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Affairs of State
Jennifer Lewis


First she discovers she’s the secret daughter of the American president, then she falls for Simon Worth!Ariella’s life can’t get much more complicated. Having fun with Simon is one thing. But getting serious? No way! Until Ariella discovers she’s pregnant with his baby and now all bets are off!This woman is fighting for what is hers.










The level of desire in his blood climbed a few notches higher.

Alarm bells were ringing in his head. Sexual attraction was usually accompanied by danger of some sort. Every girl he even pecked on the cheek was immediately investigated by the media as a future princess. There was no question of having sex with them unless the utmost secrecy was maintained. His military background helped in matters of subterfuge, but the fact remained that usually when he wanted to kiss, or sleep with, a beautiful and intriguing woman, he had to tell himself no.

On the rare occasions when the stars aligned and he managed to secure total privacy, the moment was loaded and often quite magical. He’d even managed several actual relationships over the years, and had had the good luck to adore women who’d proved utterly discreet.

And here he was again, at the moment where he knew exactly what he wanted to do—climb every mountain in order to kiss Ariella Winthrop.

It was never as easy as that.




About the Author


JENNIFER LEWIS has been dreaming up stories for as long as she can remember and is thrilled to be able to share them with readers. She has lived on both sides of the Atlantic and worked in media and the arts before she grew bold enough to put pen to paper. She would love to hear from readers at jen@jenlewis.com. Visit her website at www.jenlewis.com.




Affairs of State

Jennifer Lewis

















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Charles Griemsman, editor extraordinaire, and the authors in this series who were such a pleasure to work with: Barbara Dunlop, Michelle Celmer, Robyn Grady, Rachel Bailey and Andrea Laurence.




One


“The prince is staring right at you.”

“Maybe he needs a refill.” Ariella Winthrop sent a text requesting another round of the salmon and caviar. The gala event that Ariella had planned was a fund-raiser for a local hospital and nearly six hundred guests were milling around the ballroom. “I’ll send a server his way.”

“You haven’t even looked at him.” Her glamorous friend Francesca Crowe was an invited guest at the party. With her long dark hair in a shiny sheet down her back and her voluptuous body encased in an expensive beaded dress, Francesca fit right in with the crowd of billionaires and their buddies. It was often awkward when friends came to Ariella’s events and wanted to chat and hang out while she needed to attend to the details. Luckily, Francesca was the kind of person she could be blunt with.

“I’m busy working.” She responded to another text from her staff about a spill near the main entrance. “And I’m sure you’re imagining things.” She didn’t glance up at the prince. Hopefully he wasn’t still looking at her. She was starting to feel self-conscious.

“Maybe he’s as intrigued as everyone else by the mysterious love child of the United States president.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. And I’m going off the idea of meeting President Morrow on your husband’s TV network.” Francesca would know she was kidding, but her heart clutched as she thought about it. Everyone was talking about her and her famous father and she’d never even met the guy.

“Go on. Look. He’s gorgeous.” Her friend’s conspiratorial tone, and the fact that she’d ignored her comment about the TV special entirely, made Ariella glance up in spite of herself.

Her eyes locked with a tall man halfway across the room. His short-cropped dirty blond hair contrasted with his black tuxedo. A jolt of energy charged through the air as he started walking toward her. “Uh-oh, he’s coming this way.”

“I told you he was looking at you.” Francesca smiled and stared right at him. “And he doesn’t need champagne, either. Look, his glass is full.”

“I wonder what’s wrong.” Her pulse quickened and she plastered on her most helpful smile as he approached. It was never easy to know if you should introduce yourself in these situations. She was working at the event, not attending as a guest, so was it a breach of etiquette to greet a prince? She wished her business partner, Scarlet, was here. With her background as a D.C. socialite, she knew just how to handle these dilemmas.

Before she could collect her thoughts he stood right in front of her. He held out his hand, so she shook it. His handshake was predictably firm and authoritative. “Ms. Winthrop, Simon Worth.”

He knew her name? Her brain scrambled. He must have read the media stories like everyone else. “Pleased to meet you.” His eyes fixed on hers with startling intensity. A dark honey color, they seemed to see right past her studied professional façade to the woman beneath.

“I’m impressed.” His voice was deep, with a masculine gruffness that stirred something inside her. Oh dear. There was nothing good about being attracted to a royal guest. Still it was kind of him to compliment her.

“Oh, thank you. That’s sweet of you.” It wasn’t often that guests thanked the party planner personally. Or even noticed that she was alive. “We do enjoy hosting these fund-raisers.”

He’d let go of her hand, but his gaze still held her like a deer in a rifle sight. Humor sparkled in his golden eyes. “Not your party planning skills, though I’m sure those are impressive, too. I admire how well you’ve handled the blazing spotlight of press attention on your personal life.”

“Oh.” She felt her cheeks heat, which was unusual for her. This man was having an unsettling effect on her sanity. “I suppose it helps that I don’t have much of a personal life. I’m all work all the time so they haven’t found a lot to write about.” Now she was babbling, which made her feel even more hot and bothered. “And it’s easy to stay detached when I genuinely have no idea what they’re talking about half the time.”

“I know how you feel.” He smiled. “I’ve had cameras poked in my face since before I could speak. I finally realized that if there isn’t a good story, they’ll just make one up and hope you play into their hands by making a fuss over it.”

She smiled. “So it is better to put your hands over your ears and hope that they go away?”

“Pretty much.” He had a sexy dimple in his left cheek. He was taller than she’d expected. And more strapping, too. His tuxedo stretched across broad shoulders and his elegant white shirt collar framed the sturdy neck of an athlete. “It helps if you travel a lot, then they have trouble keeping up.”

“I’ll have to plan more parties abroad.” He was easy to talk to. Which was weird. Especially with this unsettling attraction clawing at her insides. “I did one in Paris a couple of months ago, and we have one coming up in Russia, so it should prove quite easy once I get the hang of it.”

He laughed. “There you go. I travel to Africa a lot now that I’m ex-military. It’s quite easy to lose photographers out in the bush.”

She chuckled at the image. “What do you do in Africa?” She was genuinely curious. Surely Britain didn’t have colonies there anymore?

“I run an organization called World Connect that brings technology and education to remote areas. The staff is all local so we spend a lot of time recruiting in the local villages and helping them get things off the ground.”

“That must be very rewarding.” Gosh, he was adorable. A prince who actually cared about something other than entertaining himself? There weren’t too many of those around.

“I thought I wouldn’t know what to do with myself once I left the service, but I’m busier and happier than ever. I’m hoping to drum up some donations while I’m in D.C. That’s another challenge that keeps me on my toes. Perhaps you can help me with that?”

“You mean, plan a fund-raiser?” Scarlet would be thrilled if she enticed another royal onto their roster of clients. They attracted other clients the way a sparkling tiara attracted glances.

“Why not?” He’d drawn so close to her that she could almost feel his body heat. “Would you join me for tea tomorrow?”

