The Prince's Texas Bride (6 page)

She nodded, savoring the heat of his body. “Okay,” she said, then whispered, “But this is totally against all my rules.”

He chuckled and lifted her hand to his lips. “Mine, too, Eve. Mine, too. Now, before I give into my darker urges, I'd better walk you back to your quarters.”

“What about the champagne and the glasses?” she asked.

“Don't worry. I'll send a member of my security to collect them,” he said and took her hand. “Let's go.”

 

The next morning, she awakened a little later than usual. Stefan had insisted she take a day of vacation. So she slept until 9:00 a.m. This was the first morning she'd woken up not feeling like she was going to hyper-ventilate. Not that she would admit that to a soul.

Stretching her arms, she yawned, then smiled, pleased that the parade had gone off without a hitch. She'd passed her first test. Thank goodness. A sliver of anxiety rippled through her at the thought of Stefan's plans for tonight. Had she lost her mind? He was not only her boss, he was a prince.

He was also a man, she told herself. A man she wanted and who wanted her. Taking a deep breath, she slid out of her bed and stepped onto the carpet. Her toes appreciated the soft cushion for her first steps of the day. She realized she'd hit the ground running so much she hadn't noticed the small comfort.

Stretching again, she walked to the tiny kitchenette and started her coffee. She peeked inside her mostly bare refrigerator and pulled out cream for her coffee, marmalade for her toast and orange juice. She popped bread in the toaster and wandered toward the door of her quarters to pick up the paper. She'd made double sure she would receive the daily paper. After the incident with the protestors, she'd decided she needed to stay informed even though the Chantaine newspaper read like an odd combination of a scandal sheet and traditional news.

The front page was filled with photographs of the parade, featuring the royal family and government officials on horseback. The largest photo showed Stefan riding with the young boy on Black. Her heart twisted at the image of him. Lord help her, the man was so handsome. She noticed the way his hand curled around the boy, holding him securely. The boy smiled broadly while Stefan's mouth lifted in a ghost of a smile.

Fascinating man, she thought. For a moment she wondered what Stefan would be like if he weren't a prince. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine him as a Texan. He would be a Renaissance man, she decided, with a huge empire. Obscenely successful, she thought. Nothing less would be acceptable. His woman would be… She frowned in concentration. Blonde, beautiful, but brainy. The perfect accessory on his arm.

Nothing like me.

She frowned again, feeling a stab of displeasure and immediately pushing it aside. She shook her head at herself. This was what happened when she had time on her hands. Her mind traveled down all kinds of crazy paths. She rattled the paper and refocused, scanning the rest of the front page. A headline at the bottom of the
page grabbed her attention. Royal Stable Master Reports Prince's Horse Is Worth Billions for Sperm.

Billions!
She'd never said billions. Who was reporting this? She hadn't talked to anyone…except the man at the end of the parade. Her stomach sank in realization. Even though she'd cut the conversation short, she'd obviously said more than she should.

Less than a moment later, her cell phone rang. She darted through the living area to her bedside table where she'd left it and immediately glanced at the caller ID. Her stomach sank even further. The palace office was calling.

“Hello. Eve Jackson,” she said and began to pace.

“Ms. Jackson, this is Louis calling for Franz Cyncad. We have a public relations concern. Your presence is required in the Palace Office.”

Great,
she thought. Franz was right up there at the top of the food chain. “I can be there in twenty minutes.”

“Mr. Cyncad is finalizing the appropriate strategy. He will meet with you after lunch at fourteen hundred.”

Eve bit back an oath. Not only did she know she would be disciplined or perhaps even fired, now she had to
wait
to hear about it. “I'll be there.”

“Very well. Goodbye,” he said and disconnected the call.

Adrenaline pumping through her, Eve immediately went into survivor mode. With her upbringing, it was second nature. She wondered if she should go ahead and make a call to her former boss. She'd made sure to leave on good terms. She might not be able to get her exact position, but the company had been pleased with her work. Or she could start contracting for several horse ranchers. Stefan would pay her severance.

Her heart was hammering and her stomach was
twisting as she glanced out her window at the cobblestone drive, the lush green trees and pink flowers. She felt a deep sense of regret twist through her. For the first time in weeks, she was acutely aware of the fact that she didn't want to leave. She loved the horses, and her feelings for Stefan…were overwhelming. Until now, she'd been totally absorbed with the parade and intermittent bouts of homesickness she'd pushed aside. Eve had learned at a very young age that denial was an important tool of survival.

