Читать книгу The Wedding Party And Holiday Escapes Ultimate Collection - Кейт Хьюит, Aimee Carson - Страница 82

Trying not to clench his jaw, Rafe watched Alexia dance. This woman who moved so sinuously and sensuously, lost in the music, was not the same bland woman who’d sat demurely through dinner.

She was playing some kind of game with them all.

He had no time for women who played games, women who pretended to be one thing when they were something else altogether. He was still dealing with the fallout from his last encounter with such a woman.

He was standing, arms folded, when Alexia finally opened her eyes. Her gaze alighted first on his chest, then snapped to his face. He caught the flash of horror, watched the horror schooled into a bright, false smile. “Sorry, I don’t dance with other men.” As if she might still get away with it. Without waiting for his response, she turned and slipped into the swirling crowd.

She didn’t get far. He caught up with her at the edge of the dance floor as she tried to get past a cluster of tipsy women, one of them wearing a bridal veil, all of them shrieking with laughter.

He stilled Alexia with a hand on her slender, heated shoulder.

She spun around. “Go away,” she said with a force that surprised him.

He’d lowered his hand as she turned, sliding it down the skin of her arm so that it now cupped her elbow. He leaned closer so she’d hear him over the music. “No.” She stiffened at his refusal. “You’re asking for trouble being in this place. My responsibility is to get you safely back to my country. The demure Alexia Wyndham Jones whom the people will love. Possibly their future princess. Someone they can look up to, bearing in mind that they’re more conservative than you Americans. Not someone who dresses like, like…”

He faltered under the indignant heat of her gaze.

“Like what?” Her hands went to her hips, shaking off his touch. A mutinous expression tightened her lips. In truth there was nothing anyone could object to in what she was wearing. Anyone, apparently, except him. He couldn’t put his finger on just what it was that bothered him. But it did bother him, and that was good enough for him. “Surely you don’t need me to spell it out for you?” Damn, he sounded like his father. Master of the guilt trip.

Sudden resignation sagged through her body, and he almost felt bad for it. After all, he’d been known on more than one occasion to skip out on official duties to have a little fun. And he knew what it was like to get busted.

But that was different.

Alexia was only twenty-two, and as well as being an heiress to millions, she might one day sit on the throne beside his brother. From what he knew of her, she’d led a cloistered existence. There was no end of trouble she could get into here. Very public trouble. The world was too full of predators, the press too greedy for gossip. Part of the reason her candidacy as a partner for Adam had been approved was her perceived innocence. Rafe glanced at the bodyguard hovering near her side. “Alexia and I need to have a little chat. A private chat.”

The bodyguard looked at Alexia, she lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “It’s okay, Mario. I may as well get this over with.”

As the bodyguard moved a little farther off, Rafe leaned closer. “What exactly are you doing here?”

“Pardon?”

She’d heard him; she was just looking to delay answering, subtly challenging his right to even ask.

He leaned closer still—another millimeter and his body would be pressed against hers. Those lush, cherry-colored lips were clamped together. He caught her scent, something with an underlying zing of fresh citrus, and he felt the heat of her body radiating from her. Pushing a lock of the ridiculous dark hair—nowhere near as attractive as her natural auburn—behind her delicate ear, he put his lips close. “We’ll talk in my car.”

She tensed. “We don’t need to talk.”

Another patron passed too close, knocking into Rafe, who knocked into Alexia. His grip tightened around her.

Suddenly, flashes went off, blinding in their brightness. Rafe pulled Alexia hard against his chest, shielding her face and turning so his back was to the continuing pop of the flashes.

Damn. The paparazzi were supposed to be banned from this place. Tony had assured him of the impenetrable security.

He glanced back over his shoulder. There the leeches were, three guys with cameras pointing them in the direction of the blonde actress. Unfortunately, Alexia and he, although behind the actress, were in their line of sight.

“Clearly, we do need to talk.”

Only moments too late, the club’s bouncers strode through the crowd toward the cameramen. Barbie and her entourage were shrieking in outrage, but Rafe got the feeling the outrage was as much an act as her last Oscar-nominated role.

