His Royal Pleasure (2 page)

“You haven't mentioned this to Father.”

“No, but I would have if you hadn't called in another hour. Jake asked where you were, then he rudely ordered me to keep my mouth shut. Your friend is—”

“—Jake's an American, and he was right to ask you to keep quiet.”

“He didn't ask,” she stiffly informed him.

Alex shook his head. This would have been easier if he could have talked to his longtime assistant, Max, but Max was in Tibet. “That's beside the point. I'm on Pirate Island, North Carolina. I had some—” he paused only a second “—transportation difficulties. It's a remote area. No media. They don't even know who I am.”

“Sounds enthralling. When are you going to Jake's?”

“I don't know.” He looked around the simply furnished room and finally repeated his impulse out loud. “I was thinking of staying.”

Complete silence followed his statement, which was rare for Isabella. “You're joking,” she finally said. “You wouldn't last a week without your adoring servants.”

That nettled him. “I've handled tougher conditions than this.”

“But everybody always knew you were Prince Alexander Ferdinand Merrick de Moreno.”

True. That was what he loved and hated about Isabella—she always told the truth.

“Alex, face it. You're a prince. When you take the throne, you'll be a king. You're good at being a ruler. It's your identity.”

Familiar dissatisfaction rolled through him. He loved his country and took seriously his role as leader, but even leaders needed an occasional break. That was the purpose behind this monthlong vacation. A dozen practical objections to his staying on Pirate Island came to mind.

The once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be just a man, though, won out. In that instant he made his decision. “Call Jake and give my regrets. He'll understand. Have the rental car picked up in Charles City. I'll see you in a month.”

“I don't believe this. You'll never last.”

Alex knew Isabella couldn't resist a bet. “Shall we wager?”

“What?”

“If I don't last a month, I'll persuade Father to let you go to Monte Carlo with your wild friend Lucinda.”

“She's not that wild,” Isabella corrected.

“If I stay, you make the same kind of trip—sans title.” While Alex wore his title like a cloak, Isabella used hers as a shield to get out of sticky situations.

“Deal.”

“Not a word to Mother or Father.”

“My lips are sealed. I'll be too busy thinking about Monte Carlo.”

Alex smiled. “Just remember my nickname, dearest.”

“Prince of Steel? Ah, but even steel melts, Your High and Mightiness.” She paused, and her voice softened. “Take care.
Au revoir,
Alex.”

“Make that Al. Al Sanders.”

“Au revoir.”
She hesitated. “Al.”

Twenty minutes later his new identity was firmly in place. From the tight fit of the borrowed jeans and T-shirt brought to him, Alex concluded the mechanic weighed about twenty pounds less than he did. He learned that Chad and Katherine's uncle Jasper owned the campground but had recently experienced a heart attack. Katherine was nearly overwhelmed with the responsibility of the busy tourist season.

He also learned despite Chad's stuttering and stammering that Katherine expected Alex to vacate the premises as soon as possible.

Alex, however, had other ideas. He wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to be a nonprince.

After all, it might never come again. He needed to be just a man. Katherine needed help. The solution seemed simple to him. And in the back of his mind, he wanted to learn more about the tough and tender lady with the rose-petal mouth.

Alex picked up a map of the resort complex and set out to make himself indispensable.

 

At nine o'clock that evening Katherine glanced up to find Al Sanders propped against the door of her uncle's office. He should have been gone hours ago. Instead, he'd entertained some difficult customers by taking them sailing. The disgruntled couple had been charmed, the woman nearly melting into the cracks of the pavement.

Katherine couldn't blame her. When Al looked into a woman's eyes as though she were the only female in the world, he dissolved defenses more effectively than the Patriot missile. And those breathtakingly tight jeans could surely earn him a spot in the buns-of-steel calendar. Add in his hundred-dollar smile and masterful air, and Katherine was surprised women hadn't started throwing their lingerie at him.

