Falling for the Princess (4 page)

For a man who was reported to work intensely seven days a week, he was currently a picture of relaxation.

“I'll want you with me at my father's ball,” she said, doing her best to ignore the expanse of muscled torso hinted at beneath the T-shirt that stretched across his shoulders and chest.
Unfair,
she'd wanted to protest. That, too, was a difference between him and the men she'd dated, this lean purposeful strength that looked to have been honed over a lifetime of activity. He even had a couple of small, intriguing scars, one on a bicep, another across a knuckle. She clenched her hands. She did
not
wonder how her fingertips would feel on those scars or the contours of his chest…

He lifted the notepad from his face and looked at her as he shook his head. “That's too far away. I'll be back in the States by then. I'm speaking at a charity fund-raiser the day before.”

“I want you with me at my father's ball. Can you come back for it?” He watched her closely, frowning slightly as he appeared to consider her request. “That's my deal breaker. Remember, Logan—” she smiled as she quoted his own words “—it has to be a win-win for both of us.”

“Okay,” he said slowly then lowered the papers back to his face, “I'll come back for it.”

“These things you want to be seen with me at.” She scanned the list, which, as well as dinners at elite restaurants and high-profile gatherings, included black water rafting—she didn't even know what that was—and a polo match.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“They're not my usual type of thing. I generally live as quiet a life as I can outside of royal commitments.”

“If we did your usual thing no one would seriously believe I was dating you. But you can add your
things
to the list, bearing in mind there's only so much of the orchestra and inane cocktail parties that I can stand.” He sat up, placing his feet on either side of the sun lounger, and suddenly he was intense. “Are we doing this or not? Because if it's not, pleasant as this is, I have other places to be. And you, doubtless, will be wanting to come up with another plan to put your father off. Unless of course you want to start working your way through his list?”

He held her gaze. The lesser of two evils? Suddenly she wasn't so sure.

“It's a good plan,” he said.

Rebecca swallowed. “I'm in.” And with those two tiny words she committed herself to the unknown.

L
ogan had had some bad ideas in his time. He hadn't thought this was one of them.

Until now.

He dragged his gaze from Rebecca's curves as she wriggled into the full-length, skintight wet suit and reached behind her back for the zipper. He'd known that beneath the sleek lines of her tailored outfits she had a good body. But the wet suit wasn't tailored.

It clung. Like a second skin.

And it left nothing to the imagination. He was, he admitted, floored.
Good
was a completely inadequate word.

Suddenly he wanted her back in something—anything—that disguised the curve of breast and waist, and flare of hip, the length of her slender legs. Failing that, he wished their guides, standing close in the sparsely furnished briefing room, were a mile away because he'd
seen the appreciative glances the young men had directed at her, even as they were explaining the seriousness of their safety procedures.

And that was before the wet suit.

It wasn't that he was being either possessive or protective, it was just that…she seemed to have no idea. Not of how she looked or of how others looked at her. She thought they saw only the princess—not a woman.

The black water rafting—floating on inner tubes through an underground cave system—had been his idea, in part because he'd figured that it would be something completely different for her, something a little out of her comfort zone. And he didn't want her thinking she was the one in control.

Now she was the one making
him
uncomfortable.

She turned her back to him and stepped in front of him. “Can you finish pulling my zip up, please.” She sounded exasperated. The zipper rested in that hard-to-reach spot between her shoulder blades, revealing a deep vee of pale skin.

Logan closed his eyes and swallowed. Opening his eyes, he rested one hand on the curve of her waist as he slid the zipper up, closing the vee, sealing away the skin with a mixture of relief and regret.

“Thank you.” She stepped away and he let go of the breath that had stayed trapped in his lungs.

He forced his attention back to the guides as they explained what to expect during their trip.

Ten minutes later the four of them stood at the top of a short drop into a dark, watery cavern. The first guide jumped in, landing with a splash. Rebecca, who was supposed to jump in next, took off her headlamp hard hat
and fiddled with the adjustment for the chin straps before placing it back on her head.

Was it his imagination or was she looking paler than she had earlier? Logan moved to stand in front of her. He shifted her cold, fumbling fingers out of the way and fastened the strap for her, his fingers brushing her throat and beneath her chin. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly. “We don't have to do this if you don't feel good about it.” He'd wanted her out of her comfort zone, but he hadn't meant to frighten her. And fear was what he thought he read in her wide gray eyes. He had to remember that she was sheltered and probably pampered—she was nothing like his brothers, relishing challenges, relishing the chance to vie for superiority. Never backing down.

