Читать книгу Operation: Monarch - Valerie Parv - Страница 11

She looked around. The thumping music had stopped and people were streaming in from the other room, scattering themselves around the equipment. “Not here,” she said. “Can we go somewhere more private?”

He draped the towel around his neck. “I’ll meet you out front in ten minutes.”

She was ready in nine but he was already waiting for her, his dark hair glistening from the shower and his shirt damp as if he hadn’t taken the time to completely dry off. She knew better than to think he had been anxious to meet her. More likely he wanted to get the meeting over with as quickly as possible.

He gestured toward the battered pickup. “We can talk in my truck.”

She had been thinking along the lines of coffee and a baguette in a café by the waterfront. She saw him read her body language and frowned in disapproval. For the latte set he thought she still belonged to, or for her company?

Probably both, she thought on an inward sigh. One day she would learn that he simply didn’t want her around. “Lead on.”

He threw his duffel bag into the pickup and opened the passenger door for her from the inside. Before she could climb in, he reached down and pushed an assortment of fast-food wrappers under the seat. If not for the immaculate state of his diving equipment, she would have believed he was a complete boor.

“Now you can get in,” he said, sounding as if he didn’t care either way.

He slammed the door and she inhaled a mix of chlorine and southern-fried chicken. When he joined her, she asked, “Do you live in this thing?”

“Not usually.”

Only since his parents were killed, she interpreted, feeling a surge of compassion for him. She knew he didn’t have any other family, and losing them must have hit him hard. Her background check showed that he normally lived aboard his dive boat which was presently in dry dock. He would have inherited his parents’ house, but maybe he couldn’t bring himself to move in there yet and was living out of his car until his boat was repaired.

He could also be the rightful heir to the Carramer throne, she reminded herself, although without much conviction. If he ever assumed the crown, the country was in for a shock. The members of the royal family she had met were fairly down-to-earth, but none could match a long-haired, fried-chicken-eating bad boy like Garth. That he could be a de Marigny by birth seemed fantastic beyond belief.

Luckily she didn’t have to make the decision, only bring Garth to the palace so Prince Lorne could investigate his relationship to the throne. She choked back a smile as she pictured them together, alike enough in looks to be brothers, but as different in temperament as night from day.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, really. I’m here because Prince Lorne asked me to renew our acquaintance.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

This was the tricky part. A man as private as Garth wouldn’t take kindly to learning she’d been asking about him. “The castle has its resources.”

“Resources like having me watched?”

“Only so I could bring you to meet Prince Lorne.”

He slammed his palms against the steering wheel, making her jump. “The hell with that. Carramer is supposed to be a free country.”

In many countries he would probably have disappeared before he could destabilize the monarchy, she thought. “It’s precisely because it’s a free country that the prince asked to see you, instead of having you arrested and brought before him.”

He looked as if he didn’t particularly appreciate the courtesy. “Don’t tell me the navy has seen the error of its ways and the monarch wants to apologize and restore my commission personally.”

His cynical tone made her want to squirm. She didn’t tell him that the prince had already started a discreet investigation into Garth’s experience with the navy. No sense getting his hopes up in case nothing new was uncovered. “I wouldn’t know about that. He has something more personal to discuss with you.”

“You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”

“I can’t. It’s a matter of national security.”

“Is it, Serena? Or are you enjoying keeping me in the dark to punish me for hurting your pride all those years ago?”

She half turned, wishing the space weren’t so confined. Garth was so big that their knees were touching, only the gear shift keeping their bodies apart. If she pressed against him, would he feel as hard and lean as he looked? In the gym she had seen how toned he was, wanting to touch him then. She wanted it more now. Evidently she was the only one. Anger drove away the urge, leaving only bitterness. He hadn’t changed. “I’m not that petty.”

“No you’re not.”

The admission sounded so genuine so that she felt her eyes mist and she blinked hard. “To what do I owe the concession?”

He massaged his eyes, digging his fingers into the temples as if his head hurt. “You always managed to bring out the worst in me. I thought I’d grown past it, but evidently not.”

So he was far from indifferent to her! Struggling to keep her seesawing emotions under control, she said, “My father says the same thing about his brother. Even in their fifties, they still fight over little things. It’s called sibling rivalry.” Maybe she could manage her runaway responses by thinking of him in those terms.

