fine as the raw silk of her hair that he’d tangled in the hungry fist of his hand.
He settled her more firmly on his lap, pressed the delicate fullness of her hip to his groin, let her feel the thickening length of his arousal, cruised a hand toward her breast...
The jolting bleat of a horn ripped his mouth from hers. Swearing darkly, Greg looked frantically over his shoulder for the source while he tucked Anna’s face protectively against his chest.
“Take it somewhere else, buddy,” a balding man with a dirty T-shirt and a fat, stubby cigar bellowed from behind the wheel of the garbage truck. “I got a schedule to keep.”
When Greg could form a thought that didn’t involve kissing or killing, he realized he was blocking the truck in. With unsteady hands, he set Anna off his lap and told her to buckle up again. Once he’d done the same, he shifted into low and crept toward the opening of the alley.
After checking left and right and seeing no cars that looked threatening, he eased out of the alley and onto the street.
Then he silently damned himself for his loss of control.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “That shouldn’t have happened.”
When she smoothed the hair from her face, he noticed her hand was no steadier than his. Just like he noticed the bruised look about her swollen lips and the fact that she chose to deal with his apology by ignoring it. “Where will we go?”
He slogged out a deep breath, his attention bouncing back and forth between the road ahead, the street at their backs and what had happened in that alley. “I’m not sure yet.”
Another block passed by before he punched in a speed-dial number on a cell phone built into his console.
“Hunt residence,” a very proper, very professional gentleman answered
“Lawrence,” Greg replied crisply, still working on pulling himself back together. “I’m en route. What’s the climate out there?”
“Climate, sir?”
“Check the security cameras at the drive. Do you see any cars?”
“Just a moment, sir.”
Greg filtered through the unspoken questions he saw in Anna’s eyes. He ignored all but the one he thought he could deal with. “Lawrence takes care of my Pine Valley residence for me.”
“Sir,” Lawrence’s voice came back on the line.
“What’s the story?”
“An unusual number of vehicles seem to be parked outside the estate gates. More are pulling up as we speak. They appear to be television crews.”
Greg swore under his breath. Herkner and his minions must have found out about Greg and the Cattleman’s Club members’ involvement with Anna’s abduction from Obersbourg—and that he’d been providing protection for her from Ivan and lately from the press.
“Sir? Is there something I should do? Do you wish that I call the police?”
“No. Let ’em sit there and stew.”
“Yes, sir. Will you be home for dinner, sir?”
He let out a weary chuckle. “Not anytime soon, Lawrence. Not anytime soon.”
“Sir?”.
“I’ll fill you in later. In the meantime, guard the fort, Lawrence. Don’t let them in.”
“As you say, sir.”
He broke the connection, checked his rearview again.
“Now what?” she asked, her thick lashes still heavy with the tears she had shed.
Drawing a deep breath, he slowly let it out and came to a reluctant decision. Though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he headed south, out of town. “Now we hope they don’t find out about my ranch until after I’ve got you safely settled in.”
“Ranch? You have a ranch?”
Though he wasn’t pleased with his solution, he tried for a smile. “This is Texas, Anna. Of course I have a ranch.”
“How...how far is it?”
“Far enough that once we give those jackals the slip, they’ll play hell getting past my security.”
“William,” she said suddenly, her voice filled with an alarm that had been silently building. “I can’t leave William.”
Without a word, he punched in another speed-dial number.
Harriet answered on the third ring.
“Hey, Tank. How’s it going?”
Harriet Sherman’s chuckle rang out over the console speaker. “That was my line. I’ve had my police scanner on. Sounds like you’re cutting your own grand prix route through Royal. What’s going on?”
“I’ll fill you in later. Right now, I need you to get yourself and Anna’s little guy out of the apartment and out to the ranch. No fuss. No delays, okay?”
“Consider it done. We’ll see you there in an hour then.”
He’d known he could count on Harriet. She understood the need for discretion and speed—and was blessed with the good sense not to ask any questions.
“We’ll be waiting.”
He disconnected, cut a look Anna’s way. “Okay?”
She nodded. Let out a pent-up breath. “Okay.”
Only nothing was okay. And as he sped for the city limits and the wide-open spaces that led to his ranch, Casa Royale, Greg wondered if anything in his life or hers would ever be okay again.
Five
Sunlight glinted off the untidy tumble of Anna’s blond hair as she raced toward Harriet’s car, scooped the boy into her arms and held him close. Greg watched from the shadows of the foaling barn, a sober scowl on his face.
His sense of exclusion was acute and, in the absolute, unwarranted. Not only did he not fit into that picture, he was the one who had pulled into the drive, showed Anna into the ranchhouse, then beat a hasty retreat to the barn to get some distance from her. Like a coward. Like a man suffering from a straight, clean shot of raw emotion that burned like whiskey in his gut.
