Searching For Her Prince (2 page)

After taking a sip of water, she set down her glass. “Thank you so much for sharing your dinner with me. I don’t even know your name.”

The wheels in Marcus’s head spun. When he was a boy away at school, he used his middle name, Brent, since there was another boy in his class named Marcus. “My name is Brent,” he responded now. Then choosing a last name from thin air, he added, “It’s Brent Carpenter.”

She held out her hand to him. “It’s good to meet you, Brent.”

When he enfolded her hand in his, it felt delicate and fragile. Yet he sensed a strength about Amira that intrigued him as much as everything else. The softness of her skin under his made his blood rush faster, and he told himself to slow down. He told himself this was a woman like none he’d ever met. He had
the urge to bring her hand to his lips…to do much more than that.

Before he could analyze his attraction to her, the waiter came in, carrying two apple tarts topped with whipped cream. Amira pulled her gaze from his, glanced at the tart and smiled. “Oh, that looks good.”

He laughed.

The waiter left as unobtrusively as he’d come in and Marcus breathed a sigh of relief. The staff usually addressed him as “sir” and when he had a guest, they didn’t converse with him at all. But there was always a chance someone would call him by name. He found himself liking the idea of becoming Brent Carpenter more and more. He needed a vacation, not only from the city, but from who he was and what he did and everyone’s expectations of him. From now on when he was with Amira, he would think of himself as Brent.

As they both sampled their tarts, he asked her, “Have you seen anything of the city?”

“Nothing but the airport,” she said with a sigh. “During the taxi ride from the airport to the hotel, I had to hold on to the seat in fear for my life, so I haven’t dared take another one. After the warnings the queen gave me about big American cities, I didn’t think it was a good idea to go out alone at night.”

“Chicago’s a wonderful city, Amira. You should see some of it.”

“I’m not really here for a vacation.”

She’d eaten her tart as delicately as any lady, but her beautifully curved upper lip was smudged with a dot of whipped cream. He couldn’t help leaning toward her and sliding his thumb over the spot. Her deep-violet eyes became wider, and her intake of
breath at his touch told him she was affected by it. He was, too.

His voice was husky as he explained, “Whipped cream,” and brought his thumb to his own lips and licked the sweet topping.

They gazed at each other, lost in the moment. The thrum of sexual awareness between them practically filled the room.

Her cheeks became flushed and her lashes fluttered down as she demurely cast her eyes at what was left of her tart.

“Amira?” he asked.

She looked up at him once more.

“How old are you?”

“I’m twenty.”

That’s what he’d suspected. But he’d also guessed she was a very innocent twenty. Not at all like Rhonda. The familiar pain, guilt and blame rushed in with the remembrance of his fiancée. For two years he’d hardly looked at women. For two years he hadn’t wanted the responsibility of a relationship…and he wasn’t contemplating a relationship now, he told himself. Amira would be going back to her island. After next week’s vacation, he’d be returning to mergers and interest rates and building a new hotel in St. Louis. But for the next few days…

Amira sipped the coffee the waiter had brought with dessert. He’d noticed her load it down with cream and sugar.

As she returned her cup to the saucer, she couldn’t stifle a yawn. “I’m so sorry,” she said embarrassed. “I think I’m still adjusting to the time change.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. How are you feeling?”

“Wonderfully satisfied. Everything was deli
cious.” She took her purse from the table where she’d laid it. “You must let me pay for this.”

“Nope. It’s my treat. You saved me from another dinner alone.”

“Do you have dinner alone a lot? Never mind,” she said with a flutter of her hand. “That’s none of my business.”

Her chagrin was enchanting. She was definitely a proper lady. “For a long while now, I’ve had lots of dinners alone. By choice. I put in a long day and just want peace and quiet in the evening.”

“What do you do?”

He didn’t want to lie to her, but he didn’t know what she knew about Marcus Cordello, either. He answered vaguely, “I work in finance.” To forestall her asking any more questions about his work, he laid down his napkin and stood. “I have a meeting in half an hour, but before I leave the hotel, I want to see you safely to your room.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It’s very necessary.” He wanted to make sure her lack of food had been her only problem, and she wasn’t hiding a more serious condition as Rhonda had.

Amira gave him a smile that made him feel ten feet tall as she acquiesced. “All right. An escort will make me feel as if I’m back home.”

