Royal Opposites (6 page)

To distract herself, she focused on the tiny issue of the bank she’d been accused of robbing. No, wait. Attempting to rob. That still stuck in her craw. If she ever got it in her head to rob a bank, she sure wouldn’t just attempt. With the sight of Tom’s gorgeous body pushed to the back of her mind she set out to handle more pressing issues, like washing her clothes so she wouldn’t have to wear them dirty tomorrow. She took another look around the suite.

It was quite obvious Tom was a man used to the best life had to offer. The least she could do was not stink while in his presence.

Happy to have a task to take her mind off things, she stuffed the camera inside her canvas bag with her coupon binder and dropped everything on an armchair on her way to the bathroom.

Once she cleaned up and relaxed a bit, things would look much better. And she’d have better control over her traitorous hormones.

Chapter Six

Tom stood under the cold spray of water and willed his rebellious flesh back into submission. To think, he’d almost made it into the safety of his suite without embarrassing himself. Then she had knocked on his door for something to do with her suite. He still wasn’t sure what had prompted the visit. He knew that if she’d stood there for one more moment devouring him with her eyes, he would’ve thrown caution to the wind, pulled her inside with him, and sorted out the consequences later. The least of which being their arranged marriage and her reign as queen of a country he was positive she’d never even heard of.

Reality pressing down around him put his libido more or less in control. After a good night’s sleep, he’d be better equipped to deal with the situation on the whole instead of trying to conquer certain parts at a time.

Several hours later, after many pleasant dreams that starred him and Joan in their X-‐-rated roles, Tom groaned and rolled over to look at the clock on the night table. Twelve thirty-‐-two. He sat up with a start. He was late. He’d told Joan they’d talk at noon. But if he wanted to be peevish, he could blame his over-‐-sleeping on her.

If she hadn’t captivated him so, he wouldn’t have been so reluctant to leave his dreams.

Tom reached for the phone. Squinting enough to read the instructions for room to room calls, he dialed her number. His pulse quickened with every ring that went by without her picking up. Was she upset with him for being late? He knew how some women could get. In a way, he kinda hoped she would be angry with him. That would help bring his libido in check since he abhorred women who couldn’t adjust to the slightest change of plans.

When the phone kept ringing, his glee morphed into concern. Was she okay? Had something happened while he’d been sleeping? Had she—

“‘lo?” Her sleepy voice had a much lower tenor to it than when she was awake. It went straight to his gut and arced lower.

He raised a knee to give his awakening anatomy room under the sheet. “Joan, it’s Tom. I’ve called to apologize for being late.”

There was a long pause and a rustle on the other end. He could just picture her sitting up and the sheets inching lower...

“Late for what?”

Her voice jarred him out of his all too brief fantasy. “To discuss our next move. But we can wait a bit. I’ve only just awakened myself.”

“Oh.” He heard more rustling after her voice became more alert. “It’s after noon already? I’ll be over in twenty minutes.”

“Joan, I–” But it was too late. She’d already hung up on him.

He figured she’d call him back once she realized she didn’t have any clean clothes. In the meantime, he needed to call down to the shop to order some for himself along with a hearty breakfast. His stomach rumbled reminding him of the last meal he’d had was the late lunch with Joan yesterday. What a difference a day made.

Tom reached for the base of the phone to dial reception.

After he’d been assured that everything he required would be delivered in fifteen minutes he rolled from the bed to hop in the shower. That had been the easy part of the day. He hadn’t the vaguest idea how to proceed from here.

First, he needed to level with Joan about who he was.

Second, he imagined that they would need to call the FBI to report what happened. He knew the law enforcement agency had offices all over the country. They were a higher authority than the police departments who’d been after them. What he didn’t know was if the FBI had an office in Phoenix or if there was one in a nearby city.

It shouldn’t be too difficult to find out.

Either way, he wanted their representatives to come to them.

Meeting there at the hotel was the poor man’s version of home court advantage, but he was loathe to set him and Joan up for anymore unwanted surprises. Before meeting with the FBI, however, he needed Joan to make copies of the video she’d made in the bank. Even the biggest fool could see it would go the furthest to shoring up their story.

