"My mother would not be proud of me just now," she said.
"I assure you, I have no intention of telling her."
She laughed at herself. Only she would bring up her mother after a man had just, um, serviced her so thoroughly.
"Do they teach you boys that at Eton?"
"Yes -- a rigorous academic program, rugby, polo, the cricket, and cunnilingus. Do they teach you American girls to scream like that?"
"Did I really scream? I tried not to."
"Only a little. I've no idea what the neighbors thought, but I found it most gratifying."
He skimmed his fingertips up and down her arms. It occurred to her then that he must be nearly crazed with lust. She hadn't even managed to unfasten his pants. She thought she'd need that meal and perhaps a nap to recover from her orgasm, but looking at the bulge in his pants, she found that her desire for Edward had a voracious appetite all its own. He followed her gaze to his crotch, and he quirked an eyebrow. She unbuckled his belt.
"But they call it a stiff upper lip, right?" "And this isn't what they're referring to."
"No," he said, his usual control sounding satisfyingly shaky.
She undid the button. Slowly. Then she dragged down the zipper. One expected a prince to be well endowed, but Edward surpassed even her vivid imaginings. She rubbed and stroked, then slid her fingertips up the shaft. Edward sucked in air through his teeth. So maybe the acrylic nails had been worth the trouble after all. She pushed his pants and boxers to the floor. Wearing undergarments, he was clearly classier than she was.
He pulled her atop him. They were naked, stem to stern, and pressed full length against each other.
"Nothing has ever felt more right than this," he said.
"I think I can make it feel more right still."
She sat up and straddled him. He held a condom in his hand. She took it from him, opened it, and put it on him. She rose to her knees, then took him inside her.
He groaned beneath her. She rocked, taking him deeper inside each time. His hips thrust, a promise that any orgasm he delivered would be just as earth-shattering as the first. She took his hands and raised them over his head. He thrust harder. He took her breast in his mouth and teased the nipple with his tongue, that amazing tongue. She sat up, not wanting to climax again without him. Since she desperately wanted another orgasm, she changed her movements to take even more of him. He was deep inside her, and she felt it building so close, too close.
"Carrie, I can't. Not much more."
She knew the feeling.
"Yes, Edward. Don't stop."
They climaxed together like a storm of crashing waves on a steamy beach. If Edward screamed, she didn't hear it, but that was probably because of her own cries. She kept moving over him, riding the shuddering waves to the very end. Spent, she slumped atop him. They lay quietly until their heartbeats returned to normal levels and their breathing didn't sound like they'd just completed a wind sprint.
"I really did have a nice seduction planned," he said, "Flowers, champagne, the works."
She rolled off him.
"Good. I'm eager to be seduced."
His look of surprise turned into that delectable grin.
"I do like the way you American women think."
"Let's see if you Brits can keep up," she said over her shoulder as she took her dress into the adjoining bathroom.
The blasé attitude was a nice touch, she thought. It was also entirely fake. There was nothing whatsoever that was nonchalant about her feelings for Edward. At first, she'd attributed her infatuation to the fairy tale effect--he was an actual prince. The drop-dead gorgeous thing, that hadn't hurt either. But the more time she spent with him, the more she realized there was depth to her feelings. As she dressed -- with underwear this time -- she reminded herself about the ocean, both literal and figurative, that separated them.
She'd had a fling. That had been all she wanted. Mission accomplished. Mission thoroughly enjoyed. To expect anything more from Edward would be setting herself up for heartache. Oh well, she decided as she slipped into her sweater, she'd survived heartache before.
Edward held her hand as he led her up the secret passage to the rooftop. He was probably being overly cautious, but he didn't want the paparazzi ruining his time with Carrie.
"It's beautiful," she gasped when they finally reached the top.
It was exquisite. Somebody on his staff was going to be getting a very large bonus. The table, positioned in a puddle of moonlight, was laid with cut-crystal glasses that sparkled in the starlight. Stargazer lilies, bright and fragrant, reached toward the heavens.
"The bread is still warm," she said, taking a bite. "And delicious. How did you do all this?"
"I know people skilled at preparing meals fit for a queen."
She swallowed with a gulp.
"Um, thank you," she said looking around the roof top.
"They aren't here. I'll be sure to pass along your compliments, but I promise we are alone up here."
She relaxed at that, and only then did he realize just how anxious she'd appeared.
"Please don't be nervous around me.”--he took her hand in his--"I never want you to be nervous around me."
"It's a little intimidating," she confessed.
"The title is intimidating, and the trappings can be intimidating, but I'm not.
She squeezed his hand.
"No, you're not. So tell me what it's like to be a prince."
He poured them each a glass of champagne.
"I don't think I know how to answer that. I've never been anything else."
"I read once that some prince or other used to employ a person whose sole job was to put toothpaste on his toothbrush. Was that true?"
