him, her hands coming up to clutch at his hair, combing restlessly through the black silk strands.
He lifted his head, and he was breathing heavily, harsh gasps for air. “Where can we go?”
His voice was so deep and guttural, it was nearly a growl, and her feminine nature recognized the primitive possession in the sound, her body drawing into a nearly painful knot of need. “The—the garden house,” she said breathlessly. “Down this path—oh!”
Before she could complete the sentence, he had lifted her into his arms, his head coming down again, his lips slanting over hers in a complete claim that it never occurred to her to resist. She might not know his name, but her body recognized his. And as he began to stride down the path, she relaxed in his arms and gave herself to the embrace that should have felt strange but only felt…right, as if finally, after twenty-seven years of waiting, she’d found what she hadn’t even known she’d been waiting for.
Two
On the dot of seven, Rafe knocked on the door of the Royal Princess of Wynborough’s suite. Almost immediately, the double doors swung inward, as if Elizabeth had been waiting on the other side.
Elizabeth. She’d been nameless for five months now. Her real name was going to take some getting used to.
Her eyes widened, and he knew she must be contrasting the image he’d presented yesterday in his work clothes with the charcoal suit he donned now. She shouldn’t be that surprised—she’d seen him in a tux.
For that matter, he thought with a surge of grim humor, she’d seen him wearing a whole lot less.
“Good evening,” she said, stepping back and waving a hand in invitation for him to enter. “Please come in.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.” He gave the title the faintest emphasis and was gratified to see a blush climb her neck as he stepped into the room.
She was dressed simply, in a pretty, lightweight dress in a silky fabric that swirled loosely around her body and draped over the full swells of her breasts, drawing his eye as he passed her. His body sat up and took notice as he remembered the soft mounds that had filled his hands a few months ago…. He mentally shook himself, annoyed that he was letting his sex drive get the better of his good judgment again. Just like the first time he’d seen her.
The Children’s Fund Ball was an annual masquerade event, and he still didn’t know what had possessed him to attend. Once he’d seen this woman, though, he’d ceased to wonder. He and his mysterious lady had complied with the ball’s unspoken rule, not identifying themselves. Still, he was almost positive his paramour had been one of the princesses. Her demeanor had been refined, almost archaically elegant compared to the brash American women whom he’d seen throw themselves at a man. Even compared to other women at the ball, British royals as well as those of his native isle, she’d seemed exceptionally genteel.
If she were one of the princesses, that would make sense. He’d never even met one of them, despite his own royal status. Granted, they were all several years younger than he, and he’d been away at school most of his life before he’d escaped Thortonburg, but rumor had it that King Phillip employed the tightest security to keep his remaining family safe.
Rafe supposed that if his infant son had been kidnapped and presumably killed, he’d be overprotective with his other children, too. Yes, given all those factors, he’d been nearly positive that his lady fair had been one of King Phillip’s four beautiful daughters.
“Could I offer you a drink?” She had moved across the room behind him and now stood behind the small breakfast bar.
“Please.” He walked to the bar and hooked one foot around a stool, drawing it to him and propping himself on the edge of the seat with his feet splayed. “Nice place.”
“Yes. It’s very comfortable.”
“I guess you wouldn’t know what it’s like to live somewhere that wasn’t.”
Her eyes flickered to his for an instant. “I’ve never had the opportunity to find out,” she said in a neutral tone. Busying herself for a moment, she laid a napkin on the bar and set a highball glass in front of him.
He stared at the drink for a minute. “How do you know what I drink?”
The color that had begun to subside began to climb her neck again. “If you’d prefer another drink, that’s fine. This is what you were drinking…the last time.”
“This is fine.” Abruptly, he picked up the drink and took a quick gulp. When she’d first seen him yesterday in the restaurant, there had been warm, intimate welcome in the depths of her green eyes until he’d scared it away. Today, the same wide eyes held only wariness. Her hair was a beautiful copper, shiny as a new American penny. Tonight she wore it down, curling softly around her shoulders and framing her heart-shaped face.
He recognized that face. Now that he knew who she was, he felt like an idiot for doubting his instincts before. It could almost have been her mother’s face at a younger age, except for a slight dimple in her chin, courtesy of her father, the king.
The king.
Anger began to rise again and he ruthlessly pushed it back and shut the door on it. He intended to have his questions answered this evening.
Elizabeth continued to hover behind the bar. She had made herself a drink as well, though he’d seen her put nothing in it but cranberry juice. She gestured to the center of the room, where a coffee table surrounded by several chairs and love seats held a silver tray full of canapés. “Shall we sit down?”
He rose from the stool and gestured for her to precede him. “Certainly.”
Her gaze flew to his, then whisked away again, and he saw her swallow. Then she stepped from behind the bar and quickly walked to one of the chairs, sinking down and demurely crossing her legs at the ankle while she fussed with the loose folds of her oversize dress.
Rafe followed her, taking a seat at an angle to hers and accepting the plate she offered him. He’d worked all day and had only gotten home in time to shower and change before heading over to the hotel, and he was starving. As he filled his plate with a selection of the hors d’ouevres, he glanced at her. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
She gave a single nervous shake of her head. “I’m not particularly hungry. You go ahead.”
“If you’re sure.” This rigid courtesy was getting to him already. One more of the reasons he didn’t intend to return to Thortonburg.
She only nodded.
There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments. Judging from the way she fidgeted, it bothered her a lot more than it did him. He applied himself to his food until his plate was empty, but he held up a hand in refusal when she offered him a second helping.
“No thanks, this will hold me for the moment.”
A faint smile crossed her face. “As you wish.” She studied him curiously. “You’re very American, aren’t you?”
He supposed she meant the slang expression, because he knew his voice still carried the clipped accents of his homeland. “This is my home now,” was all he said.
“This
