Falling for the Princess (5 page)

Her frown deepened. Clearly she thought he ought to
have enjoyed it and only she had the right to complain. “It's one of those tasks we'll have to endure.”

Her jaw worked for several seconds. “Then there need to be some parameters.”

“Such as?” He turned more fully toward her. “This ought to be good. Royal kissing rules.”

“Only in public.”

He nodded. “Fair enough.”

“And there should be a time limit.”

“Makes sense. Forty-five seconds? A minute?”

She turned to look at him. “Good gracious, no.”

His gaze dipped to her lips—the lips in question. Today they were a soft pink that matched the silk of her blouse. Silk that had shifted beneath his hands as he'd held her shoulders to kiss her. “Too short. You'd like more? I guess I can work with that.”

“This is no time for joking. I was thinking a maximum of five seconds.”

“Now who's joking?”

“I'm perfectly serious.”

She certainly looked it, her wide gray eyes intent. But she had to be having him on. “Who kisses for five seconds? I've seen my grandparents kiss for longer. Though,” he added, “it was an image that stayed with me for a disturbingly long time.”

She said nothing.

“Seriously. Who kisses for five seconds? Your first kiss behind the bike shed at school maybe.” But then again she'd probably been to an all-girls school that didn't have a bike shed. Just a limo parking area.

Her gaze went to the window and her fingers again began working at the strap of her handbag.

“Who was the last man you dated, Princess?” Now he was curious. It'd be easy enough to find out. Doubtless
there were entire gossip columns devoted to the subject. “Some namby-pamby royal hanger-on?”

“My dating history is nothing you need to know about. You're getting sidetracked. I'll go as high as ten seconds. No more.”

“I can have you begging for more.”

“You flatter yourself, Logan. Ten seconds will be all I can stomach and I'll be counting every one of those.”

“Is that a dare, Princess? A challenge? I've told you how seriously the men in my family take a challenge.”

“It was a statement of fact. I'm just warning you. Don't take it as anything else.”

“Ten seconds is scarcely enough time to get started.”

“You seem to be forgetting that we'll only be kissing to perpetuate a myth. It's not as though we'll really be kissing.”

“And when we're eating together are we only going to pretend to eat the food? Pretend to enjoy the food?” he asked.

“No. Of course we'll be eating and if it tastes good…”

“My point exactly.”

“But if we're not enjoying the meal we still have to look like we are,” she said, desperately trying to regain ground in this conversation. “And we won't prolong meals unnecessarily.”

He slid his arm along the backseat of the car, slipped his hand beneath the fall of her blond hair and ran his thumb along her jaw. She tensed beneath his touch, sat a little straighter. “I'm not sure whether you're just trying to fool me or whether you're fooling yourself, as well. I've been watching you.” Again he caressed her jaw with his thumb. He waited to see whether she'd move away from his touch. She didn't, but she was doing her best to ignore it. Maybe it was only him who was struggling. Her skin was so soft
it invited touch. “You're more tactile than I'd first thought. You like to touch things, textures and shapes. I saw you in that art gallery in New Zealand and in the gift shop afterward. You felt the silks, ran your fingertips over the pottery, you closed your eyes when you sniffed the soaps. And I'm guessing there's a far more sensual nature beneath the cool exterior than you let on.”

“You're wrong. I'm naturally cool and reserved and I like it that way.”

“I'd say you're naturally passionate and sensuous and you've trained yourself not to reveal it. You keep your thoughts and feelings hidden, but that doesn't mean you don't have them.”

He had to stop. He didn't want to be thinking about her as passionate, it was easier—necessary even—to safely categorize her as the cool, reserved woman she categorized herself. Haughty even, that was how he'd thought of her since he'd first met her. Remote. Unfeeling.

But there'd been nothing haughty about the way she'd clung to his hand in the caves, and
haughty
had been the furthest word from his mind when he'd seen her in that full-length wet suit, seen the sensuous curves that were usually hidden beneath tailored skirts and blouses like the one she wore now.

And there had been nothing remote or unfeeling about their kiss.

If he wasn't careful he'd find himself orchestrating public occasions at which to kiss her. And he'd take every one of his allotted seconds. And more. Though who'd be being taught a lesson, her or him, he wasn't entirely sure.

