Affairs of State Page 7

  “Nah. Too serious. Handsome princes are more fun to read about. Especially when they’re kissing the wrong woman.”

  He’d closed the door and now stood in front of her. His expression was serious, brows lowered and eyes thoughtful. “I’d much rather be kissing the right woman.”

  Uh-oh. An inner warning signal flashed inside Ariella. Getting in too deep. His steady gaze held her like a vise. She could feel her breathing quicken and her body heat rise. Her mouth itched to kiss him and her fingers to sink into his shirt. Isn’t that why she’d come here?

  His gaze lowered to her lips, which quivered with awareness.

  Where was this going? This was obviously some kind of vacation fling for Simon and he’d fly back to England and be dating English roses again before the end of the month. She didn’t usually embark on any kind of relationship unless she saw some kind of future in it, which might explain why she was usually free to work events on Saturday nights.

  She’d been jealous of some strange woman called Sophia whom she’d never even met. She was still jealous of her, truth be told, because the queen wanted her and Simon to be a couple.

  What on earth did the Queen of England’s opinion have to do with her love life?

  Did she even have a love life?

  Her thoughts ran in all directions like rats fleeing a sinking ship, but her body didn’t move at all. Simon’s face grew closer until his lips touched hers. A flash of desire rose through her and her eyes shut tight as they kissed. Sparkles flashed across her brain and danced in her fingers and toes as chemistry rushed between them.

  What was happening to her? She was the sensible one who drove her wilder friends home from parties. She didn’t get into scrapes with their celebrity guests or have skeletons tucked behind the coats in her closets. Well, not until it turned out that she was the president’s unknown love child. Everything seemed to have spiraled downhill since then.

  Or was it uphill?

  Simon’s hands fisted in her blouse as their kiss deepened. Her fingers roamed into his thick, short-cropped hair. The rough skin of his cheek and his simple masculine scent thickened the arousal building inside her. His erection had thickened to the point where she could now feel it pressing against her belly. A pulse of thick, complicated desire throbbed and urged her to tighten their embrace.

  Until a knock on the door made them fly apart.

  Flushed and breathless, she smoothed her blouse as Simon strode to the door. He pulled it open a few inches and murmured that he preferred not to be disturbed. The invisible person on the other side mentioned something about an urgent phone call from Her Majesty.

  Simon turned to her. “I’m afraid I must take this call. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  The door closed and she was left alone in the strange sitting room. For the first time she noticed the painting above the fireplace, a clipper ship sailing across a stormy sea, tossing on the waves. An expensive-looking collection of porcelain lined the top of the mantel. What was she doing in this strange room—some kind of official den—groping a man who might one day be King of England. Had she lost her mind?

  The queen must be calling to remind Simon of his royal duties and to urge him to keep his hands off strange American women.

  Simon’s absence did little to diminish her state of arousal. She wanted to hold him again. To kiss him. To rip his clothes off and make hot crazy love with him on the pale pink striped brocade of the sofa. She shoved a hand through her hair, only to discover that it was tangled from his fingers. She was madly smoothing it when the door opened again and Simon reappeared.

  “Now, where were we?” Amusement glimmered in his eyes, along with desire.

  A flame leapt inside her. She didn’t remember ever feeling an attraction this strong. Her whole body seemed to gravitate toward him. Even while her brain issued warnings about how this liaison had no future and would likely end in disaster, her fingers snuck around his collar and into the hair at the nape of his neck, as their lips played together.

  “What are we doing?” she managed, when they both came up for air. Her head spun from the intensity of the kisses.

  “I’m not entirely sure but I know I like it.” He nibbled her earlobe gently, which made her shiver with pleasure.

  “Don’t you think we should both be sensible?” She inhaled the scent of his skin and her fingers pressed into the muscle of his back.

  “What’s sensible?” His eyes were closed and his lips trailed over her face. Her skin hummed under his touch, under his breath, making her long to be closer to him than ever.

  “I’m not sure I know anymore.” She exhaled, longing to let go of her doubts and lose herself in Simon. He projected such confidence and self-assurance it was hard not to simply do what he said. He must have been a very effective army officer. “But my life is very wacky right now and I’m afraid of making it worse.”

  He laid a line of kisses along her neck, which had a frightening effect on her libido. “Am I making it worse?”

  “Absolutely,” she breathed. “Don’t stop.”

  He chuckled, then kissed her full and firm on the mouth, embracing her with a caress that mingled power and strength with the utmost tenderness. So many emotions and sensations roamed through her that she almost wanted to cry.

  When they finally stopped kissing and pulled apart, a deep sadness fell over her. The tiny separation foreshadowed the time when they’d say goodbye for the last time, because this relationship—if it even was a relationship—had no future. “If we have to keep this a secret, then it must be wrong.” Her voice sounded thin and sad.

  He opened his eyes and looked right at her. “Then let’s not keep it a secret.”

  Five

  Ariella paced around her apartment. Her phone had been ringing off the hook all morning. She couldn’t ignore it because any call could easily be from an important client, but she was getting quite cagey about screening callers. The Examiner had printed a series of pictures of herself and Simon strolling through Georgetown the previous afternoon, so one more cat was out of the bag. She glanced at the familiar number with more than a little trepidation.

