Читать книгу The Royal Treatment - Maureen Child - Страница 8

Jeremy Wainwright checked his wristwatch, then lifted his gaze to sweep the exterior of the palace. The three-story structure looked like something out of a fairy tale. The gray limestone seemed to shimmer in the crisp, clear November air, and late afternoon sunlight dazzled the gleaming, mullioned window panes. He had a feeling that if he listened just right, he’d be able to hear the clang of long-silent swords and the proud blast of trumpets.

He felt a strong connection to this place and its history. For more than two hundred years, the Wain-wrights had been here, on Penwyck, protecting the royal family, guarding the palace. They’d served with pride and honor, every last one of them, and he was proud to take his place among them.

The wind off the sea had a bite to it and made Jeremy grateful for the thick blue sweater he wore. The trees in the courtyard and those just outside the palace walls bore the bright stamp of autumn. Red, gold, yellow leaves rustled in the wind and floated down to litter the palace yard with bits of color.

But Jeremy didn’t take time to appreciate the beauty of the place. Instead, his sharp-eyed gaze, alert for trouble, continued a thorough yet quick scan, noting that everything seemed to be as it should be. The Royal Guard walked the perimeter, rifles at their shoulders. The iron scroll-work gates, which had protected the palace for centuries, stood closed, locked, impenetrable. And the last of the tour groups were just leaving the public half of the palace.

Good. Jeremy never really relaxed until the gates were closed behind interlopers. Oh, he knew it was important for the citizens of Penwyck—not to mention international visitors—to be able to tour the palace. At least the rooms set aside for public viewing.

But tours were a security man’s nightmare.

There were just too many things that could go wrong. One man getting past a checkpoint with a concealed weapon could turn into a hostage drama. And then there was the headache of a tourist wandering away from the crowd and finding his or her way into the royal family’s apartments. Not to mention the queen’s habit of sometimes surprising the tours with a royal visit.

Shaking his head, Jeremy kept an eye on the chattering visitors leaving through the iron gates, and didn’t stop watching until those gates were sealed again. Once they had been, he stepped into the tiny guard station to pour himself an end-of-shift cup of coffee.

Taking a sip of the strong, black liquid, he let the heat of it roll through him, and ignored the raised voices filtering to him from the gates. Whoever it was, his guards could handle it. Picked as the best of the best from the Royal Army, and trained by him, they could handle anything. Their duty was to protect the king and queen and the rest of the royal family. And there wasn’t a one of them that Jeremy didn’t trust to lay down his life for the royals.

And by the sound of things, he thought suddenly, that might just be on today’s agenda. Setting his coffee cup down on the desk, he stepped out of the kiosk and listened more carefully to the raised voices.

“Damn it,” Jeremy muttered. “Trouble couldn’t wait five more minutes?” He checked that his pistol was discreetly tucked on his right hip, beneath the bulk of his sweater, and then headed for the gate.

Naturally, he heard the woman first. Not difficult, since she made no attempt to keep her voice down. He stopped midstep as he recognized that voice. It hit him hard. Just as it did every damn time he dreamed about her.

Jade Erickson.

Lover.

Ex-wife.

Pain in the neck.

“Not too late,” he muttered. “Still time to get in your car and let the next poor fool on duty handle her.” His shift was over. Let Lieutenant Gimble take care of this. “Hell,” Jeremy grumbled with a disgusted snort, “that’s like sending a kid with a peashooter up against an armed tank.”

He just couldn’t do it to Gimble.

Penwyck was too damn small, that’s what the problem was. For three years, he’d managed to avoid a face-to-face confrontation with the woman he’d once promised to love, honor and cherish forever. But he saw plenty of her anyway. Every time he turned on the news.

Jade Erickson was PEN-TV’s latest darling. Once upon a time, she’d been his darling. But those days, he reminded himself, were long gone.

She stood five-foot-five, and packed a lot of curves onto that tiny frame. Curves he remembered all too well. Her shoulder-length auburn hair danced about her face in the sharp, cold wind. He could still recall the feel of that silken mass sliding across his skin, and his fingers itched to touch it again. In memory, he saw her sea-green eyes go smoky and soft with pleasure as he loved her. Now those eyes were narrowed and shooting daggers at the lieutenant.

Thinner than he remembered, she wore a black suit that clung to every curve, a white blouse and a diamond that flashed from her left lapel. When they were together, she hadn’t had diamonds. Jeremy couldn’t afford them. He’d bought her a small aquamarine—the color of her eyes—set in gold for an engagement ring. But that was gone now, too.

Her long fingers were curled around the scrolled emblem on the palace gates, and as he watched, she gave it a good shake. He laughed shortly. She hadn’t changed too much, then. That temper of hers still simmered just below the surface. She made a helluva picture, and Jeremy was male enough to appreciate it even while already working on ways to get rid of her.

