Cordinas Crown Jewel (16 page)

“Yes, here I am. Sarah—”

“That Del.” Overwhelmed Sarah babbled on. “I know you have to pry news out of him with a crowbar, but this is taking it too far. He’s got royalty staying at his cabin, and he doesn’t say a word.”

“He doesn’t know. And I’d prefer to keep things that way as well, at least until … Oh, Sarah.”

Having a princess in her shop was one thing, having one who looked so miserably distressed was another. “Golly.” Biting her lip, Sarah hurried around the counter, but stopped short of taking Camilla’s arm. She didn’t think it was done. “Would you like something to drink, Your Highness?”

“Yes. Yes, thank you, I would.”

“I’ve got, jeez, I’m so flustered. I have some iced tea in my office.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s nothing. Just let me, boy … I’ll put the Closed sign on.”

She hurried to the door and back again, then wrung her hands and couldn’t stop herself from doing another curtsy. “Behind the counter. It’s not much.”

“I’d love something cool.” She followed Sarah into the little office and took a seat on a swivel chair while Sarah fumbled with the door of a small refrigerator. “Please don’t be nervous. I’m no different than I was the first time I came in.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but you are. Of course you are.”

“You needn’t address me by my title,” Camilla said wearily. “Madam or ma’am is sufficient, and in this case, I’d prefer you just use my name.”

“I don’t think I can. You see I’ve read about you and your family since I was a kid. We’re almost the same age, and I used to imagine myself living in a palace, wearing all those beautiful clothes. Being a princess. I guess most little girls do.”

She turned back to Camilla, eyes shining. “Is it wonderful?”

“It can be. Sarah, I have a great favor to ask you.”

“Anything. Anything at all.”

“Would you not tell anyone?”

Sarah blinked. “Anyone? At all?”

“Just for a little while. Please. Sarah, it can be wonderful being a princess, but there were times, you see, when I was a little girl, that I dreamed of being just that. Just an ordinary girl. I want time now to live that dream.”

“Really?” It sounded beautifully romantic. “I guess we always want what we don’t have.” She handed Camilla a glass of iced tea. “I won’t tell anyone. It’ll kill me,” she admitted with a wry laugh. “But I won’t. Could you, would you mind, ah, madam, signing my magazine?”

“I’d be happy to. Thank you very much.”

“You’re nicer than I thought you’d be. I always imagined princesses would be, well, snobby.”

“Oh, we can be.” Camilla smiled, sipped. “Depending.”

“Maybe, but, excuse me, but you seem so … normal.”

The smile warmed, as did her eyes. “That’s the nicest thing you could say to me.”

“Classier of course. I noticed that right off, too, but …” Sarah’s eyes popped wide again. “Del doesn’t
know?”

Guilt circled, nibbled at the back of her neck. “It hasn’t come up.”

“It’s just like him. Oblivious.” Sarah threw up her hands. “The man’s oblivious. When we were dating, I think he forgot my name half the time. And forget noticing the color of my eyes. Used to make me so mad. Then he’d smile at me, or say something to make me laugh, and I wouldn’t mind so much.”

“I know what you mean.”

“He’s so smart about some things, and so lame about others.” She picked up her own glass, then nearly bobbled it when she caught the dreamy expression on Camilla’s face. “Holy cow. Are you in love with him?”

“Yes, I am. And I need a little more time to convince him he likes the idea.”

It was just like a movie, Sarah thought. “That’s nice. Really nice. And it’s perfect, really, when you think about it.”

“It is for me.” Camilla admitted, then rose. “I’m in your debt, Sarah, and I won’t forget it.” When she held out a hand, Sarah quickly wiped her own on her slacks before taking it.

“I’m glad to help.”

“I’ll come in and see you again before I leave,” Camilla promised as she started back into the shop.

When she picked up her watch from the counter, Sarah bit her lip again. “Your Highness, ma’am, do you really want to sell that watch?”

“Yes, actually. I’m embarrassingly short of liquid funds, just now.”

“I can’t give you what it’s worth, not even close. But I could … I could lend you five hundred. And, well, you could have the inkwell you liked so much.”