Yeah, he’d lost control in that alley, but it was the moment, he told himself in a bid to rally some pride as he headed toward Harriet’s car. It was just that seeing Anna attacked by that swarm had sent a surge of adrenaline bolting through his blood. He couldn’t let them mob her.
You could have kept your damn hands off her, though, he blasted himself as he covered the distance in long, slow strides. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t, a
nd a part of him that couldn’t squelch what they’d had together—what he’d thought they’d had together four long summers ago—still ached to finish what he’d started in that alley.
The sane, pragmatic, unemotional part of him, however, knew it would have come to no good end. He still had to deal with the residual damage, however—and not by hiding out in a dark horse barn in the clear blue light of day.
“Hey, Greg,” Harriet said by way of greeting when she spotted him walking toward her car.
Harriet was sixty-five years old and had lived every one of them. Greg had trusted her with his life—this petite woman in her loose fitting jeans and western shirt, her salt-and-pepper hair and hard-earned crow’s feet—just like he had trusted her with Anna and William’s lives.
He knew before he asked that he’d had no need to worry about the latest great escape from Royal. “Have any trouble getting out here?”
“Not a lick.”
“Were you followed?”
She grinned. “Only by a couple of your cronies. I believe it was Churchill and Cunningham. They must have put two and two together and figured you’d sent me this way with little Will, here.”
He looked toward the heavily gated drive that was carefully camouflaged by a strategically designed landscape of colorful, rugged boulders, squat mesquite trees, crape myrtle, yucca and yaupon. Only the mesquite were native to the area. The rest of the vegetation flourished only because of painstaking nurturing and constant care.
“They turned around a few miles back, when they were certain we’d made it without trouble.” Harriet opened the back door, reached for a suitcase.
Greg cocked a brow.
“Sorry, hon. I know you said no delays. I travel light, but not that light. I had to pack my makeup mirror. And the boy had to have his jammers. Right, Will?”
Prince William von Oberland grinned shyly around the arms that held him. “Cowboys,” he said, snuggling closer to his mother and sliding an uncertain look Greg’s way.
“Cowboys?” he asked, at a loss.
“His pajamas,” Harriet supplied, as Greg hefted the suitcase out of her hand and headed for the house. “They’re Dallas Cowboys pajamas,” she explained.
“Well, all right then.” Greg offered the boy an open grin and, in a spontaneous reaction to his shy smile and very compelling charm of his blue eyes, ruffled his dark hair. “Glad to see you hitched your wagon to a winner, there, Wild Bill.” Then he walked ahead of them to open the front door.
Silent throughout the exchange, Anna was gripped by the picture of Greg’s strong, tanned hand tousling William’s hair. Emotions too riotous to stall flooded her at his simple gesture of kindness. William knew so little of a man’s gentle touch. Knew less of affection from that quarter. The hero worship that spread across his face when Gregory had called him Wild Bill was both sweet and painful to witness, yet a bludgeoning reminder that he knew nothing of a father’s touch——until that very moment.
An ache that had started even before William was born intensified and weighed on her heart like lead.
“Telephone, Mr. Hunt.”
A slim woman with warm brown eyes and a lovely, dark complexion that proudly proclaimed her Mexican heritage met them just inside the foyer.
Gregory had briefly introduced Anna to Juanita Hernandez when he’d shown her into the house earlier. Juanita smiled a welcome to Harriet and gave William a friendly wink as she handed Gregory a portable phone.
“Hunt,” Greg said briskly into the receiver, and with a sweeping lift of his hand, he invited Anna and Harriet to make themselves comfortable in the great room while he took the call.
Juanita curled a finger for William to follow her. Her open smile and the delicious scents wafting from the kitchen were too compelling an enticement for William to deny. With a quick look at his mother, who gave a nod of consent, he bounced shyly off the sofa and walked toward Juanita. His ramrod-straight gait told Anna he was hesitant but determined.
“You like cookies?” Juanita invited softly as she tucked William along her side with a gently guiding hand. “My Tito likes cookies. I bet he will like you, too. Come. I’ll have him show you where I keep the cookie jar.”
“Juanita is Greg’s housekeeper,” Harriet explained, unnecessarily as the two left for the kitchen. “Her husband, Alexandro, trains Greg’s quarter racers. Tito’s their youngest boy. I think he’s five now. Sweet child. He’ll make a wonderful playmate for William while you’re here.”
While you’re here. Anna replayed the words in her mind, wondering just how long that would be, calculating how long she could afford to stay. They’d embarked on a grave journey four months ago. Nothing to date, however, had felt more dangerous than the kiss she and Gregory had shared in that back alley a little over an hour ago. Dangerous and exciting. And totally forbidden if she was going to get out of this with her sanity intact.
