Книга - Searching For Her Prince

Searching For Her Prince
Karen Rose Smith


Sent to America in search of multimillionaire Marcus Cordello, possible heir to the throne of Penwyck, Lady Amira Sierra Corbin found herself entranced by dashing Brent Carpenter. But unbeknownst to her, Brent was in reality Marcus, hiding his identity to steal a few clandestine moments with the violet-eyed beauty.He meant to reveal the truth…except the touch of her hand made his blood rush faster, and left him yearning to hold on forever. But when Amira uncovered Brent's secret, and fled home, would an ocean between them wash away the hurt or only leave the lovely lady longing for the man she left behind?









“Would you like to dance?”


Instead of answering, Amira just stepped closer to Marcus. He took her into his embrace. He’d been waiting all day to do this, waiting all day to lean his cheek against hers, breathe in her wonderful perfume and feel her body close to his. They danced together as if they’d been doing it for years. As minutes ticked by, they were hardly aware of one song passing into the next.

Slowly Amira lifted her head and gazed into his eyes. “You gave me a wonderful day today. I’ll remember it always.”

She was talking as if she’d never see him again. That was what he’d planned. In fact, in the back of his mind, he’d decided he would take her to bed tonight if she was willing and say goodbye in the morning. But now he knew she was too innocent for a one-night stand, and he couldn’t do that to her. He also knew that one day of being with her wasn’t enough. She’d brought light and sunshine into his life again, and he wasn’t ready to give that up….



Be sure to catch the next segment in the Crown and Glory series, THE ROYAL TREATMENT by Maureen Child




Searching For Her Prince

Karen Rose Smith





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


To my editor, Tina Colombo, for her encouragement,

patience and valuable time she so willingly gives.

Thank you.




KAREN ROSE SMITH


is a former teacher and home decorator. Now spinning stories and creating characters keeps her busy. But she also loves listening to music, shopping and sharing with friends, as well as spending time with her son and her husband. Married for thirty years, she and her husband have always called Pennsylvania home. Karen Rose likes to hear from readers. Visit her Web site at www.karenrosesmith.com.












Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten




Chapter One


S he couldn’t fail the queen. She just couldn’t.

As the high-speed elevator dropped ten floors in a matter of seconds, Lady Amira Sierra Corbin felt a bit dizzy. She’d considered this mission from the queen an honor as she’d flown to Chicago from Penwyck. She’d been excited, eager and never entertained a doubt for one moment that she wouldn’t be able to meet Marcus Cordello. But for the past three days she’d been thwarted by his secretary.

Monday, she’d been told he was unavailable for two weeks. No one could be that busy.

On Tuesday, deciding to be assertive, Amira had confronted his “keeper of the gate” and maintained she would sit in the waiting room until Mr. Cordello had a spare moment.

Apparently, he’d never had a spare moment.

Today Amira had appeared at his secretary’s desk early in the morning and hinted that the matter she wanted to discuss with Mr. Cordello was extremely confidential and could change the course of several people’s futures. Still the secretary wouldn’t budge. But her expression had softened a little as she’d explained that Mr. Cordello had meetings out of the office until Friday, and then he would be leaving the city for a week.

Now Amira glanced around at her fellow passengers on the elevator. She fitted right in, in her violet tailored but feminine suit that was the same color as her eyes. Her shoulder-length, wavy, blond hair was pulled back and arranged at the nape of her neck in a sedate chignon, and her patent leather, high-heeled pumps and handbag were suitable for an early October day in Chicago.

Even thinking about the “windy” city in which she’d landed couldn’t distract her from her mission. Where was Marcus Cordello at this moment? Still closeted behind the steel doors to the rear of the secretary’s desk? In meetings that would last through the evening and night? Somewhere else in the city where he was making deals and adding to his fortune? All she knew about him was that at twenty-three, he was a multi-millionaire. He owned this hotel and, as she’d so frustratingly discovered in the past few days, he was surrounded by a staff who catered to and protected him.