He gave a humorless laugh. “Believe me, whatever I thought of you, it wasn’t brotherly.”

Hurt speared her in spite of her attempt to remain unruffled. “Because we came from such different backgrounds?” Was he holding that against her even today?

“Because we come from such different genders.”

It took a moment for his meaning to penetrate. “Oh.”

“They must have taught you about the birds and the bees in security school?”

Thinking of the ways she had been taught to disable a man who even looked as if he had birds and bees on his mind, she felt a smile start. “Yes, but not in the way you’re thinking.”

“You have no idea what I’m thinking. If you did, you’d be out of this truck like a shot.”

If she had any sense, she would leave anyway. But when had she ever had any sense around Garth Remy? And she still had her job to do. She tried for a light tone. “Let me guess. You’re wondering if you made a mistake letting me slip through your fingers the first time.”

He stilled so completely that she wondered if she was on the right track. Surely not? After graduation he had made no attempt to contact her, although he had admitted knowing where she was. And his reaction to seeing her again today couldn’t have been less welcoming. “You were never in my fingers to slip through,” he said after a long time. “All we did was kiss once so you could win a bet. Hardly the love affair of the century.”

How had they strayed onto this track? She felt weary of her body’s betraying response to him, and the one-sided nature of the game. “You’re right. We had nothing then and we have nothing now. At least we agree on something.”

He didn’t look as pleased as she thought he should. “There’s still the reason you’re here.”

“I told you, to arrange a meeting between you and Prince Lorne.”

Garth’s eyebrow lifted. “The ruler of the whole country doesn’t own a telephone?”

“This is too important to discuss by phone. Can’t you just come with me and be done with it?”

A glint of challenge lit his dark gaze. “Maybe I enjoy giving you a hard time.”

“Nothing new in that.”

“When does the prince want to see me?”

“As soon as you’re available.”

“What’s wrong with right now?”

She knew her quick glance at his clothes gave her away as soon as she saw him bristle. “My dress suit is at the cleaner’s. Now or never, your choice.”

“Let me make a phone call.”

He waited with obvious impatience as she called the castle, using Prince Lorne’s private number as instructed. If the monarch was taken aback at Garth’s insistence on an immediate meeting, she didn’t hear it in his voice. “Give me an hour,” was all he said. From experience she knew how much juggling it would take for the prince to free his time. If she wasn’t already aware of it, Lorne’s readiness to do so signaled the gravity of the situation.

She flipped the phone closed. “The prince can see you in an hour.”

He looked satisfied. “The castle is ten minutes away. That gives us some time to kill. I don’t know about you, but I could use some coffee.”

The last thing she wanted was to spend more time than she had to with him, but neither could she let him out of her sight. “Okay. We can take my car.”

“What’s wrong with this one? Oh, I forgot, this meeting is black tie. It’s probably treason to roll up at the castle in a car you haven’t cleaned in under forty-eight hours.”

Forty-eight days looked more like it. “I doubt if the prince will care what you’re driving,” she said heavily. She could have one of her security team retrieve her car from the gymnasium later.

“But you do.”

“Stop it,” she insisted. “I’m only doing my job.”

“What made you give up the glamorous life for a gritty job like policing?”

She had to get out of the confined space before she did something really silly, like run the back of her hand down his stubbled cheek to see how it felt. “Can we swap life stories over coffee?”

“Sure.”

She jumped as he reached across her, his hand brushing her breast by accident or design. Either way, her pulse rate shot up. But it was only to lift a black, zippered case from a shelf near her knees. He opened it and took out a portable razor, turning it on and filling the compartment with the sound of angry bees.

Fascination gripped her as she watched him steer the razor across the faint hint of a cleft in his chin. Up and down and across without once looking in a mirror. When he flicked the razor off, the silence was deafening. He lifted her hand to his cheek. “Better?”

His freshly shaved skin felt taut and vital. She was alarmingly aware of his hand guiding hers but couldn’t bring herself to pull away, not even when he made her index finger skim along his lower lip. She felt a little hollow there she hadn’t noticed before. Her breathing shallowed. Half an inch higher and he could close his lips around her finger.

He let her go and she masked her disappointment. It was for the best, she reminded herself unsuccessfully. “Much better.”