Her brain screeched to a halt. Something about his body language told her he wanted more than tea. He had a reputation for boyish charm, and although she couldn’t remember reading about any romantic scandals in the papers, the last thing she needed was to give the tabloids more fuel for their gossip furnaces. “I’m afraid I have an appointment tomorrow.” She stepped backward slightly.

Instead of looking angry or annoyed, he tilted his head and smiled. “Of course. You’re busy. How about breakfast? That’s got to be the quietest meal for a party planner.”

She swallowed. Every cell in her body was telling her to run screaming from the room. He was dangerously good-looking and must have years of experience seducing women in far less vulnerable emotional states than herself. But he was a prince, so in her line of work she couldn’t afford to offend him. At least not here, in public. Planning a fund-raiser for his charity would be great for DC Affairs, so Scarlet would kill her if she turned him down. And really, what could happen during breakfast? “That sounds fine.”

“My driver will pick you up at your house. It will be discreet, trust me.”

“Oh.” Somehow that sounded more worrying than ever. If the meeting was to be all business, why would they need discretion? But she managed a shaky smile. “My address is—”

“Don’t worry. He’ll find you.” He gave a slight nod, like an ancient courtier, and backed away a step or two before disappearing into the crowd of well-dressed partygoers.

She wanted to sag against a wall with relief. Unfortunately she wasn’t near a wall, and her phone was buzzing.

“Well, well, well.” Francesca’s voice startled her.

“I’d forgotten you were there.”

“I could tell. You forgot to introduce me to your royal friend. Very hot. And I thought his older brother was supposed to be the good-looking one.”

“His older brother is the heir to the throne.”

“Just think, if the USA was a monarchy like England, you’d be next in line to the throne.” Francesca looked at her thoughtfully. “Your dad is the president, and you’re his only child.”

“Who he didn’t even know existed until a few weeks ago.” She tried to stay focused on her job. “And I still haven’t actually met him in person.” That part was beginning to hurt more and more.

“Liam’s in negotiations with the White House press office about the date for the reunion special. Ted Morrow’s on board with doing it. I’m sure he wants to meet you, too.” Francesca squeezed her arm gently.

“Or not. I was an accident, after all.” She glanced around the room, packed with wealthy movers and shakers. “It’s hardly a reunion when we’ve never met before. We really shouldn’t be talking about this here. Someone could be listening. And I’m supposed to be working. Don’t you have bigwigs to schmooze with?”

“That’s my husband’s department. I wish I could be a fly on the croissants tomorrow morning.”

“I wish I could have found an excuse not to go.” Her heart rate quickened at the thought of meeting Prince Simon for breakfast. They couldn’t talk business for the entire meal. What kind of small talk did you make with a prince?

“Are you crazy? He’s utterly delish.”

“It would be easier if he wasn’t. The last thing I need is to embark on a scandalous affair with a prince.” Ariella exhaled as butterflies swirled in her stomach. “Not that he’d be at all interested, of course, but just when I think things can’t get any crazier, they do.”

“Um, I think someone’s throwing up into the gilded lilies.” She gestured discretely at a young woman in a strapless gown bending over a waist-high urn of brass blooms.

Ariella lifted her phone. “See what I mean?”

The long black Mercedes sedan parked outside her Georgetown apartment may not have had “By Appointment to His Majesty” stenciled on the outside, but it wasn’t much more subtle. The uniformed chauffeur who rang the bell looked like a throwback to another era. Ariella dashed for the backseat hoping there were no photographers lurking about.

She didn’t ask where they were going, and the driver didn’t say a word, so she watched in surprise, then confusion, then more than a little alarm as the car took her right out of the city and into a leafy suburb. When the suburbs gave way to large horse farms she leaned forward and asked the question she should have posed before she got into the car. “Where are you taking me?”

“Sutter’s Way, madam. We’re nearly there.” She swallowed and sat back. Sutter’s Way was a beautiful old mansion, built by the Hearst family at the height of their wealth and influence. She’d seen paintings from its collection in her art history class at Georgetown University but she had no idea who owned it now.

At last the car passed through a tall wrought iron gate, crunched along a gravel driveway and pulled up in front of the elegant brick house. When she got out, her heels sank into the gravel and she brushed wrinkles from the skirt of the demure and unsexy navy dress she’d chosen for the occasion.

Simon bounded down the steps and strode toward her. “Sorry about the long drive but I thought you’d appreciate the privacy.” She braced for a hug or kiss, then chastised herself when he gave her a firm handshake. Her head must be getting very large these days if she expected royalty to kiss her.

He was even better looking in an open-necked shirt and khakis. His skin was tanned and his hair looked windblown. Not that it made any difference to her. He was just a potential client, and an influential one, at that. “I am becoming paranoid about the press lately. They seem to pop out in the strangest places. I don’t know what they hope they’ll find me doing.” Kissing a British prince, perhaps.

She swallowed. Her imagination seemed to be running away with her. Simon probably just wanted ideas about how to attract high rollers who would donate money to his charity.

He gestured for her to go in. “I’ve learned the hard way that photographers really do follow you everywhere, so it’s best to try to stick with activities you don’t mind seeing under a splashy headline.” His grin was infectious.

“Is that why I’m afraid to even change my hairstyle?”

“Don’t let them scare you. That gives them power over you and you certainly don’t want that. From what I’ve seen, you handle them like a pro.”

“Maybe it’s in the blood.” Her private thought flew off her tongue and almost made her halt in her tracks. Lately she’d been thinking a lot about the man who sired her. He faced the press every day with good humor and never seemed ruffled. It was so odd to think that they shared the same DNA.

“No doubt. I’m sure your father is very impressed.”

“My father is…was a nice man called Dale Winthrop. He’s the dad who raised me. I still can’t get used to people calling President Morrow my father. If it wasn’t for sleazy journalists breaking the law in search of a story, he wouldn’t even know I existed.”

They went into a sunlit room where an elegant and delicious-smelling breakfast was spread out on a creamy tablecloth. He pulled out her chair, which gave her an odd sensation of being…cared for. Very weird.

“Help yourself. The house is ours for now. Even the staff have been sent packing so you don’t have to worry about eavesdroppers.”

“That’s fantastic.” She reached for a scone, not sure what else to do.

“So you have the press to thank for learning about your parentage. Maybe they’re not so bad after all.” His honeycolored eyes shone with warmth.

“Not bad? It’s been a nightmare. I was a peaceful person living a quiet life—punctuated by spectacular parties—before this whole thing exploded.” She cut her scone and buttered it.

“I’m impressed that you haven’t taken a big movie deal or written a tell-all exposé.”

“Maybe I would tell all if I knew anything to tell.” She laughed. How could a foreign prince be so easy to talk to? She felt more relaxed discussing this whole mess with Simon than with her actual friends. “The situation surprised me as much as anyone. I always knew I was adopted but I never had the slightest interest in finding my biological parents.”

“How do your adoptive parents feel about all this?” He leaned forward.

Her chest contracted. “They died four years ago. A plane crash on their way to a friend’s anniversary party.” She still couldn’t really talk about it without getting emotional.

“I’m so sorry.” Concern filled his handsome face. “Do you think they would have wanted you to get to know your birth parents?”

