An Officer and a Princess (2 page)

If given a choice, she might have chosen somebody else to act as her “husband” in the undercover scheme. She and Adam had often butted heads over military policies and procedures, but that wasn't what bothered her about him.

What bothered her were his gunmetal gray eyes with their sinfully long dark lashes. What bothered her were his impossibly broad shoulders, his taut, flat stomach and slender hips.

What bothered her was that when his gaze swept over her, she forgot the trappings of her title and the expertise of her training, and became simply a woman with a woman's wants and needs.

There were times when Adam looked at her that she felt her knees weaken and her stomach knot and intense heat suffused her entire body. She knew it would be wise to choose somebody else for this undercover operation.

But for this particular assignment she needed the best, and Adam was the best. Well-trained, with an impressive record, Adam Sinclair was the only man on earth she would trust with this important mission.

Adam Sinclair was also the only man on earth who had ever seen her cry. She frowned and tried to forget that there had been a time when she'd believed herself hopelessly in love with him. And that there had been a single moment in time when she'd practically thrown herself into his arms and he'd remained disappointingly professional.

She couldn't think about that now. That was in the past…in her youth. She had to focus on the task at hand. She knew her plan was dangerous, knew the people responsible for her father's kidnapping were dangerous. But she would do whatever it took to find her father and put an end to the chaos that reigned in the country she so loved.

Tonight she would put out the word that she was going into seclusion, that the stress of the past three months had finally caught up with her. And tomorrow night she would begin her charade as Bella Wilcox, cousin to Shane Moore and wife of Adam.

She shivered, unsure what had her more anxious, rubbing elbows with dangerous men and women or living a pretend marriage with Adam Sinclair.

T
he interior of the King's Men Tavern was far worse than Adam had imagined. The moment he stepped inside, acrid cigarette smoke assaulted him, scratching the back of his throat and stinging his eyes.

The tension in the air was thick, hinting that an explosion of tempers and passions could be imminent.

From the back of the establishment, the dull whack of billiard balls could be heard, mixing with the clink of glasses and bottles and the raucous shouts of the players.

Adam spied an empty stool at the bar and made his way to it, conscious of the speculative gazes that followed his progress.

Although he didn't actively try to make eye contact with the tough guys in the place, he also didn't avoid it. He knew in a place like this any sign of weakness was an open invitation to confrontation. While he certainly wasn't afraid of anyone in the establishment, he also wasn't looking for trouble.

It was important for him and Isabel to maintain a low profile. He didn't want anyone looking too closely at him or her. Recognition could place them both in immediate danger.

He slid onto the stool, dropped his duffel bag to the floor and motioned to the bartender. The burly man approached wearing the world-weary expression of a man who would rather be anywhere than where he was.

Adam ordered a drink, then swiped a hand across his chin, unaccustomed to the scratchy whiskers along his jaw. In preparing for his role, he hadn't shaved since the day before. Instead of his usual pristine uniform, he was clad in a pair of tight jeans and a black T-shirt.

The bartender slammed his drink down and Adam picked it up and spun around on the stool so he could view the entire room.

Isabel should be arriving within the next fifteen minutes or so. Adam had arrived early so he could get a feel for the place. He'd never been in here before, although he'd heard many stories of the place.

He didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. The whole place stank of simmering violence and pathetic lies. He'd bet half the men in the room were felons, and the women didn't look much better. His attention was captured by one particular woman across the room.

She was a burst of flash and color in a room of blacks and grays. Her teased hair was the color of a shiny new penny and her gold sparkly midriff blouse clung to pert, rounded breasts and exposed a flat, well-toned abdomen.

Her short black skirt barely covered her other assets, and cupped her well-shaped bottom. If she bent over too far, there would be no mysteries left, Adam thought. But, he couldn't help but admire the sexy length of legs that disappeared into a pair of red spike high heels.

Obviously a working girl, he thought as he watched her chatting up a man who looked half drunk but managed to leer at her through bleary eyes.

Adam couldn't fault the man for leering. Although Adam couldn't discern the woman's facial features in the dimness of the room, if her face matched her shape, she was definitely one hot-looking ticket.

Watching the woman, Adam felt a surge of blood sweep through him and realized it had been some time since he'd been with a woman. Since his fa
ther's disappearance a little over a year before, Adam's life had been consumed with trying to clear his father's name…his own name. There had been no time and, truthfully, no inclination for romance.

Adam looked at his watch, then toward the front door. Just a few minutes after ten. Where in the hell was Isabel? They'd agreed to meet here at 10:00 p.m.