  “Hi, Francesca.”

  “Ariella, you keep knocking it right out of the park.”

  “I know you’re not talking about my softball swing.”

  “No, I’m talking about your ability to garner amazing publicity for the upcoming TV special. Liam says it will have the highest ratings of any show this year.”

  “Oh, yes. That.” She went between regretting ever agreeing to it, and wanting to hurry up and get it over with. “Is there ever going to be a confirmed date for the taping?”

  “They’re still trying to get a firm commitment from the White House. That’s about as easy as booking a date for the outbreak of a war. He’s hoping for next week or the week after though. How about bringing your new royal boyfriend?”

  “No way.” She shoved a hand through her hair. “Besides, he has to go back to England for a bit.” Her gut clenched. He’d phoned her only half an hour ago to say he’d be flying back that afternoon on urgent family business. How long would he be gone for? He did live there after all. Maybe he wouldn’t come back and she’d be left to mop up one more scandal all by herself.

  “You’re a very dark horse.”

  “I totally am not. I’m the same person I’ve always been. It’s the rest of the world that’s crazy. Simon’s a sweet man who happens to have been born into a famous family.”

  “Just like you happen to have been born to one.”

  She hesitated. “I guess you’re right. He’s not at all like you’d expect. Very unpretentious and genuine.”

  “And dead sexy.”

  “Yes. That, too.” He seemed to grow more handsome every time she saw him. Or was that just because she was falling in love with him?

  Her thoughts screeched to a halt. She was absolutely not allowed to fall in love with anyone on such short notice. Love was a big, long, lifetime thing that h
ad to be carefully planned so that no one’s heart got broken. She and Simon both agreed they didn’t know where their…thing was going, and that they’d take it one step at a time.

  “Didn’t you realize the photographers would see you together?”

  They had. In fact the photo opportunity was planned. They wanted to get it over with so they could stop meeting only in dark private corners surrounded by armed guards. “Photographers see everything I do lately. They’re always lurking about somewhere.” It was a relief to shed the cloak of secrecy, but also alarming to give people one more thing to gossip about.

  “Well, I’m so impressed with how you seem to take everything in stride. Anyone would think you’d been born in the public eye and handling it all your life.”

  “I suppose I’m like a duck where everything looks calm and smooth above the water, but underneath I’m paddling like mad.” She needed to get to the gym so she could run off some energy on a machine. Otherwise she might explode.

  “No way you’re a duck, Ari. You’re a swan. A royal swan.”

  She paced back into the kitchen and poured herself a cool glass of water. “There’s nothing royal about me. I hope Simon’s family aren’t having a cow now that the story’s broken in the press over there.”

  “How could they possibly not like you?”

  * * *

  Simon flew into Cardiff so he could drive directly to Dysart Castle in the Welsh Marches. The estate was the seat of his uncle Derek, the Duke of Aylesbury. It was Derek who had insisted in the strongest terms that he return to England and confront the “noxious” rumors about his affair with an American commoner.

  Derek strode into the drawing room in his shooting jacket shortly before the usual lunch hour. He was damp from the mist of rain and had probably been out killing things since dawn. “Ah, you’re here.”

  Master of the bleeding obvious, as usual. “You said it was urgent.”

  Derek peered at him from beneath his bushy salt-and-pepper brows. “Her Majesty is beside herself at the ugly stories splashed all over yesterday’s papers. Your visit to the States has obviously grown overextended if the American press has the time and energy to invent silly stories about you.”

  “It’s not a story. Ariella and I have grown close.” And he looked forward to growing a lot closer. It had taken all his self-control to stop at kissing her. He’d managed because he knew there was something special about her, and he didn’t want to do anything to endanger their budding relationship.

  “Well, you’d better grow distant, immediately. You’re second in line to the throne, man. You can’t kiss any girl with a pretty smile who happens to cross your path.”

  Simon stiffened. “Ariella is not just anyone. She’s intelligent, charming and has more poise than most of us royals put together.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s American. You remember what happened last time one of our family got involved with an American. He gave up the throne of England! Madness.” Derek shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over a gilded chair. “Break it off with her immediately and pray that she doesn’t make a big fuss in the media.”

  “Ariella would never do such a thing. And I most certainly am not going to break it off with her.”

  Derek’s already bilious face reddened further. “I thought your irresponsible and reckless days were behind you. Your older brother is married to a delightful and entirely suitable woman. Look upon him as an example.”

  “I honor and respect my brother and look forward to saluting him as my monarch. I feel confident that he will enjoy Ariella’s company as much as I do.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. And she’s the daughter of the president. We have enough trouble negotiating the maelstrom of American politics without you allying yourself with the daughter of one party’s leader.”

  “She has never even met her father and politics plays no role in our relationship.”

  Derek had poured himself a stiff whiskey and swigged it. It was doubtless his third or fourth of the day despite the early hour. “Never even met her own father? Oh, yes. She’s some kind of unwanted bastard who was given up for adoption. Perfect royal bride material.”

