by Leanne Banks
Daniel lifted one of the pastries and scrutinized it. "These remind me of you. Easy to see what you are on the outside, but I can't help wondering what's inside," he said, searching her eyes. At times, she reminded him of a lost little girl. Other times, he wanted to strip off her clothes and know her every way a man could know a woman.
She looked away as if she didn't want him to see too much. "I'm not that complicated," she murmured, then glanced back up at him. "Are you stalling with your guess?"
"Butterscotch swirl," he said and lifted the pastry to her lips. He didn't have time to be curious about this woman, but he was.
She opened her mouth and accepted the small bite of dessert. "How did you know it was butterscotch?"
"Insider information. Butterscotch is my father's favorite. The menu planners try to please him when they know he'll be attending."
"What is your favorite?"
"Variety," Daniel said as he caught sight of a press representative. "I see someone with a rose. Let's head for that alcove."
Daniel led her into a small, dim room and closed the doors behind them. The outer wall was lined with windows that allowed the city lights to shine into the room, and the orchestral music was piped in from a speaker in the ceiling.
Aside from the music, the only sound Erin could hear was her pounding heart. She was alone with Daniel Connelly. She'd been alone with him before, but the thick veil of formality had always provided her with protection and comfort. Tonight Daniel had insisted on dropping the formality, and he had treated her more like a date than an employee. More like a woman than a protocol teacher.
She'd watched the tenderness he'd extended to his mother and couldn't help but feel moved. She'd seen the combination of camaraderie and mutual respect he shared with his brother and felt acutely the lack of the family she'd always wanted, but never had.
She was supposed to discourage Daniel from taking the throne because he was wrong for Altaria, but the more she learned about Daniel, the more confused she became. Heaven help her, she felt his eyes on her and could hardly breathe.
She heard the first strains of a familiar waltz and an idea hit her. Desperate for a diversion from her thoughts, she grasped at it. "This is a waltz," she said. "I can teach you how. You'll need to know how once you move into the palace." Biting her lip, she lifted her arms into dance position.
"You're going to teach me?" he echoed, taking her hand and curling his other hand around her waist.
His closeness halted her breath all over again and second thoughts slammed through her. She cleared her throat and trained her eyes on his left shoulder. "Yes, the waltz is done in steps of three. One-two-three, one-two-three." After years of training, her feet moved automatically. Thank goodness. She continued counting and he slowly followed. Before she knew it, however, he was leading her.
Erin looked at him suspiciously. "I thought you said you didn't waltz."
"I said I'm not big on waltzing," he said. "Do you really think Emma Rosemere Connelly would allow her firstborn son to take a pass on social dance lessons even if he'd rather be playing football?"
An image played across her mind of Daniel at a younger age futilely protesting dance lessons. She smiled. "I suppose not. But you actually waltz quite well for someone who dislikes it."
The music slowed, and so did Daniel. The blatant male sexuality in his expression made her heart race. He lowered his forehead to hers and whispered, "Maybe I needed a different dance partner."
* * *
Chapter 4
« ^ »
"I know there's more work to be done during this transition, and I'm ready to get on with it," Daniel told his brother Brett three days later as he made another note on a new marketing proposal for Connelly Corporation.
"What do you mean?" Brett asked.
Unable to sit, Daniel stood as he struggled with a nagging impatience that was becoming all too familiar. He was tired of feeling split between two worlds. "I mean the facade is wearing thin. If I were doing this my way, then I would be in Altaria now. I'm still not getting the information I want from Erin's father, the foreign minister, as fast as I want it. It's almost as if everyone's throwing logs on the road in front of me to slow me down."
Brett threw him a cautious glance. "You know you're not going to be able to change everything in a day."
"I know," Daniel said. "But until I get all the information I want, I can't do anything. I'm letting you know because I'm cutting back on Connelly time. I'll tell my assistant sometime during the next week."
