King and Kingdom (5 page)

The dealer pushed a similar stack in front of Sander.

Chey stared at the chips with guilt flushing hot under her cheeks. Just a little more than a week and a half ago, she'd been fretting over paying the rent on a moderate apartment in Seattle. Her bank account balance at that time had been laughingly low, and now here she was, about ready to place hundred dollar bets on the whim of a roulette wheel.

She felt...conspicuous. Like someone might march up behind her and start ranting about starving children in foreign countries.

“You want something to drink?” Sander asked, voice quiet between them. Then he glanced at her face. “What's wrong?”

Chey met his eyes. She couldn't very well explain herself, because even if she spoke quietly, the dealer, if not the other gamblers, would hear. But trust Sander to guess her thoughts. He smiled without warning and jutted his chin toward the chips.

“Come on, Slinky. I know you must have favorite numbers.” He picked up a few chips and began placing them over the board. All red, no black.

“Slinky? When and where did I pick up that nickname?

“When you sidled up onto your chair a few minutes ago. Slinky.” He wagged his brows with ridiculous exaggeration.

That's when Chey understood he was attempting to distract her, make her think about something else than the high number staring back at her on the chips. She laughed, nudged him with an elbow, and passed him a drink order.

Then she got down to the business of trying to at least break even on her bets, so she wouldn't lie awake later, fretting about how many thousands she'd lost.

. . .

Roulette was a smashing hit. Chey got lucky several times, winding up with fifteen thousand dollars more than she started. Which was a good thing, since Sander couldn't buy his luck. When she tried to give him the winnings, he stoutly refused and escorted her to the slot machines next.

Between a few drinks, Sander's easy going manner and laughter, Chey's misgivings about the money disappeared. They played slots, blackjack, and craps. Sander drew a bigger and bigger crowd as the evening wore on, forced several times to stop for pictures with people from all around the world. He was amiable about it and good natured, always keeping Chey at his side.

It startled Chey to realize how many strangers knew who he was, when she'd never heard his family name before the initial contact for pictures. She really needed to read more about foreign goings-on. This gave her a glimpse of his world outside Latvala, as well, and he impressed her with his knowledge of several other languages when addressing admirers.

Even later in the evening, he took her to one of the hotel's bars and danced slow and close, towering above her with his intense eyes and natural charisma. His raspy, intimate laughter did strange things to her heart.

Well beyond midnight, back in the hotel room, after she'd opened her gifts of beautiful dresses, matching shoes and other, more casual articles fit for Monte Carlo, he took her to bed and reminded her what it felt like to be claimed as well as cherished. He left bruises on her hips and she left furrows down his back.

In the morning they ordered room service, languished in the shower, and got dressed for a sight seeing day. He took her to all the hotspots and she captured it all on camera. The moderate weather cooperated, sun shining down, a few clouds scuttling across a pristine blue sky. They lunched on a yacht, bought souvenirs, and flirted like the new couple they were. Sander treated her with charm and chivalry that did not come across as contrived. Everything he did, from carrying her shopping bags to opening doors was natural and easy. Together, they had an alluring rapport that often ended in either witty banter, outrageous come-ons or stolen kisses.

The longer she spent in his company, the more smitten Chey became. She could feel herself falling deeper with every roguish smile, every act of kindness, every lingering glance.

Back in the room, after an order-in dinner, Sander had some surprising news.

“We have an engagement tonight at nine,” he said, finishing off the last of his wine.

Chey glanced up from the balcony chair, reclining now that she'd had her fill of the meal. “An engagement? What kind of engagement?”

“You'll see. Wear that long dress I got you, all right?” He set down his glass and rose from his chair.

“Sure. Why are you being so secretive?” She pretended to scrutinize him, but the playful gleam in her eyes gave the game away. When he rose, she did the same.

He flashed her a devious smile. “Because if you knew, then you probably wouldn't want to go with me.”

“Now you have to tell me.”

“No I don't.” He winked. “I'll use the shower in the guest bedroom after making a few phone calls so you can have plenty of time to do that girly thing you do.”

“I really hate when you do that. Tease.” She didn't really hate it, she just liked to harass him.

“It's one of my many charms.” He retreated to one of the bedrooms he was using as a temporary office with a smile still in place.

Chey followed him inside, content to absorb the ambiance of the suite and the lingering effect of his presence for another few minutes. Habitually, she readjusted the bottle of wine in the bucket so that it sat better in the ice. Next she turned the thin but pretty vase of flowers in the middle of the table so that its best side faced the front of the room. All these little tics pointed to growing nerves about the 'engagement' coming up this evening. What could it be? Would she fit in, or feel awkward because she wasn't of Royal ilk?

Thoughtful, she finally vacated the main room for the bathroom and a shower. She took her time getting ready, taking care to put rollers in her dark hair and to apply her make up a little more dramatically. The smudges of kohl made the blue of her eyes stand out. Removing the ankle length gown from the hanger, Chey appreciated the fine style and elegant cut. Pale peach in color, it had a tight bodice with a piece that angled toward her neck, ending with a band around her throat. It left her shoulders and arms totally bare, as well as her back. Swooping low around the base of her spine, it conformed to her hips and flared out halfway down her thighs. The dreamy hem floated around her feet, whimsical and feminine. Tiny crystals had been sewn into the material in swirls and flourishes, adding sparkle and shine.

Sander had chosen the color and design well.

Drawing on a pair of white, elbow length kid gloves, she slipped her feet into delicate heels and transferred what few things she needed into a matching clutch.

