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Roland knew Valora had been her father’s caretaker when it should have been the other way around. He was certain he didn’t like that fact.
“Anyway, thanks again,” she said and stood to leave. “Dinner was wonderful.”
“Yes, it was,” he told her. “And not just because of the food. I thoroughly enjoyed the company, as well.”
“Oh, ah, thank you again,” she replied.
He noted how shocked she looked at his words. Possibly more shocked than he was for saying them. Quiet public dinners weren’t normally what he would call a nice time with a woman. Private meetings in hotel rooms or meals in secluded parts of a restaurant, from which he and his date could eventually be whisked off into the backseat of a car and driven to a hotel, were more to his liking.
“I’ll take you home,” he told her when he thought she might try to walk out of the restaurant as if she had her own means of transportation here.
“Thank you again, Your Highness.”
She spoke politely and had even given a respectful nod of her head. Everything this woman had done so far had been cordial. There seemed to be no ill feelings toward him or even her father after the odd events of the previous night. So Roland’s job was done. He could take her home and be done with the matter entirely.
The sudden urge for something more was strange and disconcerting. So he tried ignoring those thoughts.
* * *
Val was officially tired of thanking him. She knew she must sound like a complete idiot, with nothing better to say than “thank you.” It was pathetic.
So, during the ride back through town, she’d opted to keep quiet. That was, until the car came to a stop in an area she knew was fifteen minutes from her house. The rain had been coming down at a pretty steady pace when they’d run to Roland’s car and jumped inside. He drove a sporty little vehicle, which did not surprise her at all. The car fit his personality perfectly. Sleek and controlled with a bold hint of danger. What did not fit was that he was driving himself around instead of having a driver like the rest of the royal family. She’d noticed this last night, as well, but wasn’t going to ask the prince about it.
The fact that she’d just had dinner with the prince—the Reckless Royal, at that—was not lost on her. It had been a surreal experience, one that should have had her giddy with excitement. Except she’d known it was his pity gift to her. Val hated pity, almost more than she hated the situation her father had created for them. She’d seen how the waitress looked at her when she’d brought their meal. While the woman had remained silent, Val knew very well who she was and what she was thinking.
Her name was Idelle Masoya and she lived a block over from Val. Idelle was friends with Cora Sorenza, a woman who had slept with Val’s father years ago. Hugo and Cora had been an item for about six months, during which time Cora swore that Hugo stole money from her and gambled it away. She’d also accused Hugo of tearing up her house one night when he was in a drunken rage. After that night, their love affair was over.
No formal charges were filed against Hugo for destruction of property or stealing from Cora, but the damage was done. Cora spent the following years telling anyone within earshot about Hugo Harrington and his nefarious ways. By default, Cora disliked Val. She had spread it around town that Val was an enabler and just as foolhardy as her father, claiming it was the reason Prince Kristian severed ties with her. It was a sordid tale that contained more fabricated details each time it was retold. Val figured the retelling had taken place at least a thousand times in the past few months.
Val knew that at this very moment Idelle was likely in the back room of that restaurant, huddled in a corner with her cell phone to her ear, replaying to Cora everything she’d just seen—completely exaggerated. By tomorrow morning the story would have spread the couple of blocks that made up the Old Serenity neighborhood where they still lived. From there, it would only take another day or so to travel around the island.
With a sigh at the inevitable, Val turned to ask the prince, “Why are we stopping?”
“I had a question for you,” he said.
They were too close, only a console and gear shift separating them in the front seat of the car. With this in mind, Val turned to the side to face him. Part of her back was now pressed against the door. She figured that was about as far away as she could to manage to get.
“Okay,” she replied, even though she was thinking that he could have continued driving while he asked her a question.
“When’s the last time you danced?”
“What?”
“Danced,” he repeated. “When is the last time you forgot about everything around you? Every person. Every situation. Everything but the space where you could let go and simply dance?”
“I know you’re not drunk because you only had one glass of wine,” she said, and then quickly bit her own tongue for being so flippant with the prince.
