The Royal Pain (18 page)

“I'm…fine. That's—okay.” She gulped a deep breath and swayed on her feet for a second, then seemed to recover from her mad dash across the lawn. “Well. Sorry. I saw you out the window and—and it's possible I jumped to conclusions.”

“Trying to corral me before I could make my getaway, huh?” He looked her up and down. “My God, who could ever leave you?”

She dropped her skirts, covering her shoes, and he saw the dress in more detail now: off the shoulder, long sleeves, little white flowers sewn into the neckline, gigantic meringue skirt. Against the fall trees and the dying grass, she was the brightest thing on the grounds, the most beautiful.

His princess.

She smiled at him and reached up to see if her hair was in place; it was, secured firmly by the braids of pearls. Another set was around her neck, lustrous against her creamy skin: the Baranov pearls, inherited from her great-great grandmother.

On her finger, another family heirloom gleamed: her late mother's jade engagement ring. The king had been so pleased that she'd accepted it—that Shel hadn't insisted on buying something himself—he'd had to leave the room.

In truth, Sheldon didn't care. If he was going to accept the royal thing, he would take all of it, not pick and choose as Christina tried to do. Alex came with the whole mess, and that was good enough for him.

She wanted to please her father by wearing her mom's wedding jewelry? That was fine. In return, she had sworn never to make him eat artisanal cheese, and that was fine, too.

“I'm glad you're not running away,” she said, “but it's bad luck to see me before the wedding.”

“Hey, it wasn't my idea, sunshine. You're the one who came charging out of the palace like a royal pain.”

“Oh, is that what I am?”

“Sure.” He took her in his arms, carefully, mindful of the hair and the pearls and the dress and even the pointy shoes. “But in a few minutes, you'll be
my
royal pain. Her Highness Alexandria Baranov Rivers.”

“Aw,” she said, presenting her ripe, red mouth for a kiss. “Just call me Alex.”

They kissed for a lovely long time and oh, it was sublime, she really was like something out of a fairy tale, she—

“Hey! Hey! You two! Cut the shit! You're gonna miss your own wedding!” The king was stomping toward them, Alex's bouquet of calla lilies—red and white and green—all mashed together in the king's fist. “I mean it! Let go! Both of you! Come on, we got a houseful of people waiting on you. Jesus Christ, will you
stop kissing for five seconds?
”

“Probably not,” Shel said, and hugged his bride so hard, a Baranov pearl popped out of her headdress and rolled away in the grass, glossy cream against the dying green.

“I
will
turn the hose on you guys. Come on, you've lasted six months, it's only a couple hours more. Guys?” The king was pleading, brandishing Alex's bouquet like a sword, jabbing it at them like they were fighting dogs that needed to be separated. “Come on, I'm giving a royal command here. Let's just go inside and we can do this and then you can have a tiny hot dog. Guys? Okay? Guys?”

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T
he night was suddenly still. Cas peered into the woods again. He would swear someone was standing just inside the ring of trees, out of the moonlight. He rolled tight shoulders and cracked his neck. What the hell was he doing in Ex Falls, chasing burglars through the woods?

He snorted. His just desserts. He'd chased Julie through these woods more times than he could remember. And caught her. He smiled, forgetting where he was for a moment. He'd been pretty damn good at Cops and Robbers in those days. He'd been even better at Pirates.

A rustle in the trees.
Wind? No wind tonight.
Another rustle. Not a nocturnal animal, but a glimmer of white. All right, time to act, or he might still be standing here when the sun rose, and someone was bound to see him and by tomorrow night, it would be all over town that he had spent the night hiding behind a bush with an empty gun while the thieves got away.

Cas said a quick prayer that he was out of range and stepped away from the bush. He braced his feet in the standard two-handed shooting stance he learned from
NYPD Blue,
and aimed into the darkness. He sucked in his breath.

A figure stepped out to the edge of the trees. There was just enough light for Cas to see the really big handgun that was aimed at him.

The “freeze” he'd been about to yell froze on his lips.

“Freeze,” said a deep voice from the darkness.

Hey, that was his line.
He froze anyway, then yelped, “Police.”

“Yeah. So drop the weapon and put your hands in the air. Slowly.”

Cas dropped his gun. “No. I mean. Me. I'm the police.”

“You're the sheriff?” A sound like strangling. “Why didn't you say so.”

“I did. I was going to, but you—Who are you?”