She was pretty sure Al Sanders was a con artist down on his luck, and she wanted him gone before he caused any trouble. The fact that he unsettled her and she couldn't put her finger on why only added fuel to the fire.

It would have been much easier to kick his incredible derriere off the island if he hadn't sold helium balloons and skipped dinner to sell cotton candy, she realized.

Remembering his injured head, she felt guilty. She motioned for him to sit and offered him some packaged bologna sandwiches and a soda. Maybe if she fed him, she wouldn't feel so bad about sending him off.

“How's your head?”

“Fine.”

But he looked a little green. She set some aspirin in front of him.

“Thank you.”

Katherine took a deep breath and sat in her uncle's worn captain's chair behind the old walnut desk. Her least favorite thing in the world was firing people. And although technically, she'd never hired Al, the process was still the same. Her palms were sweating.

She thought of how her uncle would handle this situation, pretended she was six feet tall instead of five foot three, and tried to forget that she was much more comfortable teaching first graders than managing this camping resort.

“Al, I appreciate how you've pitched in today. And I'll be glad to pay you for your services,” she began, and twined her fingers together.

“That's unnecessary. I wanted to thank you for your kindness last night.” Al glanced down at the sandwich. “This meat is unusual. It's very good.”

Katherine blinked. “It's bologna.”

He looked thoughtful. “I'll have to remember that.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You have an accent. Are you from England?”

“I've spent some time there.”

“Do you have a green card?” she asked, hoping for an easy out.

He stiffened. “I don't need a green card.”

His manner was so cold and affronted, she had to resist the urge to apologize. Such pride, she thought. It was surpassed only by his confidence. She'd always resented tall, confident people.

Katherine tried the direct approach. “The next ferry leaves at ten o'clock. We're booked for the night, but there are some nice hotels on the mainland.”

“You have a room available in your cabin. Chad tells me you're short-staffed and this is the busy season. I'd like to work for room and board until the end of the month.”

Katherine mentally cursed her half brother and picked up a pencil. “Al, you arrived here last night, drunk and passed out. I don't really see how I can hire you on that basis.”

“I arrived here passed out because I happened into a bottle of whiskey aimed for your brother's head. I was not drunk.”

He stood and dropped the paper napkin into the trash. Then he looked directly at her. “Have you been unhappy with my performance today?”

Katherine leaned back in her chair. “Well, no.”

“Are you short-staffed?”

She resisted the urge to squirm. “Yes.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Take me on a trial basis.”

Her chest squeezed tight. What woman wouldn't take him? He was the kind of man women made fools of themselves over. If she had erotic dreams, he would be the kind of lover she'd dream of. His hands would be slow and sure, his mouth both giving and ruthless, his voice low and urgent. She shivered.

“Trial basis,” she repeated weakly.

“Yes.” He glanced away from her, suddenly appearing tired. “I'm rather…”

“…down on your luck at the moment,” she supplied for him.

His dark eyes held wry, weary amusement. “So, you're not only beautiful, you're also perceptive.” He bent over the desk and took her fidgeting hand. “What have you got to lose?”

Katherine's cheeks heated at the feeling of her hand enveloped within his larger one.
Beautiful?
Lord, he's good, she thought. She pulled her hand away and cleared her throat.

She couldn't say what tipped the scales in his favor. Maybe it was the fact that he'd worked so hard this afternoon. It might have been that she wondered if she'd misjudged him. What if he wasn't a con man and needed help? Katherine was sensitive to unfairness, having taken too many cheap shots from the tabloids over her ex-husband's affairs.

But what really affected her was the way his posture screamed confidence while his eyes revealed flashes of something deeper and more human.

“One week's trial,” she finally said, and watched him relax slightly.

“You won't regret it.”

Katherine gave a grim smile and prayed.

