Kitabı oku: «The Royal Treatment»
“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 were never your strong point.”
“Oh, that’s good, coming from you.”
She flicked him a warning look, but Jeremy knew the palace 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.”
The Royal Treatment
Maureen Child
MILLS & BOON
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MAUREEN CHILD
is a California native who loves to travel. Every chance they get, she and her husband are taking off on another research trip. The author of more than sixty books, Maureen loves a happy ending and still swears that she has the best job in the world. She lives in Southern California with her husband, two children and a golden retriever with delusions of grandeur.
Visit her Web site at www.maureenchild.com.
To everyone at the A.S.P.E.N. in Galveston conference.
It was a memorable week—you guys are the best.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
One
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?
Two
Jade walked into her apartment, tossed her purse and keys onto the narrow hall table and slammed the door behind her. Automatically, she snapped both locks, then slapped the chain into place. She took extra care in turning the new dead bolt.
Temper, she warned herself, then kicked off her shoes and limped across the room in her stocking feet. Her toes ached. “Darn him, anyway. Why did it have to be him? Thousands of soldiers in the army, and J.T.’s the one I have to deal with.”
The plush, mauve carpet caressed the soles of her feet as she walked straight across the neat, uncluttered living room to the sliding glass doors. She flipped the lock, pushed the heavy panel open and stepped out onto her balcony.
The wind slapped at her, made her shiver, but she welcomed the cold, hoping it would put out the fire still burning in her blood. But the chances of that were pretty slim. Like it or not, J.T. could do things to her with a look that any other man wouldn’t be able to accomplish with a touch.
Jade sighed, reached up and rubbed her eyes with her fingertips, as if by doing so she could wipe away the memory of J.T.’s penetrating gaze. Seeing him again shouldn’t have been so hard. Three years had passed. Three long, busy, lonely years. It should have been more than enough time to get him out of her mind and heart.
But nothing about her relationship with J.T. had ever been easy. Jade closed her eyes and saw his face again. Those dark, chocolate eyes that seemed deep enough to hold the secrets of the universe.
She blew out a long, shaky breath. Her hair flew about her face and she reached up to scoop the long strands back. Tipping her face into the breeze, she inhaled the scent of the ocean and listened to the seabirds screeching as they wheeled and dipped in the gusts of wind.
Her pulse rate slowed and the knot in her stomach slowly dissolved. The sea-damp fall air was just what she had needed to cool off. Worked every time. Well, against her temper. The lust still humming in her veins was something else entirely. Usually, no matter what problem was bothering her, Jade could step out here, let the wind caress her, and she’d feel her troubles slide away. In fact, this wide, private balcony with a view of the bay was the reason she’d rented the apartment in the first place. Wouldn’t you know that J.T. would be the one problem not so easily gotten rid of?
She leaned her forearms on the railing and stared down at the world below. From her home on the top floor of the three-story building, she felt as though she could see forever. The horizon stretched out before her, filled with possibilities. And from three stories up, she felt safe from…
“Don’t go there,” she told herself firmly. But it was too late. Her mind had already drifted into dangerous territory. It wasn’t enough that work itself was becoming a problem. That J.T. had popped back into her life. No, she also had to worry about whoever it was sending her letters that were just creepy enough to make her install a new dead bolt on her apartment door.
The latest one had been delivered to her desk at work only yesterday, and she’d already memorized the contents.
My lovely Jade. Soon we will be together. Soon the world will know, as I do, that we were meant to be. Soon, my love, soon.
The police assured her she wasn’t in serious danger. Most of these cases, they insisted, turned out to be nothing more than an enraptured fan who didn’t have the courage to confront the object of his affection face-to-face. Still, that didn’t make her feel any better about having an unknown admirer stalking her.
Wrapping her arms around her middle and leaning against the weathered stone balustrade, she forced her thoughts away from what she couldn’t control and back to the problem at hand.
Getting into the palace.
Which would entail getting past her ex-husband. No small feat.
Just thinking about J.T. was enough to heat up her bloodstream again, and it wasn’t all due to anger. Life would have been so much easier if it were.
With the king in a coma, the public wanted to know that their country, their interests, were being taken care of. And it was Jade’s job to investigate that. At least, it was if she ever wanted to move away from fluff pieces to real news. If she ever wanted to prove to her father that— No, this wasn’t about her father. Or the baggage she carried around with her. This was about her goals. Her plans. Her ambitions.
Something J.T. had never understood.
Now, once again, standing between her and accomplishing her task was that mountain of a man. “Nothing’s changed there, has it?” she asked herself. Three years ago, he hadn’t wanted her to work, either. He’d wanted a traditional wife. A woman who would have dinner on the table every night at six and be content with taking care of him and their future children.
On the surface, there was nothing at all wrong with that. But Jade wanted more. Always had. And when she couldn’t get it through J.T.’s thick, chauvinistic skull that her ambitions were no less important than his, she’d stomped out of his life in a fit of righteous anger.
The only problem was, she’d left her heart behind.