It was just that he wasn’t acting very prince-like at the moment. His question was odd. The way he was looking at her was disconcerting. The pitter-patter of rain against the windows was rhythmic, almost romantic, if she were inclined to think along those lines. Val assured herself she definitely was not.
“No,” Roland chuckled. “I am not drunk. Not from alcohol, anyway. But there’s nothing wrong with being drunk or high off life. Sometimes, no matter what’s going on, I have to remind myself of that fact. You only get one life, Val, you should be sure to live every minute of it.”
“I do,” she replied after tilting her head to stare more closely at him. “The last time I danced was at the Ambassador’s Ball. With you.”
The words seemed quiet in the interior of the car. Spoken slowly, as if she were afraid he wouldn’t remember. Roland DeSaunters only recalled the women who had done something memorable in his life. Dancing with her so that Kristian could dance with the woman he was in love with was in no way memorable. Still, he was looking at her strangely and it was making Val uncomfortable.
He didn’t seem out of his mind. Actually, Roland had always been reported to be the most down-to-earth of the royal children. He’d been photographed playing tennis with budding young athletes at a training camp he’d visited in Europe, toasting a couple who had just been married in a hotel in Scotland where he’d been staying, and at a restaurant at the theme park in the United States, sharing a breakfast table with an adorable three-year-old girl who was elated to finally meet a real-life prince. That had happened just a few months ago, which was why it was so fresh in Val’s mind. She wasn’t about to admit that she kept close tabs on the royal family, all of them. That would be like owning up to a dream she’d convinced herself was foolish and childish to have.
“Your idea of living life is by working all day at the museum and then returning home by yourself?” he asked, but he was shaking his head as if already replying to her answer. “That’s not living at all.”
“It’s my life to do with as I please,” she replied.
How many times had she recited those words to herself? Far too many to be normal.
“We should all be so lucky,” was his quick retort. “I feel like dancing.”
“There’s no music,” she quipped, and this time she looked out the window.
It had grown dark outside, the clouds helping nightfall to arrive earlier. Heavy drops came down with a steady rhythm, moving in rivulets over the car windows.
“There’s always music in your heart,” he answered.
His voice sounded wistful that time, and Val couldn’t stop herself from turning to stare at him. He was looking out the front windshield, no doubt seeing nothing but the water raining down.
“My mother used to say that,” he told her, and then smiled as he looked at her. “She loved to dance and swore she never needed a record playing to do so.”
“I have no memories of my mother,” Val admitted, again without being able to stop herself, or at least monitor what she was saying. “She died when I was born.”
“They may be gone from this spiritual plane, but they’re always with us,” Roland said as he reached a hand over to rest on hers.
For a few stilted moments Val could only stare down at their hands. His skin was a shade darker than her butter-toned complexion. He had manicured nails. There were no rings on his right hand or on her left. They were still, and yet, deep inside, Val could swear she felt something moving, shifting, changing.
“We cannot dance in the car,” she said, and then cleared her throat because she thought her voice sounded rough.
“Then we’ll get out,” he told her, and with his free hand he pushed a button somewhere that had the door locks releasing with a loud click.
“It’s raining,” she announced.
“It’s fine,” he countered.
“No. It’s not.”
“What are you afraid of?” he asked. “What do you think will happen if you do something unorthodox for once in your life?”
“N-n othing,” she stammered. “I mean, I don’t know. I never thought about dancing in the rain.”
“That’s it right there.”
He gripped her fingers at that point, squeezing until she looked up at him.
“You don’t think. You just do. Open the car door, step out and dance!” he told her. “I dare you to simply let go of all those thoughts and just do it.”
Val didn’t like to be dared. She didn’t like people to think she was afraid of anything, either. Fear led to vulnerability and she never wanted to be vulnerable to anyone, ever. She was sliding her hand from his grip before her thoughts could catch up with her motions. Her other hand was on the door handle when she looked up at him.
