Кейт Хьюит – Royal Christmas: Royal Love-Child, Forbidden Marriage (страница 9)

Phoebe choked back a surprised laugh. ‘I suppose Anders’s abdication was the news of the century, then.’

‘Just about.’

‘And it made you king.’

‘Heir,’ Leo corrected, his tone light although his expression had hardened. ‘King Nicholas is still alive, as far as I know.’

Phoebe took another sip of wine. ‘The Playboy Prince will become the Playboy King one day,’ she quipped a bit sardonically, and Leo’s mouth tightened, his eyes darkening to a deep umber. She wondered if she’d actually offended him. ‘Your reputation is well-known, you know. At least it was when I—’

‘Yes, I’m aware,’ he said in a bored voice. ‘Although in that regard, I suppose some things have changed in Amarnes.’

Phoebe regarded him curiously. Was he actually trying to say he’d changed? Yet he seemed so much the same—even as that thought took hold of her, another realisation swept through her. He had changed. Gone were the rumpled curls, as if he’d just risen from bed—from being with a lover. His hair was cut short, and more grey streaked his temples. And even though he’d treated her with the same lazy arrogance as he had six years ago, Phoebe sensed something new—something harder—in him now, a resolute sense of purpose that had been lacking before—or was she simply being fanciful? Imagining things, rewriting history, the man she’d known?

Except, Phoebe thought, she’d never really known Leo. She’d met him for ten minutes and read about him in the tabloids. That was all, and it occurred to her how very little it was. Now, suddenly—stupidly, perhaps—she found herself wondering just what kind of man he was. What kind of man he’d been, and then, more intriguingly, how he might have changed.

‘So what have you been doing, then?’ she finally asked. She took a bit of beef and chewed slowly, watching him. Swallowing, she continued. ‘How have you been keeping yourself?’

Leo shrugged. ‘A bit of this, a bit of that.’

‘That’s hardly an answer.’

‘I’m sure a more specific answer would bore you. Do you really want to know the monotonous details of royal duty?’

‘You’re not a playboy any more?’ Phoebe pressed.

Leo smiled, the sleepy, sensual smile Phoebe remembered, and as awareness coiled in her belly and raced through her veins she knew one thing that hadn’t changed: her response to him.

‘You know what they say. You can take the man out of the country, but you can’t—’

‘You mean,’ Phoebe cut him off, ‘you haven’t changed?’

Leo shrugged. ‘Judge for yourself. But …’ he leaned forward, his eyes glinting into hers ‘ … enough about the boring, sordid details of my own life. I want to know about you.’

Phoebe raised her brows, a strange, surprising smile lurking inside her, quirking her mouth. ‘Can something be sordid and boring?’

‘Most definitely.’ He dismissed the topic with a shrug of one powerful shoulder. ‘Now, I know a bit about how you’ve been keeping yourself—’

‘How?’

Leo smiled. ‘Phoebe, I always do my research.’

‘You had me investigated?’ she demanded sharply.

‘Of course. That’s how Christian’s existence was discovered.’

‘Why—why would you do that?’ Phoebe asked in a whisper, thinking, if only he hadn’t …

‘I’m afraid when Anders died, he left a few skeletons in the cupboard that had to be dealt with. You were one of them.’

‘And now you’re dealing with me,’ Phoebe filled in. ‘Once again I’m an inconvenience.’

‘But an interesting one,’ Leo told her with a faint smile. ‘I learned, for instance, that you have your own business, designing jewellery.’

Phoebe nodded, a sense of pride burgeoning within her when she thought of what she’d accomplished. ‘Yes, I do. I have a small boutique on St Mark’s Place and a mailorder service as well.’

‘You’ve made a life for yourself,’ Leo observed, and Phoebe’s eyes flashed.

‘Despite my supposedly squalid apartment?’

His answering smile took the sting out of her remark. ‘I suppose your apartment could be seen as … adequate,’ he said with a heavy sigh that made a reluctant smile tug at Phoebe’s mouth. She could hardly believe she was sitting here, talking and laughing with Leo Christensen … almost as if they were friends.

Had he simply lulled her into a false sense of security, comfort? Or was this real?

She realised with a surprising pang of longing that she wanted it to be. Despite the fullness of her life, her business, her friends and family, she’d been without a man. A companion. With a son to raise and a growing business to manage there hadn’t been time, or, Phoebe acknowledged, much inclination. The wreck of her one-month marriage kept her wary and distant, although she’d had a few relationships—well, dates at least—over the years.

