The Royal House of Niroli: Secret Heirs: Bride by Royal Appointment / A Royal Bride at the Sheikh's Command

CHAPTER THREE

ELENA gasped. Adam was Crown Prince Antonio’s son? Such a possibility hadn’t entered her mind. And he’d seemed like—what? Not an everyday, average guy. Not that. She’d sensed something edgier, more dangerous about him from the first. But hardly royal.

Still, why not? He had the insolence for royalty. No wonder she’d been instinctively wary of him from the beginning. The illegitimate son of Antonio. She could hardly believe it.

“He didn’t let on?” Gino asked.

“He gave no hint that I was aware of.”

“Hmm. Maybe he thinks he’s going incognito for now.” Gino grimaced. “Well, be careful, darling. Royalty aren’t like you and me. Even when they’re illegitimate.” He rose. “I’ve got to see a man about a painting. I’ll stop by and see you later.”

She nodded. “Don’t forget about tonight,” she reminded him, thinking of the small gathering of friends she was having that evening.

He bent to kiss her cheek. “I won’t let you down,” he said affectionately, then hurried off.

His words echoed in her mind and she shook her head to rid herself of them. She seemed, suddenly, to be clinging to any hint of protection as though she was expecting a major assault on her peace of mind very soon. This was no good and it wasn’t like her. Ever since she’d been very young she’d worked hard at being self-sufficient. The temptation was to relax and let others take care of her. It came with the territory and she had a very big excuse for doing exactly that. But she knew she would lose all self respect if she let that happen.

Still, this news that Adam was Antonio’s son was disturbing. Of all people for her to have run into at the ruins! She almost felt as though she’d stepped into a part of Nirolian history herself while visiting her ancestors.

The island had been in turmoil ever since the fateful day, two years before, when King Giorgio’s two sons, his only direct heirs, were killed in a yachting accident, along with one of their wives. Crown Prince Antonio had been particularly beloved by many factions in Niroli. It had been assumed he would soon be King himself, and his death had sent shock waves through every level of society.

The old king’s grief had been staggering and he had lost his will to govern. But when he had begun looking around at his grandchildren for a successor, he’d found that one after another they proved unsuitable or unwilling. Rumors had been flying that he was about to turn to an illegitimate child of Antonio’s, and now it seemed they were right on the money.

“But that is something I don’t want to get involved with,” she muttered to herself, and at the same time she heard Adam and the others coming back, and Fabio was suddenly there, rubbing against her leg.

To her consternation, Jeremy seemed to be sobbing.

“What have you done to him now?” she asked Adam fiercely, rising from her chair, all thoughts of his possible connection to royalty out the window.

“I haven’t done a thing,” he responded shortly. “He fell and scraped his knee before I found them. It’s bleeding. I’m going to have to find someone with a first-aid kit around here. Any ideas?”

She hesitated, but quickly realized something would have to be done. The man was one thing. She could be cold and dismissive to the man all day long if she felt like it. But the child was hurt and that was another matter. She couldn’t just leave him that way.

“Oh, bother!” she said, giving up on her self-imposed rule to keep Adam out of her house. “Come along, then.”

Grasping Fabio’s halter, she started off down the street. Behind her, she heard the man and the boy following. She could tell that Adam had swung Jeremy up into his arms and was carrying him. That mollified her somewhat. In fact, she was just a bit chagrined that she’d accused him of hurting his son. She would have to be careful about jumping to false conclusions in the future.

Future, her mind was screaming, trying to get her attention. What future? But she ignored it and hurried on.

“Where are we going?” Adam asked.

She held her head high. If it must be done, t’were best done quickly—and bravely, she told herself.

“To my house,” she said aloud.

“What? You live near here?”

“Just around the corner, actually.”

“Oh. Well, that’s handy.”

They turned the corner and Adam nodded to himself. This was just the sort of neighborhood he could picture her living in—quaint and traditional, yet neat and tidy and very well maintained. A sort of old-fashioned storybook lane. It fit.

What amazed him was how confidently she stepped along the walkway. She did have the dog to lead her, but a dog couldn’t do it all and she moved as though she wouldn’t allow herself a hint of uncertainty. His lopsided grin appeared almost against his will. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to start admiring the woman for more than just her very provocative feminine appeal.

