The Playboy Prince (26 page)

“We can’t give you snow.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “But we could offer the fire and warm rum.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She drew a deep breath. “When I’m home, I’ll remember standing here with Christmas almost upon us. I’ll remember it smelled like roses and jasmine.”

“Would you wait here a moment?”

“All right.”

“Just here,” he said, and kissed her hand again. “I’ll only be a minute.”

When he was gone, she turned back to look out again at the lights and the sea. She would be home in a few days, and in time, perhaps Cordina would seem like a dream. Cordina, she thought, but never Bennett. She lifted her face to a star but didn’t dare wish.

“I have something for you.”

With a half smile, she turned, then caught the scent. “Oh, chestnuts!” With a laugh, she took the bag he offered. “And they’re warm.”

“I wanted to give you something from home.”

She looked up. There was so much to say, and nothing that could be said. Instead, she rose on her toes to kiss him. “Thank you.”

He brushed his fingers over her cheek. “I’d thought you’d share.”

Hannah opened the bag and with her eyes closed, drew in the scent. “Isn’t it wonderful? Now it feels like Christmas.”

“If Cordina can be enough like home, perhaps you’ll stay.”

She opened her eyes, then lowered them quickly to the bag. “I have orders to return at the end of the week.”

“Orders.” He started to reach for her, but held himself back. “Your position in the ISS is important to you.” He couldn’t prevent the trace of resentment. “I’m told you received a promotion.”

“A captaincy.” She bit her bottom lip. “I’ll be working behind a desk for a good while. Giving orders.” She managed to smile.

“Have you ever considered giving it up?”

“Giving it up?”

It was the blank, puzzled look that worried him. Was it possible she could think of nothing else but her duty to her organization? “If you had something to replace it. Is it the excitement that pulls you?” He cupped her face in his hand, turning it toward the light so that the bruise Deboque had put there showed in a shadow.

“It’s simply what I do.” She drew a breath. “Bennett, we never talked about what happened on the yacht. I never thanked you for saving my life. I suppose it’s because I’ve been used to taking care of myself.”

“I would have killed him for this alone,” he murmured as he traced the bruise on her cheek. She started to step back, but a look from him stopped her. “Don’t back away from me. I haven’t spoken before this because Franco was concerned with keeping you quiet and undisturbed. But dammit, I’ll speak of it now.”

He stepped closer so she could feel it, the recklessness, the barely controlled fury. “I had to sit and wait and listen to you deal with that man. I had to stay where I was, helpless while you were alone with him. And when I broke into that cabin and saw him holding a gun at your head, I had one hideous flash of what life would be like if you weren’t in it. So don’t back away from me now, Hannah.”

“I won’t.” She steadied her breathing then lay a calming hand on his. “It’s over, Bennett. The best thing for everyone is to put it aside. Cordina is safe. Your family is safe. And so am I.”

“I won’t accept your risking your life again for anyone.”

“Bennett—”

“I won’t.” He caught her hair in his hands and kissed her, but this time with a force and power that left her breathless. He dragged himself away, reminding himself he had a plan and meant to see it through. “Are you going to try those chestnuts or just stand there smelling them?”

“What?” She had the bag locked in a viselike grip. She swallowed and opened it again. “I’m sure they’re wonderful,” she began, knowing she was going to babble. “It was so thoughtful of you to . . .” She broke off when she reached in and touched a small box. Puzzled, she drew it out.

“There’s an American tradition. A box of candied popcorn with a prize in it. I had an urge to give you your Christmas present early.”

“I’ve always been very strict about waiting until Christmas morning.”

“I could make it a command, Hannah.” He touched her cheek again. “I’d rather not.”

“Well, since it
is
the Christmas Ball.” She opened the lid and for the first time in her life felt faint.

“It was my grandmother’s. I had it reset but it meant more to me to give you this than to choose another from a jeweler.” He touched her hair, just the ends of it with his fingertips. “She was British, like you.”

It was an emerald, fiery, stunning, made only more brilliant by the symphony of diamonds that circled it. Just looking at it made her light-headed. “Bennett, I couldn’t take something like this. It belongs in your family.”

