Royal Seduction (7 page)

She knew he was teasing, and she cut her eyes coyly. “Don't you dare apologize, Riley Jacobs.” On the very next breath, she said, “I wouldn't mind if you didn't wait to give me a pinch or two.”

Had that tantalizing tone really come from her mouth?

Riley tossed back his head and laughed.

After downing the last remnants of her drink, she gave his arm a playful pull. “This music is calling to me. Dance with me.” She stood, dragging him along with her.

It was after midnight when they left the club. That second glass of champagne had her feeling as light as air.

“We probably shouldn't have stayed out so late,” she told Riley as he started the car's engine. “Do you have to be at the clinic early?”

As he backed out of the parking spot, he quipped, “One perk of being the acting director is that I don't have to punch a time clock.” He stopped the car and smoothly changed gears. “I do have to be in a meeting by nine, though. But I'll be fine.”

With her head in a haze, she leaned back against the soft leather seat, and before she realized it, they had arrived at her hotel.

The purring car silenced when Riley turned the key in the ignition.

Catherine opened her eyes and turned to look at him.
She parted her lips, and like a pack of deranged gymnasts, words began to somersault right out into the air.

“You are one good-looking man, Riley. Your eyes are so dark. But did anyone ever tell you that the chocolaty-brown color is flecked with amber? They're just so…nice.” She frowned. “Nice is such a benign word, and not at all what I really want to say. But the right word just doesn't seem to be coming to me at the moment.”

“That champagne has thickened your accent just a little. Not that I mind. I like the sound of it. A lot. However—” his chocolate gaze lit with humor “—I think, Catherine, that you need to go to bed.”

“Oh, Riley, I'd love to go to bed.”

The corners of his sexy mouth tightened. “Alone. You need to go to bed alone.”

Disappointment engulfed her like an unstoppable rising tide.

He pushed open his door and got out. As she watched his trek around the car, she had a vague feeling she should feel bad about what she'd said. But she certainly couldn't think why. She'd only told him the truth.

He opened her door. “Come on,” he urged, helping her out of her seat. “Let's get you up to your room.”

“Yes,” she said. “Let's.”

The moment she stepped out of the elevator and into the long corridor leading to her room, she was besieged with a flurry of impatient hope. She'd thought the eagerness she'd felt at the jazz club had been powerful. Being in Riley's arms, inhaling the woodsy scent of his cologne, she'd looked forward to his kiss. However, the expectation pulsing through her now actually made her knees weak.

Her hand trembled when she reached into her purse for her keycard. It took a moment to find it.

“Here,” he said, plucking it deftly from her fumbling fingers, “allow me.”

Before he could slide the plastic card into the electronic slot, she placed a quelling hand on his arm.

“But I don't want the evening to end yet. I'm having such a good time, Riley.”

He was so close that she could feel the heat of him.

“Me, too, Catherine. And that's the honest truth. I'm only sorry I nearly ruined things over dinner by making light of the problems of the clinic's clients.”

She shook her head. “Oh, no. Everyone's entitled to an opinion. I shouldn't have gotten so bent out of shape about it. It's just that…well, it's a sore subject with me, I guess.”

“I understand that now.”

“But what you said was interesting,” she told him. “About the problem being in the perception. I can still hear my father's voice in my head calling me his Fat Cat. He used to tease me terribly. And I'm not so sure— No, I know there was nothing loving about it.” She stopped long enough to moisten her lips. She frowned as a thought came to her. “You know, I always thought that my father didn't like me because I was fat. But it could have been that I was fat because my father didn't like me.”

An odd sadness welled from somewhere deep inside her. As the thoughts entered her head, she let them trip off her tongue. “And to this very day, he doesn't like me. Do you suppose that he still sees me as that chubby child?”

She knew in her heart that she was making some very profound statements, asking some insightful questions. And they just might be pointing to life-altering realiza
tions. But her thinking was fuzzy, and fatigue suddenly weighed her down.

Catherine blinked, and then looked up at Riley.

He'd gone very still beside her, studying her face intently.

“Would you like to come inside?” she asked.

“I don't think that's a good idea. It's late. And I do have to be at the clinic by nine.”

She sighed, wondering what had happened to the magical feel of the evening. “It's just as well, I guess,” she told him. “I really am ready for bed now.” She knew there was not one iota of sexual implication in her voice.

He nodded silently and unlocked her door. Then, without stepping across the threshold, he leaned in and flipped on the light switch for her. His gallantry made her smile.

“You're a nice guy, Riley.”

“Well,” he began, “I guess it's time for me to say good night.”

