Prince's Proposal (The Exiled Royals 1) (6 page)

The kitchen is laid out with a five-course meal. She doesn’t know who cooked it, whether Ray called in a favor from Emeril or Wolfgang, or if her husband has secret talents and hidden depths of his own. Melissa doesn’t care. Her mouth is already watering from the succulent aroma of roast duck wafting in from the kitchen. Candles are lit in the silver candelabras on the table, and the stereo is blasting Sinatra.

Anything with Old Blue Eyes is automatically romantic.

Hell, they are in Vegas, aren’t they?

A smile plays across her face, even as she slips her stilettos from sore and tired feet. Part of her would almost rather that he rub her feet than make love to her. Just part of her though. Maybe she’ll be a lucky girl tonight and get both.

The only thing she’s surprised by is that she can’t find Ray. Shouldn’t he be here, gloating at all his handiwork and seduction efforts? She rounds the table, running her hands over the cut crystal glasses. He spared no expense. Even the red wine has been carefully chosen from his vintage collection. But where is he?

She hears a thump from the bedroom and rushes upstairs, convinced he’s tripped on something.

When she gets there, her stomach turns. She’s found him. Mel’s eyes go wide; she can’t believe what she’s seeing. But she should, it’s the same story from prom night over five years ago, and this
is
all a business arrangement after all. She’s the one who set those rules. But it hurts and stings like the bites of a hundred barbed arrows. There is Ray, his abs rippling with every flex of his hips, even now the sight of him leaves her wet and wanting. Except his thrusts aren’t for her.

No.

They are for Brandy who writhes beneath him, clearly coming with the pleasure that should be hers.

Mel bolted out of bed. Her entire body was covered in sweat and her hair clung to her forehead and neck. That was the first time she’d had a dream like that, where she felt and saw in living color a betrayal from Ray. It wasn’t true, but in the low early morning light, and with her heart pounding in her ears, logic didn’t apply.

It was crazy, but it
felt
like he cheated on her. They have a contract of convenience, one that she wishes were already over. Isn’t that why she started the act in the first place five days ago?

Still, the dream reminds her of everything, of her world falling apart around her, of the attraction she fears she can no longer fight.

If she lets herself fall, really and truly, then he will have the power to break her apart.

That’s why she has to fight harder.

She slips on her yoga pants and a tank top. A quick run will help her get her head in the game. It’s already six-fifteen and there’s no way she’ll be able to get back to sleep this morning. Maybe she can keep running from her fears, at least for another day.

***

Movie afternoon.

It was so perfect an idea that Mel was surprised she hadn’t thought of it sooner. She was running past the golf course in the heart of the community of estates when it dawned on her what true annoyance could be.

The worst thing in the world, almost, was having a person ruin a good movie. It was the quintessential first world problem, and, to be honest, her own tendency to snark, and her impatience with crap, had resulted in Mel being asked to leave more than one theater in her lifetime.

And Ray’s so-called humble abode had a massive theater room. Curling up in the soft leather recliner, she took stock of everything she’d set out: soda and beer, popcorn, and, of course, pizza. One of them was a normal supreme, but for herself, she’d ordered pineapple and anchovy. Its stench was already filling the room.

She was going to get out of her contract through no (apparent) fault of her own. If Ray wanted a fake wife for the next twenty days, then he was going to have a whopper of one.
That
was something she could create.

Ray entered the room, adept at least at following the instructions in her texts. Mel had to force her traitorous heart to mind its own business. It was pumping hard against her chest, and heat flowed through her body. She could already feel her juices beginning to flow farther south. It didn’t matter how much time she spent with Ray before she left for work in the evenings, every time she saw him she was struck again by how effortlessly attractive he looked. He hadn’t shaved that morning and had stubble so sexy she wanted to give it a good long, luxurious lick.

The stubble complimented his loose, long black hair.

It was almost as if a bad boy from the Regency Period had landed on her doorstep.