Camilla looked over at her. The woman, she thought, was nervous, intimidated and confused. But it didn’t stop her from wanting to help. Another gift, Camilla thought, she would treasure.

“When I started out on this quest of mine, I wanted to discover … To find parts of myself as well as see … I’m not sure what now—maybe just things from a different perspective. It’s such a wonderful bonus to have found a friend. Take the watch. We’ll consider it a trade, between friends.”

*  *  *

Del walked out on the front porch and stared at the rutted lane. Again. How long did it take to run a few errands? That was the trouble with women. They turned a couple errands into some sort of pilgrimage.

He wanted his lunch, and a fresh pot of coffee, and to answer the half-dozen e-mails that had come through his laptop that morning.

All of which, he was forced to admit he could handle for himself. Had always handled for himself.

What he wanted, damn it, was her.

His life, he thought jamming his hands into his pockets, was completely screwed. She’d messed everything up, scattered his focus, ruined his routine.

He should’ve left her stranded in the rain that night. Then everything would be the way it had been before. He wouldn’t have some woman cluttering up his space. Cluttering up his mind.

Who the hell was she? There were secrets tucked inside that sharp, complicated brain of hers. If she was in trouble, why didn’t she just tell him, so he could deal with it?

He needed for her to tell him, to confide in him, to depend on him to help her.

And when the hell had he started seeing himself as some knight on a white charger? It was ridiculous, totally out of character.

But he wanted to fix whatever was wrong. More, he realized, much more, he needed her to trust him enough to tell him. Trust him enough to fix it.

Because he’d tripped over his own unspoken rule and fallen flat on his face in love with her.

And he didn’t much care for the way it felt, he mused, rubbing a hand over his heart. It was a lot more uncomfortable than a few bruised ribs. And, he feared, a lot more permanent.

He’d had to go and say no strings, hadn’t he? Of course, she’d had no problem with that, he thought now. Bitterly. That was just fine and dandy with her.

Well, if he was going to have to adjust, then so was she.

Besides, no strings didn’t mean no faith, did it? If she didn’t believe in him enough to even tell him her full name, where were they?

He paced into the house, then back out again.

Maybe he should go check on her. She’d been gone nearly two hours. She’d already had one accident, which meant she could easily have another. She might be sprawled over the wheel of her car, bleeding. Or …

Just as he was working himself into a fine state of agitation, he heard the sound of her engine. Disgusted with himself, he slipped back into the house before she could catch him keeping an eye out for her.

He circled the living room twice, then paused and considered. Adjustments.

Romance.

That was something she appeared to believe was vital in any culture. Cultures were made up of relationships, rituals and romance. Maybe he should try a small foray into that and see where it got him.

He strolled into the kitchen as she set a bag of groceries on the table. “I have your receipts for the overnight mail I sent,” she told him.

“Good.” Since he wanted to anyway, he brushed a hand over her hair.

She gave him an absent smile, and turned away to put a quart of milk in the refrigerator. “There were some letters in your post office box.” Frowning, she rubbed at her temple where a tension headache nagged. “I must have left them in the car.”

“No problem.” He leaned down to sniff the side of her neck. “You smell great.”

“I what? Oh.” She patted his shoulder, reached for the bag of new potatoes she’d bought for dinner. “Thank you.”

Determined to make an impression he dug a little deeper. What was it women always … ah! “Have you lost weight?” he asked, feeling truly inspired.

“I doubt it. Probably gained a couple if anything.” She took coffee out of the cupboard and prepared to brew a fresh pot.

Behind her back, Del narrowed his eyes. Since words weren’t getting him anywhere, he’d move straight to deeds.

He scooped her off her feet and started out of the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you to bed.”

“Well, really. You might ask—and I haven’t finished putting the groceries away.”

Del paused at the bottom of the steps and stopped her mouth with his. “In certain cultures,” he said when he eased back, “women indicate their desire for intimacy by stocking the pantry. I’m merely picking up on traditional signals.”

Amusement nudged at the gnawing worry inside her. “What cultures?” she demanded as he continued up the steps.

“Mine. It’s a new tradition.”

“That’s so cute.” She nuzzled at the side of his throat. “I think you missed me.”