She frowned and stared at him. “You know what? I think they would.” She sighed. “If only they were still here I could ask them for advice. My mom was a genius at knowing the right thing to do in a tricky situation. Whenever I run into a snarl at work I always ask myself what she would do.”

“It sounds like a great opportunity to welcome two new parents into your life. Not to replace the ones who raised you, of course, no one could ever do that, but to help fill the gap they left behind.”

His compassion touched her. And she knew his own mother had died suddenly and tragically, when he was only a boy, so he wasn’t just making this stuff up. “You’re sweet to think of that, but so far neither of them seems to want a relationship with me.”

“You haven’t met them?” He looked shocked.

She shook her head quietly. “The president’s office hasn’t even made an official statement about me, though they’ve stopped denying that I could be his daughter since the DNA test results became public.” She let out a heavy sigh. “And my mother…Can I swear you to secrecy?”

“Of course.” His serious expression reassured her.

“My real mother refuses to come out of hiding. She wrote to me privately, which I appreciate, but mostly to say that she wants to keep quiet about the whole situation. Weirdly enough, she lives in Ireland now.”

“Does she?” He brightened. “You’ll have to come to our side of the Atlantic for a visit.”

“She certainly didn’t invite me.” Her freshly baked scone was cooling in her fingers. Her appetite seemed to have shriveled. “And I can’t say I blame her. Who’d want to be plunged into this whole mess?”

“She can hardly bow out now when she’s the one who had the affair with the president in the first place. Though I suppose he wasn’t the president, then.”

“No, he was just a tall handsome high school senior in a letter jacket. I’ve seen the photos on the news like everyone else.” She smiled sadly. “She told me in her letter that she kept quiet about her pregnancy because he was going off to college and she didn’t want to spoil what she knew would be a brilliant career.”

“She was right about his prospects, that’s for sure.” He poured her some fragrant coffee. “And maybe she needs time to get used to the situation. I bet she’s secretly dying to meet you.”

“I’m quickly learning not to have expectations about people. They’re likely to be turned on their head just when I least expect it.”

“You can’t get paranoid, though. That doesn’t help. I try to assume that everyone has the best intentions until they prove otherwise.” His expression made her laugh. It suggested they often proved otherwise but he wasn’t losing sleep over it.

She didn’t know what to think about Simon’s intentions. She had a strong feeling that he didn’t invite her here to plan a party, but there was no way she could come out and ask him. Maybe he really did just want to give her a pep talk on how to deal with her unwelcome celebrity.

“So I should try to approach everyone as a potential new friend, even if they’re trying to take a picture of me buying bagels in the supermarket?”

“If you can. At the very least they won’t get a really bad picture of you and you won’t get in trouble for smashing their camera.” He managed to be mischievous and deeply serious at the same time, which was doing something strange to her insides.

“Ever since your older brother got married the papers keep speculating about your love life, but I haven’t seen any stories about it. How do you keep your personal life out of the papers?” Uh-oh, now she was asking him about his love life, in a roundabout way. She regretted the question, but also burned with curiosity to see how he’d answer. Was he involved with anyone?

“I have privacy.” He gestured at their elegant surroundings. “I just have to be cunning to get it.” His eyes shone. They were the color of neat whiskey, and were starting to have a similarly intoxicating effect on her. He had a light stubble on his cheeks, not dark, but enough to add texture under his cheekbones and she wondered what it would feel like to touch it. This was the private Simon the public didn’t see, and he’d invited her into his exclusive world.

Her breathing had quickened and she realized she was still holding her uneaten scone in her hand. She put it down and had a sip of orange juice instead. That had the bracing effect she needed. “I guess I need to get more cunning, too. It must help to have friends with large estates.” She smiled. “It looks like it has a beautiful garden.”

“Do you want to see it? I can tell you’re not exactly ravenous.”

“I’d love a walk.” Adrenaline and relief surged through her. Anything to dissipate the nervous tension building in her muscles. “Maybe I’ll be hungrier after some fresh air.”

“I already went for a run this morning. Just me and two Secret Service agents pounding the picturesque streets.” He stood and helped pull out her chair as she stood. Again she was touched by his thoughtfulness. She’d expect a prince to be more…supercilious.

“Where are the agents now?”

“Outside, checking the perimeter. They’ll keep a discreet distance from us.”

“Oh.” She glanced around, half expecting to see one lurking in the corner. Simon opened a pair of French doors and they stepped out onto a slate patio with a view over a formal rose garden. The heady scent of rose petals filled the air. “You picked the perfect time to invite me here. They’re all in bloom.”

“It’s June. The magic moment.”

He smiled and they walked down some wide steps to the borders of roses. They were the fragrant heirloom roses, with soft white, delicate yellow and big fluffy pale pink heads, so different from the gaudy unscented blooms she sometimes dealt with for parties. She drank in their scent and felt her blood pressure drop. “How gorgeous. It must take an army of gardeners to keep them so perfect.”

“No doubt.”

She glanced up at him, instantly reminded of how tall he was. Six-two, at least. His broad shoulders strained against the cloth of his shirt as he bent over a spray of double pink blossoms. He pulled something from his pocket and snipped off a stem, then stripped the thorns.

“You carry a knife?”

“Boy Scout training.” He offered her the posy. Their fingers brushed and she felt a sizzle of energy pass between them before she accepted it and buried her nose in it. How could she be attracted to a British prince, of all people? Wasn’t her life crazy and embarrassing enough already? Surely she could at least develop a crush on a prince from some obscure and far-flung nation that no one had heard of, not one of her nation’s closest allies.

“You’re very quiet.” His soft voice tickled her ear.

“Thinking too much, as usual.” She looked up. The morning sun played on the hard planes of his face and illuminated the golden sparkle of her eyes.

“That’s not always a good idea.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe we’d better keep walking.” His hand touched the base of her spine, sending a thick shiver of arousal darting through her. Things just got worse and worse!

She walked quickly, first to lose his hand, and then to outpace her own imagination, which already toyed with the idea of kissing him.

“I think I’ve been working too hard lately.” That must be why the simple touch of a handsome man could send her loopy.

“Then you need to take a break.” He made it sound so easy.

“It’s not as if I can just step off the carousel and spend a few weeks in the islands.”

“Not without the entire press corps following you.” His wry glance made her chuckle. “You have to be crafty about it when you’re in the public eye. You don’t want to be caught topless in Vegas.”

She laughed aloud. “I don’t think there’s much danger of that. Oddly enough, I’ve never been there.”

“No quickie weddings in your past?”

“No, thank goodness. Otherwise my former husband would probably be preparing a tell-all biography about me.”

He slowed. “Is that a risk? Do you have people from your past who could reveal things you don’t want to be made public?” Was he tactfully inquiring about her romantic history?

“No.” She said it fast and loud. “I guess that’s something to be grateful for. My past is very plain vanilla. I was a bit embarrassed by how unexciting my life has been up to this point, but now it’s a huge relief.”

“But a little dull.” She glanced at him as he lifted a brow slightly. As if he wanted to tempt her into sin.

“Sometimes dull is good.”

“Even in the party planning business?”