“Don’t be thick-headed.” He took the bag from her to set it on the wall. The scent of chestnuts mixed with the summer fragrance of roses. “You know very well I’m asking you to marry me.”

“You—you’re carried away,” she began, and this time did step back from him. “It’s everything that’s happened. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“My mind’s never been more clear.” He took the box from her, slipped the ring out and tossed the container aside. “We’ll do it my way then.” Taking her hand, he pushed the ring on. “Now, I can drag you back inside and announce our engagement—or we can talk about it reasonably first.”

“Reasonably.” How was it she needed to laugh and cry at the same time? “Bennett, you’re being anything
but reasonable.”

“I love you—unreasonably then.” He pulled her into his arms and covered her mouth with his. He could feel her heart thud, hear her breath shudder, taste both need and fear. “I’m not letting you go, Hannah, not now, not tomorrow, not ever. You’ll have to exchange captain for princess. Believe me, it can be every bit as wearing.”

Was it magic, or was it a dream come true? Her head was still spinning as she tried to get a grip on common sense. “You know I’m not the woman you cared for. Please, Bennett, listen to me.”

“Do you think I’m a fool?” He spoke so mildly she was deceived into thinking him calm.

“Of course I don’t. I only mean that—”

“Shut up.” He caught her face in his hands, and she saw by his eyes he was anything but calm. “I thought the woman I first fell in love with was an illusion.” He gentled as he brushed his lips over her cheeks. “I was wrong, because she’s right here. There was another woman who made my mouth dry every time I looked.” His kisses were more urgent now, more possessive. “She’s here as well. It’s not every man who can love two women and have them both. And I will have you, Hannah.”

“You already have me.” She was almost ready to believe it could be real, and true and lasting. “But even you can’t command a marriage.”

He lifted his brow, arrogant, confident. “Don’t be too sure. You told me once you wanted me. Was it a lie?”

“No.” She steadied herself with two hands on his chest. She was crossing a line in her life, one that allowed for no deceptions. He was offering her a chance to be herself, to love openly and honestly. “No, it wasn’t a lie.”

“I ask you now if you love me.”

She couldn’t speak. From deep within the palace the clock began to strike. Midnight. She counted off the gongs and waited for the illusion to fade. Then there was silence and she was still in his arms. Looking down, she saw the ring glow against her finger. A promise. A lifetime.

“I love you, and nothing’s ever been more true.”

“Share my home.” He caught her ring hand in his and pressed his lips to the palm.

“Yes.”

“And my family.”

She twined her fingers with his. “Yes.”

“And my duty.”

“From this moment.”

She wrapped her arms around him. She lifted her face for his kiss. Below and as far as eyes could see, Cordina spread out before them and prepared to sleep.

If you liked
The Playboy Prince
, look for the other novels in the Cordina’s Royal Family series:
Affaire Royale
,
Command Performance
, and
Cordina’s Crown Jewel
, available as eBooks from InterMix.

June 2000

Elizabeth Fitch’s short-lived teenage rebellion began with L’Oreal Pure Black, a pair of scissors and a fake ID. It ended in blood.

For nearly the whole of her sixteen years, eight months and twenty-one days she’d dutifully followed her mother’s directives. Dr. Susan L. Fitch issued
directives
, not orders. Elizabeth had adhered to the schedules her mother created, ate the meals designed by her mother’s nutritionist and prepared by her mother’s cook, wore the clothes selected by her mother’s personal shopper.

Dr. Susan L. Fitch dressed conservatively, as suited—in her opinion—her position as Chief of Surgery at Chicago’s Silva Memorial Hospital. She expected, and directed, her daughter to do the same.

Elizabeth studied diligently, accepting and excelling in the academic programs her mother outlined. In the fall, she’d return to Harvard in pursuit of her medical degree. So she could become a doctor, like her mother; a surgeon, like her mother.

Elizabeth—never Liz or Lizzie or Beth—spoke fluent Spanish, French, Italian, passable Russian and rudimentary Japanese. She played both piano and violin. She’d traveled to Europe, to Africa. She could name all the bones, nerves and muscles in the human body and play Chopin’s Piano Concerto—both One and Two—by rote.

