Command Performance (11 page)

“I didn’t. I don’t.” She passed a hand through her hair. “You’re making me very nervous.”

“I know. It’s amazingly rewarding.”

“Well, I don’t like it. No,” she said weakly, when he lowered his mouth to hers. This time it wasn’t wild or desperate, but soft and teasing. The hand she had lifted in protest fell limply to her side. She didn’t reach for him, didn’t touch him, but stood swaying … floating … drowning.

The triumph should have moved through him. She was his now; he could feel it in the way her head fell back, her lips parted. At that moment she was completely open to him, his to fill with whatever needs moved through him. But instead of triumph came an ache, a need to stroke, protect, soothe. Promise. He wanted the thrill, and was left with the thirst.

“Go wash your face,” he murmured, and stepped aside.

Eve was out of the room faster than dignity allowed.

* * *

Eve took a hard look at herself in the mirror of the rest room backstage. She was making a fool of herself—and it was going to stop. For whatever reason of his own, Alexander had decided to play games. That didn’t mean she had to go along with it. He was making her feel foolish. Look foolish. She could tolerate a great deal, but not that. Pride was vital to her, pride in who she was, in what she’d made of and for herself. She wasn’t going to turn into a babbling idiot because Alexander had suddenly decided she’d make a good playmate. Or bedmate.

That made her swallow quickly. Years before she’d hoped for his attention, even in her girlish way dreamed of it. She’d been stung by his disinterest, galled by his silent disapproval. She’d gotten over all of that. She scrubbed at her hands for the third time.

Maybe the problem was that she’d begun to think of Alexander as a person again, as a man. Things would be better if she thought of him as His Royal Highness—a title, aloof, lofty and a bit cold.

It didn’t come easy when she could still feel the way the warmth had transferred from his lips to hers.

Why was he doing this? Eve stuffed her brush back into her bag. It was so totally out of character. For both of them, she realized. If she had written a play with Alexander as the lead, she would never have staged a scene like the one that had just occurred. No one would believe it.

So why didn’t she ask him? Before she could laugh the idea off, it began to make sense. She was a blunt, no-nonsense woman; Alexander was a cautious diplomat. She’d put the question to him flat-out, then watch him dangle for words. Pleased with the plan, she swung back into the corridor.

“An improvement,” Alexander said easily, and took her arm before she could evade it.

“Thank you. I think we should talk.”

“Good idea.” He pushed the stage door open and led her outside. “We can take a drive before we go home.”

“It’s not necessary. It won’t take long.”

“I’m sure it’s more than necessary for you to have some fresh air after being cooped up all day.” When he opened the door of the steel-gray Mercedes, Eve stopped.

“What’s this?”

“My car.”

“But there’s no driver.”

“Would you like to see my license?” When she continued to hesitate, he smiled. “Eve, you’re not afraid of being alone with me, are you?”

“Of course not.” She tried to sound indignant, but looked restlessly over her shoulder. Two bodyguards, blank-faced and burly, stood at the car behind them. “Besides, you’re never really alone.”

Alexander followed the direction of her gaze. The quick sensation of restraint didn’t reach his eyes. “Unfortunately some things other than fresh air are necessary.”

What he felt didn’t reach his eyes, didn’t show on his face, but she thought she caught a trace of it in his
voice. “You hate it.”

He glanced back, surprised and more than a little wary that she’d seen what he so carefully tried to hide. “It’s a waste of time to hate the necessary.” Alexander gestured her into the car, shut the door behind her and rounded the hood. He didn’t glance at or acknowledge the guards. “Your seat belt,” he murmured as he started the engine.

“What? Oh.” Eve stopped rehearsing her speech and pulled the harness into place. “I’ve always enjoyed driving around Cordina,” she began. Be friendly, she advised herself. Be casual, then zero in when he least expects it. “It’s such a lovely city. No skyscrapers, no steel-and-glass boxes.”

“We continue to fight certain kinds of progress.” He eased into the light traffic. “Several times hotel chains have lobbied to build resorts. The advantages are there, of course, an increase in employment, tourism.”

“No.” She shook her head as she studied the town. “It could never be worth it.”

