Command Performance (7 page)

She’d meant the gesture for comfort, but the moment it had been made, her world had turned upside down. She’d wanted to go on just standing there with her cheek close to his, saying nothing, feeling everything. But that wasn’t what
he
had felt, she thought, and closed her eyes. She was letting her reach exceed her grasp.

Alexander of Cordina wasn’t for her. She should thank God for that, because it would be terrifying if he were. A sane woman might dream of loving a prince, but that same woman would be wise to remember that her choices would diminish if she did, her privacy would end altogether and her chances for a normal life would be nil. Beyond that, the man himself was frightening enough. He wouldn’t be kind unless the mood suited him, and he would never be patient. A man like Alexander expected perfection, while she respected flaws.

Yet she’d wanted him. For one mad moment, she’d forgotten who and what he was, and had wanted to be
held, to be loved by him. Would the world change somehow if she were loved by him? In the garden, with the scent of wisteria floating over her head, she thought it might. Yet she’d wanted to be the one to take that strained, weary look from around his eyes and make him smile again.

It would pass, Eve assured herself. She was too practical to indulge herself in foolish fantasies. And if it didn’t pass naturally, she would push it along. She had work to concentrate on, plays to produce, a company to organize.

First thing in the morning, she’d be leaving Cordina. By the time she returned, any momentary insanity would be forgotten, and she’d be too busy to indulge in any more.

Not entirely reassured, she rose. At least her legs were solid again. She’d try to find Bennett. Nothing and no one would clear her head faster.

* * *

“I can’t believe what you’ve done with this place, Brie.” Eve sat on the wide, shady veranda and looked out at the long, rolling lawn, the paddocks, the acres of turned and tended earth. The youngest child, Dorian, sat at the bottom of the steps and fondled a new kitten.

“There are times I can’t, either.” Gabriella turned her head to see her elder children kicking a ball through the grass. “I’d always hoped for this without ever really believing it. I was pregnant with Kristian when we broke ground for the house, so it’s five years now. When we brought him home, we brought him here.”

“Only five,” Eve mused. “When I look at the house, it’s as though it has been here forever.”

“For the children it has.” The kitten let out a squeal. “Dorian, be gentle.”

He looked up, a miniature of his father, and grinned wickedly, but his small, curious hands petted the kitten’s fur easily. “Purrs,” he said, pleased with himself.

“Yes, and if you pull his ears, he’ll scratch.”

“It’s wonderful here in the evening.” Eve watched the sun hang low over the newly planted fields. There
were two servants inside, a fraction of what the palace used. The smells of cooking came through the windows, rich and homey, as suited the country. “Is this like your home in Virginia?”

“The house is older there.” Gabriella took her eyes off her son long enough to watch Reeve, Alexander and Bennett circle the barn. She knew what they were talking about. The bomb in Paris was on everyone’s mind. She and Reeve would talk of it later. Now she turned back to Eve. “It seems we’re always fixing something—the roof, the windows. I’m afraid we don’t spend as much time there as Reeve would like.”

“Brie, you don’t have to make conversation with me. I know you’re concerned about your father and what happened this morning.”

“These are uneasy times.” Brie looked at her children again. They were her heart, her life, her continuing link with the real world. “We have to live each day. I know my father will do what’s right for Cordina.”

“And for himself?”

Gabriella’s eyes, a deep, intriguing topaz, seemed to darken, but she smiled. “My father is Cordina, as Alex is. It’s the first thing that has to be understood, and the most difficult. You care for him.”

“For Alexander? Of course.”

“Of course.” Amused, Gabriella rose to pick up her son before he could crawl under the porch after the kitten. “I’m not speaking of ‘of course,’ Eve.” She kissed Dorian on the cheek when he started to squirm, then settled him expertly on her hip. “If you ever allow your feelings for him to come to the surface, you’ll find a great many pitfalls. If you need to talk, come to me.” Then she laughed when Dorian tugged on her hair. “This one needs a good wash before dinner.”

“Go ahead.” Eve managed to smile. “I’ll get the others.”

