Royal Seduction (16 page)

Riley wasn't lying. He'd met many a Richard Strong in his life, charismatic people who took a misstep into a huge pile of manure, but still managed to come out of it smelling like a rose.

“I was hoping you might talk to Dr. Graham,” Richard said. “Convince him that I ought to lay low for a while. Persuade him to let me stay in the lab for now. I'd suggest it myself, but then I'd have to go into reasons and motivations and whatnot. And to tell you the truth, I'd rather not have to admit to him what I just admitted to you. About the clients having lost faith, I mean. I already look bad enough in his eyes, you know?”

Riley just nodded. “I'll talk to Dr. Graham. I'll make him understand about the seminar.”

“Thanks. And one more thing,” he said. “About my stepping back into my original position here at the clinic…”

Oh, Lord. Riley hoped Richard didn't expect him to go to bat for him, because he had no intention of doing that.

“I'm, uh, not sure I'm the right man for the job.”

Riley was unable to quell his surprise.

“Don't get me wrong,” Richard rushed to explain. “It's not that I'm not grateful. The clinic has been great to me. But I've been thinking about something all day…something amazing.”

The man's eyes took on a strange quality.

“If the testing goes well,” Richard said, “if NoWait proves to be a true all-natural homeopathic aphrodisiac, the oil just might launch me into the big time. I could be the male Dr. Ruth of the new millennium. I could be famous.”

Riley finally figured out the look in Richard's eyes. Visions of grandeur were sparkling so brightly. He sure had lofty ideas. But then again, Riley figured, no famous person became famous without them.

“I heard from Faye today that you don't intend to stay on as director at the clinic,” Richard said.

“That's right. I'm only here temporarily.”

“That's too bad,” he murmured. “Maybe you could break it to Dr. Graham that I'm not the best person for the job.”

“I can do that.” Riley hoped he hadn't responded too quickly. He held no animosity toward Richard. He simply felt that Faye was a better candidate. She'd been running the clinic right from the start and she deserved to become director. Hell, she deserved to become the clinic's new chief.

“Well, that's great,” Richard said, clearly feeling pleased with the way the conversation had gone. “I'd better get going. My son's flying into town later tonight. He's nineteen. A student at UCLA.” A huge smile took over his face. “Jason and I have never met, so tonight is going to be pretty exciting for me.”

He reached out his hand, and Riley took it.

“Good luck,” Riley said.

“Thanks. For everything.” Richard inhaled deeply, his chest puffing. He looked around him and announced, “Yes, things are really looking up.”

 

Catherine packed her suitcase with a heavy heart. She didn't want to go home. She truly didn't.

She'd have loved nothing more than to follow Riley's advice. Advice that Faye agreed with. However, neither of them understood the magnitude of the problem.

The von Husden sovereigns had been choosing spouses for their progeny for hundreds of years. It was tradition. Tight and binding custom. This wasn't something she could just shirk off.

Well, she might be able to get away with not marrying Étienne. If she went on a hunger strike and closed herself off in her rooms, her father might relent. But Prince Wilhelm would not be put off forever. He'd find another suitor. And with Yvonne champing at the bit to marry Hampstead, their father would come up with another available man for his Fat Cat posthaste—and that one might be a real slime-bucket.

But whether she decided to marry Étienne or not, she
had
to be on the plane when it left at midnight or her father really would announce her engagement on Sunday. And then the whole deal would pretty much be signed, sealed and delivered. A pronouncement made by the prince himself was almost as binding as law.

Catherine sat on the side of the bed and scrubbed her fingers over her cheeks.

You've ached for Father's love and approval all your life, a tiny voice in her head whispered. If you go home, as he's asked…if you marry Étienne, as he's asked, then you'll have the very thing you've been seeking for so long.

Her hands sank to the mattress and she sighed. Unwittingly, she smoothed her palms over the soft bedspread. In an instant, images, raw and reckless, blazed though her mind.

She and Riley naked and writhing on this very bed.

She and Riley caressing and kissing.

She and Riley seemingly unable to get enough of each other, but bound and determined to try.

When Catherine lifted her hand she saw that her fingers
were trembling. Heat sprouted to life deep inside her, and the memory of Riley's touch, of his fiery kisses, made her grow moist and needy in the most womanly and wanton part of her.

That was the kind of irresistible passion she longed to share with the man with whom she took eternal vows. That was the kind of hungry fervor she wanted to experience with her husband.

Not for one night. But for the rest of her life.

Was that too much to ask?

Her grandmother, her mother, even her sister might be willing to settle for a lifetime stuck in a cold and unfeeling union with men they had neither chosen nor loved. But Catherine had been fighting against the notion for years.