 

Katherine awoke to darkness and the sound of someone scratching on her window screen. After a moment of terror she recognized old Mr. Larson's husky voice. He wanted to borrow fishing lures from her uncle and had forgotten Jasper was gone for the summer. Katherine promised to find them, and Mr. Larson said he'd be back in twenty minutes.

Pushing her hair from her face, she crept from her room to the hall closet. She shined the flashlight up the shelves to the top one and sighed. There sat the tackle box.

She tiptoed to the kitchen and grabbed a bar stool. After positioning it in front of the closet, she climbed on top and reached for the box.

“What are you doing?” a low voice said behind her.

Startled, Katherine gave a muffled squeak. The bar stool shifted. She panicked until the stool was steadied and a strong arm wrapped around her waist.

She took deep breaths to calm her racing heart. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

“That's what I asked you,” Al said. “Do you know what time it is?”

“No. And please don't tell me. I've got to get fishing lures for Mr. Larson. He and Uncle Jasper always go fishing together this time of year.” She moaned. “They'd leave about four o'clock in the morning.”

“You're close. It's actually—”

“I said don't tell me.”

His chuckle rumbled pleasantly out of the darkness. His arm felt warm around her. She'd rested her hand on it and could feel his flexed muscles. Her back absorbed the sensation of his hard chest pressed against her. His musky male scent made her lightheaded. The darkness covered them like a blanket, and their hushed voices made the situation feel oddly erotic.

“Let me go.”

“No. You might fall.”

She started to argue, then realized it would be faster just to grab the tackle box and get down. She turned around with the tackle box in her hand. Al took it, and before she could bend down, he picked her up. She clutched his shoulders and slid down his body, feeling his bare chest against her breasts. Her hair shimmied over one of his shoulders.

She looked into his face, and everything stopped. Her mind, her heart, her breath. Somewhere in her conscience the hint of a melody, stirring and poignant, teased her. At that moment all she could do was stand still inside his arms and watch.

With one arm still wrapped around her waist, he picked up the long lock of hair and rubbed it between his fingers. “It's so long,” he mused.

Katherine's mouth went dry. “I—I keep saying I'm going to cut it.”

“No, it's you. Long red hair, slim little body, lots of warm smiles.”

She sucked in a deep, desperate breath. Laughing nervously, she tried to step back. “How do you know anything about me? You just met me.”

He released her slowly, and she could make out the intent look in his eyes even in the darkness. “You learn by watching and listening. I've done both.”

“Oh,” she said. She shook back the distracting hair, relieved to be out of his arms.

“Why are you managing this place on your own?” he asked.

“My uncle had a heart attack. I'm the only one he trusts.”

“But you don't like it.”

That stopped her. “Does it show that much?” She sighed. “I teach first grade during the school year and head up the children's programs for Pirate Island during the summer. Jasper's heart attack caught all of us by surprise.” She shrugged. “I may not be a wonderful manager, but I think with a little help I can hold things together until he decides what he wants to do.”

“It's a heavy responsibility.”

“Yeah.” Katherine grinned and picked up the tackle box. “But I'm tough.”

He put his hand on hers. “Let me take that.”

“I can handle it,” she insisted.

“I'm sure you can.”

Katherine stared at him to see if he was making fun of her. But his gaze was serious. “Okay. Just put it on the front porch, please.”

She set the barstool back in the kitchen. “See ya in the morning,” she whispered.

“That will be in about two hours,” Al said.

Katherine moaned. “Don't rub it in.”

After she closed her door and settled into bed, Katherine stared at the ceiling. She wasn't sure about Al Sanders. Too many things didn't add up.

Who was he? Why was he staying on Pirate Island? Why did she care? She wrestled with the questions until she finally fell asleep.

Then she dreamed she danced in the dark. She couldn't quite make out the face of her partner, but his shoulders were broad, his arms strong, and the music she heard touched a tender, vulnerable place inside her.

Katherine hung up the phone and stared at it. She felt as if she'd just committed a murder.