“You have a bodyguard?”

“Not as the queen and king do. But when I go out at night I have a chauffeur, and when I attend public functions I have an escort from the Royal Guard.”

“Do you feel as if you’re always being watched?” he asked, knowing he could never give up his freedom like that.

“I’m used to it, so it doesn’t seem out of the ordinary.”

A few minutes later Amira was following Brent from the room, feeling as if this dinner had been a milestone in her life. She’d never had dinner alone with a man before. She’d never felt the sizzling attraction she felt toward this man. When his finger had touched her lip…heat had seemed to fill her and she’d been unable to look away from his green eyes. Fantasies had crowded her head and she’d known she shouldn’t entertain them.

Yet as the dining room door closed behind them, Brent took her hand and secured it in the crook of his arm. “To keep you steady,” he said with a wink.

The fine material of his suit was smooth under her fingers, and she could feel his muscled strength underneath.

When they stepped into the elevator and the doors swooshed shut, intimacy seemed to surround them. She peeked up at Brent and saw he was gazing down at her.

“What floor?” he asked, his voice deep and low.

“Twelve,” she answered. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and her heart was beating much too fast.

When the elevator stopped on the twelfth floor, they stepped out onto plush wine carpeting. They passed marble-topped mahogany credenzas, Victorian-style velvet-covered chairs and arrangements created from fresh flowers.

Amira pointed out her room number. “Would you like to come in?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she felt flustered, not knowing why she’d asked him. Somehow it had just seemed the polite thing to do!

Brent hesitated. “Just for a few moments.” Then he took the key card from her hand and unlocked her door. Opening it, he let her precede him inside. She was close enough to him to smell his cologne, to see the scar on the right side of his brow, to know that being alone with him in her room had been a foolish decision to make.

The small foyer led into a large room with a king-size bed, dresser and chest on one side, and a sitting area with a love seat, chair and entertainment center on the other. A maid had obviously cleaned the room and made the bed, but Amira’s pink-and-green-satin nightgown lay folded on the side of the bed so she wouldn’t have to look far for it.

Brent’s gaze seemed riveted to the satin garment and the king-size bed. “You do know, Amira, it’s not a good idea to invite strange men into your room.”

“I’ve never done it before.” Her experience with men was indeed limited. At seventeen she’d thought she’d been in love with the gardener, but after an uncomfortable groping session, she’d realized he was only concerned with getting her into bed. That had been her only “intimate” experience with a man.

Now Brent was looking down at her with a flare of heat in his eyes that seemed to consume her. Everything disappeared except Brent Carpenter and the longing inside her. He lowered his head very slowly. Then his lips covered hers and his arms enfolded her in an exciting embrace.

Swept away.
Now Amira knew what the phrase meant. Nothing but his kiss mattered. The taut heat of him, the trace of his cologne lingering at the end of the day and his musky male scent brought to her mind visions of both of them naked, sharing a bed.
Passion she’d dreamed about, but never known seemed within her reach.

Instinctively her arms moved up to circle his neck, and he pulled her tighter against him. The amazing maleness of his body almost shocked her, but the shock gave way to pure pleasure as his tongue slid along the seam of her lips, coaxing them apart.

She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, and he seemed to sense that because he murmured, “Open your mouth to me.”

She didn’t even think of denying his husky command. She wanted to know more about desire, more about becoming a woman, more about Brent. Something inside whispered that this man could teach her everything.

The tantalizing invasion of his tongue sent her senses reeling. Licks of fire seemed to reach deep into the center of her, and she became frightened by it, frightened by her reaction to him. She’d never met a man this sensual or this compelling.

Suddenly her hands were on his chest and she was pushing away. “I can’t,” she said as she looked up and saw the deep desire intensifying the green of his eyes.

What would he do? Would he be angry? He was in her room. What would her mother think about her daughter having a meal with a stranger and sharing a kiss before she really even knew the man? What would the queen think? Had she put herself in harm’s way? Would her life be irrevocably changed?

She stood frozen with the fear of everything that could happen.

Brent must have seen it. “It’s okay, Amira. It’s
okay,” he soothed again. “We both just got carried away.”

For the first time in her life she’d followed her instincts without propriety guiding her, and her instincts had been right. Brent wasn’t the type of man to force his attentions on a woman. “I…I shouldn’t have asked you in. It’s not…proper.”

