Читать книгу The Park's Empire: Handsome Strangers...: The Prince's Bride - GINA WILKINS - Страница 13

It was a mistake. He knew it the moment she turned into his arms and lifted her hand to his shoulder. He’d been taking advantage of any excuse to touch her all evening with a guiding hand on her arm or her waist. All of the contact was socially acceptable between a man and a woman spending an evening together.

But even that small physical connection had been enough to set his blood simmering. He’d forced himself to rein in the growing urge to thread his fingers through her thick sweep of goldenbrown hair, slick his tongue over the plush fullness of her lower lip and taste her.

Now only inches separated her from him but holding her loosely within the circle of his arms wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. The music pulsed around them, the dance floor growing more and more crowded until another couple jostled them, bumping Emily off-stride. Lazhar caught her closer, supporting her weight against his.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“Don’t be.” He welcomed the excuse to wrap her tighter, her slim body resting against him, her thighs aligned with his, the soft curves of her breasts against his chest, her temple touching his jaw, her silky hair brushing his throat and chin. Having his arms around her wasn’t enough but he knew that they were being observed by too many eyes, friendly though they probably were. If he gave in to the urge to kiss her in this very public place, the press would pursue them more than ever. And he didn’t want Emily hounded by paparazzi.

So they stayed on the dance floor, slowly swaying to the throb of the passionate guitars, until the musicians took a break. Lazhar knew he’d reached his limit; he couldn’t sit next to Emily and carry on polite conversation when all he could think about was making love to her. Reluctantly he released her, stepping back only slightly, his hand resting on her waist, and nodded briefly at the two bodyguards seated at a table on the edge of the dance floor.

The two men moved quickly and by the time Lazhar and Emily stepped out onto the sidewalk, the Mercedes was waiting for them, engine running, the back door held wide.

Lazhar couldn’t bring himself to release her hand and let her move away from him. Emily didn’t protest so they sat silently, pressed thigh-to-thigh, as the car purred along the winding road that climbed to the palace. He could have raised the privacy window, shutting them away from the chauffeur and guard in the front seat. But though he trusted the two men implicitly, he didn’t want the faintest hint of gossip to touch Emily. He’d always been scrupulously careful about keeping his personal life private and he felt even more strongly about protecting Emily. If all went as he’d planned, she would be his wife; he wouldn’t give anyone cause to question her actions.

So he held on to control by his fingertips and fought back the need to pull her into his arms.

He smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand, then the silky skin at her wrist, and felt the frantic pound of her pulse beneath his fingertips. Impatient to reach privacy, he dismissed his driver and then the guard as soon as they arrived at the palace, leaving him alone to walk Emily to her suite.

Aware that security cameras scanned the corridors at regular intervals, he opened the door to her suite and followed her inside.

The room was shadowy, dimly lit only by the faint light from a bedside lamp left burning in the adjoining room.

“Lazhar, I don’t think…” Emily began, her normally clear tones husky with emotion.

“Shh.” He silenced her with a fingertip against her lips. “Don’t think.”

He backed her against the door panels, lifted her hands to place them around his neck, and lowered his head to cover her mouth with his.

And was instantly lost in the hot, honeyed taste of her mouth that opened willingly beneath his, the press of her body that curved so perfectly against his own, the scent of her skin and hair that stirred his senses with every breath he drew.

He was drunk on the taste, scent and feel of her. He sank his fingers deep into the heavy thickness of her hair and tilted her face up to his. She murmured incoherently, her arms tightening around his neck to hold him closer as the kiss turned hotter, the press of their bodies more urgent in the thick silence of the darkened room.

Lazhar wanted her. Emily clearly wanted him. And the bedroom was only steps away. But when he drew back, intending to obey the urging of his body, pick her up and carry her the few feet to her bed, sanity intruded.

“Damn,” he muttered, resting his forehead against hers while he struggled for control.

“What?” Emily murmured, opening heavylidded green eyes to look up at him, confusion vying with arousal on her expressive features.

“We can’t do this.”

“Why?” Awareness chased away the drowsy, passionate cast of her face. Still flushed, she stiffened and pulled out of his arms. “Of course we can’t.” Her voice was equally stiff. “I think you should leave now, Your Highness. Thank you for a lovely evening.”

Lazhar was painfully aroused but he couldn’t help smiling ruefully at the contrast between the vibrant, passionate Emily he’d held a moment before and this prim, annoyed and obviously uncomfortable Emily who faced him now.

