Royal Seduction

by Donna Clayton

  “Dr. Jacobs.” She greeted the doctor with a bright smile as he entered the restaurant. “When I started my shift this evening, I saw your name in the reservation book. It’s good to see you again.”

  “Hi, Carrie. I wish you’d call me Riley. That doctor stuff sounds stuffy away from the clinic.” He tucked his keys into his trouser pocket. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

  “It’s just a summer job,” she told him. “I teach back in San Francisco. I’ll have to get myself back there very soon.”

  She heard the anxiety in her own voice. Apparently, Riley Jacobs heard it, too.

  “No sign of him yet?”

  “No,” she said. She spent time every day sitting in her car in the parking lot of Richard’s apartment complex watching for him. Something in Riley’s expression gave the impression she could truly trust him. “Y-you really are concerned.”

  Uncertainty churned in her, and she wasn’t sure if what she’d said came out sounding like a statement or a question.

  “Of course, I’m concerned. Everyone at the clinic is worried about Dr. Richie. We want to know he’s all right.”

  “The other day,” she started, “in your office you said you wanted Richard to help in the lab. With the testing of that oil. Did you really mean that? Or do you— Does the hospital intend to get him into some kind of trouble?”

  Riley truly looked confused. “Carrie, it’s not as if he’s broken any laws.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “False advertising? I don’t know. I’ve just been worried sick that my outburst caused more problems for him than anyone is saying.”

  “There was nothing false about the advertising he gave NoWait. People have lost weight. That’s what Richard said people could expect. And that’s what the oil provided.” Riley’s mouth twitched. “How could he know that NoWait also offers some other…unexpected results?”

  Carrie sighed. “You mean how it turns people into lusty Lucifers?” He didn’t respond and she really hadn’t expected him to. “You were serious about wanting Richard’s help, then?” she asked. It was so important to her to know for certain that Richard’s reputation wasn’t in jeopardy because of something she’d said or done. Yes, her ex-husband had invented the darned oil, but she’d knocked over the first explosive domino that day in his seminar.

  “We’re very serious,” he told her. “And we need him soon, Carrie. The testing is getting underway with or without him. Hospital administration is pushing hard. But I think it’s imperative that he be there from the get-go. I don’t know how much longer I can hold off the testing.”

  The agony she felt was reflected on her face, she was sure. “We’ve got two employees out sick, so I’ve been pulling double shifts here this week. I’ve had no time to really look for Richard, although I have stalked his apartment for a while each day. But even if I had the time, I don’t know where else to look.”

  Riley seemed to stare at her, unseeing. His brow creased with a thought. “When you knew Richard before,” he asked, “when the two of you were married, what kinds of things did he like to do? Where did he enjoy hanging out? When I’m upset, I always go to the Chinese Gardens here in town. Did Richard have a certain place he’d hole up when he was young? A place that might have helped him to think?”

  Her half-hearted laugh contained no humor. “Nearly twenty years have come and gone since we were married.”

  He nodded. “Think about it, though. You might come up with something. He’s got to be somewhere.”

  “That he does.” She sighed again. “I see you requested a table for two. Should I seat you now, or would you like to wait in the bar?”

  “I’ll wait at the table, thanks.”

  Carrie nodded, reaching for two menus. “Right this way, then.”

  Deep trouble. That was what Riley realized he was in the moment Catherine entered the dining room. And he was in it up to his waist. No, up to his neck.

  The interior of La Grenouille Dorée could easily be spotlighted in Architectural Digest, or some fancy interior design magazine. The cut-crystal chandeliers reflected the light in small splashes of prismatic color. The rich wood paneling covering the walls had an old-world beauty. The carpet underfoot was plush enough to sink into.

  It was one of Portland’s classiest spots. And Catherine fitted in as if she’d been born right, smack-dab in the middle of these lavish surroundings.

  First off, she walked in as if she owned the place. Her head was held high, her shoulders square. And the dress she wore knocked the damned breath out of him.

  She looked hot in red. The fabric looked almost slick, the sheen inviting a man to reach out and smooth his fingertips against it. However, there was nowhere that he could touch that would have been safe.

  The dress was an off-the-shoulder getup. A sheath, he thought the fashion industry would call it. The dress hugged her body in a way that actually had him feeling downright jealous.

  Her shoes were narrow wisps of leather strapping ultra-high heels to her dainty feet. The tips of her toes, her fingernails, even her evening purse were the same shade of cherry as the rest of her outfit. Riley saw quite a few heads turn when Catherine made her entrance.

  “You look lovely,” he said, standing and offering her a quick kiss on the cheek. He wanted to say more, do more, but he was keeping his libido and all the urges brimming from it under strict control.

  Catherine smiled. “Thank you, Riley.”

  She knew she looked good, and the poise she displayed, that confidence, was extremely alluring to him.

  Looking around him, though, at the opulent surroundings and at the almost too-beautiful woman sitting across from him, Riley quickly found his own confidence waning. A bout of insecurity set in, and as the evening progressed, the feeling refused to budge.

  The abundant choices on the menu made him nervous, but Catherine wasn’t daunted in the least.

