Kitabı oku: «Prince of Midtown / Marriage, Manhattan Style», sayfa 2

“Good thinking.”

She rushed along the hallway. Why was she so anxious? Perhaps because she was also secretly interviewing for her own replacement.

“The agency had three girls ready this morning, and I didn’t want to wait, or to interrupt you at Reed’s. How did the meeting go?”

“Great. I wanted to get his advice on how to bring Caspia Designs into the twenty-first century.” He glanced at her. “Or even the twentieth.”

His mischievous grin made her heart beat faster.

“You’ll turn the company around fast.”

“With your help.” He shot her a dark look. “Starting with this trip to Caspia.”

She swallowed. Even poring over the inadequate and whimsical financial reports of Caspia Designs had made her fall a little bit in love with the country. It seemed a land ruled by passion rather than politics. Exuberance rather than economics.

Much like its devastatingly handsome prince.

Tessa bit her lip. Already she’d reconsidered her plan to leave. Sebastian paid her well and treated her kindly. Her parents told her she was mad to quit a job with such excellent benefits.

But she’d spent most of her adult life working with the rich and famous, first at a PR firm and now here. She was sick of glitz and glamour. She’d trade it in a heartbeat for the simple happiness her parents still shared after nearly fifty years of marriage.

For some reason being tall and blond attracted the biggest jerk in every room she entered. She’d had enough of being arm-candy for movers and shakers who weren’t interested in anything beyond a night of sex.

Normal “regular guy” types never asked her out. Patrick was the best thing to happen to her in a long time. Yes, he was a high-profile lawyer, but he was down-to-earth and practical. He called when he said he would. He took her out on dates—when he had the time—and treated her with respect.

Something she’d begun to worry would never happen.

In his large, uncluttered bedroom, Sebastian removed his jacket and started to unbutton his shirt. Tessa dragged her eyes away. “I hung your pants and shirts in the closet. And I put your…underwear in the drawer.”

Her cheeks heated. Handling his boxers had felt way too personal.

“You didn’t have to do that.” His fingers continued down his buttons. He tugged his shirt out of his pants to undo the bottom ones and she fought an urge to run for the door.

But she didn’t want him to know that watching him undress affected her. He was probably used to undressing in front of…staff. It meant nothing to him.

She meant nothing to him.

For years she’d been telling herself her silly attraction to her boss would fade over time. She’d fall for someone else.

But other men seemed pale and uninteresting compared to Sebastian.

Except Patrick, of course. He was thoughtful. Nice. Considerate.

He wasn’t quite ready for fatherhood yet, but maybe once his big case was over and they settled into a comfortable house in a nice quiet neighborhood with trees and grass and…

Uh-oh. Sebastian’s long fingers undid the button on his pants.

She headed for the door. “I put your toiletries in the bathroom. Well, your toothbrush. I didn’t see anything else.”

“I don’t need anything else.”

“I’ll get back to my interview.” Her voice was high and squeaky. She heard the swish of his pants sliding over his long, muscled legs.

“Did Dior Homme send the T-shirts?”

“Um. Yes. I put them…” She’d have to go back into the bedroom to find the shelf. Squinting to avoid the vision of a seminaked Sebastian, she hurried to the closet.

“Here, on the middle shelf.” The fresh pile of shirts commemorated the deal he’d brokered to open a Dior boutique in the row of luxury stores along the harbor in Caspia. She picked up a large black T-shirt with a geometric design and held it toward him while keeping her eyes averted.

She could smell his scent. Soap and skin. A hint of sweat.

How could that get her blood pumping? He was just a guy, for crying out loud. Patrick smelled much nicer, of that woodsy cologne he wore. Which, actually, she hated. But she could buy him another.

“Tessa.”

She turned without thinking. At the exact moment he lifted the T-shirt over his head and flexed all the muscles of his wide, bronzed chest.

Her knees buckled and she struggled to stay upright.

Not a problem. She didn’t like big muscles anyway.

Too brutish.

She preferred men who were…cerebral.