But this wasn't her childhood, and she wasn't going to be chased out of her home due to bankruptcy. So maybe she shouldn't jump off the first available cliff. She took a deep breath and slowly released it.

If she was going to be fired, how did she want to spend her remaining hours on Chantaine?

Stefan? Impossible. Tonight, the night they would have made love, was never going to happen.

She swallowed over a hard lump in her throat. Pushing that option aside, she made her plans. The horses, then the beach.

Eve took a micro-shower, French-braided her hair, then visited the royal beauties in the barn and petted and cooed over them. Her heart twisted at the way they all seemed to know her. Even Black indulged her for a few moments before he stamped away.

She stood for a long moment, inhaling the scent of fresh hay and clean horses, branding it into her memory. Then she grabbed a taxi for the beach and made the driver promise to return to fetch her at twelve forty-five. Eve spread her towel on the sand, stripped down to her bikini and sat down on the beach.

She stared at the waves. Whitecaps topped azure water as the tide crashed into shore. The surf was a little
rough. She would test it in a few moments, she decided. For the moment, she would focus on the sensation of sun shining on her and the way the ocean looked as if diamonds flickered on top of it.

Inhaling the unique scent of Chantaine, she tried to find a way to preserve the vanilla beachy smell in her mind, the memory of that evening ride with Stefan. All that would never happen between them flashed through her mind. Eve couldn't stand it. She picked up her towel and scrambled up the sandy hill to the road to hail a taxi.

 

An hour later, Eve sat in Franz Cyncad's office trying to look cool as she resisted the urge to drum her fingers on her black pants–clad leg. Franz was frowning. Not a good sign. He glanced up at her from behind his desk and his gold-rimmed glasses. “You spoke to Marco LaChalle yesterday during the parade,” he finally said.

“I didn't meet anyone named Marco. I was focused on the horses and our surprise child rider. A man approached me toward the end of the parade. I barely spoke to him.”

Franz pulled off his glasses. “You told him Black could earn billions in stud fees.”

“I told him Black could earn a fortune in stud fees,” she corrected, still determined to remain calm.

“He apparently interpreted a fortune as a billion,” Franz said.

“That was his interpretation, not mine,” she said, now barely resisting the urge to fidget. Was she going to survive this or not? Based on Franz's dour expression, she suspected not.

“Unfortunately, we must deal with Mr. LaChalle's report. We need you to recant your position.”

It took a full moment for Franz's comment to sink in. “I can't do that. It would be an outright lie,” she said at the same time Stefan walked through the door. “Black
is
worth a fortune in stud fees.”

“He's not ready,” Stefan said.

“Your Highness,” Franz said and stood.

Suddenly, Eve remembered she was supposed to do the curtsy thing. “Yes, Your Highness,” she said and stood. “But I disagree. As a professional,” she added. “It's appropriate to have a specialist assess a stallion for stud purposes at the age of four. Black is over four. His pedigree is phenomenal. He has the potential to produce amazing foals.”

Stefan shot her a cool glance. “You are not the appropriate person to assess when Black should breed.”

She nodded in agreement. “True. I'm only the stable master you hired to train and advise you on your horses. So, whatever.”

Stefan blinked. “Whatever?”

“American version of do what you want. I've done what I can do,” she said.

His eyes narrowed. “What would you suggest, Ms. Jackson?”

Oooh,
she thought. The Ms. Jackson wasn't a good sign. “I suggest you get Black assessed by the veterinarian, then get moving with providing his sperm, at a cost, to superior mares. Spreading his sperm is part of his purpose. I'm sure Black would agree with my assessment,” she said wryly.

Stefan lifted an eyebrow and paused. “Put out a press release saying the palace is having Black assessed for
stud service. Be prepared for a deluge of calls. Keep records. We'll return calls later,” he said.

Silence followed. “Will Ms. Jackson be remaining on as stable master? Or will she be moving on?” Franz asked.

“Ms. Jackson remains,” Stefan said and turned and left the room.

Eve stared after him, stunned and uncertain.

Franz glowered at her. “God help us. More records. More return calls. Would it have been so hard to recant your position?”

“Sorry,” she said. “But yes.”

Franz sighed again. “Double the workload,” he muttered.

