Falling for the Princess (13 page)

R
ebecca stood at the front of the royal enclosure. Usually she loved watching polo, the drama of the thundering hoofbeats. And she'd seen Logan play before. He was a natural horseman with an uncanny ability to read the game, to be in the right place at the right time. He'd told her how he'd learned to ride working vacations on a relative's ranch but that he'd come to the game itself comparatively late.

Today she had to split herself in two to watch the match. She had to appear to be fascinated because she needed to convince the throng of people in the marquee that Logan captivated her. In particular she wanted to convince her father, holding court in the enclosure, and the bachelors here from his list who were trickling into the country.

The impromptu ball was fast approaching. She needed her relationship with Logan to look solid, she needed to look infatuated. But at the same time she needed to not be
infatuated. Infatuation being a state that might well be easy to slip into. So she watched with determined detachment. And though she tried to concentrate on her brothers, who were both on the team, it was Logan who drew her eye.
I will not admire his skill. I will not admire his seat, in either the equestrian or the bodily sense of the word.
Detachment. She practically had to repeat the word like some kind of mantra.

He had phoned her last night, his voice warm and gentle over the line. He'd called, not to ask anything of her, not to rehash the mess the morning had turned into. But just, he'd said, to hear her voice, to know that she was okay.

She had wanted to go to him. To ask him to come to her. She had wanted the balm of being in his arms. But she managed to keep those needy words at bay, and to just bask in the warm cocoon that had surrounded her. That, she'd decided was his skill, the ability he had, even over the phone, to establish a connection that felt exclusive as though he thought only of her.

The opposing team scored a goal, leveling the score.

Various people—too many of them male and eligible—tried to claim her attention. But that wasn't what she wanted, either. So she positioned herself close to Lexie, who, like the boys in the team Rafe coached, cheered raucously, focusing intently on every play of the game.

Standing on the other side of Lexie, watching with no enthusiasm but looking stunning, was Adam's latest date, a young Hollywood actress.

Logan sped around an opposing player, swung his mallet and scored a goal, turned and cantered past her. She couldn't help but watch him, irritated with herself that his wink seemed just for her, threatened to warm her. She could feel what was happening and she wouldn't let it.

She would not fall for him. Something that one-sided would be sheer stupidity.

Lexie nudged her arm. “I didn't think he was going to get that last goal, he spends so much time looking over at you. But I guess that gives him all the more incentive to try to impress.”

“He doesn't need to impress me.”

“Because you're already impressed?”

“No. Because he's not the sort to try to impress, and I'm not the sort to be impressed by sporting prowess.”

“What about by a fine body?” Lexie nudged again, drawing out a smile.

“Maybe a little.” She watched that fine body as he rose up in his stirrups, lean-hipped, in nicely fitting whites. She sighed and dragged her gaze away.

Lexie's eyes danced in knowing amusement. “Great seat.”

“How's the pregnancy going?” Rebecca asked pointedly, eager to change the subject.

Lexie leaped on the change. “I'm feeling terrific.” She pressed her hand to her abdomen. “We're going to announce it soon.” Lexie turned when one of the boys from Rafe's team approached her.

Rafe's whirlwind courtship and marriage to Lexie had surprised everyone, including Rafe. But the fact that the two of them were deliriously happy was plain to see. And Rebecca couldn't be more pleased for them. But she also couldn't help wondering whether she'd ever find that kind of soul-deep love, that kind of happiness. She looked over at Logan—to whom she meant nothing—and looked away again. Her heart sank further as she saw Eduardo walking purposefully toward her.

“Things going well with you and Buchanan?”

“Good game, don't you think?” She gestured at the
field. Eduardo was the last person with whom she wanted to discuss her relationship with Logan.

“I've seen better. There's another board meeting next week, the main purpose of which is to discuss the sale of the subsidiary.”

Why was he telling her? “I didn't realize you had an interest in leBlanc.”

Eduardo affected boredom. “The new stepfather. Wants to do a little father-son bonding. Wants my opinion on Buchanan's character. That sort of thing.”

“Oh, look. Another goal.” Rebecca clapped.

Eduardo glanced at the game. “You know he's using you to further his business interests? I thought you should know.”

Eduardo ought to know. He'd wanted to use her, too, to further his political aspirations. “Thank you for thinking of me. That's really very sweet of you.”

Eduardo's mouth tightened. “He's not right for you.”

Rebecca hid her surprise at Eduardo's intrusion into her privacy. He was usually more subtle. Warning prickled along her skin.

“He's never going to fit into the kind of life we lead. He doesn't understand it. Doesn't approve of it. And he doesn't play by the rules.”

It took effort to keep her voice neutral, to not leap to Logan's defense. “Thank you for your opinion. You are, as always, right.” What he failed to understand was that was part of Logan's appeal, and Rebecca couldn't like any “we” that bracketed her with Eduardo. “Now, if you'll let me watch the match.”

Eduardo's eyes went cold. “I apologize for my interruption. I was only trying to help. We've been friends for a long time. And I'll still be here after he's gone.”

“We have been friends for a long time. So please don't spoil it.”

“I'd do anything not to spoil it. But I need to talk to you. And for your boyfriend's sake it should be before the board meeting.” There was something about the way Eduardo was speaking that chilled her, made her think that she hardly knew this man she'd known for most of her life. A couple of members of one of the visiting polo teams approached. Eduardo leaned closer and spoke quietly. “I need to talk to you in private. Soon.”

“Make an appointment with my secretary.”

Eduardo, displeasure curling his lip, nodded then turned and strode away.

