The Royal Pain (9 page)

T
wo days later, Jenny brought in the paper along with the usual morning correspondence. Alex was not surprised to see Dr. Sheldon Rivers glaring up at her from page one.

“Here we go,” she muttered.

“He looks like Sean Penn from the old days,” Jenny said admiringly, peeking over her shoulder. “Like he's about to belt one of the photogs.”

It's his anti-cheese glare,
she thought with a silent snicker. Aloud, she added, “It had been a long night.” And an even longer day. And night. Sheldon had some stupid out-of-town conference for geeks he couldn't get out of. So she hadn't seen him, in fact, since the night of the nightmare. Well, the nightmare he interrupted. It was awful, how much she missed him.

Awful. In about five different ways.

“And Princess Christina called again.”

Alex shook her head. “I'm in no mood for one of her lectures, Jenny. Keep telling her I'm out.”

“Yes, Princess.” This in a voice of doom.

“Jenny, I'm sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, Your Highness.”

“I know she squawks and yells and knows you're lying and screams and gives you a headache.”

“It's part of my job, Highness,” Jenny said bravely, unconsciously massaging her temples.

“Well, I really appreciate it. If it makes you feel better, I feel loads of guilt every time I dodge a call and make you take the fall for it.”

Jenny perked up. “Thank you, Highness.”

“You're taking the evening off, right? Giving someone else phone duty? Relieving my constant, nagging guilt?”

“Yes, Mr. Grange is taking me bowling.”

Alex felt her mouth pop open. “He is?”

“I want to go,” she said defensively.

“Jenny.”

“Well,
he
wanted to go. And I don't mind. I've never ever been. Imagine! Rented shoes and—and—beer in—in—disposable cups.”

Alex almost smiled at the revolted look on the other woman's face. “I'm sure it will be swell. Jenny, did you bring jeans? Or at least slacks?”

“I have a skirt that's an inch above my knee,” she said slowly.

“Whoa, slut on the loose! Look, go through my closet and grab a pair of jeans, willya?”

“Thank you, but I'll have enough trouble learning the game without tripping over five inch cuffs.”

“Then I strongly advise you to take some time this afternoon and go shopping. You don't want to learn how to bowl in a skirt.”

“Thank you, Highness, I will take that advice. Now, back to business. According to this,” she said, tapping the newspaper, “you and Dr. Rivers have been working on the plans for the new wing in your private chambers. Implying, of course, that you're really just having sex.”

“Which, of course, we are.”

“Yes. But they're very careful. They're letting the readers jump to conclusions, instead of leading them by the nose.”

“The conservative Midwest?” Alex suggested.

“Or they've been sued so now they're careful. Either way, Dr. Rivers won't be pleased, though there isn't anything too damaging here. Unless you realize the picture was taken at four
A.M
. outside your hotel.”

“I warned him. He said he didn't care.”

“Very good, Princess. I take it there will be no official response to this?”

“If we got caught with his hand up my skirt, that's my fault, and I'm sure not going imply the newspaper lied.”

“As long as Dr. Rivers understands…” She paused delicately.

“Well, like I said. I did tell him.”

“Very good.”

“I guess we'll find out if he meant it.”

“Yes. I imagine we will.”

“He should get some warning, though, don't you think? I mean, he's not used to this kind of thing at all. Maybe I'll bring it over to his office this afternoon,” Alex suggested. “Sort of muffle the shock. He never reads the paper, anyway. I could probably get it to him first. Warn him, you know?”

“I think that's an excellent idea, Princess,” Jenny said gravely. “You've got some room in your schedule today. Perhaps you should meet him at the airport and ensure no one else shows him the paper first.”

“I could, but…I don't have his flight information. And he's the only guy on the planet who refuses to turn on his cell phone.”

Jenny smiled. “With all due respect, Your Highness, you don't think much of your staff, do you?”

Pick 'n' Pin
Five hours later

“D
amn that ball anyway!”

“Easy, cutie,” Teal said. He was still holding the paper and grinning admiringly at the scowling photo of his best friend. “Everybody has a hard time at first. Shit, that's how I found out I needed glasses. I kept throwing my ball down the wrong damn lane.”

“You're lying,” she said, puffing a strand of hair out of her face and stomping back to the small cubby where they were keeping score, “to comfort me. Thank you.”