“It was my pleasure.” He caught her shoulders and bent to take her mouth in a brief, possessive kiss. “Especially this.” She glared at him, speechless, and he smiled, delighted with her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She didn’t answer and he stepped outside, pulling the door shut behind him. He clearly heard the sharp thud as something hit the panels. It was probably her purse, or maybe a shoe, he thought as he moved quickly down the corridor, whistling softly, his hands shoved into his pockets.

Emily woke to the sound of birds warbling and chirping outside her room, where the earlymorning sunshine flooded the garden. Despite the early hour and the late night before, she rose, showered, dressed in a bright yellow sundress she found hanging in the closet, slipped her feet into matching leather sandals, and within the hour was ready to search for the breakfast room.

She stepped out into the hall, pulling the door closed behind her, and paused, trying to remember if the maid had led her to the right or the left the prior morning.

“I think we went to the right,” she murmured. She set off down the thick carpet that ran down the center of the wide hallway, leaving blackveined grey marble floor visible along both sides.

She hadn’t gone far when a man wearing the blue and gold uniform of a house servant entered the hall from a side passage and walked toward her.

“Miss Parks?”

“Yes.”

“His Highness, King Abbar, asks that you join him for breakfast in his garden. I’m to take you to him, should you choose to accept his invitation.”

Emily smiled with delight. “I would be more than happy to join the king.”

The man bowed. “If you’ll follow me, please. This way.” He gestured down the hallway he’d just traversed and set off, Emily walking behind him.

Once again, she quickly lost her bearings as they turned into yet another hallway and then another. At last, however, they reached the familiar door where the soldiers stood guard and her guide led her through the king’s spacious sitting room and out into the sunshine.

“Good morning, Emily,” King Abbar’s lined face lit with a smile.

“Good morning, Your Highness.” Emily let the servant pull out a chair and seat her. “How lovely of you to invite me to share breakfast with you.”

“And how gracious of you to accept.” The king’s eyes twinkled. He gestured at the waiter, who leapt into action, deftly pouring equal streams of coffee and hot milk into the Limoges china cup next to Emily’s plate. “What would you like to eat this morning? My chef will make anything you want, from American pancakes to British kippers to a Danizian omelet.”

“I think I’d like an omelet.”

“Excellent.” He waved his hand and the servant bowed and withdrew. “That is my choice as well, together with fruit and our own Danizian version of coffee, which is a bit of a cross between Turkish coffee and Italian espresso. You must taste it and tell me what you think.”

Emily obediently lifted the cup to her lips and sipped. The rich flavor of strong coffee blended with the vanilla-flavored milk, creating a smooth, succulent drink.

“Mmm.” Emily gave a small hum of appreciation, her eyes closing briefly. “This is almost sinfully delicious,” she told him. “I have a favorite coffee shop in San Francisco, not far from my office, and I’d love to take this recipe home with me so I can ask the owner to make it for me. Is that possible?”

“I will have my assistant write it down for you,” he smiled approvingly. “I’m pleased that you like it. How are you enjoying other things about my country? Are you having a pleasant visit?”

“I’m having a wonderful time,” she said promptly. “Last night we visited the casino and a club named Pilar’s where we saw flamenco dancing.”

“Ah, yes, I believe that Pilar’s is one of my son’s favorite nightspots.” King Abbar’s gaze was veiled and he looked away, lifting his own cup to drink. “What did you think of our casino?”

“I was fascinated.” Emily leaned forward, the heady rush of excitement she’d felt when she’d won last night returning in a gust of memory. “And I actually won at roulette.”

“Did you?” The king’s eyebrows winged upward in surprise. “Are you often lucky at games of chance?”

“I have no idea. Last night was the first time I’ve ever played roulette. Lazhar explained the system his grandfather used and when I tried it, I won. A lot,” she added, still faintly incredulous at the ease with which she’d gained such a large sum.

His gaze sharpened and he watched her closely over the rim of his cup. “Lazhar told you about the gambling system his grandfather used?”

“Yes.” Emily lowered her voice. “He told me that his grandfather taught him to play blackjack and roulette when he was only six years old, is that true?”

The swift grin that curved the king’s mouth was as mischievous as a boy’s. “Yes, I’m afraid it is true. My father—Lazhar’s grandfather—thought Lazhar should have a chance to experience life out from under the watchful eye of palace protocol. So he took my son to many places that in retrospect, perhaps he shouldn’t have, and taught him things that might have been better learned when he was older.”