“It will ultimately be double the money. Black will earn his way and make your job easier. Just give it a little time.”

“We don't have a lot of time, Ms. Jackson,” Franz said. “Chantaine's economy is in the loo. Our people are suffering.”

“I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Cyncad, but the world economy is struggling. Everyone is suffering. We're all going to need to get creative to find a way to get Chantaine on the high road. I'm on your side.”

“Hmm,” Franz said, putting his glasses his face and returning his attention to the laptop in front of him.

Eve waited a long moment. “Do you need anything else, Mr. Cyncad?”

“Not now, Ms. Jackson. I shall contact you if I need to. You may proceed with your plans for the day.”

Eve paused, still confused. “Thank you,” she said. “Have a good day.”

Franz gave a short nod, and Eve left the man's office,
still unsure of her status. She hadn't been fired. Still, what about her relationship with Stefan? Would she be meeting him tonight? Or not?

A
fter her meeting with Franz and Stefan, Eve felt at loose ends. She checked on the horses, but it was a day off for them, too. After the weeks of preparation, the royal horses seemed determined to laze their day away. She did busywork in the barns and returned to her room, but she didn't know what to do with herself.

In the back of her mind, she wondered if Stefan still wanted to be with her, but based on his curt appearance this afternoon, she couldn't imagine her phone ringing. Her cell rang, catching her off guard. Her stomach clenched. Was it Stefan? She glanced at the caller ID and felt a stab of disappointment. It was Bridget.

“Hello,” Eve said. “How are you?”

“Bored and irritated. I was supposed to go to dinner tonight with a friend, but she bailed because she's not feeling well. You must come with me,” she said, sounding autocratic, then changed her tone.
“Pleeeeeeeeeease.”

Eve laughed despite herself. “Sorry, Bridget, but I don't think I would be very good company tonight.”

“Oh, why not? The parade was a huge success. I took a quick glance at the photographs in the newspaper. You should be flying high,” she said.

“You obviously didn't read the entire front page. There's been some controversy about breeding Black, and I was called to the woodshed by Franz Cyncad.”

“Woodshed?” Bridget echoed. “What woodshed?”

“It's a figure of speech. The woodshed is where you're taken for punishment, a spanking.”

Bridget gasped. “Franz struck you? Does Stefan know? This is totally unaccepta—”

“No, no, no,” Eve said. “Franz didn't spank me. He's just very unhappy with me.”

“Oh, well, Franz is always unhappy. It's in his job description. If you had a meeting with Franz, it's all the more reason you should come out to dinner with me. Put on a dress and I'll have my driver pick you up in an hour.”

“Bridget—”

“I'm not taking no for an answer,” the princess insisted. “Oh, for goodness' sake, this is getting insulting. Am I such horrid company that you won't join me even when you have nothing else to do?”

Eve sighed, still full of conflicting emotions. “Okay, okay. Thank you for inviting me.”

“That's the spirit,” Bridget said. “Ta-ta for now.”

Although she would far prefer a barbecue place where she could wear jeans and a T-shirt, she couldn't fight the urge to
get out.
She took another quick shower and pulled on a black halter dress. Instead of putting up her hair, she blow-dried and fluffed it. Since she had time,
she applied a little makeup, mascara, a little bronzer, lip gloss…

Her cell phone rang. She glanced at it, hoping desperately that it was Stefan. But it wasn't. She picked it up. “Hello. Eve Jackson,” she said.

“This is Raoul, Princess Bridget's chauffeur,” the man said.

Her heart twisting in disappointment, she took a deep breath. “Thank you. I'll be right down.” Grabbing a sweater, she took the stairs down to the limo.

Raoul stepped outside. “Ms. Jackson?” he said as he opened the door to the backseat.

“Thank you,” she said and climbed into the limo.

“Welcome,” Bridget said, smiling as she held two glasses of champagne, one in each hand. “Girls' night.”

Eve remembered last night and the champagne she'd shared with Stefan. She slid into the seat and closed her mind to the memory. She accepted the glass extended to her and clicked hers to Bridget's. “Girls' night,” she agreed, determined to forget her rotten meeting with Franz Cyncad and the fact that Stefan was clearly displeased with her.

They went to a restaurant in a swanky section of the capital of Chantaine. Eve felt self-conscious at first because they were seated in the center of the restaurant, but Bridget chatted constantly, distracting her. The princess was clearly happy to be away from the palace.

