fine. Enjoy your visit to Sacramento.’’
His gaze tracked to her mouth, then flicked up to collide with hers again. ‘‘Yes. I have a feeling I’m going to be very glad I came.’’
Another of those infuriating, purely sexual shivers quivered through her. She went on smiling and spoke very softly. ‘‘Open that door or I’ll spit in your eye.’’
With a flourish, he pulled the door wide.
Liv gave the cabby her address and turned to look out the rear window as the cab pulled away from the crowd of reporters. She wanted to make certain Finn didn’t follow her.
Still waving at the clicking cameras, he strode over to the long, black limousine. The limo driver jumped out and opened the door. Sable hair shining in the fading light of early evening, the prince ducked inside.
Liv kept watching, until the limo went another way. Apparently, Finn had better sense than to try tailing her home. A wise move on his part. If he had, she’d intended to call the police on him.
She could see the headlines now: Princess Liv And Her Handsome Stalker, The Prince. Royal Engagement A No-Go. His Highness In Jail. It would be ugly. And he would fully deserve whatever embarrassment he suffered.
Where would he go? she found herself wondering, though she knew she shouldn’t spare another thought for him. Some exclusive hotel, no doubt. Wherever. She didn’t care. She was jet-lagged and emotionally exhausted and she needed a good night’s rest. She had to be at work tomorrow.
The cabby let her off in front of the cute, attractively renovated two-story Victorian on T Street. It belonged to a friend of her mother’s—a friend who was visiting Alaska for the summer. Ingrid had wanted Liv to stay in her old room at the Land Park house where Liv and her sisters had grown up. But Liv treasured her independence too much. She wanted to come and go as she pleased and know she wouldn’t be worrying her mother. Plus, the T Street house was downtown, closer to the State Attorney General’s Office and her job.
Inside, she brewed herself a cup of soothing tea and checked in with her message service. There was one from Simon, which brought a fresh twinge of guilt.
He was in town—Simon was spending his summer on the campaign trail with a senatorial candidate they both supported—and he wanted her to call him at his hotel. He reminded her about the rally tomorrow, the one she’d promised him several weeks ago that she’d attend.
She thought of a thousand excuses why she didn’t have to call him right then. None of them added up to anything but the desire to evade an unpleasant duty. She picked up the phone.
In the instant before she punched up his number, the doorbell rang. Her bags.
She had the driver lug them in. He left them in a neat row inside the front door at the foot of the stairs. She tipped him and locked up. Then she grabbed her overnighter—the rest she’d worry about tomorrow—and went on upstairs.
The phone rang as she was pulling on her thick terry bathrobe. She knew it was going to be Simon. She considered not answering.
‘‘Coward,’’ she muttered, and picked up the receiver.
It was her mother.
‘‘Liv darling, you’re home.’’ Her mother always called her darling. She’d never thought a thing about it. But now, the word stood out when Ingrid said it, making Liv think of the infuriating Prince Finn.
‘‘Liv?’’ Ingrid asked, a note of concern creeping in.
‘‘Sorry, Mom. I’m beat. And yes, I’m home. Safe and sound.’’
‘‘Good trip?’’
‘‘Can’t complain. Nonstop. The king’s luxury jet.’’ Liv waited, somewhat grimly, for her mother to start in about Brit staying on in Gullandria and Elli marrying ‘‘that big Gullandrian thug.’’
But she didn’t. She only said, ‘‘It’s a long flight, I know. Take a hot bath and get some rest.’’
Liv heaved a grateful sigh. She wanted to be there for Ingrid, to listen to her worries and provide a shoulder to cry on. But tonight, it really would have been one big scene too many. She said warmly, ‘‘A bath and a good night’s sleep. My intentions exactly.’’
‘‘And how about dinner, tomorrow night? I’ll have Hilda make your favorite stuffed pork chops. Say sevenish?’’
‘‘Sounds wonderful. I’ll be there.’’
Liv was just about to say good-night when it occurred to her that her mother might hear about her so-called engagement before she could explain the situation tomorrow at dinner. Ingrid hopefully would take such news with a grain of salt. But then again, she might completely freak. Hard to say. ‘‘Listen, Mom, I just want to warn you.’’
‘‘My. This does sound ominous.’’ Ingrid’s voice was light. Almost teasing.
And Liv wanted it to stay that way. ‘‘It’s not ominous. Not in the least. It’s nothing. I met this, well, this very charming man, in Gullandria. We spent some time together. You know, just casual?’’ Well, okay, not completely casual. But she was hoping Ingrid would never have to know about that. ‘‘We danced. We…talked. We went riding. He gave me a tour of Lysgard. He, um, showed Brit and me around….’’
‘‘Darling, what are you getting at?’’
‘‘Well, his name is Danelaw. Prince Finn Danelaw. And somehow, the press has gotten hold of it. As usual, they’ve made a big deal out of nothing. They seem to think I’m engaged to Finn. It’s not true. There’s nothing between us. And I, well, I just wanted you to hear it from me first, that’s all.’’
Her mother made a noise in her throat.
Liv couldn’t decide what that sound might mean. ‘‘Mom, it’s nothing. I just didn’t want you to read it first in the papers or have somebody tell you before I had a chance to.’’
‘‘Darling.’’
‘‘Mmm?’’
‘‘Don’t give it another thought. I know how the press is.’’ And she did, of course. After all, Ingrid Freyasdahl Thorson had been known for over two decades as the Runaway Gullandrian Queen. She was no stranger to scandal or to lying reporters. ‘‘And look at it this way…’’
‘‘What way?’’
‘‘If they had to pair you with a Gullandrian, at least he’s a Danelaw. It’s a very old family. Very wealthy. And powerful—at least at one time. Dane-laws once sat on the throne of Gullandria, did you know that? For several generations, as a matter of fact.’’
‘‘Mom, that’s not the point.’’
‘‘Of course it’s not, darling. I’m only trying to…look on the bright side.’’
‘‘There is no bright side to nosy reporters making up lies about me.’’
‘‘Sweetheart. Take a bath. Go to bed. We’ll
