Royal Opposites (13 page)

“Joan?” She jumped at the sound of his voice then looked up. He stood before her in sweats slung low around his narrow hips. He was drying his bare chest with one of those tiny towels and his hair was slicked back away from his face. She’d never been in the presence of a sexier man. Still, that didn’t stop her gaze from tracing the bruise which stretched in a diagonal across his torso.

Her eyes still didn’t leave the spot even when he came over and knelt beside her. He dabbed at her tears with the damp towel.

“What is it, honey? What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

She shook her head, but couldn’t find any words. With a shaky hand, she traced the bruise on his chest. Met his eyes. The concern she saw in them almost started another flood of tears.

“I’m so sorry.”

Tom caught her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “What do you have to be sorry for? None of this is your fault.”

“Maybe I didn’t start it, but I’m certainly the reason why you haven’t been able to get to safety.” Tapping into a hidden reserve of energy, she pulled out of his grasp and rolled away from him across the bed. With a less than graceful motion, she slid off the side and stood up while trying to keep the sheet tucked around her.

Tom frowned and watched her from where he remained crouched between the mattress and the wall.

“We’re going to the cops. You’re royalty. There’s no way they can let anything happen to you without starting an international incident. You can tell them what happened and let the authorities clear up this whole mess.”

“What about you, Joan? This could take a while to resolve.

Do you think they’ll let you just roam around free until then?”

“It doesn’t matter. Anything has to be better than all this running and wrecking and—it just has to be better.” The tears threatened to start again. Frustrated, she swiped them away with her forearm.

“Stop for a minute and think this through. If we turn ourselves in, we’ll be sitting ducks. We have to stick to the plan and get to safe ground before we take a stand.”

“I have thought this though. They’re not going to let us get to safe ground, Tom.” Joan pulled the sheet tighter around her when she felt the chill caused by the thought. “What happens if they manage to kill us in the meantime? No amount of safe ground will be able to change that. You have your country to think of.

What happens to them if you die messing around with me?”

“I’m not going to die—”

“What happens, Tom? As King you’re kind of an important guy, don’t cha think? You don’t have the luxury of going about any old way you please. Too many people are counting on you.”

She watched his temper flash in his eyes before he rounded the bed to get in her face. “And what about you? So what if you’re not royalty. You’re just as important. What kind of ruler would I be if I let other people get killed when I could avoid it?”

“You’d be a smart one.” Joan planted her hands on her hips and squared off with him. “It’s not like I have anything left to lose.

Not like you do.”

“What are you talking about? You have plenty to lose. I won’t have you ruin your life with a jail sentence following you everywhere. You could lose your job. Something I gather would be devastating.”

“I’ve already lost my job. At least if I go to jail, I’ll have a roof over my head.”

Tom jerked back like she’d slapped him. “You sound like it’s already happened.”

“That’s ‘cause it has.” Joan forced herself to calm down. Her head was starting to pound again and she was pretty sure Tom didn’t have a twin, but it didn’t stop her from seeing two of him.

“What do you mean it has? You haven’t missed that much work yet? You must have a vacation day or something you can use for today. Yesterday.”

“I work…worked for a bookkeeping firm. They can’t have accused bank robbers on their payroll. They left me a message when they heard about this on the news.”

“How ludicrous. I’ll talk to them.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll tell the cops who you are and explain what happened so they can straighten this out. Once they do, I’ll be cleared and able to look for another job.”

Great. And now the room was starting to spin. Joan put a hand to her forehead and swayed a bit on her feet. Tom reached out a steadying hand, but she was past that point. Joan toppled to the bed taking him with her.

****

So Tom had fantasized about having Joan’s soft, voluptuous body under his, but it had never happened quite this way. In his mind, there’d been sweet kisses and roaming hands. In his dreams, she’d be gazing at him through passion-‐-filled eyes. In none of those scenarios were her lids screwed tightly shut nor her lips pursed with pain.

“Joan, talk to me. What hurts?”

