Prince's Son Of Scandal. Dani Collins
it a night. She needed to hole up at the flat where she knew she was completely safe and process all of this.
“I have to go.” She clicked off her phone and sent him a smile of cheerful resignation.
“Is everything all right?” He rose to pull on his pants, not bothering with underwear, which pleased her for some reason, but he didn’t invite her to stay, which depressed her as well.
“Just my sister. She needs me to get home.” She texted her guard that she would be ready in fifteen minutes and stepped into her thong.
Xavier shook out her gown and brought it to her, then moved behind her as she stepped into it. Hurrying her? She pulled up the gown then lifted her hair while he zipped.
His hands lingered on her skin, not moving, not holding her in place, but his grave words pinned her motionless. “I remember her kidnapping.”
She dropped her arms, letting her hair fall over his hands, as helpless and as terrified as she had ever been. Her breastbone turned to ice and her ears strained to hear what he would say next.
“I was fourteen. My father was renouncing the crown. My mother was already gone, exiled by my grandmother for their divorce. I was feeling very sorry for myself. Then I saw photos of this little girl, so pretty and happy, stolen. I stopped worrying what would happen to me. I was so relieved when she was recovered.”
His fingertips stayed across her shoulders, not caressing, just resting in small hot prints. She thought she would bruise from the contact. Not in a painful way. It was the opposite of injury. Healing?
He drew in a sharp breath and pulled his touch from her skin. “I don’t know why I said that. It was far too personal for both of us. You’re clearly still worried about her if you’re rushing off.” He bent to retrieve her shoes. “I hope she’s all right.”
It was me. She should have said it, but her throat was too tight.
She knew there were people who had rooted for her family all the way along, but it was so wrapped up in their notoriety, she didn’t differentiate the kindly meant from the intrusive or downright cruel. Her family hadn’t asked to be famous for the odd trick of nature that had created two sets of identical twins. They were just people, perhaps better looking by certain standards, definitely richer than average, but regular humans.
Yet the world was insatiably curious about what brand of soap they used and held strong opinions on how they should conduct themselves.
To have this man, who was completely removed from it, reveal such a personal memory connected to her affected her, changing the careful constructs inside her. Defenses that held darkness at bay while keeping her open to the people who loved her shifted and angled to provide space for him to enter.
No. She couldn’t let him in! Tie herself to a man? Lose herself behind someone else’s goals and wishes and expectations when she had so many unreached aspirations of her own? She couldn’t attach herself to someone whose life was bigger than hers. She was trying to escape all the restraints that had bound her for so long.
Shaken at how vulnerable she was to him, she jiggled her bodice against her breasts, then perched on a chair to strap on her shoes, hands trembling.
“Is she really as beautiful as you?” He watched her with his fists pushed into his pockets. His naked shoulders were relaxed and outlined in pale gold while the shadows in his face suggested a brooding expression. The dark patch of his chest hair narrowed to a suggestive line, arrowing to his navel, then lower.
He was the beautiful one. She memorized this last intimate glimpse of him.
“Exactly as beautiful.” She smiled, amused with her own joke, then poignant gratitude accosted her. “Thank you for tonight. I—” She stopped herself from saying something truly gauche.
She wanted to ask if he’d meant it when he’d said it wasn’t always like this for him. She wanted to tell him what he had given her. She wanted to get out of here before she revealed too much.
She glanced at the clock. If she didn’t show her face promptly, her guard would knock and enter. They were paid very well to be diligent and investigate when she wasn’t where she said she would be.
Xavier moved to offer a hand, helping her to her feet. “Thank you. This was lovely.” The words came off lighthearted, punching into her as she imagined the legions of other women who had heard such offhand praise. Not even, I won’t forget you. Just, this was lovely. A pleasant meal. Nothing life-changing.
He brought her hand to his mouth, exactly as he had when they’d met, except this time he turned her hand over and kissed her palm.
Trying to hide how deeply that affected her, she said, “Goodnight, sweet Prince.”
He snorted. “I could have you beheaded for that.”
With a lightning move, he pulled her close and wove his fingers into her hair, planting a real kiss, a final one, on her mouth. It was painfully sweet. Thorough, yet tender. Oddly heartbreaking.
For her.
And even though she was the one to draw back, her lips clung to his. Temptation to stay, to say more, gripped her, but he distracted her.
“You’ve lost an earring.” His fingertip flicked at her lobe.
“No!” Both hands went to her ears, finding one empty. “Here? In the room? Did you notice if I had both while we were downstairs?”
“I’ll buy you new ones,” he offered with an offhand shrug.
“They’re sentimental. A gift from my father.” To Gili. She clicked on the lamp and flung back the bed covers, searching.
A polite knock tapped on the main door, her guard telling her the car was in position. They avoided waiting whenever possible. It drew a crowd.
“I’ll find it and send it to you at the design house.”
“Promise?” She looked from his muscled chest to the sheets to his eyes. Oh, he was spectacular in the golden light, emptying her brain all over again.
“I only make promises I can keep.”
“Thank you.” She didn’t bother worrying about him addressing it to Angelique. She would intercept it or come clean if she had to. “I really did, um, enjoy this.”
His eyes warmed with laughter. “My pleasure, bella.”
She was starting to sound like the neophyte she was. Definitely time to make her escape. She ducked her head and made for the coach before she turned into a pumpkin.
Present day...
COMMUNICATIONS FROM PRINCE XAVIER’S grandmother fell into three categories. All were delivered by the palace’s Private Secretary, Mario de Gaul.
“Your grandmother requests a meeting to discuss...” Fill in the blank. Those were routine and benign. She listened to her grandson’s opinions and they worked together on a strategy for whatever event, negotiation or dignified visitor stood on the horizon. They were equals, more or less.
The second, more ominous type of appointment began with “Her Majesty invites you to join her at...” Fill in the meal. Those were more dictatorial instructions on how she wanted something handled. A parliamentarian or ambassador needed massaging. A high-level staff member needed firing. He was doing her dirty work.
Then there was—
“The Queen is in her receiving room. She expects you.”
Mario entered with that missive on the heels of Xavier’s Personal Assistant, who still stood before him, his speech bubble of grim news dissolving in the air above his pleading don’t-shoot-the-messenger expression.
“Of course.” Xavier