But she sat there alone a few moments longer, not so sure of herself and no longer relaxed. Her feelings for Alexander were on the surface, she told herself. She cared about him as she cared about all the friends she’d made in Cordina. They were like a second family to her. Naturally, as a woman she found Alexander attractive. What woman wouldn’t? And perhaps there were moments, occasionally, when the attraction was a little too intense. That was nothing to lose sleep over.

She didn’t want pitfalls. She’d maneuver them if she had to. In her career. Romantically—that was a different area altogether. She wanted no complications there. Wasn’t that the reason she had avoided romance for so long? Certainly there’d been men who had interested her, but …

There’d always been a “but,” Eve thought. Rather than think it through too deeply, she’d always fallen back on the fact that she simply didn’t have time for relationships.

The noise of the children shouting roused her. It wasn’t like her to daydream, either, she reminded herself. Jogging down the steps, she headed across the lawn. The children groaned a bit, but, after she promised to help them organize a game after dinner, went in to wash up.

With them gone, the farm was so quiet she almost regretted having to find the others and go inside. She’d like to come back, Eve discovered. To sit on the porch in the evening, close her eyes and listen to nothing. It wouldn’t do for every day, even every week, but now and again it would be like healing oneself.

She enjoyed the frantic pace of the life she’d chosen. Eve could go for days with little sleep and no spare time and not feel the strain. But once a year, twice a year, perhaps, to sit in the country and listen to nothing … Laughing at herself, she headed for the barn.

There were high windows to let in the evening light, and the scent of horses was strong. No stranger to barns and stables, Eve headed down the sloping concrete floor. She squinted a bit, trying to adjust her vision to the change in light.

“Bennett, I—”

But it was Alexander who turned. The figure she had seen in front of the stall was darker and slightly broader than Bennett.

“Excuse me, Your Highness.” Her manner stiffened automatically. “I thought you were Bennett.”

“I’m aware of that. He’s with Reeve.” Alexander turned back to the horse. “They’ve gone to look at the new bull.”

“Dinner’s almost ready. I told your sister—oh, she’s lovely, isn’t she?” Distracted by the mare, Eve stepped closer to stroke. “By the time Brie took me on a tour of the house, I’d forgotten I’d wanted to see the horses.
Yes, you’re lovely,” Eve murmured, and ran her fingers down the mare’s nose. “Does she have a name?”

“Spot,” he said, and watched Eve laugh.

“What a name for a horse.”

“I gave her to Adrienne as a birthday gift. She thought it was a fine name.” He nuzzled the mare’s ears. “We didn’t have the heart to make her change it.”

“She’s lovely in any case. I named my first horse Sir Lancelot. I suppose I was more fanciful than Adrienne.”

He lifted a hand to stroke the horse alongside hers. Their fingers trailed down but never touched. “Strange, I never saw you as the type for knights in shining armor.”

“I was six, and I—” The rest was cut off as the mare gave Eve’s shoulder a hard push and sent her tumbling against Alexander. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness.”

“‘Alex,’ damn it.” She was in his arms as she had been that afternoon. It was too late to prepare, too late to stem the feelings that rose up in him. “My name is Alexander. Must you insist on making me feel like a position instead of a man?”

“I don’t mean to. I’m sorry.” It was washing over her again, that warm giddy feeling. A storm brewing. Water rising. She didn’t pull away. Her intellect told her to pull away and pull away quickly. She had no business being with him like this. Alone. Listening to nothing.

His fingers crept into her hair, tangled there. Trapped. “Is it so difficult to think of me as flesh and blood?”

“No, I—yes.” She couldn’t get her breath. The air in the barn was suddenly sultry, stifling. “I have to find Bennett.”

“Not this time.” He pulled her close, damning who he was. “Say my name. Now.”

There was gold in his eyes. Flecks of it. She’d never seen it before, never allowed herself to. Now, as the light grew dimmer, she could see nothing else. “Alexander.” She only breathed his name. Heat flowed through him like lava.

“Again.”

“Alexander,” she whispered, then pressed her mouth desperately to his.

It was everything she’d wanted. Everything she’d waited for. She heard the thunder, felt the lightning, tasted the heat finally escape. With no thought to place, to time, to position, she wrapped her arms around him and let her body absorb.

