Courting His Royal Highness (2 page)

“Nice to meet you, James.”

He shook her outstretched hand. “Glad to me you, too, fairy queen.”

His touch was electric. Tentacles of heat webbed up her arm. “Mab, Queen of the Fairies.”

“Ah, yes, the fairy queen of Celtic legends. Shakespeare made her famous by referencing her in Romeo and Juliet. A tragic tale.”

“Yes,” she agreed. She loved Shakespeare, especially his love sonnets—she was a helpless romantic at heart. Her family and friends found great humor in the fact she still stubbornly believed in happy endings and true love. Didn’t every girl? The last few years had tested her beliefs, but she refused to get too pessimistic. And now she had no reason to be. Her fairy tale ending was right around the corner. Minus the guy. At least for the moment.

“I’m very happy to meet you, Mab.”

His fingers still touched hers, his skin warm and smooth. Shivers ran up and down her arm. She wondered what it would be like to feel his fingertips caress her breasts. Then she drew her hand away, startled by the erotic thought. Her wine arrived, and she quickly focused her attention on downing a few more drops of the cool liquid.

“Spectacular party.”

She agreed. The entire ballroom was decked out in Halloween decor. Purple tablecloths decorated the long tables, black lace draped the chairs, and glowing jack-o-lanterns grinned as toothless centerpieces. The food even had a Halloween theme. The menu listed Slime Salad, Pumpkin Soup, Dracula’s Pasta, and Frankenstein Cake. The band, dressed in gothic garb, currently entertained everyone with its version of Frank Sinatra’s
Black Magic
.

“Sampled the food yet?”

He shook his head. “You?”

“No.” Her stomach rumbled. She gave it a pat.

He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “I guess your stomach has something to say about that.”

She groaned. “You heard that?”

“Sure did.”

Chloe felt her cheeks flush.

The bartender pointed at her empty glass. “Another?”

“Yes, please.”

He filled her wineglass.

James Bond raised an eyebrow at her. “That’s your third glass.”

She shrugged as she took a sip. He made her nervous. She didn’t know what else to do but drink. “Got a problem with that?” she asked.

He held up a hand. “Not at all. I just don’t want Queen Mab to get ill.”

She giggled. Wine spewed from her mouth. She slapped a black and orange napkin against her lips. And hiccuped rather loudly.

He grinned. His grin was just as adorable as his smile, and Chloe felt the urge to kiss him. In fact, she wanted to do more than kiss him. She wanted to throw herself against him, strip away his James Bond tux, and make mad, passionate love to him.

Yikes! Perhaps she shouldn’t have had three glasses of alcohol on an empty stomach. Bad idea. Horrible idea. Idiotic idea. But it was too late to go back now. The damage was done. Chloe felt lightheaded—tipsiness had begun.

She needed to get away from him. She lost control when she drank wine. She seldom drank, but when she did, her body had zero tolerance. Zippo. Egad, what had she been thinking? How could she get drunk at her first big Hollywood party? She needed to get away from hottie James Bond before she did something she really regretted.

“It was nice meeting you,” she whispered.

“Hey, take it easy.” He steadied her with one hand as she wobbled on her feet. “Are you staying at the hotel? I could escort you back to your room.”

The room tilted. She lost her balance and fell against him. He smelled good. He smelled clean, of soap and shampoo and cologne she didn’t recognize. His chest was strong and broad, and she could feel his heart beating beneath her fingertips.

“Perhaps you need some air.”

She agreed. “And food. I haven’t eaten anything all day.”

He looked down into her upturned face with his wide blue eyes. “No wonder you’re teetering on your feet. Let me help you. We’ll go sit by the pool and have some food brought out.”

Chloe didn’t argue. She let him guide her through the crowded ballroom, clinging to his arm with her gaze on the floor. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this. It was mortifying. She only hoped some food would help balance the flood of fermented drink flowing through her starved body.

She gratefully gulped in the cool night air as they stepped out into the pool area. The chlorinated water beckoned. For a second, she seriously contemplated throwing off her clothes and diving in.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Chloe sat down on one of the poolside chairs. “You don’t really have to stay with me.”

“I insist.” He sat down beside her and draped one strong arm around her. “It would be ungentlemanly of me to leave a woman all by herself.”