She’d never been on a date or kissed a boy. She’d never roamed the mall with a pack of girls, attended a slumber party or giggled with friends over pizza or hot fudge sundaes.

She was, at sixteen years, eight months and twenty-one days, a product of her mother’s meticulous and detailed agenda.

That was about to change.

She watched her mother pack. Susan, her rich brown hair already coiled in her signature French twist,
neatly hung another suit in the organized garment bag, then checked off the printout with each day of the week’s medical conference broken into subgroups. The printout included a spreadsheet listing every event, appointment, meeting and meal scheduled with the selected outfit, shoes, bag and accessories.

Designer suits and Italian shoes, of course, Elizabeth thought. One must wear good cut, good cloth. But not one rich or bright color among the blacks, grays, taupes. She wondered how her mother could be so beautiful and deliberately wear the dull.

After two accelerated semesters of college, Elizabeth thought she’d begun—maybe—to develop her own fashion sense. She had, in fact, bought jeans
and
a hoodie
and
some chunky heeled boots in Cambridge.

She’d paid in cash, so the purchase wouldn’t show up on her credit card bill in case her mother or their accountant checked and questioned the items, which were currently hidden in her room.

She’d felt like a different person wearing them, so different that she’d walked straight into a McDonald’s and ordered her first Big Mac with large fries and a chocolate shake.

The pleasure had been so huge she’d had to go into the bathroom, close herself in a stall and cry a little.

The seeds of the rebellion had been planted that day, she supposed, or maybe they’d always been there, dormant, and the fat and salt had awakened them.

But she could feel them, actually feel them sprouting in her belly now.

“Your plans changed, Mother. It doesn’t follow that mine have to change with them.”

Susan took a moment to precisely place a shoe bag in the pullman, tucking it just so with her beautiful and clever surgeon’s hands, the nails perfectly manicured. A French manicure, as always—no color there either.

“Elizabeth.” Her voice was as polished and calm as her wardrobe. “It took considerable effort to reschedule and have you admitted to the summer program this term. You’ll complete the requirements for your admission into Harvard Medical School a full semester ahead of schedule.”

Even the thought made Elizabeth’s stomach hurt. “I was promised a three-week break, including this next week in New York.”

“And sometimes promises must be broken. If I hadn’t had this coming week off, I couldn’t fill in for Dr.
Dusecki at the conference.”

“You could have said no.”

“That would have been selfish and shortsighted.” Susan brushed at the jacket she’d hung, stepped back to check her list. “You’re certainly mature enough to understand the demands of work overtake pleasure and leisure.”

“If I’m mature enough to understand that, why aren’t I mature enough to make my own decisions? I want this break. I need it.”

Susan barely spared her daughter a glance. “A girl of your age, physical condition and mental acumen hardly
needs
a break from her studies and activities. In addition, Mrs. Laine has already left for her two-week cruise, and I could hardly ask her to postpone her vacation. There’s no one to fix your meals or tend to the house.”

“I can fix my own meals and tend to the house.”

“Elizabeth.” The tone managed to merge clipped with long-suffering. “It’s settled.”

“And I have no say in it? What about developing my independence, being responsible?”

“Independence comes in degrees, as does responsibility and freedom of choice. You still require guidance and direction. Now, I’ve e-mailed you an updated schedule for the coming week and your packet with all the information on the program is on your desk. Be sure to thank Dr. Frisco personally for making room for you in the summer term.”

As she spoke, Susan closed the garment bag, then her small pullman. She stepped to her bureau to check her hair, her lipstick.

“You don’t listen to anything I say.”

In the mirror, Susan’s gaze shifted to her daughter. The first time, Elizabeth thought, her mother had bothered to actually look at her since she’d come into the bedroom. “Of course I do. I heard everything you said, very clearly.”

“Listening’s different than hearing.”

“That may be true, Elizabeth, but we’ve already had this discussion.”

“It’s not a discussion, it’s a decree.”