“Oh, yes. Believe me, dull and tasteful goes a long way, especially when there are scandals swirling like tornadoes all around you.”

“Hmm. Sounds like a waste to me. If you’re going to have a party you might as well make it a live one. I suppose I feel the same way about life. Sometimes it drives the family mad that I can’t just plod around opening supermarkets and smashing bottles against ships, but I have to climb mountains and trek across deserts. Turning my adventures into fund-raising activities gives them an air of legitimacy, but frankly I’d be doing it anyway, simply because I enjoy it. Maybe you need an adventure.” His voice brightened.

“Oh, no.” Adrenaline shot through her. “No. Adventure is definitely the last thing I need. Really, I’m a dull and boring person. Happiest with a cup of herbal tea and a glossy magazine.” That should stop him in his tracks. And maybe she was trying to convince herself that she wasn’t experiencing a surge of excitement just from walking close to this man.

“I don’t believe a word of it.” He touched the small of her back again—just for a split second—as they descended a short flight of stone stairs. Again her skin prickled as if he’d touched it right through her clothes. An odd sensation was unfurling in the pit of her belly. One she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“Trust me,” she pleaded, as her body threatened to succumb to far more excitement than she needed. “All I really want is my ordinary, quiet life back.”

“Well.” He stopped and took her hands. Her fingers tingled and her breath caught in her lungs. “That is most certainly not going to happen.”




Two


It took every ounce of self-control he possessed for Simon not to press his lips to Ariella’s soft pink ones. But he managed. Years of royal training, accompanied by thinly veiled threats from older members of the family, had taught him to handle these situations with his brain rather than other more primitive and enthusiastic parts of his body.

He didn’t want to blow it. Scare her off. Something deep in his gut told him that Ariella Winthrop was no ordinary woman. He trusted his gut in the line of fire and on the face of a sheer cliff. It rarely steered him wrong.

Something about Ariella sent excitement coursing through him. He couldn’t explain it, or even put his finger on the feeling; it was just a hunch that meeting her could change the course of his entire life.

He even managed to let go of her hands, reluctantly, and turn toward the rhododendron border as a distraction. “The reality is that your life has changed forever.” He glanced back, and was relieved to see her following closely. “Whether you like it or not, you’re public property now.” It made him feel close to her. They shared a bond and his years of hard experience could help her negotiate the minefield of a life lived on the pages of the daily papers.

“But I’m still the same person I’ve been all along. People can’t expect me to suddenly welcome the entire world into my private life.”

“You’re not the same, though. You didn’t know the president was your father, did you?”

“I was as surprised as he was. I’d never have guessed it in a million years. Now people are even saying I look like him. It seems insane to me. I don’t feel in the least bit related to him.”

Simon surveyed her strikingly pretty face. She had elegant, classical features, highlighted by the sparkle of warmth from her people-oriented personality. “You do look rather like him. You both have striking bone structure, and something about your eyes seems familiar.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “You’re just imagining it. Or trying to make me feel better, and it’s not working. Yes, I’d like to meet him, since we do share the same genes, but I’m sure I’ll never have the same feelings for him as I do for the man who actually raised me.”

“Of course not.” He frowned. Her moss-green eyes were filled with concern. “No one expects you to do that.”

“I feel like they do.” she protested. “Journalists keep talking to me as if I must be happy to have President Morrow as my father. He’s so popular and successful that I must be dying to claim his revered family tree as my own. I couldn’t care less. I’d rather be descended from some nice man whom I could actually meet and get to know, not some almighty, carved-from-stone figure that everyone bows down to. It’s exasperating.”

He chuckled. “Maybe he isn’t as carved in stone as you think. Sometimes people expect members of the royal family to behave like granite statues, but believe me, we have feelings, too. It can be very inconvenient.” Like right now, when he longed to take this troubled and lovely woman in his arms and give her a big bear hug.

Once again he restrained himself. He’d learned to do a pretty passable impression of a granite statue when the occasion called for it.

“I don’t think the press wants me to be a granite statue. I think they’d like to see me go right to pieces. The way they’ve been hounding me and peppering me with questions, it feels like they’re just waiting for me to say the wrong thing or break down sobbing. They must be exasperated that I’m so dull I couldn’t give them a good story even if I wanted to.” The morning breeze whipped her dark dress against her body. The soft fabric hugged contours that would bring a weaker man to his knees. If only he wasn’t a gentleman.

“You’re anything but dull.”

“Why are we talking about me? That’s a dull topic if there ever was one.” Her eyes flashed something that warned him off. “Didn’t you invite me here to help you plan a party?”

He frowned. Had he used that as an excuse? He just wanted to get to know her better. It was a good idea, though. He’d like to raise awareness of World Connect in the US and gain some new donors. “Do you think you could help me put together a fund-raiser for World Connect? We’ve never done one on this side of the Atlantic before.”

“Absolutely.” Her face lit up and he could almost feel her lungs fill with relief. “We organize gala events all the time. We can pretty much print out a guest list of people who like to support worthy causes. Happily there are a lot of them in D.C.”

“They sound ideal. And I wouldn’t turn up my nose at people who want to donate for the tax benefits, either.”

She grinned. “They’re often the most generous ones. What kind of venue did you have in mind?”

He tried to look like he’d put some thought into it. “Somewhere…big.” It was hard to think at all with those big green eyes staring so hopefully at him. “I’m sure you could come up with a good place.”

“The Smithsonian might work. There are a lot of possibilities. I can make some phone calls once you pick a date.”

“A date?” He drew in a breath. “What would you suggest?” A date far off into the future might be good, so he’d have plenty of excuses to get together with her for brainstorming and planning.

“Summers aren’t ideal because a lot of people go away to the beach. I’d recommend the fall or winter. Something about the short days makes people want to get dressed up in their sparkliest outfits and stay out late.”

“November or December, then. You can choose a date that works for the venue.” Perfect. Five or six months of meetings with Ariella should be enough time for…

For what? What exactly did he intend to do with her?

For once he wasn’t sure. All he knew is that he wanted to be close to her. To hear her voice. To touch her…

“My partner, Scarlet, keeps a master list of venues and cultivates relationships with the people who run them. We should talk to her. It’s important to find out what else is going on that week, too. You don’t want two similar events taking place on the same night, or even back to back.”

“Of course not.” He jerked back his hand, which was heading toward hers. He needed to keep himself in check or she’d send her partner to meet with him. “I’ll rely entirely on your expertise. I usually raise money for our endeavors by ringing people up and asking them for money.”

“Does that work well?” Humor danced in her eyes.

“Surprisingly, it does.”

“That sounds a lot less expensive than throwing parties.”

“But think of all the fun I miss out on. And hardly anyone in the US has heard of World Connect, so I need to get the word out.”

She stopped walking. “I have an idea.”

“Yes?”

“How about an outdoor concert?”

“In the dead of winter?” Was he following the conversation? He might have lost track when he just got lost in the way her navy dress hugged her hips.

“No!” She laughed. “You could do it in September or October. The weather’s usually lovely then and we’ve pulled festivals together quicker than that. You could get a much larger and more diverse crowd and make the same money by selling more tickets.”