Ten minutes ago she had wanted caffe latte by the waterfront. The place he took her to hardly qualified as a café although it was in the open air. More like a kiosk with an awning that folded down when the place was closed, it boasted a few plastic tables and chairs scattered on the grass in front. At least it was waterfront, if she counted the commercial fishing fleet as a view.

He surprised her by pulling out a chair for her. “I eat breakfast here most mornings. Alice’s food is the best.”

So was her coffee, Serena had to admit when the woman brought it for them with a warm smile of welcome. Latte for her, espresso for Garth. Appearances could be deceptive. “This is really great coffee,” she said after the first sip.

Garth looked at the waitress. “Your place is Solano’s best-kept secret, isn’t it, Alice?”

The woman pretended offence. “The number of people you bring here, we’ll always be a secret.”

“I don’t want to share you with just anyone,” he confided.

He wanted to reassure his friend, not make Serena feel special, but he had that effect, she found to her dismay. This would have to stop. As soon as she delivered him to Prince Lorne she would be finished with this. Finished with him.

What would she do if he turned out to be the heir to the throne? Request a transfer back to active policing, she thought. She couldn’t imagine working with him, guarding him, even if he would allow it. He was used to fending for himself, keeping his private life private.

Who would get the greater shock? Garth because his life would be an open book as soon as his heritage was established, or the Carramer people who would have to deal with having a lone wolf as their monarch?

While Serena was lost in thought Alice had moved away to serve another customer, a fisherman, judging by his appearance. The practical setup of the place began to make sense. You could come straight from your boat to a table without worrying about sea-soaked clothes or muddy boots. Serena leaned back. “This is nice.” The salt tang of the air, smelling faintly of fish, was refreshing. Gulls wheeled over the boats, diving on scraps as fishermen cleaned their catches. In its own way, the scene was as beautiful as if the commercial boats had been millionaires’ yachts.

He nodded. “Alice is like a mother to half the fleet. Alice and my mother used to go to the Marine Benevolent Society together to visit the old sailors. She was a good friend to my folks.”

And to him, she heard. “Where do you keep your dive boat?”

As soon as his accusing gaze flayed her, she knew she’d made a mistake. “When it’s not in dry dock, it’s moored around the point, but you know that already. Is there anything your inquiries haven’t told you about me?”

She couldn’t stop herself. “Two things—why you have such a colossal chip on your shoulder, and what you’ve got against me personally.”

He cupped his hands around his coffee mug. Large, practical hands designed for hard work. But not callused or workworn. He might forget to shave in the morning, but his hands looked cared for. She remembered the well-maintained diving gear in the back of his truck. He cared for what was important to him.

“My chip is my business.”

He’d deliberately answered only part of her question, she noted. “You said we could exchange life stories over coffee.”

“You first.”

She wasn’t going to get anything out of him that he didn’t want to share, she understood. She was surprised how much she wanted to share. Maybe if she set an example. “As I told you, I went to the police academy. Graduated third in my class. Worked in uniform for a couple of years then in plain clothes undercover. Then got an invitation to join the R.P.D.” One of only a select few.

He nodded. “Nothing there I couldn’t find out on the public record. What about marriage, children?”

Don’t read anything into the question, she ordered herself. He was probably trying to even the score. “They’d be on public record, too, if I had any.”

“So presumably you don’t. What happened? Afraid of spoiling your model figure?”

She refused to give him the satisfaction of baiting her. “You never know when you’ll need something to fall back on.” She knew she’d said the right thing when she saw respect spark in his gaze. She crossed her forearms on the table. “Your turn.”

“Joined the navy. Thrown out of the navy. Not much more to tell.”

She tossed his own words back at him. “What about marriage, children?”

“Didn’t want to spoil my model figure,” he said, grinning.

Despite herself, she returned his smile. It felt good to laugh with him. She may not have learned much but the ice felt well and truly broken. She was surprised when he said, “I had my share of relationships, one even looked as if it would last. Remember Julia Francis?”

Quick flare of jealousy, just as quickly squashed. “The redhead star of the track team?”

“The same. We lost touch for a few years until she joined the navy, so we had that in common, among other things.”

She didn’t like imagining the other things. “What happened?”

“When I was kicked out of the service, she thought associating with me might tarnish her career. She didn’t mince words. Told me bluntly why it had to be over.”

Underneath that gruff exterior he had feelings and they had been hurt, Serena concluded. Her hand was halfway across the table before she pulled back, sure he wouldn’t welcome her touch, however well-meaning. “I gather it was a long relationship until then.”

