Her Secret Prince (5 page)

D
ee leaned back
in her chair, staring at her laptop screen, and forced herself to concentrate. Restlessness churned through her, born of the day’s emotional upheaval, but she couldn’t burn it off until she’d finished this rewrite.

The ending was changing. Now Adam and Emma find each
other again—and part ways almost immediately. A lost love could remain just that, even if the hearts reunited. The characters had beaten the odds by meeting again. The odds refused to be beaten further by allowing them timeless love.

It wasn’t harrowing like her other scripts. It was disappointing. Potentially anticlimactic.

Realistic.

Some relationships roared with energy until the end. Some
fluctuated, petering out only to flare with new vigor. And some went out entirely, because people changed and a perfect match became nothing but a memory.

She didn’t know who Jed had become—whether she had missed the chance to love him.

But she was prepared for the worst.

*

The apartment smelled
like her. Sweet, warm, with a hint of
hairspray. Jed put his duffel bag in the corner of Dee’s spare bedroom and rolled his shoulders, feeling tension pinch beneath his blades. When he’d arrived in Los Angeles early this morning, he hadn’t expected to be in her home by evening.

Nor had he expected her to undo him, after all these years. Her open, expressive face. Those intelligent blue eyes. The emotion she bared simply because she
felt it. He’d hurt her. At the time, fleeing east into Nevada in his mum’s beat up car, the miles of dry flat planes had been fodder for a sorry soul. Forehead pressed against glass, he’d tortured himself by imagining Dee’s reaction to finding him gone. Her undoubted pain had intensified his own. Guilt had eaten him to the marrow.

Now, he didn’t need to imagine. He saw how his desertion had marked
her.

Betrayal that dug deep ten years on, and anger, born of a decade of worry.

He wasn’t here to hurt her again.

Jed stretched out on the bed and gazed at the ceiling, a hand beneath his head. Dee had handed him clean sheets, given the grand tour with a wave of her arm, and then retreated to her desk to flesh out an idea. She’d suggested he make himself at home for the next hour or so—in his
room, with the door closed, and silently, please.

Jed shifted, kicking off his shoes. He’d give her space, let her clear her head. She wouldn’t be able to help him wound up. Silence came easily to him and simply being here made him feel at home. He hadn’t felt this at ease in a long, long time.

He hadn’t felt this force of desire in exactly that long, either.

He remembered how Dee had tested
him, just being near. He’d felt scarcely contained, surging with the sexual intensity of a maturing teen. He’d wanted every inch of her, from the day he’d met her. But after a lifetime of changing friends with every letterbox, he hadn’t wanted to risk Dee to hormones.

Later, he’d excused the sheer potency of lust on inexperience. Made sense, since he’d never felt anything like it again. Now he
knew.

It was Dee.

Jed closed his fingers, fighting the sensation he’d thought lost to the hormonal storm of adolescence. He felt alive with need, simply from being in the same space as her. And he wasn’t alone—she’d made it clear her body still wanted his. But Dee was like that. Claiming to want him and then resisting was not her playing coy. It was her way of telling him she wanted him, but
wanted to resist. She’d always made things that simple.

Ten years deserved resistance. They hardly knew each other. They could be hauling all manner of baggage.

The decent thing would be to pose no risk whatsoever. Keep a lid on his attraction. Suppress the urge to touch her luscious curves and pull her close. It’d do him good to play by those rules. The last thing he wanted was for Dee to think
he’d tracked her down to get her into bed.

Honesty was vital, as was focus. He had to remember why he was here. Not get caught up in the power of their renewed attraction.

That definitely meant keeping his door locked.

Searching for a distraction, Jed sat up and tugged his phone from his back pocket. He opened his inbox and doubt dropped his gut at the email near the top. He’d read it. Ten
times a day he’d read it, since it had blindsided him last week.

The first contact he’d ever had from his father.

*

From: Oscar M

01-28-2015 (6 days ago)

To: Jed Brown

Subject: Gambit

Jed,

You don’t know me, but I am a keen fan of your comics. Comics are my one indulgence. Although
I have followed Drifting in Melbourne for a few years, I only recently viewed your About page and was stunned by your profile photo. This will sound very odd, but you look remarkably like me.

Let me get straight to the point. I think, perhaps, you are my son.

I have attached a recent photograph. I have also attached a photo of me at age twenty. The resemblance is uncanny. It was at this age
that I spent time with a young Australian woman who was backpacking in Europe. She passed through Leguarday, the quaint principality that I call home, and we came together for a while.

You state that you’re twenty-six. My mind rages with possibility. If she had fallen pregnant during our time together, that child would be twenty-six now.

I apologize for the absurdity of this email, but I must
be sure. If you believe this possible, and have any inclination to meet, I invite you to visit Leguarday at your convenience.