Catherine thought for certain that her bold energy had been totally depleted. But she surprised herself when she demanded, “You are going to kiss me, aren't you?”

Like flint against metal, her question sparked fresh heat into the yearning that had been flickering in her all evening long. Clearly, she'd kindled something in Riley, as well. His dark gaze became hooded and she could tell he was fighting a smile…and something else.

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

His tone had gone all gravelly, and a shiver coursed across Catherine's skin. A current seemed to crackle between them, and the air turned viscous and hot.

“I want that very much.”

His eyes roved over her face, his expression so passionate that her breath caught and held. The pads of his fingers
were featherlight against her jaw, and she got the impression that he feared touching her.

She let him tip up her chin, and, when he leaned toward her, she let her eyes flutter closed.

Ever so gently his mouth pressed to hers, his lips slightly parted. The moist heat of his tongue tasted her so quickly, she was left wondering if she'd completely imagined the magical moment. She thought she heard him drag in a breath.

The kiss had been short, yet it had also been so sweet that it made her heart—and other parts of her anatomy—ache with need.

“Good night, Catherine,” he said softly.

He made to turn, but she reached out and stopped him. He'd left his dinner jacket in the car, had rolled up the cuffs of his shirt several turns. Dark curls lightly sprinkled his forearm; the muscles beneath the skin were lean and corded. She remembered how firm his chest had been when they'd danced. She gave his arm a little squeeze so that she'd have a memory to savor. Later on when she was in the dark…all alone.

“I'm going to work out at the clinic in the morning,” she told him. “Then I'm attending a seminar. Will you be free for lunch? My treat.”

His breathing seemed ragged and he looked rattled. Why she should feel elated by this was beyond her. Still, her joy soared.

“That would be great,” he said.

And she smiled. “Until tomorrow, then.”

He offered her a nod and then headed back toward the elevator.

Standing there with her rump holding open her door, Catherine mulled over the man. He had good taste in food
and good taste in music. He could dance. And his kiss? Ah, his kiss was heavenly.

She only wished she had experienced a little more of it.

He had intriguing eyes, a gorgeous face. His body was fit, his chest, firm, his forearms, strong.

She watched him retreat down the hallway, and she tucked her bottom lip firmly between her teeth.

His butt wasn't so bad, either.

A
t the age of forty-two, Carrie Martin knew she was much too young to be feeling this tired and washed out. She picked up her wineglass, took a sip and stared out the window into the darkness, suspecting that regret had a lot to do with her misery.

People usually described her as lively and vivacious. A private-school math teacher, Carrie was loved by most of her students. She had a knack with kids, a knack for teaching. She loved her little apartment back in San Francisco, loved living in California, and most of all she loved being close to her son, Jason, a student at UCLA.

Carrie should be on top of the world.

But she wasn't.

Her story was a long one, but tonight she was in the perfect mood to rummage around in the complexities of it. She
slipped off her shoes and tucked her bare feet up on the couch.

It hadn't been that long since she'd realized that something was missing in her life. Something profound.

A name had been placed to that something back in the late spring. She'd been in San Francisco, a nasty cold having kept her home from work. Lying on the couch in her robe and fuzzy slippers, she'd been flipping the channels on the TV when the sight of her ex-husband shocked her to the point that the remote control had slipped right out of her fingers and hit the floor with a thump.

Richard Strokudnowski.

She'd given up her search for him nearly twenty years ago. Yet there he was, plain as day, on the television commercial, promoting his lifestyle and fitness seminars.

Yes, he'd grown older. The silver streaks in his hair were certainly proof of that. But who hadn't been changed by the passing years? She certainly had. Inside and out.

The man on the screen, she remembered, seemed to have mastered the art of the hard sell, almost to the point of being cloying. However, even back in college, Richard had possessed an unmatchable charm—he'd certainly charmed her right out of her panties very soon after they'd met—and that charisma was what had alerted Carrie that the man on the commercial really was her ex. Well, that magnetic personality had been one clue, and those warm brown eyes of his had been another.

As long as they'd been divorced, Carrie had never been able to forget the way Richard's dark eyes could make her flush with yearning.

It had taken her several moments to work it all out; he'd changed his name from Strokudnowski to Strong; he was
advancing toward his goal of becoming famous; he'd become
the
veritable fitness guru in the Pacific Northwest.

Her whole life had changed as she'd stood there in front of her television, and it had gone through myriad twists and turns since, too—twists and turns that had finally landed her in Portland, Oregon.

At first, Carrie hadn't told anyone the news. Not her friends, and certainly not Jason. Her son didn't need the upset. At least, not until she could gather more information on the man who now called himself Dr. Richie.