Rafe looked down into wide green eyes belatedly filled with concern. He felt the press of breasts against his chest, felt Alexia’s slender fragility within the circle of his arms. She was smaller than he’d realized, and shorter, even with her death-defying heels. The top of her head was tucked neatly beneath his chin.

He felt other things, things he shouldn’t feel for his brother’s proposed bride. The protectiveness was okay, it was the pleasure and possessiveness that bothered him. He told himself that they were almost automatic responses when he held a woman in his arms. It didn’t mean anything except that he had to let her go. He loosed his hold on her, putting a safer distance between them.

One of the actress’s party made a lunge for a photographer’s camera. A punch was thrown, then another.

Rafe shepherded Alexia away from the tussle. Worry creased her forehead even as the bouncers quickly separated the opponents and dragged the guy who’d thrown the first punch away with the photographers.

“Do you think we’re in the shots?” She bit her bottom lip.

At least she realized how it would look if pictures of the two of them in a nightclub, standing close, got into the papers at home. Or if they were implicated in the brawl, which, given the way the press liked to play with the truth, wouldn’t surprise him in the least. The public of San Philippe would be curious. Adam would be furious. And if anything happened to jeopardize his father’s plans, Rafe would be in the firing line. He just needed to get this one simple job done. Get Alexia back to San Philippe—without a scandal—and wash his hands of her. How hard could it be?

He shook his head. “I’m scarcely known here, and you, fortunately, hardly look like yourself. Even if we’re in the background, they weren’t after us. We’ll be cropped out.”

“Fortunately?”

“Don’t sound offended. You deliberately tried to disguise yourself. For good reason. So, yes, fortunately.” He didn’t add that in other respects it was most unfortunate. The figure-hugging dress, her long legs, the satiny skin of her arms, the curl of her lashes, her scent. All most unfortunate. Where was the boring—safe—Alexia? “How did you get here?” His question sounded harsher than he meant it to.

“Motorbike,” she answered, with a glimmer of defiance.

He hid his surprise. “You rode?” That had been her on the bike?

Her chin lifted. “With Mario.”

“In that dress?” He had a sudden vision of the dress riding high up a creamy expanse of thigh.

“I changed at a friend’s apartment.”

He looked at Mario. The other man moved closer. “Take the bike home.”

Mario nodded.

“Where’d you get him, anyway?” he asked as they watched Mario’s departing back.

“He’s one of our drivers. He also has security, bodyguard-type training. And he’s the best dancer of the firm’s drivers.”

Rafe glared at her. “Undoubtedly a reliable way to choose your security for the evening.” He silently counted the hours—eighteen—till they’d be safely back in San Philippe and he’d be done with her.

Lexie sat quietly as they drove in the muted silence of Rafe’s Aston Martin to the Wyndham Joneses’ estate. Why him? She’d encountered good friends at the nightclub before who’d failed to recognize her. And yet Rafe, whom she’d met only a handful of times, had known her.

The purpose and urgency that had infused him as he’d all but picked her up and bundled her into his car had gone. He drove the powerful machine with relaxed effortlessness, his hands curled lightly around the distinctive three-spoked steering wheel. But she sensed his underlying tension, and it was in her interests to placate him. She wanted him to see that she really was suitable for his brother. Serene, regal, dignified.

“Nice car.” She smoothed her palms over the soft black leather of her seat.

He said nothing.

“It’s a Vantage, isn’t it? A V12?” She exhausted her knowledge of the car.

“I wouldn’t know.” His usually undetectable accent, foreign and vaguely French, colored his words.

So much for getting him to relax by complimenting his car. It worked on most men she knew. His dismissiveness needled her. He’d clearly made up his mind not to engage with her. “A real playboy car.”

That drew her a scornful look, at least.

“How’d you get it, anyway?”

“My secretary arranged it. Ask him.”

Lexie gave up trying to either soothe or bait him and looked out her window at the city and then countryside sliding by. Gone. Soon she’d be gone from here and the narrow confines of her life.

As the estate gates closed behind them, he pulled off the driveway into a wooded area. The house was still half a mile away.

“Why are we stopping here?”

“Because if I don’t stop till we’re in front of the house someone will doubtless come out and find me with my hands wrapped around your neck. And while I’m sure whoever it is will sympathize with me, it’d still be frowned upon, bound to cause a diplomatic fracas. And worse, I’ll be interrupted.”

