Everyone at the table, herself included, was dressed as if about to attend a cocktail party. Sitting at the head of the table, and to her left, Alex wore a charcoal-gray suit and blue tie that did wonders for his aqua eyes, making them seem impossibly bottomless. Next to Hannah sat Sophie. The princess kept herself poised and still between courses, her hands neatly folded on her lap. Her dress, of beautiful ivory silk, shimmered in the lights of the overhead chandeliers. Next to Sophie, Peter seemed very comfortable in suit and tie, and Hannah couldn’t help but remember the times he’d been sent from the table as a boy to wash his hands and put away his favorite baseball cap. She noticed the odd looks he flashed now and then across the table at Alex’s youngest, Rachel. Beside him, Catharine also seemed quite at ease, dividing her time between her son, Jamie, seated beside her, and Philip, directly across.
The first course of this informal family dinner, a delectable shrimp bisque, had been served by the staff.
No family-style big bowls on the table for this family
. Five servers, plus Justin, saw to it that all was done properly. Four servants stood at attention along the length of the table, two on either side. The fifth manned his post directly behind Alex, and served only the king. Standing mannequin-like near the foot of the table, Justin was responsible for serving the wine that accompanied each course. With the bisque, it had been a crisp Chablis. When Alex set his spoon aside and sat back, the troupe of servers moved into action, removing soup bowls and wine glasses and serving salad plates and fresh wine glasses.
There had been times in the past few years when, living alone, Hannah had simply heated a can of soup for dinner and spooned it right out of the small pot, over the sink.
Needing to redirect her thoughts, she turned to Sophie. “I’d love the opportunity to come and see the Children’s Home.”
The young princess’s face lit up. Nothing, Hannah had already learned, could bring a bigger smile to Sophie’s face than mention of the Royal Boisdemer Home for Children, where Sophie had been first a teacher and was now the administrator.
“I would be very glad to have you. The children so enjoy having visitors.”
“And how is Anna doing?” Philip asked his sister.
“Not as well as I would like. The psychologists and the doctors are running out of ideas. Nothing they have tried has raised more than the most basic response.” To Hannah she said, “Anna was in an automobile accident with her parents and her younger brother. Only she survived. Philip helped treat her broken bones, but none of us has been able to repair her broken spirit.”
“Sometimes, it just takes time,” Hannah responded. Dealing with loss could be difficult enough. But how much more difficult would it be for a child?
“Helene, how are the preparations for the Ambassadors’ Ball proceeding?”
Alex’s question brought a hush to the table. He looked at his children and began to laugh. “Ah, yes, you all forgot about
that
particular obligation.” Then he turned his attention to his daughter-in-law.
“Everything is proceeding very well, Papa. Robert has the menu in hand, all the invitations have been answered, the orchestra contracted. Next Saturday, the palace will be alive with the sounds of bonhomie and music.”
“Excellent. Of course, you all will be there. Hannah, Robert can be counted on to provide a magnificent presentation. I think you’ll enjoy yourself immensely.”
“Next Saturday?” Hannah asked.
“Yes. It’s one of the premier events in Boisdemer each year, or so I am told.”
Hannah’s heart pounded as all eyes focused on her. The women seemed shocked.
“
Your Majesty
, would this be a formal event?” Hannah asked. When Alex tilted his head to the side as if he didn’t understand, Hannah had to stifle the urge to laugh. King or no, men could be counted on to be a bit dense about some things.
“Yes, of course.”
“
Mon Dieu
!” Helene said. “Why did I not think of this?”
“Don’t panic.” This came from Sophie, who looked from her sister-in-law to Hannah and then across to her younger sister. “Rachel, perhaps—”
“There is no time. It is only a few days away.”
Alex still didn’t seem to be getting it. “Am I to presume that I have just committed some sort of faux pas?”
“One generally needs more than a few days’ notice before one attends a formal event, Your Majesty.”
Hannah’s tone came out pure lady of the manor. She couldn’t help but notice that everyone else studiously looked elsewhere.
