Cordina's Crown Jewel Read online

  Del.”

  “Let me show you what I thought about doing.”

  Keeping her hands pinned, he touched her, unerringly shooting her up into an intense climax, muffling her shocked cry with his mouth as her body bucked. When her breath sobbed, he closed his teeth over her breast, torturing the sensitized point through the cotton of her bra.

  He nudged the straps down, nibbled his way over the slope of her shoulders, almost delicately, while his hand roamed, exploited and plundered.

  She went wet and wild beneath him. Unable to find her balance, she shuddered, then spiked, then floated down again only to have him fling her ruthlessly over the edge one more time. Her hands strained against his grip. And the helplessness added a layer of panicked excitement over shattered senses.

  Her body was molten, and she trembled from the heat that slathered her skin and burned in the blood. Still she arched to him, desperate for more.

  She heard his voice, the words thick and soft.

  “I’ll owe you for this,” he said and snapped the bra in two with one rough tug.

  Then his mouth, his teeth, his tongue, found flesh. The moan wrenched from her gut as her system erupted.

  “Let me go. Let go of my hands. I need to touch you.”

  “Not yet, not yet.” It would end too soon if she touched him now. He hadn’t known he could arouse himself to a frenzy just by arousing her. He wanted her weak and wrecked and wailing.

  And he wanted to take, take, take.

  When he felt her go fluid beneath him, when he felt release pour through her and leave her lax, it still wasn’t enough.

  He tore the panties away, feeling a dark satisfaction at hearing the delicate fabric rip. Then he drove her back to madness with his mouth.

  Finally, when she thought there could be no more, he filled her. Her hands slipped off his damp shoulders, her mouth lifted urgently to his.

  And she wrapped herself around him like a vine.

  “Mon amour. Mon coeur,” she murmured mindlessly as they tumbled over the brink. “Toujours mon amour.”

  * * *

  They slept, sprawled over each other like exhausted children. And when they woke, steamed the walls in his narrow shower as they took each other again under the hot spray.

  Realizing he was taking an unprecedented step—a day off—Camilla packed a picnic and cajoled him into sharing a very late lunch by the pond.

  She didn’t have to do much cajoling. Picnics, he thought, were romantic. And romance was the current name of the game.

  She looked happy, he mused. Relaxed. Her face glowed, her eyes were soft. If he’d been an artist, he’d have painted her now and titled it Camilla Content.

  He didn’t feel foolish—or not very—telling her so.

  “That’s just what I am. I love this place.” She stretched out on the bank, stared up at the powder-puff clouds. “It’s so quiet, it seems as though there’s no one else in the world.” She turned her head to smile at him. “Perfect for a hermit.”

  “I’m not a hermit.” He polished off the last of the fancy triangular shaped sandwiches she’d put together. “I just don’t like people around.”

  “I like people.” She rolled onto her stomach. “They’re often so much kinder than you expect,” she added, thinking of Sarah. “But sometimes, if you don’t have a place to be alone—or to be quiet—you forget that and only see the demands, the responsibilities, the obligations people mete out.”

  “If you don’t have a place to be alone, you don’t get anything done.”

  “You have such purpose, your own purpose. That’s a gift. Not everyone does.” Her eyes clouded. “Some of us fumble around looking for one, and end up with so many we realize, all at once, we haven’t got any at all.”

  “You don’t strike me as a fumbler.”

  “Hmm. Sometimes efficiency is just as much of a flaw. Without that quiet time, you stop seeing the flaws, and the virtues. You can forget, not just who you are, but who you want to be.” She smiled up at him, then turned over again to rest her head on his lap. “So I like this spot, because it’s helped me remember.”

  “And who are you, Camilla?”

  She understood he wanted an answer—a real one. But she found she couldn’t speak and irrevocably change this moment. So she evaded. “A woman who won’t forget again.” She picked up a plum, took a bite, then held it up to him. “I like being alone with you, Delaney.”

  And she would give them the rest of the lovely, lazy day before Camilla de Cordina joined them.

