The Playboy Prince (23 page)

“I lied.” His teeth closed gently over her earlobe. “I wanted to make love with you. In fact, I had a devil of a time keeping my mind off that thought throughout a long and frustrating board meeting and a noisy dinner.” He drew down the zipper at the back of her dress. “I had to give a speech.” He found silk, thin, fragile silk, beneath the linen. “It was difficult not to babble when I kept imagining myself here, with you.”

“I don’t want to interfere with your official duties.” With her eyes closed, she pressed her lips to his neck and let herself enjoy the gentle stroking of his hands.

“But you do,
ma mie
. I sat listening to the huffing and puffing of ten stuffy men who are more interested in paintings than people, and I imagined you sitting there with your hands neatly folded and your eyes solemn. And you were wearing nothing but your hair.”

She’d slipped off his tie, but paused now on the third button of his shirt. “In the boardroom?”

“In the boardroom.” Would he ever stop being fascinated by that dry, serious tone and those dark eyes? “You can see why I had such a problem concentrating.” He didn’t tell her he’d also dealt with unexpected tingles of fear as he’d pictured her with Deboque, at his mercy, helpless, alone. It was an image he hadn’t been able to drown out in innumerable cups of coffee or glasses of wine. “So I came in here to wait for you.”

“And fell asleep.”

“I’d hoped you’d see the irony and reverse the fairy tale. Wake the sleeping prince with a kiss. Instead I got a shove.”

With her hands framing his face, she drew his head up. “Let me make up for it now then.”

She touched her lips to his, brushed, retreated, teased then touched again. She felt him tense his fingers at her back as she toyed with his mouth. Her tongue traced, her teeth nipped as heat built to a flash point. She didn’t object when he pressed her head closer, when his mouth closed hungrily over hers. If he had longed for her through the day, his need had been no sharper than her own. They would take the night hours together.

She had his shirt unbuttoned and open. Her dress had slipped down, revealing the shimmer of honey-colored lace beneath. Bennett let his fingertips play over it while he absorbed the contrasts and delights that were his Hannah. He drew the pins out of her hair so that it flowed over her shoulders and his. The scent of it was as light and elusive as the scent of her skin. What witchery she had was an innate part of her rather than something that came from bottles and pots.

Fresh, real, his. Delirious from her, he tugged the dress down her body and let it fall to the rug.

And his fingers slid over the stiletto strapped to her thigh.

She stiffened, remembering the weapon the instant he discovered it. Passion cooled so swiftly, she shivered. When she drew away he didn’t stop her.

“Bennett, I’m sorry.” She’d forgotten there could be no apologies, no regret. His eyes were on hers, blank and flat, as he sat up. Because there was nothing for her to say, no way for her to remove the barrier, she lapsed into silence.

Her hair was a riot of honey-toned waves that fell over her shoulders and the silk that echoed the color. Her eyes, darkly, richly green, were solemn now as she waited for him to speak. Or to leave.

Fighting the first stirrings of anger, he let his gaze pass over her, the milk-pale skin, the slender curves, the delicate silk. She was what she’d convinced herself she was not—beautiful, stunning, desirable. On one long slim thigh strapped by thin strong leather, was a knife associated with dark alleys and smoky bars. Saying nothing, Bennett reached for it. She automatically caught his wrist.

“Bennett—”

“Be quiet.” His voice was as flat and cool as his eyes. Hannah let her fingers fall away. Slowly, he drew the weapon from its sheath. It was warmed from her skin, small enough to fit into the palm of his hand. Until he pushed the button and the thin blade slid silently, lethally out. It caught the lamplight and glistened silver.

She wore it intimately, he thought. He wanted to ask her if she’d used it, but a part of him knew it was best to keep the question to himself for now. It weighed nothing, but sat heavy as lead in his hand.

“Why do you need this in the palace?”

She pushed a strap back onto her shoulder, then rubbed the skin there that was growing colder and colder. “I’m expecting word from Deboque. I can’t be sure when or where it will come from. Because I may have to respond to it immediately, it’s best to be prepared.”

“What kind of word?”

“I think you should ask—”

“I’m asking you.” His voice carried a lash he used rarely, but effectively. “What kind of word, Hannah?”