“I'm the one who called you.” The figure stepped into the moonlight. Not a thief, but an angel. Not an angel, but a vision that was the answer to every man's wet dream. A waterfall of long dark hair fell past slim shoulders and over a shimmering white shift that clung to every curve of a curvaceous body. His eyes followed the curves down to a pair of long, dynamite legs, lovely knees, tapering to…a pair of huge, untied work boots. He recognized the boots, they were his, but not the apparition that was wearing them.

He must be dreaming. That was it. It wouldn't be the first time he'd dreamed of Julie coming back to him. Her hair long and soft like this, hair a man could wrap his body in. A body that he could wrap his soul in. Mesmerized, Cas took a step toward her. She stepped back into the cover of the trees, disappearing into the darkness like a wraith. He took another step toward her and was stopped by a warning growl. His testicles climbed up to his rib cage.
Stay calm. It's just a dream.
Strange. He'd imagined Julie as many things—but never as a werewolf.

He barely registered the beast as it leapt through the air, flying toward him as if it had wings.
Time to wake up,
he told himself.
Now.

He hit the ground and was pinned there by a ton of black fur and bad breath. The animal bared its teeth. Cas squeezed his eyes shut and felt a rough, wet tongue rasp over his face.

“Off, Smitty.”

Cas heard the words, felt the beast being hauled off him. He slowly opened his eyes to find himself looking up at six legs: four, muscular and furry; two, muscular and sleek—and definitely female. He had to stop himself from reaching out to caress them.

Her companion growled and Cas yanked his eyes away to stare warily at the dog. He was pretty sure it was a dog. A really big dog.

“Never lower your firearm on a perp who might be armed.” She waved the muzzle of her weapon in Cas's direction, then leaned over and picked up his .38 from the ground. She looked at it. “And maybe, next time, you should try loading this.” She dropped it into his lap and heaved a sigh that lifted her shoulders and stretched the fabric of her shirt across her breasts. And Cas forgot about the dog, as he imagined sucking on the hard nipples that showed through the silk.

She stomped past him, shaking her head. The dog trotted after her.

Cas watched them—watched her—walk away, her hair trailing behind her, the work boots adding a hitch to her walk that swung her butt from side to side and set the fabric shifting and sliding against her body. And he wanted to touch her, slide his fingers inside the shift, and feel warm, firm flesh beneath his fingers. But mostly he wanted to touch her hair.

Halfway to the house, she paused and looked over her shoulder. “They're getting away,” she said and continued toward the house.

After a stupefied second, he pushed himself off the ground. What was happening to him? He never thought about groping strange women, even magical ones like this one. He licked his lips, stuck his .38 in his jacket pocket and followed after her.

When he reached the porch, she was at the front door. So was the dog.

“Uh, miss…Ma'am? If you'd call off the dog, I could take down some information.”

He saw a flick of her hand and he had to keep himself from diving for the bushes, but the dog merely padded past her into the house.

“Well, if you're not going to chase the thieves, you may as well come in,” she said and turned to go inside.

“Wait,” he cried.

She stopped mid-step.

“You might want to leave those boots on the porch.”

She looked down at the work boots, sniffed, then wrinkled her nose. “Oh.” She leaned over to pull them off.

Her ass tightened beneath the soft nightshirt, and Cas had a tightening response of his own. He shifted uncomfortably and stared at the mailbox until he got himself under control.

This was ridiculous. He should be used to this. For three months, women called him in all sorts of getups at all hours of the night. He was, after all, the town's most eligible bachelor. Actually he was the town's only eligible bachelor. None of them had the least affect on him. But this one knocked him right out of his socks. Made his dick throb, just looking at her. She might not be Julie, but she looked pretty damn good. He might as well find out who she was and what she was doing here—and how long she planned to stay.

“Coming?” she asked and let the screen door slam behind her.

Oh yeah,
thought Cas,
I'm coming.

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A
woman in shorts, white blouse, barefoot and with a big purse slung over her shoulder was pulling something from the backseat. “The car's my rental, but I don't know who…Holy cow! Effie?”

“Who's Effie?”

“I…I'm not sure,” he said to Rory as much as to himself as he took her in. Golden hair hanging free instead of bound up in some business do, a flimsy little blouse and…lots and lots of bare legs. No wonder she didn't want to lose her tan. Ryan ran his hand around the back of his neck. “I'm not sure at all and that's not good.”

“I don't know who you're looking at, boy, but that gal is mighty fine.”