  * * *

  He wanted to be patient, but patience wasn’t his best skill. He’d thought, been sure, she’d been ready to confide in him. What did a man have to do to pry that woman open? he wondered. Most people spilled their guts at the least provocation.

  But she just made vague philosophical statements, an occasional wistful one. And clammed up.

  It was grating, but he was going to have to press. To do that he was going to have to make it clear that they were … that he was …

  He’d never in his life told a woman he loved her. He’d gotten through his entire adult life without it being an issue, much less a problem. Now it was both.

  He could march into the kitchen and blurt it out and be done with it. He equated it to ripping off a bandage in one painful jerk. Or he could ease them both into it, stage by stage—like lowering yourself into a cold pool inch by inch so your body adjusted to the shock.

  I like having you around, he could say. Maybe you should just plan on staying.

  He could let that settle awhile then move up to the I-care-about-you level. She’d have something to say about that. She always had something to say. Who would have believed he’d like listening to her so much?

  But in any case, he thought, drawing himself back to the point, when they’d finished hashing through all that, he could just finish it off.

  “I love you.” He winced at his own muttered voice, shot a look toward the kitchen. It didn’t even sound like him, he decided. The words didn’t seem to fit his mouth.

  “I love you,” he tried again, and exhaled. Easier that time.

  “Now, tell me what kind of trouble you’re in, I’ll take care of it and we’ll move on.”

  Simple, he decided. Direct and supportive. Women liked supportive.

  God. He was going to need a good shot of whiskey to get through it.

  * * *

  “I know it’s late.” Cocking the receiver on her shoulder, Camilla looked down at her wrist before she remembered her watch was gone. A quick glance at the kitchen clock had her calculating that it was after one in the morning in Cordina. No wonder she’d woken Marian.

  “No problem. I was only sleeping.”

  “I’m sorry. Really. I just had to tell someone.”

  “Okay, let me pull myself together. Are you coming home?”

  “Soon. I promise.”

  “You missed the first fitting for your ball gown. Your dressmaker is seriously displeased.”

  “Ball gown?” She drew a blank before it clicked in. “Oh, the Autumn Ball. There’s plenty of time. Marian, I’m in love.”

  “You say that now, but if you’d heard the woman gnashing her teeth, you’d … what? What?”

  “I’m in love. It’s wonderful. It’s terrifying. It’s the most incredible thing that’s ever happened to me. He’s perfect. Oh, he’s the most irritating man half the time, but I like that. And he’s so smart and so funny—and very committed to his work.”

  “Camilla.”

  “And he’s very attractive. I know that’s just surface, but isn’t it nice to fall in love with the inner man and have the outer man be gorgeous?”

  “Camilla.”

  “He’s in love with me, too. He’s coming around to that, though it might take just a little while longer to—”

  “Camilla!”

  “Yes?”

  “Who is he?”

  “Oh, he’s the man I’ve been working for here. Delaney Caine.
”

  “The archaeologist? You fell for Indiana Jones?”

  “I’m serious, Marian.”

  “Well, does he at least look like Indiana Jones?”

  “No. Hmm, actually perhaps a little. But that’s not the point. This isn’t a game or a movie, it’s my life. And this is something I want, something that feels very right.”

  “I can hear that. Cam, I’m so happy for you. When will I meet him?”

  “I don’t know exactly.” Gnawing over the question, she wrapped the phone cord around her fingers. “That’s part of the problem. After I explain things, then I hope we can make arrangements for him to meet the family.”

  “Explain things?” There was a long pause. “You mean you haven’t told him who you are?”

  “Not yet. I didn’t expect this to happen, did I? I couldn’t anticipate it. And then I wanted …” She trailed off warily as she heard Del heading into the kitchen.

  “Camilla, how could you let things go so far and not tell him? If the man’s in love with you—”

  “I don’t know that,” she murmured in French. “Not for certain. I didn’t intend for it to be complicated.”

  She cleared her throat as Del took the whiskey bottle from the pantry. It wasn’t possible to ask him to hurry, or to cut Marian off, so she continued the conversation in French, keeping her voice as mild as she could manage.