Brett nodded his head slowly. "You know your succession to the throne will hit the news right away."
Daniel took a deep breath. He knew his life would be turned upside down once the media found out he was accepting the throne. "It's going to be part of the job. Just like all this royal protocol Miss Perfect Erin is trying to teach me."
Daniel glanced up at that moment to catch Miss Perfect right behind his brother. He saw the look of hurt on her face and swallowed an oath. He shouldn't take his frustration out on her, but damn if the woman hadn't said Your Majesty and sir to him so many times since the ball he thought he could break a window.
"Let's finish this later," Daniel said to Brett.
Confusion crossed Brett's face. "But—"
"Hello, Erin," Daniel said meaningfully and watched realization cross his brother's face.
"Oh." Brett nodded. "Later. Keep me posted. Hi, Erin," he said as he strode out the door.
"Your Highness," she murmured to his back.
"Your Majesty," she then said to Daniel in a voice that dripped ice. "Begging your pardon. Perhaps you forgot that we were to meet for an hour just before lunch."
"I did forget," he admitted and closed the door behind her. "And I offended you. I'm sorry."
She waved her hand. "Oh, no, sir. It's my job to present the best possible example to you, and you are certainly more than entitled to your opinion. It's unfortunate that I've been unsuccessful in conveying to you the importance of tradition and royal protocol in your new role as King of Altaria."
Erin's clipped voice cut his conscience like knives. Why did he feel as if he'd just kicked a puppy? He rubbed his face. "You're right. I don't put the same priority on tradition as you do. But just because I don't buy everything you tell me doesn't give me the right to hurt your feelings."
Her eyes widened. "No, sir. You didn't hurt my feel—"
"I damn well did," he said, cutting her off. "And I don't like that I did it. We need a truce."
"A truce, sir?" she echoed doubtfully.
"We're not going to get anywhere if you stick to your guns and I stick to mine. I'll work on understanding why this royal protocol is so important if you'll work on figuring out how to bring part of my world to Altaria."
Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I'm not certain what you mean, sir."
Daniel tossed his pen on his desk in frustration. "I mean we're going to take turns. I'm going to try to look at things from your point of view and you're going to look at things from my point of view."
Erin frowned. "But how can we accomplish that, sir? I know very little of your life."
Daniel wondered if part of the reason it drove him nuts for Erin to call him sir was because it reminded him of their twelve-year age difference. "You're going to have to spend some extra time with me, and the first new rule is no more 'Your Majesty' or 'sir' unless we're specifically discussing royal protocol."
She lifted her chin. "Begging your pardon, sir, it is entirely correct for me to address you as Your Majesty."
"It may be correct, but it bugs the hell out of me."
"Begging your pardon again, sir, but you must know that everyone in Altaria will address you in this manner."
"Unless I request them to address me differently. Correct?"
Reluctance shimmered in her eyes. "Yes, sir."
"Drop the sir," he told her. "If you need to fill in the gap, say my name. Daniel."
"Yes-s-s—" She drew out the word as if
adding sir was compulsory. She glared at him. "Yes, Daniel."
"Thank you, Erin. Tomorrow's Saturday. I'll pick you up around 11:00 a.m. Wear jeans."
Erin blinked. "I don't have any jeans. The schools I attended didn't allow them and my father doesn't approve of them."
"Well, you've graduated from boarding school and Daddy's not here," Daniel said, struggling to keep the edge from his voice. He had more than one reason to be irritated with Erin's father. "You need casual clothes to blend in where we're going, and the closest to casual I've seen you wear was my sweat pants. Buy a couple of pairs of jeans and whatever else you need and put them on the Connelly account."
She gave a slow, reluctant nod of agreement. "When will we have our next royal protocol consultation?" she asked, determination in her voice.
"After our outing tomorrow," he said and figured they were even. Erin would probably dislike their field trip as much as he detested the protocol lessons.
