Tangled Up in Princes (Royal Romances Book 1) (6 page)

She stood and started walking to her room.

"Dinner's over. I should go."

"But you didn't eat anything."

She forced a dry laugh, "That's okay. I lost my appetite."

"Carrie, I will get back there. I will not allow you to leave without seeing me again. I'll stop your plane if I have to, and don't think I haven't the authority to do it."

"There it is, all that vanity again."

"Of course, I've a reputation to uphold," he said, his jocular tone dwindling, "Make no mistake, I will see you again."

"Edward."--This was the wrong thing to say. She shouldn't say it--"I hope you can make it here. I really would love to see you again."

"I promise," he said, and they hung up.

She wanted to believe him. Oh, how she wanted it! But he was a prince. His world was completely foreign to her.

She snuck back into her room, glad that her absence had gone unnoticed. She needed a few hours alone. But a few hours was too much to hope for, she realized when a knock sounded on her door. She opened it, expecting to see Amanda. Instead, a young man in a leather jacket stood there.

"Are you Carrie MacCallum?"

"I am. Who are you?"

"I work at the pub down on High Street. We got a call from a bloke, said we was to deliver this here dinner to you. You ain't going to believe it, miss, but the man said he was Edward, the Prince of England."

He handed over a paper bag. Disbelief must have shown on her face.

"I didn't believe it either, but he charged the meal on a bank card issued to Edward Wales, and he gave me a hundred pound tip for the delivery. Anyhow, here's a supper for you."

She thanked the man, closed the door behind him, and opened the paper bag. The unmistakable smell of fried fish and chips wafted out. She laughed as she shoved fries in her mouth and fell a little more in love with her prince.

Carrie sat at the old-fashioned, probably antique, dressing table brushing out her hair. She missed Edward. She wanted to see him again so badly there was an actual, physical ache from the longing. And she was pretty darned pissed about that.

"It was just supposed to be a fling, you idiot," she said to her reflection.

Carrie yanked her hair, separating it into sections, and began braiding. She should have known better. She just wasn't fling material. What did she know about a fling? Amanda was the one who knew about flings. Look where it got her -- getting married to a gorgeous, rich, impossibly kind man. Where did it get Carrie? Sitting alone in her room, waiting for Edward for the second night in a row, that was where.

"He's not coming," she told herself, "He's probably in London, or maybe even Paris, with some size triple zero supermodel. For all I know, he's engaged to some gorgeous princess from ... from ... from some country that still has princesses. Here I am pining away for a guy I barely know. I am such an idiot!"

"Actually, you're not, not from what Edward says."

Carrie let out a scream as a portion of the wall behind her moved, and a beautiful woman stepped out.

"You must be Carrie. I'm Lizzy, Edward's sister."

"You just came through the wall," Carrie gaped.

"Secret passage. My ancestors couldn't let something like propriety keep them from much-anticipated nighttime excursions."

"Your ancestors?"

"They built this castle. Of course, that's been hundreds of years ago."

She dusted cobwebs from her hair.

"And I bet it's been nearly that long since anybody used that passage."

"You're a princess."

Carrie jumped to her feet. Again with the whole curtsy question. What was proper protocol when the Princess Royal popped out of the wall in your room?

Lizzy bent to look in the mirror and adjusted her very expensive sweater, silk and cashmere if Carrie was any judge.

"You're wrong about Edward. He isn't some international playboy. He isn't out with a supermodel or a princess. He's utterly responsible in every particular, probably the best of our lot," Lizzy grinned, "And he isn't a jerk or a bridge troll."

"Oh man, he told you that?"

"Jamie told me. Actually, Jamie has told everyone. You've quite endeared yourself to my brothers."

"I'm sorry for calling your brother names."

"Are you really?"

"No. He had it coming, but I don't want you to have me thrown in the dungeon or something."

Lizzy laughed a wide, open-mouthed laugh.

"I like you, indeed, I do. I will tell Edward that I approve."

"Could you also tell him that I'm through waiting for him, and I don't care if I ever see him again?"

"If you're quite serious on that count, it would be a shame. He sent me here to deliver a message. He wants you to meet him on the rooftop later. I think he's arranged for a dinner up there. He'd have called, but he's afraid someone is tracking him using his mobile."

Lizzy rolled her eyes as though she found this possibility preposterous.

"He didn't want to risk having you hounded by paparazzi."

Carrie put a hand to her temple. Two princes, a princess, and paparazzi-- it made her head spin. She was only a knitting shop owner from Kentucky, after all.

Lizzy rested a hand on Carrie's shoulder.

"I know it's a lot. If you aren't used to it, it can be overwhelming. Just give it a bit of time. Edward really likes you. I've never seen him this way about a woman before. Try to get past the title and the family to see what he really is."