“What do you think?” He indicated the T-shirt freshly pulled over his thick pecs.

“Nice design.” Her voice came out weird and flat. A light dusting of black hair roughened his hard, bare thighs below the T-shirt hem.

“Yeah. I like this new line. Did you take some for yourself?”

“I don’t wear extra large.”

“You could wear them in bed.” His low voice tickled her ears.

Tessa’s eyes widened. Her face heated. Sebastian was thinking about her in bed?

Oh. Get over yourself.

If anyone knew that women like to sleep in oversize T-shirts, it was Sebastian. He’d seen a lot of women in bed.

“Sure. I’ll grab a couple.”

“Great.” He shot her a white-toothed smile.

That set her on alert. Why was he smiling at her for no reason?

Because he wants to keep you around as his serf, organizing his files and answering his phone, dummy.

“I’ll go finish the interview.”

“I appreciate it. I’m going out to grab something to eat.

You want anything from the café?”

“I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

Again, the niceness. Very suspicious.

Sebastian strode across the room, legs still bare. He slid a hand under his T-shirt to scratch his rock-hard belly while he contemplated his impressive collection of jeans.

Tessa managed to rasp, “See you later,” as she rushed out the door.

The Park Café was the closest eatery, so Sebastian went there often when he was in town. He’d spent several weeks in New York in the spring and had hand-trained one of the young servers to make the perfect cup of coffee—or at least the closest possible approximation available in this part of the world.

His heart sank as he entered the bright space of the café to a sea of new faces. Then he spotted Reed and Elizabeth Wellington sitting at one of the café tables. He waved and tried to catch their eye, but they were deep in conversation.

“What can I get you?” asked the perky young server.

“I’d like a pastrami on rye with Russian dressing and nothing else. And a seven-shot espresso.”

She vanished, her expressionless face imparting confidence.

What a relief not to be peppered with questions about lettuce and tomatoes and mayo.

His synapses tingled in anticipation of a welcome jolt of caffeine.

He glanced over at his friends’ table. Reed leaned forward, talking in hushed tones, while his wife looked strangely tight-lipped. Were they arguing?

The server returned with seven tiny china cups of espresso. Here we go again. “In one cup, please.”

She picked up a paper cup and began to pour them in.

“They’ll be too cool. Could you use china and heat it again?” He kept his voice pleasant.

“Milk and sugar?”

“No milk, no sugar, no cinnamon, no froth, no chocolate curls. Just the coffee.”

His sandwich appeared, loaded with unwanted vegetables.

Sebastian rubbed a hand over his face.

He’d be home in Caspia soon.

“I don’t think you do!” A raised voice caught his attention and he turned to see Reed, who’d stood suddenly, scraping his chair back on the tile floor.

Elizabeth looked panic-stricken. “Please, Reed…” he heard her say, before the server plunked his big mug of espresso on the counter.

He swiped his credit card and turned in time to see Reed striding out of the restaurant, a black expression clouding his chiseled features.

Alarmed, Sebastian glanced at Elizabeth, who stared after her husband with a stunned look on her face.

Sebastian snatched his cup and plate off the counter and hurried to the table. He sat without waiting for an invitation.

His gut twisted when he saw her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Elizabeth, what’s wrong?”

He reached for her hand but she snatched it up and dabbed at her eyes with the napkin. “Nothing! Nothing at all. I’m fine.” A sob belied her words. “Allergies. They’re terrible at this time of year.” She drew in a sharp breath. “How are you, Sebastian?”

“Once I’ve had this coffee, I’ll be okay.” He took a bracing sip. Elizabeth was obviously in distress and it pained him not to be able to help her. “Can I get you something? Some chocolate?”

She laughed. “Chocolate usually does help, doesn’t it?” She glanced toward the door. “But not today. I have to run, I have an appointment.” Hands shaking, she gathered her handbag and a large shopping bag. “I’m sorry I don’t have more time to chat. I’ve—” Her voice caught.

Something was very wrong.

