His Bride for the Taking (8 page)

“We are so pleased,” his father said, “to announce tonight that we have each given our permission for my son and Alexia Wyndham Jones to become engaged. And our blessing to the future joining of the Wyndham and Marconi families.”

The crowd erupted in a joyous roar. Beside Rafe, Lexie gasped and stiffened. Adam grasped her hand. The gesture looked affectionate, but Rafe suspected that his brother was also keeping her in her seat, because she looked ready to flee. Over the rousing applause, he couldn’t hear what Adam whispered to a suddenly pale Lexie. Flashlights burst in a prolonged bright explosion.

Just days ago on the plane Lexie had told him that
she and his brother were going to take things slowly and quietly. And he’d told her the palace would be working to keep things low-key. Clearly he’d forgotten to factor his father’s desire for a royal wedding into the equation.

Good old Dad. The family motto should be changed from Honor and Valor to Make It Happen—However You Can.

As the applause died away and his father finished speaking, Rafe leaned in to Lexie, his soon-to-be sister-in-law. “Congratulations.”

She turned, and for a second he saw a plea in her wide eyes. Then it was gone and she smiled, a polite, brittle smile. “Thank you.”

“Didn’t know this was coming?”

She kept that smile fixed in place. “I’ll admit it’s something of a surprise.” The smile wobbled a little. “I don’t… I’m not…”

She couldn’t look for support from him. “You must be thrilled. You’ve got your wish, your happily-ever-after.”

The smile firmed. “Yes. Yes, I have. But your father only said he’s given his permission. We’re not actually engaged.”

Yet. Clearly she didn’t have a complete grasp on how things worked in his father’s world. Adam may not have slipped a ring on her finger, but that part was now merely a formality. His gaze dropped to her temporarily unadorned fingers where they lay curled white-knuckled in her lap. “You should unclench your hands.”

Adam stood to speak and walked to the lectern to the sound of rapturous applause. “Did Adam know
about Dad’s permission being granted and announced tonight?” Rafe asked. Because Adam, if unchecked, could be a little like their father. Once he’d committed to a course of action he had a way of making people fall in with him. Rafe didn’t want to have to intervene.

“Apparently, your father raised it as a possibility yesterday. But he’d said he didn’t think it was a good idea. That we weren’t ready.”

“Dad being ready and the timing being right are the only things that matter.”

“Anyway, it’ll be easier now. Adam and I can legitimately spend more time together. I can accompany him publicly.” She’d tensed up again, her shoulders rigid, as she repeated what sounded like his brother’s words.

“I wish you all the best.”

“Thank you.” Her hands clenched back into fists.

“You do make a nice couple.”

“I know.”

“The photos of the two of you at the orchestra were very fetching.”

“Adam says that’s largely why your father announced it. The photos, the speculation.”

Unfortunately, that announcement now meant that Rafe couldn’t leave the country as he’d planned. His leaving might be misinterpreted, or worse, might be correctly interpreted. “Dad has the very best PR advisers guiding him,” he said. “Not to mention a will of steel. He’s also shrewd and wily. And he most definitely likes to stay a step ahead of the press. They have kind of a love-hate relationship. He’s misled them more than once, and though they resent it, they respect him for it, too.”

She smiled. “I like him. Your father.”

“By and large, so do I.”

She blinked her surprise.

“He also has some unlikable qualities, but we usually ignore those.” His father was grinning broadly at Lexie from his seat behind the lectern. “He likes you, too. He always has. But that doesn’t mean he won’t use you to suit his own purposes. In the nicest possible way.”

“To suit his purposes? What does it matter to him if Adam and I get engaged or not?”

Rafe felt a sudden, cold stillness within him. She didn’t know. No one had told her that Adam had more or less been instructed to marry her. And rather more than less. Rafe certainly wasn’t the one to break that news to her, at least not here and not now. That was a job for someone far more tactful than he. Someone who loved her and could convince her of that.

Lexie was silent for a few steps. “Anyway, I’m used to dealing with people who like to get their own way,” she glanced at her mother. “And I’m not quite the pushover I seem.”

“Good for you.”