She glanced around and was surprised to find they were alone. She was surpised no one else was enjoying the beautiful evening. She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Trying to save me?” she teased.

“I’m feeling in character.”

“Well, I don’t need saving, Mr. Bond.”

“So, you’re the independent type.”

Chloe raised her chin. “Yep.”

He tweaked the end of her nose. “Well, I’d like to try.”

Her heart stopped beating and dropped to her toes. The man was flirting with her. A James Bond lookalike with sky-blue eyes and a heavenly smile and gorgeous laugh and muscular body was actually flirting with
her
, Chloe Tanner, a Midwestern farm girl. Unbelievable. Her luck really had changed.

The food arrived, and she happily grabbed her plate. Her stomach growled so loudly that she thought she would die from embarrassment.

“Did you know Marilyn Monroe posed for an ad for suntan lotion on that diving board?”

The debonair British spy, complete with foreign accent, followed her line of sight. “I didn’t know that. Fascinating.”

“And did you also know her ghost haunts the mirror next to the elevators?” She loved Hollywood trivia. Her friends sometimes called her obsessed, due to the amount of celebrity and movie magazines she subscribed to. It was her little hobby, besides yoga and snorkeling.

His blue eyes met hers. “You are full of interesting trivia.”

“Do you know anything about your character?” She gestured to his attire before filling her mouth with a spoon overflowing with Dracula pasta. She could eat a boatload, but she didn’t want to scare him away. She noticed he wasn’t eating a thing.

“I do own the James Bond DVD collection; however, I admit I am not a film fanatic.”

She swallowed the pasta and piled another spoonful full. “Are you calling me crazy?”

“Most certainly not. I don’t have a whole lot of time to watch movies.”

She gaped at him. “Everyone loves movies.”

He shrugged. His hand rested along the side of her thigh. She could feel the burn of his skin through the thin fabric of her gown. She hoped he liked black lace underwear. Jeez, what was she thinking? She had known this guy a total of twenty minutes, and already she couldn’t wait to jump into bed with him. But who wouldn’t want to go to bed with James Bond? Every man wanted to be him. Every woman wanted to be with him—and not in the purely platonic way.

“In my line of work, I don’t have too much free time.”

She chewed the last of her pasta and took a generous gulp of water. “What do you do?”

He shook his head and placed two fingers against her lips. “Not now. Not yet.”

Boy, he was secretive. Exactly like James Bond. She began to wonder if this man really thought he was the guy with a license to kill.

Her lips tingled from his touch. She tried to concentrate on the food. It was delicious. Only the best for EVE’s famous Halloween Ball.

“Okay, so what’s your real name?”

“Just call me Max.”

“Okay, Max, nice to meet you.”

“And your name, my queen?”

She gazed into his blue eyes and melted. No way was she leaving the party without some lovin’ from this man. Her friends would kill her if she let him slip through her fingers. She could fulfill every woman’s fantasy—a daunting task. But someone had to do it.

“Chloe.”

His cheeks dimpled for her in the moonlight. “A classic name.”

She wrinkled her nose. “It was my grandmother’s. I never liked it.”

“I think it suits you. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

Her cheeks flamed. Heck, she felt as though her entire face blazed fire-engine red. He was a flatterer. Big time. And she rather liked it—it was nice to be complimented.

“Nice to meet you, Chloe.”

“And you, Max.”

They shook hands again. Her skin sizzled. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had affected her so. It was thrilling and just a tad bit scary.

Music drifted out through the open windows and doors, enveloping them in a dreamy melody. It was big band music. Just the type Chloe loved.

“Care to dance with me?”

Her eyes widened. “I’d love to, but I have to warn you I’m not a very good dancer.”

Max pulled her onto her feet. “Well, I happen to be a pro.”

She rolled her eyes. “Aren’t we cocky.”

“I only speak the truth.”

He lowered his face. She could feel his breath against her cheek, scented with alcohol and spices. Scrumptious. Her legs turned to spaghetti. She leaned against him heavily, very afraid her knees would give out. He cupped her hand in his, and she rested the other on his shoulder. His fingers lightly touched the small of her back as he guided her around the rectangular pool in a spine-tingling waltz, which made her dizzier than the three glasses of wine she had gulped down.