“I understand. Another time.” The platitudes felt hollow and useless, but she clearly didn’t want to talk.

He rose from his chair and kissed her cheek. Cold as ice. “And, Elizabeth, if you ever need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to call me.”

She nodded and hurried away.

How odd. She and Reed always seemed like the perfect couple. Their wedding had been the social event of the season, the bride radiant, her handsome groom the toast of the city for months. Sebastian had even found himself contemplating the joys of marriage—for a week or two.

Luckily it had worn off.

Five years later and here they were: arguments, tension, tears.

Marriage did not look like fun.

Three

Sebastian brimmed with anticipation as he marched across the tarmac toward the plane. “Tessa!”

At the sound of his voice, she looked up and smiled. “Hello, Sebastian.”

She stood at the bottom of the movable stairs, fiddling with the strap on her bag. The wind molded her thin dress to her body in a way that made his blood pressure jump a notch.

Her legs were endless. Slender and shapely. The kind of legs that could wrap around you and hold you in a vise of pleasure.

Not that he had any intention of seducing his assistant into bed.

Even he had his limits.

At least he thought he did.

“Don’t be nervous. Our pilot is very experienced. Have you met Sven?”

“Yes, he introduced himself. I’m more excited than nervous. I actually love to fly. It’s fun seeing the world from above.”

“I do agree.” A smile settled over his face as he took her elbow and led her up the stairs.

Sebastian refused to discuss work during the flight. He wanted Tessa to relax and enjoy herself. To banish any thoughts that she was bored and ready to “move on.”

Any “moving on” would be accomplished in his comfortably appointed jet. “Champagne?” He lifted a bottle out of the fridge.

Tessa’s eyes widened. “It’s only two o’clock.”

“That means it’s eight in Caspia. They always say to pack and dress for your destination, so why not drink for it, too?”

He popped the cork.

Tessa bit her lip. “Okay. You’re the boss.”

“Exactly. You’d better do as I say.” He handed her the glass. “Here’s to your maiden voyage to Caspia.” He clinked his glass against hers.

Excitement sparkled in her big, green eyes. “I’ve never left the country before.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope. I flew around a bit on business for my first job, but mostly to L.A. I’ve never been to Europe.”

“Not even to visit friends?” Sebastian found this hard to believe. He knew quite a few people who went to boarding school with Tessa and they were as likely to be found on the ski slopes of Gstaad or the beaches of Provence as in their Wall Street watering holes.

Tessa put her champagne glass on the table. “I went to St. Peter’s on a scholarship.” She raised her eyes to meet his at the mention of the highbrow prep school. “I’m not really one of them.”

“One of who?”

“You know, the jet set, or whatever you want to call it.”

She looked so anxious that he managed to suppress the smile tugging at his lips. “Um, Tessa, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but you’re sitting in a jet right now, waiting to take off.”

She swatted his idea away with a movement of her graceful hands. “You know what I mean. This is part of my job.”

Sebastian slammed his glass down next to hers. “I don’t want to hear anything more about any job. You are vital to the economic growth of the nation of Caspia. You have a career with us.”

He’d make it a personal challenge to make sure she stayed. He did enjoy a challenge. The curse of a competitive nature.

“Buckle up.” Sven’s voice came over the radio. Sebastian watched as Tessa fastened her buckle over her slim hips. Her long fingers were magnificent. He could imagine them dancing over the strings of a Caspian harp.

Or over the muscles of his belly. And lower. Between his thighs…

He shifted in his seat. “Sven, let’s take the temperature down a couple of degrees.”

Tessa looked sideways at him. “Do we have to hold on to our glasses?”

“Can’t hurt.” Sebastian swept hers up and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed for an electric moment. He sipped the dry Blanc de Noirs, but the sparkle of the bubbles only increased an intriguing sense of anticipation that crackled through him.

Tessa peered out the window as the plane lifted over the ocean, her long neck craned forward. “Goodness, New York really is a bunch of islands, isn’t it? Wow, what a beach. The breakers look awesome from up here. And I can see a fishing boat! I never think of people fishing near the city. And look at all those swimming pools on Long Island. Don’t these people know there’s an ocean right there?”