He’d had a hand around the back of her neck once four years ago as he’d kissed her senseless. Which was not what she should be remembering now. She called up righteous anger. “You’re assuming you’ll get the chance to wrap your hands around my neck. If you’d read my background information—” which of course the Playboy Prince wouldn’t have “—you’d know I have a black belt in karate. Second dan.” She was tired of him thinking he could push her around. “Perhaps it’d be my hands around your neck.”

Unfortunately, a contrary image sprang to mind of the two of them in the car with their hands all over each other in a very different way. Shocked at herself, she banished the image. It had only happened because he reminded her of Adam and they were confined in the intimacy of his car, faces and bodies close, emotions running high. The scent of his cologne, masculine and appealing, wasn’t helping, either.

He laughed, low and deep. “I did read the information. My secretary handed it to me as I boarded the jet, and unfortunately there was nothing else on board to read. It mentioned years of ballet dancing, sailing and show jumping to a nationally competitive level, and musical accomplishments including flute and, rather more surprising, the saxophone. Sadly, they must have left off the karate. Though it’s entirely possible that the ballet training will help in the execution of a passable roundhouse kick.”

Lexie knew when to quit. He clearly wasn’t going to fall for that one. Even if she had learned karate. Once. A long time ago. A secret rebellion cut short.

He turned off the engine. And though she’d scarcely heard the car’s low purr before, the silence of the night settled over them like a heavy, uncomfortable blanket.

Now it was just her and Rafe.

He turned, filling the space in the suddenly too-small car from floor to ceiling, his presence surrounding her. Just enough light washed in from the closest of the lamps dotted along the driveway to make out his features, the dark brows drawn together, the strong nose, surprisingly full lips and the stubborn, stubborn jaw. And the eyes that raked disrespectfully over her. Adam would never have looked at her like that.

“Your headache is better, I take it?”

“Much, thank you.” She chose to ignore the drawled sarcasm. And the lie of her fabricated illness.

“You often pull stunts like that, Precious?”

“I don’t pull stunts. I wanted to go out tonight. I wanted to dance. There’s no crime in it.”

“It was a stunt. And it was stupid.”

“It was not stupid. I was careful. I took Mario with me.” Her life was about to change; all she’d wanted was one night of anonymity. It wasn’t so much to ask. She’d been to the nightclub before. Many times. And in all that time she’d never been recognized.

“And look what happened.”

“Nothing happened.” He’d said himself they wouldn’t turn up in those shots.

“Do you have any idea—Damn.” He sat back in his seat.

“What?”

“I sound like my father.” His hand clenched into a fist. “I can’t believe it.”

That concept apparently bothered him almost as much as the nightclub debacle had because he lapsed into silence. “How did you know I was at the nightclub?” she asked. “Did you follow me?”

“No. A happy coincidence.”

“Not my definition of happy.” At that he smiled. “So you were there, too,” she accused, “for the same reason as me, and yet I’m the one in the wrong?”

“I’m not the one who left dinner early because—” he touched blunt fingertips to his temple and blinked several times, a parody of a woman fluttering her eyelashes “—I had a headache.”

“I did have a headache. That dinner would have given a saint one. I never said what I was going to do about it. If you assumed I was retiring quietly to my bed, that’s not my fault.”

“If you want to be wife to the crown prince, you’re going to need a little more fortitude. It’ll be your job to stay at dinners like that till the bitter end. You weren’t the only one who wanted to leave that dinner tonight. Some of us managed to tough it out.”

“That’s it?” She smiled with a sudden flash of insight. “You’re sore that I got to leave earlier than you?”

“That’s not what I said. The problem wasn’t with you leaving the dinner, headache or not. It lies more in you out with other men, dancing the way you were.”

“There was nothing wrong with the way I danced.”

“No? Every man in the place enjoyed it.”

She felt the stab of his criticism. “You are being so unfair.”

Rafe turned back to stare out the windshield. “Maybe. But you need to learn how very important appearances are. How very seriously people—like Adam—take them.”

The worst of it was that he was right. She’d been brought up to always consider how anything she did, said, wore might look. Her mother was as hyperaware of appearances as anyone Lexie had ever met. Which made her occasional forays to the nightclub so liberating. So exhilarating.