A knock on the door brought him out of his thoughts. His clothing must have arrived. He shut off the shower and wrapped the towel around his trim hips. Tom used another towel to rub his hair dry while he strode to the door and opened it.

He couldn’t say which of them was more surprised. Joan, because of his lack of clothing, or him because she was dressed and early. Since when were women early to anything? He must have missed out on quite a lot during his year away.

“Why don’t you call me when you’re ready?” She turned to leave, but almost walked into a bellman who was delivering the clothes he ordered along with the breakfast. Tom stepped out of the doorway to allow the man to enter. Joan still looked like she was about to bolt, but the way her eyes lingered on the food told him that she’d almost forgotten about her flight.

“Nonsense. Come on in. Have some breakfast while I dress.

Then we’ll get down to business.”

Joan studied him while still hesitating at the door. He didn’t blame her. Tom just waited for her to make up her mind. At last, she entered.

She waited while he signed the receipt and added a healthy tip for the man before asking, “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“What are you talking about impose? I ordered for both of us.” Tom opened the boutique bag containing his change of clothes to peek inside. “I figured you’d be hungry. Dig in.”

With hesitant steps, she approached the cart and lifted one silver lid. “Oh my goodness. Even with the two of us, we’ll never be able to eat all this.”

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Sure we will.” He shot a smile her way then headed for the bedroom. Her tentative voice stopped him.

“Tom?” He turned to look at her. The concern in her expression tugged at his heartstrings.

“Don’t worry, Joan. We’ll have this mess sorted today. You’ll see.”

To his surprise, she shook her head. “It’s not… it’s just…”

She chewed on the corner of her bottom lip and seemed to be wrestling with what to say. “How are you affording all this? I don’t mean to pry and I know it’s none of my business, but aren’t you the same guy who had his bank account emptied?”

“Yes, I’m that guy. But like I said, I have other accounts.”

She still had doubt all over her face. “Let me get dressed and I’ll explain everything.”

She stared at him for another moment before giving him a nod of consent. He accepted and then headed into the bedroom. He hoped she’d still be in the living room when he returned.

****

Joan sat in an armchair and nibbled on a bagel. She knew she should go for the fruit, but stressful times clearly called for carbs.

Who the heck was Tom Rafferty? He didn’t seem to be in the least concerned about getting back to any type of job. Not like her. After she’d bathed the night before, she’d gotten up the nerve to turn on her cell phone. It had been ringing off the hook. She checked her messages and discovered one from a hateful coworker who couldn’t contain her glee when she announced she was going to make sure their boss heard what she’d done and she shouldn’t bother coming in to pick up her belongings. They would be sent to her.

Tears stung her eyes when she thought of the coworkers she did adore. Her job was pretty much data entry, but the hours were good. They allowed her the time she needed to stay on top of sales so she was able to get the most merchandise at the lowest price possible. With her couponing skills, she was not only able to take care of herself, but she also kept a local women’s shelter stocked with supplies.

The data entry she did was mindless enough it allowed her to craft some detailed shopping scenarios so she could stock the shelter for the least money out of pocket. It also paid her enough to live in the relatively expensive city of Santa Monica. Or at least it did until she’d gotten in this bank mess a couple years ago.

Once everything was straightened out and she could go on with her life. All she wanted to do was shop for excellent bargains and be left alone. Was that too much to ask? Instead, here she was mixed up with Tom who seemed to have limitless money and accused of attempting to rob a bank.

Thoughts of Tom’s limitless money supply in combination with bank robbery had her sitting up. What if he was a bank robber and all this lavish spending was a result of other, successful attempts. Was she living on ill-‐-gotten gains? Joan dropped the remains of the bagel on the plate like it had bitten her. She put it on the coffee table and slid it away from her.