She had to see him. He might be a prince and the next heir to the throne of Penwyck!

The elevator doors swished open and Amira stepped into the sumptuous hotel lobby with its marble floor, Persian carpets, asymmetrical flower arrangements and groupings of love seats and chairs arranged for tête-á-têtes. It was dinnertime and the reception desk was busy with businessmen checking in for the night.

Her stomach grumbled and she felt a bit woozy as the aroma of steak and garlic drifted from the restaurant in the corner of the lobby. How long had it been since she’d eaten? Not that she couldn’t order room service anytime she wanted, but she’d been so nervous about this meeting and frustrated by the waiting that she’d done no more than nibble the past few days. This morning she’d had a pack of crackers and a cup of tea before setting out for Marcus Cordello’s office suite on the twentieth floor. Afraid she’d miss her chance to see the man if she went for lunch, she’d sat in the reception area all day, reading the paperback in her purse.

As she approached Interludes, the hotel’s finest restaurant, she realized she was starved. Pulling open the heavy glass door seemed to tax her, but it was the crowd of people there that made her realize how extremely tired she was. There were at least ten people milling about, and the bar area was crowded.

As the maître d’ looked at her expectantly, her ears began to ring.

“I’d like a table for one.” She hoped he could slide her into an empty spot someplace.

“And your name, please?” he asked, picking up his clipboard.

“Amira Corbin. Can you tell me how long a wait I’ll have?”

“At least a half hour, maybe forty-five minutes.”

Amira didn’t think she’d ever felt so hungry or tired in her entire life. Tears pricked in her eyes as she felt a bit woozy again.

She was aware of footsteps and a tall man coming up behind her, but all she could think about was the wait, or a ride up in that elevator to her room and another wait. Her three days of waiting. Her failure as an emissary of the queen.

The room began to spin as the maître d’ gave his attention to the man behind her. “You’re early, sir. Your dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

She could barely hear the man’s deep voice order, “Don’t worry about me. Take care of this lady.”

Amira’s knees began to buckle as the fuzziness engulfed her.

She felt as if she were floating, then she realized strong arms had lifted her and she was being held against a man’s chest—a very broad chest. She heard him say, “I’m taking her to my dining room. Make an announcement and see if there’s a doctor in the restaurant.”

Being held in his arms and feeling his strength, hers seemed to return. Looking up into very green, mesmerizing eyes, she insisted, “I’m fine. Please don’t call a doctor.”

“You’re so fine, you collapsed,” he noted wryly. His dark brown hair had a rakishly styled look. His charcoal suit sported a red-and-gray silk tie settled intimately against his gray silk shirt. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone more handsome.

“I didn’t have very much to eat today,” she hurried to tell him, not wanting to cause a fuss.

“Then we’re going to remedy that.” He was already moving with her in his arms. As he strode through the dining room past deep forest-green leather booths, black lacquered tables, and lithographs on the wall, Amira only quickly glimpsed it all.

“Put me down,” she murmured, totally embarrassed. “You can’t just carry me off.”

“I’m not abducting you. I’m taking you to a private dining room. Believe me, you’ll get something to eat a lot quicker in there than waiting your turn out front.”

“But…” she started. How could she explain about her very proper upbringing and the chaperone who usually accompanied her whenever she was with a man, even though she was twenty years old.

“No buts about it. I’ve got a porterhouse steak big enough for two on order. You can have my salad to get started. I’m sure there are rolls already on the table.”

The idea of immediately having food in front of her made her but a thing of the past. This chivalrous gentleman looked totally civilized. Since she’d landed in Chicago, her Penwyck world seemed very far away.

“Well?” he asked, not slowing down one wit. “Are you going to let me treat you to dinner?”