It was the right thing to do, she told herself. After all, this was Jasper's third heart attack. The doctor had warned Jasper to cut back on his level of responsibility. Even though her uncle wouldn't admit it, he had no business managing the campground any longer. By putting the word out that they were interested in selling, she was just making it easier for him. Ultimately the final decision would be Jasper's. But Katherine reasoned that if she took care of the legwork, selling the campground wouldn't be so traumatic for him.

Then why did she feel so horrible? It was probably because Uncle Jasper and Pirate Island were the two most stable elements in her life. Since Katherine had turned six, she'd spent every summer with Jasper at the campground. On high school breaks she'd led the children's programs.

Between her mother's ventures in and out of matrimony and the corresponding upheavals in all their lives, Katherine had clung to Pirate Island as if it were a lifeline. Now, she was cutting it.

The thought made her sick.

From her disappointing relationship with her father to her publicly humiliating divorce, Katherine's luck with men had been the pits. The only exception was Uncle Jasper, who'd taught her to fish, encouraged her to go to college, and taught her the value of honesty and stability.

She sighed, wishing there was another way.

“Bad news?” Al asked from behind her.

He moved closer, watching her turn away and give her cheek a surreptitious wipe. “Why didn't you knock?”

“I did. You must not have heard me.” Alex hesitated, wondering what to do. He'd dealt with teary females before, but in his experience, women usually cried in order to get something. Specifically they cried when they found out he wasn't going to marry them, and they weren't going to be the next princess of Moreno.

Katherine, however, appeared genuinely upset, and that bothered him. “You're upset. What do you need?”

She shook her head and forced a cheerful expression on her face. “Nothing. It's nothing.”

Alex narrowed his eyes. “If it's nothing, then why is your lip quivering?” He reached a hand to her face.

“You're very observant,” she murmured, moving to the other end of the small office.

“Yes. You didn't answer my question.”

She made a sound that was half exasperation and half laughter. “You're also pushy.”

“Persistent,” he corrected. “What's wrong?”

Katherine rolled her eyes. “It's none of your business.”

He frowned. No one had ever said that to him. Not his mother, not even Isabella. Katherine Kendall was an irritating feminine puzzle. She'd reluctantly taken him in but kept her distance during the last week. And though she didn't trust him, she was beginning to rely on him. He was making damn sure of that.

He was curious about her. The way the campground children followed her around as if she were the Pied Piper. She gave smiles away for free, hugs as if they were pennies.

To everyone but him.

He minded being excluded from her smiles, hugs and everything else. He noticed the way she used her petite body carelessly, as if she thought there was nothing sensual about the way she walked, but he sensed something simmering beneath the surface. Her slim waist and full breasts made him want to wrap his hands around her, touch her silky skin, learn her secrets. When she talked, sometimes he got hard just watching her mouth.

And if she knew what he was thinking, he'd be on the next ferry out of here. For the first time in his life Alex wanted something he'd never wanted from a woman. If only for the remainder of this month, he wanted possession of the mind, body and soul of Katherine. His obstacle was that the lady didn't trust him.

Patience had never been his long suit. He moved forward. Katherine took a matching step away. He stopped. “Why do you do that?” he asked.

She curled her hands around the edge of the desk. “Do what?”

“Move away as if you're afraid I'll attack you.”

Her eyes opened wide. “Do I do that? I, uh, I didn't realize.” She pushed back her bangs and jammed her hand into the pocket of her pink cotton shorts.

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No! Of course not,” she said quickly, but the silence stretched between them.

“No?”

Katherine sighed, then said reluctantly, “This is embarrassing. I don't know you, but I feel like I should. You remind me of someone, but I can't remember who.”

For a second he froze, wondering if she'd seen a publicity photo of him. He forced a casual shrug. “Someone you knew when you were young?”

“No,” she admitted.

Alex wondered at the sudden color in her cheeks. “Is it my face?”

She looked trapped. “Yes, your face and your…”

“My what?”