“Missed you? Did you go somewhere?” When she huffed out a breath, he tossed her on the bed. When she bounced, he rolled his shoulder. “Got a twinge from hauling you up. Maybe you have gained a couple pounds.”

She shoved herself up on her elbows. “Oh, really?”

“That’s okay. We’ll work it off.” And he dived on her.

Her first reaction was laughter. Playfulness wasn’t his usual style, and it caught her off guard. As he rolled her over the bed, she forgot to be worried.

“You’re heavy.” She shoved at him. “And you haven’t shaved. You have your boots on my clean linens.”

“Nag, nag, nag,” he said, and dragging her hands over her head, took her mouth with his.

He felt her pulse jump, then race, and her hands go limp in his. Her body gloriously pliant.

He skimmed his lips over her jaw. “You were saying?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

He cuffed her wrists with one hand, used the other to unbutton her shirt. “So, are you indicating your desire for intimacy?” He trailed a fingertip down the center of her body, toyed with the hook of her slacks as he watched her face. “Just want to get my signals straight.”

Her breath was already backing up in her lungs. “Your pantry’s been stocked since I got here, hasn’t it?”

“That’s a good point.” He lowered the zipper, brushing his knuckles over the exposed skin. “Had the hots for me all along, haven’t you?”

“If you’re going to be arrogant—”

“Maybe you were hoping I’d come into your room one night,” he continued, and traced the dip between her center and her thigh. “And do this.”

“I never …” Her hips arched, her breath hissed out as he cupped her. “Lord. Del.”

“Let me show you what I thought about doing.”

Keeping her hands pinned, he touched her, unerringly shooting her up into an intense climax, muffling her shocked cry with his mouth as her body bucked. When her breath sobbed, he closed his teeth over her breast, torturing the sensitized point through the cotton of her bra.

He nudged the straps down, nibbled his way over the slope of her shoulders, almost delicately, while his hand roamed, exploited and plundered.

She went wet and wild beneath him. Unable to find her balance, she shuddered, then spiked, then floated down again only to have him fling her ruthlessly over the edge one more time. Her hands strained against his grip. And the helplessness added a layer of panicked excitement over shattered senses.

Her body was molten, and she trembled from the heat that slathered her skin and burned in the blood. Still she arched to him, desperate for more.

She heard his voice, the words thick and soft.

“I’ll owe you for this,” he said and snapped the bra in two with one rough tug.

Then his mouth, his teeth, his tongue, found flesh. The moan wrenched from her gut as her system erupted.

“Let me go. Let go of my hands. I need to touch you.”

“Not yet, not yet.” It would end too soon if she touched him now. He hadn’t known he could arouse himself to a frenzy just by arousing her. He wanted her weak and wrecked and wailing.

And he wanted to take, take, take.

When he felt her go fluid beneath him, when he felt release pour through her and leave her lax, it still wasn’t enough.

He tore the panties away, feeling a dark satisfaction at hearing the delicate fabric rip. Then he drove her back to madness with his mouth.

Finally, when she thought there could be no more, he filled her. Her hands slipped off his damp shoulders, her mouth lifted urgently to his.

And she wrapped herself around him like a vine.

“Mon amour. Mon coeur,”
she murmured mindlessly as they tumbled over the brink. “
Toujours mon amour.”

*  *  *

They slept, sprawled over each other like exhausted children. And when they woke, steamed the walls in his narrow shower as they took each other again under the hot spray.

Realizing he was taking an unprecedented step—a day off—Camilla packed a picnic and cajoled him into sharing a very late lunch by the pond.

She didn’t have to do much cajoling. Picnics, he thought, were romantic. And romance was the current name of the game.

She looked happy, he mused. Relaxed. Her face glowed, her eyes were soft. If he’d been an artist, he’d have painted her now and titled it Camilla Content.

He didn’t feel foolish—or not very—telling her so.

“That’s just what I am. I love this place.” She stretched out on the bank, stared up at the powder-puff clouds. “It’s so quiet, it seems as though there’s no one else in the world.” She turned her head to smile at him. “Perfect for a hermit.”

“I’m not a hermit.” He polished off the last of the fancy triangular shaped sandwiches she’d put together. “I just don’t like people around.”