California Effie he could handle, but this? Who the hell was this? She gave a final tug, the suitcase sliding all the way out, making her stumble backward and fall on the ground, the luggage landing on top of her.

Ryan rushed across the grass and picked up the luggage. Rory took Effie's arm and helped her up. “Are you okay, little lady? You should have waited for someone to help you with that thing. Could have squashed you flatter than a frog on the freeway.”

“I'm fine, thank you,” she said to Rory with a genuine smile, making Ryan suddenly want her to smile at him like that. “The porter at the airport must have jammed that suitcase in the back. Like a size twelve foot in a size nine shoe.”

Rory's eyes twinkled. “Well, I'll be. Haven't heard that expression in a coon's age. A real country girl.”

Effie laughed, and Ryan's insides did a little flip. She'd never laughed open and carefree like that before either. She said, “Born and raised in San Diego, but my grandparents lived on a farm. This place reminds me of it, sort of brings out that country girl you mentioned.”

Ryan nudged the suitcase. “What the hell's in this thing? And where'd you get those clothes? You never dress like this.”

She turned his way. “I only packed slacks. I hadn't planned on the blast furnace you all call the weather around here and being out in it. Thelma lent me clothes.” Effie smoothed the blouse and shorts. “Wasn't that nice of her?”

“Thelma does not own short-shorts.” Did she just say ‘you all'?

“Rolled them up. And as for the luggage, I packed a fax machine and printer along with toner and paper so I can set up an office in the dining room. Thelma said it was okay with her and—”

“You packed office equipment?” Ryan watched a hint of breeze tease the wisps of blond hair curling in the humidity at her temples.

“You're the one who said the Landing was nothing like our office, that this place was rural.”

“I didn't say they used stone tablets and smoke signals.”

“Well, that's what you implied. All I know about Tennessee is that it has mountains and they filter whiskey through ten feet of sugar-maple charcoal.” Effie shrugged. “One of my old boyfriends was a whiskey snob.”

“I'm Rory O'Fallon,” Rory said on a chuckle as he nodded at Ryan. “His daddy and happy as all get-out to meet you. The two of you together is damn interesting, I'll tell you that.” He held out his hand to Effie.

Ryan felt as if he were seeing Effie for the first time, like when she'd come into his office all those months ago and knocked him on his ear. Trouble was, she was more beautiful now than then. He was certainly seeing parts of her he'd never seen before. Bare legs, bare arms, buttons open down the front of her blouse hinting at delectable cleavage where he suddenly wanted to bury his face. Shit!

Why couldn't he work with the big fat guy down the hall and have him along now? Because the big fat guy wasn't half the architect Effie Wilson was.

Rory hitched his chin toward the river. “We've got whatever office equipment you need right down at the landing. Help yourself anytime, though cell phones don't work for spit in these parts.” He grinned. “The crew will sure appreciate having you around, give them something nice and pretty to look at and brighten their day. Hope you don't mind a wolf whistle or two. They don't mean nothing by it, just a little appreciation for the finer things in life.”

Did Effie blush? Ryan had never seen her do that. Made her eyes greener, her hair blonder, her skin shimmer. No way was he letting her go to any damn docks.

Okay, this great idea to bring her along so they could work together was not his best lifetime idea. In fact, it sucked. He'd thought things would be the same as in the office; he could handle Effie in a suit and buttoned up. Except she sure as hell wasn't buttoned up now. He had to get rid of her, just like he told Rory he would. “Afraid she won't get that far, Dad. Effie's leaving in the morning.”

“I am?”

“There's no need for you to be here. I've reconsidered.”

She folded her arms and glared at him. “Well, bully for you.”

“I can take care of everything.”

“Like designing the mall by yourself.” Her foot nudged the luggage by his feet. Cute toes with dark red painted toe-nails. “I don't think so, and I didn't haul all this crap across the continent to just pack it up again and leave without using it.”

She tied together her shirttails with a decisive yank, showing her narrow waist and giving Ryan a quick peek at her navel—her navel pierced by a little gold ring—as she made the knot.

His mouth went dry; his head wobbled on his neck. He had to swallow before he could speak. How could she make a baggy shirt of Thelma's look like this? “What happened to ‘I'm a businesswoman, a California girl?' What about your cat and sushi?”

“What happened to me owing you for the shoes and the mall plans?”

Rory's eyes widened a fraction. “Ryan, this Ryan, bought you shoes?”

Effie nodded and did a mischievous wiggle with her eyebrows. “And they're Italian.”

Thank God she didn't wiggle anything else.