Falling for the Princess (12 page)

She looked suddenly uncomfortable, this woman in his kitchen with a dusting of flour on her lips. “Strikes me that any kid would be lucky to have you for a mom.” Even luckier would be the man who got to make those babies with her.

“Thank you.” She frowned at the pancakes. “I shouldn't have talked so much about myself, though.”

“Why not?”

“It's not good manners, it's not good conversation. I should have asked more about you.”

“Because it's good manners?” he asked, offended.

“Yes. Tell me about—”

“Don't you dare ask me something just because it's good manners. I'd far rather talk about you. I'd far rather talk to that woman I just got a glimpse of. The one who's a person with fears and insecurities and not a perfect princess.”

She smiled. She really had a beautiful smile. It lit her whole face. “If it's fears and insecurities you want I can give you those by the bucketful.” She turned back to the pan and flipped a pancake.

He wanted to kiss her. Wanted to cross to her and take her in his arms, take her back to his bed. Which made him want to kick himself. They'd transitioned from what they had—something safe—to this, which he couldn't quite define, but which felt like the slipperiest of slopes.

He glanced at the screen in front of him. He'd pulled up the home page of the
San Philippe Times.
It was covered
in photos of the two of them at the rose gardens. “The press are taking the bait.” It wouldn't hurt to keep to the forefront the fact that this was a charade. Admittedly one with benefits.

“Oh.” She didn't look up from the pan. “Great.”

He scrolled through the photos on-screen. The two of them at the rose garden, sitting close, leaning slightly toward each other. The two of them walking, looking at each other—the heat clear to see. The two of them kissing and then finally… “Damn.”

“What is it?”

“A photo of your car on the road outside. They got it before I shifted it.”

Rebecca lifted one slender shoulder in a shrug. “It wouldn't have been difficult. It was out there for a while.”

“I should have shifted it sooner. I'm sorry.” The polite ness and awkwardness was creeping in. He should welcome it, not regret it. Not want to take them back just half an hour to when they were in bed.

“It was hardly your fault. I drove here. I parked it there. Besides, ultimately my life will be easier with just a smidgen of tarnish on my reputation. The whole Perfect Princess thing is pretty hard to live up to. So long as I ultimately get that engagement ring. The fake one,” she added quickly, as though to reassure him she wasn't still thinking futures and babies. “Everything will be fine.”

He kept his focus on the screen, annoyed nonetheless. “There are some things the whole country doesn't need to know about.” Their private life for one thing, because what they'd shared last night, for all that it had a purpose and limits, was private. It had been between them. Not to further either of their causes.

“The thing with publicity is that while you can in
fluence it, ultimately you don't get to choose.” She flipped another pancake.

“I know.”

“They'd be thinking it anyway,” she said carefully. “And it is what we wanted, isn't it? We have this intense relationship, we get engaged, we break up.”

“True. But it should have been better planned, better controlled. And I'm not sure you realize that once the tarnish is there it's hard to get rid of.”

Rebecca all but rolled her eyes. “You're seriously trying to explain to me about reputations?”

“Preaching to the choir?”

“The millionth sermon on the subject.”

“I just feel bad for your lack of privacy. That you can't do anything without people knowing about it.”

She shrugged. “When you don't have a choice you do it. Probably you would have said when you were eighteen that you weren't able to raise three brothers but you did. This is just how my life is. Besides, people need to think things are progressing fast and well between us so that our engagement is believable and so that they're on my side when it ends.”

“So, you're just using me?”

She smiled. A man could grow to count on those smiles. “Yes. I'm using you.”

“If that's being used,” he said, “I'm all for it.” He returned his attention to the computer screen. He had to, other wise he'd be out of his chair and letting her use him all over again.

“You were very good, you know. I enjoyed it. A lot.”

“Rebecca.”

She looked at him.

“You're not analyzing, remember.” All the same he
knew that together they had been much better than good. It was a definite chemistry thing.