  She suggested they begin their meal with an aperitif, and when he shot her a look of bewilderment, she explained that the Lillet listed on the menu was a light predinner drink made from a blend of wine, brandy, fruits and herbs and was thought to stimulate the appetite.

  Something had him suggesting that she go ahead and order their meals for them, and she didn’t hesitate accepting what she evidently took as an exciting challenge.

  A mild intimidation set in when Catherine rattled off the foreign names of the wines offered as if she’d personally visited each and every country of origin. Whether the wine was French, Italian, German—even Russian—she confidently pronounced the name to the wine steward. The two of them discussed vintage, producer, body, aroma.

  Riley had never thought of himself as a country bumpkin. Portland was a great city in which to be born and raised. In the past, when he’d heard people talk in what he would judge as esoteric jargon, Riley had silently snickered at their pomposity. However, he didn’t detect a single ounce of arrogance in Catherine throughout the process of choosing a pre-dinner drink, or appetizer, entrée, wine or anything else for that matter. She was simply intent on ordering the food and drink that would make their evening most pleasurable.

  Several times Riley resisted the urge to loosen his necktie and give himself some breathing room. He’d been much more comfortable carting a mustard-slathered hot dog around at the airport last weekend.

  It was clear, however, that tonight Catherine was in her element.

  Trouble was, she’d also been in her element while they were sharing grilled hot dogs and watching airplanes do spirals in the sky.

  This woman was a contradiction…and she was the most intriguing person he’d ever met.

  The waiter cleared their table of china and cutlery, slipping away in well-trained silence.

  Catherine’s contented sigh drew Riley’s attention.

  “How about a digestif?” she asked. “I’m too full for dessert, but a pousse-café would be very nice, don’t you think?” Before Riley could respond, the waiter appeared and Catherine made her request
.

  Riley frowned, not because he hadn’t a clue what she’d just suggested—which he hadn’t—and not because he was the least put out that she’d ordered for him, but because the question whispering across his brain became so damned vexing that he couldn’t keep himself from voicing it.

  “What is it you’re looking for, Catherine?”

  The pleasure that had relaxed her features just a moment before wilted and she suddenly looked pensive.

  “What do you mean?”

  “From me,” he said. “From your trip to Portland.”

  Up until now, he’d tried to respect her privacy. He’d taken her out to eat, shown her his city and, he hoped, provided her a good time. All without asking a lot of personal questions. Because that was what he thought she wanted. Because she’d led him to believe from the very first that she was hiding from something or someone and she didn’t want to be questioned. But, for some reason, tonight’s experience had simply put Riley over the top and he could remain silent no longer.

  When she didn’t respond, he continued, “I don’t mean any offense, Catherine. Honestly, I don’t. I told you at the air show that I’ve realized some things about you. About your…circumstances. I’ve tried not to ask a lot of questions. I thought that I understood that you’re trying to escape from something. And I’d thought that something might be a…well, a certain lifestyle. That you were looking for—I don’t know—something simpler. Something more down to earth. You said you wanted to be ‘ordinary.’” He felt he wasn’t explaining himself very well. “That you wanted to experience the life of a normal Joe.

  “But tonight…” Riley paused. He felt as if he were digging a hole for himself, that he was about to say something that just might hurt Catherine’s feelings, and he certainly didn’t want to do that. But this experience tonight had ripped him out of his own element—his own comfortable world—and had plunked him down in an overt lavishness that made him very uncomfortable.

  “Tonight, what?” she prompted him. “I’d like to know what’s on your mind. I want you to feel free to say whatever it is you want to say.”

  There was no turning back, he realized.

  “I feel as if you dragged me into your world,” he said plainly. There, it was out. “And I’m confused because this kind of—I don’t know—extravagance is what I thought you wanted to escape. But you’ve enjoyed yourself this evening. With aperitifs and bocconcini Fiorentina—” he knew he’d hacked up the pronunciation, but he plowed ahead “—and pousse-café—”

  As if right on cue, the waiter brought cups of dark-brewed coffee that were accompanied by tiny glasses of some thick, current-hued cordial.

  Troubled shadows crept into her beautiful blue eyes.

  Riley attempted to chuckle but didn’t quite succeed. “I mean, you have to admit that this is a far cry from hot dogs at Hillsboro Airport.”

  She sat up straight, leaned forward and reached out to touch the sleeve of his dinner jacket.

  “Riley, I never meant to make you feel—”

  “No, no,” he assured her, suddenly desperate for her not to put a name to the emotion raging through him. “I’ve had a good time tonight. I have. Just watching you has been quite an experience.” He paused long enough to swallow. “But, Catherine, it’s so obvious to me that you belong here. In this kind of setting, this kind of atmosphere. That you truly enjoy this kind of thing. That you’ve done it a thousand times before, and that you plan to do it a thousand times more. And that leads me to believe that I had it all wrong. That I had you all wrong. And if that’s so,” he said, shaking his head, “then it brings me back to my original question: What are you looking for? Why are you in Portland? Why are you with me?”

  The expression on her beautiful face was inscrutable.