Her eyes shone, dazzled with sights he’d long ceased to notice.

Sebastian laughed.

Caspia with Tessa was going to be fun.

Tessa couldn’t help feeling a little sad as their plane approached their final destination in the dead of night.

All across Europe, towns and cities had glittered amongst vast swathes of dark countryside. Snowcapped mountain ranges shimmered in the faint glow of the moon.

That same moon reflected off calm ocean water as the plane banked on approach to the airport in Caspia. Giddy from champagne and from chatting with Sebastian about everything under the sun, she couldn’t imagine getting any sleep before morning.

The plane landed on the runway with barely a bump. Sebastian peered out the window. “My driver is waiting. We’ll be at the palace in ten minutes.”

The palace.

Tessa’s skin grew tight as terror crept over her.

An actual palace with a real king and queen living in it.

She glanced sideways at Sebastian. He was stretching, which had the unfortunate effect of pulling his black T-shirt tight over the granite-hard expanse of his chest.

She jerked her eyes away. In addition to being a royal prince, he was her boss, for crying out loud.

Her heart hammered as the pilot opened the door and ushered them down the steps. Sebastian gestured for her to go first, so she stepped out into the dark night.

A cool breeze rushed her face, rich with the smell of the sea.

“Home sweet home.” Sebastian drew in a hearty lungful. “I find it harder and harder to leave and each time I return, I’m more grateful than ever.”

“I guess that’s good, since you couldn’t really leave anyway, could you?” How odd to grow up with the obligation of being a monarch some day. To have no choice in who or what you could become.

“No one truly leaves Caspia. Even when you depart, you’ll always carry a piece of her with you.”

His voice echoed with such gravitas that she glanced back to see if he was joking.

Apparently not.

He stared straight ahead, his strong features highlighted in the airport floodlights. “Dmitri!” He waved at the uniformed chauffeur standing in front of a long, black limousine. “I’d like you to meet Tessa, my righthand woman.”

Dmitri nodded. Sebastian’s odd introduction gave her a little surge of pride. She wouldn’t mind being the right hand on so sturdy and capable a body.

The limo drove them swiftly to the palace, where people materialized out of the darkness to carry their bags.

A lamp-lit passage led to a cool atrium with a trickling fountain. Two young men rushed forward to ply them with damp towels and glasses of cool water.

Flustered, Tessa watched Sebastian as he wiped his face vigorously with the towel. She didn’t want to smear the plush, white cotton with her makeup so she used it to pat her neck.

The water had a deliciously sweet taste, and she finished the whole glass in one draft. As soon as she was done, a man with a jug refilled it.

“Thanks,” she murmured, before sipping again.

So this is what it was like to be waited on hand and foot. Kind of weird, but she could see how you’d get used to it. She tried hard not to giggle.

Just nerves.

“I’ll walk Tessa to her room,” Sebastian declared. Her skin tingled as he slipped his warm, strong arm inside hers in a proprietary gesture that made her blush.

It was all so strange. Mosaics glittered under her feet. Stone pillars flanked the wide hallway. They walked through the silent palace, the darkness of night softened only by light from wall sconces.

At the end of another long hallway, Sebastian led her through an open pair of double doors into the most glorious room she’d ever seen.

A vast bed filled the center of the huge chamber. Silk curtains billowed from a central point in the ceiling and cascaded down to form a luxurious canopy. The bed itself was lush with patterned pillows and soft-looking covers.

If there were a pea under that mattress, it wouldn’t bother her one bit.

“I hope you’ll be comfortable. You can ring this bell if you need anything.” He pointed to a tiny golden bell, resting on a magnificent gold-inlaid dressing table. “Or call me on my cell.” He yawned. “I need some shut-eye.”

He closed the door behind him as he left.

In a panic, Tessa realized she didn’t have her bag. She rushed to the door, then the open closet caught her eye.