He caught the young soldier’s glance and waved him off. “I’ll take care of this,” he said.

“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant beat a hasty—and grateful—retreat.

Jeremy turned to face her then, and his breath actually caught in his throat. Staring into those sea-foam-colored eyes of hers he felt like he’d been hit over the head. Damn. She still packed a punch.

He had to force himself to speak after a few seconds of stiff silence. “Jade.”

“J.T.”

Jeremy Thomas. J.T. Only his family called him that. It sounded good hearing it from her again. Damn it.

She cleared her throat, and he wondered if she’d felt the slam of desire as hard as he had. Then he decided he was better off not knowing.

“What are you doing here, Jade?”

“You know why I’m here.”

Yes, he did. Stubborn woman. “If it’s about the interview, then you’re wasting your time. And more importantly, mine.”

“Blast it, J.T.,” she said, and gave the gates another shake for good measure. “You should be helping me.”

“Why would I do that?” he asked.

“For old times’ sake?”

He glanced past her to the skinny, older man standing behind her with a camera perched on his bony shoulder. Lowering his voice, Jeremy shifted his gaze back to her and said, “Old times’ sake? Are you nuts?”

She blew out a breath that ruffled the wisps of hair dusting her forehead. “Fine.” She let go of the gates and lifted her gaze to glare at him. “No old times. But the least you could do is be civil.”

“I was civil,” he reminded her, “the first three times you requested this stupid interview.”

“I thought if I came down here and we could talk, face-to-face, you’d change your mind.”

“Wrong.”

“The king is sick, J.T., and the queen—”

“The queen is attending her husband and doesn’t want to do an interview.”

“She has to say something.”

“She will. When she decides to.”

“I’m just trying to do my job,” Jade said.

“So am I.”

She tapped the toe of one high-heeled shoe against the pavement. “The people have a right to know.”

“The people have a right to know about business. They don’t have a right to invade the royal family’s private life.”

“The king is sick,” she argued.

“And being cared for.”

“By whom?”

“You know,” he said, leaning in closer still, “if you had put half this determination into our marriage…”

She flushed. Good to know she could still do that.

Her cameraman moved closer, a small red light blinking at the base of the lens, and Jeremy lifted one hand, pointing at him. “Turn that thing off.”

“Do it, Harry,” Jade ordered without even looking at the man. The cameraman complied and moved off a few paces.

When they were alone again, she pushed her hair back out of her face, looked up at him and said, “J.T., I only want five minutes of her time.”

“The queen is busy with her husband. She puts a high priority on caring for her family.”

Jade winced at the direct hit. “Low blow, J.T.”

“Maybe,” he acknowledged, and admitted silently that he’d be better off not stirring up old resentments. What good would it do, anyway? “But you’re still not getting through the gates.”

“This isn’t the end of it, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“This is important to me.”

“I can’t help you.” And that didn’t make him as happy as he’d thought it would. She could still get to him. Just being this close to her, inhaling the scent of her flowery perfume, was enough to wipe the years away and take him back to that small apartment they’d shared. Back when they’d thought they had a future.

When they were young and naive.

Back when they’d thought love would be enough.

She looked past him, toward the castle doors and across the grounds, before shifting her gaze back to his. He could see the wheels turning in her brain and knew that she was far from finished with this. He’d never met a more hardheaded woman. Strange to think now that that was one of the first things he’d liked about her.

“So this means war?” she asked, and he recognized the tone. Whenever Jade got scared or felt pushed into a corner, she went stiff and snotty.

“If that’s the way you want it,” he said. Jeremy hid a smile of appreciation as he watched her fight down a wave of anger that was clearly clawing at her throat. But he had to give her credit. After a few seconds, she’d managed it. She hadn’t always been able to put a lid on that temper. He still had the scar on his forehead from when she’d pitched a plate at him.

On their honeymoon, no less.

But along with that scar, he also had the memory of how they’d spent hours making up. It had been well worth that little scar.

Taking a deep breath, she said, “You need to put someone else on this gate. Your little soldier there is a moron.”

One dark eyebrow lifted as the desire crouched inside him eased back a bit. “Is he?”

“He refused to let me inside,” she snapped. “Refused to even answer my questions.”

“Well then,” Jeremy told her, “the lieutenant is clearly as bright as I’d thought him to be.”

She sighed, tapped her shoe a little harder, then put both hands on those deliciously curved hips.

Jeremy chuckled, folded his arms across his chest and planted his feet wide apart. Comfortable in his fighting stance, he said, “You might as well go, Jade. You’re not getting in.”

“You know,” she said, giving him a thoughtful, up and down look, “you really should work on your people skills, J.T. They never were your strong point.”