“Granted. But I have great faith in the women in my family. They’ll take good care of you.”
The efficient staff whisked the salad plates away, replacing them with tiny saucers holding a quivering, pale pink, gelatinous blob in the shape of an upside-down cupcake. Small black beads and a sprig of something green decorated the top of each blob.
“What is that?”
Jamie’s question brought a chuckle from his uncle and brave attempts at keeping straight faces from everyone else.
“Don’t blame you for asking, pal,” Peter replied. “I wouldn’t put something in my mouth, either, unless I knew what it was.”
“Not now, perhaps,” Hannah agreed, “but I recall a time…”
“I remember.” Peter shot her a smile, then turned back to Jamie. “That, my fine young friend, is lobster mousse, garnished with caviar.”
“Doesn’t look like moose. What’s caviar?”
“Fish eggs.”
“Way cool!”
Since Jamie was brave enough to dig in, Hannah couldn’t see a way around it herself. The mousse had a delicate flavor. The caviar tasted salty and not to her liking.
“We will contact Rosemarie. She has the largest dress shop in Cardinia. We will have her come tomorrow, and Hannah can choose something suitable.” Helene’s solution sounded good, and Sophie and Rachel voiced their agreement. Catharine, Hannah knew, had no need of last-minute clothes since she’d been enduring fittings of various gowns for the last week.
Alex bent an approving eye on Helene and his daughters. “Excellent. See? Now, Helene, you must also see that Hannah has whatever she needs for the other obligations I have on my calendar in the next three weeks.”
“Alex?” Hannah knew she sounded confused.
“You’re my guest. It would be, I believe, unpardonably rude for me to leave you behind while I’m out and about. It is only right that you accompany me.” He smiled hugely as he looked around the table. “Now, where’s the main course?”
Hannah had the peculiar feeling she had just been it.
* * * *
That kiss had eaten away at Rachel all afternoon.
Dinner had been nearly impossible to get through. She’d been painfully conscious of Peter sitting across the table from her, trying to act like he hadn’t kissed her brains out that very afternoon.
All right, so she’d practically begged him to do it. But that had been no do-it-for-king-and-country kind of kiss he’d laid on her, either. His tongue had been down her throat, he’d pulled her so tight against him that her nipples had stood at attention. She had caught the telltale sign of his erection, despite the excellent cut of his suit.
And then the rat bastard had had the nerve to
apologize
?
Pacing back and forth in her room wasn’t solving anything. Usually, her temper spiked hot and fast, and then fled, leaving her drained and exhausted.
Today, it had begun as a block of ice that slowly melted, first to a liquid, then turning to pure hot steam.
Merde
! Bad enough when she could only imagine, could only wonder what it would be like to be pressed against that hard body, to taste the heat of him. Now she knew, and now what she craved had substance and shape and a name.
She’d been aware of him in that special way a woman is aware of a man the moment he came into her life. But she’d only been a child, a confused and lonely seventeen-year-old child too mature in some ways, and far too naïve in others. Of course, he’d been kind to her, but aloof. In the same way most everyone acted aloof to
Her Royal Highness
. And then, the years had passed and she’d believed that she was being a stupid little girl with a stupid little crush. She’d felt out of step with everything and everyone, and she’d taken a wrong turn.
Rachel snorted, shaking her head. Taken a wrong turn? No, she’d fucked up. Royally. For a small span of time, she’d felt as if she had friends, as if she meant something to someone. As if she’d mattered. But that, too, in the end, had proved to be a lie.
While she recovered, going through counseling and licking her wounds, she’d felt a greater distance spread between herself and Peter.
Until this afternoon, she’d been afraid that distance was too great to be bridged. Until he kissed her, really kissed her, and then he’d dared to apologize!
