[Montacroix Royal Family Series 01] - Guarded Moments (22 page)

13

Previous
Top
Next

Seattle, Washington's Emerald City, gleamed like a jewel beside the quiet waters of Puget Sound. In the distance, the glacier-covered Mount Rainier rose through the morning fog, looking for all the world like a giant upside-down ice-cream cone.

"It's all the water that gives the city its mysterious blue glow," Chantal said, leafing through her guide book in the hotel suite. From the luxurious corner room in the high-rise tower, she possessed a dazzling view of the waterfront.

"Fascinating."

"The city is cradled by two mountain ranges—the Olympic to the west, the Cascade to the east."

"I'll try to keep that in mind," he said absently.

Caine was not in the most gregarious of moods. Not only had thoughts of Chantal kept him from sleeping, but when he had finally drifted off early this morning, he'd had a strange, surrealistic dream about the two of them starring in a colorized remake of that swashbuckling classic,
Captain Blood
.

And if that wasn't enough, Noel had called again, warning him not to let her sister go near the beach. Ever since their arrival in Seattle yesterday morning, he had worried that Puget Sound might contain the beach in question. Unfortunately, Noel's image had been frustratingly unspecific.

"The San Juan Archipelago consists of more than 170 islands scattered across Puget Sound, offering sailing, kayaking, fishing, beachcombing and bicycle riding. That last would be fun, don't you think? It's too bad we aren't going to be staying in the city longer."

"Yeah, too bad."

"But perhaps we could go to dinner on the pier after tonight's mayoral reception. Unless you'd rather hire a boat and go out into the sound and attempt to catch the killer shark that has been terrorizing the city."

"Whatever you want." It took a moment for Chantal's words to sink in.. " 'Killer shark'? What are you talking about?"

Crossing the room, she sat down on his lap. "You haven't been listening to a word I've said."

"Of course I have."

Chantal had a choice. She could challenge that outrageous statement or accept his word at face value, even knowing that he was not being entirely truthful. They'd been getting along so well lately, she decided against entering into an argument.

"It is a lovely city," she murmured. Turning her gaze away from his carefully guarded face, she looked out the window. The sound was filled with white sails fluttering in the wind. How she'd love to be down there with them— with Caine—sharing a chilled bottle of champagne, the sunlit afternoon and the fresh sea breeze.

"Agreed." He brushed his fingertips down the front of her crimson blouse. The silk was soft, but Caine knew her skin was softer. "I'm sorry if I wasn't paying strict attention."

Chantal had already discovered that Caine was not a man to apologize easily. Or often. "You have a lot on your mind."

Wasn't that the truth? In the beginning, the three weeks had seemed an eternity Caine was forced to endure. Now, as their time together came to a close, the days seemed to have sprouted wings. If only they had more time—

For what? he asked himself. What difference would a few days make? Would she suddenly stop being a princess? Would he win the lottery? Inherit a million dollars from some reclusive, eccentric relative he'd never known he had? Besides, although he didn't want to admit it, the chasm between him and Chantal had little to do with money. Although it would take some getting used to, he could probably live with a rich wife, even if she was a princess. What he couldn't—wouldn't—do, even for her, was change who he was. What he was.

"You're worried," she said quietly.

"What, me worry?"

He was smiling, but Chantal could see the seeds of concern in his eyes. "It's going to be all right.
I'm
going to be all right," she said. He'd retreated behind those emotional barricades she'd reluctantly come to accept even as she felt her own need to breach them. "After all," she added, allowing her hand to brush through his hair, "I have a hero watching out for me."

"Drew never should have told you about that," Caine muttered grumpily.

"You wouldn't tell me how you'd injured your shoulder," Chantal reminded him. She had wondered about the angry red scar from the beginning, but when she'd asked him about it, she'd received such an abrupt dismissal that she hadn't dared bring it up again. "He's your friend. I think he wanted me to know how dedicated you are to your job. So I could understand that it's only your rigid professionalism that sometimes has you acting like Captain Bligh."

He lifted a dark brow. " 'Captain Bligh'?"

She pressed her hand against his cheek. "You have been known to be a bit bossy."

"'Bossy'? Me?"

"Well, you can't deny that you're always issuing orders."

"Orders you always refuse to obey," he reminded her.

"Not always. Actually, I was thinking just this morning how good we were getting at compromising."

"'Compromising'." That was not Caine's favorite word. To him it meant giving in, something he'd been doing with increasing frequency lately. He'd tried to tell himself that he had no choice, that if he laid down the law too hard, Chantal would just go off in another more dangerous direction. But to be perfectly honest, Caine had to admit that he was simply finding it more and more difficult to deny this woman anything.

"You remember how to compromise, don't you, Caine? I give a little." She leaned forward and kissed him. "You give a little." Her lips plucked enticingly at his grimly set ones. "And after a while we're both compromised."

Her low gurgle of sensual laughter caused desire to ripple beneath his skin. "You're incorrigible."

"And you love it," she countered, linking her fingers behind his neck. Their lips met and clung. "Caine?"

"Mmm?"

"You were a sailor, weren't you? Before you joined Presidential Security."

"I was in the navy. But I wasn't the kind of sailor you see in those old World War II movies."

"Oh." She seemed momentarily disappointed. "But do you like to sail?"

"Sure. Why?"

"Although Montacroix is a landlocked country, we do have a lovely lake—Lake Losange, or Diamond Lake," she translated for him. "When I was just a little girl. Burke taught me to sail on it. Perhaps, when all this is over, you can visit Montacroix and go sailing with me."