“This from the daughter of a builder?”

“What Daddy’s built and where he’s built it has generally been a good thing. Houston’s … Houston’s different. A city like that needs to be developed.”

“There are some on the council who would argue that Cordina needs to be developed.”

“They’re wrong.” She turned to him. “Obviously your father feels the same way. What about you? When your turn comes, will you let them dig into the rock?”

“No.” He turned away from the city and toward the sea. “Some things are meant to grow naturally. The palace is the highest building in the country. As long as a Bisset lives there, it will remain so.”

“Is that ego?”

“That is heritage.”

And she could accept it. “We’re so different,” she said, half to herself. “You speak of heritage and you mean centuries of responsibility and tradition. When I think of it, I think of my father’s business and the headache someone’s going to be saddled with one day. Or I think of my mother’s Fabergé bowl. Heritage for me, and I suppose for most Americans, is tangible. You can hold it in your hand. For you it’s more nebulous, but a
hundred times more binding.”

For several moments he said nothing. She couldn’t know how deeply her words, her empathy had affected him. “You understand better than I expected.”

She glanced at him quickly, then as quickly away. She couldn’t be moved. She didn’t dare allow it. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Driving me along the beach, coming to the theater? Why did you kiss me that way?”

“Which way?”

She might have laughed if she hadn’t felt so adrift. “Any way. Why did you kiss me at all?”

He considered as he looked for a private spot by the seawall. “The most obvious answer is that I wanted to.”

“That’s not obvious at all. You never wanted to before.”

“Women aren’t as perceptive as they would like the world to think.” He stopped the car, shut off the engine and slipped the keys into his pocket. “I’ve wanted to since the first time I saw you. Would you like to walk?”

While she sat stunned, he got out and came around to her door.

“You have to unhook your seat belt.”

“That’s not true.”

“I’m afraid it’s difficult to walk on the beach if you’re strapped to a car seat.”

Eve fumbled with the lock, then sprang out of the car. “I meant what you just said wasn’t true. You hardly even looked at me, and when you did it was to scowl.”

“I looked at you a great deal.” He took her hand and began to walk toward the sand. Her fingers were stiff in his, resisting. He ignored the feeling. It was easier for him when she held herself back, challenged him to outmaneuver. Her one moment of absolute surrender had terrified him. “I prefer the beach in the evening, when the tourists have gone in to change for dinner.”

“That’s absurd.”

His smile was friendly, and sweeter than she could ever remember seeing it. “It’s absurd to prefer a quiet beach?”

“I wish you’d stop twisting things around that way.” Eve shook her hand free and stepped back a few paces. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing.”

“What kind would you like?” He stood where he was, pleased, even relieved to see her confusion. It made it easier somehow to get closer without taking a step.

“Alexander, you did not spend a great deal of time looking at me. I know because—” She cut herself off, appalled that she’d been about to admit how she’d mooned over him.

“Because?”

“I just know, that’s all.” She brushed the subject away with the back of her hand and started toward the water. “I don’t understand why you’ve suddenly decided you find me attractive or available or whatever.”

“Finding you attractive is not sudden.” He put a hand on her shoulder and with the slightest of pressure made her turn. The sun would be setting soon. She could see it behind him, spreading golden light. The sand beneath her feet was white and cool, but she discovered as she stared up at him that it was far from solid. “Whether you are available or not no longer matters. I want you.” He paused, letting his hand slide over her shoulder to her nape. “I find that matters a great deal more.”

She shuddered and crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyes were as blue as the sea now, but more, much more turbulent. “And because you’re a prince you can have whatever you want.”

The breeze over the sea blew her hair around his fingers. He forgot the beach, the guards, the sun that had yet to set. “Because I’m a prince it’s more difficult for me to have what I want. Particularly when what I want is a woman.”

“An American woman.” Her breath came quickly, erratically. It would have been so easy not to question, but to accept. She wanted to accept, to move into his arms, maybe into his heart. Discovering that was what she wanted most changed everything and compounded the questions. “An American woman who makes her living in the theater. No rank, no pedigree. Not as suitable for an affair as another aristocrat, another European.”