“I love it. World Connect is about inclusion, so the more people who can come and hear about it, the better.”

“If the bands are enthusiastic enough they might even perform for free, so all the profits would go to World Connect.” He could see her getting excited, which had a strange effect on his own adrenaline. “A good friend of mine is a music agent so I’m sure she can hook me up with some interesting performers.”

“And how about some musicians from Africa? I could talk to some friends over there and see who would be interested. Already the world is coming together. I’m so glad I convinced you to come here today.” Again his fingers itched to seize hers. Again he shoved them into his pockets. They’d walked past the rhododendrons and out onto a lawn that circled around the tennis court. “I can’t believe I lucked into meeting you.”

“You hardly lucked into it.” She shot him a teasing smile that sent heat right to his groin. “You came right up to me.”

“I like to make things happen, not sit around waiting for them to happen.”

“I guess that’s the best way to live your life. I’m going to adopt that attitude from now on.”

“Just keep on being yourself and don’t worry about the press or anyone else. Don’t let the bastards grind you down.”

A smile tugged at her mouth. “I bet you wouldn’t say that in front of the press.”

“True. So more accurately, you have to be yourself, but not put every aspect on public display. I won’t lie, it’s a delicate balance, but I can already see that you’re more than capable of doing it.”

She shrugged her slim shoulders. “I don’t really have any choice.”

“In some ways, I think that makes it easier.” He slid his arm around her shoulders, which sent a delicious sensation of warmth flooding through his torso.

He instantly regretted the rash move when she sprang forward toward a herb border. He shook his head in frustration at himself. He could see that beneath her calm and controlled demeanor she was nervous and skittish as a startled filly. It hadn’t been easy to persuade her to come here and he didn’t want to add to her anxiety by being yet another person who wanted a piece of her.

Her scent filled his nostrils, delicate and feminine, like their lush floral surroundings. “A garden is the perfect backdrop for you.” The sunlight sparkled in her dark hair and lit up her eyes. Even the bird on a nearby tree branch seemed transfixed by her beauty, still and unblinking, head cocked.

“I don’t know why. I haven’t spent much time in gardens.”

“You grew up in the city?”

“Nope, in a tiny town in Montana, but my parents didn’t have a garden like this. It was a smooth clipped lawn with a fence and a doghouse. No camellias to bury your nose in or arbors to stand gracefully under.”

“The president’s from Montana, isn’t he?”

“Yes, that’s how the journalists found me. They went there to do a story on his childhood and decided to tap the phone of a former White House maid who lived in his town. She inadvertently revealed that my mother—his high school sweetheart—had become pregnant and never told him.”

Anger surged inside him. He knew the story already. Who didn’t? It had been setting headlines on fire for months. And since he was here to sign a treaty between the United States and the United Kingdom to punish those who used technology to violate other people’s privacy, it was his business to know the more intimate details. “Have you been following the story in the press? Angelica Pierce, the ANS journalist who did the illegal wiretapping is going to prison, last I heard. She’s expected to get a twoto five-year sentence.”

“I know. Everyone seems to think I should be thrilled about it, but I feel sorry for her. It turned out that Graham Boyle, the former head of ANS, was her biological father and had denied all knowledge of her for years. I’m not sure if she was trying to impress him or ruin him with her illegal antics, but it certainly was a cry for help. I did hear that she and her father have started writing to each other now that they’re both behind bars. Hopefully they’ll have a better relationship once they’ve both served their sentences.”

“Now that’s a family situation that makes almost anything seem normal by comparison, even discovering that your father is president.”

“I suppose you’re right. And I did have a ridiculously normal childhood.” The sun sparkled in her hair. She looked so fresh and pretty out in the sunlight. None of the newspaper images did her justice.

“Did you like growing up in Montana?”

“Sure. I didn’t know anything different. I thought everyone could bike to the store with their dog in the handlebar basket, or fish in a river all day long on Sunday. Sometimes I miss the simple life.”

“Really?” She was relaxing a little.

“Only for a moment, though.” She flashed a slightly mischievous smile. “I do love the hustle and bustle of D.C. I guess when it comes right down to it, I’m a people person rather than a hiking in the wilderness person.”

“Why can’t you be both?”

“I suppose I could. But in the last three or four years I’ve been so madly busy I can barely sleep in on the weekends, let alone commune with nature.”

“Time management is an important part of life in the spotlight.”

“There you go again! I refuse to believe that the rest of my life will be lived in a spotlight.” She hadn’t tensed. She was teasing him.

He shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe the president will get voted out of office in three years and everyone will forget all about you.”

“Hey, that’s my dad you’re talking about!”

He laughed. “See? You feel attached to him already.”

“I admit I have been thinking a lot about meeting him, and my mother. I’m nervous, though.”

He shrugged. “What have you got to lose?”

“What if I hate them?”

A smile tugged at his mouth. “Then you hate them. That’s hardly worse than not knowing them at all.”

“I wonder.” She inhaled deeply, and started walking across the lawn. He kept pace with her, trying to tug his eyes from the seductive swishing movement of her slim hips beneath her dress. She swung suddenly to face him. “What if I adore them and they don’t like me?”

“That’ll never happen.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re the kind of daughter any parent would be thrilled to have. The universe seems to be pushing them toward you. Take a chance, live dangerously.”

“That sounds like your kind of motto rather than mine.” She touched the delicate red petal of a hibiscus in a tall clay pot. “My life is spent reducing the chances that something can go wrong and trying to be as cautious and well prepared as possible. I suppose that is an occupational hazard.”

“Time for a change, then.” He said it softly. She was so afraid of stepping outside the boundaries of the life she’d made for herself. Too worried about her reputation and the media and what the future might hold. He’d like to shift her focus to much more interesting things like the feel of their lips touching or their hands on each others’ skin.

The urge to kiss her was growing stronger each second. He wasn’t quite sure what would have happened if it wasn’t for all the discipline he’d developed during his royal upbringing and honed in his army training. Even her thoughtful gaze was driving him half mad.

But the way she’d leaped away from him like he’d stung her warned him to slow right down. He’d have to go very slowly and carefully with Ariella.

“Maybe you’re right.” Her words surprised him.

“You’re going to meet them?”

“I’m scheduled to have a televised ‘reunion’ with my father on ANS, but I’m not as sure about my mother. She’s in a trickier position than me, really. My mom abandoned me and failed to tell the man who fathered me that I existed. She has good reason to stay hidden in some ways.” Her eyes flashed with emotion. “I’m sure a lot of people would criticize her choices, regardless of why she made them.”

She inhaled, that mysterious expression in her eyes growing deeper. “And my father didn’t even know he was a father. He’s been rolling merrily through life with no ties and no responsibilities except to his constituents and his country, and now he’s discovered that he had a child all along but he’s missed the whole experience. I’d be pretty cheesed off if I was him.”

“I wonder if they loved each other.” He still wasn’t entirely sure his own parents had. There were so many forces rushing them together, only to tear them apart again.

“All the salacious media stories made it sound like they did. Puppy love.”