Her clothes hung inside it.

She inhaled, and walked over. Yes, they were really her clothes, with her unpacked duffel bag placed neatly on the floor of the closet.

She swallowed and lifted her nightgown from a hanger. She’d splurged on a gauzy white cotton gown, trimmed with lace, that seemed appropriate for sleeping in a palace.

In front of the magnificent silk-draped bed, however, her nightgown looked more suitable for a milkmaid.

She changed, washed her face at the polished brass basin in the bathroom and brushed out her hair.

She stood for a moment at one of the long windows, holding the heavy drape back. Pale moonlight poured onto the floor at her feet, making the mosaic sparkle.

She climbed onto the cloudlike softness of the high bed, under the layered canopy.

She really should call Patrick in New York. She’d promised to let him know she arrived safely. He’d insisted on knowing every detail of her itinerary so he could get in touch with her at any time.

He was just like that. Caring.

But surely he wouldn’t mind if she called first thing in the morning?

It was nearly nine when Tessa finally awoke and peered at her watch in the curtained gloom. She could hear noise outside the windows, the distant honking of car horns, the mutter of conversations, even a clatter of hooves.

She sprang off the bed and hurried to the window. Bright golden sunshine streamed in as she parted the curtains.

Wow.

The room had a magnificent view over the city. Whitewashed buildings clung to the hillsides, their simple, organic shapes suggesting that they’d been there almost as long as the land itself.

The procession of crisp, white walls descended gradually toward a wide bay. Long seawalls created from massive stone blocks encompassed the harbor like two welcoming arms, the sea within them as calm as a pond.

The whole effect was like something out of an ancient myth. She half expected to see Helen of Troy sail into the harbor on a trireme rowed by a hundred oarsmen.

But modern life intruded cheerfully on the ancient splendor. Cars wound up and down the hill toward the harbor. Laughter and the strains of a Madonna hit mingled with the song of birds that fluttered back and forth between tall cypress trees.

Her cell chimed and vibrated on the dresser. She rushed to grab it. Patrick.

“Hi.”

“I’ve been worried sick. I even checked the airline flight data to see if there were reports of an accident. Why didn’t you call?”

“Oh, we got here so late and I was tired. It’s sweet of you to worry, but really, I’m fine.”

“Do you have your own room?”

She laughed. “No, I’m in the harem with all the king’s wives.” He didn’t laugh back. “Of course I have my own room, silly. And it’s so beautiful. But I’m not sure my blow-dryer will work here.”

“Do be careful of the voltage. You never know what to expect with foreign wiring. I am worried about you being all alone in a foreign country.”

“I’m not alone. I’m with Sebastian.” “I know.”

When she finally got Patrick off the phone with assurances that she had not been killed in a midair collision or sold into slavery, she had a quick shower. As she suspected, her dryer was a useless lump of plastic and metal since the wall outlet was a different shape than her plug. She towel dried her hair as best she could and was putting moisturizer on her face when she heard a knock on the door.

She almost dropped the bottle. “Come in?” The uncertainty in her own voice made her even more nervous.

The door flung open. Sebastian stood silhouetted against the bright corridor. “I trust you slept well.” His soft voice wrapped around her like the warm morning breeze.

“I did.” She pushed back a hank of her still-damp hair. “I can’t get over how lovely it is here.”

He smiled. “You’ve seen nothing yet. Come, eat.” He held out his arm for her to take it. He wore a collarless white linen shirt. Tailored black pants added to the impression of casual elegance.

Not that she cared what her boss wore.

Tessa walked across the room, the skirt of her pale green dress swishing around her legs, then matched his long stride down the colonnaded hallway.

He directed her into another wide, bright chamber. Floor-to-ceiling frescoes depicted a magnificent procession of men and horses, pennants flying.

Tessa tugged her gaze from the art and focused on the other people in the room. A middle-aged man and woman sat at one end of a long, white stone table.

“Mama, this is Tessa, my New York assistant.”