Sincerely,

Oscar

At first Jed
had rolled his eyes, convinced it was a creative new scam. If he got sucked in and agreed to meet, the sender would likely reply with news of a sudden tragedy in the family, and the humble and apologetic request for a large sum of money
to be transferred into his account within the next five business days.

Then Jed had viewed the attached photos.

It was him, with a shorter haircut and a close-lipped smile. Him, from the shape of his nose to the pull between his brows. The shock had smacked the blood from his face. Faint with disbelief, he’d staggered onto his balcony and sat with hands braced on his knees.

A second email had
followed the first. It claimed the woman’s name had been Melissa. A nurse in training, with dark hair and yin-yang tattooed on her ankle.

If Jed had needed confirmation, that had been it.

He slid the phone back into his pocket and looked at the ceiling again. He hadn’t replied. Wasn’t sure whether he would. He knew nothing about the man. It was hardly a cause for handshakes and hugs. Instead,
the contact made him uneasy, like footsteps he hadn’t heard behind him until it was too late.

The idea that Oscar had stumbled upon his comic didn’t speak of coincidence—it screamed of bullshit.

As a child, he’d asked about his father. His mum had always answered with warnings. “If he finds out that you exist, he’ll take you from me,” she’d say, holding him close. “And once he gets a hold of
you, you’ll never get away. He’ll strip you of your future. Freedom, choices, all of it. I won’t let that happen to you, I promise, but you have to help me. Don’t look for him. You have to promise, too.”

Solemnly, he would swear, secretly determined to protect his mother as best he could. Clearly, the man was dangerous. For that reason, Jed had continued to pack up and move cities, countries,
long after he could have dug his heels in. He’d worried that he had inherited traits that could make him a danger. With the right trigger, could he snap into a violent rage? Spew up an abusive tirade? These days he felt in the clear, but his father might not be as stable.

Oscar didn’t look threatening, nor did he sound it. But he had the resources to track Jed down and the cunning to lie about
it. The entire situation had thrown him.

Pulling out his phone again, he made a call. His friend picked up on the third ring.

“Jed.” Felix’s voice was slow, groggy. “Perfect timing.”

“I thought you didn’t sleep.”

“And you’re keeping me honest.” There was the sound of rustling. Footsteps on a hard floor. “How’s the search?”

“Found her.”

“That was quick.” An expectant silence followed, interrupted
by running water and the clink of glass on a solid surface.

“I haven’t asked her yet.”

“Due to foreseen complications?”

Felix had warned him that Dee had every right to spit on him and slam the door on his junk. Jed grimaced. “Yeah.”

His friend paused. “You wake me up to give me
yeah
?”

“She was upset. Angry. Now I’m in her bedroom.”

A low whistle carried down the line.

“Did I forget to
say spare bedroom?”

Felix snorted.

“She seems the same, just…older.” She’d always been sixteen in his head, unable to grow with him. Now she was a woman. Adult, from the rounded edges of her figure to the steadiness of her once bouncing blue gaze. “We’ll see.”

“Right. Let me know about Oscar. That shit’s weird, man.” Felix yawned. “Now let me get back to not sleeping.”

Jed hung up as the door
opened. Dee stuck her head in, looking agitated.

“I’m about to tear the walls down,” she announced. “Want to watch?”

“Do the walls require tearing down?”

“No. I require vigorous activity of a destructive nature.” And her gaze busied itself with his body, jolting him into awareness of the mattress beneath him. Four steps forward and she’d be upon him. He could drag her down, tugging clothes
apart and moving together, sensual and slick to release her tension. Instantly hot, he wanted her.

But not in an act of destruction.

He shifted. “Why do you need to break something?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Because I don’t know how to feel about you turning up.” Honest, as always. “Too many emotions are volunteering and getting in each other’s way and now they’re starting to brawl. So I want to
tear down the walls to get them out.” Once again, her attention moved to his body and he suspected his walls wouldn’t put up much of a fight.

“The apartment might resent you later,” he said quietly, sitting up.

“Got any empty glass bottles that need smashing? I’ll also accept plates.”

“You can snap my pencil in half,” he offered, withdrawing it from his hair.

She tilted her head, considering.
“That would feel petty.”

“Agreed.”

“Maybe a walk then, come with me,” she said, and closed the door.

*

Jed’s casual stride
matched Dee’s march. She needed air and she needed to move. The streetlights glowed above them, casting the sidewalk in diluted, milky light. The night was cold, but dry. So far, LA had struck out with rain this
winter. There’d been nothing to cleanse the air and wash the grime away. Sometimes, Dee swore the pollution darkened her clothes, but she supposed every city had its charms.

“Do you often walk at night?” Jed asked, breaking the silence.