* * *
The following morning Daniel pulled his sport utility vehicle up in front of Erin's hotel and opened his car door only to spot her striding through the revolving door to meet him. She wore jeans, a cuddly sweater and a casual overcoat, and her hair hung in a shiny curtain to her shoulders.
"Good morning, Daniel," she said, meeting his gaze so directly he felt as if he'd been broadsided.
"Good morning, Erin." His attention caught by her hair, he helped her into the car and got in. "You look good," he said as he pulled the car out into traffic.
She lifted an eyebrow in disbelief. "My father would probably disown me."
"Is your dad that uptight, or is he afraid he's going to have to beat the men off you?"
Erin did a double take. "Beat the men off me?" she said in disbelief.
"Yeah. If you wear your hair down like that all the time and bag the perfection syndrome, you'll have to fight them off."
Erin turned silent. "That problem hasn't presented itself so far. Besides, my father is well aware of the fact that I'm not perfect. You've said your family is competitive. You should understand the drive for perfection."
"My father always taught us there's a difference between striving for perfection and doing your best. Doing your best means you recognize you can make a contribution by pushing yourself to be the best you can be. Striving for perfection just makes you cranky."
Erin looked at Daniel and swallowed a sigh. She so wanted not to like him. Disliking Daniel would make her job so much easier. When he spouted something about perfection that went against everything her father had taught her, yet somehow resonated in her heart, she was at a loss to maintain her disapproval of him. "You're very fortunate to have grown up with such supportive parents."
"You've said that more than once. What's your mother like?"
Erin laced her fingers together. "She died when I was very young. My father's professional position was demanding, so I've spent most of my life in boarding schools."
Daniel was silent for a long moment. "That must have been tough."
Erin felt her heart tighten. She didn't want him to feel sorry for her. "I was actually quite fortunate. I've been given the best possible education."
Daniel nodded, but he didn't look convinced. He pulled into an alley behind an older building and stopped the car.
"Where are—"
He took her hands and looked into her eyes, causing her words to stall. "Just because you didn't get the same kind of support I got growing up doesn't mean you didn't deserve it."
Her heart squeezed tight again at his combination of strength and gentleness. It was almost as if he'd known the words she'd longed to hear. But he couldn't possibly, she told herself. He couldn't possibly.
"Yo! Daniel!" a man called outside the car, interrupting the moment that seemed to move her ever closer to Daniel. "Open the trunk."
Erin looked at Daniel in confusion. "The trunk. What are we doing?"
"We're at a soup kitchen that operates out of the basement of a church. I get donations from some of the local restaurants, pick up sandwiches on Saturday morning, and we feed some people who need a meal."
Astonished, Erin stared at the men unloading the back of Daniel's vehicle. "You do this every Saturday?"
"For the past four years," he said, exiting his side of the car and coming around to open her door. He offered his hand to assist her. "You look surprised."
Erin accepted his hand to make the big step to the ground. "I don't know what I expected, but I didn't expect this," she said, as their eyes met.
He skimmed his fingers down a strand of her hair. "I'm a hands-on kind of man."
Erin felt a dip in her stomach. Her father would be less than thrilled with that information. She pulled her hand from his. "How can I help?"
"You can watch. You don't have to do anything," he told her, striding past her to pick up a huge tray of sandwiches.
Erin hurried after him. "But I'd like to help," she said.
He met her gaze and assessed her. "Okay, but you need to understand you'll see all kinds of people in there today. College graduates, homeless families and a few alcoholics, but no royal titles."
Slightly affronted by his tone, she frowned. "I'm not a snob."
He lifted a dark eyebrow. "Could've fooled me."
"I may be a bit strict about the rules of protocol, but I'm not a snob," she insisted.
He nodded, although he didn't appear entirely convinced. "Okay. If you want to help, I'll introduce you to the soup kitchen leader. Joe!" he called as he walked through the open entrance into a large room filled with tables covered with white paper.