A wry smile curved his lips. “Being proper is important to you, isn’t it?”

She just nodded and managed to say, “It’s the way I was raised.”

Although he released her, as if he couldn’t help himself, he touched the back of his hand gently to her cheek. “I never met a true lady before.” He dropped his hand to his side. “I’d better leave.” Then he crossed to the door quickly and opened it.

She stayed where she was, knowing she couldn’t chase after him, knowing she couldn’t ask him to stay. “Thank you again for dinner.”

“My pleasure,” he said without smiling, and then he was gone.

After the heavy door closed with a click, Amira ran to it and secured the safety lock, sure that Brent Carpenter considered her the most naive woman he’d ever met…sure that she’d never see him again.

T
hree loud raps on Amira’s hotel room door awakened her. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, she noted it was 8:00 a.m. She’d slept through the night again in a strange place! Maybe she’d left her nightmares in Penwyck. Maybe the news her mother had given her before she’d left—that her father’s assassin was dead—had freed her.

There was another rap at the door.

Thinking the maid wanted to clean her room, she slid from the bed, pushed her hair from her eyes and grabbed her robe on the bedside chair. Slipping on the pink-and-green, flowered-satin garment, she quickly belted it.

When she looked out the peephole of the door, she blinked twice. It was Brent! With a room service table.

Opening the door, she couldn’t keep from smiling or hide the breathlessness in her voice. “This is a surprise.”

His grin was crooked and boyish. “It’s a strategic move on my part to make sure you eat more than two crackers and tea. I don’t want you fainting into another man’s arms.”

She knew he was teasing, but there was a serious glint in his green eyes, too. She was about to invite him in when she realized she was wearing her nightgown and robe. “Oh, I can’t. I mean—”

Ignoring her reticence, he pushed the table inside. “You don’t even have to tip me,” he went on as if she hadn’t interrupted.

Thoroughly flustered, unable to take her gaze from his broad shoulders, collarless blue shirt and his long jeans-clad legs, she stammered, “I…I have to dress.”

Rolling the table to the sitting area, he set the covered platters on the coffee table. “You look fetching as you are. You don’t have time to dress. The eggs and bacon will get cold, and don’t tell me you don’t eat bacon and eggs, because your figure doesn’t need watching.”

His appraising gaze raked over her, and she blushed to her toes.

With a chuckle he caught her hand and tugged her to the love seat. “Come on. I know you’re a proper lady. I won’t do anything improper. I promise.”

His smile was so beguiling, his manner so offhandedly friendly, she couldn’t resist. Missing her family and friends, she felt alone in a foreign land and she enjoyed Brent’s company. More than enjoyed it.

Uncovering both their platters, he set the lids aside and settled his gaze on her. For a few moments he simply studied her with such intensity that she couldn’t look away.

Finally he admitted, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

His honest admission mandated she be just as honest. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, either.”

He reached up to touch her then, to brush her tousled waves away from her face…

The phone rang.

The sound was a startling intrusion to the beginning of an intimate moment, and Amira really didn’t know if she was relieved or perturbed.

“Excuse me,” she murmured, and went over to the desk under the window to pick up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Good morning, Amira.”

“Good morning, Your Majesty.” Amira knew the queen’s voice as well as she knew her own mother’s.

“I hope I’m not calling too early. I forget about the time difference.”

Glancing over at Brent, Amira noticed his surprised expression. Maybe he hadn’t really believed she had connections to a royal family. “No, it’s not too early. In fact, other mornings I was sitting in Marcus Cordello’s reception area by now.”

“How’s that coming, my dear? Did you manage to meet with him?”

There was no point in beating around the bush. “I would have called you immediately if I had. I’m having a bit of a problem getting to see him. He’s very…elusive and protected. I’ve been camping on his doorstep, but have only seen his staff going in and out. His secretary has informed me he’ll be out of the office in meetings the rest of the week and away next week. So I’m afraid this might take longer than we planned.”

There was a slight pause. “I see. Well, I know you’re doing your best. Cole Everson is working on getting a few more details for you, including a picture of the man. That might help you spot him.”

Cole Everson was head of the Royal Intelligence, and Amira knew Queen Marissa counted on him.