She smiled. So sweet. So unbelievably sweet. “Seems like, if somebody gives you a gift, you should say thank you. So I'd just wanted to say—”

“Don't. Don't you dare.” Because if there were thanks to be given it wasn't her who should be giving them.

He read a couple of the captions and some of the accompanying text. “They're definitely going to be on your side if what I'm reading is anything to go by. They're happy that their ‘lonely' princess has found love.” He almost stumbled over that last word. That was exactly what they wanted people to think, but to see it in black and white and applied to him and Rebecca, it seemed wrong. The fact that this was indeed playing out exactly as they'd wanted seemed wrong.

“I don't know why they're always insisting I'm lonely.”

“That's the bit that irks you?”

“Being on your own does not make you lonely.” Her hands fisted on her hips. An irate, beautiful chef/princess in his kitchen. Almost all too much to process. His brothers would laugh their heads off.

Speaking of which, he'd undoubtedly have to let them know something was up. They hated reading stuff about him in the papers before he'd told them. Although they probably wouldn't credit this particular story for a while, writing it off instead as the media getting things utterly wrong again as they so often had in the past. In fact, the whole affair could be over before any of them picked up on it.

His phone rang. He considered ignoring it but so few people had his personal number he picked it up instead. Besides, he needed to remember this was just a charade. They didn't need cozy, intimate mornings in his kitchen.
If they weren't making love, or being seen in public, he told himself, then there was no good reason for her to be here. And then he felt like a prize jerk for even having that thought.

“Logan,” he snapped into the phone.

“What's eating you?” a deep voice retorted.

“Jack?” Logan picked up his coffee and strolled to the window, preparing himself for the inevitable. Sunlight glistened on the slow moving river. “That was quick. I thought you guys would ignore the papers for a while.”

“What was quick? What's in the papers? I haven't seen them in days.”

Which wasn't unusual for Jack. He lived in a cabin in the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas, thriving on shutting himself off from the world. He could have an in-depth conversation with Rebecca about how being alone did
not
mean you were lonely. But at least for now Logan had a reprieve. “Nothing. But if it's not the papers why are you ringing?”

“Because I want you to let me in. I'm downstairs.”

It took a moment for that to sink in.

Logan watched Rebecca watching him as he turned from punching the access code to allow Jack entry. “We've got company.”

She tensed and took a step back, though how far she thought she could get in the confines of his kitchen was a mystery. “The papers are one thing.” She shook her head as she spoke, her gray eyes wide. “Who?”

“My brother.”

The tension lifted from her face, to be replaced by curiosity. Logan headed for the marbled foyer as the elevator door slid open. He could hardly block his brother. Wouldn't actually want to. But for all that, his timing sucked.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as the doors opened.

Jack strolled past him. “Good to see you, too.” He walked into the apartment. “I had a meeting in London. I thought I'd call in seeing as I was in the neighborhood, so to speak.” He dropped a duffel bag to the floor and walked farther into the apartment. “You don't mind if I crash here for a while.” He tossed a jacket onto the couch. “And did you know there's a photographer outside taking pictures of your place?” He turned for the kitchen and stopped when he saw Rebecca. “And I'm guessing you know there's a woman in your kitchen.”

Rebecca gave a tentative smile and lifted the spatula in a greeting.

“Yeah. I had noticed,” Logan said, quelling his own smile as he watched Rebecca. A hint of color climbed her face. Sweet. It was intriguing the way she managed to keep surprising him. So few women did. “Rebecca, this is my brother Jack. And Jack, this is—” He didn't know if there was a way he was supposed to introduce royalty, but he'd never been one to follow protocol and he wasn't going to start now. “Rebecca.”

Jack studied her. “You look familiar. Did you ever live in Chicago?”

“No.”

Jack shrugged then looked at Logan, speculation and a question in his gaze. “I should go, right?”

“No,” they said in unison. She sounded almost as relieved as he was to have Jack here. Which was weird given than she'd instigated the whole let-me-make-breakfast routine.

“In fact,” Rebecca said, “I should go.”