“I’m not afraid of anything,” she announced. “Especially not a dare from you.”
“Prove it,” he demanded, and then he smiled. The full grin in his deep brown eyes reached simultaneously into her chest to squeeze her heart, just lightly enough that her breath caught.
Val pulled on the handle and pushed the door open. She didn’t think as she stepped out and felt the cool rain pelting against her face. Moving away from the car, she stretched her arms out wide and turned in a circle. Giddiness rose from the pit of her stomach and she laughed before spinning around again. The next spin was with her head held back, eyes wide-open to the drops that fell, dripping into her mouth and sliding down her face.
It was cool and refreshing and, in a sense, liberating. She didn’t care who saw her, hadn’t even thought of who might come along this part of the road and find her there. Her own laughter had filled her mind so she could no longer hear thoughts that might tell her she was insane or acting foolish. When the spinning had her becoming dizzy she stopped, but continued to move her feet.
With this motion Val hummed a tune she’d heard her father play late some nights. It was slow and sad—a love song, Val was certain. Still, she danced to it, moving her feet and then her hips and upper body. She danced and imagined the song was happier and that hearing it made two people feel safe and loved. It joined them and held them close together through all eternity.
Yes, she thought, it was their song. Her parents had a song and it had made them happy at one time. Val continued to move, continued to sway with the music that only she could hear.
She was so in tune with herself and her thoughts and the brimming emotions, she’d forgotten she wasn’t alone. That was, until his hands slipped around her waist and she felt herself being turned around.
Val opened her eyes and looked up at him. Rain drops were heavy on her lids and she blinked quickly, still able to see him as clearly as if they were back sitting in the car. His face was as wet as hers, drops of rain falling on his lips. They weren’t too thick, but just thick enough, she thought, and then wondered why she was thinking about his mouth at all.
His fingers splayed at her lower back as he gathered her closer. Their bodies were touching, wet shirt against wet shirt, so close they were now heartbeat to heartbeat. Her arms were still in the air from her dancing, and she brought them down slowly, letting her hands rest on the soaked material of his suit jacket. She heard thunder.
No, that was the incessant beat of her heart as she realized with a start that he was leaning in closer. His head was moving down, toward hers. She tilted hers back a little, not sure what to expect but wanting to be ready. Yes, she definitely wanted to be ready.
“You should do this more often,” he whispered, his breath warm against her rain-chilled nose.
“Do what?” she asked, more than a little confused at the moment. Was she supposed to be following her mind or her body?
Her mind said she was chilly and getting soaked, now that she’d stopped dancing. Her body, on the other hand said, he was keeping her warm.
“This,” he said in the barest whisper, just before his lips touched hers.
She didn’t say a word. Instead, Val pressed into him, tilting her head to the side to slant her lips over his. Warmth continued to spread throughout her body, even before he parted his lips just enough so that his tongue could slip out. Her lips had been wet from the rain but now they were moist from the touch of his tongue. Her lips parted, exactly what her body—and now, her mind—wanted them to do.
His hands moved farther up her back, holding her tightly as his tongue plunged deeper, exploring in a steady and persistent fashion. Val did some studying of her own. The feel of his arms around her was pleasurable. The scent of his cologne as she inhaled was dreamy. The touch of his tongue was damn—the only word she could come up with at the moment to describe what she felt.
At that moment a big splash of water hit her and Val instinctively pulled back from him. He was frowning and they both looked over to see that a car had just whizzed past them. It had obviously driven through a puddle and spattered the two people who were—no doubt, strangely—standing on the side of the road.
“Guess we should get going,” Roland said.
“Yeah, I guess we should,” Val replied quickly.
They walked back to the car without touching, but Val’s thoughts remained fixated on their kiss. Even as she slipped into the passenger seat, thankful for the leather interior, she thought about the kiss and then she thought about the man.
Prince Roland Simon DeSaunters had kissed her.
She’d been kissed by a prince. Deliciously.