“On and off for a few years, depending on what we were doing. Luckily Julia hadn’t wanted children, so the ending was painless.”

He hadn’t said whether he wanted children. And she doubted whether the break had been as painless as he made it sound. She looked at her watch, wishing they could talk for longer.

He caught the gesture. “I know this is boring stuff.”

This time she did touch his hand. “I’m not bored. I don’t want to keep the prince waiting.”

She reached for her purse, but he had already dropped money on the table. “I’ll buy the next round,” she said, wondering what had happened to delivering him to Lorne and moving on.

There wouldn’t be a next round if he had anything to do with it, Garth thought. He had brought Serena to Alice’s kiosk to remind himself that she didn’t fit into his world, then had been surprised by how comfortable she had looked.

Thirteen years ago she would have recoiled in disgust at the stained plastic furniture and the thick stoneware mugs Alice served her coffee in. She wouldn’t have breathed in the fish-tainted air as if it were perfume.

Could Serena have changed so much? Her grooming still screamed class. Even glistening with perspiration in the gym, she had looked like a million dollars. And she still had the longest legs he’d ever seen. She’d always had a great body, and her work had honed her shape to a new level of perfection.

When he had pulled her against him in the gym, his hormones had gone into orbit. He’d wanted to take her in his arms more than he’d wanted anything in a long time.

He hadn’t exactly been honest with her. The thing with Julia Francis had been more off than on, and she had ended it about twenty-four hours before Garth could suggest it himself. They had been good in bed together, but out of it, had disagreed about almost everything.

Pride had driven him to let Serena think he had a string of relationships behind him. And stopped him from telling her why he hadn’t. What would she think if he told her she had been his yardstick for the perfect woman all these years, and he had yet to find anyone who measured up.

Time and again he’d cursed his foolishness in letting her haunt him. As he’d told her, one kiss hardly amounted to the romance of the century. It hadn’t stopped him from looking for her in the background whenever there was a story about the monarch on TV or in the papers. After she sent the wreath, he hadn’t responded because he’d feared the effect she might have on him. With good reason, he now saw.

Now she was here, he hated feeling so stupidly glad about it. He couldn’t let it lead to anything. Her pedigree hadn’t changed and neither had his. As a navy lieutenant he might have had something to offer her, but not anymore, thanks to Admiral McRafe. He had presided over the inquiry that had ended Garth’s career, supposedly because his error led to a trainee almost dying during Advanced Nitrox Training.

The admiral hadn’t wanted to hear about Garth’s suspicions of the stage bottle that carried the nitrox mix, probably because the admiral’s brother-in-law’s company had supplied the equipment, something Garth hadn’t found out until too late. He had gone to the admiral with the truth, mainly to stop anybody else from getting hurt. To Garth’s disgust, the admiral had denied everything and had him escorted off the base. Later, he had heard from a friend still in the service that the defective stage bottles had been quietly replaced and a new supplier found. It was something, he supposed.

He had no idea why Serena had come looking for him or why Prince Lorne wanted to see him, unless he wanted private diving lessons. But he would go along because he respected the monarch. Although born to his role, the prince worked hard for the country. From what Garth had read, he had gone through hell with his first marriage, but stuck it out to set a good example rather than change the law that made divorce illegal in Carramer. Fate had intervened when his wife was killed driving too fast along a cliff road, then Lorne had married Alison Carter, the Australian tourist who had turned out to be the love of his life.

Jealousy gripped Garth. He wanted what the prince had, but had only met one woman he considered worth a lifetime commitment. She was so far out of his reach he’d need decompression time if he stayed around her for very long.

Not that he was going to, he assured himself. He would meet the prince, be whatever use the monarch thought he could be to his country, then get back to his own life before Serena worked her way any further under his skin.

Finding out that he’d been under surveillance by the palace had made him feel like the boy from the wrong side of the tracks all over again. He hadn’t felt this inadequate for a long time, and his instinctive response had been to bite back, Serena being the handiest target. He wouldn’t blame her if she wrote him off as a world-class jerk for the second time in their lives, he thought, watching her glide back to his truck. Her hips swayed sensuously and her long blond ponytail kept time. Police training hadn’t stopped her moving like a model, he noticed. He wondered if she still kissed like a dream.