  Simon wanted to remind his uncle of the many “royal bastards” who had contributed to the country over the centuries, but he restrained himself. “Ariella and I are both adults, and quite capable of managing our affairs with dignity. I don’t need any warnings or lessons or instructions in how to behave.” Derek’s miserable wife, Mary, was a pale shadow of the pretty, bright girl she’d once been. If there was any dire warning on how not to operate a relationship, Derek was it.

  “Listen, Simon. If you get into some embarrassing international scrape it will be bad for all of us. Monarchies are in a battle for survival in the twenty-first century. An affair with this girl is tantamount to abandoning your duties. Next thing we know you’ll be moving abroad.”

  Simon’s hackles rose. “I’ll never leave England. I know my duty to my country as well as to my own conscience.”

  His uncle’s beady eyes narrowed. “The way you’re acting you may well be asked to leave.”

  “You’d have to boot me out of the family first.”

  The older man sipped his whiskey and studied a painting of dead pheasants, bound by the neck into a lifeless bouquet. “Nothing is impossible.”

  * * *

  The early morning air in England smelled fabulously exciting to Ariella. Even the fume-choked atmosphere around the taxi rank at Heathrow Airport. She had a roster of back to back appointments stretching over the next four days. Most of them had to do with the Duke of Buckingham’s extravagant wedding. She had scheduled meetings with florists, caterers, makers of the finest crystal and porcelain for the handcrafted tableware, the list was almost endless.

  But one appointment loomed in her mind above all the others. At three-forty-five on Wednesday—two days away—Ariella would finally meet the woman who gave birth to her twenty-eight years ago. Her heart pounded whenever she thought about it. How odd that this stranger had carried her in her belly for nine long months.

  And of course Simon was here. She’d told him of her visit but warned him that she was very busy. She was here to work and just because she’d kissed a prince did not mean she could abandon her career and throw caution to the wind. Her friends at home had warned her that the British press were far more aggressive—and often crueler—than the press at home, so she should watch her step. Still, hopefully they could manage a meeting. Her skin tingled every time she thought about him. What would her mother think?

  The question made her laugh aloud. The mom who raised her, the sensible Montana housewife, would probably be full of dire warnings, issued in the most kind and heartfelt way. She’d have much preferred to see Ariella with the owner of a solid car dealership in Billings, or perhaps a kindly bank manager in Bozeman.

  But now she had another mother to think about. What would Eleanor think about her relationship with Simon? She was obviously concerned about her own privacy and shrank from the spotlight, so she wasn’t likely to be thrilled.

  Ariella’s phone vibrated and she checked the number. Think of the devil. “Hi, Simon.” She couldn’t help smiling as she said his name.

  “You must be on British soil.” His deep voice sent a flood of warmth to her belly.

  “I am. Traveling over it in a taxi, to be precise.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “The Drake. It’s a small hotel near Mayfair.”

  “Perfect. Right near St. James’s Palace, my haunt when I’m in town. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  Temptation clawed at her. But her sense of duty won out. “I wish I could, but I’m meeting a potential client to pitch the most magnificent wedding in history. It will probably go quite late.”

  “I suppose asking you to come over after dinner isn’t appropriate.”

  She smiled. “No, I suppose not.”

  “Lunch tomorrow at Buckingham Palace. Come meet the qu
een. She’s never in town for long so it’s a great opportunity for you two to get to know each other.”

  Ariella clutched the phone in a panic. “Oh, gosh, I have appointments all day tomorrow.”

  “That’s a shame because she’s heading to Scotland in the afternoon. But there’ll be other times to meet her.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t make it.” Was it rude to say you’d rather spend the night in a meat locker than brave a lunch with one of the world’s longest-reigning monarchs? Of course if things persisted with Simon, she’d eventually have to meet Her Majesty, but right now everything was very new and tentative and she had a feeling that no one would be rolling out the red carpet for her at the palace.

  Not that she wanted them to. She didn’t know what she wanted. “I’d love to see you, really I would, but…”

  “Dinner tomorrow. My driver will pick you up with exquisite discretion. No one will know you’re with me.”

  “I can’t. I have a dinner meeting.”

  “That won’t take all night.”

  She swallowed, and attempted a laugh. “I need to sleep, too. I wish I had more time for…fun, but this is a business trip.” A pause made her nervous. Was he offended? It certainly wasn’t good for business to snub a prince. She didn’t want to book anything for after her mom’s visit, as she was hoping they’d hit it off and spend hours together. “My last appointment is Thursday afternoon at three and my flight isn’t until the next morning.”

  “So you can squeeze dinner with me into your busy schedule on Thursday?” Was he teasing or mad?

  “I could, if that works for you. Of course if you’re too busy, I quite understand.” London whipped by outside her window, as rows of identical suburban houses gave way to more office buildings and shops.

  “I’d clear my schedule in a heartbeat for the mere chance of laying eyes on you.”

  Okay, now he was kidding. “I don’t think that will be necessary. Let’s make plans closer to Thursday, okay? I hope nothing crazy happens between now and then, but you never know.” She could hardly believe she was telling a prince that she couldn’t commit to anything firm.