“Hey, you're doing great for your first time! And I gotta say,” he added with a friendly leer, “I love you in blue jeans.”

“They're new,” she said, pleased. “I went to Target. Her Highness insisted.”

“Her Highness knows her shit. You look great.”

“I dread your reunion with Dr. Rivers,” she teased. “Since you appear to be carrying that newspaper wherever you go today.”

“I can't help it. I never knew anybody important enough to be on the front page before. In a good way, I mean. But that's a whole other story. Man!” He smoothed the paper and added admiringly, “I cannot believe Shel's in the paper. Because he's knocking boots with the friggin' Princess of Alaska!”

“Umm,” Jenny said noncommittally.

“I can't even believe they're dating,” he continued, getting up and plucking a new ball from the steadily growing pile. “Shel hates rich people. I mean,
hates
'em.”

“How can he hate a class of people most of whom he's never likely to meet?”

“Because he's a weirdo.”

“He seemed…prickly…when we first met at the Aquarium,” she said carefully.

“Yeah, your tact's in overdrive today, honey. He was
so
pissed when he heard you were coming and that his boss wanted him to play tour guide. I can't even believe he did it.”

“He got a good look at her,” Jenny guessed. “It happens to a lot of men.”

“Y'know, he didn't have much money as a kid and rich people really torqued him off. Said his dad busted his ass for practically minimum wage, and as thanks they kept sending him overseas when he was practically an old man.”

“His father didn't like that?”

“His father
loved
it. That's the whole problem. His old man was an adrenalin junkie, and traveled all over the world setting up triage centers—he was Dr. Rivers, too, only an M.D. Never around, I mean
never
.”

“Really?”

Teal seemed to realize what he was doing, because he rolled a strike, then turned and shrugged. “Sorry. Here I'm spending our whole date gossiping about my friend.”

“It's interesting.”

“Yeah, and it's all going into a memo to your boss, I bet.”

“It certainly will not!”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“I mean,” she added, “I might mention it in passing, over a cup of coffee, but not if you asked me to keep a confidence.”

“Oh.” He considered that for a long moment, taking off his glasses and polishing them on his cherry red flannel shirt. “Well, I guess I'll leave it up to you to decide what to pass on and what not to.”

“Thank you.” Then, because she couldn't help herself: “You know, that's terrible for the lenses.”

“Never mind. Anyway—here's your ball. His dad was never around for Christmas, birthdays, Thanksgiving…I mean never. And Shel hated it. And his mom hated it. And all his sibs hated it. Everybody but Dr. Rivers, I guess.”

“So instead of blaming his father for an overly developed work-ethic—”

“Ha! You'd know about that, huh, Jenn?”

“—he chose instead to blame the wealthy?”

“Something like that. You know, something that makes him sound like less of a dick. That's why I was so surprised when they seemed to, you know, hit it off. It'd be your classic poor-boy-falls-for-rich-girl story, except for how he hates rich people. And royalty. And brunettes. You know, because of the prom. But that's a whole other thing.”

“Indeed.” She rolled her ball with a grunt, and watched, surprised, as three pins were knocked over.

“There ya go!”

“At this rate, I can roll three hundred in…oh, dear, I just gave myself a headache.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself. It's a date, hon, the word is fun.”

“Is that the word?”

“Yeah, and we're not going to spend all night talking about your boss and my best friend, are we?”

“I had planned on it,” she admitted, making sure her brown turtleneck was tucked in all the way around. Some of her bowls took a bit out of her.

“Hon, you've gotta take a vacation.”

“Hon, that's what everyone keeps telling me.”

T
he cuffs were rattling in her ears as she clung to the wooden bars of the headboard, facedown on the mattress. Shel pushed into her from behind with a sound that was halfway between a grunt and a moan. She tried to get up on her knees a bit to meet his thrusts, but with a hand in the middle of her back he pushed her back down and thrust deeply, sweetly.

She felt him filling her up, felt his hot breath on the back of her neck, heard his groans. He shifted, and then one hand was in her hair and the other was clenched in a fist on the pillow beside her as he worked her from behind, treated himself at the same time, rubbed, touched, fucked. And oh, Christ, she loved it, it was
ridiculous
how much she loved it, how good it felt, his hands, his dick, his lips pressed tightly against her left shoulder.