“Your eyes.”

“And?”

Maybe if she said it out loud, the strange feeling would go away. “And your body. It's ridiculous. I know. It's insane, but I have this feeling that I've known you…” She lifted her hands, searching for the word she couldn't bring herself to say. And there was no way on God's green earth she'd tell him about the music.

Alex smiled. “Intimately.”

“But we both know it's not possible,” she went on quickly, not liking the satisfaction she heard in his voice. “I've never met you. You've never met me. It's just—”

He touched her, and her mile-a-minute denial cut off. Her vocal cords jammed. He cupped her chin, gently encouraging her to meet his gaze, and Katherine knew she was in major-league trouble.

“If I had met you,
mon amie,
I couldn't have forgotten. Perhaps we met in another life.”

“I, uh, I don't really believe in reincarnation,” she managed breathlessly.

“Neither do I.” His face grew serious. “But there are other ways—dreams, fantasies.”

Katherine squished her eyes shut, fighting his words and the images he provoked. “I don't have a lot of time for dreams or fantasies.”

“Fantasies make time for themselves.”

He wrapped his warm hand around her waist, and she thought she'd faint. Oh, God, she didn't want to make a fool of herself. She'd done such a good job of it before. She clenched her jaw.

“I dreamed of you,” he said. “I dreamed I tasted your smile. I made love to your mouth for a day and a night, because I couldn't stop. Then I brought you so close, there was nothing between us.”

Keeping her eyes closed, she felt him lower his head, felt his warm breath, got dizzy over his heat and strength. The melody began again, so sweetly it hurt. She waited, dreaded, wished.

His mouth barely whispered against hers in an openly erotic touch that coaxed and threatened and sent her pulse into triple time. She saw herself falling down deep into a well that never ended. No safety net. No coming back.

It scared her spitless. Katherine jerked back, her eyes flying open. “No!”

“No?” he repeated, as if he were unfamiliar with the meaning of the word.

“N-o-o.” She drew it out so he wouldn't miss it, and she was beginning to think she needed some practice with that word herself. She was going to need ice for the burn marks where he'd touched her. “This weird feeling will go away,” she insisted. “It's not real, and we don't need to act on it.”

“Not real.”

Her insides still felt like a five-alarm fire. “Exactly. It's good that we both understand. It's perfectly clear.” Clear as mud, she thought. Without a hint of conversational finesse, she forced the conversation back to business. “Is there a problem somewhere on the campground? Or did you have a question?”

He paused, studying her, and she knew she hadn't fooled him. Such dark, perceptive eyes Al Sanders had. She waited out the uncomfortable silence, hoping he'd relent.

“Do you know anything about a balloon battle?” he finally asked.

Katherine laughed in relief and nodded at his quizzical expression. “Yes.” She checked her watch. “Oops, we'd better hurry or we'll be late. Wednesdays at two o'clock sharp, all the kids and some adults engage in a water-balloon battle.”

Grateful for something to break the spell, she grabbed some bags of balloons from a drawer and led the way out of the office.

“A game,” Al concluded.

“Sort of.”

“And what is the objective?”

Katherine came to a stop on the wooden front porch of the rec building and looked at him. “You've never been in a water-balloon battle?” When he shook his head, she made a tsking sound. “The objective of a water-balloon battle is to get everyone wet and to laugh a lot.”

“But who wins?”

“No one.”

“Then why?”

“For fun,” she said, wondering why the concept seemed foreign to him. “Like making mud pies when you were three.”

Alex looked at her blankly. Mud pies?

“Seeing who can do the worst belly flopper off the side of the pool?”

His German swimming instructor had allowed only perfect dives. He shook his head.

Katherine was determined to find common ground. “Who can blow the biggest bubble-gum bubble?”

Alex's lips twitched at that. He could just imagine the appalled expression on his etiquette instructor's face if the future ruler of Moreno had suggested a bubble-blowing contest. “Try again.”