She hadn’t planned on Adam ever knowing. “It might have been my last chance,” she said quietly, leaning back in her seat, and that was the truth of it.

“You’re right about that. But no one’s forcing you to come to San Philippe.”

She said nothing.

“Are they?”

She met his steady gaze. “No.” This was her choice. She’d dreamed of it for so long.

“This arrangement is far from a done deal, Alexia,” he said quietly. “I’ll be watching you, and if I find out you’re using Adam, that on your side the relationship is a pretence, I’ll hustle your duplicitous derriere back home so fast you won’t know what hit you.”

“Duplicitous derriere sounds so much better than my lying ass. Or hypocrite.” She gave the last word emphasis because it could apply just as well to him. “You won’t catch me out because there’s nothing to catch me out in.” She turned to stare out the window at the darker silhouettes of trees shadowing the night. “How sweet for Adam to have you coming to his assistance.”

“Adam doesn’t know women the way I do.”

“I wouldn’t choose to have any kind of a relationship with him if he did.” Adam was serious and constant as well as kind. Nothing like the man sitting a hand span away from her radiating cynicism and testosterone.

“He doesn’t look for subterfuge.”

“But you do?” She almost felt sorry for him. “Must make for interesting relationships for you. Ever heard of trust?”

“All I’m saying is that if Adam and San Philippe are what you really want, don’t screw it up.”

“Don’t screw it up?” Lexie’s knee bumped against the gear stick as she pivoted in her seat. “That’s a little rich coming from you, isn’t it? I thought you were the ‘Prince of Screw-Ups.’” One tabloid had, in fact, tried to pin that label on Rafe. It hadn’t stuck, but Lexie suspected that was only because it lacked originality or alliteration.

“Don’t try to make this about me.” His voice was cold, as though she’d hit a nerve.

“Well, don’t try to sully the relationship Adam and I have.”

A look of scorn passed across his face. “A few letters and e-mails do not constitute a relationship.”

“They constitute more of a relationship than gratuitous sex, which if the stories about you are to be believed—”

“They’re not.”

His vehemence silenced her.

“And even if they were, the difference, Precious, is that my business is no concern of yours. Whereas your business is my concern. At least until I get you back to San Philippe and offload you onto Adam.”

“Offload me?”

“Wrong word, sorry.” His offhand apology only incensed her further.

“No, it wasn’t. Offload me is exactly what you meant. I’ll save you the trouble for tonight.” She’d had more than enough of his company for one evening. Opening her door, she climbed out and stalked down the driveway. The cool night air was the perfect antidote to the tension in the car, and she forced herself to take deep, calming breaths. Behind her, a car door shut. Moments later, the engine purred to life, the car eased alongside her, and the window slid down. “Get in. I’ll drive you.”

“I’m walking, so you may as well stop following me. Consider me offloaded.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?”

He made no pretence this time that he’d used the wrong word. “Yes. Childishly ridiculous.”

Lexie clenched her jaw and walked faster, then stumbled in the high strappy sandals, which were fine for the smooth dance floor, but definitely weren’t made for striding on driveways. The low rumble of masculine laughter sounded from within the car.

She stopped and whirled to face him, then bent to take off her shoes, tossing them one at a time through the car window and onto the seat beside him. She pulled off the wig too, and it followed her shoes into his car.

As her hair unfurled around her shoulders, his smile suddenly disappeared. She turned and, ignoring his call to her, darted into the lightly wooded area bordering the driveway. She’d grown up here, had played, whenever she’d been allowed to escape, amongst these very trees. Some of those times of escape had even been at night. A girl took her freedom where she could. She scarcely needed the occasional shafts of light that filtered through from the driveway lamps.

She caught a sound behind her and stilled, alert and listening, her senses heightened. “Alexia.” Her name sounded on the night, low and clear. “Cut this out and come back to the car. Now.”

He was not happy. Lexie smiled. “Or what? You’ll make me? I don’t think so, Rafe.”

His silence was ominous.

Lexie’s heart beat faster. “I’m fine.” She slipped behind a tree. “You drive. I’ll make my own way.” She darted for another tree, stopped and listened again.