He withdrew his hand from the vulnerable curve of her neck, and dropped it to the seat. Strictly business, he had to remember that, focus on the ultimate goal, buying the subsidiary he needed. That was what mattered here.

The car eased to a stop beneath the hotel's portico.

As the doorman opened his door Logan saw a posse of photographers standing in waiting. “See you tomorrow,
ma chérie.
”

“Don't—”

He touched a finger to her lips, then replaced the finger with his mouth, felt her soft, made-for-kissing lips part with a yielding gasp of surprise. So much more mobile than when she was arguing with him.

He didn't have time to savor the taste or feel of her before he lifted his head. “Five seconds.” Or thereabouts. He'd lost count after one second but had definitely kept it short. “Short enough for you? I'll work on the getting-you-to-beg-for-more kisses later.”

He exited the car, waved to the photographers and strolled into the hotel.

T
he tower clock chimed the hour as Rebecca stepped into the blue room at the palace and stopped. Logan, his back to her, stood in front of the window that overlooked the manicured gardens.

She'd had time to gather her thoughts after their…encounters on the steps of the plane and in the car. And she knew he was toying with her. Yes, he was more experienced than she was, but she was no fool.

Slowly, he turned and they surveyed each other. He wore an expertly tailored tuxedo that highlighted a physique that needed no highlighting. The change, after the jeans and T-shirts of the past week, was an intriguing, almost breath-stealing contrast. If she were the sort to have her breath stolen.

As if in defiance of the refinement of the tux, his bow tie dangled untied around his neck and a five o'clock
shadow darkened his jaw. He didn't look like any man she'd ever dated.

Or any man she'd ever known.

A raw masculinity always lurked beneath the surface.

He dominated the room, seeming to dwarf the antique furnishings, making them look flimsy and overly ornate. But it was more than just his size—he had a presence, a sheer force of will that cloaked him. He would never blend in or fade into the background as some people did. She'd once walked in on Eduardo in this same room and taken far too long to realize he was even in it.

Yet she couldn't let Logan exercise that will on her or she'd find herself trampled. Most people kept their distance from her, and she relied on that fact. Logan seemed to want to push boundaries. It was in his nature. But now that he'd made her aware of that with his kisses, she was better prepared to deal with him. The kisses had caught her off guard. That was the only reason she'd found herself responding, almost…wanting. His arm, powerful yet gentle as he'd swept it around her shoulders, pulling her to him, against him, had made her feel—

“Princess.” Logan nodded.

Her thoughts snapped back to the present and the decision she'd made to maintain her distance from him, to show him she was in control of herself, at least. She'd quickly realized she'd never have a hope of exercising any control over Logan. “Are you always going to call me that?” She hated the formality of that label coming from him, carrying, as she knew it did, his unflattering sentiments on royalty.

“I thought you'd ruled out Sweet Thing and Punkin?”

She met the challenge in his dark gaze. “I was thinking
Rebecca
might do.”

“Or Becs or Becky?”

“Or just Rebecca,” she said, patiently refusing to react.

“No.”

“No?”

“It's not right. I'm not sure what is. I'll let you know when I figure it out.”

“How can you tell me my name's not right and that you'll let me know when you figure out what is? It's
my
name. Who are you to say otherwise?”

“My apologies.” He paused. “Princess. Forgive my presumption.” One side of his mouth quirked up in a grin. He was enjoying himself immensely, getting pleasure from riling her.

“I'll
let you know
when you're forgiven.” She couldn't help but respond to that grin. “In the meantime we ought to get going.”

Logan crossed to her and held out his arm.

“Your bow tie.” She gestured to the dark strip of fabric that dangled around his neck. “Do you want me to call someone to tie it for you?”

His eyes narrowed on her and he lifted his hands, buttoned the top button of his dress shirt and with practiced movements began tying the bow. “Is there a mirror in here?” he asked when he was all but done. “No.”

He finished the knot. “Is it even?”

“Almost. You just need to tug that side—” she pointed to left of the bow “—out a little.”

He adjusted it but unbalanced it the other way. He looked at her and she shook her head.