The hunted look left her eyes to be replaced by the strength he’d seen in the States. “This won’t happen unless I’m certain it’s what I want.”

Good. That meant he didn’t have to worry about protecting anyone from anyone. Not Adam from Lexie or Lexie from Adam. Apparently, they both knew what they wanted and how to get it.

Two mornings later, Lexie slipped through the hushed corridors of the palace. This early in the morning there
was little activity, only the occasional servant walking quietly but purposefully. Other than a respectful nod, they paid her no attention, showed no reaction to her attire. The palace was old, its layout confusing, but despite a few wrong turns she made it to the basement level and the door to the private gymnasium. She needed to work off some of the confusion and uncertainty that plagued her. She’d told Rafe the engagement wouldn’t happen unless she was certain it was what she wanted. The trouble was, she still wasn’t certain. Adam was lovely, everything she knew him to be, and she really liked him, but…she had too many buts.

She also needed to shut out, for a time, awareness of the building public expectation. Already this morning’s papers were filled with photos of her and Adam. Some commentators were even discussing possible wedding dates.

A wave of rock music hit her as she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Only one other person was in here, long muscular legs striding powerfully on a treadmill. He glanced over his shoulder as she came in, and if he hadn’t seen her she would have backed quickly out. But Rafe, the man she wanted to stop thinking about, had already punched the buttons to slow his pace. She hadn’t seen him yesterday, and had been secretly glad of the reprieve. He wiped his face with a small towel, then lowered the volume on the music. “Morning.”

“Morning.” The word came out far too husky, on account of being the first word she’d spoken since getting up not long ago. She hung her sweatshirt from
a hook next to the much bigger sweatshirt already there and turned.

He smiled. A flash of white, perfect teeth. A gleam of knowledge and amusement in his eyes. “Running, rowing, weights or stairs? Though hardly anyone ever uses the stairs. There are enough of them throughout the palace.” He ran easily as he spoke, arms swinging at his sides. His gaze slid over her, took in her hair tied back into a high ponytail, dropped to her racer-back top, lowered to her Lycra shorts and her legs, which were bare except for her trainers.

Her insides tightened and heated. She cleared her throat. “Running.” That was what she’d sought out the gym for. She’d wanted to be alone with her thoughts, and running usually helped her clarify things. Already she knew that Rafe’s presence would make that all but impossible because he was at least half the reason her thoughts needed clarifying in the first place. Him and the reactions he stirred, sometimes irritation, sometimes companionship, but more often than not longing and desire. Those last two were not what she wanted to feel for him. She wanted to feel them for Adam. And yet when she’d had dinner with Adam last night, she’d felt…friendship and companionship. Important qualities—a good foundation. But she wanted more and didn’t know whether that was unreasonable, or just too soon.

Lexie crossed to the second treadmill, a few feet from Rafe, stood on its platform and considered the array of buttons and readouts in front of her that looked like they belonged on the Starship
Enterprise.

“Bridge to McCoy?” Rafe got off his treadmill.

She grinned. “Exactly what I was thinking.” And exactly the sort of thought—so in tune with hers—that added to her confusion.

He stepped onto the stationary edge of her treadmill. “What do you want? Tell me.”

Oh, boy, there was a loaded question, when this vision of masculinity stood so close, radiating heat, his tanned skin glistening with the sheen of sweat. He’d brought his water bottle over with him and tipped it to his mouth. Lexie watched the slide of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. “I like to start off slow.”

He flicked her a glance that tripped her train of thought. The glance returned, his gaze held hers, a laughing question in his dark eyes, but something else, too, something deep, something light years away from amusement.

No way could she now say,
and to build to harder and faster,
which in her naivety had been the rest of her intended sentence. She cleared her throat, hoped he wouldn’t notice the heat building in her face. “I thought I’d do about forty minutes, with a few hills.”

He reached past her, his chest close to her shoulder, pushed a few buttons and her treadmill began to move, slowly at first, its speed gradually increasing. Her walk morphed into a jog. And still Rafe stood there. Close. Managing to smell enticing, masculine. “You’re up early.”

“So are you.”

“Sleep well?” he asked.