When she stepped into the living area, she found the remains of their dinner already removed and Sander pacing near a couch with a phone to his ear. He looked striking in a steel gray gabardine suit that accentuated the golden color of his hair and skin. The layers beneath the jacket were darker gray, white and silver, with a tie that fit snug against his throat. Freshly shaven, hair pulled back into a low tail, he presented himself as a man of money and power.

The longer she stared at him, the more she felt that peculiar pang in her heart. It was a combination of things that put it there: the trip to a new and exciting place, getting a glimpse of Sander in this element, how people reacted around him and all the time they had to themselves with the strain of his family bearing down on them. Not just that, but the growing affection that often left her smiling or blushing.

He met her eyes across the room and ended his call. Pushing the cell phone into his pocket, he stood with his feet braced apart, assessing her with obvious masculine appreciation.

Nervous, she smoothed a gloved hand down the outside of her hip and waited to see if she met his approval. Which was new and different in itself. On other dates, with other men, she never worried about meeting expectations. She was just Chey, take it or leave it, and that was the attitude with which she approached most things.

Tonight, it mattered that she passed muster.

Prowling around the edge of a sofa, he paused to pick up a velvet box on an end table and continued toward her.

“You look stunningly beautiful,” he said. Coming to a stop just before her, he searched her face, her eyes.

“Really? Thanks. Did you pick this out, or did you have someone else do it?” Chey realized belatedly that Sander might have had one of his assistants go shopping for him. She glanced at the box, then at his face.

“I picked all of it out. As well as these to go with it.” He opened the black velvet box that was longer than it was wide. Nestled on more velvet inside was a glittering tennis bracelet and diamond drop earrings.

“Oh, Sander. Those are beautiful.” She was afraid to touch them. As with Mattias's gift, she thought these might be on loan from a jeweler. With her luck, one of the diamonds would fall out or she would lose an earring.

“I'm glad you like them. There's a matching necklace, but I knew you couldn't wear it with that high neckline. Here, let me get the bracelet.” He set the box down on the arm of a nearby wingback, pulling the bracelet free. Turning around, he wrapped it around her extended wrist and fastened the clasp.

“A necklace, too? I'm not sure what to say.” Overwhelmed, she adjusted her wrist, diamonds sparkling against the gloves.

“You don't need to say anything. Your expression is doing a fine job for you. Want me to put the earrings in, too? Might be difficult to do it with your gloves on.” He pulled both earrings out of their holders.

She laughed, a quiet sound in the spacious penthouse. “I hope I don't lose an earring or something.” Lowering her hand, she debated him putting the earrings in. “All right, go ahead.”

“Don't worry, it's insured.” He stepped to one side and with deft fingers, poked the stem of the earring through the hole in her lobe and pushed the back into place. Moving around the other side, he repeated with the other ear.

“Insured? These aren't...borrowed?” she asked, taking a deep breath of his masculine cologne.

“No. They're yours. If you lose a diamond or knock the setting, just let me know and we'll get it fixed.” He stepped back and eyed her with the addition of diamonds.

Lifting a hand, she touched the dangling diamond on the end of the earring. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome. Now, are you ready to go, or are you going to stand there looking at me like I'm wearing armor and just hopped off a white horse?” He quirked an amused smile.

She laughed in delight at his wry quip. “Keep sassing me, and I might make you kiss me to round out the fairy tale.”

“Oh, now there's a hardship,” he retorted. Taking a step closer, he stared down into her eyes, one finger trailing along the edge of her jaw.

Chey's mouth went dry. Holding his gaze, she watched him bend his head to kiss the spot just outside the corner of her mouth.

“Lipstick,” he whispered, explaining why he'd not kissed her lips.

“Shame. I think the plum shade would suit you.”

He laughed. “Now who's sassing who?”

Chapter Four

The hotel the limousine pulled up to was a sprawling structure less than half a mile from
The Trident.
Security fanned out around the car as they disembarked at the entrance, a barrier between the Royal heir and a small collection of photographers. Somehow, they'd gotten wind of the event.

Sander escorted her through double doors opened by a valet, stride tempered to match her own so he didn't leave her behind. Chey appreciated that he didn't hurry her along. The heels she'd worn were higher and more precarious than she preferred.

Crossing a large, impressive foyer, following a red carpet lining the floor, they approached another set of doors that opened onto an opulent ballroom done in colors of peach and cream. Crystal glittered on linen covered tables and chandeliers shined over the heads of the gathered. People were everywhere; dancing, talking in groups, standing near the champagne fountain. It wasn't quite a black tie affair, but it was most definitely formal, with the women in long gowns and the men in elegant suits.

Chey took a breath and braced herself. She couldn't have felt more out of place if she'd walked in buck naked. The most elaborate party she'd ever attended, barring the one Mattias took her to, had been a wedding reception for a co-worker. Chey used the analogy of cars to make a comparison: that party had been a Pinto, this was a Rolls Royce.

“What's on your mind?” Sander asked, as if he'd felt her inner discord.

“Rolls Royces,” she said under her breath.

“...what?” He frowned.

“I was thinking that the most upscale party I've ever attended was a Pinto. This is a Rolls Royce.” Well, he'd asked. And Sander knew her penchant for blurting the truth. His body shook with silent laughter.

“I dread to think you compare me to any of your old boyfriends like that,” he said, leading her deeper into the room. Sander smiled cordially at a few people as the crowd began to take note of the new arrivals. Two of his private security members branched out at their flank, discreet and covert.

“I kind of have. Do you want to hear the analogy?”

“Now that you mention it, maybe no--”