“Perhaps you can bring them back together?”

“You’re worse than the National Enquirer! Either that or you’re a hopeless romantic.”

“I suspect it’s the latter.”

She lifted her chin, watching him. Probably deciding that his professed romanticism was simply a cunning ploy to get up her skirt. His unfortunate reputation as a ladies’ man sometimes preceded him. “How come you’re not in a relationship? Your brother dated the same woman his entire adult life and now they’re married.”

He shrugged. “I haven’t been as lucky as him.”

“Or maybe you’ve just been too busy scaling mountains.” She lifted one of her delicate dark brows.

He chuckled. “That, too. There aren’t too many lovely, intelligent women at the top of mountains.”

“Obviously you’ve been scaling the wrong ones.” She turned and strode off again, but this time her movement had a teasing air. She wanted him to follow her, and knew that he would.

The level of desire in his blood climbed a few notches. He followed her into a square herb garden, with gravel paths bisecting geometrical beds of fragrant lavender and sage and oregano. She bent over a tall rosemary plant and buried her nose in its needles.

Of course his attention snapped immediately to the way her dress hugged the delicious curve of her behind and the graceful way she stood on one leg and extended the other slightly behind her as she leaned forward.

Alarm bells were ringing in his head. Sexual attraction was usually accompanied by danger of some sort. Every girl he even pecked on the cheek was immediately investigated by the media as a future princess. There was no question of having sex with them unless the utmost secrecy was maintained. His military background helped in matters of subterfuge, but the fact remained that usually when he wanted to kiss—or sleep with—a beautiful and intriguing woman, he had to tell himself no.

On the rare occasions when the stars aligned and he managed to secure total privacy, the moment was loaded and often quite magical. He’d even managed several actual relationships over the years, and had had the good luck to adore women who’d proved utterly discreet.

And here he was again, at the moment where he knew exactly what he wanted to do—climb every mountain in order to kiss Ariella Winthrop.

It was never as easy as that.

“You look more relaxed.” Her entire demeanor had softened.

She looked up at him with a flirtatious sparkle in her eye. “I feel much better. I’m not sure why.”

“Talking to me, of course. And breathing some fresh air doesn’t hurt, either. You should come visit Whist Castle. It’s my home in England where I go to get away from it all.” And the perfect location for a secluded tryst.

Her eyes widened. “Oh, no. I couldn’t.” Then she laughed. “Of course. You’re just being polite. People do tell me I take everything too seriously.”

“I most certainly was not being polite. It would give us plenty of time to plan the fund-raiser for World Connect. In fact I might have to insist.”

“And how exactly will you do that?” She crossed her arms over her chest. Which drew attention to the way her nipples pushed against the soft fabric of her dress.

“Perhaps I’ll have the palace guards bundle you into a plane. It’s primitive and high-tech at the same time.”

“That may work in Europe, but you can’t just shove American citizens into planes. We’ve started wars with less provocation than that.” A smile danced around the corners of her mouth.

He pressed a finger to his lips. “Hmm. I suppose you’re right. And you are the daughter of the president. I’ll have to resort to more cunning means. A hand-engraved invitation, perhaps.”

“I’m afraid I’m the queen of hand-engraved invitations. I’ve probably stuffed more than a million of those into envelopes at this point. You’ll need a lot more than that to impress me.”

He stepped forward, uncrossed her arms and took one of her hands. Her fingers were cool, but heated inside his. “What exactly would it take?”

Heat pulsed between them for a solid second. He watched her pupils dilate and her lips part slightly. Then she snatched her hand back and hurried down the brick path. “I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly come right now. We have a lot of events going on and I’m booked almost solid.”

Now she was trying to run away from him. Could she know that only made him more eager and determined? He walked slowly, knowing that to stalk any creature you need calm and patience, so you don’t spook it and lose your chance altogether. “My loss. I quite understand, though. I’m sure we can plan the fund-raiser over lunches and dinners here in D.C. Speaking of which, perhaps we can get back to breakfast? I suspect those brioche are holding up well and we can fumble a fresh pot of coffee together.”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Where have you been? I was trying to reach you all morning.” Scarlet’s voice exploded out of Ariella’s phone as she collapsed onto her living room sofa. She’d only just arrived home from her morning with Simon and felt very topsy-turvy. “We have to make a decision on the courses for the DiVosta dinner by four this afternoon so they can source the lobster and crab.”

Ariella drew in a silent breath, glad her friend and business partner couldn’t see her right now. She was flushed and her eyes were glassy with overexcitement. “I’m sorry. I got…swept away.” That was the truth, at least. “I thought they decided on the stone crab.”

“They want you to make the final choice.”

“Then I’ve just made it.” She sat up. Gosh, she had so much to do. “Did the tablecloths arrive from Bali yet? I keep phoning DHL and they never seem to know what I’m talking about.”

“Yup, they’re here. And worth the wait, as they’re absolutely stunning. Maybe I’ll have one turned into a dress afterward. I ordered the cases of Dom Perignon to be delivered to the venue. Their butler swears he’ll lock it all up for me so it won’t be drunk before the event. Hey, are you still there?”

“Um, yeah. I’m here.” Her thoughts wouldn’t seem to cooperate. They kept filling up with visions of Simon’s handsome and deliciously determined face. Could she really not tell the person she saw every day about her royal adventure? “I just had breakfast with Simon Worth.”

“Breakfast? It’s nearly three.” Trust Scarlet to breeze right over the part about the prince. Raised in D.C.’s most elite circles, she was hard to impress.

“We had a lot to talk about.”

“Francesca told me he approached you at last night’s event.” She sounded intrigued. “And you do have a lot in common. Both descended from heads of state, both lost their mother tragically young and both lamentably still single. Quick, tell me everything and I’ll still have time to call about the stone crabs by four.”

She laughed. “There isn’t that much to tell. You pretty much summed it up. Except the single part. We didn’t talk about that.”

“But you did kiss.”

“Not even a peck.” She was a little disappointed about that. She’d braced herself for a decorous kiss when his driver dropped her off—the prince had accompanied her in the backseat, where they were hidden by tinted windows—but he’d simply held her hands for a moment, looked into her eyes and said goodbye. “He wanted to give me a pep talk. I think he’s going back to England later this week. He was in D.C. to sign some international pact to stop journalists from using illegal means to dig into our business.”

“He must be madly in love with you.”

“Are you nuts?” The idea of Simon even lusting after her did something strange to her stomach. At first she hadn’t been sure, but by the time he dropped her home she was feeling some pretty heady chemistry. Unless it was all in her head. “Why would he be interested in me?”

“Because you’re brilliant, beautiful and fascinating. And now that your daddy is a head of state you’re eligible to be a royal bride. Wow. Just think, DC Affairs’ first royal wedding! Can we have it on the White House lawn? I think everything should be silver and ivory, with little royal crests engraved on the glasses.”

“Your imagination is really running away with you. Being madly in love must be messing with your mind as none of that is even the slightest bit likely to happen.”