“Yes,” she lied. She didn’t tell him of her dreams.

“It can take a while to adjust to the time difference,”
he said, apparently seeing through her lie if not the reason for it.

Rafe stepped away, then came back a few seconds later to deposit a bottle of chilled water in her bottle holder.

“Thanks.”

He returned to his treadmill, brought it back up to speed. “How was dinner last night?”

“Amazing.”

“Adam took you up the San Philippe tower?”

“Yes. The view over the city at night was incredible.” They’d had an entire level of the revolving restaurant to themselves. “And the food was divine.” The evening had been really…nice. Adam had been a little tired, and so had she. But she at least had managed to stay awake during the ride back to the palace.

Rafe pressed a button on his treadmill and ran faster. “So, the engagement’s going well? Adam’s living up to your expectations?”

“I like him. He’s really…nice.” There was that word again.

Rafe shot her a look. “Damned with faint praise.”

“It wasn’t faint praise. Just because no one’s ever called you nice.”

“Not the women I’ve dated, anyway.”

She wondered just what they did call him. Charming? Suave? Passionate? Electric? Till it ended, because from what Adam had told her yesterday and last night, Rafe’s relationships never lasted long. Things ended before they got to the stage of him bringing anyone home to “meet Dad.” “And do they call you the same sorts of
things after you’ve dumped them as they do when you’re dating?”

His bark of laughter sounded loud in the gym. “No, they don’t. But I’m not always the one doing the dumping.”

“No. I understand that sometimes you orchestrate it so that they dump you.” His theory apparently being that if he never stayed the night, and never brought a woman to his own bed, his intentions, or lack of them, were obvious. “Or they let go because they realize you really have no intention of settling down, but mostly they never wanted anything serious, either, because that’s the type of woman you look for.”

“My, you did do your research on the Marconi family.”

“And Adam and Rebecca have both talked to me about you. I think they worry about you.”

“I think they’re jealous of me.”

“That wasn’t the feeling I got.”

He ran a few more seconds before adding, “At least the women I like don’t call me
nice.
And I take that omission as a compliment.”

“I wouldn’t. Because when I said Adam was nice I meant it as a compliment. He’s considerate, and he has an understated humor that can be really funny, and we have lots in common.”

“I’m thrilled to hear it.” Rafe increased the volume of the music, upped his speed again, and without breaking his stride pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it onto the floor.

Now seemed like a good time to stop talking, stop glancing at him and focus solely on her running.

They ran in unison, Lexie finally finding her rhythm, channeling her energy into her stride. Droplets of sweat ran down her face, trickled between her breasts. She was sure it wasn’t princesslike, scarcely even ladylike. Her mother had a saying about horses sweating, men perspiring, and ladies only glowing. If that was the case, she was glowing fit to light up the whole gymnasium.

At about the same time they slowed their machines to a cool-down jog and then a walk before stopping. They stretched hamstrings and calves in silence. Crossing the floor, she followed Rafe’s example, dropping her towel into the wicker hamper.

“What about you, Rafe? You’ve never fallen in love? Never met anyone you want to settle down with?”

He laughed as he turned to lift their sweatshirts from the hooks by the door. His back and shoulders glistened. His skin would taste salty. Lexie quashed the errant thoughts about the taste of Rafe, about her lips on his skin. Thoughts that had no place in her head.

“That’s like asking if I’ve ever met anyone I want to climb Mount Everest with,” he said as he tossed her sweatshirt to her, “when I have no desire to climb Mount Everest in the first place.” Finally, he pulled his sweatshirt over his head, covering the too-distracting expanse of masculine skin and muscle.

“Everyone wants to find someone to share their life with.” Lexie pushed her arms into the sleeves of her sweatshirt, shrugged it onto her shoulders and turned her attention to the zip.

Rafe’s eyes tracked the movement of her zipper as she pulled it up. “Why do so many people assume that?” He turned away and held open the door. “I’ve met mountaineers who assume everyone, even if only secretly, wants to climb Mount Everest.”

She stopped in front of him, not prepared to let him so easily dismiss the conversation. “Imagine the sense of achievement and satisfaction.”