"It might have been, but I assure you, I perform all my ablutions without aid from anyone."
"What's so funny?" she asked when he couldn't suppress a laugh.
"I've been asked many things about being a member of the royal family, but no one has ever asked me if I apply my own toothpaste."
"That's me-- always getting to the heart of things. Do you always have to worry about the paparazzi?"
The paparazzi. He knew they'd have to get around to that. He took several sips of champagne while he weighed his words.
"You don't have to answer. I'm sorry if I'm being nosey."
"It isn't that. It's just that I don't want to tell you the truth, but I also don't want to lie to you."
"If you wanted to lie to me, what would you say?"
"I'd say that no, I don't worry about the paparazzi constantly. They hardly trouble me at all."
"Oh."
He refilled her glass.
"I think that I worry about them perhaps more than is warranted. Jamie doesn't worry about them at all, and Lizzy--Lizzy actively courts them."
"But you care more."
"About the family, no, but about the family's image--yes, I believe it's something like that. Jamie is heir to the throne, and there's a lot of responsibility there. For me, less is required of me," he shrugged, "so I took over the role of managing the family's public image."
"From what little I've seen, that can't be an easy job."
"As much as I adore having you think that I'm single-handedly taking on the villainous press and protecting my family with my life, I have to tell you that there's an entire staff of public image consultants, all of whom work more diligently at this than I do."
"I wish I'd have known that sooner," she said, "because what happened earlier-- that was totally a pity fuck."
Royals did not snort champagne out their noses. They certainly did not. But it was a very near thing. Edward blotted with his napkin just in case.
"I have had perhaps three conversations with you, and you've made me laugh more than any single person ever has."
"Even Jamie? He seems pretty funny."
"Please don't tell him so. He needs no further encouragement."
"It's kind of hard to think of him being king someday."
"Jamie will be the greatest monarch Great Britain has ever known."
At her look of surprise, he went on.
"Indeed, he may appear to be irresponsible--and I'm not suggesting he's ready for the position yet--but no one cares about Britain -- its history, its people, its culture -- the way Jamie does. At university, our father --"
"That would be the king."
"You're a bit stuck on that, aren't you, love? Yes, our father, the
king
, wanted Jamie to study international business and geopolitics, but Jamie chose history instead. Father nearly had apoplexy when Jamie postponed his entry into His Majesty's Naval Forces to assist on an archeological dig in the north of England."
"I'm with Jamie. International business?" She mimed a yawn.
"So that's me. Anything more you want to know you can find out on the Internet. Now tell me about Carrie MacCallum."
"I am not nearly as interesting as you, I promise."
"You're from the American South, that's all I know. Apart from the rather obvious fact that you have amazing legs."
"If you must know. I am from Kentucky."
"The one with the derby?"
"Yes, except we pronounce it correctly. It's
DER-by
."
"I believe one of my ancestors invented thoroughbred racing, but I'll indulge you.
Der
by then. Now, what else?"
"I own a knitting shop."
"Knitting, the bit with yarn and pointy sticks?"
"Monarchy, that's the bit with trumpets blaring and fancy headgear?"
He raised his glass in mock salute, "Touché."
"If you want to boil my livelihood, nay my passion, down to it's most basic components, then, yes, it's yarn and pointy sticks."
"I always wanted a girlfriend who could knit me a jumper. Can you knit me a jumper?"
"Hmmm."
"I don't warrant a jumper?"
"You're accustomed to designer fashions. I don't think a hand knit sweater would be up to your standards."
"I see, you aren't up to the job."
"I beg your pardon? I'll have you know I knit this sweater myself."
He reached across the table to rub the fabric between his fingers. And, yes, he copped a feel while he was at it.
"Very nice."
"Anyway, I own a knitting shop in Kentucky. That's about all there is to know. I work a lot."
"No ex-husband?"
"Nope."
"But there is an ex-fiancée. Clearly, he is an absolute imbecile. What is his name?"
"His name? Kevin."
"If I'm going to have the SIS dispose of him, I need a surname."
"Don't bother. He's not worth killing. He's a nice enough guy, just not for me."
"Why is that?"
She blushed again before answering.
"There was no sizzle."
"Ah, yes,” Edward said.
He reached across the table to stroke his thumb over her cheek.
He continued, "Lack of sizzle, that isn't a problem you and I have."
"Not at all."
"Speaking of sizzle, this rooftop is certainly quaint, but I could do with a bit more privacy right now."
He stood and pulled her to her feet. She ran her hands up his chest. She tiptoed to kiss him, and his world shrank to nothing beyond the feel of her.
"I like the way you think."
"Come along."
He couldn't get her back to her room fast enough. Someone called to him as he opened the rooftop door.
"Oi, Edward! Who's your girlfriend?"