Chapter 4
Two days later Roland stood in front of the windows that stretched the entire side of the house, rubbing a finger over his lips. He didn’t know how many hours he’d spent in this very spot, thinking the same thought since he’d come in out of the rain that night.
Why had he kissed Valora Harrington?
Because she’d looked...how had she looked?
He didn’t even need to close his eyes to recall, the vision was still so clear in his mind. The black pants and white shirt that made up the museum staff uniform was ordinary on everyone else who worked there. But the way the pants fit the curves of Val’s hips and bottom was not ordinary at all. Extraordinary would be more like it, he thought, as he recalled seeing her walking with her guests. He didn’t need to look at the top half of her body again; he’d seen that pretty clearly Friday night at her father’s house, so he knew she had full breasts. He also figured those breasts would fit nicely in the palms of his hands. Actually, he thought with a twitching in his pants, they might overflow his palms.
His mouth watered at that moment. Not because he was thinking about palming her breasts or even rubbing his hand over her plump backside. This reaction was solely a result of the kiss. The memory was never far from his mind, no matter what task Roland might be doing. She’d tasted sweet, even though they’d just had the spicy pasta. Her lips had been warm, even as they’d stood outside in the chilly rain. And when she’d leaned in to him, Roland had felt the strangest thing. He’d felt needed.
Now, there was no doubt in Roland’s mind that each time he’d been with a woman, that woman had needed something from him. Sex was the top need and want in his dealings with women because that was all Roland had ever intended to give any of them. Did Val need sex? Roland shook his head. That thought didn’t sit well with him, even though it had his erection hardening almost to the point of distraction.
The doorbell ringing pulled him from his thoughts, and Roland dropped his arms to his sides and walked through the living room toward the front door. He hadn’t been expecting anyone. Then again, he never expected anyone to visit him, because nobody knew about his private home except his family.
“I thought I’d find you here,” Kris said the moment Roland opened the door.
“I live here,” Roland replied as he stepped aside while his brother walked in.
At the end of the driveway was a white Mercedes. Roland lifted a hand to wave at Tajeo, Kris’s driver. The man honked the horn in response and Roland smiled as he closed the door behind himself.
“What brings you here, brother dear?” Roland asked as he followed Kris into the living room.
Roland avoided the windows and took a seat on the ultrasoft leather couch. It was a deep burgundy color, almost like a red wine, and melded to his body each and every time he sat on it. The amount he’d paid the designer in Milan meant nothing compared to the comfort.
“You haven’t been at dinner the last couple of nights, and Sam was certain you hadn’t left the island, so I figured this was where you were,” Kris stated solemnly.
Actually, it wasn’t really solemn, it was Kris’s usual tone. His older brother was a serious man. An important man, a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. It may have only the weight of the people of Grand Serenity, but still, Roland imagined that had to feel like the whole world. He didn’t really know, since he was the second born. The only way Roland would ever rule this island would be if his father and brother died. A thought he never in all his life had entertained. Not simply because he did not want to rule the island, but because he didn’t know how he would live without either man in his life.
“What’s going on?” he asked Kris. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind.
Kris unbuttoned his suit jacket and gathered his pants slightly before taking a seat on the matching love seat across from where Roland sat.
“More like having too many somethings on my mind,” Kris replied, and released a sigh.
His brother sat back and let his shoulders relax. They had oftentimes been as close as twins. It was like that with all three of them. As royal children, finding sincere and trustworthy friends wasn’t always easy. As such, the DeSaunters siblings had opted to depend on and confide in each other.
“Wife, father, work or mom-to-be?” Roland asked with a raised brow.
“All of the above, except Malayka will never be my mother. I don’t care how many rings Dad puts on her finger,” Kris said, and ran his hands over his thighs.
Roland watched Kris’s motions. Tension surrounded him like a dark cloud. On another man, worry might have furrowed his brow, but not Kris. His facial features were set, so that he looked just as he did in a photograph taken months ago in the paper, or even years ago in their last family photo. There was no change. Ever. There couldn’t be.