Not meeting his gaze, she stepped away from him and smiled. But it was a royal smile. Brittle and practiced. “I'm fine.” Before he could say anything more she took hold of her inner tube, took a deep breath and stepped off the ledge.

Maybe not so dissimilar to his brothers.

Only much better looking.

She bobbed, seated on her inner tube and floating out of the way as Logan jumped into the frigid water after her, followed by their second guide.

In the quiet, watery darkness, they drifted together through the caves, holding on to one another's inner tubes as their headlamps played over the vaulted caverns adorned with ancient stalactites and stalagmites. The only sound was the occasional drip of water falling from the ceiling above.

They passed through a narrow opening and into a much larger cavern. And on the lead guide's instruction turned off their headlamps. Beside him, Rebecca gasped.
He shared her wonder. The darkness would have been complete but for the tiny lights of thousands of glowworms dotting the unseen limestone surfaces and reflecting in the ink-black water. As it was, he could see nothing of the hand he held up inches from his face.

It was like floating in the night sky.

Rebecca shifted her grip on his inner tube and her hand bumped into his. When she would have shifted her hand away again he took hold of it. He couldn't make out so much as her outline. But the joining of their hands, palm to palm, was a warm point of human contact amid the silent wonder. They maintained that wordless contact for the next twenty minutes of their trip.

It wasn't until they floated out of the darkness and into the light and warmth of day that Rebecca eased free of his grip.

They reached the point where they got out of the water. Logan went first and again held out his hand. “Did you enjoy it?” he asked.

She let him help her from the water. “It was certainly the most unusual first date I've ever been on.”

“But did you enjoy it?” he persisted, not accepting her evasion. “It's not a contest, Princess, you don't lose anything by telling me you enjoyed it.”

She sighed. “It was amazing. Thank you. I never would have done it otherwise.” Gratitude, and traces of their shared wonderment, shined in her eyes.

“You were frightened? At the start?”

“I was…uncomfortable.”

Was that princess-speak for terrified? “I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

She smiled at him, her regal best. “You weren't supposed to.”

Admiration wasn't something he'd expected, or wanted, to feel for her. Nor, he admitted, was the attraction that had him thinking extremely improper thoughts about the very proper princess. The admiration couldn't hurt. The attraction, on the other hand, could well lead him into trouble.

 

Three days later Rebecca sat with Logan in the plush cabin of his private jet as they flew to San Philippe. News had filtered through to the media that she had been spotted with a mystery man, so they were expecting something of a photographers' welcoming party. She'd even been reported on one site as “cavorting with her new beau at an island retreat.” Rebecca, who knew better than to get upset by anything in the media, had taken exception to the use of the word
cavorting.
She never cavorted, and walking along the surf's edge with someone, as she'd done with Logan twice at George and Therese's place, hardly counted as such. Next thing they'd say was that she'd been canoodling.

She finished reading through her notes on her next week's schedule and looked at the man reclining in the armchair across from her as he worked at his laptop, large fingers moving surprisingly deftly over the keyboard, a frown of concentration etching two vertical lines above his nose.

There was no cavorting or canoodling when they were in private. Their relationship was, as agreed, strictly business. In fact, he barely spoke to her. Occasionally she caught him looking at her but his expression revealed nothing of what he thought. And occasionally she caught herself looking at him. Sometimes in an effort to try and figure him out. Sometimes in reluctant fascination.

Upon landing they would part ways and she'd see him
tomorrow for the ballet. Something he'd made clear he wasn't looking forward to. The jet taxied to a halt and Logan shut down his laptop and looked at her. “Are you ready for this?”

“Not really.” It didn't feel right. On so many levels. “I've never tried to trick people before.”

He stowed the laptop in its case and stood. “What, you've never pretended you were happy when you were actually seething mad, or pretended to look interested when you were bored out of your skull? Never pretended you were fine when you were frightened?”

“Well, yes, but this is different.” She made no move to unfasten her seat belt.

Logan nodded at the novel open in her lap. “How long do you think you can hide out in the jet for?”

Reluctantly, she closed the book and slipped it into her tote. “I'm not usually the center of media speculation. That's traditionally been Rafe's role because he was the one getting into scrapes, or Adam's because he's heir to the throne.”

He held a hand toward her. “Come on, Princess. I've seen you work vast cheering crowds.”

She looked at his hand.