“Do you want to get married?” Eve asked, after Bridget had stared at a hot guy who passed by them.

Bridget shrugged. “Not too early,” she said. “There's danger in marrying too young, and I'm determined to avoid it. No kids until I'm thirty years old. I want to have some fun. What about you?”

“I haven't thought much about marriage. I've always thought I would take care of myself. Safer, that way,” she said.

“Hmm,” Bridget said. “I could find a man who would take care of me. I just don't want to give up what little freedom I have in exchange for that.”

“Same here,” Eve said and lifted her water glass in salute to Bridget. She'd switched to water awhile back.

“I'm not ready for the night to end,” Bridget said. “I know of a club close by.”

“I'm not sure that's a good idea,” Eve said.

Bridget pouted. “Why not?”

“I'm not much on clubs,” Eve said.

Bridget shook her head. “It will be a good change for you. We'll just stay for a few minutes.”

“I'm not sure—”

“Oh, for goodness' sake,” Bridget said. “It's just one night and trust me, our clubs are nothing compared to Rome or Milan.”

“Never been to clubs in Rome or Milan. Don't really need to go,” Eve muttered, but felt as if she were being swept forward by a force of nature. Tonight she would ride it. Tomorrow she would return to her boring self.

Forty-five minutes later, she found herself sitting at the bar while Bridget danced with a friend of a friend of a friend on a crowded dance floor. Her bodyguard, Rodney, stood nearby, shifting from one foot to the other, clearly as uncomfortable with the scene as she was. Because Eve was bored out of her mind, she decided to torture herself and checked her cell for messages. So far, there'd been none. She shouldn't be surprised, she supposed.

She glanced at the phone and saw one missed call
from Stefan. Her heart jumped, skipping several beats. Suddenly a text appeared. Where are you?

With Bridget, she texted back.

Why? Never mind.

Eve frowned. What did that mean? She shook her head. This was insane. She'd never gone crazy for any other man. Why should she start now? Stuffing her phone into her purse, she was determined not to give him another thought. At least, not tonight.

 

The woman was going to drive him insane, Stefan thought as his chauffeur and two of his security detail drove closer to the bar where his sister and Eve were apparently enjoying Chantaine's nightlife. He ground his teeth at the thought of it.

“I'm sure Rodney's had enough of this unplanned excursion,” Stefan said. He'd seen this coming with Bridget. He'd just hoped she grown more mature about accepting her duties and security protocol. “If Princess Bridget protests, escort Ms. Jackson to my limousine.”

“If she goes calmly, sir?” Georg asked.

“In that unlikely event,” Stefan said drily, “Ms. Jackson can ride with the princess.”

Four minutes and forty-five seconds later, his sister burst through the door with the assistance of two security men, screaming at the top of her lungs. Eve walked behind them. “You can't do this. It's my night off. I can do what I want. I could have ditched Rodney, but I didn't. Just wait until I get my hands on Stefan. Just wait—”

Stefan watched as Eve put her hand on Bridget's arm as if she were trying to calm her. Bridget pulled back her arm and continued to scream. His sister would likely be embarrassed tomorrow.

“Open the door and offer Ms. Jackson a ride in peace,” Stefan said to his top bodyguard, Franco.

“Yes, sir.”

Stefan could tell Eve needed some extra explanation in order to leave his wailing sister with her bodyguard. She slid into the seat across from Stefan and he made a mental note to thank his sister when she decided she was speaking to him again. Eve usually wore jeans, but tonight she wore a dress that revealed her long, shapely legs.

“Your Highness, your sister's gonna be ticked off with you for a long time,” Eve drawled.

“She'll get over it when I let her take a vacation to Italy soon,” he said. “It's unfortunate that you had to witness her—” He wanted to choose his words carefully.

“Hissy fit?” Eve said. “She's on a short leash and doesn't like it.”

“There's good reason for it,” he said. “I insist on her safety.”

She frowned and studied him. “Have there been threats?”

“Threats? Rarely. Risks, always. It's part of the job,” he said. “Does that frighten you?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don't like the idea of any of you being hurt.”

“Neither do I,” Stefan said. “That's why I have only the best security and that is why Bridget and you shouldn't have been in that club tonight. Bridget knows she's supposed to submit her schedule to security before she goes anywhere. She's in a high-profile position now. She can't take the same kinds of risks she could before. Plus, she put you at risk.”