She heard nothing, but caught the faintest trace of his cologne. He was close. She waited in the deepest shadows she could find, her shoulder pressed against the roughened bark of an ancient oak, and held herself perfectly still, kept her breathing quiet and even.

From behind, a strong hand clamped around her arm, and without thought a scream started in the back of her throat. The hand swept up to gently cover her mouth, cutting off the incipient sound. She was pulled back against a broad chest. “Do not scream.” The softened command was spoken clearly into her ear. “It’s only me—” his breath was warm on her skin “—and the very last thing we need tonight is for security to come.”

She swallowed and nodded. The hand lowered from her mouth, but she was still clamped against that broad chest. It was the second time in the space of an hour she’d been pressed against its hard contours. It didn’t feel like the body she would have expected from the profligate prince. Sure, he was tall and lean. She’d figured that build, combined with the occasional gym workout and exceptional tailoring, was enough to give the fine line to the clothes he wore. But the chest and the arms about her spoke of sinew and strength and an intimidating elemental toughness that was eons away from the high life he lived.

“How did you find me?”

“I’ve done my share of nighttime operations.” His arms loosened and he stepped away from her. “You, Precious, were a piece of cake.”

Of course. All men in San Philippe, including the princes, served two years in the armed forces. Rafe, from memory, had served even longer, spending time in each of the three military services.

“Now we’re going back to the car.” She heard the carefully reined-in temper beneath his quiet words. “And we’re going to the house.”

She nodded again. It was definitely time to get the willful streak she’d worked so hard to conquer back under control. She was achieving nothing letting Rafe goad her. “I was going anyway. Once I’d cooled off.” Which she’d done now, emotionally and physically. She suppressed a shiver.

As they turned for the car, a jacket, warmed with the heat of Rafe’s body and imbued with his subtle masculine scent, came to rest on her shoulders. The silk lining caressed the bare skin of her arms.

“Covering me up?”

“Warming you up. I personally have no problem with a little skin. But I will have a problem with my father and my brother if I take you back sick.”

“Chivalrous to the end.”

Unexpected, Rafe’s rich, deep chuckle sounded on the air, eroding her resentment and warming her, against her will, as much as his jacket.

But the resentment was back in full force by the time Lexie reached her bedroom. She shut the door, leaned against it for a second, then crossed to a window and looked out along the shadowy driveway. The driveway, which, after insisting she come back to his car, Rafe had made her walk down. Well, not “make” exactly, but he’d somehow made it seem the only option for her pride. Another besetting sin to add to her list.

He’d idled along beside her, occasionally offering her a ride. She’d refused with the line about not getting into cars with strange men, which had drawn out that unexpected laughter again. In reality the only strange thing about him was the heat—the temper—he ignited in her. He’d talked a little about the car, the ergonomic design, the comfort of the heated leather seats, proving either that he’d lied when he pretended to know nothing about it or that he was lying now as he made up features.

As soon as she reached the house, she’d gone in, leaving him to drive around to the garage and make his own way. Army boy should have no problems with that. Unfortunately.

She sat in front of her dresser and brushed out her hair. Apparently, the hundred strokes a night that Maria, her live-in nanny for the first ten years of her life, had insisted on had been disproved as doing any real good, but sometimes it was just so therapeutic. Lexie caught her flushed reflection in the mirror and made herself take a deep, slow breath.

If only it had been Adam who’d come for her, this mess wouldn’t be unraveling in her hands. She’d be the woman she was supposed to be. She would have stayed by his side for the dinner. She would have stayed in for the night. She would have had nothing to do with Rafe.

Twenty-seven, twenty-eight. Of all people, why Rafe? Twenty-nine, thirty. Why had he come to that same nightclub? Why had he recognized her? And more important, why did she let him make her feel so inept and inadequate and infuriated? “The arrogant, inconsiderate, hypocritical, condescending…prude.”

A shape moved in the mirror behind her and she whirled to face it, her hairbrush raised. Rafe stood a few feet away, eyeing her choice of weapon with scarcely concealed amusement. “I did knock. You were talking so loudly you didn’t hear me.” She lowered the brush, turned back to the mirror and started brushing again. Thirty-one, thirty-two.