“No.” He said it simply and watched the hurt come into her eyes. But he wouldn’t lie. “To have my name linked with yours wouldn’t be suitable to certain members of the council, certain high officials. It’s more agreeable when I socialize with a woman of title or with an ancestry.”

“I see.” She brought her hand up and removed his from her neck. “So it would be more … tactful if I agreed to a clandestine affair.”

Anger transformed his face into hard, unyielding lines. No one seeing him now would believe he could smile so sweetly. “I don’t believe I asked you to be tactful.”

“No, you hadn’t gotten to it yet.” She was going to cry. The knowledge stunned her, humiliated her. Humiliation snapped her back straight and kept her eyes dry—so dry they hurt. “Well, thanks for the offer, Your Highness, but I’m not interested. When I sleep with a man, I do so with no shame. When I have a relationship with a man, it’s in the open.”

“I’m aware of that.”

She’d started to storm away, but his words brought her up short. “Just what do you mean?”

“You’ve been very open about your relationship with my brother.” There was no smile now, or any sign of temper. His eyes were flat and dark. “Apparently you’ve had no shame there, either.”

Confusion came first, then a glimmer, then a flash of insight. Because it was safer than being hurt, Eve let her fury take her. “So that’s what this is all about. Some sibling rivalry, some curiosity about your brother’s taste. What did you think, Alex, he’d had his turn, now you wanted to see what all the fuss was about?”

He stood where he was, knowing he didn’t dare step toward her. “Be careful.”

She was beyond care, but not yet beyond words. “The hell with you. You may be an aristocrat, a prince, a ruler, but underneath you’re as much a fool as any other man and I won’t stand here and explain or justify my relationship with Bennett to a fool. You could take lessons from him, Alex. He has a heart and a genuine affection for women. He doesn’t consider them trophies to be passed around.”

“Are you finished?”

“Oh, more than. I suggest you speak to Bennett, Your Highness, if you want to find out my … pros and
cons. I’m sure you’d be fascinated.”

“What I was feeling for you had nothing to do with Bennett—and everything to do with him. I’ll drive you back.”

He started toward the car. The two guards who’d kept at a discreet distance climbed into theirs.

“Ethel, I want another white slip for
Cat
.” Clipboard in hand, Eve was going through the costumes, one item at a time, with her wardrobe mistress.

“White slip. Size thirty-four.”

“Not too low cut. I want some subtlety.”

“A subtle white slip. Size thirty-four.”

Eve chuckled, but continued to go through the wardrobe for the first production. “Let’s keep within budget. Make it nylon—as long as it looks like silk.”

“She wants a miracle.”

“Always. Oh, and let out Big Daddy’s jackets, say, an inch and a half. I’m going to want Jared padded a bit more.”

Ethel chewed her stick of peppermint gum while she noted down instructions. She’d been in wardrobe for twenty-two years. She could, with forty-five minutes notice, make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. “If the cast keeps eating the way they did the other night, you won’t need any padding.”

“I intend to keep an eye on that, too.”

“Never doubted it.” Ethel brought her half glasses down farther on her nose and looked at Eve over the straight edge. “Somebody ought to be keeping an eye on you. You give up sleeping?”

“Looks that way.” She fingered two children’s costumes. “These may have to be altered. I audition kids tomorrow. Let’s pray we can find two who can play nasty little monsters.”

“I have a couple I’m willing to lend out.” Gabriella stepped into the wardrobe room.

“Brie, I was hoping you’d make it by.” Tucking the clipboard under one arm, Eve embraced her with the
other.

“I’d have made it by yesterday, but I had four dentist appointments, two haircuts and a meeting with an impossibly tight-pursed budget committee.”

“Just another day of glamour and leisure. Princess Gabriella, may I present Miss Ethel Cohen, my miracle worker with needle and thread.”

Ethel dropped into an awkward curtsy. “Your Majesty.”

“We settle for ‘Your Highness’ in Cordina.” Smiling, Gabriella offered a hand. “So many costumes.” She studied the rack, the trays and boxes full of accessories, then fingered a rope of glass beads until she felt Ethel was more at ease. “How in the world do you keep track of everything?”