When they had arrived earlier and Greg had shown her inside, she’d been too shaken by all that had happened and too worried about William to take in her surroundings. Now that he was here and safe, now that she had a little distance from the impossible pull she still felt toward Gregory, she settled onto the sofa and took a long, sweeping look around her.
The house was pure, perfect Texas. Huge rooms, open archways, sunlit alcoves. Warm blues and brick reds. Soothing shades of sand. All the colors and textures combined to lend a glow of welcome, enhance the sense of space.
From the exterior adobe walls to the stucco, brick and pine of the great room, Gregory’s home looked like something that came from the earth, something that came from his own strength, an extension of his character. A towering fireplace crafted from pristine limestone dominated the great room, just as he dominated any room he was in. The same rough cedar that she’d noticed in the porch posts was repeated on the ceilings. Saltillo tile elegantly graced the gleaming foyer floor.
Heavy frontier-inspired furniture invited cushioned warmth and hospitality, while tanned cowhides and Navajo rugs accented everything from the walls to the longleaf pine floor. Every decorative touch rang true, ingraining the house with the essence of his Texas heritage, in the respect he felt for tradition. It was a home that was deeply and intrinsically attuned to the rich history of the land, land that Gregory told her when they’d passed the main entrance gate into Casa Royale had been in his family for more than a century.
She glanced toward the dining area that was open to the great room. A hand-hewn and intricately carved table and matching chairs spoke of both age and native craftsmanship and cried for a family to fill it with laughter and celebration.
Greg’s dark scowl as he disconnected from his call put thoughts of celebration or the future on hold—re- placed them with more pressing thoughts. The here and the now.
“Bad news?” Harriet reacted to Greg’s dark look while Anna’s insides coiled into tight knots.
“That was Blake. He did some checking on what prompted today’s little scene in the diner. It seems there was a leak m the Asterland embassy. News of the prince’s death got out a couple of days ago. The reporter—Herkner—the one who accosted you, Anna, works for the American Investigator—”
“The Investigator? That sleazy rag?” Harriet interrupted in disgust.
“That sleazy rag,” he confirmed, meeting Anna’s eyes, then looking quickly away. He headed for the bar in the corner of the room.
“Wasn’t it the Investigator that broke the story last month about a possible spotting of Prince Striksky in Royal?”
“Yeah, it was. While the Alpha team kept an eye on Striksky, I did a little creative leaning on the right people and got any follow-up stories squelched. It didn’t keep Herkner from asking questions, though. He eventually found out that Anna’s parents and Striksky had been in league to arrange a royal wedding. When he dug deeper, he found out about Anna’s disappearance, that it had been covered up. From there it was just a matter of ferreting out where Ivan died. When he did, Herkner headed for Royal, asked
more questions and stumbled onto Anna working in the diner.”
“And the rest, as they say, is history,” Harriet summed up tidily.
Greg opened the minifridge, found a long-neck bottle of beer and twisted off the lid. Anna expected him to tip it to his lips. Instead, he rounded the bar and extended the bottle to Harriet, who gratefully downed a healthy swallow.
When Anna declined his offer of something to drink, he returned to the bar for his own bottle of beer.
“If Herkner hadn’t been so damn pleased with himself and bragged to a friend who is also a freelance reporter, we could have contained things. Bought him off and at least bought a little more time. But his mouth was bigger than his brain. Once he let the word out, it raced across the wires like a brushfire.”
“And they all descended on the diner like locusts today,” Harriet concluded as Anna rose and walked silently to the window.
Outside was an artfully manicured lawn, beautifully littered with cactus, flower beds and miniature trees of everything from live oak to mulberry. All was within the confines of a walled fortress, whose sweeping view of the flat, desertlike prairie beyond the horse barn was out of her reach. She hugged her arms around herself. It was a beautiful prison. Nothing like the one she’d escaped in Obersbourg, but she was a prisoner here, just the same. A prisoner of the media’s making.
Harriet exchanged a concerned look with Greg.
“They can’t get to you here, Anna,” he said, misreading her silence for fear. “I protect my property. I protect my privacy.”
And I’ll protect you were the words left unspoken and unnecessary in light of all he had already done.
It closed in on her suddenly that with Ivan dead, the only thing left to protect her from was her life. Her life as a princess. She’d grown up with cameras thrust in her face. She’d grown up as the center of attention. Until she’d arrived in Texas and played the part of Annie Grace, she had never had a life she could call her own. She’d been public property. Loved. Revered. Adored. But expected, always, to be available to her subjects, the paparazzi, the world.