Sure, the older women in her family had tried to argue that arranged marriages made for a more settled life, a more secure existence, because you knew what you were getting into—what was expected of you—from the very beginning. Catherine's grandmother had even contended that she and her husband, Catherine's beloved grandfather, had grown to be very fond of each other. And Catherine's mother had challenged Catherine to name a single time she'd ever seen her parents fussing or fighting.

Catherine couldn't. Because they didn't fight. There was no animosity between them. But neither, Catherine suspected, was there any passion.

Her parents were simply two people who happened to cohabitate.

Catherine shivered, the mere idea filling her with a vast emptiness.

Absently, she picked up one of the silky blouses lying beside her leather suitcase. It felt as if it weighed ten
pounds. She stuffed it in haphazardly with the other clothes she'd already packed.

Riley's suggestion entered her mind, unbidden.

Just don't marry him,
he'd told her.

Catherine chuckled despite the heaviness of her heart. Riley was an intelligent man. Hadn't that been one of the reasons she'd been attracted to him when they'd first met? That, and his grumpiness. Yes, the fact that he'd been short with her had actually stirred her interest. It had made her wonder what was going on in that mind of his. It had made her want to find out why he was so hesitant to smile.

But what she'd found out was that he wasn't as gruff as he led those around him to believe. Before long she'd had him grinning and teasing and, yes, even flirting with her.

What is it you're looking for?
he'd asked her.

She'd wanted him to want her. And if she'd had more time to spend in Portland with Riley, she was nearly certain that they would have ended up just where they'd ended up last night. In her bed. In each other's arms. In sheer and utter ecstasy. Without the help of NoWait.

Nearly certain.

Nearly.

Her hand stilled on the handle of the suitcase. Had the NoWait really helped her get what she wanted? It had caused her to accomplish what she'd gone after—Riley's uncontrollable passion for her. But…

The thoughts came slowly as she tried to work them out in her head.

But what she'd wanted was for him to want her, for him to make the first move. Instead, the oil she'd smoothed onto her skin had taken the choice out of his hands by inducing him, drugging him.

What had she done? She hadn't gotten what she wanted
from Riley. Not at all. Why hadn't she realized how using that oil would ruin everything?

Because you didn't take the time to think, the voice in her head accused. You only acted on your own selfish wishes.

Catherine flung herself back on the mattress, steeped in misery. She'd manipulated Riley. The man she loved.

Her eyes went wide and she stared at the stark white ceiling.

She pressed her hands flat against her solar plexus.

She loved Riley?

Yes, she loved him!

Such a revelation would usually make a woman elated. But she groaned like a wounded animal, turned onto her side and curled into a fetal position. She'd tricked the man she loved into making love with her.

How had she made such a terrible mess of things? She hadn't meant to. All the saints in heaven knew that.

Well, there was no getting around it. She had to try to straighten this out. She had to try to correct her wrongs. If she didn't, she wouldn't be able to live with herself.

The first course of action in making things right was telling Riley about the NoWait.

C
arrie Martin's heart pinched with poignant emotion as she watched Richard prowl from one end of her small living room to the other. Every time he reached the picture window, he peeked out into the night.

“We should have gone to the airport to pick him up.” Richard turned to face Carrie and the window sheer settled back into place.

“Jason's very independent. He always has been.” The pent-up energy was more than she could stand. “Would you relax? You're making me nervous.”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “But I can't help it. I don't think I've ever been this edgy.” He tossed her a lopsided grin. “But it's a good kind of edgy, you know?”

Carrie nodded. “Come sit down.”

“What kind of kid was he?” Richard eased down onto the sofa next to her. “What did he like to do?”

“It would be easier to tell you what he didn't like to do,” she said. “He was into everything. From the time he was a toddler, he was curious and energetic.”

Richard reclined against the sofa's back and hooked one ankle over his knee.

“He walked and talked early,” Carrie continued. “I never had trouble finding sitters. Everyone just loved him. He was the life of the party wherever he went.” She grinned. “And if there wasn't an actual party, he made one, on the spot.”

“That's my boy.”

She couldn't help but chuckle at the pride in Richard's voice. Softly she commented, “From the day he was born, he was the image of you, Richard. He still is.”

A memory from the past made her grin. “Once I came strolling through the living room and saw him with all these nuts and screws and metal pieces laid out in front of him. He was studying them with a fierce concentration. I was about to ask him what he was doing, when I realized he'd taken apart the doorbell.

“I started to scold him.” Her tone lowered. “‘I wanted to know how it worked, Mommy,' he said.” The touching recollection made her smile. “I waggled my finger right in front of his little nose and told him he'd better put it back just the way he found it.”

“And did he?”

Carrie shrugged. “Not quite. One of the chimes clunked a little after that, but I didn't mind.”

“Oh, my,” Richard said on a sigh. “Sounds like he was an awesome kid.”