As soon as she walked in the door, he was going to grab her by the arm and steer her out of here. This was certainly no place for a princess. There had to be some other way to get the information Isabel sought.

He looked back at the woman across the room. Like a magnet, she drew him. As if she felt his gaze on her, she looked over to him. She grabbed the hand of the drunk standing next to her and began pulling him toward Adam.

Adam frowned, wondering if he'd committed some sort of faux pas merely by looking at the woman. Maybe the drunk was her pimp and they'd mistaken him for an interested john. He stood, unsure what to expect.

She drew close enough for him to see her features and he found himself admiring the full lips carefully colored with ruby-red lipstick, the high cheekbones pinkened with a blush of color and green eyes that suddenly caused shock to rivet through him.

He knew those green eyes. They weren't the eyes of a hooker…they were the eyes of a princess. It was Isabel.

Before he had time to assess the situation, before his shock had completely worn off, she launched herself into him, pressing her warm lithe body intimately against his.

“I was just telling Willie here about my handsome hunk of a husband, then I look across the room and there you are,” she said, her head tilted back to look at him. “Now, kiss me, sweetheart, and show Willie just how glad you really are to see me.”

Her eyes beseeched him to play the game and with his head still reeling from shock, with her body warm and soft against his and her perfume dizzying his senses, Adam could do nothing but comply.

Someplace in the back of his mind, as his mouth descended to hers, he knew this was a major mistake. She hadn't said anything about kissing her when she'd told him they were going undercover.

But, even knowing it was a mistake, Adam couldn't stop the maelstrom of excitement that coursed through him as he realized he was about to do what he'd dreamed of doing for years. He was going to kiss Princess Isabel Stanbury.

He'd intended the kiss to be a mere brushing of lips, a perfunctory touch of mouths. But, the moment his lips met hers, desire roared through him.

With the press of her breasts against his chest, and his fingers touching the silky warm bare skin of her lower back, Adam lost himself in the kiss.

Her mouth was hot and opened eagerly to him as her arms wound tight around his neck. She tasted sweeter, hotter than in any of his fantasies, and his senses reeled with the reality of her in his arms.

After what seemed like a sweet eternity and a disappointing nanosecond at the same time, she broke the kiss. She took a step back from him, her cheeks flushed a heated pink and her green eyes widened in shock.

“I'd say the man is definitely glad to see you,” Willie snickered.

The man's words seemed to break the stunned spell that had momentarily gripped Isabel. “Adam, darling, this is Willie Tammerick. He was a friend of my cousin Shane. Willie, this is my husband, Adam Wilcox.”

Adam nodded, disliking the way Willie's gaze slid over Isabel, as if she were a delectable treat that he couldn't wait to taste. He noticed other men in the bar looking at her in the same way.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her, find a coat and throw it over her, do whatever he could to hide the luscious curves she had on display. What was she thinking when she picked those revealing clothes? And what on earth had she done to her hair?

His blood boiled and he wasn't sure if it was because she'd been utterly shameless and irresponsible in choosing her clothes, or if it was a residual effect of the kiss they'd just shared.

Despite his reluctance, he draped a hand over Isabel's shoulder, keeping her close to his side and establishing a proprietorship to her for every other man in the bar.

“So, you were a friend of Shane's?” Adam asked, once again directing his attention to Willie Tammerick.

The man was a skinny weasel of a man, with eyes set slightly too close together, a long pointed nose and a scraggly gray beard that cried out for the touch of a sharp razor.

“Sure, Shane and me…we were like this.” He held up two fingers twined together and stumbled slightly as if in raising his arm he'd thrown off his balance. “Poor Shane, shot to death by them royal guards like he was nothing but a damn dog.”

Somehow Adam doubted that a man as smart as Shane Moore would have been close friends with Willie, who appeared to be nothing more than a loose-mouthed drunk.

“I guess Shane got into something over his head,” Isabel said.

Willie grinned at her, a loopy smile that displayed a broken front tooth. “Now he's in way over his head…six feet under, he is.” His smile fell
away as he realized his morbid joke wasn't appreciated. “There's lots of us here that are going to miss old Shane. He was always good for buying a round or two.”

He looked at Adam expectantly, obviously hoping Adam might spring for a round of drinks. Instead Adam focused his attention on a tall, burly man with tattoos decorating tree-trunk sized arms who was intently focused on Isabel.

Hunger. It radiated from the man's eyes and Adam found himself looking at Isabel not as a subordinate who had once served a tour of duty beneath him, not as a princess whom he was sworn to protect, but as a woman.