It did make sense. Banks didn’t accuse people of robbing them at random. Maybe the teller had recognized Tom’s face from a wanted poster and reacted in a way that wouldn’t tip him off she was on to him. Joan sighed. That scenario would make perfect sense if she hadn’t been on the receiving end of that same lecture just before handing over seventeen thousand dollars herself.

Tom opened the French doors that separated the living room and bedroom. He did so with such a flourish that Joan couldn’t help but giggle despite her recent dark thoughts concerning the man. She’d give him a chance to explain, she decided, and pulled the bagel and plate back within her grasp.

Tom took in her choice and tsk’d. “Would you eat already?”

“You said you would explain. Now’s a great time to start,”

Joan prompted.

Tom’s brows furrowed while he filled a plate with pancakes and sausage. He lathered both with syrup and filled a bowl with fruit before sitting on the couch adjacent to her position in the chair.

He put the food on the coffee table and stared at it for a long moment. Tom rested his elbows on his knees and picked up his fork before facing her. “Allow me to introduce myself.”

Introduce himself? What in the world was he talking about?

Had he lied to her about his name when they met? With a sinking feeling, she remembered he’d never actually introduced himself.

She’d learned his name from Molly the waitress. Oh crap. Who the heck had she gotten herself mixed up with? He was a criminal. Her eyes widened when her mind circled back to where it had been a few moments before. He was a bank robber and the charges were true. And now, she’d gone off with him making herself look like his accomplice.

She popped up from the armchair to put some needed distance between them. Just in case she had to make a run for it.

How could she have been so stupid? She hadn’t been acting like herself at all during the last twenty four hours. Was it any wonder she’d gone and gotten mixed up with some n’er do well criminal element? It would seem that all it took was a smile and some lunch and she could be convinced to throw her nice, safe life right out the window. She hoped it wasn’t too late to reverse the situation.

“Look, Tom, that’s not really necessary.” She began pacing the living room. Maybe if she never learned who he was, she could return to Los Angeles and see how much of her tattered life could be salvaged. “I think it’s time we called it a day. The cops have no proof I did anything. I’ll keep your name out of it.” She laughed.

“What am I talking about? I don’t even know your name. I think it’s best we keep it that way.”

“I am Saracen Tomas de Raffertias du Bacouer. Crown prince of Rafferstonia, due to be crowned king in twelve weeks.”

“Why’d you go and…what?” Joan’s steps faltered mid tread.

She spun to face him. He couldn’t have said what she thought he said. Did he? “What’s this about a prince?”

Tom relaxed and dug into his pancakes with a precision she remembered noticing at lunch yesterday. The man had turned eating into a near art form.

“It’s my title. For a little longer anyway.” He elaborated after swallowing the bite he placed in his mouth.

Joan managed a few blinks while she stared at him. Trying to process everything. Make sense of it all. It must have been obvious that her brain hadn’t quite caught up yet because he just waited. He continued eating, but didn’t elaborate any further. She blew out a breath and gave him a wry smile.

“Of course it is.” Exhausted, Joan flopped back into the chair she vacated a few moments before his unbelievable declaration. But what reason did he have to lie to her? It’s not like he’d gain anything from telling her this. If the man needed to conceal his identity, why would he tell her he was a prince? It didn’t make sense. Unless…

She swallowed hard and looked around their opulent surroundings. No wonder the man hadn’t batted an eyelash at the cost of, not one, but two suites at a Ritz Carlton. He must be used to this and so much more. She remembered his repeated assurances that he had other bank accounts. Of course he did. Her concern for his finances must have given him a good chuckle. At least he’d had the good manners not to laugh in her face. He was royalty. Good manners must come along with the package.

“Joan, say something.”

Like what? At the moment she was speechless. Of all the things she wanted to know, the one that forced its way out was, “So what are you doing here with me? If you’re royalty, you would have some kind of diplomatic immunity, right? You could’ve gone to the cops yesterday and that would’ve been the end of it.”

He held her gaze with an unwavering one of his own. “Yes.

I’m aware of that. But where would that have left you?” He worked through the food before him. In the art he’d mastered called eating, the man made short work of everything on his plate.