“I’ve definitely had arrogant and inconsiderate before,” he said thoughtfully, moving a little closer. “I don’t think I’ve been called hypocritical or condescending, at least not to my face. But I’m absolutely positive I’ve never been called a prude.”

Lexie studied his reflection. His white shirt lay open at the collar, revealing a vee of tanned skin and reminding her that she still wore his jacket, the too-long sleeves pushed carelessly up. Stubble darkened his jaw. Her sandals dangled from one hand, looking ridiculously flimsy in his grip. In the other hand he held her wig. Behind him, her big bed, the covers turned back, her lacy nightgown laid out, filled the background.

She dragged her gaze away from him, focusing on her own reflection and brushing her hair. “Look at what you’re wearing,” she said, mimicking his voice. “The people of San Philippe are very conservative, Alexia.” She spoke to him in her mirror. “And the way you dance. Sounded prudish to me.”

A smile, not in the least prudish, played about his lips and eyes, threatening to distract her. “So? Prudish?” She nodded. “And hypocritical?”

She held tight to her anger, wouldn’t let herself be beguiled by the charm he could wield. “I’ve read about you on the Internet. Seen pictures.” She knew about his latest, brief affair. He shifted uncomfortably, his expression clouding. “I’m practically Amish in comparison to you. And I’ve been to San Philippe more than once—it’s not that different from here in terms of conservatism.” She waited for his response.

“Finished? You don’t want to expound on arrogant and inconsiderate?”

“Self-explanatory, I would have thought.” She wanted to point out just how inconsiderate he’d been, making her walk, but that had kind of been her fault. Still, she was paying for it now; the soles of her feet were stinging. She’d probably have been better off keeping the four-inch heels on.

“I can accept some of your points.”

Not used to the people in her life admitting mistakes, she hid her surprise.

“And you’re right, not everyone in San Philippe is conservative. But I’ll tell you one person who most definitely is.”

She sighed and put her brush down. “Adam?”

He nodded.

“It’s one of the things I like about him. It seems sweet and noble.” Unlike his brother, there had never been a hint of scandal attached to Adam.

“He’s noble. He’s not sweet.” Rafe walked closer. The description seemed to fit him just as well. There was nobility in his bearing, his aristocratic features, and nothing sweet about the hard glaze to his eyes. He stopped at her side, heat radiating from him as he lowered her wig to the dresser. It lay like a small, sleek animal. His fingers, large and blunt, traced the length of the dark hair. And for a second she recalled how those fingers had felt the time he had plunged them into her hair. How he had cradled her head for the erotic assault of his kiss. She quickly turned her eyes back to the mirror.

He dropped her shoes to the carpet. And still he stood there, making it difficult for her to breathe normally.

“We want the same thing here, Alexia.” His gaze tracked to her hair, her real hair. He lifted his hand and ran his thumb and forefinger down the length of a lock before frowning, clenching his hand into a fist and lowering it to his side. “We both want to get you to San Philippe as soon as possible. And without any scandal. Don’t we?”

“Yes, of course.” Lexie swallowed. “Can I point out that you being in my room at 3:00 a.m. is probably not the best way to go about that?”

“Probably not.”

She waited for him to move. And waited. “If you’re finished, I guess you can go.”

“One more thing.”

Surprising her for the second time that night, even more than the first, he crouched before her and, wrapping his fingers around her ankle, picked up her foot, lifting it so he could see the sole. He ran his forefinger along the arch. “How is it?”

Ignoring the response to his touch that seemed to slither from her sole and up along her leg, Lexie swallowed. “Fine.”

A corner of Rafe’s mouth quirked up. “I don’t suppose it is. But you’ll live.” He placed her foot carefully back down on the plush carpet, picked up her other foot and, after running his thumb along the sensitive underside of that one, too, placed it back beside the first.

Lexie stood as he straightened and turned to go. “Your jacket.” If she got rid of that there would be no link between them from tonight.

He moved behind her. As she shrugged the jacket from her shoulders he slipped his hands beneath her hair to grasp the collar, his knuckles skimming her neck. Her eyes met his in the mirror as he drew the garment down her arms. For a second their gazes locked. It was as though he was undressing her and she was allowing it. Sudden heat suffused her, coalescing deep inside her. Lexie closed her eyes so he wouldn’t be able to read her response, part confusion and part desire.