“Oh, that’s good, coming from you. Judging by the conversation you were having with Lieutenant Gimble, you’re in no position to give lectures on winning friends and influencing people yourself.”

She inhaled sharply and blew the air out in a rush. “All right, I’m sorry about that. I haven’t lost my temper in a long time.”

He fingered that old scar just above his eyebrow. “That’s a shame. Fury does great things for your eyes.”

She flicked him a warning look, but Jeremy knew those gates were strong enough to hold off a tank, so they’d probably be able to protect him from a single reporter.

Even Jade.

“Besides, my people skills are fine, babe,” he assured her. “It’s my ‘reporter’ skills you seem to be having trouble with. And frankly, if you don’t like ’em, then I must be doing something right.”

“As charming as ever, I see,” Jade retorted.

“You used to think I was pretty damn charming.”

“I used to believe in Santa Claus, too,” Jade said tightly. “Then I grew up.”

Frustration simmered just below the anger surging inside her. Out of all the men on this little island, why did it have to be her ex-husband standing between her and her goal?

She stared up—way up—into J.T.’s hard brown eyes and didn’t see a glimmer of hope there. She did, however, feel that slow, sweet surge of want rise up inside her again. From the moment she’d locked eyes with him, she’d felt it. A heady rush of pulse-pounding desire that was so thick it nearly choked her. And she sensed he’d felt it, too.

It was as if the last three years hadn’t happened. Three long years of not seeing him, not hearing his voice, not feeling his touch, and one look from him and she was going up like a skyrocket.

“Jade?” Her cameraman’s voice cut into her thoughts and she sent the tall, thin, older man a quick look. “I’m heading back to the van.”

She nodded, and thought she caught a wisp of a satisfied smirk on J.T.’s face. Irritating, frustrating, completely sexy man.

Once Harry had moved off, she switched her attention back to the wall of muscle that stood between she and her destiny. She’d tried being nice. She’d tried being commanding. Nothing had worked.

“Look,” she said, trying yet again, and this time using her patented let’s-be-friends tone of voice, “there’s no reason we can’t come to a meeting of the minds.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. She thought. It was there and gone so fast she couldn’t really be sure. Still, she latched on to that one small hope and kept talking in the same, gentle tone. “We’re adults. We’re professionals. Surely there’s a way we can solve this…difficulty.”

He snorted and unfolded his arms, giving her a lovely view of a chest broad enough to star in dozens of female fantasies. As she knew all too well. “You’re really something,” he said, his gaze running up and down her body quickly and yet so thoroughly it was almost as if he’d touched her.

She squirmed a bit against the flash of heat that briefly dazzled her bloodstream, but held her ground. She hadn’t been intimidated into leaving. She certainly wouldn’t be aroused into leaving.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Wasn’t a compliment.”

She inhaled sharply, deeply, then dug her manicured nails into her palms as she fisted her hands.

“Jade,” he continued, before she could think of something suitably witty to say, “I’ve told you every day, you’re not getting in here. So why don’t you do us both a favor and go away?”

“I’m just trying to do my job,” she repeated.

“So am I.”

“Fine.” She could be generous. Find some common ground. “I understand that.”

“See,” he said, planting his hands on his hips, “I don’t think you do.”

“Your job is to protect the royal family. But I’m not a threat.”

“Not every threat is a physical one.”

Jade felt the pulse of anger quicken inside her. “I only want to do an interview with my queen.”

“And my queen,” he countered, “isn’t interested.”

“She can’t stay hidden away forever.”

“She’s the queen. She can pretty much do what she wants.”

“This isn’t the Middle Ages, you know,” Jade snapped, giving in to the fury goading her into a fight with the bane of her existence. “We aren’t simple crofters huddled around campfires.”

“Too bad,” J.T. said. “As I recall, you look pretty good by firelight.” Motioning to Lieutenant Gimble to come closer, he said, “Good seeing you again, Jade.”

“This isn’t over, J.T.”

“Sure it is.” Then he flicked her a quick glance. “You’ve still got great legs, babe.”

“You can’t walk away from me like—” She broke off. Pointless to keep arguing when the man whose neck you wanted to wring was already striding away from you.

The young lieutenant gave her a wary glance and a wide berth. Jade ignored him and stared after J.T., with a look cold and hard enough that, had he been the slightest bit more sensitive, would have sent him to his knees. As it was, he walked through the double doors to the palace and disappeared.

Disgusted, she gave in to the urge riding her and kicked the iron gate. All she accomplished with that smooth move was to darn near break her foot.

She limped down the drive to the sidewalk and the van waiting for her at the curb. Amazing. Five minutes with J.T. and her professionalism had dissolved into a sea of raging hormones and temper.

Sometimes “ex” didn’t really mean a thing, did it?