She’d never felt this angry before, this poised to strike. Pivoting on her heel, she let her fury carry her to her bedroom door, then beyond. How many times had she walked this path in her dreams? Down the end of the hall, turn right, nearly to the end, last door on the left. Using her fist, she pounded on Peter’s door. It never occurred to her he might have someone—not a lover, of course, but maybe her brother or his mother—in the room with him. She pounded again, all the anger and frustration that had built within her these last years giving her a power, and a nerve, she’d never known.
“What the hell!”
He flung the door wide, a menacing scowl on his face. Not giving him a moment to react, she jumped him, wrapping arms and legs around him and fused her mouth to his. For an instant, he didn’t move. A rough groan escaped his throat, her only warning. His control snapped. Then his arms clamped tight around her, his mouth opened, and his tongue melded with hers.
She felt hot and alive and desired. She nearly,
nearly
, melted. The engorged ridge of his penis nestled between her legs, pressing against denim and cotton. Instinct rolled her hips forward to caress it.
Where she found the strength to let him go, to unhook her legs from around his hips, slide down his body and push herself away, she didn’t know. But she did, and she smiled with soul-deep pleasure at seeing him totally off guard.
“I’m
not
going to apologize. And no one is warming my sheets for me, you idiot. I’ve been saving that privilege for you!”
“Son of a
bitch!
”
Because he wanted to go after her so badly, Peter slammed his bedroom door to shut out temptation. Scrubbing his face with his hands, frustrated, he headed for the bathroom—where he’d been going when hurricane Rachel had pounded on his door. Only now he’d have to have a cold shower instead of a hot one.
Hot. That word didn’t even come close to describing her. Hot, molten, electrifying. She was all of those and more.
No one is warming my sheets for me. I’ve been saving that privilege for you.
Well, hell.
Resisting Rachel when he’d believed she didn’t even see him as a man, when he thought he didn’t interest her had been hard enough. But now that he knew differently—now that he’d tasted her twice—his life had become monumentally complicated.
Without thought, he stripped off his clothes, turned on the shower, and stepped under it, barely flinching when the cold water hit his skin.
Oh, Rachel might say she wanted him, now. He had no doubt whatsoever that she did, and he’d bet she’d even convinced herself she’d fallen in love with him. But he wasn’t under any illusions. Her desire would wear off.
They’d be like a comet, burning fast and hot, then out.
A woman like Rachel deserved better than a junkyard dog like him. He’d been places and done things that would shock the princess down to her pretty pink royal toes. She’d been raised in a palace and had attended exclusive, private schools all her life. Her blood flowed blue as the Danube, and her pedigree could be traced back over
centuries
.
He’d told Michael no less than the truth. Rachel should marry an equally pedigreed prince. That was her destiny.
Icy pellets of water stabbed him, but the chill that slicked over his skin didn’t reach the heat of passion that fired his blood. How the hell was he supposed to be able to sleep?
He ought to return the favor of a late-night call.
And how easy
, he mused in frustration,
it would be to do exactly that
. About a couple hundred steps separated him from what he wanted most in all the world.
Resting his forehead against the tiled wall, Peter closed his eyes and cursed in every language he knew.
A few days ago, there’d been no question in his mind that the course he’d chosen for himself—staying away from Her Royal Highness—had been the right, the only, thing to do.
But his will to be noble seemed to be eroding faster than the soap bubbles spinning down the drain of his shower.
God help him, he didn’t know how much fight he had left.
* * * *
“Don’t move.”
“No?”
Alex smiled in response to the teasing tone of Hannah’s question. Reaching around in front of her, he deftly untied the sash that kept her robe closed. “No. I like you in this position.”
“In this position facing the bed?”
“Yes.” He pulled the robe from her and ran his hands over her breasts and belly. He would never tire of the feel of her under his hands, and he hoped he would never stop being aroused just being near her. “Facing the bed with your back to me. It occurs to me, my Hannah, that this bed is the right height.”
“The right height for what?”
He loved making her gasp like that, when he dipped his fingers into her wetness and teased her. He caressed her slit. She strained to push her hips backward, to bring his fingers into fuller contact with her sex.