  “Marian, I had a right to my privacy. I could hardly stay here if I’d announced I was a member of the royal family. The whole point of this was not to be Camilla de Cordina for a few weeks.”

  “The point seems to have changed.”

  “Yes, I know that, but I’d hardly be staying here if people knew who I was. The cabin would be surrounded by the media, and that, if you recall, was what sent me off in the first place.”

  “If you think the man would call reporters—”

  “No. No, of course I don’t think that. And I didn’t call to argue with you, Marian. I did what I had to do, what I thought best, for me. As to the rest.” She slanted a look toward Del as he poured whiskey into a glass. “I’ll deal with it.”

  “I’m your friend, Camilla. I love you. I just don’t want to see you hurt or disappointed. Or exploited.”

  “I don’t intend to be. Tell the family I’ll be home soon.”

  “And your dressmaker?”

  Camilla sighed. “Inform Madam Monique that Her Highness will not disgrace her at the Autumn Ball. Go back to sleep, Marian.”

  She hung up, opened the refrigerator for a cold drink while Del stood swirling his whiskey in the glass. “I hope you don’t mind me using the phone.”

  “No, I don’t mind.”

  “I reversed the charges.”

  “Good. I’d probably have gotten a jolt if I’d noticed a call to Cordina on my phone bill next month.”

  “Yes, I imagine so. I …” She trailed off, and the hand that had lifted for a glass fell to her side again.

  “Je parle francais aussi.” Del lifted the whiskey to his lips as she turned to face him. “Your Highness.”

  Chapter 9

  She knew her color faded. She could feel it drain and leave her face cold and stiff. Just as she could feel her heart leap into her throat and fill it with pounding.

  Because of it she instinctively straightened her spine.

  “I see. You didn’t mention it.”

  “Must’ve slipped my mind,” he said evenly. “Like being a member of the royal family of Cordina slipped yours. Just one of those stray details.”

  “My lineage never slips my mind. It isn’t allowed to. Delaney—”

  “So what’s all this?” He gestured with the glass. “Your little version of the princess and the pauper? Taking a few weeks, slumming with the hoi polloi.”

  “You know better. You can’t think that.”

  “Let’s see, what should I think?” He lifted the whiskey again, splashed more in the glass. He couldn’t precisely pinpoint why he wanted to heave the bottle against the wall. Or more, why he resisted. “What, are you hiding out from a lover? One a little too anxious to get his hands on the crown jewels?”

  “That’s unfair. I have no lover but you.”

  “Not for the past couple of weeks anyway. You should’ve told me I was having sex with a princess. It might’ve added a nice flair.”

  Her lips wanted to tremble, so she firmed them into a hard line. “And that’s unkind.”

  “You want fair? You want kind?” His voice changed from dangerously soft to viciously sharp. “You’ve got the wrong guy, sister. Somebody plays me for a fool, I get pissed.”

  “I didn’t play you. I never intended to—”

  “To what? Cut the crap, Camilla. You don’t do anything you don’t intend. You came in here because you wanted to play pretend for a while, and amuse yourself with the locals while you were at it.”

  “That’s not true.” Her temper started to build to match his. “And it insults both of us.”

  “You’re insulted.” He slammed the glass down before he did throw it. “You come into my place and pretend to be someone you’re not. You lie about who you are. About what you are. Virginia farm girl, my ass.”

  “My father has a farm in Virginia.” She shouted back because she was too frightened to do otherwise. “I’ve lived there half the year all of my life.”

  “And the other half in the palace. Well, I guess the tiara suits you better than a straw hat.”

  “Yes. No!” Struggling through the anger and panic, she dragged a hand through her hair. “We have a farm in Cordina. My mother—”

  “Your ‘French’ mother,” he said coolly.

  “You said France, I said Europe.” But it was weak, and she knew it. “Delaney, I’m exactly the same person I was ten minutes ago. I only wanted the privacy of—”

  “Privacy? Give me a break. You slept with me. You made damn certain you’d sleep with me. What, looking for a change of pace from the purebreds? You get points for nailing stray Americans on your little adventure?”