“But Lazhar loved him very much and treasures those memories of his grandfather,” Emily said with a soft smile.

“Yes, he does.” The king eyed her consideringly. “Did Lazhar tell you that?”

“He told me that he gave his winnings to St. Catherine’s because his grandfather thought he should and he loved his grandfather,” Emily said. “I gathered from Lazhar’s words and his tone that he treasured the time he spent with his grandfather.”

“Yes, we all did.” He sighed heavily, his expression sad.

“I assume that Lazhar’s grandfather is no longer with you?” Emily asked tentatively.

“He passed away just before Lazhar’s eighteenth birthday.” King Abbar was silent for a long moment, apparently lost in memories. Then he roused himself, visibly shaking off the brief melancholy. “What did you do with your winnings from last night? Are you thinking of visiting the Jewel Market to search for the perfect diamond or ruby later on this morning?”

Emily laughed. “No, not at all.” She glanced around, saw that they were completely alone as the servants had disappeared into the king’s suite. “I did what Lazhar and his grandfather did.”

He eyed her. “And what was that?”

“I stuffed the money into an envelope and dropped it into the poorbox at St. Catherine’s.”

His thick white eyebrows lifted in surprise. Then he chuckled, the deep sound of amusement startling birds from the tree in the corner of the garden. “How much was it?”

“About ten thousand.” Emily frowned. “I think. I won seven thousand at roulette, but then I lost at the dice table and won several hands of blackjack, so I can’t be sure of the exact sum, but I think it must have been around ten thousand dollars.”

“That’s a tidy sum,” he commented. “I’m sure the sisters at St. Catherine’s will put it to good use.”

Their breakfast arrived and the conversation turned to more general subjects. King Abbar answered her questions about his beloved Daniz and in turn, Emily willingly shared details about her life in San Francisco. When breakfast was finished, a last cup of coffee shared, and he reluctantly left her for his doctor-ordered morning rest, she gladly agreed to return for a game of chess before dinner that evening.

The same servant who had escorted her from her bedroom suite to the king’s rooms, guided her to a sun-filled morning room where the queen and Jenna were sharing morning coffee and croissants.

“Good morning, Emily,” Caroline greeted her. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very well, thank you.” Emily took the chair drawn out by a house servant, murmuring her thanks as she sat.

“I understand that you’ve already had breakfast with Abbar this morning,” Caroline said. “But perhaps you’d like another cup of coffee?”

“Coffee would be lovely.” Emily waited until the servant poured the mix of rich coffee and milk into her cup. “I confess, I’m hoping to take the recipe home with me.”

Jenna laughed and her mother chuckled.

“We love it, too. I used to steal sips from Papa’s cup when I was tiny,” Jenna said. “I think I was fifteen before he gave in and agreed to let me have coffee with breakfast.”

“I didn’t want you drinking coffee at all before you were sixteen and I strongly suspect that your father purposely pretended not to see you stealing sips from his cup when you were a little girl.” Caroline’s gaze rested fondly on her daughter and they exchanged a look of warm understanding.

Emily caught an underlying current of sadness from the two women. Beneath the queen’s graciousness and Jenna’s impish humor there was a thread of pathos when they talked about the king. She suspected that the emotion was due to his ill health and her heart went out to them.

“What are your plans for the day, Emily?” Caroline asked.

“I need to check in with my office staff back home, and then I’m hoping to begin preliminary work on the plans for Lazhar’s wedding.”

“Ooh, fun.” Jenna’s face lit with enthusiasm. “What will you do first?”

“I’d like to look at the venue for the event—I assume the ceremony will be held in a church in the city and the reception here at the palace?”

“Yes, that’s the traditional method,” Caroline confirmed. “The church is St. Catherine’s and the largest ballroom would be best for the reception.” A soft smile curved her mouth. “That’s where Abbar and I were married.” She sighed before visibly collecting herself. “The palace chef will cater the reception, which is always preceded by a sit-down luncheon for four to five hundred people.”

Emily made mental notes while fervently wishing she’d brought her Palm Pilot or at least a pencil and notepad with her.

“Mother, Emily should jot this down,” Jenna said firmly, holding up a hand. “Otherwise, we’ll have to schedule a meeting to go over this again in your office and it’s much more pleasant doing it here over coffee and croissants. Right, Emily?” She paused, looking expectantly at Emily.