“You’re right. I’d imagine Simon would need to get married in England. A royal procession in the mall down to Buckingham Palace. You in yards of lace and tulle…”

“Stop! Now. I command you.” Part of her wanted to laugh. The rest was horrified by how easily Scarlet’s crazy vision came to life in her head. She must be losing her mind from all the stress she was under lately.

“Regally imperious already, I see.”

“I think I have enough problems in my life without starting an affair with a prince.”

“I don’t know.” Scarlet sighed. “That’s the kind of problem most women would be happy to have.”

“I don’t think so. Sure, the idea of living in a castle and dressing in designer clothes and eating banquets all day might sound nice….”

“Don’t forget the pet unicorn.”

“But the reality of being a modern royal is very different. It’s all smiling at opening ceremonies and photographers trying to get an unflattering picture of you in a bikini.”

“Sad but true. And the queen is rather forbidding. I’m not sure I’d want her as my in-law.”

“See? Being a royal bride is too much hassle. At the end of the president’s time in office he’ll go off to monitor elections in Turkmenistan and I’ll slip quietly back into obscurity and maybe get myself a friendly cat for company.” She realized she was pacing around her small apartment like a caged lion. She forced herself to sit on the sofa again.

“Only eight years to go.” She laughed suddenly. “You’re not going to believe this. Or maybe you are. This headline just popped up on my screen: Prince Simon to extend fund-raising trip in D.C. I told you he’s besotted.”

Ariella realized she’d sprung to her feet again. “He totally is not. He wants to plan a fund-raiser for his charity, World Connect.”

“Fabulous! I can’t wait to add his name to our client list.”

“I knew you’d say that.” She smiled. Then frowned. “I mentioned doing an outdoor concert, and soon, so it’ll be a lot of work.”

“Work? We love work.” Scarlet sounded pleased. “Did you talk about dates?”

“He’s flexible, so we can pick a date when the perfect venue is available. The more publicity, the better.” It was so odd to be courting publicity at work and shrinking from it at home. “I need to go to the gym.”

“Why? You’re already perfect.”

To work off some adrenaline so I don’t burst into flames. “It helps give me energy. And the way business is booming I need all the energy I can get.”

“Well, congratulations on roping the prince into a party. Go pump some iron, lady, and I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.”

In the old days, oh, six months ago, before her life exploded, she would have gone for a quiet jog around leafy Georgetown and maybe down to the Capitol. Now that reporters sniffed around her heels, she had to work up a sweat in the privacy of a high-security gym next to welltoned congresswomen and senators, just to preserve some privacy. Wearing headphones and focused on their fitness goals, they left her in peace. Something she’d had very little of lately.

And now Simon Worth had decided to stay in D.C.




Three


How did a prince ask a girl on a date? The question kept Ariella awake late that night. The days of messengers delivering quill-penned invitations were over. Did His Majesty email it? Or was a discreet phone call possible in this age of rampant wiretapping?

She cursed herself for wondering. If Simon called her again it would be a simple business meeting to plan his party. If he even still intended to do the fund-raiser. He probably wouldn’t want to see her again after she’d turned down his invitation to visit him in England. Which would be perfect, since the last thing she needed was more drama in her life.

But her question was answered when he showed up on her doorstep, totally undisguised and unannounced.

“Hi.” She managed, after a moment of rather stunned silence. “Would you like to come in?”

“Thank you.” His tall and broad form made her eighteenth-century doorway look small.

She glanced nervously around. Thank heaven she was a neat freak and had just put away her laundry. It was Saturday around noon and she’d been trying to decide whether to spend her afternoon looking at paintings in a museum or fondling interesting objects at a flea market. Since she hadn’t made up her mind (frigid air conditioning versus sticky D.C. summer humidity) she was dressed in jeans and a spaghetti-strap tank top. Not exactly what you’d don if you expected a prince to stop by.

“Your house is lovely.”

“Thanks. I only have the first floor. I rent it from the couple who own the upstairs. They have a separate entrance around the side. I do like it, though.” She was babbling. He was only being polite. Her tiny and rather overstuffed space must have seemed quaint and eccentric to him. “Do sit down. How did you know I’d be here?”

“I didn’t.” He eased himself into her cream loveseat. “Do you live alone?”

“Yes. I keep such crazy hours and really need my sleep when I finally have time for it. I tried living with roommates but it never worked out for long.”

“So all of these interesting things are yours?” He picked up a pocket-size nineteenth-century brass telescope she’d scored at an estate sale in Virginia.

“I’m afraid so. You can see I love to collect interesting trinkets.”

He expertly opened the piece and trained it out the window, then glanced up and his eyes met hers. Her breath stuck at the bottom of her lungs for a moment. How did he have that effect on her? She dealt with celebrities and big shots all day long and had a strict policy of treating them like the ordinary people that they were, if you ignored all those extra zeros in their bank accounts. She’d worked with royals from Sweden, Monaco and Saudi Arabia, among others, and hadn’t given a second thought to their supposedly blue blood. But somehow around Simon Worth she felt lightheaded and tongue tied as a naive schoolgirl.

“I can see you have good taste. I’ve grown up surrounded by fine things, and never had to exert myself to acquire any. It looks as if you’ve done the work of three hundred years of collectors.” He picked up a hand-painted miniature of a lady and her poodle.

“Isn’t she sweet? A client from England gave her to me to thank me for planning her wedding in Maryland. In a way I suppose I’ve stolen her from among your national treasures.”

“Perhaps she’s simply traveling for a while.” His smile melted a little piece of her. “Objects might get restless, just as people do.”

She laughed. “I sometimes wonder how they feel about being bought or sold or traded to a new person. I know that inanimate objects aren’t supposed to have feelings, but they must carry some energy from the people and places they’ve been before.”

“I know places can have their own spirit. My home at Whist Castle practically bustles with it.” He leaned forward, his eyes sparkling. “If places can have a feeling, why not things as well?”

“I’m glad you don’t think I’m a nut. I do enjoy seeking out little treasures. In fact I was thinking of ducking past any photographers and doing that this afternoon at the Eastern Market.”

“Perhaps we could go together.” He said it quite calmly, as if it wasn’t the most outlandish idea she’d every heard.

“But if people see us together…they might talk.”

“About what?” He leaned back, face calmly pleasant.

Suddenly she felt like an idiot for suggesting that people might gossip about a romance between them. Obviously that existed only in her own mind. What would a British royal be doing with her? “I’m being paranoid again. I probably think the press cares far more about me than they actually do.”

“If anyone asks, we can tell them you’re helping me source interesting items for a fund-raiser we’re planning.” He picked a pair of tiny silver sewing scissors and snipped the air with them.

“The outdoor concert?”

“A mad hatter’s tea party, perhaps?” A cute dimple appeared in his left cheek. “People do expect us Brits to be eccentric, after all. You won’t actually need a reasonable explanation.”

“Well, in that case, let’s go.”

“Is there another way out of here?” He’d risen to his feet and offered his hand to her.

“You mean, besides the front door?”

He nodded. “I’m afraid I was spotted arriving here.”

“The short guy with the ponytail?”

“The very same.”

