Out of Control (15 page)
“So do you do this all the time when you need help?” he asked her. Apology not accepted. He wasn’t going to fall for her innocent crap again. At least not in this lifetime. “Find some guy who fits the bill and use sex to get him to do what you want?”
“No!” Her eyes were so blue. “I was afraid to go to Jakarta on my own, and I remembered you, remembered that you were a SEAL. And . . . well . . .” She actually bit her lip. It was a nice touch. “I always had a crush on you, Kenny.”
“Don’t call me that.” Kenny was Adele’s nickname for him. “You can call me Ken or WildCard or Karmody or Fuckhead—I don’t care. Just don’t freaking call me Kenny.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. You’ve got to believe me—the sex wasn’t supposed to happen. My plan was to call you and tell you I got your number from a mutual friend—”
“Yeah, me and Adele, we’re best friends these days. Shit.” God, he wanted to cry. But no way was he going to do that in front of her. He focused on staying angry. There’d be plenty of time to nurse his hurt later. He suddenly had two weeks free.
“My plan was to ask you to dinner,” Savannah was determined to explain. She didn’t seem to get the fact that nothing she could say was going to fix this. “At dinner I was going to tell you about my uncle and ask you to go with me to Jakarta. I think, I don’t know, I think I was going to offer to pay you.”
“Well, you did pay me, didn’t you? Oldest form of barter in the world. Except you got it backwards, babe. You weren’t supposed to sleep with me until after I did you the favor. You gave away the prize too soon.”
“I didn’t mean to sleep with you.”
“Oh, yeah, right. Last night—three times—that was a total accident. Whoopsie daisy. Or—I know—aliens were controlling your mind, right?”
“That came out wrong,” she said tightly. “I meant to sleep with you. I wanted to sleep with you. I loved sleeping with you. But I didn’t plan for it to happen.”
“I gotta get out of here.” He stood up. “Look, I’ve got a friend, he’s a SEAL, too—Cosmo. He’s got a thing for lying Ivy League types like you. He’d probably be up for a trip to Indonesia in return for some sex. If you want, I’ll put in a good word for you. Despite the bullshit, you were a very good lay.”
The blood completely drained from her face. “How dare you?” she breathed.
“How dare you?” Ken asked. He managed not to slam the door behind him.
Imper-fucking-turbable as always.
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Five
When Hank—Heinrich von Hopf—dropped me at my hotel that night, he asked if he could see me the next day. He wanted to take me on a driving tour of the countryside, to picnic near the local Schloss (castle).
I told him of my dreaded luncheon at the university.
“I have some influence,” he told me. “I’ll make a call, see if we can’t get you free.”
Sure enough, within fifteen minutes of my return to my hotel room, I received a phone call from Herr Schmidt, informing me that plans had changed. I was to meet Prince Heinrich von Hopf in the lobby of the hotel at nine a.m. Sharp.
The next day, the weather was glorious. Hank left his driver and Rolls at home. We headed into the country in a sports car, a picnic basket in the trunk.
The scenery was gorgeous, and my host was a perfect gentleman—charming and witty, respectful and gracious. If this had been any other place or time, I would have been sorely tempted to fall in love.
All day long, we talked of anything, everything. The coming threat of war, America’s isolationist attitude, women’s rights, the Brooklyn Dodgers, my job at Grumman, my studies at school. He wanted to know everything there was to know about me. In return, he told me all about his childhood in Vienna, his memories of the Great War and its aftermath on his homeland.
The more we found out about each other, the more fascinated we both became. He liked my honesty. I liked his sense of loyalty to his country, his code of honor. And we both liked to make each other laugh.
“Tell me your plans for the future.” He was lying on the picnic blanket, his head propped on his hand.
I was leaning back on both elbows, just looking up at the patterns of the clouds in the sky. It was late afternoon. Almost time to go.
“Will you work at Grumman after you graduate?” he asked.
“I suppose I might . . .”
“Hmmm,” he said. “You don’t sound very excited.”
“I’m not.” I sat up. “Do you know what I’d really love to do?”
“Tell me.”
“I’d like to travel the world and write travel guides for women.” I glanced at him. He wasn’t laughing, so I went on. “All of the guides that I found were written for men, or for women who were traveling with men. Before I left New York, I wanted to know where in Germany I could or couldn’t go by myself—and where I’d be safe, as a woman, to go alone—but there was no information.”
“So you like to travel.”
“I like the adventure,” I admitted. “Yes. Can you imagine me as this famous adventuress? I’d always dress in men’s trousers and smoke cigars.”
“And wear a pith helmet,” he suggested.
“And carry a loaded pistol in my evening bag.”
“Have a boa constrictor for a pet.”
“I’ll name him Hank,” I declared. “After you.”
“I’m honored,” he said. “But that could get confusing—having two Hanks about. Because I’ll be in your entourage—one of the besotted men who follow you everywhere, desperately trying to be the one to refill your martini glass.”
“My canteen,” I corrected him. “And while we’re in the Sahara, I’ll accept the refill and bestow a kiss of gratitude upon your lips.”
“After which I shall be positively dizzy with pleasure.” He was laughing, but his eyes were suddenly so intense, I felt the need to change the subject.
“What about you?” I asked. “Your future. You know, I don’t think you’ve ever told me what it is exactly that you do.”
“Do?” he asked. “Princes don’t do, my dear. I simply lie around looking princely. Occasionally, I go to the zoo. Or take beautiful American girls on picnics.”
“What did you do before the Anschluss?” I persisted. “You told me that before Germany annexed Austria you weren’t allowed to be a prince.”