He followed her gaze. “You may as well get used to it.” The fact that she
was
getting used to it was part of her problem. He offered his hand with such unthinking ease, as though it were a perfectly normal thing to do. Just another sign of the differences between them. In her world nothing could be done, or said, without thought for the consequences, for the appearances, for the interpretations and implications.

She took the offered hand—still there was that little frisson of sensation that ought to have gone by now—and let him help her to standing, and they walked toward the
door. “This'll be a cinch,” he said. “We get off the jet, we smile, we wave. A quick kiss. We get in the waiting car together but it drops you off at the palace and takes me to my hotel. We don't see each other again until I pick you up for the ballet.”

Rebecca had been analyzing—again—how it felt to rest her hand in his. It was different, but not unpleasant. His firm, dry grip was certainly more appealing than Eduardo's somewhat clammy grip. “Back up a second. What did you say?”

“You go to the palace, I go to my hotel. And then I'll pick you up tomorrow night for the ballet.”

They'd reached the open doorway at the top of the stairs and as predicted a crowd had gathered behind a roped-off area.

“That wasn't the bit I meant.”

“You meant this, no doubt.” He smiled and waved at the crowd and then he slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulled her toward him, bent his head to hers and kissed her—stealing her breath, along with rational thought and the strength in her knees.

Heat.

It scorched through her. His lips were gentle and seeking and in that first surprised instant she forgot to pull back, forgot to analyze, and instead gave herself to the kiss, let herself experience it, the touch of his lips to hers an intimate joining. His warmth surrounded her. His arm around her back shielded and supported her. And held her close. She let herself enjoy—

Enjoy? No.

She pulled back and recognized the sound of a cheer from the crowd. What on earth had she just done?

Logan's gaze sought hers. Something serious in those dark eyes quickly transformed into amusement. He winked.
“Not so icy after all, Princess. In fact, not bad for a first kiss. You tensed up a little at the end, but we can work on that.”

“First and last. We won't be
working
on anything.” She searched for the
ice
he accused her of. Her refuge. Her armor. She was desperate that he not know that inside she was a shaken mess and anything but icy.

He took her hand and together they descended the steps.

“Last? That'll never convince anyone. I can't let you be right about that.”

“The cavorting was bad enough,” she said, relieved that the words came out with just the right touch of distance. He laughed, just as he had when he'd first realized her outrage over that word. “I have a reputation and an image to maintain, both while you're here and after you've gone. And I don't think—”

He kissed her again, quick and hard, and came up smiling broadly. “Good. Don't think. Some things are better that way.” Dimly, she heard another cheer from the crowd. “That's tomorrow's papers taken care of,” he said easily. “I have a reputation to consider, too.”

She couldn't push him away, that wouldn't look right at all, and she definitely couldn't touch her fingers to her lips. She withdrew her hand from his, lifted her chin and continued to the bottom of the stairs, Logan at her side.

And she just knew he was smirking.

 

The chauffeur shut the door behind him and Logan waited. The princess sat on the far side of the seat from him—as far as she could get in the confines of the luxury car. Her gaze—part irritation, part contemplation—was fixed straight ahead as she fed the strap of her handbag back and forth through her fingers. A small frown drew her finely arched eyebrows closer together.

Logan leaned back, crossed one foot over the other and laced his fingers behind his head. Doubtless she'd have something to say about the kiss.

Finally her fingers stilled. She pressed the button that raised the privacy screen and turned to him. “About that kiss.”

He smiled.

“It wasn't funny.”

“No. It definitely wasn't funny. Intriguing, I would have said. There was distinct potential.” And though he was deliberately trying to needle her, he spoke the truth. The kiss, her flash of response, the taste of her, had hit him harder than he could have imagined, had tempted him, had him wondering. “I think with a little practice you'll—”

“We agreed we were going to be seen together. We didn't talk about kissing.” Her tone was wintry and controlled, as though at any moment she was going to issue a royal edict banishing him to the Arctic or wherever people from San Philippe got banished to.

“You want people to believe we're in a relationship, don't you?”

“Yes, but…” She looked away, suddenly uncertain.

“But what?”

“Surely we can achieve that without kissing.”

“No, we can't. I'll look like your bodyguard or a brother. And that's not the look I'm aiming for.”

“We could hold hands and look lovingly at one an other.”

“We'll be doing that, too.”

“Though the looking lovingly is going to be a struggle,” she said with feeling as she glared at him. Nothing remotely loving there.

“We'll manage. Listen, Princess. I didn't enjoy it any more than you.” At least, he knew he shouldn't have.