The woman rose from her carved chair, tall and graceful, her silver hair pulled back into a chignon. She held out a heavily ringed hand and Tessa hurried forward to shake it.

“It’s an honor,” murmured Tessa, attempting a curtsey.

This was The Queen.

“And this is my dad.”

Tessa shook his offered hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.”

Maybe he heard her voice shake, but the king patted her hand gently and looked at her with the kindest eyes she’d ever seen. “The pleasure is all mine, my dear.”

He also had silver hair, with patches of black above his ears that indicated it must once have been as dark as Sebastian’s.

“What’d the cook rustle up for us this morning?” Sebastian reached forward and grabbed a rasher of bacon, then popped it in his mouth. “Mmm.” He pulled out a chair for Tessa, directly opposite the queen. She slid into it as gracefully as she could.

A plate materialized in front of her immediately, borne by a silent servant.

“Do help yourself, dear,” the queen said in perfect, British-accented English. “If you don’t see anything you like, we can have something prepared.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, it all looks marvelous.”

Tessa had no appetite whatsoever in the presence of three crowned heads—including Sebastian. She’d never paid much attention to his being a prince before, perhaps because the whole concept of royalty seemed rather alien back in the States. Amidst the splendor of the royal palace, however, it was impossible to forget.

Sebastian offered her various dishes, and she took a small amount of each. Eggs scrambled with herbs, freshly baked rolls covered in fragrant sesame seeds, crispy bacon and spicy sausages, fresh peaches and plums, sliced and laid in an interwoven pattern, and a dish of creamy yogurt with sweet, golden honey.

“Tessa, what part of the States are you from?” The queen’s question had a tone of mild interrogation.

“Connecticut.”

“A lovely state. Are you near Greenwich?”

“Yes, very close.” In geography. In lifestyle, though, a million miles.

Tessa hated saying where she was from. Wealthy and privileged people immediately assumed she was one of them. It was embarrassing for everyone when they eventually found out she wasn’t.

That’s when she learned who her real friends were.

She had to give Sebastian credit. He hadn’t blinked when she told him she was a scholarship student.

But why would he care? She was just his employee.

“And what does your father do, dear?” The queen lifted an elegantly arched brow.

Jeez. Was she back in high school? Rich people could be very predictable. “He’s retired now.”

She sipped her juice. Partly to prevent her tongue from saying, He’s a retired school custodian. Yes, you heard right, he cleaned the school. Not quite what you were expecting, was it?

The queen’s tight smile did nothing to soothe her churning stomach. Suddenly she wished she was back home, under the covers in her familiar apartment.

Still, she attempted to act normal and make polite conversation during the meal, instead of gazing around the room and gawking at her companions.

It wasn’t easy.

When the king and queen left the room together, it was all she could do not to sag in her chair in relief.

“More yogurt?” Sebastian lifted the ornate golden urn that looked as though it had been passed down at least ten generations.

“No, thanks. I really should get to work. Would you please show me where the files are? I want to dig out what we’ll need for the meeting.”

“Absolutely not.” He rose in a swift motion. “We have far more important things to do.”

“Like what?”

“You must see our country. More coffee?”

“No, thanks, I’m fine. I might blast off if I drink more of that stuff.”

“Good, right?”

She couldn’t resist smiling in response to his enthusiastic grin. “Fantastic.” Her toes tingled at the idea of exploring the world she’d glimpsed from her window. “Could we go see the harbor?”

“Of course.” Sebastian rose from his chair and held out his hand for her to take it.

He never did that at the office.

Tessa slid her fingers into his strong hand, and let him pull her from her chair. He didn’t move out of the way as she stood, so she found herself dangerously close to his muscled chest. His warm, male scent of sunshine and spice.

Her skin prickled at his nearness.

Why didn’t he move?

His dark eyes drifted over her pale green dress. “You look lovely today, Tessa.”

“Thanks.” She swallowed.

He never usually noticed what she was wearing.

He hadn’t let go of her hand, either. Her palm heated against his.

What was he up to?