“Yes, much more comfortable,” Emily agreed. “If that’s acceptable to you, Your Highness?”

“Please, call me Caroline. We’ll be spending many hours together planning this wedding and we may as well be comfortable together. And that’s an excellent idea, Jenna.” She lifted a tiny silver bell from its place beside her crystal water glass and shook it. The tinkling sound was immediately followed by the appearance of a young girl wearing the palace uniform. “Ah, there you are, Sofia. Please bring a pen and pad of paper for Miss Parks.”

Emily barely had time to say thank you to the queen before the girl was back, handing her a goldcapped fountain pen and a leather-bound notebook.

“Thank you, Sofia. Now, where were we? Ah, yes, the ceremony is held at St. Catherine’s, the reception here at the palace, and there will be four to five hundred people at a sit-down luncheon. There will probably be a thousand or so invited to the reception,” Caroline continued. “You’ll want to discuss menus and timing with our chef, of course. And the protocol of invitations, seating, etc., will need to be coordinated by the palace diplomatic office. The most difficult seating arrangements will be those for our relatives. Our family is related through a tangle of marriages and descendants to most of the royal families in Europe, all of whom will think they should have a front-row seat.” Caroline sighed. “And I never can keep track of who’s not talking to who at any given moment.”

“Which is why you have Maria, Mother,” Jenna said. “That’s Mother’s secretary,” she explained to Emily as she spread jam on an airy croissant. “The woman is amazing—she never forgets a thing.”

“True,” Caroline agreed. “I don’t know what I’d do without her. Now,” she said briskly. “What else do we need to talk about before you begin?”

“How big will the wedding party be? I’m assuming that there will be bridesmaids, flower girl, ring bearer. How many bridesmaids and groomsmen?” There was no immediate answer. Emily glanced up from her notes to find both Caroline and Jenna looking at her with arrested expressions. “Is that a problem? The bride hasn’t discussed that with you yet? If she hasn’t, I can inquire when I speak with her.” Emily was instantly reminded that she still didn’t have the bride’s name. “Will she be available later today, perhaps this afternoon?” Caroline and Jenna exchanged a swift look, but neither responded. What’s going on here? Emily wondered, baffled by their silence.

“That, um, that may be a problem,” Jenna said at last.

“Is she not here in Daniz?” Emily thought a moment. “I usually meet with the bride in person in this preliminary stage, but if she’s out of the country, we can always set up a conference call to get the necessary input.”

“Unfortunately,” Caroline said carefully, “that won’t be possible, either.”

“No?” This is more and more curious, Emily thought. Where was the elusive bride?

“No.” Jenna shook her head, opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again and looked helplessly at her mother.

Emily’s gaze followed Jenna’s. Caroline looked from one to the other and visibly collected herself.

“You must promise, Emily, that what I am about to tell you will not go beyond this room,” she said.

Startled, Emily stared at her for a silent moment before replying. “Yes, of course.”

“There is no bride.”

“I beg your pardon?” Surely she’d misunderstood, Emily thought.

“There is no bride,” Caroline repeated. “Lazhar isn’t engaged. He has no fiancée.”

“But…” Emily floundered. “But he told me he wanted to hire my firm to plan his wedding.”

“Yes, I know.”

“So…he doesn’t want me to plan his wedding?” Emily was beyond confused.

“No, no, he does want you to plan his wedding,” Caroline said quickly. “But he doesn’t have a bride yet.”

“Yet?”

Caroline sighed and massaged her temple with her fingertips. “I’m doing a very poor job of explaining this. Since the tabloids have announced it to the world and made it common knowledge, I’m sure you’re aware that it’s Abbar’s dearest wish to see Lazhar married. His health is delicate and he feels a need for haste. Lazhar would move mountains to give his father whatever he wants at this stage, we all would. But in this instance, I think my son is wrong.” Caroline paused to sip from her cup, clearly fortifying herself before continuing. “When he told me a month ago that he meant to schedule the ceremony and choose a bride sometime between then and the wedding date, I was appalled. I told him that a person can’t pick a wife the same way one negotiates a business deal but he wouldn’t listen to me. So—” she spread her hands in a gesture of helpless acceptance “—here we are. Planning the wedding of my eldest child without a bride to make decisions with us.”

Emily was speechless. Underneath her shock, joy bubbled irrepressibly. He isn’t engaged. He’s not in love with another woman.

But he will be. The knowledge that he would choose a bride sometime in the next few months deflated the exuberant bubbles.