And gather she had. She'd spent the next few weeks combing the Internet when she should have been grading papers. And the more facts she'd discovered about Dr. Richie, the angrier she'd become.

Somewhere on his trek up the celebrity ladder, Richard had tweaked and adjusted his past until his life had become a complete work of fiction. What nerve it had to take for someone to do such a thing!

There was no mention anywhere that he'd attended university in Florida. Or that he'd been married to his high school sweetheart. There was also no mention that he'd completely abandoned his wife and baby.

Now, now, a voice in the back of her head chided. Richard didn't know anything about Jason when he left. It isn't fair to hold that against him.

Yes, but it hadn't changed the fact that he'd left without a backward glance, or that he'd taken half the money they'd worked so hard to save. That thought had her taking another drink from her glass of merlot.

But he wouldn't have left had you not backed him into a corner about his dream. You tried to pressure him into settling down. You wanted him to abandon a perfectly viable goal, that of motivating people to better health. The
fact that he intended to find fame and fortune doing just that should have been mere icing on the cake. He'd been so certain he could do it, even when the two of you had still been attending college.

Hot tears burned the backs of her eyelids as she whispered to the empty room, “But I was pregnant.” That's why she'd pushed him to give up his dream and settle down.

God, but she'd felt so alone back then. Just as alone as she felt right now.

And what did your pushing accomplish? the voice taunted. A horrible argument that had boiled over to the size of the damned Everglades, is all. And it forced him to choose his dreams over you. Your pushing was what left you abandoned and alone.

A single tear blazed a hot trail down her face.

Richard had been the love of her life. And he hadn't been gone a week before she realized her mistake in letting him go. She'd regretted pressuring him. She'd regretted drawing that line-in-the-sand ultimatum.

She'd searched for him, but had come up high and dry. She'd been distraught.

Cradling her wineglass between both hands, Carrie sighed. The sound echoed out into the shadows of the stark, cramped, but utilitarian efficiency apartment.

Her life hadn't been completely dismal. She'd given birth to a gorgeous baby boy. Jason had been and continued to be the one bright light in her world. Eventually, she'd given up her search for Richard and settled into her role of single mom. Lord above, how she loved being a parent.

She'd filed for divorce, and had the papers sent to Richard's parents. The nasty couple had refused to tell her
where Richard was, so she'd refused to tell them they were grandparents. The papers had been returned with Richard's signature less than a month later.

That was when she'd met and married Ralph Martin. He'd been just the kind of man she'd needed, both solid and dependable. He mightn't have been the most romantic of men, but he'd been a wonderful father for Jason. Carrie and Ralph had spent fifteen years together. He'd suffered with diabetes, and four years ago he'd died of complications associated with the disease, leaving her once again a single mom.

When Jason had moved across the country to attend UCLA, Carrie'd decided she needed a change of scenery. Being closer to her son wouldn't hurt, either. So she'd moved to San Francisco and found a job teaching mathematics in a small private school.

But knowing no one in the large west-coast city, Carrie had begun to ponder her past…and her ex. Soon her thoughts were overflowing with memories of Richard and the times they had spent together.

That was why seeing him on the TV had stunned her so. Her research on Dr. Richie had pointed to Portland, Oregon, and to the new Healthy Living Clinic he would be running. By the time summer vacation had rolled around, she'd made the decision to spend some time in Portland looking up the famous Dr. Richie.

Telling Jason of her plans had been difficult. She considered not telling him, but he'd taken on the role of protector since his stepfather had passed away, and he'd suspected there was more to her extended trip than a mere vacation.

So she'd gently broken the news to her son that she'd discovered the whereabouts of his biological father. She
had told Jason the truth about Richard Strokudnowski when he'd been a boy, but they hadn't had reason to discuss him much over the years. She'd been honest about the fact that his father had never known he existed, and about the fact that she'd searched hard for Richard when Jason had been a baby.

She'd told her son before leaving San Francisco that she now regretted giving up her search all those years ago. And that she would never be content until she finally got the chance to see Richard and tell him that he had a son.

Jason had grown quiet, his feelings about Richard obviously mixed. However, he hadn't told his mother not to go.

So here she was in Oregon, having found a tiny apartment, a job as a hostess at La Grenouille Dorée, one of Portland's fanciest restaurants. She'd been visiting the Healthy Living Clinic and had even attended some of Richard's seminars.

When she'd first seen him up there on that stage, his personality had appeared to be too slick, almost shifty, and she hadn't been sure she wanted to reveal herself to him at all. But she sensed pain in the depths of his dark eyes. Pain…and what she took as loneliness.