Five minutes later the final chukker was over and still she watched Logan, surrounded by well-wishers, people wanting to congratulate him on the winning goal, wanting to revel in the reflected glory, to share in the team's jubilation. She kept her distance and chatted with other spectators. She caught his gaze a couple of times when he looked her way, both times as he'd looked at her his smile had faded. He left with his teammates to shower and change. She would have gone then, too, if it hadn't been expected that she'd wait. She'd be being watched, analyzed. They were supposed to be a couple. And if she was a true girlfriend, one who meant something—she couldn't help the mental aside—she would stay. An early departure would draw attention. The wrong sort.

She was still speaking with the polo players when she felt a familiar tingle along her spine and turned to see Logan approaching, his gaze intent on her. And then he was at her side, smiling as he apologized to the players and various other people wanting to speak with both of them as he led her away.

She let out a sigh and wasn't sure whether it was relief at escaping the artifice or pleasure at being with him.

The worrying thought was it might be the latter. She liked being with him too much. It was something beyond logic, beyond control. It just was.

“Watch the Argentinean player. Number eight. He's a player in all senses of the word,” Logan said.

“But charming to speak with and he has quite the sense of humor. Slightly wicked but very funny nonetheless.” She could look after herself.

Logan sighed.

They walked past the hospitality marquees brimming with guests sipping champagne and around to the players' side of the fields. Horse trucks were parked in long rows; beside them grooms brushed down tethered polo ponies and unwound and deftly rolled up the protective bandages from their legs.

She'd always liked the smell of horses, warm and earthy. Now it combined with the scent of the freshly showered man at her side, one of soap and spice.

They walked side by side, not talking. Arms occasionally brushing. He caught her hand in his.

“I'm glad you came,” he said finally.

“I said I would.”

“I thought I'd ruined it yesterday.” Regret tinged his voice.

“You did. But I needed the warning.” She was trying to show him that she had things in perspective, even if she wasn't sure she did, and she was trying to assure him that she wasn't upset. They could continue with their charade like two rational adults.

“Dammit, Rebecca.”

She glanced at him and raised her eyebrows. It wasn't like him to curse in her presence. But still it gave her
a small sense of satisfaction that he'd lost some of his composure. “Dammit? Really?”

“And don't get all prissy on me.”

“I'm not getting
prissy,
I just thought we'd lifted our game when we started dating a princess.” She knew her use of the royal
we
would irk him. But hadn't he said as much to his brother? And hadn't she insisted she didn't expect people to change for her?

“You're driving me nuts.”

“It's mutual.” They strolled up a gentle rise and stopped under the shade of an oak tree, turning back to watch the activity around the horse trucks a short distance away. “We can call an early end to this whole thing if that would suit you better?” She needed to put that option out there for him.

And suddenly his arm was around her shoulders and he swung her in close and kissed her. Angry and hungry and wanting. And—dammit—she needed his kiss so badly. Needed it because it pushed through all the barriers between them. It said he did feel something for her, even exasperation was better than nothing. She leaned into him, let his mouth claim hers, let his tongue tease hers, and did her share of claiming and teasing in return. Her eyes closed so that apart from the sounds around them, her only sensations were physical—the press of him against her, his arms around her and his lips on hers. The taste and flavor of him. His warmth, his strength.

She missed what they'd lost. Craved this feeling of being in his arms, of being close, the certainty that what was between them was important, was in fact the only thing that mattered. But as soon as the kiss ended the surety evaporated.

Just yesterday she'd made a resolution to not kiss him
in private anymore. She looked about. There were people not too far away, so this kiss had definitely been allowed.

He stepped back, just a little, breathing hard. “No. It wouldn't suit me better.”

Still partially dazed from their kiss she had to think back to what her question was, what wouldn't suit him. Oh. “I suppose you still need board approval. But maybe after the board meeting…”

He closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them again he was utterly serious. “No. It still won't suit me after the meeting. We have an agreement. Our relationship lasts until after the ball.” His eyes narrowed, his gaze intent on her. “What do you know about the board meeting?”

Rebecca considered telling Logan about Eduardo, but what had he really said? Only that Logan was using her and that Eduardo would be around after Logan had gone. Both facts that were out in the open. She lifted a shoulder.

“Just that it's the meeting you talked about. The one that meant you needed to be seen with my father.” And look where that had got them.

“I saw you talking to Eduardo.”

“Yes.” She lifted her chin. “Not just the other polo players. But as far as I can recall our agreement didn't stipulate who we could and couldn't talk to.”

He leaned closer, put his lips near her ear and murmured, “Prissy.”

And Rebecca laughed. “Maybe just a little. But I'm allowed. It's in my job description.” In so many ways Logan was good for her. She took herself too seriously sometimes. He made sure she didn't. He seemed able to ease a tension she didn't know she carried, making her laugh. And then there were the other ways in which he was good—very good—for her.

He was still close. Close enough that she could practically count the dark spiky lashes framing his eyes. He held her hands in his, touched his forehead to hers. If only this moment, the one simple connection that wasn't about anything other than just being here with him, could last forever.

Where was the distance she'd promised herself? The cool reserve?

“There's something disturbingly appealing about you when you do the royal thing, all clipped and precise with that haughty tilt to your chin. It's such an act. I can't believe more people don't see right through it.”

Neither could she. But most people had no idea. It seemed only Logan saw through it. Which meant Logan was the one who saw her insecurities. But with him at least she knew they were safe.

“There you are.” A booming voice interrupted. “I see you've finally taken your foot out of your mouth long enough to do something useful with it. Your mouth, that is. Not your foot.”

“Yes. And you're not helping.” Logan glanced at his brother. “Go away.”

“Can't yet. I just met a delightful—”

“Then we will.” He looked at Rebecca. “Are you ready to leave?”

She nodded, all the while knowing that she was far too ready to do whatever this man wanted of her.

Photographers snapped shots of them as they headed for his car, walking purposefully, Logan holding her hand. She couldn't imagine it would make interesting viewing for anybody.