“Could you?” he asked. “It's tricky without a mirror.” She could see in his eyes that he expected her to refuse.

Rebecca hesitated then stepped closer. Apparently she was little better than his brothers at turning down an unspoken dare.

He'd helped her with her chin strap at the rafting, this was no different. Only then she hadn't been quite so aware of the breadth of his chest or his scent. He hadn't been wearing the cologne—citrusy and subtly spicy—that he wore now.

Nor, then, had he yet kissed her.

So she hadn't been thinking of his lips, the precise full shape of them. And she wouldn't now. She reached up, the back of her hands brushed the underside of his jaw and she felt the gentle abrasion of hours-old beard. She pulled her hands away and stepped back, ignoring his grin.

“Perfect,” she said, focusing her gaze on the black bow tie.

“Thank you. You're not too bad yourself.”

“I was referring to the bow tie.”

“And I was referring to you. You look…beautiful.”

Rebecca opened her mouth, suddenly lost for words at the sincerity in his voice and eyes.

She'd spent an inordinately long time deciding what to wear this evening. As a princess her dress was scrutinized at the best of times. But tonight she had to send the right message to the public and be careful not to send the wrong message to Logan. She didn't want him to think she'd dressed for him. After trying on innumerable outfits she'd gone back to her first choice—a simple ice-blue gown beaded with tiny crystals. It had a scooped neckline at the front and at the back it dipped rather more daringly. The slim-fitting skirt fell to the floor with a slit in the side—nothing too revealing—that allowed her to walk.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. Please don't let that be a blush she could feel heating her face.

He held out his arm. “Shall we?”

Rebecca hesitated then looped her arm through his, felt the fabric of his suit shift over the muscles of his forearm.
“You spoke to my father this morning?” she asked, as much to distract herself from his nearness as anything else.

“Yes. And he warned me, very diplomatically, that if I hurt you in any way I'll suffer the consequences of his enduring wrath.”

She nodded. “He has that talk with anyone who wants to date me.”

“It's very effective.”

“You're not…”

“No. It'd take more than that to scare me off.”

“You wouldn't be the first one.” Several relationships she'd had hopes and dreams for had faltered at that hurdle.

He glanced at her. “Then the ones who were scared off weren't worthy.”

“Thank you. But you do remember that for our plan to work I need to look heartbroken. Dad could turn people against you.”

“I remember. But our breakup will be mutual. You'll assure him of that. And I'll be just as heartbroken as you,” he said lightly. “Though of course I'll hide it better.”

 

She sat in the Ferrari's passenger seat. “I usually have a royal car take me to formal engagements like this one.”

“And I prefer to drive. I like the control.”

“Figures.”

His lips twitched.

What it meant for Rebecca was that rather than being the width of a broad seat away from him she was the width of a gear stick away. And dependent on him. On the plus side it meant that, with his hands occupied with the steering wheel and gearshift, he couldn't slide his hand behind her neck as he'd done yesterday in the car. Couldn't disconcert her that way.

He pulled to a stop in front of the royal theater house.
A valet opened her door and Rebecca got out. It was also harder to exit a low-slung Ferrari with the appropriate royal dignity than it was a limousine. But she managed.

Logan tossed his keys to the valet and approached, his gaze narrowed intently on her, seeming to focus on her lips, and a smile played about his eyes.

“Don't even think about it,” she whispered as he stopped in front of her.

“About what?”

“You were going to kiss me.”

Dark eyebrows lifted. “Actually, no, but if it's what you want.”

Had he not been intending to kiss her? Was that her imagination? “It's not what I want,” she insisted. “We've already kissed enough.”

“Was that in the Royal Kissing Rules, frequency as well as duration? I'm sure I don't remember.”

“You remember.”

He reached for her hand, and interlaced his fingers with hers. An intimate joining, his larger fingers stretching hers apart. “A curious question, Princess. So if I understand it—” they began walking the stairs to the grand, arched building “—in your world, lovers kiss for no more than five seconds and no more than once a day?”

“No, but…we're not lovers.”

“It's what we want people to think, isn't it?”

“No,” she said more abruptly than she'd intended, something like fear making her blurt the word out.

He stopped walking and turned to her. “No?”