No, I don’t want this. I need to stay independent; I can’t let that dream I had come true. Think, Speights, think
.

The mental bitch slap was at least enough to get her mind focused back on her act. Affecting a higher pitched voice than usual, and even adding a bit of breathy Marilyn Monroe into it, Mel said, “I was thinking, cuddlekins, that we haven’t had a movie night yet. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

She expected him to complain about the fish smell that reeked all around them or see his eyes wide and appalled at the spandex workout number she’d found at a thrift shop, a vintage Jane Fonda get-up in neon blues and lime green tiger stripes.

Instead, he shocked the hell out of her by taking her right hand in his and kissing her cheek. “That’s a wonderful idea.” He even went deeper into uncharted territory by scooping up a slice of the pineapple and anchovy monstrosity and taking a huge, enthusiastic bite. “And you got my favorite type of pizza. You know me too well!”

She blinked, too surprised for a single thought to form in her mind. She was pretty sure no human had ever eaten that vile combination before. Hell, Mel had promised the delivery boy an extra hundred just to make sure he brought her the combination she asked for. Obviously, in their thirty years of operation,
Chevy’s Pizza
had never received a request for an anchovy pineapple pizza. 

Still, there was the once and future prince mowing through the piece like it was New York thin crust flown out from Manhattan just an hour ago.

Weird.

“I…” she said, focusing her mind on her task. “I’m so glad you like it honey. I also have the usual movie refreshments. And I picked the best film. Are you a horror fan?”

“Boy am I, but I love rom-coms too. If you want to do a chick flick fest, I’d do that for you. I’m always eager to share that passion.”

Mel almost choked. That was her back up reserve, the blandest that Kate Hudson and Reese Witherspoon had to offer – but only
after
she’d finished ruining the twists and turns of the M. Night Shyamalan oeuvre, of course.

Never let him see you sweat.

“Great, well I had Brandy take my night shift so I’ll take a double tomorrow. We’ll do this up right. Let’s put in
The Sixth Sense
first!”

“Bring it on, Princess.”

He was impressed. Since Gregory had pointed everything out to him, the pattern seemed so clear.

Frankly, Ray felt like the world’s biggest idiot for not seeing it sooner. Maybe it had something to do with the bizarre situation and détente they’d found themselves in, or maybe it was about not seeing the forest for the trees. It didn’t matter.

What did matter was that he was amazed by the effort she was taking to drive him off. Between her 1980s aerobicizing nightmare wardrobe and the most repugnant thing he’d ever had in his mouth outside of his patented hangover cure, Ray was perversely delighted. If Melissa truly felt nothing for him, no attraction at all, then she wouldn’t have to bend over backwards thinking up ways to drive him off.

Seen from that point of view, from that reality, it crystalized everything for him.

Mel was falling as hard for him as he was for her.

Then why were they working so hard to abide by the contract and count down the days until they could dissolve everything?

Shouldn’t everything be based around the passion people actually felt?

If only I could reach her, break those walls
…

Ray sighed to himself and picked up a slice of the supreme thin crust. Thank God that it actually tasted like real food. “You don’t have to keep hiding behind a pillow. This is just a Bruce Willis scene. The kid’s not there so there’s no way you’re going to see ghosts.”

“Oh, technically Bruce
is
the ghost. See, the great twist is that he’s been dead the whole time,” she said, and then flung down her pillow long enough to cover her mouth with both her hands and open her eyes as wide as possible. “Damn! I gave away the ending. You’re not mad, are you, Pooh Bear?”

He wanted to groan with her desperation, but he was far from annoyed. He might be from Yagovia, but they had films there too, especially critical and commercial darlings from almost twenty years ago. Of course, he knew the ending. There were probably Amish people who knew it.

“It’s fine. It’ll allow me to see with fresh eyes,” he said, playing into her “ruin everything” plan. “That way, I’ll really know if the director’s foreshadowing is any good.”