“I wasn’t allowed to be addressed as prince,” he told me. “Not in public, anyway.”
“Seriously, Hank. What do you do with your time?”
“My family owns a number of vineyards,” he finally admitted. “And I was involved in the Austrian government. I am still, but . . . It’s a joke, Rose. We could debate an issue for weeks, but in the end, we do what Hitler tells us to do.”
“That must be difficult.”
He shrugged. Forced a smile. “There are many things in life that are difficult. The Anschluss happened, and when such things happen, you do what must be done.” He paused and his next words shocked me. “I think you should come over here and kiss me. That would make all my frustrations bearable.”
He wasn’t teasing. He was completely serious.
He sat up. “May I kiss you, Rose? I want to so very much.”
I didn’t know what to do, what to say, so I said exactly what I was thinking. “I’m going home day after tomorrow.”
“You better kiss me quick then—we’re running out of time.”
“Hank, I don’t . . . want to.” That was an outright lie. I was desperate to kiss him, too, but I knew if I did . . . “I don’t want to fall in love with you.”
If I did, then where would I be? In New York, in love with an Austrian prince who lived on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. No, thank you very much.
“I think you already have,” he said with the kind of confidence that in any other man would have been lofty and egotistical. “I think it’s too late for both of us. May I see you tomorrow?”
I shook my head. My day was completely filled with a program on German literature. And there was a formal reception in the evening. “I’m sorry.”
“Then may I see you tonight?”
“Hank.”
He was determined. I had no chance. “I’m going to take that as a ‘Yes, Hank.’ We’ll have dinner. I’m going to take you out to—”
“A place just like the one we went to last night,” I told him, determined to keep this at least partially in my control.
His eyebrows went up. “A Bierhall?”
“Yes.”
Hank smiled. “I wish I’d met you sooner—when you’d first arrived. We could have had a whole week of knackwurst and sauerkraut.”
That smile made me raise my defenses. “I agreed to have dinner with you. I didn’t agree to kiss you, so stop looking so satisfied.”
“Ah, but I never agreed not to try to get you to change your mind.”
“I won’t,” I said.
But of course I did. I was eighteen and he was charming and handsome and very, very determined.
He found a Bierhall with a band, and we of course danced. And in the laughter and the music the uncertainty of the future seemed to slip away, leaving only the present. Only now. His arms felt too good around me. His eyes were so beautiful.
And when he whispered, “May I kiss you, Rose?,” I whispered back, “Yes.”
We were in public, and I expected him to brush his lips across mine. Instead, he kissed me, really kissed me. I was shocked. We were on the dance floor, in front of the entire world. And yet I couldn’t resist him. I wanted more.
I’d been kissed plenty of times before, but never like that.
“Mein Gott,” he murmured, pulling back to rest his forehead against mine. He was breathing hard, and I must confess I was, too.
I risked a glance around. It was the most remarkable thing. My life, my entire world had been turned upside down. But no one had even noticed. No one paid us the least little bit of attention.
“We have to go,” he told me. “Now.”
“But . . .” It was barely even midnight. He’d said that the dancing and music would continue until the wee hours of the morning.
“I have to take you back to your hotel,” he said, as he practically dragged me through the crowd and out to the street where his car was parked.
He all but threw me into the car, and took off, tires squealing. He didn’t say another word, he just stared straight ahead and drove—both hands on the steering wheel.
I didn’t know what to think, what to say. But as I began to recognize some of the landmarks near my hotel, I knew we were almost there, and I had to ask. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Yes,” he said tightly. “We both did. You were right. I shouldn’t have kissed you. Because once wasn’t enough. And since I don’t trust myself enough not to kiss you again . . .”
And here we were. At the hotel. Hank took the car out of gear and finally turned to look at me. “It feels like someone made you just for me,” he whispered. “Everything about you is . . .” He took a deep breath. “Rose, I know it’s crazy, but . . . I’m so in love with you.”
I couldn’t speak.
“May I write to you?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Maybe this isn’t so bad,” he said. “Who knows when I might come to New York. Right? And who knows? Maybe you’ll come back to Germany some day soon.”
“I don’t think so,” I managed to say. “I mean, yes, who knows. But . . . Hank, the only reason I’m here now is because the German American League paid my way. I don’t have the kind of money to—”
“Maybe if you continue to get good grades, they’ll award you with another trip to Berlin. Maybe you’ll be given a scholarship to the university here.” The intensity of his gaze was unnerving.
I could get a scholarship. I’d already been promised as much. But first I’d have to become a spy for the Nazis. And I couldn’t do that. Not even for a chance to be near Hank. Dear, sweet, wonderful Hank. Who loved me!
I was too much of an American, but when he kissed me again, I came the closest I ever have to thoughts of treason.
“If this world weren’t so damned complicated,” he whispered, “I wouldn’t let you out of this car. We would drive away together. All the way to . . . to Hong Kong.”
I had to laugh. It was either that or cry. “Hong Kong?”
“Yes.” He kissed me again, fiercely. “We’d get married, explore the Far East and write his and her travel guides.”
“Married?” He’d told me that one of the more tedious things about being a prince was that his family expected him to marry a princess. Or at least a member of the Austrian royalty.
“You could be known for wearing trousers, and I’d be known for giving up my fortune and title to marry an American who wears trousers.”
“What if I said yes?” I asked. “What would you do then?”
“I’d beg you to wait a few years,” he told me, kissing my hands, the tips of my fingers. “I’d beg you to wait for me, to wait for a time when my country doesn’t need me so desperately.”
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