in tossing my way.”
And there are times when I think I might die from the loneliness.
The thought had popped up like a jack-in-the-box, nearly making her flinch. Generally speaking, she liked living alone. Preferred it, in fact. Not once that she could recall had she ever felt lonely….
Until this very moment.
Alek was somehow standing in front of her—when had he closed the space between them?—his breath sweeping over her temple before he placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “And I’m not the sort of man,” he whispered, “to take a woman up on an offer she’ll undoubtedly regret.”
A real prince, she thought as she backed up and looked him right in the eye, even though her insides were shaking as badly as Flo navigating a country road. People would say she’d plumb lost her mind, and they’d be right. Whether what she suddenly, desperately wanted was right or wrong, whether her desire—such a puny word for what she was feeling—stemmed from wanting to stanch the gaping hole of longing inside him or her, she had no idea. But whatever this was, it had taken on a life of its own, as palpable and uncontrollable and unstoppable as the rain or the wind or the moonlight. “If you didn’t want to take me to bed, why’d you come back tonight?”
He studied her quite carefully for some time before he said, “I’m not sure, to tell you the truth. I just…” His breath left his lungs in an exasperated sigh. “I just know I don’t want to hurt you.”
Well, she thought on that for a bit, and what she decided was that a man who had that much trouble putting the make on a girl could probably be trusted. So she lay her hand on his rough cheek, just the feel of him enough to send prickles of longing skedaddling through her blood.
“I am twenty-one years old,” Luanne said in a voice stronger than she felt. “I have lived on my own since I was seventeen. I survived my father’s abandonment when I was five and I took care of my mama for three years when she was sick. I have received two marriage proposals, neither of which I was inclined to accept, nor do I plan on marrying until I have completed my college education and begun my career as a school-teacher.”
She lowered her hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat pick up the tempo underneath her trembling fingertips. “I do not consider myself an impetuous person, Alek. And I do not pretend to understand why I am so attracted to you. But I am of the considered opinion that I am perfectly capable of not only deciding whether or not to enter into a relationship, even a temporary one, but of handling any consequences that may arise from my decision….”
“Luanne? Are you all right?”
Rudely yanked back to the present, she whipped around to meet Alek’s gaze, eerily similar to what it had been that night in the past. Knotting her arms across her belly, she shook her head, as if trying to dislodge the memories.
It didn’t work.
“Just got to thinking, is all,” she said at last, offering a lame attempt at a smile. “My mind tends to wander these days.”
When he looked like he might reach out, she quickly moved to the refrigerator, plucking a can of orange juice from the freezer and swallowing past the lump in her throat. Maybe she’d been able to tuck her memories away in the very back of the bottom drawer of her consciousness, where they’d lain, undisturbed and unmissed, for more than ten years. But try as she might, there was no way to hide them completely, to pretend that things had happened differently. The fact was, she had prodded Alek into the affair, knowing full well nothing permanent could come of it. She hadn’t expected anything more. She hadn’t wanted anything more, not then. She’d said she’d deal with the consequences, and she’d meant it.
So she’d best be about dealing with them, hadn’t she?
Chapter 3
In a daze, Alek watched Luanne make up the frozen juice as he scanned the sunny, white kitchen, wondering again why she’d left Dallas. While the house was spotless—no surprise there—even a quick perusal revealed the chipped paint on the cabinets, the worn gold-flecked linoleum, the out-of-date appliances flanked by cookbooks and glass jars holding pasta and rice.
He self-consciously crossed to the aluminum-framed screen door to watch Chase half-heartedly toss a tennis ball for the dog in the weed-choked backyard. The scene he’d just witnessed between Luanne and Chase had nearly been his undoing, coagulating his emotions into an opaque mass at the base of his throat. If he’d had any doubts at all about Luanne’s feelings for Jeff, those had vanished like a puff of smoke on a windy day…only to replaced by something that felt suspiciously, and cruelly, like envy.
And an even stronger urge to bolt.
But his bolting days were over. All his adult life, Alek had shunned responsibility—personal, emotional, social—for reasons he’d never been able to define, any more than one can define one’s instinct for survival. But he’d also grown tired of feeling rudderless, of having no focus to his existence beyond the pursuit of a series of momentary gratifications. So, even before the accident, he’d begun the delayed—and not nearly as arduous as he would have thought—task of growing up. He’d all but given up the racing. And the women. In fact, he’d been celibate for longer than most men would readily admit, not a little surprised to find a certain…serenity in abstinence he wouldn’t have believed possible even a year ago. The throne would be his, sooner or later—not even his indomitable grandmother would live forever—and duty beckoned. Or, in his case, bellowed. Carpathia might be small, but his country’s stability in an area of the world subject to constant turmoil could not be underestimated, and the prince at last fully understood—and accepted—the importance of his role in years to come.
And that role included protecting those whose responsibility came under his care, whether he—or they—sought it or not.
“Here.” Alek turned to see Luanne holding out a glass of orange juice. Her hand was shaking. “Freshly reconstituted.”
He took the juice, starting slightly when Luanne suddenly flapped at his shirt. “Give that to me so I can wash out that stain before it sets.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Hand me the dang shirt, Alek.” When he still hesitated, she said, “I have to keep busy, keep moving or I’ll go out of my mind.”
So he set the juice down on the counter and stripped off the shirt, which she snatched from him, dunking it a moment later into a small basin of suds in the sink, her movements agitated, jerky.
Her son’s, however, were another story, Alek noticed as he returned his attention outside. Seated cross-legged in the browning grass underneath a quiescent sycamore, Chase’s anguish abraded a wound inside Alek still raw after all these years. His sister had been about Chase’s age when their parents died in that plane crash; he remembered watching her muddle through her grief, his own sense of loss rendering him virtually useless. And their grandmother had been heartbroken at the loss of her only child. So the three of them had spun in their own sad, separate orbits, unable to offer—or even accept, really—much in the way of solace. Alek was determined not to let history repeat itself, even if he hadn’t a clue how to go about it.
“Chase misses Jeff terribly, doesn’t he?”
Luanne’s silence behind him was excruciatingly eloquent. He turned, something inside him splintering into myriad white-hot shards at her ravaged expression. Then she averted her eyes, scrubbing the shirt