Eve's eyes widened in surprise. “Me? The only risk I was facing was boredom at that club.”

“I intend to keep it that way,” he said and paused. “Why didn't you wait for me? Did you get cold feet?”

She lifted a dark eyebrow. “Based on our lovely conversation during my meeting with Franz, I didn't know what to expect.”

“That was about your slip to the press,” he said, dismissing the concern. “You are still my employee. Can you compartmentalize or not?”

She met his gaze for a long moment. “I don't know. I know I was raised to say please and thank you and I prefer being treated the same way, even by royalty. I respond better to an invitation than an order.”

Stefan realized he would need to take a step back and frustration nicked at him. He wanted Eve in his bed. He couldn't totally explain it, but something about the woman made him keep turning toward her. It was almost as if she had some sort of magnetic pull on him, which was rubbish.

He supposed he could tell his chauffer to return to the staff quarters at the palace and he and Eve could go their separate ways, but Stefan wasn't willing to give up his time with Eve even if she wouldn't be spending the night in his bed as he'd planned. He pressed a button to talk to the driver. “Send security ahead to my Aunt Zoe's house at Gerando Beach. I'll give her a call to see if she minds me dropping in.” He turned to Eve. “Would you like to go to the beach tonight?”

“I don't have a suit with me,” she said, but her eyes lit with interest.

“No need for one. We'll be on a balcony of a private home listening to live music and watching the surf. Interested?”

She paused a half beat, then smiled and he felt as if
the sun had come out from behind a cloud. “Yes, that sounds nice.”

Aunt Zoe was in Switzerland, but she'd left instructions with her staff that her house was always available to the royal family. After Stefan's security finished securing the seaside home, Eve and Stefan walked inside. The two-story foyer featured large windows, an unusual chandelier of crystal and copper, and a double staircase.

“It's beautiful,” she said.

“Yes,” Stefan agreed and extended his hand to her. “But upstairs is better.” He led the way upstairs and down a hallway to a den with a swirling paddle fan overhead, white cushy-looking furniture, a bar and kitchen.

“Aunt Zoe designed it all. It's a hobby for her. She also has homes in Switzerland, Bellagio and Manhattan,” he said.

“Sounds like she's a woman on the move,” Eve said. “And very talented.”

“You like it?” he asked.

“It's luxurious, but soothing at the same time. I just probably wouldn't go with a white couch. I'd be afraid of getting it dirty.” She laughed. “No. I'd definitely get it dirty.”

He liked the way she enjoyed the house and saw herself in it with a modification. “It's nice being with a woman who's not so—” He paused. “Overly fashion conscious.”

She smiled. “Or prissy.”

He smiled in return. “That word didn't occur to me.”

“Bet it will now,” she said.

He swallowed a chuckle. “You still haven't seen the
best part. Come on,” he said and led her through the glass doors to the expansive balcony with two chaise longues, a table with an umbrella, and a view of the hippest beach in Chantaine. The music of an American R&B band rose from just beneath them.

She tilted her head quizzically. “That sounds awfully familiar. Are they a cover band for…” She glanced over the balcony. “Americans? Here in Chantaine?”

He shook his head, amused again. “We have many American visitors every year. Some Americans like it here, Eve.”

“Well, of course they do,” she said. “I just didn't expect to see one of my favorite R&B bands playing on one of Chantaine's beaches.”

“Think about it. You play a lot of cities and concert halls. Then you get a chance to play in paradise, all expenses paid.”

“How come you never see these gigs listed on the band website?” she asked.

“Privacy's also one of our charms.”

“Hmm. Maybe it shouldn't be,” she said.

“What do you mean?” he asked, unable to conceal a trace of indignation. “Part of Chantaine's attraction is that we're not overexposed.”

“I hate to bust your ego, but before I met your sister Tina, I didn't know Chantaine existed. Granted, I'm not a world traveler, but I'm college educated and always got As in Geography. If Chantaine's economy is suffering, maybe it's time to let the cat of the bag about what a great place this is.”

“It's a delicate balance,” he said. “The advisers and state officials can't agree.”

“Makes you wish you were the boss of everything,” she said and smiled.

“Enough about business. Let's enjoy the music,” he said, joining her at the balcony railing.

“And the ocean breeze,” she said, lifting her chin and closing her eyes.