“What will you be doing today, Amira? Meeting with Marcus Cordello is important, but you need some time for yourself, too. Have you seen any of the city?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“It must be very lonely for you in Chicago. Do you want me to find a guide for you?”

Again Amira looked over at Brent. The queen was being so nice, and Amira suddenly felt as if she was doing something very wrong. There was a man in her room whom she hardly knew. She was in her robe. They’d been about to…

Suddenly she wished she weren’t on a mission for the queen, and that she hadn’t been raised quite so properly.

Marcus had begun thinking of himself as Brent Carpenter as soon as he’d rapped on Amira’s door. He hadn’t slept much last night, between thinking about her and dreaming about her, though
fantasizing
was probably the better term. The thing was—he felt more than a physical attraction to her. There was something about her that simply fascinated him. Along with rearranging his schedule and canceling today’s appointments, he’d called a friend who was an expert at gathering information and asked him to check Amira’s background. Now, listening to her phone conversation, he decided she must really be a lady in contact with the queen. This performance
couldn’t have been put on for his benefit, because she hadn’t known he was coming.

He didn’t need a dossier to know she was who she said she was and she was looking for
him
. He should leave right now…forget about breakfast, forget about spending the day with her. It would be safer never to see her again…to never let her meet Marcus Cordello. He didn’t want his life disrupted again.

It had been disrupted when he and Shane were children and his parents divorced. The divorce had been bitter, and his mother had taken Shane to California while Marcus had stayed in Illinois with his father. They had just settled into that routine, seeing his brother one month every summer, when Marcus’s life was turned upside down again because his father remarried. In a way, that was even more disruptive than the divorce because his stepmother insisted Marcus be sent to boarding school. She didn’t want to be bothered with him. He’d weathered all of that and weathered it well, turning his interest to the financial markets, researching corporations and how they ran, beginning to invest any money he earned.

Then two years ago, when he’d thought his life was on track, when he’d already become wealthier than he ever dreamed, he lost his fiancée to diabetes. Rhonda had kept her condition from him, and he’d had no idea she was dealing with it. Since she’d died, he’d done nothing but work nineteen or twenty hours a day. He’d cut off all social contact and let his staff deal with the outside world.

But last night Amira had crashed through all the protective layers he’d built around himself, and he wanted to spend more time with her.

He saw her glance at him and also saw the guilty
flush that colored her cheeks. He might have to do some fast talking to get her to spend the day with him.

When she hung up, she looked pensive.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“The queen’s always so understanding. She’s like a second mother to me. She asked me if I want a guide while I’m in Chicago.”

“What did you say?” If Amira ended up with someone the queen hired, the guide would surely be a bodyguard, too.

“That I don’t.”

“You don’t want the queen’s guide, or you don’t want
any
guide? Because I’d be glad to show you a few sights today.”

Amira looked uncertain. “Don’t you have to work?”

“I haven’t taken a day off in far too long. I can’t think of a better way to spend it than showing you what I like best about Chicago. What do you say?”

A slow smile crept across her pretty lips. “The queen
did
say I should see some of the sights.”

“A royal command if I ever heard one.”

At that, Amira laughed and her hesitation seemed to vanish. “I have to shower and get dressed. Should I meet you somewhere?”

He didn’t want to crowd her or make her feel uncomfortable. If he did, she’d run in the opposite direction. “I do have a few arrangements to make. Would you like to go to the theater tonight, or dancing at a club?”

“Dancing.” She looked like a child who’d been given a Christmas present.

“Okay, dancing it is. Let’s eat, and I’ll meet you in the lobby in a half hour. Is that enough time?”

Their gazes caught and held.

“Yes, that’s enough time,” she murmured.

As they finished breakfast, Marcus knew he had to get out of this hotel room, away from Amira and that bed quickly before he kissed her and led her to it. She wasn’t that kind of woman, and today he wasn’t going to be that kind of man.

Still, she was so alluring, with her blond waves mussed and her flowered satin robe clinging so wonderfully to all her curves. He couldn’t keep away from her. Covering the few steps between them, he lifted her chin and pressed a kiss to her lips. It was supposed to be a chaste kiss, a light kiss, but when he lifted his head, he was aroused. It was a good thing they’d be sight-seeing today. If they were on the move, he could restrain the desire to pull her into his arms.