“Okay. Last one. Little boys are famous for this. Who can spit the farthest?”

He laughed out loud. “You're joking.”

Katherine smiled, liking the rare sound of his deep chuckle. “No. And if you've never done any of those things, you're either an alien or you were raised in a bubble.”

He felt his grin fall, remembering the scandal that had rocked his childhood. “You could be right.”

The turbulence in his dark eyes tugged at her. Al obviously knew how to have the adult brand of fun. He was an expert at everything from sailing and charming conversation to seducing a woman. But he seemed lost when it came to carefree, silly, childlike fun. It made her wonder what he'd missed. It made her care. She deliberately kept her tone light. “An extraterrestrial. The kids'll love it. Well, get ready for a new experience.”

About thirty kids, some of them over thirty years old, stood in the grassy area set aside for outside recreational games. They wore bathing suits and were screaming for blood.

In between filling the balloons with water, Chad was inciting the crowd to all kinds of watery violence. When they saw Katherine with more balloons, they cheered. Katherine and Al filled the rest of the balloons while Chad divided the group into teams.

“That should be enough,” Katherine said, and began to put the balloons into two separate piles. “If you don't want to play, you'd better—”

Splat.

Alex jumped as the balloon burst against his back, cold water seeping into his shirt and pants. He looked over his shoulder at the culprit, a pigtailed little girl. He was so shocked, it must have shown on his face. Her eyes grew huge with fright, and she began to run away.

“Stacy!” Katherine caught her and handed the little girl another balloon. Uncertain, Stacy looked from Katherine to Alex. Katherine gave her a nudge of encouragement, and little Stacy heaved the balloon smack into the side of his head.

Alex took it like a man. With water dripping off his nose and eyelashes, he even managed a smile for the little feminine warrior. “This is fun?” he asked Katherine when Stacy ran off yelling in victory. “Am I supposed to thank you?”

Katherine didn't bother hiding her laughter. “Well, I bet you're cooler now.”

There was another
splat.
Katherine shrieked, snatched up a balloon from the rapidly depleting supply and threw it at her attacker.

Catching the spirit of the event, he took a balloon, testing its weight in his hand. Katherine turned, laughing, then shaking her head when she saw the balloon in his hand.

“No,” she said, backing away.

“I owe you.” Going against every rule he'd ever learned about how to treat a woman, he threw it and scored a direct hit.

“Al Sanders!” she yelled, clearly torn between laughter and indignation. “You'll pay!”

But the balloon she tossed back barely fazed him. He was too busy looking at Katherine. Her eyes were full of laughter. Her wet shirt stretched like a second skin across her breasts. Her nipples strained against the drenched cloth, begging for a man's hands and mouth, he thought, and felt a corresponding thickness in his loins. Suddenly he understood the appeal of a water-balloon battle.

 

Katherine sat on the beach at midnight wearing a flowing blue dress that dropped off one shoulder. She was waiting for something, somebody, as she dug her bare toes into the cool sand and lifted her head to the breeze.

She closed her eyes until something soft brushed her cheek, and the scent of a rose reached her nostrils. She looked up, and he was there.

He smiled and drew her to her feet. “Where have you been hiding?”

Her heart sped up. “I haven't been hiding. I've been waiting.”

“For me,” he said with customary arrogance.

“Maybe.”

He pulled her close. “Who knows you like I do? Who knows what pleases you?”

She felt a wave of uncertainty. “Sometimes I don't even know me.”

“Yes, you do.” He rubbed his thumb over her lower lip. “And what you don't know, I'll teach you.”

She shivered at the intensity in his dark eyes. What if he tried and found her lacking?

He must have read her mind. “Never.”

Holding her gaze, he continued to rub her lip. Hesitantly, Katherine stroked his thumb with the tip of her tongue. He tasted warm and a little salty and male. Something dipped and swayed within her at the small intimacy.