She closed the door and leaned against it.
Wow.
Her heart pounded and she felt drunk on the sensation of his lips against her skin. If she did sleep, she had no doubt whatsoever that she would dream of him.
She changed into her favorite silk nightgown—which also happened to be her sexiest, since one never knew—and because she wasn’t the least bit sleepy, booted up her laptop to check her e-mail.
There was one from Phillip. It said simply:
Have you spoken with the king and queen?
No How was your trip, or Are you having fun? He didn’t even ask why she’d sent the bodyguards home.
She couldn’t help but feel he was relieved that she was gone. Which could very well be her imagination. Phillip was not what anyone could call warm and fuzzy. He was, she imagined, very much like their father. With the exception of his sleeping habits.
As in, Phillip was faithful to his wife, while their father, it seemed, hadn’t been able to keep it in his pants.
She hit Reply and typed up a quick e-mail, giving Phillip a brief rundown on her visit so far. Leaving out the part about almost shacking up with Prince Christian. Phillip wanted her to become well acquainted with the royal family of Thomas Isle, particularly their future leader, but she didn’t think he meant that well.
She ’d never been one to sleep around, though that was not to say she was a prude in any respect, but maybe there was more of her father in her than she cared to admit.
She sent the e-mail and, with nothing better to do, opened her favorite card game, but after fifteen minutes or so was bored to tears. She tried curling up in bed and reading the book she’d brought along with her, but she couldn’t concentrate.
She called down to the kitchen for a cup of herbal tea, but not even that would quiet her nerves. Back home in New Orleans, a stroll in the garden under the moon and the stars was usually the most effective cure for a sleepless night. She doubted anyone would mind if she took a quick walk. Besides, how would they even know? Unlike her, they were all soundly sleeping.
She slipped on her robe and opened her door, peering out into the hall. In the palace on Morgan Isle, it seemed there was always some sort of activity going on, day or night, whether it was midnight bottle feedings or diaper changes, or the guards’ nightly rounds of the premises. In contrast, the castle was quiet and dark.
Melissa stepped into the hall and quietly made her way down the stairs and through the castle to the patio door. She slipped outside onto the patio, the slate smooth against her bare feet. The air was cool and damp, and the full moon cast a silver, ghostly glow across the land. In the distance she could hear the whoosh of the ocean against the bluff, but otherwise the night was eerily still.
To the east, just beyond the garden, stood the shrubbery maze, looking ominous in the dark. Yet it seemed to beckon her. If it was a challenge during the day, think of the thrill it would be to guess her way through with only the moon to light her way.
She glanced back at the castle, dark and still, and figured, why the heck not? This was supposed to be a vacation. And what was the worst that could happen? She would get lost and wander around in there all night.
She stepped off the patio onto the cool, damp grass and cut across the lawn to the entrance of the maze, her heart thumping a little faster with excitement.
Here goes nothin’.
She stepped forward and the maze swallowed her into its depths like a hungry animal. Inside it was dark and serene, and the towering greenery seemed to muffle all sound beyond its walls.
She waited for her eyes to adjust, until she could see the first turn ahead of her. She stepped forward, deeper inside, the grass cool and slippery under her feet. She turned the first corner to find herself at the end of a long, ominous-looking passageway. Memorizing her steps in case she needed to back her way out later, she walked slowly forward. Halfway through she encountered another passageway that hooked off to the right. Should she maintain her present course, or turn down a path that would take her deeper inside?
The adventurer in her said go deeper.
She turned and followed the passage, but after a few yards she reached a T in the path. Should she go right, or left? Logic dictated that turning right would put her on course for a dead end, so she went left instead.
Behind her she swore she heard a rustling, but when she turned to look, there was nothing there. Probably just a bat, or some small animal. She shrugged and continued on through a few more twists and turns until she reached another T. This time she chose right. She heard another noise, a distinct rustling of branches, but this time it seemed to be coming from in front of her. She strained to see in the dim light, and could swear she saw a dark figure cross the path somewhere in front of her.
Her imagination? A trick of the light?
Curious, she forged ahead, turning the same direction as the figure had, and found herself at a dead end. There wasn’t anyone or anything there.
That was odd. She felt around, looking for some sort of secret passage. There was nothing but solid branches, far too thick and brittle to slip through. Then she heard the rustling again, this time from directly behind her.
She spun around, but there was no one there. Yet she had the distinct feeling she wasn’t alone. “Hello?” she called. “Is someone there?”
There was another rustle, then the dark figure passed the T junction just ahead of her. It was too dark to tell who it was, or even if it was a man or a woman.
She darted after the ghostly figure, determined to catch up. But it seemed as though no matter how swiftly she moved, he or she was always rounding the next corner, out of sight before she could get very close. Whoever it was, they obviously knew the maze well. They had lured Melissa deep inside, and she’d been concentrating so hard on following him or her, she hadn’t been memorizing her steps. Now she had no idea how to get out.
She suspected that had been the intention all along. Whoever it was, he was taunting her. Trying to throw her off track, and it had worked. She was hopelessly turned around. And of course, her ghostly figure had chosen that moment to disappear without a trace.
“Swell,” she mumbled to herself. She wandered around for another twenty minutes or so trying to get her bearings, hearing an occasional rustle in the leaves, sometimes in front of her, sometimes behind. If this was some sort of test, she was failing miserably. She strained to hear the ocean, to get a bearing on her direction, but it was useless, and since the idea of wandering around in there all night held little to no appeal, she threw in the towel.
“You win,” she called. “I surrender.”
“I told you it was confusing,” a voice said softly into her ear.
She spun around and crashed into the wall of one very long, solid and—oh, Lord—blissfully bare chest.
Chris’s chest.
Chapter Four
Melissa was so surprised she nearly toppled over backward. Chris grabbed her arms to steady