She turned in through a neat picket fence to a small white cottage that could have housed the Seven Dwarves. A brightly painted red door beckoned. Window-boxes spilling over with flowers and a small wishing well completed the picture.

Any moment, he thought, someone is going to start singing “Someday My Prince Will Come”, in the background.

And that thought almost made him laugh out loud. So he was doing prince jokes now.

But he sobered quickly. Every now and then he began to realize just what he was playing around with here. Much as he needed the funding to stave off the hostile takeover of his company, was he really willing to trade in his freedom for a crown? He was going to have to decide soon. He was rapidly working his way into a position where he wasn’t going to have any choice in the matter.

The inside of the cottage looked as carefully maintained as the outside. The furniture appeared to be antiques lovingly saved from centuries past. And as a centerpiece to the room, a beautiful piano gleamed in the light coming in from the high windows.

He put Jeremy, still sniffling a bit, on the couch while Elena went to a cupboard and found disinfectant and bandages. He watched her, trying to see how she knew where to stand and where to reach. So far he hadn’t caught her in a mistake, and that seemed remarkable.

She let him take care of the wound, which seemed to make sense, though he was clumsy at it. Jeremy whimpered a bit when he put on the disinfectant and she went to the piano and began playing him happy tunes to take his mind off it and lift his spirits.

Adam could tell right away that she played beautifully, with the sort of emotion that touched even hardened hearts like his. Jeremy was intrigued, and once he was bandaged up he wanted to go to the piano and sit beside Elena on the bench. She began teaching him a few simple notes and he was eager to try them.

Adam watched for awhile, impressed that she seemed to have a natural way with children—or with his child, at any rate. He’d watched others try to reach Jeremy—nannies and teachers—and bomb out, totally. In fact, he’d about come to the conclusion the kid was unreachable. But Elena treated him in a normal way and he seemed to like her for it. Maybe there was hope after all.

It wasn’t the way she acted, he decided after watching for a few more minutes. It was who she was that got through to the boy. They just had a spontaneous connection. Funny. He wished he knew a way to create that with his son himself.

He didn’t usually wallow in the pain of his failed relationships, but for just a moment he let regrets surface. Why was it that he couldn’t bond with his boy? Why had Melissa, Jeremy’s mother, found it impossible to stay and create a family with them? Why had his own mother spent most of his childhood flitting around the playgrounds of the world instead of being at home, raising him? Was there something in him that pushed all these people away?

He indulged in a short, very obscene oath under his breath to erase that kind of thinking. Life was what it was. You could take it or leave it. But there was no room for whining.

Pushing away from the wall where he’d been leaning, he left the room to go outside and try his cell phone again. It was his only lifeline to his precious company— the one part of his life that had worked out beautifully. He had to save his company from the takeover. After years as a golden boy in the business, he was facing a sort of failure, and suddenly no one was returning his calls. If something didn’t happen fast—as in funds becoming available for quick use—it was going to be all over. That was why this delay in settling the crown succession thing was so frustrating. Retaining control of his company meant retaining his sense of identity. The head of Ryder Productions was who he was and what made him special. If he lost that—no, it didn’t bear thinking of.

The phone still wasn’t working for him and he began to pace about the yard to let off steam. He quickly became curious about Elena’s property and what sort of trees she’d planted. The atmosphere was just as pleasant outside as in and, just wandering about, he began to relax. There was a small stone terrace with a table and two chairs under an umbrella and a bank of colorful flowers. A tiny house just steps away from the main building was outfitted with twin beds and a wardrobe. Evidently the building had once served as a garage, then been renovated. He stared at it, wondering who used it. Then he went back into the cottage to find Elena playing tunes from Peter and the Wolf and Jeremy dozing with his head in her lap.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching the tranquil scene. It seemed like a picture from another era, another place, as though he were looking through time, and maybe through the gauze of memory. A certain yearning crept into his heart as he stood there.

Very deliberately, he pushed it away. What did this have to do with the rat-race world he lived in today? Nothing. It was certainly a seductive destination, but it was an existence built in the clouds. It had no relationship to his reality and he knew it would be dangerous to grow too enamored of it.

She came to the end of her piece and he said, “It looks like you’ve got the magic touch where Jeremy is concerned.”

Her dark head lifted. “He seems to be asleep, doesn’t he?”

“That he does. Who knew he would respond so well to Prokofiev?” he said.