Her weeks in Portland had been roller-coaster-crazy on her emotions. She'd ping-ponged between feeling sympathetic toward the man she'd once been married to, and wanting to rip his handsome face off for so thoroughly forgetting her, wiping her right out of his past.

And it was during one of these terrible moments of raging resentment that she'd stood up and lambasted him right in the middle of one of his workshops.

She couldn't have embarrassed either of them more had she painstakingly planned it.

He'd stormed out of the room, out of the clinic and gone into hiding. That had been over a week ago.

Because of her, he was in a frightful mess and his job at the clinic was on the line. The new director… What was his name? Dr. Riley Jacobs, she remembered. He'd been nice enough with his promise of finding Richard so he could help with the planned testing of NoWait.

Suddenly, though, doubt set in. What if Dr. Jacobs's story was all a lie and the clinic wanted to lure Richard in there to publicly fire him? All because she'd—

Hold on! The voice that had chided her only a moment before was now softer and more consoling. This fix Richard is in is his own doing. He's the one who'd rewritten his past for those who hired him. He's the one who came up with the crazy idea of that NoWait oil.

“Homeopathic therapy, my butt,” Carrie muttered. Why, Richard couldn't mix his way out of a child's chemistry set, let alone come up with a topical weight-loss treatment that would actually work.

Users of NoWait had become perceptibly passionate, and there was no way to hide the fact that it was that damned oil that was causing it. The NoWait zealots didn't seem to care that kissing complete strangers simply wasn't done. Why, she'd even read one newspaper article about a married couple she'd seen buying NoWait at the clinic. The man and his wife had become so overcome with their desire for each other that they had done the dirty deed in broad daylight—in a public park, no less. They'd been arrested, of course, but so far neither the authorities nor the reporter who had written the article had put all the pieces together.

But it was only a matter of time before the truth would be exposed.

The people running the clinic knew. That was why they were attempting to confiscate all the NoWait. That's why they wanted to find Richard, too. She hoped and prayed that Dr. Jacobs had been telling her the truth about wanting Richard to help in the lab with the tests.

Yes, Richard, with his rash schemes to become famous, had been his own worst enemy.

Carrie set the glass on the end table, her fingers trembling. Then she snapped on the light. Sitting in the dark was only contributing to her bad mood.

There was no way around feeling guilty for the way she'd acted. For the awful accusations she'd flung at Richard right in front of his colleagues and all those despairing people who needed his help losing weight.

Carrie desperately wanted to find Richard. To tell him she was sorry. To tell him the clinic wanted him. Needed him.

To tell him about his son.

Richard Strong was the profound “something” her life had been missing for so long. That much was a certainty. However, there were so many unanswered questions rolling around in her mind. She needed to know if he ever thought about her. If he had ever missed her over the years. If he, like she, had wished that things could have turned out differently for them.

She needed to know if he could forgive her.

She would never be happy until she had some answers. But answers weren't possible until she found Richard.

Where on earth could he be?

 

The following morning Riley sat at the conference table with Faye Lassen, a slew of Portland General's administrators, various laboratory personnel and several others
whose names, titles and interest in the NoWait testing he was oblivious to. He'd been sitting in this meeting for well over two hours, but everyone might as well have been speaking a foreign language for as much as he'd gotten out of it.

Catherine consumed his thoughts. Every time he attempted to concentrate on the topic at hand, something about her would whisper across his brain. Something she'd said, or something she'd done, or some expression on her angelic face.

She'd had him running the full emotional gamut last night.

Her shamelessness had stunned him. Yet each time she'd made some bold move, it was immediately followed up by a flash of uncertainty that he'd suspected she'd been unaware of. But Riley had seen it, time and again, and he had thought it was so sweet. It had been patent proof to him that her overly confident behavior probably wasn't the norm for her.

She'd made him laugh, and she hadn't minded looking silly to do it. At one point she'd cracked a self-deprecating joke that had him laughing so hard his cheek muscles had begun to ache.

The complexity of her moods had intrigued him.

She'd annoyed the hell out of him at the restaurant when they'd talked about whether or not the clinic's clients suffered with real problems. He'd tried to make her understand his position, and that he hadn't meant to make light of their situations, but he simply couldn't compare the medical needs of someone needing to lose a couple of pounds with someone in the throes of a life-threatening illness. However, she'd stubbornly stood by her opinion that the people in the clinic deserved just as much attention as
anyone else. He'd let it drop, silently deciding they should agree to disagree.