He turned toward the speaker. A mistake--he knew better. The camera flash nearly blinded him. He ducked his head and put a hand over his eyes.
"Inside, hurry," he said to Carrie, "Go down the same way we came up."
Carrie paused. She must have been having trouble seeing too.
"Okay. I found it."
She pulled him along into the secret passage. They hadn't made it far when they heard footsteps trailing behind.
"Bloody hell, they're following."
He urged Carrie to move faster. They ran, down flights of stairs, past corridors, and through spots so narrow he had to turn sideways to pass through.
"Which way?" she said, tension in her voice.
"This way."
He could see again, though barely. He pulled her down what he hoped was the passage to her room. Their pursuers followed as well, but they were falling behind.
He dragged her down another corridor.
"Which room? I don't remember which room is mine."
Neither did he. A wall of doorways, light spilling from beneath each, stretched in both directions. They didn't have time to go back and count doors. The footsteps were getting closer. More than one person chased them. Maybe even more than two people.
"This one. I think."
"Are you sure?"
"Not at all, but if I'm wrong, I'll apologize profusely on behalf of the crown. It should be fine."
He found the finger holds and pushed open the door. What they saw inside was anything but fine and something that couldn't be remedied by a simple apology.
***
The light in the room contrasting with the nearly pitch black corridor had Carrie blinking and seeing spots. She hoped, God did she hope, that what she'd thought she'd seen had been some bizarre trick of the light. Please don't let that have been real!
"Carrie! What are you doing in my room?" Amanda demanded.
It had been real then, what she'd seen. It was like Amanda to claim to be the injured party no matter the circumstances. Carrie clung to Edward for support.
"That isn't, please tell me that--with her, it's not-" she stammered.
"I'm afraid so, love."
With a deep breath that had no chance of calming her, Carrie opened her eyes to look at first Amanda, then at Jamie--the pair of them being naked in bed together.
Jamie, at least, had the decency to look embarrassed. He gave her a shy smile. Even though she could wring his neck just now, she couldn't deny that the man was damn near adorable.
"Do not grin at me," she said, channeling Grandma MacCallum, complete with admonishing finger, "You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
"We didn't," Jamie stammered, "Not yet. I mean, we haven't, not what it looks like --"
Edward interrupted him, "Yes, he should be ashamed, but if history is any indication, he isn't. As much as I'd like to beat the stuffing out of you right now, dear brother, we have greater problems than your latest lapse in judgment."
"What?" Jamie, a pillow shielding his crown jewels from view, jumped out of bed.
"Carrie and I were followed here, most likely by Dinah and Daniel, but it sounds as though they've picked up friends."
Muttering curses under his breath, Jamie managed to keep himself covered while donning his trousers. Half-dressed, he lunged toward the passage entrance.
"Not that way, you imbecile. They followed us down the passage. You'll have to go out the door."
Amanda squeaked as she threw a white lace robe around herself, giving no regard to how much Edward saw of her nudity. Carrie had shopped with Amanda for her wedding lingerie, and that robe had been part of the ensemble. It wasn't very sisterly, and Carrie wasn't proud of it, but she couldn't help thinking that Amanda deserved to have her misdeeds exposed to the world. What kept Carrie from giving Amanda over to the mercies of the press was that Phillip didn't deserve it. Carrie couldn't spare Phillip the heartache that must surely come, but she could spare him the public humiliation. She went to the door and peeked out.
"It's clear. Go next door to my room, lock the door, and do not come out until we tell you it's safe."
Amanda and Jamie scurried out like the rats they were, leaving Carrie and Edward alone to face the fire.
"What now?" Carrie asked.
Edward looked miserable. He shoved a hand through his hair.
"They saw us on the roof together. They're pursuing a shot of me, something scandalous."
Carrie could hear footsteps and excited murmurings coming toward them from the passage.
"You're used to covering up for him like this, aren't you?"
He nodded, and he looked even more pitiful than Jamie had moments earlier.
"And if they catch you in bed alone, without getting a good look at the woman you're with, they'll just keep searching until they find me."
"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I never meant for this to happen. It's the last thing I wanted."
"And if they keep searching, they could discover that the real story in this bedroom was Jamie and the bride."
"They have a knack for discovering dirty little secrets, particularly when those secrets belong to members of my family."
"Then there's nothing else for it."
She had to do it. And really, what difference would it make to her? Hell, it would probably even be good for business back home. 'Learn to knit and get tangled up with a prince,' she could see the headline now.
"Okay, start stripping, Your Highness."
His eyebrows shot up as her dress hit the floor. She dove beneath what remained of the bed clothes. Edward took off his shirt and jumped in bed beside her. He propped himself on an elbow.
"Regardless of what this is, there is no pretense to the way I feel about you. I love you," he said before claiming her mouth in a kiss.
The spots dancing before her eyes had nothing to do with the flashbulbs that filled the room.