“Well,” she said carefully, meeting first Caroline’s, then Jenna’s gaze. “Are you two willing to make decisions that the bride normally makes?”

“You mean like the color of bridesmaids dresses, how many attendants, etc.?” Jenna asked.

“Yes, those and others.”

“Sure,” she said airily. “We three can pick out colors and decide on cake flavors, can’t we, Mom?”

“Of course,” Caroline agreed.

“Well, then.” Emily drew a deep breath. “It’s certainly unorthodox and I’ve never planned a wedding without a bride’s input before, but I don’t see why we can’t do it.” A thought occurred to her and she shot a narrow-eyed glance at the queen. “I’m assuming that if Lazhar decides on a wife at the last moment, she won’t be allowed to change all the arrangements at that point?”

“Absolutely not,” Caroline said firmly. “That would make the entire project impossible.”

“Then it appears to be doable.”

“Excellent!” Jenna clapped her hands. “This will be fun—sort of a practice session for the wedding I might have some day.”

“Do you have a groom in mind?” Caroline’s voice was hopeful.

“No.”

“Oh.”

Emily coughed to hide an amused chuckle. Caroline was the picture of a mother hoping that her daughter would wed; Jenna equally typical of a young woman refusing to be nudged. They may be queen and princess, Emily thought, but they were no different than thousands of other mothers and daughters in this age-old tug-of-war.

“What did you think of the casino?” Jenna asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“It was fabulous,” Emily replied. “I loved it.”

“Did you go anywhere else?” Caroline asked.

“Lazhar took me to a nightclub called Pilar’s and we watched flamenco dancers. I was fascinated. I’ve never had the opportunity to see flamenco before but after watching the floor show, I definitely plan to find a club in San Francisco where I can see more.”

The door from the hallway opened and Lazhar strolled into the room.

“Good morning, Mother.” He bent and kissed Caroline’s cheek, straightening to look at Emily. His gaze flicked over the bare little sundress and he smiled at her. “Good morning, Emily. Sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.” Emily refused to acknowledge the sudden race of her heart. He was wearing faded jeans this morning, with a short-sleeved T-shirt tucked into the waistband and polished black cowboy boots on his feet. Gone was the European prince. This Lazhar could have been any American male, dressed for a casual morning at home.

Except that the watch on his wrist was a Rolex and very few men of Emily’s acquaintances wore faded Levi’s with quite that air of elegance.

Face it, Emily, she thought. You’re hopelessly hooked on the guy.

“I’m on my way to the stables and I thought you might want to come with me, Emily, if you’re finished with breakfast.”

“First she needs to call her office, Lazhar,” Jenna put in. “And she has a list of other places to visit as well. Oh, and we told her,” she added offhandedly. “So you don’t need to worry about letting it slip out.”

Lazhar eyed his sister quizzically. “Let what slip out? What is it you told her?”

“About the bride. That you don’t have one.”

Lazhar’s dark gaze was hooded as he met Emily’s. “Really. You told her.”

It wasn’t a question. Indeed his tone was so neutral that Emily couldn’t tell if he was pleased that she knew, or that he disapproved of his mother and sister sharing that family secret.

“I’ve promised not to tell anyone,” she said calmly. “And they’ve assured me that the lack of a bride to help plan the ceremony won’t impact the organizing of the event, since they’ll make the necessary decisions that your fiancée, if you had one, would normally make.”

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes unreadable as his mouth quirked in a half smile. “Really,” he murmured. “That’s efficient.”

Unsure what he meant and unable to tell from his expression whether he was pleased or unhappy with their arrangements, Emily was relieved when Jenna glanced at her watch and broke in.

“Drat. I was due at the stable office ten minutes ago.” She pushed back her chair and stood, rounding the table to drop a kiss on her mother’s cheek. “I’ll see you two there after you’ve made your calls, Emily.”

And with a quick wave and a cheeky grin, she was gone.

“I think that’s our cue to head for the media room,” Lazhar said to Emily.

“Please keep the notebook and pen, Emily,” Caroline said as Emily was about to remove the pages with her notes. “You’ll be making lots more notes today, I’m sure.”

“Thank you.” Emily rose and left the room, Lazhar right beside her. Neither of them mentioned last night’s kiss, and Emily decided to chalk it up to the combination of champagne and wine they’d both drank.

She refused to let him shake her composure, regardless of the fact that she was more aware of him than ever.