Tom shifted off of her and sat back on his haunches. He winced at the ache in his hip, but remained focused on her. All he could think about was seeing her slam to the roof of his car when they’d dropped the last time.

“Listing what doesn’t would take less time.” Her flip response told him she would be okay and lessened his worry a bit.

He crawled over her and straightened out his aching leg with a sigh of relief. When he raised his palm from the bed, one of the aspirin he’d given her earlier was stuck to it.

“You didn’t take anything?”

“I was going to.” He found the pill container and the unopened water bottle nestled in the covers while she eased to a more comfortable position on the bed.

“Give me your hand,” Tom commanded then poured another dose of pills into her waiting palm. He opened the water and watched her take the painkillers before taking a dose himself.

He could feel her gaze on him while he polished off the last of the water. The little thrill he got from knowing her lips had just been on that same piece of plastic was more than ridiculous.

“The moment we’re good enough to move, we’re going to the cops.” Did the woman never give up? He put the aspirin within easy reach on the night table and chucked the empty water bottle into the trashcan.

“Let’s worry about that later.” He eased down beside her and got under the covers. He stretched to turn off the light by the bed and grimaced. He was starting to feel his aches and pains. He twisted to look at her, wrapped in the thin sheet from the bed.

“You’re gonna freeze.”

“I’m fine.”

“Stop being stubborn and get under the covers.”

“You’re not king yet. And even if you were, I’m not one of your subjects.”

Tom bristled at her tone. She was right. If she were one of his subjects, she wouldn’t dare speak to him with such disrespect.

“Why are you fighting me on this? It’s for your own comfort.” He rose up on an elbow to look at her. “Or are you just one of those people who likes an argument?”

She glared at him. He didn’t need more light than what streamed through the curtains from the parking lot to see she’d raised an eyebrow like she always did when annoyed. He could feel the hostility rolling off of her in waves. Without another word, she rolled enough to turn down her side of the bed and wiggle in.

When he tried to hold the covers for her, she smacked his hands away. Once she got settled again, she huffed, “No funny business.”

“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he lied and rolled to his side facing away from her. He knew his dreams would consist of nothing else.

Chapter Twelve

An incessant tapping dragged Tom out of a deep, contented sleep. He missed his bed at the palace and that’s where he’d been in his dream. Joan had been with him. His arms were snuggled around her and his hand splayed across her rounded belly which kicked him even while she slept. She never opened her eyes until two tiny versions of themselves burst in demanding attention from mommy and daddy. He had no idea if he should enjoy or be freaked out by the fantasy because that stupid pounding would not go away.

Tom pried his eyes open and looked around the room with a sleep blurred gaze. The pounding continued. He made a move to sit up, but couldn’t. Joan was draped across his chest and his arms held her in place. He wanted to take a moment to enjoy their closeness, but the pounding continued. The door. Someone was at the door. The thought solidified when the last of the haze cleared from his sleepy brain.

Getting up without disturbing Joan was impossible. Even if every muscle in his body didn’t hurt. Given his current aches, he did the best he could without jarring her too much. Her eyes opened and she gave him a confused look while trying to make sense of their proximity.

“Someone’s knocking on the door.”

Taking great care with her movements, she shifted enough to allow him to stand. He regretted it at once. He just learned the locations of several muscles he hadn’t known existed until they protested the motion. He padded to the door and took a look through the peephole. He sighed when he saw two unfamiliar men in uniforms standing to either side. Unless he came up with a pretty good story and fast, it appeared he’d just lost the argument with Joan.

“It’s the police.”

Joan sat up in the bed and pulled the comforter to her chin.

He could see the motion cost her. He imagined she was feeling as beat up as he was. Perhaps worse even. With a resigned sigh, he disengaged the lock on the door and opened it.

A couple badges were shoved in his face. “I’m Sherriff Barley and this is Deputy Coolidge. We’d like to ask you a couple of questions.” The larger man in front stepped forward so he was blocking the door’s path if Tom had a mind to close it on him. His eyes scanned the room. They landed on Joan for a brief moment before moving on. At last, they settled back on Tom.