Leo leaned forward, his fingers reaching out to touch Phoebe’s throat, his fingers lightly caressing its hollow. ‘Is this one of your pieces?’

Phoebe swallowed, far too affected by Leo’s casual caress. His fingers were still brushing her skin as he touched the necklace, an uncut sliver of fiery agate encased in twisted gold wire.

‘Yes …’ Her voice came out in a shuddery hiss of breath. Leo looked up, and Phoebe was transfixed by his gaze, his eyes the same colour as the stone he caressed.

‘It’s beautiful. Unusual. I can see why you’ve been successful.’

‘Thank you.’ He was still touching her, and Phoebe knew she should withdraw, should demand he drop his hand. Yet she couldn’t. She was enjoying it too much, savouring the feel of his fingers against his skin, revelling in the desire that uncoiled and wound its way through her.

Why was she so helpless when it came to this man? And did it even matter why? It simply was.

Leo’s eyes met and clashed with hers, and after another heightened second he slowly—almost reluctantly—withdrew his hand. ‘How did you get started in jewellery?’ he asked. He leaned back in his chair, leaving Phoebe feeling stupidly, ridiculously, overwhelmingly bereft. She looked away, afraid Leo would see the disappointment in her eyes.

‘My mother is a potter, and so art was always part of my upbringing. We’d go to Long Island for summer every year, and I loved collecting stones on the beach. Pretty ones, different ones. I’d twist string around them to make necklaces and bracelets and things.’ She shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. ‘And that’s where my jewellery comes from, really. Childish crafts, but grown-up.’

‘Very grown-up,’ Leo murmured. ‘I can’t imagine it’s cheap to rent retail space in Manhattan.’

‘No, indeed,’ Phoebe agreed. ‘And apartments aren’t cheap, either.’

‘Touché.’ Leo grinned, his eyes lightening to amber, his teeth strong and white. He raised his glass in a mock-toast. ‘You’re not going to forgive that one remark, are you?’

‘Not any time soon,’ Phoebe retorted, trying to be flippant although she felt far from it. Leo’s full-fledged grin had had a devastating effect on her; she’d never seen him smile properly before, without irony or contempt or derision. She looked away, taking a slug of wine, willing her heart rate to slow. She couldn’t keep on like this, every sense on high alert, responsive to his every gesture. Craving more.

One of the consulate’s staff slipped in quietly to clear the remains of their meal. The fire snapped and crackled, and Phoebe knew she should go. Even more importantly, she should want to go. Yet somehow she didn’t. Somehow she wanted to stay in this warm, comfortable room, with the fire casting leaping shadows along the panelled walls, and the glow of Leo’s smile starting a fire in her soul. In her body, too, for her throat still burned where he’d touched her all too briefly.

Stop it. Phoebe closed her eyes in private supplication. Please. Wanting Leo was such a bad idea. It would cloud her judgement, make her weak …

She had to think of what was best for Christian, not her own unsatisfied body. She had to keep them both safe.

Somewhere in the consulate a clock struck eight, low, sonorous chimes that reverberated through Phoebe and made her reluctantly stir. ‘I should go.’ Yet she didn’t move. ‘It’s late, and we can continue this discussion another day—’

‘I’m afraid not,’ Leo said, and he sounded genuinely regretful. ‘You see, the king is not very well at the moment and he wants to see Christian as soon as possible. We need to leave for Amarnes tomorrow.’ Phoebe’s mouth dropped open in soundless shock. Tomorrow …? ‘The arrangements have been made,’ Leo continued, ‘and I will fetch you and Christian at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.’

Her earlier stirrings of desire gave way to sheer outrage. ‘That’s impossible! I can’t arrange travel details so quickly. Christian is in school and I’m not even sure his passport is current—’

Leo shrugged. ‘Ring the school, and the passport is irrelevant. We will be travelling on a private jet, and—’ his smile glimmered briefly ‘—I think Customs will let him through, as a royal.’

As a royal. Phoebe wasn’t ready to process that statement or its frightening implications. She shook her head. ‘And what about my work?’

Leo’s expression didn’t even flicker. ‘Since you manage your own business, I’m quite certain you can arrange a leave of absence.’

‘I have orders to fill—’

‘And they can’t wait for two weeks?’ Leo raised his eyebrows. ‘Surely you have an assistant of some kind who can do what is necessary. If not, hire one and the Amarnesian government shall pay for it.’