“He was. He listened to me, never talked back. He didn't keep his room the cleanest, but he did okay. He liked grade school. Did really well, too. And he played
sports—baseball, football, soccer. You name it, Jason gave it a go. And so many parents complain about their boys when they get to be teens. But he hasn't given me a single minute of trouble. Not one, Richard. I'm so lucky.”

Carrie realized that her ex had grown very quiet. Her gaze lifted to his, and the regret she saw clouding his dark eyes made her feel terribly guilty.

“Oh, Richard,” she said, “I'm sorry. You've missed so much. So very much. I shouldn't have gone on and on like that.”

He sat up, reached out and touched her shoulder. “Don't be silly. I want to know. I want to know everything.”

The heat of him penetrated the fabric of her blouse. Their eyes met, and held. The intensity between them seemed too much, too fast. Feeling suddenly perplexed, Carrie turned away.

Richard let his hand slide from her shoulder, and he placed it in his lap.

Awkwardness laced the edges of the room.

“Tell me something.”

There was a forced boisterousness in his words, but Carrie didn't mind because she knew he was attempting to get past the unexpected discomfort they'd gotten tangled up in.

“Was your second husband good to Jason?”

Immediately, Carrie relaxed. “Ralph was a good father, Richard. He was patient and kind. Never raised his voice. Never had to. Oh, he made Jason toe the line. He was a disciplinarian. Parents have to be, or children would just go wild. But Ralph wasn't overly strict.”

Getting caught up in memories of what felt like a whole different lifetime, she absently smoothed her hand across the worn chenille throw that was draped across the arm of the couch.

“Before we married,” she continued, “he sat me down and asked me just how involved I wanted him to be in my son's life. I told him I felt that Jason needed a father, in every sense of the word, and if he were so inclined to be that kind of father, then I was all for it.” She pictured her deceased husband's face, grief tweaking at her insides. “And he became Jason's father. In every sense of the word.

“Ralph couldn't do a thing without Jason tagging along after him. They camped and fished. Ralph took him to his baseball games. Even if Ralph was just tinkering out in the garage, Jason would be out there, too.”

She went quiet. Finally, she tipped up her chin, realizing that she'd gotten lost in all that wonderful, wholesome pleasantness.

“He was a good man,” she assured Richard. “I know that your raising Jason would probably have been the best-case scenario. But since that wasn't possible, Ralph did a darned good job of loving our son and bringing him up to be a fine young man.”

Richard looked pensive. “I'll always be grateful to Ralph Martin for being there for Jason when I wasn't, Carrie. Because I don't know what kind of a father I'd have been to the boy.”

“Oh, now—”

Richard cut her off with a lift of his hand. “No, now's not the time for lies. I've been trying lately to face the cold hard facts about who and what I was…who and what I am.” He paused, then added, “Who and what I want to be.”

Carrie wasn't sure what to say, so she didn't say anything.

“We both know I was pretty self-centered.” He barked out a single, humorless laugh. “I was headstrong, too. I didn't want to settle down. I wanted one thing: to make a
name for myself. I didn't care about anything else. I didn't care about you. I didn't care about our marriage. At least, not enough. And because of that—”

His dark eyes latched on to hers and Carrie felt something akin to electric current thrum in the air.

“—I lost the best thing I ever had.” He moistened his lips. “You.”

Some kind of magnetic energy held her spellbound. She hadn't felt this kind of awareness in many, many years.

Oh, she'd loved Ralph. They'd had a wonderful marriage filled with many happy and fulfilling years. But there had always been a part of her that had missed Richard. He had a charismatic way about him, a compelling charm that was captivating. He made her tingle from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

“I wouldn't have been good for Jason,” Richard said. “If you think about it, if you let yourself honestly remember the kind of person I was back then, you'll have to agree.”

He shook his head in derision. “Back then, nothing! I'm still a no-good son of a bitch. Just today at the clinic I was suggesting to Dr. Jacobs that if NoWait turns out to be a true aphrodisiac, it could very well make me a famous man.” Anguish bit into his brow. “What is
wrong
with me, Carrie?”

“There is nothing wrong with being ambitious.” Without thinking about it, she reached out and took his hand in hers. “You happen to be very motivated, determined to make something of yourself. I think that's…admirable.”

She'd been about to use a more intimate word, but caught herself. Feeling drawn by Richard's charisma might be beyond her control, but she didn't have to act on it. He'd given her several looks that had seemed to communicate
some warm and luscious messages. But this man had hurt her. No, he'd crushed her. She had to remember that and keep her heart as safe as possible.

Of course, she realized that she'd had a hand in the failure of their marriage all those years ago, but still, there was no need to reveal the attraction buzzing inside her—bare her soul, so to speak—until he made plain his intentions.

The silent vibrations seemed to whir at a higher resonance, and there was no mistaking the fact that Richard noticed it, too.