Mel giggled and reached over to pull his half-eaten slice from his hands. The piece of pizza was literally half way into his open mouth before she took it away. Grinning, she bit into it and scarfed down a chunk of cheese, pepperoni and olives. “You weren’t going to finish that were you? Besides, cheese will totally go to your ass. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great ass, but it’s going to get too big if you don’t watch your carbs.”

“I suppose that’s true,” he said, his expression neutral, curious to see where she was going with this latest turn.

She stood up and twirled around for him as she finished cramming the slice into her mouth. Olives rained from her lips and it was not a pleasant a sight. “Although, I think my skirt’s been feeling too tight lately.” She spun around again and pointed her spandex-covered ass his way. “You don’t think my ass is too large, do you, Muffin?”

Ha!

Even if he weren’t on to her game, Ray knew how to play that question. After all, he had half a brain and had dated more than his share of women. Grinning, he squeezed both of her ass cheeks, reveling in the firm roundness there.

Pulling her onto his lap, he smiled at her. Even with the terrible make up – bright blue eye shadow, really – her natural beauty shone through. He’d never seen a more beautiful woman in his life, even among the models and actresses he’d run with. Melissa couldn’t possibly understand what a treasure she was.

How truly rare.

“You’re beautiful. You’re perfect, you know you are.”

Before he knew it, he was kissing her, his lips soft and demanding on her own. For just a moment, she yielded to his kiss, her tongue pliable and eager while wrestling with his. Her hands gripped his hair tightly and she ground into him, making him instantly hard.

Then…

Well, then was when Mel came back to herself.

She bolted out of his lap as if she’d been scalded. “Great, I…thanks. Let’s just watch
Signs
instead. I mean, who knew that water could kill aliens!”

***

“It’s hopeless!” she shouted, pacing in front of Brandy in the back storage room.

They were supposed to be getting more wine glasses from their crates. In reality, it was becoming a dish session on all of Melissa’s failures to drive Ray off. She’d done every annoying, terrible thing with him during movie day and they’d ended up kissing. God, the dreams she’d had that night, well, those acts had to be illegal in the lower 48 states; that was all she was saying. 

Her Stepford act certainly wasn’t working.

If anything, sitting on his lap and, having his lips over hers again had reignited all her lust full force.

“You mean even anchovies and bad movies didn’t do it?”

“I mean ruining his clothes, asking him if I’m fat, doing everything I could think of to be that needy, terrible spastic girlfrien
d
– none of it worked.”

She hedged a bit around the word ‘girlfriend.’ Brandy couldn’t know about the actual marriage. It was a major part of the secret of the arrangement she and Ray had. There were only nineteen days left. It was frustrating, but she was both a woman of her word, and she wanted a new house, a
real
house she could be truly proud of. It sucked that at least Ray could speak candidly about everything with Gregory. She had to stick to secrets and half-truths with her best friend.

But she was used to guarding herself.

It was what she’d always done and, and once the hiccup of Ray and this false marriage were over, she’d go back to doing that full time.

“You know, I still fail to see the problem. A guy who is basically walking sex practically worships the ground you stroll on, and you don’t want him. I don’t get you. This is clearly more than just dating or a passing infatuation. He’s clearly gone on you. Plus, I know you.”

“So?”

“So,” Brandy continued. “You’ve never let a guy – any guy – get to you like this. If he’s this into you, and you’re this obsessed about him, isn’t that a good thing? I mean, take away that he’s attractive and loaded.”

“Oh, of course.”

“I’m not that shallow.”

“You are.”

Brandy grinned. “Okay,
I
am, but you aren’t. Sometimes, you just have to give into fat
e
– or do something so awful that he’ll never want to be near you again. I can’t understand why you would, though. Of course there’s commitment-phobia, but this is taking it to a completely new level.”

“I don’t need mothering,” Mel said, sweeping up more glasses into her arms. “I need a damn exit strategy.”

“Then, I guess I should tell you that the county fair is in town and
exactly
what you need to do…”