“Ah, you know your composers,” she said, as though that delighted her.

He hated to burst her bubble, but he didn’t want to pretend to a sophistication he just didn’t have.

“Not really. I know the music to Peter and the Wolf because I just produced a series for an educational channel that did a treatment of it. The puppet version.”

“Oh.”

She actually looked a bit deflated. Why should she care if he knew classical music? It touched him, and at the same time it disturbed him that she felt that way. Was she looking for a connection? Did he want her to?

This woman and her contradictions baffled him. He was used to straightforward dealings with women. Either they attracted him or they didn’t. Either he hired them or he didn’t. Either he dated them or he didn’t. Elena Valerio didn’t fit into any of those slots.

“You produce films for television?” she asked as she closed the lid of the piano.

“Yes. Theatrical releases as well. I have a production company in Los Angeles. “

She nodded, her hand falling quietly onto Jeremy’s forehead, where she stroked the hair back off his face. Watching her was once again doing strange things to Adam’s emotions and he wasn’t sure why.

“Here,” he said gruffly. “I’ll put him on the couch.”

He transferred the boy quickly, trying to ignore her spicy scent as he bent close. Luckily, Jeremy didn’t stir a bit. Once he had him settled, he turned back to their lovely hostess.

“Your playing is wonderful,” he said, and, to his surprise, his genuine feeling was plain in his voice.

“Thank you.”

He noticed she didn’t bother with false modesty. He liked that. He was used to dealing with artists and other creative types and he understood her quiet confidence in her expertise. It was nice to know she had the artistry to back it up. Walking back into the central area of the room, he leaned against the piano.

“Is that your main talent?”

Something about the question made her turn. “Yes, actually.” Her smile was bitter-sweet. “Some would say it’s my only talent.”

“I don’t believe that for a moment.” He said the words in all sincerity. He knew she must be good at a lot of other things. She came across as so competent. “Do you ever play professionally?”

She smiled, surprised and gratified by the question. Most people just assumed that because she was blind, she couldn’t possibly do anything professionally. She hesitated, toying with the urge to tell him about her acceptance at the New York School of Music Applications. But there wasn’t really any point in talking about it. Classes for the current session were only days away and she had no way to get there, much less to pay for living there once she arrived. It was a nice dream, but right now that was all it was.

“I teach music,” she said instead, leaving it at that. “That’s how I make my living.”

He nodded. Looking around the room, he had to conclude the living she made was minimal. Everything was clean and shiny, but a bit worn around the edges at the same time. His gaze drifted back to where she was sitting and he realized he could look at her at will—a sort of feast of the senses—without the usual need to pretend disinterest.

And she was lovely to look at. Today she was dressed in a sort of muted peach shade and the scarf braided in her hair was the color of pomegranates. He wondered briefly how she knew what color she was picking out. That sort of thing was so important to women. He hoped there was someone to help her choose.

This dress was loose and low-cut, displaying the upper swell of her breasts in a way that stirred the senses. He let his gaze slide over her, taking in the curve of her neck and the delicate cut of her collar-bone. Her skin was smooth and seemed to glow in the golden light. He wanted to touch her. And he knew she would kill him if he tried. In a metaphorical way, of course.

And that brought him back to something he’d been wondering about before—just what were her romantic entanglements?

“Do you live here alone?” he asked, glancing around the room and finding nothing particularly masculine in the entire scene.

She nodded.

“No partner? No relationship?”

She smiled. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m just curious. This island seems to have such a great atmosphere for lovers. I’d hate to think you were wasting it.”

She threw back her head and laughed out loud. “Oh, you are a devil, aren’t you? Actually, having lived here all my life, I’m pretty much immune to the romantic charms of the place.”

“So you say.” He studied her. “What’s your lover like, then?” He could hardly believe she didn’t have one.

“My lover? Ah-h-h.” She drew in a sensual breath and straightened her spine in a stretch, as though savoring the thought of him, and Adam winced. He didn’t need details. Actually, he’d been hoping she was between loves right now.

“My lover has strong arms,” she was saying wistfully, “sweet breath, a body like a Greek god. He can sing like an angel, but for nobody but me.” She flashed him a quick grin as though waking from a dream. “At least that was the way I imagined him when I was about fourteen.”

The sense of relief he felt was ridiculous. “So this isn’t a real guy?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s out there somewhere.”