This time it was Jack's turn to protest, but it was Logan she watched so he added his denial to his brother's.
“Rebecca's a fine cook.” She raised her eyebrows and shot a worried glance at the fry pan then whirled with a gasp.

“Smells…interesting,” Jack said.

And there was, Logan admitted, a definite hint of charcoal in the air. “Second batch always turns out better than the first,” he said as he stepped into the kitchen, effectively blocking her exit when it looked like she might bolt. He held her shoulders. “Ignore Jack.” He tipped the burned pancake into the trash, set the pan back on the stove and gestured to the bowl of batter. “Second time's a charm.”

“I'll just take a shower,” Jack called, then turned and walked away.

“I really should go.” Rebecca looked past Logan.

“No.”

She stiffened. “Are you telling me what I can and can't do?”

“The royal outrage is cute, Princess, but I'm telling you you're not leaving now. If that's what you're asking.”

“But—”

He shifted her hair to expose her neck then kissed her, and though he hadn't yet gotten to her lips he'd effectively cut off her words. It was the only way he could think of to silence her protests. But just for good measure he found her lips, too. Let himself savor the gentlest of kisses. And effectively derailed his own train of thought, as well. One moment he was thinking only of soothing the panic that looked about to bloom into royal hauteur, and the next moment the taste of her, her soft warm mouth beneath his, had him remembering all the things they'd done together last night. All the things they could do again and the things they had yet to do. He'd need—not a lifetime, never that—but it could certainly take all of the remaining weeks they had left.

R
ebecca sat at the table with two big and largely silent men, both intent on eating. If there was anything wrong with her pancakes, they were doing a good job of hiding it. That much about this morning gave her a sense of satisfaction. She rarely cooked for herself. Living in the palace it just wasn't necessary. There was something elementally satisfying about watching Logan and his brother eat.

But she couldn't dwell on the satisfaction because this was all wrong. She should have left last night. She'd wanted Logan to share the benefit of his experience with her—which he'd been more than generous in doing. So much so that she hadn't been able to leave. She'd been enthralled. But there had been no talk of mornings after. She had what she thought she'd wanted. She should be content with that and go. Except he'd stopped her when she'd tried. Good manners only? She didn't know and could hardly ask.

“So, Jack. Logan never mentioned he had a brother coming to San Philippe.”

Jack set down his fork. “Logan always plays his cards close to his chest. But in this case it's because he didn't know. But more importantly he didn't mention to me or either of our other brothers that he was seeing a beautiful woman. Which is a perfect example of what I mean about the cards and their closeness to his chest. Very secretive, my brother. Hates people knowing what he's doing.”

“Feel free to address your questions and observations directly to me,” Logan muttered.

“Thanks. How long have you two been an item?” Jack asked.

“Oh, we're not really—”

“A few weeks,” Logan said. “I was going to let you know.”

Jack shrugged. “I'm not surprised you haven't. You two clearly had other more important things to do.”

Rebecca turned her attention to cutting a slice off her pancake. People—other than Logan—didn't usually make such blatant innuendos around her.

“Jack.” Logan's voice was a low warning. Another hint of that unexpected chivalry, the one that had surfaced when he'd been concerned for her reputation.

Jack looked up, genuinely surprised. “What? There's a woman in your kitchen cooking you breakfast, both of you look like you had a damn fine night. You have that glow about you. The one I haven't had in far too long. What else am I supposed to think? Since when did you get so prissy anyway?” Jack reached for his coffee.

“Since I started dating a damn princess is when.”

Jack coughed, trying and failing to contain the coffee he'd just sipped. He reached for a napkin to mop up the table.

“I don't expect people to change for me,” Rebecca insisted.

Jack studied his brother. “A princess. I knew you were moving in high circles but how did that happen?”

Rebecca looked to Logan for the explanation. She didn't know which version of their story he wanted to give his brother. The spin or the truth?

Whichever, Logan wasn't looking thrilled with his brother. “We met here a few times and then I ran into Rebecca in New Zealand.”

“You'd been visiting the Coromandel properties?”