  Her color came up now, flaming into her cheek. “How dare you! You’re crude and vile, and it’s despicable to turn something lovely into something cheap. I won’t have this discussion, nor explain myself to you while you’re in this impossible mood. Move aside.”

  “You don’t give commands here, Princess.” He grabbed her arm before she could stalk by him. “You used me.”

  “No.” Tears wanted to brim, wanted to fall. “Not the way you mean. Del, I only wanted a place to be. I only wanted some time.”

  “You got a hell of a lot more, didn’t you? Playtime’s over, Your Highness. You’re going to do more than explain yourself.”

  “Let me go.” She drew on all of her composure and command, and eyed him coldly. “I have nothing more to say to you now. Let me go.”

  “Oh, I will. All the way. I guess we’ve said all there is. You can pack your bags and run away, since that seems to be your pattern.”

  The temper and shame that warred within her were no match for the grief. “You want me to go?”

  “You got what you came for, didn’t you? I’ll make it easy for you and get the hell out of your way.”

  Her breath hitched as he started for the door. “Del. Please, don’t. I love you.”

  The pain stabbed through him. The words snarled out of him as he tossed them at her, though they were pure truth. “You’re breaking my heart, sister,” he said, “try that line on someone who’s stupid enough to believe it. And get the hell away from me.” He left and slammed the door behind him.

  * * *

  He tromped through the forest for an hour, thinking vicious thoughts and cursing all women. He stalked the woods another hour as the flames of his temper banked to a smoldering rage.

  In love with him? What a crock. She had a lot of nerve pulling that routine on him. She’d been about to pour on the tears, too. He’d seen that coming. Thank God he’d gotten out of there before the floods hit.

  He just cou
ldn’t stand weeping females.

  Well, she’d pulled every other trick out of her hat. Excuse me, he thought bitterly, make that crown. Why not tears?

  And for what? So she could have a couple weeks to indulge herself. Cinderella in the wilderness?

  He stopped, rubbing at the ache in his gut as he stared out over the pond.

  I love this place.

  He could hear her saying it, see the easy pleasure in her face as she lay on the grass beside him.

  So she had an appreciation of nature. Big deal.

  Haven’t you ever needed to just breathe?

  He remembered her saying that, too. That first day, standing beside him with all that tension in her face, in her voice. As if she’d been standing on the edge of something and fighting to hold her ground instead of leaping over.

  Okay, so maybe she had some problems. Who didn’t? But that didn’t excuse what she’d done. It had all been a pretense, right from the beginning. And she’d let him fall in love with her—let him fall into that cage without warning him it had a trap door to nowhere.

  She had to pay for that.

  He turned, headed back toward the cabin. Okay, he’d let her explain—not that he was buying any of it. Then …

  Then he’d figure out what the hell to do next.

  With his head down and his hands in his pockets, he didn’t notice her car was gone until he was nearly at the back door. For nearly a full minute he stared blankly at the spot where it had last been parked.

  Then he was bolting into the cabin, charging up the stairs.

  Her clothes were gone. He flung open both closets as if she might have put them back in the spare room just to make him sweat. She’d even taken the pots and tubes from the medicine cabinet.

  On a tearing fury, he searched the cabin for a note. But there was nothing.

  He couldn’t say she’d gone without a trace. She’d left the candles, the little bottles springing with wildflowers. Her scent, everywhere, was already haunting him.

  So, she’d pulled up stakes, he thought. Just because he’d yelled at her and told her she could pack and ran away. If the woman couldn’t stand up to a fight …

  No, better this way, he reminded himself. No point in dragging it out. She was heading back to where she belonged to where she’d been headed all along, and he could get back to work without having her distract him every five minutes.

  He prowled over to his notes, picked up one at random. After tossing it down again, he dropped onto the couch to brood.

  * * *

  She’d come back. He talked himself into that, particularly when he got just a little drunk. She was just off in a snit, that was all. Women had snits, didn’t they?