“They can…wonder, they can perhaps guess or assume but…”

He leaned closer. “So they can wonder if when I get you home—” his words were low, barely more than a whisper “—I'll be peeling this beautiful dress off your exquisite
body, baring your pale skin to the moonlight and touching my hands, my lips—”

“Stop it.”

Behind a cordoned-off area flashes were popping wildly as they stood halfway up the stairs having a conversation in which she was completely out of her depth.

“What is it that frightens you,
ma chérie?
” As if sensing her desire to run, his hand tightened around hers. “No one is close enough to hear.”

Out of her depth and getting deeper. “Nothing frightens me,” she lied.

“Nothing? Oh, to be you.”

“Logan.” She tugged at his hand. “Now isn't the time or the place.”

“Perhaps not.”

Slowly he turned and Rebecca used the opportunity to disengage her hand. Which only meant that as they reached the top of the stairs and approached the door he could lift his hand to her back, rest warm, blunt fingers along her spine. The images that she'd conjured in her mind—Logan peeling off her dress, touching her skin with those large calloused hands—returned, sending a bolt of unwanted yearning through her.

The ballet was… Rebecca couldn't say what it was. She barely knew which ballet was being performed, and she couldn't say whether it was being performed well. It was the royal ballet company so one could make assumptions, but her lack of focus had been complete. Logan—his words, his actions, his proximity—prevented coherent thought. Though she'd refused to look at him through the first act of the ballet, all her thoughts were on him, the way he disconcerted her—deliberately—as he'd done tonight. The way he took what should have been ordinary conversation and twisted it. The way he made her think
thoughts she didn't want to think. The way just his fingers interlaced with hers made her think of other joinings and interlacings.

He had her—usually serene and in control—tied in knots, and she didn't know how to manage it, how to untangle herself, or her thoughts.

At a small sound beside her she turned. Logan sat low in his seat, his head tipped back and his eyes…closed! The sound had been a gentle snore. It had also caught her sister-in-law's attention. Lexie, sitting on Logan's other side, looked from Logan to Rebecca and then, suppressing a grin, returned her attention to the ballet. Lexie might think it funny but Adam, here with the Swedish ambassador's daughter, would not. He took his duties seriously. Some would say too seriously, the weight of his future responsibilities already weighing heavily. It had been a long time since she'd heard her brother's laughter and the last thing she wanted to do was call down his censure on her now.

Rebecca elbowed Logan in the arm. Slowly, he opened his eyes, then narrowed them on her. “What was that for?”

“What was it for? You were sleeping,” she hissed. She'd never hissed in her life.

“I wasn't sleeping. I was reliving one of those beautiful earlier moments in my head.”

“You were snoring.”

Even in the dim light of the theater she could see the amusement in his eyes as he feigned interest and asked, “So, this new lead dancer…what do you think of her?”

Rebecca turned back in her seat.

“Nice legs.”

“You're not supposed to be looking at her legs.”

“I meant yours.”

She looked down to see that with her twisting in her seat the side split in her dress had ridden up and parted,
revealing a glimpse of her thigh. Which was still vastly more than she wanted Logan looking at. She rearranged the dress so that it sat properly.

He leaned closer. “I'm still imagining taking it off you.”

Maybe she shouldn't have woken him.

At the intermission he took her hand and walked with her to the royal lounge. When he would have approached a cluster of people that included her brothers and Eduardo she steered him instead to a quiet corner of the room.

Still holding her hand, he turned to her. “You want to make out? Here? Do you think that's really appropriate?”

He took far too much pleasure in needling her. “It'd be more appropriate than me killing you. Here.” She tried to slide her hand from his but his grasp tightened.

“So you do want to make out?” His gaze dropped to her lips then flicked to the split in her dress before coming back to connect with hers. Deliberately provocative. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand.

“No. But I do want to kill you,” she said, smiling sweetly for the benefit on any watchers.

“Because?” His thumb probed gently between her fingers.

And Rebecca had to fight to keep her focus on what she was saying and not on what he was doing. “You fell asleep. And you made me hiss.”

“Bet I can make you sizzle, too.”

“Be serious.” She didn't want to contemplate that assertion for fear that he might be right. “We're talking about you falling asleep during the ballet.”