He gently tightened his hold on her hand, his palm secure against hers. “Carrie, we were so young back then. I messed things up royally—”

“
We
messed things up,” she corrected. Immediately, she regretted her rashness and wondered if she'd revealed too much. No, she quickly decided, she was only telling him the truth.

The weighty pause that followed seemed crucial and gave them both some needed time to reflect.

“So much time has passed.” Richard's voice sounded rusty and grating. “And I know it probably isn't fair of me to bring this up. But I can't help it. All the time that I was away from the clinic, I was going over and over things. My whole life has been filled with a constant stream of empty relationships. I kept remembering when we were together. How dedicated you were, how devoted, how committed—”

“Stop, Richard. You're making me sound like a saint.” She tried to laugh, but couldn't. “And I was no saint. Believe me.”

He was clearly bewildered.

“I got pregnant on purpose,” she blurted. “I intentionally stopped taking my birth control pills. I was trying to
force your hand. I thought a baby would make you settle down.” Guilt and anguish tightened her throat until she thought she'd suffocate. “I knew I was pregnant the night I gave you that ultimatum. And I almost told you.” The magnitude of her angst had her repeating, “I almost told you. But you were so angry, and I couldn't believe how everything was falling apart.”

He slid closer and took her in his arms. There was nothing sexual in his caress, and she gratefully rested her head against his shoulder.

“Oh, Carrie,” he crooned. “We are a pair, aren't we?”

She didn't bother answering what she knew was a rhetorical question.

Her voice was small as she said, “We need to start out slowly. Very slowly.”

He smiled. She didn't have to see his face to know it; she felt it.

“As you said, so much time has passed,” she told him. “We need to get to know each other. We need to become friends…first.”

She'd wanted to say they needed to become friends before they could become lovers, but she couldn't get those words out.

“There are so many problems.” She flattened her palm against his chest and lifted her head to look up into his handsome face. “There are six hundred miles between San Francisco and Portland. I have a teaching job I have to return to, Richard. And then there's—”

“Shhh.” The touch of his index finger was tender against her mouth. “We'll work all that out, Carrie. As you said, we'll take it slow.”

The phone jangled and made her jump. She got up to answer it.

Carrie listened to the voice on the line, horror pervading her as her whole world rolled off-kilter.

Realizing something was very wrong, Richard went to her. “What is it, Carrie? What's the matter?”

“The taxi Jason hired was involved in an accident.” She dropped the phone receiver into its cradle. “Our son's been taken to Portland General.”

 

Riley shook his head. “I just don't get it.”

Morgan's Pub was located in downtown Portland. Riley had brought Catherine here because this had been one of his favorite haunts for years. The food was tasty and the owners prided themselves on their draft beer, the variety of which was unequaled in the city.

The atmosphere was as comfortable as an old, worn shoe, but Riley was too preoccupied to enjoy it tonight. Catherine had spent the past thirty minutes trying to make him understand her life as a royal. But he was quickly coming to the conclusion that he'd never appreciate what she was trying to explain.

Her title of princess offered her a world that was privileged, yes. But it also seemed restrictive. Sectarian. And terribly exclusionary.

No wonder Catherine had felt the need to flee Lextanya. If he'd been the one carrying the scepter, he'd have run away long ago. He was just surprised she'd held out so long.

Despondence weighed down the sigh Catherine exhaled. “Sitting here telling you this, even I think it sounds crazy. But it all seems so normal when you're living it. I was born into this, Riley. I've heard my mother refer to my father as ‘The Prince' for as long as I can remember. If I wanted to visit my grandmother, I've always had to call her secretary and schedule an appointment.”

“That sounds so cold.” His comment sounded overly critical, but the thought had been voiced before he could stop it.

“But it's not,” she insisted. “My grandmother loves me very much. It's just that she's got duties and responsibilities.” Again, Catherine sighed.

The call of nature had Riley excusing himself. That and the fact that he could also use a moment to think. He got up from the table and weaved through the crowd toward the rear of the establishment.

He'd been surprised to hear Catherine tell him she'd packed and was ready for that midnight flight out of Portland. It's not that he expected her never to return home, but he didn't like the idea that she was pretty much being dictated to by her father.

Catherine had said she didn't intend to marry the man her father had waiting. But she'd also said that her father would only find someone else. Eventually, she'd have to marry one of the aristocratic Lotharios her father selected for her.

The rest-room door issued a loud squeak when he pushed it open.

She was going to shackle herself to a loveless marriage. For what?

He nodded absently at the heavyset man who was washing his hands at the sink. The guy swayed on his feet when he tipped his chin in greeting. Evidently the small movement threw off his balance and he lurched backward violently.

“Whoa, there!” Riley reached out to steady him. But rather than being appreciative of the help, the drunk swung out his arm.

“Get off, man.”

The words were spoken slow and thick, and the stench of beer was so dense, Riley couldn't help but grimace.