“Ugh. He’s freelance and has sold pictures of me to at least three different papers. One was a picture of me carrying two grocery bags, and somehow he managed to bribe the cashier into handing over my receipt so everyone could learn what brand of aspirin I prefer. And there isn’t another way out. I guess you’ll have to stay here forever.”

Her hand heated inside his as he helped her to her feet. He didn’t look at all put out by either the photographer or the prospect of spending the rest of his life in Apt. 1A.

“I do hate to assist these lowlifes in their trade. We’ll leave separately so there’s no picture. I’ll leave first in my car, you leave five minutes later and walk around the block. I’ll have a blue Mercedes meet you in front of the Mixto restaurant.”

“Goodness, I feel like I’m in a James Bond film.” He must have planned this. Which sent sparkles of excitement and alarm coursing through her.

“Don’t worry. I have years of experience in dodging these leeches. I think of it as an entertaining challenge.”

“I’m game. What should I bring?”

“Just yourself.”

Simon left via the front door and she rushed to the window, where she saw him get into a waiting silver SUV, which pulled away. She took a couple of minutes to fix her hair and face, and put on a light blouse and some boots, then she headed out in the opposite direction, toward the tiny restaurant as if she was just on her way to the local deli. She didn’t cast a glance at the depressing figure in his dull green jacket and faded black baseball hat, though she felt his eyes trained on her.

Simon was right. As long as they weren’t seen together, there was no picture to sell. The whole world knew he was in D.C. Everyone was already tired of pictures of her leaving for work and coming back home again. No picture, no story.

A tiny ripple of triumph put a spring in her step as she rounded the corner and spotted a blue Mercedes idling double-parked halfway down the block. The car’s rear door opened and she saw Simon’s reassuring face. Feeling like a ninja, she climbed in, and they cruised off down the block. Her heart was pounding, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of all the subterfuge, or being so close to Simon again.

“He didn’t follow you.”

“Nope. He rarely does. I think he’s too lazy. Just snaps a couple of pictures a day and hopes a story will break so he can sell them. So far his biggest coup is the day I wore my Montana Grizzlies T-shirt. They plastered that picture all over the papers right as the story about my father was breaking, as if it was proof I was his daughter or something.”

“Once you’re in the public eye people read into your every move. You learn to laugh at it.”

Up close like this she could see a slight haze of stubble on his jaw. She wondered what it would feel like against her cheek, and felt her breath quicken. She tugged her gaze out the window, where D.C. scrolled by. “We’re going in the opposite direction from the market.”

“My driver knows some antique shops in Maryland. We’ll enjoy more privacy there.” He leaned back against the seat, shirt stretching over his broad chest. “And I very much doubt any photographers will find us.”

Was this a date? It certainly felt like one. There hadn’t been any real mention of the event they were supposedly planning. And it wasn’t exactly professional of him to show up on her doorstep without warning. “Do you whisk women off in cars on a regular basis?”

He shot her a sideways glance. “No, I don’t.”

Her chest swelled a little. So she was special? She wondered if he’d prolonged his trip to see more of her. Then chastised herself for having such a vain thought. She’d better steer this conversation in a business direction. “I told Scarlet about your plans for the fund-raiser and she’s going to start work on finding the venue. How are your other fund-raising efforts going?”

“That’s an abrupt change of subject.” His tawny eyes glittered with humor. “And I’m forced to confess I haven’t made much headway. Every time I try talking about education in Africa, people’s eyes glaze over and they ask about my latest climbing expedition. I’m afraid I can never resist talking about climbing.”

“You need to make your cause sexier.” Uh-oh. Just saying the word caused the temperature in the car to rise a degree or two.

He cocked a brow. “Sexy? How do I do that?”

“You focus on the elements of your organization that make people feel good about themselves. For example, with breast cancer, pink ribbons make people think about triumph and recovery. That makes them want to get out their wallets a lot more than lectures about incredible new discoveries in small cell cancer treatments. For a party I’d have pink pearls and pink roses and pink champagne. They don’t have anything at all to do with cancer, but they make people feel happy about embracing the cause.”

Forehead furrowed, he looked intrigued. “So you think I need to rebrand my charity?”

“I don’t really know enough about it. Do you have a brand or logo or imagery you use often?”

He made a wry expression. “Not at all. We simply print the name in blue on white paper. I’m beginning to see what you mean.”

“So what excites you the most about what your organization does?”

He frowned for a moment and looked straight ahead, then turned to her. “Including people in the conversation about our future. Giving them access to technology that makes them part of our world and a way to be heard in it.”

“That’s sexy. And big technology companies are a nice target market for your fund-raising. You’d certainly be speaking their language. How about ‘join the conversation’ as your marketing ploy, so you’re inviting everyone to be part of the future you imagine.”

He stared at her. “I like the way your mind works.”

She shrugged. “I brainstorm this kind of stuff all the time.”

“I had no idea party planning was so involved. I thought it was all choosing napkins and printing invitations.”

“That’s the easy part. The hard part is making each event stand out from the thousands of others taking place during the year. In your case, people would expect a prince to have a very exclusive, private dinner, so an outdoor concert rather takes people by surprise. It also creates the sense of inclusion that your charity is all about. In addition to the event’s raising money from ticket sales, it’ll get people talking and that will generate additional donations and bring in people who want to help.”

He still stared right at her, and she could almost hear his brain moving a million miles a minute. “Where have you been all my life?”

A smile crept across her mouth. “Read the papers. You can learn more about my past than I can even remember.”

He laughed. “I know that feeling. I think we have a lot in common.”

How could she feel so comfortable talking to this man from one of the great royal houses of Europe? Well, she’d never been too impressed by royalty. That probably helped in situations like this.

“That’s probably why I’ve appeared in your life to help you cope with it.”

“Destiny at work.” She swallowed. Did she really believe that some mysterious workings of fate had brought her and Simon together?

No. They were simply going to spend a pleasant afternoon looking at antiques. They’d put together a fun concert that would get people talking about World Connect. Then he’d go back to England and she’d get on with whatever her life was going to be.

What about the chemistry crackling between them right now in the back of the car? What about the way her skin heated when he leaned toward her, or her stomach swirled with strange sensations when he fixed her with that thoughtful gaze?

She was going to ignore that. So was he. No one was going to do anything they might regret. They were both grownups and far too sensible for that.

What a relief.

The driver took them to a little town called Danes Mills, where he parked behind a quaint restaurant that reminded Ariella of a British pub. The entire main street appeared to be upscale antique shops, with maybe a gift shop or bookstore for variety. Simon helped her from the car while the driver held the door. It was all very formal and majestic and made her feel like a princess. Which she wasn’t.

People did turn to look at them. She wasn’t sure if she imagined the whispers. While she knew people thought she was pretty, she didn’t have the kind of looks that demanded attention. In fact she considered herself a nondescript brunette, so she didn’t usually have to worry about standing out from the crowd. People recognized Simon, though. He was tall and broad and attracted admiration without even trying. They’d probably stare at him even if he wasn’t a well-known prince. Maybe they were turning to look at him for the same reasons she wanted to—because he was handsome and his smile could melt an iceberg.




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