Hannah drew her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and told him everything. There could be no objection now, she reminded herself. He already knew too much.

“So we sacrifice a part of the east wing. Camouflage.” He twisted the blade under the light. He knew, without doubt, he could have plunged it into Deboque’s heart.

“The more genuine things seem, the more easily Deboque will be convinced. He won’t part with five million dollars until he’s sure Cordina is left without an heir.”

“He would kill the children,” Bennett murmured. “Even Alexander’s unborn child. All for what? Revenge, power, money?”

“For all three. He would have his revenge on your father, his own power would grow from the chaos, and money would follow. It’s his greed that will topple him this time, Bennett. I promise you.”

It was the passion in her voice that had him looking at her again. Her eyes were wide and dry, but the emotion almost leapt from them. To protect his family, he thought as he tightened his hand on the handle of the
stiletto. To protect herself. As suddenly as he’d fallen in love, he realized the full truth. Whatever she did, whatever she used didn’t matter, as long as she kept herself safe.

He pressed the release and sent the blade back home. And he would see to that himself. After setting the knife aside, he reached over to unsnap the strap from her thigh. Her skin had gone cold, he discovered, though the room was warm. It stirred something in him that he recognized again as a need to protect. She didn’t move, didn’t speak and flinched only slightly when he rose. She was waiting for him to reject her, to dismiss her, to leave her.

He felt both her surprise and her doubt as he gathered her up into his arms. “You should trust me more, Hannah,” he said quietly.

When she relaxed against him, when she let her head rest on his shoulder, he carried her to bed.

The package was delivered in the most pedestrian of ways. It was carried by Dartmouth Shippers, one of Deboque’s less profitable but most useful tentacles. It was marked with the return address of Hannah’s aunt in England and stamped FRAGILE.

The only difficulty came from the fact that Eve was present when it was delivered.

“Oh, what fun!” Eve hovered around the package. “It’s a Christmas present, isn’t it? Why don’t you open it?”

“It isn’t Christmas,” Hannah said mildly, and set the package on the shelf in her closet. She would turn it over to Reeve at the first opportunity.

“Hannah, how can you be so casual about it?” With nerves just below the surface, Eve poked around the room. “Didn’t you ever search under beds and in closets for packages at this time of year?”

“No.” Hannah smiled and went back to arranging the flowers Eve had brought her. “I never wanted to spoil Christmas morning.”

“It doesn’t spoil it, it only adds to the excitement.” Eve glanced back at the closet. “Couldn’t we just peek?”

“Absolutely not, though I can tell you the package probably contains five dozen homemade cookies—as hard as bricks. Aunt Honoria is nothing if not predictable.”

“It doesn’t feel like Christmas.” Moody, Eve wandered to the window. She laid one hand protectively over the swell of her belly and fidgeted nervously at the curtain with the other. “The ballroom’s being scrubbed and polished for the holiday, the tree’s already trimmed. If I walk by the kitchens there are the most glorious scents, but it just doesn’t feel like Christmas.”

“Are you homesick, Eve?”

“Homesick?” Puzzled for a moment, she turned around, then smiled. “Oh, no. Alex and Marissa are here. I do hope my sister manages to get away from her art gallery for a week or two, but I don’t miss the States really. It’s just that everyone tries to pamper me, protect me by hiding things.” Sighing, she moved to Hannah’s dresser to toy with the little enameled box Bennett had admired. “I know how tense and worried Alex is, no matter how hard he tries to pretend everything’s fine. Even when I talk to Bennett, his mind only seems to be half with me. It has to stop, Hannah. I can’t bear to see the people I love torn apart this way.”

She too would pamper, and protect by hiding things, but it was the only comfort Hannah could allow herself to give. “It’s this Deboque, isn’t it?”

Eve set the box down again. “How can one man bear so much hate? How can one man cause so much pain? I know, though after years I still can’t really understand, I know that he won’t be satisfied until he’s destroyed us.”

“It isn’t possible for most of us to understand real evil,” Hannah began, though she could and did understand it. “But I think we only add to it when we let our lives be affected so strongly.”