  “I’m a regular Joe, Catherine,” he said. “Just as regular as they come. My parents were working-class people. For thirty years, my dad drove a forklift for a warehouse right here in Portland. And he worked a second job that was just as blue-collar. Mom was a part-time checkout clerk at a grocery store. She quit working when I was born, but then went back to her old job as soon as I started school.

  “I was damned lucky to get into college,” he pressed on. For more reasons than money, he thought. But she didn’t have to know that. “And I graduated up to my ears in debt. I haven’t really been anywhere. I haven’t experienced much. I’m not suave or sophisticated or the least bit worldly.” He stopped and leveled his gaze on her. “I guess I’m just a little confused about why an obvious debutante like you would want to hang out with a hot-dog-and-soda kind of guy like me.”

  The whole room seemed to go very still. Maybe the restaurant had been quiet all along and Riley simply hadn’t noticed it.

  The longer Catherine was silent and staring, the more his curiosity grew.

  She relaxed in her seat and consciously inhaled deeply. He got the impression that she was gathering up her courage to reveal all.

  However, before she could speak, Carrie Martin approached the table.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you,” she said, directing her apology at Catherine before turning her attention to Riley.

  Although this wasn’t the greatest moment, Riley introduced the two women, and Catherine told Carrie, “I’ve seen you at the clinic.”

  Carrie nodded. “I try to drop by every day.” She once again directed her gaze at Riley. She wrung her hands, her agitation evident as she told Riley, “I came to thank you for what you said when you arrived.”

  Taken aback, he went over their conversation in his head, trying to remember what he’d said to her.

  “I told you I didn’t know where to look for Richard,” she reminded him. “And you told me to think about when I knew him before.” Her eyes danced. “I hadn’t thought to do that before. And now I know where to look for him. Or I think I do, anyway.”

  “That’s great. Really.”

  More hand-wringing. “I wanted to let you know that I’ll tell him to come see you.”

  “That would be wonderful,” he told her. “And I want you to know it’s going to be all right for him. Everyone at the clinic is interested in his work. You can tell him I said so.”

  “I will, Riley.” She backed away. “Thank you again.”

  He smiled, and she turned away.

  Looking across the table at Catherine, Riley said, “Carrie is Richard Strong’s ex-wife. He was a mainstay of the clinic before your arrival. He was better known as Dr. Richie.”

  “I read about him in the newspaper.”

  “He left the Healthy Living Clinic suddenly and hasn’t been in touch with anyone since. Carrie hopes to find him.” He glanced in the direction Carrie had gone. “I hope she does. We could use his help at the clinic.”

  He lifted his gaze back to Catherine. Softly he said, “I’m sorry for the interruption. We should drink our coffee before it gets cold.”

  He reached for the cream pitcher, but Catherine stopped him by taking his hand.

  “I need to tell you something, Riley.”

  Something in her tone made him lace his fingers with hers. She seemed to need some support.

  “You’re right,” she hesitantly began. “There are certain…aspects of my life that I’m trying to escape. But I— I—” She stammered to a stop, seemingly unsure of exactly how to phrase her thoughts.

  “Please try to understand,” she tried again, “that I do have what I think are very good reasons for remaining secretive about what I’m going through.”

  He nodded. So she wasn’t going to tell him what he wanted to know. He didn’t like secrets, but he knew the importance of them. He had a few of his own. He could see the relief sweeping through her, easing her tense facial muscles.

  “As for why I want to be with you…”

  Her head dipped timidly, and Riley felt something in his gut tighten.

  “I like you, Riley. I enjoy being with you. And I think you enjoy being with me. Can’t that be enough?”

&n
bsp; With her free hand, she picked up the crystal cordial glass, lifting it several inches.

  “To friends.”

  Riley studied her face—each feature classic and lovely. The Catherine he’d come to know was a strong woman. But there was a fragility there, as well. A vulnerability that stirred in him a compulsion to protect. Even if that meant protecting her from his own curiosity.

  He might not know what she was running from. But at this moment in time, she certainly wasn’t asking too much of him, was she?

  The crystal was cool against his fingertips as he raised his glass and touched the rim to hers.

  “To friends.”

  Seven

  “Mom, are you sure this is what you want to do?”

  Carrie Martin listened to the sound of her son’s voice as it crackled over the cell phone. Since the death of his stepfather, Jason had become overly protective of her, and it warmed Carrie’s heart to hear the concern in his tone.

  He continued, “I don’t like the idea of you driving around Portland at all hours of the night.”

  “Honey, you know I work late at the restaurant,” she said. “I’m out driving nearly every night, anyway.”

  “Yes,” Jason balked, “but around pool halls? They’re not much different from bars, really. And if you’re going to search out all the places with pool tables, you’ll have to go into quite a few bars. People drinking and smoking. Loud music and fights breaking out.”

  Her “mother’s antenna” perked right up. “And just how do you know that?” she asked pointedly. “You’re only nineteen, Jason. You haven’t been going out to bars with your friends, have you?”

  He gave a long-suffering sigh. “You know me better than that.”

  And she did. Carrie smiled as she cradled the telephone next to her ear. Her son was a good kid.

  “You really think you’ll find him playing pool somewhere?” he asked.