Erin followed Daniel and couldn't help noticing the way his jeans molded to his long legs and muscular backside. She blinked at her observation. Heaven help her. She was ogling His Majesty. Again. Her cheeks burned with a mixture of consternation and self-consciousness.
A tall man with a scrubby beard and friendly eyes approached them. He thumped Daniel on the back. "Good to see you."
"Same," Daniel said and cocked his head toward Erin as he set the huge sandwich tray down on a long serving table. "I brought a visitor with me this time. Joe Graham, meet Erin Lawrence. She wants you to put her to work."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Graham," Erin said.
Joe beamed. "My pleasure. Call me Joe. Love the accent and so will the masses. You don't have to serve. I just want you to talk for the next two hours."
Daniel groaned.
"Pardon?" Erin said, confused.
Daniel returned to her side. "Joe likes your accent. American men in general like your accent. It's sexy."
Astonished, Erin gasped and shook her head. She swallowed her amazement. "There is nothing sexy about my accent," she said, and lowered her voice. "There's nothing sexy about me," she said more to herself than to him. She should never forget that Daniel was light-years ahead of her in sexual experience.
Daniel's gaze was so intense he could have leveled a forest with it. "Who told you that?"
Erin got an odd jumpy feeling in her stomach. "Well, no one. But no one has told me differently either."
"Hm," he said, and the sound was short, but left her filled with a hundred questions.
She never got the answers, as she was put to work ladling soup into disposable bowls, while others set out plates with sandwiches and cups of hot coffee. Daniel had been correct about the wide range of people who came for food. In her conversations with them, she observed that they represented all demographics and all walks of life. She enjoyed chatting with the people and couldn't remember a time she'd felt so useful and appreciated.
Just as the line began to wind down, Joe let out a whoop of happiness. "TV camera crews are coming down the steps. Everybody give me a big smile and think donations."
In no time, Daniel appeared by her side. "We can't stay. I don't want to be recognized, and I don't want them going after you," he murmured into her ear. The door where they'd entered was blocked by a group of people waiting to sit down. Danie
l closed his hand around her arm. "Follow me," he said, guiding her down a short hallway with three doors. He tried the first two doors, but they were locked. He finally found one that opened.
"Bingo," he said and scowled when be looked inside. "It'll have to do. We shouldn't have to wait long."
"Wait where?" Erin asked, not liking the expression she saw on his face.
"In this closet."
* * *
Chapter 5
« ^ »
"Why on earth would we need to go into a closet?" Erin demanded.
"Hey, Daniel," a voice called from the main serving area. "Where's Daniel?"
"That's why," Daniel said, ushering her into the closet and closing the door. It was as black as pitch. More calls for Daniel echoed down the hall.
Erin felt Daniel's arm slide behind her waist and his hand gently covered her mouth. "Be quiet for the next few minutes," he whispered.
He touched her as if he'd known she might be uneasy in the dark with him, and she felt another stone fall from her defenses. She stood in silence and breathed in his scent and absorbed his strength. He stood close enough for her to feel his chest brush hers. She could barely hear the sound of footsteps above her pounding heart.
She felt safe and breathless at the same time.
"I think they're gone, but we probably need to wait a few minutes before they leave the building," he finally said in a low voice after a door down the hall closed. "You okay?"
She nodded. "Yes," she whispered, reluctant to break the odd spell.
"After I dragged you in here, it occurred to me that you might have a fear of enclosed spaces. But it was too late."
The sound of his voice was low and intimate, the same voice he might use in bed with a lover. The knowledge warmed her from the inside out. She took a careful half breath. "Even as a child, I always liked small places," she confessed. "Something about them made me feel safer."
She felt his fingers sift through her hair. "Sometimes when I look at you, I wonder what you were like as a little girl."
Her stomach twisted at his remark. Although her childhood hadn't been miserable, she'd always wanted to belong, to be needed. She felt a strange knot of emotion form in her throat.