Caine struggled not to give in to the pull of Chantal's velvet eyes. "I don't know if that would be such a good idea."

He'd withdrawn again. Although she lacked her sister's psychic gifts, Chantal was intuitive enough to realize that the stone wall Caine kept erecting between them had been a lifetime in the making. She was foolish to believe she could have permanently breached those parapets in three short weeks. But tenacity, and her newly found love, made her want to keep trying.

"When the tour ends in Los Angeles two days from now, your assignment will be successfully completed."

"Let's hope 'successful' is the operative word."

"You would not permit it to be anything less," she said, striving to keep a light tone. "Then, when it is over, you will return to Washington and I will go home to Montacroix."

"That's the plan."

Chantal took a deep breath, garnering courage to ask the next question. "We won't ever see each other again, will we, Caine?"

Caine knew he'd had no business getting mixed up with Chantal. Despite what she'd said about only wanting a short-term affair, he'd come to know her well enough to realize that despite her flamboyant public image, she was a warm, loving, happily-ever-after kind of woman. And as sophisticated as she appeared decked out in gleaming satins and sparkling diamonds, he could also envision her in>-a pair of brief white shorts and a cotton shirt, her dark hair blowing in the breeze, laughing with easy delight as she taught her children how to sail before the wind on Lake Losange. She deserved a man who could give her a stable, loving home, a family. Unfortunately, he was not that man.

"I don't see how it could be any other way, Chantal," he said at length, not wanting to give her any false hope.

"I see." It took a concerted effort to keep the tremors from her voice.

"We both knew this was a transitory affair," Caine pointed out.

As she read the finality in his eyes, Chantal slid off his lap with a sigh. "Of course, you're right," she said, staring unseeingly out the window at the scene that only moments before had provided such pleasure. "I hadn't realized that inviting you to Montacroix for a platonic visit would breach our agreement."

"There wouldn't be anything platonic about it," Caine argued. "We both know what would happen… what always happens."

"Would that be so bad?"

Caine gripped the arms of the chair to keep himself from going to her. "It would only complicate things even more."

"And you're a man who doesn't like complications," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "Is that all I've been to you, Caine?" she asked, turning around to face him. "A complication? A screwdriver thrown into the perfectly tuned machinery of your life?"

"Monkey wrench," he muttered.

"What?"

"It's a monkey wrench, not a screwdriver, and surely you realize that you mean a helluva lot more to me than that."

She'd known from the beginning that Caine was a man capable of restraining his emotions, of holding them back from himself and others. He was a difficult man to know, and an even more difficult man to love, but she'd fallen in love with him anyway. And heaven help her, she couldn't stop just because he was breaking her heart.

"Obviously not enough."

Unable to resist the silent appeal in her eyes, Caine pushed himself out of the chair and went over to her. "Look, Chantal, you're a terrific woman. The way you make me feel is probably illegal in at least a dozen states, and I'd love nothing more than to spend the rest of my life making mad, passionate love to you."

The idea sounded wonderful to Chantal. "But… ?"

"But the truth of the matter is that I'm enough of a realist to know that such a fantasy would never work. We're two different people, Chantal."

"Actually, I think we have a great deal in common," she felt obliged to point out. "We're both single-minded, cautious in our relationships with other people, extremely loyal to our friends and family…"

"That's not what I'm talking about."

She arched a sable brow. "Oh?"

"Our life-styles are too different."

"If you mean because I live in a palace and you live in an apartment, that could be altered."

He narrowed his eyes. "I couldn't move to Montacroix. I have my own life here in the States, my work. I would never live off a woman."

"I don't believe I asked you to," she snapped. Taking a deep breath that was meant to calm but didn't, she added, "I was suggesting the other alternative."

Caine realized she was striking back because she was hurting, and he didn't blame her. Still, he couldn't even begin to take her suggestion seriously.

"That you move into my apartment? With me?"

His look was frankly incredulous and, Chantal was forced to admit, none too inviting.

"Forget I mentioned it," she said, turning away from his piercing gray eyes. "It was a foolishly romantic suggestion, obviously brought on by jet lag, too much stress and not enough sleep." Marching into the adjoining bedroom, she slammed the door behind her with enough force to cause the Matisse print on the wall to tilt.

Dragging his hands through his hair, Caine told himself it was going to be a very long two days.

The man was drinking champagne out of a crystal flute as he stood at the window and stared out over the sparkling, sun-gilded water. At first he'd been furious when his carefully conceived plan had failed in Philadelphia. Now, however, he realized that he'd been wrong to assign Karl to the job.

Fate had decreed that he be the one to kill the princess. And that's precisely what he was going to do.

Tomorrow.

Here, in Los Angeles.

Chantal had always enjoyed everything about Los Angeles. The brilliant, almost intoxicating sunshine, the golden beaches, the lushness of Beverly Hills, the quirky individualism of Venice, the nostalgic, neon glitz of West Hollywood, the glass high rises looming above Century City like monolithic sculptures, the palm trees—all of it made her feel as though fairy tales could come true.

This time, however, the sun-drenched city did little to lift her spirits. Although her exhibit drew thousands to the J. P. Getty Museum in Malibu, and she managed to raise unprecedented funds for her favorite charity, Chantal couldn't shake the depression that had settled over her.

It was all her fault, she told herself as she smiled her dazzling smile and exchanged cheek kisses with a famous actress who had enthralled three generations of moviegoers. Caine had been totally honest with her; he'd warned her up front that he was not promising a future.