“You’re right, of course.” Eve held out both hands. “Do you know how grateful I am that you’re here? Without you I’m afraid I’d be moody and brooding all of the time. Brie’s coming later today with all the children. We still have florists and musicians to deal with.” She squeezed Hannah’s hands as she drew a deep breath. “I hate being helpless. What I’d like to do is to go up and spit in Deboque’s eye, but if all I can do is make things easier here, then I’ll have to be content with that.”

Hannah vowed, at the first opportunity, to spit in Deboque’s eye for her. “Why don’t you take me up to the ballroom and show me what’s been done? I’d like to help.” She wanted to help—and she wanted Eve away from the package that sat on the shelf in the closet.

“All right, but I want you to come to my room first. I have a present for you.”

“Presents are for Christmas,” Hannah reminded her as they walked to the door.

“This one can’t wait.” She had to get her mind off the undercurrents that were pressing on them all. Dr. Franco had already warned her that her tension could affect the child. “Pregnant princesses must be indulged.”

“How clever of you to use that to your advantage when it suits you.” They climbed a short flight of stairs and crossed to the next wing. “You said Gabriella would be here soon. Is the whole family coming today?”

“In force, this afternoon.”

Hannah relaxed a little. It would be easy to transfer the package to Reeve and continue on with the plan. “Has Bennett put his treasure in the vault?”

“Treasure? Oh, his yo-yo.” With her first easy laugh of the day, Eve entered her bedroom. “He adores that child, you know. I’ve never known anyone quite as good with children as Bennett. He puts an enormous amount of time into the Aid for Handicapped Children even though it takes away from his free days with his horses.” She walked into the adjoining dressing room as she spoke. “Another reason I suppose I’ve been moody is that I know Bennett should be on top of the world right now, and he looks as though he rarely closes his eyes.”

“On top of the world?”

“It’s taken him six months and a lot of frustration to get approval for the children’s wing in the museum. He finally pushed it over the top at the board meeting the other night, but not without a lot of work and fast talking. He didn’t mention it to you?”

“No,” she said slowly. “No, he didn’t mention it.”

“It’s been his pet project for a couple of years. It took him months to find the right architect, one who’d mesh practicality with the essence of what Bennett wanted to do. Then, because the board wouldn’t give an inch, he had the plans drawn up at his own expense. They’re wonderful.” Eve came back into the room carrying a long box. “You should ask him to see them sometime. He wanted it open, lots of windows so that the kids wouldn’t feel closed in. The board mumbled and grumbled when he talked of sculptures the children could make contact with and illustrations from storybooks instead of Rubenses and Renoirs and Rodins under glass.”

“I didn’t realize he was so . . . involved.”

“Whatever Bennett does he does with total involvement. His idea was to introduce children to art through media they could understand and enjoy. Then there’s a section that’s reserved for paintings and models the children make themselves.”

Eve set the box on the bed and smiled. “I’m surprised he didn’t tell you about it. Usually no one’s safe. It’s taken him two years of planning and six months of fighting to get this project off the ground.”

“It sounds lovely.” She felt her heart twist and expand and fill with more love. “One often thinks of him as a man only interested in horses and the next party.”

“He enjoys the image, but there’s more to Bennett than that. I thought that the two of you had gotten quite close.”

“Bennett’s very kind.”

“Hannah, don’t disappoint me.” A little tired, Eve sat on the edge of the bed. “He watches you walk out of a room and waits for you to come into one.”

“He does?”

“Yes.” Now she grinned. “He does. With all the anxiety and all the tension of the last weeks, at least I’ve had the pleasure of seeing Bennett fall in love. You do care, don’t you?”

“Yes.” It was almost over. Some deceptions were no longer necessary. “I’ve never known anyone like him.”

“There isn’t anyone like him.”

“Eve, I don’t want you to think, or to hope, for something that isn’t going to happen.”

“I’m entitled to think and hope as I choose.” She lay a hand on the box beside her and patted the lid. “But for now, open your present.”

“Is this a royal command or a request?”

“Whatever it takes to get you to open it. Please, I’m dying to see if you like it.”

“Well, it’s against my principles to open a present before Christmas, but . . .” Giving in, Hannah lifted the lid. She pushed aside the layers of tissue paper, then stood staring.