He stepped away. “In a half hour,” he reminded her huskily.

Then he left Lady Amira Sierra Corbin feeling more alive than he had in two long years.

The October day couldn’t have been more perfect. The sky was blue, the air held a tinge of autumn, the sun gleamed off skyscraper windows. It was a day of play and fun and teasing. Brent found he could very easily rattle Amira with a seductive look, a little bit more than a friendly touch. When she’d appeared in the lobby in a forest-green pantsuit, he’d arched a brow and asked if that was her idea of casual. Very seriously she’d said that it was.

He’d taken her hand, slipped it into the crook of
his arm and said teasingly, “One of these days we’ll have to get you into a pair of jeans.”

His driver drove them to Wrigley Field. The ivy-covered stadium, one of the oldest in America, seemed to fascinate Amira. From there, Marcus directed his driver to the Shedd Aquarium, the Chicago Historical Society and the Lincoln Park Zoo where Amira was enchanted by the chimpanzees drawing on poster board with crayons.

Somehow throughout the morning, Marcus managed to keep himself from kissing Amira again, though it seemed to be constantly on his mind. He’d never felt this way—not even with Rhonda. Although they’d become engaged, he’d always been eager to get back to work, to hear about an exciting new investment opportunity. Today all he wanted was to be close to Amira, see her eyes come alive with the sights and her mouth break into that beautiful smile. Maybe he was so engrossed with her because he knew their time was limited.

They decided to have ice cream for lunch because they’d had a big breakfast. He discovered Amira’s favorite was mint chocolate chip, and as she licked it from the cone, she nearly drove him crazy.

Late in the afternoon he had his driver drop them off along the Magnificent Mile, the stretch of Michigan Avenue created for shoppers. They ended up at Tribune Tower, home of the
Chicago Tribune.
Hungry after that, for food as well as Amira, Marcus took her to a small French café where nobody would know him. Flickering candlelight made her eyes shine with her enjoyment of the day. The intimacy between them caused him to reach across the table and touch her hand more than once.

It was almost 10:00 p.m. when his driver dropped them off at a casual club he’d frequented a few times. It was so crowded they couldn’t find a table, and when he led her directly to the dance floor, they seemed to get bumped from every side. Besides that, the music was so loud, they couldn’t hear each other.

As the band finally took a break, he held her close and whispered in her ear, “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind. I want to talk to you, not shout at you. Would you like to see my penthouse?” He added quickly, “The housekeeper’s there so we’ll have a chaperone.”

Amira seemed to debate with herself, but then she smiled up at him. “I’d love to see it.”

At Marcus’s building, the doorman opened the door for them. The man started to say, “Good evening, Mr.—”

Marcus cut him off. “Good evening, Charlie. How’s your new grandson?”

“Three weeks old today and not a boy handsomer on this earth.”

Marcus laughed and guided Amira to the private elevator that led to the penthouse. As soon as they stepped inside, she noted, “I think you live like royalty.”

Her words surprised him. “Do you want to run that by me again?”

She listed the reasons why she thought so on her fingers one by one. “You eat in a private dining room. You have a driver. And you have a private elevator. Definitely earmarks of royalty.”

He saw that she was teasing him, and he laughed. “I guess some people would look at it that way. But I don’t have a dastardly twin ready to step into my
shoes.” Amira had told him again the whole story about Broderick’s hostility toward King Morgan, and he still couldn’t get over the idea of someone switching babies with the royal twins. He supposed anything was possible, yet he knew in his gut he and Shane weren’t the twins the queen was searching for. They couldn’t be.

“Do you have any brothers and sisters?” Amira asked.

“I have a brother.” He wasn’t about to tell her Shane was a twin. “And he couldn’t be more unlike me. He’s in construction—a contractor.”

The elevator stopped at the top floor. Marcus was glad they’d arrived so he could put an end to the conversation. Family history wasn’t a safe subject. She might know more about Marcus Cordello than she’d revealed.

After Marcus unlocked the door to the penthouse, he let Amira precede him inside and tried to see his condo through her eyes. There was chrome and glass and black leather, two original contemporary paintings on the walls as well as a contemporary wall hanging.

Her gaze swept the large sunken living room, the open dining area with its glass-topped table and wrought-iron chandelier. “You’re not here much?” she asked perceptively.