He definitely spoke the truth: he was a spectacular dancer. He belonged in a ballroom. He belonged in a tux. He possessed an arrogance and demeanor that suggested he lived an affluent lifestyle, James Bond or not. Maybe he was a super spy; right now, she didn’t care. She only wished to enjoy the moment. Being held in his arms, so close to his body, made her breathless. The fragrance of his cologne wrapped her in a romantic cocoon. For a moment, she became a glamorous movie star from Hollywood’s golden age, dancing with her handsome leading man underneath the moon and stars and the historic Roosevelt Hotel.

The song ended. He pulled her close beneath a palm tree. She wrapped her arms about his neck and tilted her head back so she could look up into his handsome face. Her hair cascaded over his arm, and the annoying fairy wings hit her head. Her heart thundered wildly in her breast; he was going to kiss her. She was sure of it. Her woman’s instinct told her so.

Max lowered his head over hers, and Chloe closed her eyes in response. His lips brushed against hers, lightly and tenderly. She sighed into his mouth, and the kiss deepened. Then he dragged her up against his tall frame until her hips grazed his groin. Feeling the hardness of his arousal, she gasped. As his tongue plunged into the moist cave of her mouth, Chloe responded hungrily and held him tightly. In her belly, the spark of desire he’d ignited flamed into a fire out of control.

“I want you,” he whispered into the sensitive tunnel of her ear.

She shivered and groaned. While his teeth nibbled on her earlobe, the tip of his tongue traced the curve of her ear. “We just met,” she whispered, curling her body closer alongside his, his erection hard against her middle.

Max’s hands entwined in the tresses of her long hair.

“I want you, Chloe. Come up to my room.”

She blinked up at him. Wanton lust made his blue eyes black as the night surrounding them. She saw her face reflected in his eyes. Her lips swollen, her face flushed, her brown eyes opened wide with pleasure. The desire in her eyes mirrored his.

“Yes,” she murmured huskily. She didn’t know what she was doing—and she didn’t care. She only knew she ached for the man holding her in his arms, the man whose kisses caused her heart to race and her blood to heat.

He kissed her again with urgent, demanding, possessive lips. She responded eagerly, meeting each kiss with equal fervor, entangling her fingers in his hair and arching her neck as he showered a hot trail of kisses up and down its slender length.

“Why not right here?” she murmured brazenly. “I don’t think I can wait until your room.”

He grinned at her. Straight, white, beautiful teeth flashed in the darkness.

“What a bold suggestion from a maiden fairy.”

She smiled languidly at his teasing. “Who said I was a maiden fairy?”

He chuckled. “I’m glad I came to this party.”

Chloe fluttered her eyelashes. “Because of me?”

Max’s hot, appreciative stare made Chloe flush. “Most definitely because of you.”

She grabbed his tie, glancing over his shoulder and surveying the surroundings. “We’re all alone. Make love to me, my super spy.”

He moaned and covered her lips with his again. She didn’t mind when he pushed her roughly against the uneven bark of the palm tree; the coarseness of the bark seemed to escalate her arousal. She felt reckless, completely and totally reckless, and she thrilled at her inhibition. No one would ever believe she would do something so outlandish, so erotic, and so totally passionate.

He suddenly pulled away.

“What?” she asked. She could hear disappointment in her voice. She didn’t want him to stop. She never wanted him to stop.

Concern mingled with desire in his blue eyes. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Really?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. She noticed for the first time how perfect they were, black and thick, but not Peter Gallagher thick.

Chloe slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “Really. I can drink a few glasses of wine and still be in control.” And she wasn’t drunk. Okay, so she might be a bit tipsy. But she knew what she wanted, as clear as a California day: she wanted him. She wanted him bad. The ache between her legs throbbed with a fiery intensity.

He gave her a wicked grin. “I want you out of control.”

She kissed him hard. “Make me out of control,” she challenged.

The passion in his eyes darkened. He held her close, held her tight, and she cried out, rubbing her body hungrily against his. When he sucked at her neck, the edges of his teeth grazing her sensitive skin, Chloe thought she would die from want. She clung to him, her knees weak, her body tingling.