Oh, great. He'd really had business in New Zealand. She'd all but called him a liar over that.

“Yes.” Logan winked at her, enjoying her discomfort. “And it turns out we have a few things in common—” he shrugged “—and one thing led to another and so here we are.”

So, a version somewhere between the spin and the truth.

“Here you are,” Jack said slowly. “Can't hurt with your plans to expand into Europe.”

“No.”

Jack looked at Rebecca. “No matter what success he achieved at home he always wanted Europe. Always wanted to prove a point to the old man, our grandfather,” he explained, looking at Rebecca. “Nothing any of us ever did was good enough for him. And being German, Europe was the acme of achievement. I think maybe dating a princess would impress even him.”

“Good to know I could be of use,” Rebecca said mildly.

“It's a bit late, he's dead now,” Jack added, “but the conditioning lives on.”

“And I really do have to get going.” Rebecca stood. Logan and Jack both stood, too.

“Nice meeting you, Rebecca.” Jack smiled and shook
his head. “My brother and a princess. Never would have seen that one coming. Does this mean I could have a nephew who's king of San Philippe one day?”

“No,” Logan said. “Because San Philippe is a principality not a kingdom.”

“There's a difference?” Jack asked.

Logan shook his head in mock despair. “Kingdoms have kings, principalities have princes. Look it up.”

“And,” Rebecca continued, “because your brother is just using me for my connections and I'm using him for his body. There's nothing permanent.” Her version of the truth.

“I'm not sure that you're getting the better half of that deal.” Jack laughed and puffed out a chest as broad as Logan's, folding his arms so that his biceps bulged against the sleeves of his gray T-shirt. “Now if it's a fine body and a fine mind you're after…” He winked.

Rebecca laughed though Logan didn't look to find his brother as amusing as she did. She linked her arm through his, an arm that had held her so tenderly last night. “I'm pretty satisfied with my side of the deal so far.”

“I'll walk you to your car. Say goodbye, Jack.”

She extricated her arm. “Just give me a minute. I need to freshen up a little and get my bag.”

In Logan's bedroom she barely spared a glance for that big, big bed where she'd spent the best night of her life. Instead she gathered up her things and dropped them into her bag. In the bathroom she tidied herself up, put on a little makeup. Outside, she could hear low voices. They weren't exactly arguing but there was definitely a discussion of sorts going on. As she left the room she caught Jack's voice. “What are you trying to prove to the old man? He's dead anyway.”

“It's not that.”

“Come on. This need of yours to always be the best. Doesn't get much better than royalty.”

“Keep out of it, Jack.” Logan's voice was low and serious. “She's not royalty. She's a woman.”

Rebecca was oddly touched by the distinction.

“I can see that—”

Rebecca didn't know what Logan said or did but Jack stopped speaking for a moment. “Oh. So have you given her the I-can't-let-a-relationship-interfere-with-business speech?”

“No. This is different,” Logan said abruptly, clearly not enjoying the conversation.

“Okay. Wow. Sorry. She must really mean a lot to you.”

“No.” His denial was quick and emphatic.

“You're not fooling me. Your guitar's out. You never play for other people.”

“I didn't play for her. She doesn't mean anything to me.”

Rebecca walked around the corner. She would have stopped and waited if she'd known those were the words she was going to walk around to.

Both men turned to look at her. Only one of them, Logan, cursed. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean—”

What? He didn't mean that? He didn't mean to say it? Or he just didn't mean for her to hear it? She'd never know because he didn't finish the sentence. Her lover of last night, the one whose words alone had lit fires within her, seemed lost for words.

But she was a princess so it was okay. Because she could smile through anything, look dignified through anything.

“Jack, it's been a pleasure meeting you. Logan, I can see myself to the car. Please stay with your brother.”

She turned to go. Regal, refined, letting no emotions show. She could do it. Though she'd never had to fight
quite so hard for calm before, to walk serenely when she wanted to run, to smile over the gasp of pain that had threatened to escape.

Logan caught up to her. Stepped into the elevator with her before she could shut the doors.