“You may,” Tom granted the request with a slight nod of his head like he’d seen his father do so many times when his subjects brought a matter before him. It wasn’t until he noted the man’s raised brow at the gesture that Tom remembered he needed to tone it down. The officer seemed to brush it off easy enough. He gestured to their car in the parking lot.

“Is that your car?”

Tom held the man’s gaze. “Not exactly. We ‘borrowed’ it from the men who tried to kill us last night.”

Whatever the men had been expecting, that wasn’t it. The sheriff exchanged a look with his deputy. His eyes came back to Tom. They observed the bruise on his chest much like Joan’s had done. Although the man’s gaze didn’t have quite the same effect on him hers had. Tom stood back inviting the men in.

“Perhaps you’d like us to explain.”

The sheriff nodded. “Nothing I’d like more at this moment.”

The man took off his hat when he stepped into the tiny room. His deputy stepped in behind him, but stayed close to the door. Tom turned to see the panic on Joan’s face.

“I’m not exactly dressed for company,” she said in quiet tones. Tom gave her a smile.

“I’m sure our guests won’t mind if you take a moment to prepare.” He leveled a look on the men that left no doubt he expected no objections.

Keeping a hand on his gun, Deputy Coolidge strode across the room and checked inside the small bathroom.

“It’s clear.”

Sheriff Barley nodded. Tom could tell Joan was mortified by the heightened color in her cheeks. Still, she held her head high when she climbed from the bed, scooped the bags of clothes and toiletries from the credenza and swept into the bathroom. She would have done his mother proud with her regal bearing. That bearing never wavered when the deputy stopped her and examined the contents of the bag.

After she disappeared inside the small bathroom, Tom returned his attention to the two officers. Seeing their starched uniforms was a reminder of his own shirtless state. He reached for the bag of clothes he’d bought for himself and noted that Joan must have taken both in the bathroom with her. She wouldn’t have known it wasn’t all for her. Holding back a resigned sigh, he leveled a look on the sheriff and gestured to one of the chairs flanking the table by the door.

“Won’t you both have a seat?” Tom offered; his regal upbringing made the manners surface naturally as breathing. The sheriff nodded. The man angled the chair so he could see every corner of the room then sat. The deputy took up a sentinel post behind the door to the outside. Tom got the impression the man selected the spot in case he and Joan decided to make a run for it.

Fat chance the way his entire body ached. He couldn’t imagine she’d fared any better.

“Why don’t you tell me your version of how you came to be in possession of that rental car outside?” the sheriff hung his hat on his knee and pulled out a small notepad and pen.

“You don’t want to wait for Joan? I’m sure she’ll be finished at any moment.”

“Nah. Why don’t we get started with you?” The man uncapped his pen and held it at the ready. “Let’s start with your name.”

Tom gave a nod of consent. “I’m Saracen Tomas de Raffertias du Bacoeur, crown prince of Rafferstonia.”

The sheriff raised an eyebrow but didn’t otherwise move.

“But you checked into this room under the name Tom Rafferty.”

“Yes. That is the name I’ve used while visiting this country.

Americans are quite uncomfortable with my full name. I decided to spare you the inconvenience.” Not quite the complete truth, but it would do.

The sheriff exchanged a look with his deputy which Tom had no trouble discerning was incredulous. Still, the man didn’t write anything down.

“Do you have any ID, Tom? May I call you Tom?”

“Of course. And no, I don’t. Everything in my wallet identifies me as Tom Rafferty. I suspect you would need a look at my passport.”

“Where is your passport?”

“Joan and I had to leave Los Angeles in a relative hurry. The men who are after us broke into both of our residences. We had no choice but to leave.”

“Los Angeles, you say?” The sheriff nodded and scribbled on his notepad. “And, Joan, is it? Is she using a fake name, too? Is she princess of… where was it you said?”

Tom narrowed his gaze at the man. The humoring tone grated on his nerves. He and Joan both had counted on any authorities they spoke with to believe his identity. Judging by this man’s reaction, perhaps it had been a blessing they hadn’t encountered the American authorities until now.