He shook his head, enjoying her and not sure if he should be. “You’re a strange woman.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Different from what you’re used to?”

“Infinitely.”

“Brilliant. It will probably do you good to shake up your expectations a bit. Maybe you’ll get a better picture of what women are really like.”

“Play me something,” he said softly.

She slowly lifted the piano lid again and her hands went back to the keys, her fingers hitting a few notes softly, but her face was very still. “What would you like to hear?”

“Anything you’d like to play.”

She smiled and touched the keys, and in seconds music filled the room. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew it was gorgeous—full of fire and passion and a strain of sentimentality that grabbed hold of his heart and soul in a way he wasn’t expecting. Emotion grew inside him in response, almost making it hard to breathe. And another thing he hadn’t bargained for—watching her playing was arousing him in ways he didn’t remember having been aroused before.

But this wasn’t just the music—it was mostly the musician.

She hit the final crescendo and her shoulders sagged, as though the music that had filled her was spent. He waited as the sound slowly evaporated into the air of the room.

“Wow,” he said, in awe of her power. It was going to take a moment or two to let his senses stop reeling. “What was that?”

She shrugged, smiled and seemed to regain her strength quickly. “Just some Rachmaninov,” she said as though it were everyday stuff.

“You have a thing for the Russians?”

She laughed and it animated her whole body. Watching her, he was filled with a sudden need to take her into his arms and hold her close. This was more than desire, more than sexual hunger. What was it? A protective instinct? He shook his head. Where were these strange feelings coming from?

He reacted to women all the time—he knew what that felt like. But this was different. This included another component and he wasn’t sure he wanted to analyze it too closely.

“When it comes to music,” she was saying, starting to rise from the piano bench, “I plead guilty as charged.”

She moved gracefully and he watched her, much as he might watch a bird in flight, appreciating every move and wanting to see more. He had a hunch she would dance almost as beautifully as she played, if only she could feel secure enough in her surroundings.

She offered him a cool drink and he followed her into the kitchen, watching as she efficiently reached for the glasses, the ice, the bottles of flavored water, without missing a beat. The space was small and compact and she obviously knew where everything was. Still, her confident speed impressed him.

“Do you have everything memorized?” he asked her, then wondered if she would be offended at his bringing up her blindness.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he began clumsily, then stopped, realizing he was only making things worse.

She turned towards him, shaking her head and half laughing. “Let’s get one thing straight right now,” she said firmly. “I’m blind, Adam. B-L-I-N-D. Blind! Say it with me. Blind blind blind. I’m not ashamed of it. I’m not denying it. Everybody knows it. You can mention it. It’s the elephant in the room and there’s no use trying to pretend it isn’t there. People who do that tend to trip a lot.”

“You’re right of course,” he said, grinning at how charmingly she was attacking him. “From now on I’ll refer to you as that gorgeous blind chick. Okay?”

She put her head to the side. “Hmm. I rather like that.”

He wanted to kiss her so badly he could hardly stand it. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asked her in all candor. “I mean, do you have any conception of how very attractive you are to … to …” He’d been about to say, “men” but he really meant, “me”.

She went motionless for a few seconds, then handed him his drink and turned her face toward his.

“Where’s Jeremy’s mother?” she asked frankly.

He recognized that question immediately for exactly what it was—a way to remind him that they weren’t laying the groundwork for a romance here. She just wasn’t interested, and especially not with a man whose current entanglements she didn’t have a clear picture of.

But instead of letting it put his back up, he realized she deserved an honest answer. And, leaning back against the kitchen counter, he decided that was exactly what he would give her.

“The woman who gave birth to my son is currently working her way through the casting couches of Hollywood,” he said with a certain bitterness. “We don’t refer to her as Jeremy’s mother. She’s never been a real mother to him. Right now Melissa is probably one big break away from becoming a household name. One big break or one spectacular scandal. Whichever comes first. We don’t ever see her.”

Elena was staggered by the tragedy of Jeremy’s situation, and by how calmly Adam laid out the facts, as though they were ordinary and needed no special regrets. “Are you married to her?”

“No.” He stirred the ice cubes in his glass and they clinked against the sides. “She was afraid a marriage license would tend to get in the way of her career.”

“But motherhood didn’t tie her down?”

“Not at all. She dumped it right away. Along with me.”