“Rebecca…” Her name on his lips resonated with remorse.

“It's okay, Logan. I'm not supposed to mean anything to you. Though you could have at least waited until I left the apartment. It kind of ruined what had been a very nice night.” There was the understatement of the year. Two of them.
Kind of
ruined and
nice.

He faced her, turned her to face him. “It scared me when Jack said you must mean something to me because I don't want you to mean anything to me. I don't want what we have to mean anything. Because it's going to end. But whether I want it to or not, it does mean something. It means a lot. You have to know that. You don't spend a night like last night with someone—and I'm talking about all of it, the walking by the river, the meal and the making love—without it meaning something. And this morning.”

She wanted so desperately to believe him. She just didn't know if she could. “I'll have to take your word for it. You'll have noticed that my experience isn't quite on the same plane as yours.”

“Then do take my word for it.”

“Thank you. I will. You're very kind.”

“Hell, Rebecca, stop that.”

“I'm trying to be gracious.”

“I know. That's what I want you to stop.”

“You'd rather I ranted and raved.”

“Yes.”

She studied him a moment, silencing the part of her that
could too easily rant and rave. She was better than that. “Well, you don't get what you want. Not this time.”

“And you've never said something you wanted to be true even though you knew it wasn't. Something like, ‘That didn't hurt Logan, those words didn't cut. I'm not upset.'”

“Can we stop this?”

“No. Not yet. Not until you believe I didn't mean what I said to Jack.”

The elevator stopped and the doors opened to the parking garage and Rebecca stepped out. “It doesn't matter.”

Logan walked with her. “It matters.”

“In that case I do believe you. And I'm not just saying that to placate you or saying something I want to be true even though I know it's not. Because last night meant something to me. And although it can't possibly have meant as much to you, it had to mean something. Didn't it?”

They stopped at her car. Logan stood in front of her door, blocking her escape.

“It did.” He said the words so simply. His gaze open and intense, as though he was willing her to look into his eyes and believe him. He shouldn't be allowed to have such beautiful eyes. “It.
You.
Mean a lot more than just something.”

A terrible sadness welled within her, threatened to break loose.

She leaned forward and kissed him, a touch of her lips to his just because she could. And because she couldn't not. And then she stepped back. “See you at the polo.” They could go on from here. Go on with their deal. She would keep seeing him in public. She might even kiss him in public. But that—what she'd just done—was their last private kiss. She could almost wish it had been longer so
that she'd have more than the memory of a fleeting taste of coffee and maple syrup, of firm lips, of fledgling warmth.

“You're okay? You'll be there?”

“You flatter yourself, Logan, if you think just one night with you could be so affecting that it would change everything.”

So who was lying now? The voice of honesty taunted her.

He reached for her, gripped her shoulders and lowered his head to hers, gave her more of a memory, beguiled and enchanted her with his kiss as he seemed so effortlessly able to do. She, on the other hand, had to make an effort. An effort not to melt into him, not to wrap her arms around him and hold him close.

He pulled back, his hands had slipped up to frame her face and he held her head still while he studied her, held her gaze. “You mean more to me than is good for me.”

Finally he released her and stepped aside to open her door.

She got in, put her key in the ignition and forced herself to think clearly and without emotion or sentiment. They'd get engaged—and she would not let it mean anything—and then they would break up. That time couldn't come soon enough. Because if this morning's debacle had taught her anything, breaking up with him was not going to be easy. At least not for her.

He closed her door and she lowered the window and looked up at him. It had to be said. “I wanted to say thank you.”

“Thank you?” He practically growled the words. “Don't you dare.”

“Good manners dictate it.” She glanced at his fingers tightening on her door frame. “I made a request of you. And you more than satisfied that request.”

“You think that's the end of it?”

“It has to be.”

He stepped back and folded his arms across his chest. And for the first time since she'd heard him talking to his brother, a flicker of the amusement she was so used to flashed in his eyes as he shook his head. “See you at the polo then. But just so you know, that's not the end of it. Not by a long shot.”