"I don't care about the title,” Carrie said.

"That's why you're so perfect for him. Only try to be patient with us."

"He's really coming later? You're certain?"

"He told me, and Edward is nothing if not a man of his word."

Footsteps coming down the hall stopped outside the door.

"That'll be my sister, Amanda."

"Phillip's bride?"--Lizzy darted back toward the passage--"I'd better be going."

"Wait. Will I see you at the wedding?"

"At Phillip's wedding? I hardly think so."

She vanished into the wall just as the door opened. Amanda gave one quick knock before barging right in.

"I heard voices."

Carrie picked up her phone and gestured with it.

"How is Jeannie? A shame she couldn't come."

It was just like Amanda to assume Carrie was on the phone with her best friend. Of course, if Carrie
had
been on the phone, it would have been with Jeannie because -- let's face it -- Carrie had no life. Not yet. Not until later tonight.

"So? What's up now?"

Amanda flounced onto the bed. Why simply sit when flouncing was so much more dramatic?

"Do you think I'm making the right decision?"

"Absolutely. I don't care what Mrs. Rhys-Cooper thinks, crystal candle holders will completely disappear on the table settings. The brass ones will look better, even if they are cheaper."

"I'm not talking about that."

"What are you talking about then? The color of the linens? The flowers for the bouquet? What? I'm having trouble keeping up."

"I'm talking about marrying Phillip."

Whoa. Carrie sat down rather abruptly on the antique padded stool.

"Where's this coming from?"

Amanda blew out a sigh, "Oh, you know."

"I promise you, I don't know. Why don't you enlighten me?"

"Phillip is great. I mean, look at this place. I'm getting married in a Scottish castle."

"But you're not marrying the Scottish castle. You're marrying Phillip. We talked about this once already. You said you were sure that even if Phillip was as poor as a church mouse, you'd still want to marry him."

"And I would. I do. It's just ... he's so solid and steady."

"Solid and steady are good traits in a husband."

"They are. But I'm not solid or steady. I'm flighty and prone to distraction."

No use arguing that one.

"I think acknowledging that shows great personal growth." How was that for diplomatic?

"I'm just not sure I'm good enough for him. And I'm not talking about the money or class. I just mean me. I'm not sure I'm good wife material, not for somebody like Phillip."

Carrie rubbed at her temples. Hadn't she voiced the same concerns to Edward just a few days ago? Edward, who wanted to see her again, who sent his sister to give her a message, who was planning a romantic dinner for her this very night. Focus, she ordered herself. Right.

"Phillip knows you. He knows that you're flighty and prone to distraction, and he loves you anyway. He wouldn't have asked you to marry him if he didn't. And you love him. If you didn't, you wouldn't be worrying about whether or not you're good enough for him."

Amanda sat swinging one leg over the edge of the bed, her designer pump dangling from her foot. "I guess."

For all that she was boastful and pretentious, Amanda was insecure inside. She looked like an abandoned puppy sitting there on the massive four poster bed, staring off into space. Carrie had always had a soft spot for puppies. She pulled her sister into a fierce embrace and kissed the top of her perfect blond head.

"Thanks, Sis. You know, I don't deserve you either."

"I know."

Amanda gave Carrie a big smacking kiss on the cheek. She stood, head held high, and walked to the door.

"And you're absolutely right about the candle holders too. Thanks."

Amanda blew Carrie a kiss as she left. Carrie slumped onto the bed. She really hoped she'd done the right thing just then. For Amanda, but also for Phillip.

"I'm sure it was just last minute jitters," she said aloud, "Totally normal. Happens to everybody."

She may have convinced Amanda, but she was having trouble convincing herself. Thoughts of Edward drove her concerns underground. When would he come? What if he got held up again? She grabbed her phone and read to take her mind off him. It didn't work. Her thoughts kept straying from the words in front of her, drifting back to Edward and replaying their every moment together. She gave up on reading and turned to Facebook for distraction instead. When that failed, she gave in and Googled Edward to ogle sexy pictures of him.

"Mmmm," she purred over one particularly luscious photo, a candid, probably snapped by paparazzi, of him sweaty and shirtless at a beach somewhere.

When a knock sounded from the hidden passage Lizzy had come through, Carrie was feeling more than a little forgiving toward Edward. She checked her look in the full-length oval mirror. She looked horny. Flushed cheeks, glazed eyes, erect nipples -- he'd think she was a slut. Her reflection quirked an eyebrow at her. And what was wrong with that? Hadn't she started this whole thing just wanting a fling?

The knock sounded again. Was she going to stand here all night contemplating how to behave or was she going to invite the man--the incredibly sexy man--in? No contest, she slid back a cleverly disguised panel.