Looking back now, she could see that she should have stayed and worked it out. Or at least tried. But she’d been so much younger then. So full of fire and impatience. And J.T., she conceded in her own defense, hadn’t been much better.
Jade sighed heavily and faced reality. The plain fact was she’d left, determined to have a career. But now that she had it, the career she’d wanted so desperately wasn’t making her happy. Maybe things would change if she actually managed to get the interview with the queen. But right now, Jade felt as though she’d made a stupid bargain when she’d given up her marriage for ambition.
Seeing him again hurt. The near electric shock of meeting his gaze was still buzzing through her brain. Almost as if she’d found something she hadn’t known was lost.
“Oh, you’re in sad shape,” she muttered, turning away from the ocean view to go back inside. She left the glass door open, and the sheer white drapes billowed in the wind like a sail. Like her, they were anchored and going nowhere.
A knock sounded on the apartment door and she jumped. Unease skittered along her spine, but she went to answer it anyway. Any interruption at all was better than letting her brain focus on J.T. and what they’d both lost. But she froze with her hand on the knob. The days of just throwing her door open without thinking about it were over.
She peered through the peephole and sighed as she recognized her building’s doorman.
“Charles?”
He stepped back and smiled, knowing that she was looking at him, then held up a manila envelope. “A package was delivered for you. From the television station. I’ll just leave it outside your door.”
“Thank you.” Quickly, she disengaged the locks and opened the door.
Charles was already walking to the elevator.
Jade snatched up the envelope, stepped back inside and closed and locked the door again. She looked down at the envelope. From the feel of it, there was a video tape inside, and when she tore it open, she was proved right.
A piece of notepaper fell from the envelope and she bent over to pick it up. “Found this on your desk. Thought it might be important.” It was signed by Janine, her secretary.
“On my desk?” Jade muttered as she walked back into the living room. There were no labels on the tape. Nothing to indicate what it might contain. But someone in the newsroom must have left it for her. Heading directly for the TV, she slipped the tape into the VCR, then turned on the set and hit Play.
An image of the palace appeared on the oversize television screen, and a chill crawled up her spine to lift the tiny hairs at the back of her neck. Traffic sounds, the call of birds and the sighing of the wind across the microphone were the only sounds. The unseen cameraman worked the zoom lens, and Jade was suddenly watching herself—with Harry, the station cameraman, right behind her—standing just outside the palace gates. She saw her own image argue with the guard, then grab the iron gate and shake it. She watched as she sent Harry back to the van, as she confronted J.T.
She relived the whole confrontation because she was simply too stunned to hit the stop button. In the video, she saw her hair ruffled by the wind. She felt the cameraman’s obsession as he slowly tightened the zoom to pan in on her alone—in effect, cutting her off from J.T. and the rest of the world. Keeping her separate.
For him only.
Slowly, the camera panned from the top of her head to the sole of her tapping foot and back up again. Jade felt her stalker’s obsession as if it were a living thing in the room with her. The shot tightened further, lingering on her eyes, her mouth. She could hear the cameraman’s labored breathing as he watched her, and the sound nearly choked off her own air.
At last, when she was turned away from the palace gates, the tape ended, fading into a solid blue screen that finally woke her out of her stupor. She jabbed the stop button with one fingertip, then dropped the remote to the floor as if it were poisonous.
Silence crashed down around her. The drapes, still billowing in the wind, suddenly made her aware of an unsecured entry point, and Jade hurried across the room. Of course, to break into a third-story apartment through the balcony doors, her stalker would have to be Spider-Man. But it made her feel better to slam the glass door shut. She locked it, then bent down to drop the metal guard into the track behind it.
Alone and scared, she turned her back on the view and stared at her apartment. For the first time, she didn’t see the comfortable, yet stylish furnishings. What she saw now was her sanctuary…invaded by a threat she couldn’t identify.
And she wanted to call J.T. so badly, her heart ached.
There was too much going on for J.T.’s liking.
He sat in the single chair opposite his boss’s desk and let his mind wander while Franklin Vancour was on the phone. In his fifties, Franklin was as fit as a man half his age. It came from years of military training, no doubt, and J.T. could appreciate that. The other man was as dedicated to duty as he was, and on that common ground, the two men understood each other.
Morning sunlight filtered in through the windows of the security office located on the ground floor of the palace. The wood-paneled walls gleamed richly from years of careful polishing. Framed certificates and royal proclamations hung on the walls, and their glass fronts winked when a stray sunbeam glanced off of them. A row of bookcases lined one wall, and hundreds of leather-bound, well-read volumes rested alongside mementos left behind by former heads of security.
The RII—Royal Intelligence Institute—was responsible for the safety and security of the royal family. The guards posted outside, as well as J.T. himself, had been plucked from the different branches of the Penwyck military and assigned to the palace. Every man here was the best of the best.
Next door was the king’s office, and J.T. knew without having to be told that Sir Selwyn, the king’s secretary, would be there, positioned to keep out all intruders. A thin, wiry man, he was dedicated to his employer. Even to the point of putting up with Broderick, the man who so wanted to be king of Penwyck, but never could.
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