A woman with a killer body and a full, slightly pouty mouth that could muddy a man's thoughts. A woman who could cause a bar fight just by fluttering her blackened lashes.

As he watched, the man sauntered toward them. Adam tensed, anticipating possible trouble. He tightened his arm around Isabel, then breathed a sigh of relief as the man swept past them and toward the billiard tables in the back.

The last thing Adam wanted was a brawl. What he wanted was to get the scantily clad Isabel out of here before he had to fight for her honor.

“I need to talk to you,” he said pointedly to Isabel.

Her eyes narrowed slightly and she nodded, then
flashed Willie a winsome smile. “We'll talk to you later, Willie. My old man wants to spend some time with me.”

Her “old man?” Where on earth had the princess learned such slang? As Willie wandered away, Isabel took a key from the tiny glittery purse she carried.

“Our room is up on the third floor,” she said and pointed to a doorway at the back of the bar. Beyond the doorway Adam could see a narrow staircase. “I haven't been up there yet. Just let me get my bag.”

She stepped away from Adam and motioned to the bartender. “Bart, sweetie, can I have my bag?”

“Sure thing, doll.” The stoic bartender beamed a smile and winked at her then grabbed a hot-pink duffel bag from someplace behind the bar and slung it onto the polished surface where Isabel could grab it.

Adam watched the flirtatious exchange between the two and felt as if he'd entered some alternate universe. From the moment he'd walked through the door, he'd felt off-center and fought against a growing sense of unease.

No, that wasn't exactly true. It hadn't been from the moment he'd walked through the door. It had been from the moment he'd seen her in that sexy get-up, and kissing her had only sent his senses further afield.

He felt utterly out of control and he didn't like it one little bit. It was definitely time to get some control back. As he followed Isabel up the steep staircase that led to the rented rooms above the bar, he tried not to notice how tight her skirt fit across her shapely bottom. He tried not to notice the wiggle that accompanied each of her steps.

And he desperately tried to ignore the shaft of heat that each wiggle shot through him. He couldn't do this. And she shouldn't do this.

This place was too dangerous, and her choice of clothing, the role she'd chosen to play, were like tossing a lit match into a can of kerosene.

And at the moment, he felt like that explosive can of kerosene.

 

Isabel was acutely conscious of Adam just behind her as she climbed the steep wooden stairs to the third floor. The moment she'd first seen him sitting on the stool at the bar, her breath had caught in her chest. In all the years she'd known Adam, worked with him, she'd never seen him out of uniform.

Clad in a tight pair of worn black jeans and a black T-shirt that hugged the hard, well-defined muscles of his torso, he had looked as dangerous, as on the edge as any man in the room. The scruffy growth of whiskers that darkened his jawline only added to his dangerous appeal.

And that kiss. Heat swept through her as she thought of that moment when Adam's lips had claimed hers. How many times had she fantasized about kissing him? Her fantasies hadn't even begun to live up to the real thing.

Nothing she'd experienced so far in her life had prepared her for the utter pleasure and intense excitement of Adam's kiss. In that single kiss, he'd claimed more than her lips, he'd stolen her breath and touched her frantically beating heart.

Adam didn't say a word as they made their way up, but she felt an angry tension rolling off him. She'd worked with Adam often enough in the past to recognize when he was angry. But, this time she wasn't sure what was causing his anger. So far their undercover subterfuge seemed to be working just fine.

By the time they reached the third floor she was slightly out of breath. She didn't know if it was from the physical exertion of climbing the stairs or her mind playing and replaying that kiss over and over again in her head.

She found their room and inserted the key into the lock. When she shoved open the door, she couldn't help but release a sigh of dismay. The place was a dump.

They stepped inside, and Adam closed the door behind them. “What did you expect? The Ritz?” he asked. His voice was curt, clipped.

“At least it looks relatively clean,” she replied. It was true, the room was small, holding only a double bed, a cigarette-scarred nightstand and a lumpy chair. The only light in the room was an ugly lamp with a shade that sat askew. But, the carpet was clean and the room held the scent of a pine cleanser.

She peeked into the tiny bathroom. No tub, just a miniscule shower stall, but this room also looked clean. She turned and looked at Adam, who stood in the center of the room with a frown marring his handsome face. “It's not so bad,” she said. “It could be worse.”

“No, it's not so bad,” he agreed, but she wasn't fooled by his affable reply. “And it doesn't really matter if it's bad or not because we are not going to stay here,” he added.