He looked amazing, just like he'd looked in all the pictures she'd been staring at for days now. But he wasn't a picture. He was real, real and here. To prove it, she reached out a hand and placed it on his chest.

"I wasn't sure you'd come."

He put a hand over hers. "

I wasn't sure you'd let me in when I did. Lizzy said you were rather annoyed with me."

"Was I?"

He ran a finger over her cheek, down her neck, and across her shoulder.

"So I was informed."

"I can't remember why just now."

He stepped inside, sliding the secret panel closed behind him. He kept his hand on her, but he looked nervous.

"This, coming to see you, is the first thing I've done in a long time that was only for myself."

She tried to keep her tone light.

"Should I be honored?"

"The honor is entirely mine, I assure you."

He slid his hands down her arms to rest on her waist, then around to her back. He pulled her against him.

"You are more beautiful than I remembered."

His lips hadn't even touched her and her pulse was already throbbing in her temples. Oh, but she wanted this man! If having him made her a wanton slut, then so be it. He placed a feather light kiss on her temple.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'd never have stayed away from you if it hadn't been necessary."

"You're here now."

His lips barely brushed hers.

"And there's nowhere else I'd rather be."

He covered her mouth in a crushing kiss that gave testimony to his words. They were both exactly where they wanted to be. Carrie didn't know how one conducted a proper fling. Were there rules of engagement? She had no idea, and so gave in entirely to the sensations coursing through her. She wrapped her arms around Edward and tangled her fingers in his hair. When his kiss slid down her neck and his tongue grazed her collarbone, she moaned. She moaned, and she didn't
care
that she'd moaned. If his kiss was any indication, she intended to do still more moaning before this night was over.

He was breathing hard as his hand grazed her breast. Just that slight touch, coming as it did with fabric separating skin from skin, was enough to have her nearly wrapping her legs around him from anticipation. She should take this moment slowly, savor each touch, but she'd always been of the opinion that good things were even better when you binged on them. It was true of chocolate, ice cream, good books, and apparently, English princes.

She didn't want to go slow. She wanted to demand and submit, all at the same time. So when he started gathering up her long, flowing skirt, she felt like telling him just to rip the damn thing off her. He was going slowly, so slowly, whether out of some gentlemanly code or to heighten her anticipation. Either way, she was quite certain she would explode if she didn't feel his skin on hers soon. She helped him with the skirt and guided his hand beneath the hem to rest on her bare thigh.

"Bloody hell, Carrie! I have a lovely, private dinner planned on the castle roof, but just now, I can't think of anything but devouring you!" He panted, "Will you think me a complete brute if I suggest we postpone dinner?"

"I was afraid you'd think I was a slut if I suggested it."

"You can be whatever you want to be."

He lifted her to sit her on the edge of the bed. Standing in front of her, he brushed the short sweater from her shoulders with a single swipe of his hands.

"Lovely, you are so lovely."

She unbuttoned his shirt, her eyes never leaving his.

"I never do this. I want you to know that."

"I do realize that and I'm very pleased you've chosen this particular moment to amend your modus operandi."

He cupped her breasts in both hands. Her dress buttoned up the front, and he set to unbuttoning it.

"Never wear so vast a gown again," he said.

When he had the dress off her, he moved his hands around to unfasten her bra, a ridiculous lacy thing that had no value as a support garment, but apparently did its job of enticing ornamentation very well. He tossed the scrap of lace across the room, knelt in front of her, and took her breasts in his mouth, one after the other.

She was gasping for air. His lips, his tongue, even the merest hint of his teeth on her skin -- could a woman orgasm from second base? If so, she'd know it soon enough. Then he kissed down her belly and lower still. He lay her back on the bed and kissed her thighs. He pushed her knees apart to trail his tongue up her inner thigh. He pulled her hips to the edge of the bed.

"Edward!" she cried.

"Don't start screaming my name yet, love. There will be plenty of time for that."

He ran his hands up her thighs. He stroked her, first with feather-light touches, then with more pressure. He moved his thumb, opening her to him. He kissed and licked his way up her thigh while his thumb roamed in lazy circles.

It was all she could do to keep from screaming. She was just short of begging him to stop, even though the last thing in the world she wanted was for him to stop. The pleasure was nearly unbearable. The most intense orgasm she'd ever had was just out of reach and she didn't know whether to hold it back or rock and buck her hips to meet it. He changed his rhythm, and the point became utterly moot. She yowled like a cat and screamed his name. She might have blacked out there for a minute. If the entire castle had fallen down around her ears, she couldn't have spared even the slightest attention for it. When the last tremor subsided, Edward came to lie beside her on the bed. Self-consciously, and rather foolishly at this juncture, she covered herself with her skirt.