There was no cool control here, not the kind he coated himself with. She’d known it would be different, somehow she’d always known. His mouth was open, urgent, as if he had waited all of his life for this one moment. She felt his fingers dig into her flesh and trembled at the knowledge that she could be wanted so forcefully.

He forgot everything but that he was tasting her at last. She was hot, spicy, aggressive. She’d been born for the tropics, for steamy days and steamy nights. Her hair flowed down her back, through his fingers. He gripped it as though it were a line to safety, though he knew the woman was danger.

His tongue dove deeper to taste, to tease, to tempt. She was an aphrodisiac, and he was mindless with her flavor. Her hands were running over his back, kneading the muscles. He wanted them on his flesh where he could feel each stroke, each scrape.

The air in the barn carried the scent of animal. Each moment his lips were on hers, he lost a bit more of the civilized. He wanted her there, while the sun went down and the barn became dark and quiet with night.

“Eve?” The barn door creaked open, letting in a thin, dusky stream of light. “Did you get lost in here?”

Head swimming, Eve leaned back against the wall and tried to catch her breath. “No. No, Bennett, we’ll be right in.” She pressed a hand to her throat.

“Hurry along, will you? I’m starved.” The barn door shut and the light was lost.

He’d nearly been lost, Alexander thought. Lost in her, lost to her. What right did she have to make him ache and want and need? She was standing there now, silent, her eyes dark and huge. How could a woman look so innocent when she’d nearly destroyed a man’s soul?

“You change allegiance easily, Eve.”

Her lips parted, first in confusion, then in surprise. The hurt came quickly, but before it could make her
weak, she let in the fury. Her hand swept out and came hard against his face. The slap echoed, then silence remained.

“I’m sure you can have me deported for that at the very least.” There was no hitch in her voice because she fought it down. There was only ice. “Just remember, if you decide to have me dragged away in irons, Your Highness, you deserved that. That and one hell of a lot more.”

Fighting the need to run away, she turned and walked out of the barn as regally as one born to it.

He didn’t go after her. His temper pushed him to, to go for her, to punish her somehow in some way. Not for the slap—that had been a small thing. But her words, the look in her eyes had carried more sting. What right did she have to make him feel remorse, to make him feel guilt, when it was she who had turned from one brother to the next without a qualm?

But he wanted her. He wanted his brother’s woman with a desperation that was slowly eating him alive.

He’d always wanted her, Alexander admitted as he rammed the side of his fist into the wall. The horses whinnied nervously, then settled. He’d always fought it. He ran a hand over his face, fighting to recapture the composure that was an essential part of his position.

He would fight it still, he promised himself. Love for his brother left him no choice. But he could damn the woman, he thought grimly as he strode out of the barn. And he did.

“You come and go so much these days I never get to see you.”

Eve folded her oldest and most serviceable sweats in her suitcase before she glanced at her sister. “Things have been crazy. They’re going to get crazier.”

“You’ve been back from Cordina for two months, and I’ve talked to your phone machine more than I have to you.” Chris dropped on the edge of the bed and studied the sapphire-colored silk blouse Eve packed beside the sweats. She started to suggest tissue paper, then reminded herself that baby sister had grown up.

Both sisters had dark, thick hair, but Eve’s was pulled back in a braid, while Chris wore her hair chin-length and swingy. The family resemblance was there, in the shadowy cheekbones, the milky skin. It wasn’t age that separated them so much as style. Chris had a polish that had come from years of dealing with the art world and those wealthy enough to indulge themselves with art. Eve had a sensuality that she wore as casually as another woman wore scent. Once it had given the elder sister a great deal of worry. Now Chris could simply marvel at it.

“Now you’re going off again. I guess if I want to see my sister, I’ll have to do it in Cordina.”

“I was hoping you would.” Eve tucked a small leather cosmetic case in the side of her Pullman. “I hate to admit it, but I’m going to need all the moral support I can drum up.”

“Nervous?” Chris circled her knee with linked hands. “You?”

“Nervous. Me. I’ve never taken on anything this big. Four plays.” She checked the contents of her briefcase for the third time. “Hauling actors, technicians, assistants, seamstresses to the Mediterranean, dumping them in front of an international audience and claiming that we represent the American theater.” She pulled out a notebook, flipped through it, then stuck it back in her briefcase. “That’s a hell of a boast.”