As for Roland, he could clench his teeth and give a quick shake of his head at the monotony of it all. Being a prince wasn’t as glamorous as he was sure some thought. How many times had he said those words? How many days had he realized that same fact over and over again?
“Do you think he’s in love with her?” Roland asked Kris.
“Yes,” Kris answered without hesitation. “I know he is, and so do Sam and Landry. We can all see that he loves her and that he’s never loved any other woman since Mom. That’s the hardest part of this situation.”
“I agree,” Roland said.
It was hard to accept that his father was in love with someone other than his mother. Sure, years had passed since her death, but that didn’t mean Roland was ready to see another woman standing beside his father wearing that crown.
“He comes first,” Kris continued. “Dad’s safety, his happiness, it all comes before any feelings we have toward her or this marriage.”
“I know that,” Roland agreed. “Any word on Amari Taylor’s escape?”
“Gary hasn’t found him yet,” Kris said as he clasped his fingers together. “At the jail, his cell door was simply unlocked and the guy just walked out. We’re sure that means someone on the inside helped him, and since nobody confessed to being the culprit, every officer that was working the night of the escape has been fired.”
Roland shook his head. “You fired all of them?”
“Yes,” Kris stated. “I’m not going to play games with my family’s lives. If there’s no allegiance to the monarch or to justice, then they do not belong on the police force.”
He heard his brother’s words and, to an extent, understood them perfectly. Still, a part of Roland thought about innocent officers who may now be out of work because of this incident. On the other hand, his father could have lost his life in a car crash and Sam could have been killed when Kendon Arnold, the man they suspected of working for Amari, took shots at her. That was in addition to how many lives could have been lost during that explosion at the palace. In the end, Roland knew Kris was right, there was no more time to play or second-guess. This situation was dire.
“Sam says she misses her husband and longs for a normal life,” Kris continued.
“Don’t we all,” Roland quipped.
“No. We don’t.”
His brother’s response was quick and curt.
“This is my life,” Kris continued. “Now, with Landry by my side, I feel like it’s finally complete. Like she was meant to be there to help me through this journey. I have no doubt that I was meant to rule Grand Serenity one day and that Landry will help me with that. We’ll have a family and we’ll be happy here. One day.”
“Wow,” Roland replied with a sigh. “I wish my future was that clear.”
It was the truth, he thought, as he sat back in his chair. He did wish that he knew what he wanted for his future. He wished there was a plan for him, a goal, a woman...
“Brunson said you played poker with the casino owner a few nights ago.”
Kris’s words were a cool statement, one filled with judgment. But Roland wasn’t offended. He was used to being judged by people, even his family. They’d done so all his life.
“It was an interesting game,” he replied.
Interesting seemed like a good word for what had happened that night. As for how Roland had spent the next evening, well, he was still trying to figure out how to describe that. Luckily, he didn’t have to, not to Kris, anyway.
“You won,” Kris said, a semblance of a smile forming. “That’s my brother.”
Roland grinned. “Winning is always preferred.”
Kris chuckled then. “Dad said Grandpa always told him that.”
“Really? Dad never mentioned that to me.”
“Maybe because you don’t talk to him as much as Sam and I do.”
“I don’t please him as much as you and Sam do,” Roland quickly corrected. “But that’s not what I want to talk about. Let’s try going over why you have one of the guards reporting my every move to you. Am I a suspect in what’s been going on now?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kris countered. “Of course you’re not a suspect. But you are a part of this mess. If they’re gunning for one of us, all of us are affected. The guards are there to protect you and the rest of the family.”
“Are they reporting on what Sam does? Who she sees? How long she stays out?”
“Sam isn’t playing poker with people who do business within our country. And she’s not at the museum telling tourists that there may be buried treasure in the castle.”
So he knew that Roland had gone to the museum, as well. Roland wondered when, or if, Kris was going to ask the million-dollar question.