She could feel her orgasm approach like a roaring freight train, and gripped the bars so hard her knuckles whitened. Then she was coming, coming so hard she could actually feel her uterus contracting, and he was gasping and shifting behind her, pushing, stroking, and just when the train slowed down it sped up again, taking her with it, and she let go of the bars as he stiffened behind her and groaned her name into her hair.

“Ah, God,” she gasped after a long moment.

“Killing me,” he mumbled. “You're killing me. Don't think I don't know. It's a plot. You're trying to take over my country—”

“One marine biologist at a time. Now that you've figured it out, I'll
have
to kill you.”

“You are,” he said, smiling, as he got up and unlocked her.

One thing they had agreed on: the cuffs were for sex. Nothing else. No pre-copulation taunting, no post-coital chatting with her arms over her head. The keys were kept right beside them and, for safety's sake, he had a spare set in the pocket of his backpack. No wacky “jeepers, I can't find the key I guess we'd better call a locksmith” hijinks for her, thank you very much.

It was funny…she loved being restricted while they were fucking, and absolutely could not tolerate it when they weren't.

She must have spoken aloud, because she heard him say, “Fucking? Oh, that's a nice word. Is that what we're doing?”

“Forget it,” she told him, rubbing her wrists. They weren't sore, but it was good to have freedom of movement again. “I hate the word ‘lovemaking.' I always picture someone knitting.”

“Knitting love?”

“Seriously, Shel. I hate that word.”

“Mmm.” He grabbed her wrist and examined it, then grabbed the other one, satisfied himself there were no marks, and let go. “Sex, then? Because I'm not too fond of ‘fucking' unless somebody's swearing.”

“Why?”

“It sounds cold,” he said shortly. “Like what we're doing in here doesn't mean anything. Like it could be anybody in here.”

“Sex it is,” she agreed, ignoring the stab of anxiety his words brought. “You know, Dr. Rivers, when we met, I never dreamed you were the type to get so easily attached.”

She had tried to make a joke out of it, but he didn't crack a smile. “I'm not,” he said shortly. “But—”

Then, thank God, the phone rang. Alex reached for it. Lunged for it, truth be told.

“Come on,” he protested. “You're on your own time. It's almost midnight, for crying out loud.”

“I know. But Terry wouldn't bug me this late unless it was important.”
And frankly, I've had about as much of this awkward conversation as I'm going to take.
“Hello?”

“Your Highness, this is Reynolds.”

“Yes, Terry, what can I do for you?”

“I'm really sorry to bother you so late, but I've got Princess Christina on the other line. She says Princess Dara is sick.”

Oh Jesus.
“Put her through. And then call my pilot and tell him to be ready to go back home.”

“At once, Your Highness.” There was the temporary black hole of being on hold and she saw Shel pull his shirt on out of the corner of her eye.

“What's wrong?” he whispered, stepping into his boxers.

“My niece is sick. Hello?”

“Alex?”

“Chris, what—”

“Listen. It was a shitty thing to do and I apologize, and it's important that you get this: Dara's fine. Okay? She's totally fine. Pooped twice today, in fact. We're still reeling from it.”

“Wh—why—”

“Look, I'm really sorry, I just didn't see any way around it. You've been dodging my calls—”

“Christina.”

“And don't get all snotty and royal on me, either! Believe me, you'll thank me for this. He's on his way.”

“What?” She was so relieved the baby was safe, she was having trouble following. “Who? What?”

“Aren't you supposed to be the smart one? Your dad! King Al! He saw the paper—you can kick Edmund's ass for that one, by the way—and totally flipped out. Signed a bunch of crap and came out on his plane as soon as he could. I didn't even know he'd left until I practically beat it out of Edmund, that rat fink.”

“He's on his way here?”

“No, I'm mean he's there right
now.
”

!!!

“Alex? Hello?”

“Oh, God.”

“Exactly. So, honey, if you've, you know, got a friend up there, now would be a real good time to give him the boot, get me?”

Alex swayed as the full, awful dreadfulness of the moment swept over her. She was frozen in place like any heroine in a bad horror movie. Her mind shouted a hundred directions, but she just stood there, dimly hearing Christina squawk through the receiver.

“What's wrong?” Sheldon asked again, just as the door shook. As if someone with coconut-size hands was knocking on it, and in a hurry.