She’d always wanted an adventure. Instinctively she knew sharing dinner with this man could be that. Forgetting propriety for the moment, putting aside everything her mother, the queen’s lady-in-waiting, had taught her over the years, she gazed into his eyes and smiled. “Yes. I’ll let you treat me to dinner. Are all the men in Chicago as chivalrous as you?”

He gave her an irresistible smile. “Not even close.”

Captivated by the beauty of the young woman in his arms, Marcus Cordello could hardly keep his gaze from hers. Her eyes were a rare shade of violet, her hair golden-blond. It looked natural, and from the rich shade of her finely arched brows, he suspected it was. Her oval face was enhanced by the severity of her hair style and softened by her fluffy bangs. As he carried her to the supple green couch in his private dining room, he decided her skin was as flawless as the rest of her, though she did look a bit pale. That concerned him as much as her fainting had.

He asked a question he should have asked three years ago of another woman, a woman who had died because he hadn’t been observant…because he’d been too selfishly absorbed in the empire he’d been building. “Do you have a medical condition I should know about?” he asked huskily. “Are you sure I shouldn’t call a doctor?”

“No medical condition,” she assured him. “I’ve been a bit anxious the past few days and haven’t eaten properly. I only had two crackers and tea this morning.”

Gently he lowered her to the couch. “What could a beautiful young woman like you be anxious about?”

“It’s a long story,” she said with a sigh.

He could see she really was anxious about something, but a good meal would go a long way to making her feel better. “You’ll have plenty of time to tell me all about it over dinner.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I should…”

Just then a waiter came through the door bearing a huge tray. “Goodness, sir. I didn’t know you were having company for dinner.”

Marcus smiled. “I didn’t know I was having company, either, but I am.” He glanced at the tray. “That steak’s large enough to share, but I’d appreciate it if you could bring an extra helping of the garlic potatoes and the broccoli. More rolls, too.”

As the waiter arranged the food on the table, Marcus took the woman’s hand. “Are you still dizzy?”

“Not dizzy. Just a little…airy.”

He helped her to her feet. “Come on, let’s get some of that food into you. If you aren’t feeling better by the time we’re finished, I will call a doctor.”

Marcus seated the elegant young woman at the table and watched, amused, as she quickly cut her steak and ate half of it along with the potatoes and a roll. By then her cheeks had taken on a healthier pink tint, and he found himself intrigued by her as well as her accent. “Now about that long story you were going to tell me,” he reminded her after the waiter returned with the extra portions and exited again.

He saw her debate with herself. Then she delicately wiped her lips with her napkin and gave him a smile. “This is going to sound far-fetched and not something you Americans are at all used to.”

“I take it you’re not an American?” Her accent sounded English, yet not quite English.

“No, I’m not. This is my first trip here. I’m from Penwyck, an island off the coast of Wales.” She smiled shyly. “I’m Lady Amira Sierra Corbin. My mother is lady-in-waiting to the Queen of Penwyck.”

If Marcus hadn’t already been entranced by this young woman, he might have laughed out loud. She had to be pulling his leg.

His thoughts must have shown in the arch of his brows or the quirk of his mouth because she squared her shoulders and sat up straighter. “I suppose royalty isn’t something Americans understand very well.”

“You’re right about that. But I’m intrigued. Continue with your story.”

After a few moments hesitation, she leaned back in her chair and relaxed again. “As I said, my mother is lady-in-waiting to the queen. She would do anything for Queen Marissa and so would I. That’s why I’m here. Actually my mother might have come herself, but she’s on her honeymoon in the Greek Isles and this is a matter that had to be taken care of immediately.”

Marcus’s amusement faded because of the expression on Lady Amira’s face. She was completely serious. Either she was totally deluded or she did have a story to tell. “And what is this serious matter?”

“The queen sent me to meet with Marcus Cordello, the man who owns this hotel and goodness knows how many other businesses. I have something to tell him that could change his life. He might be a prince.”

Marcus practically choked on his steak. Finally he set down his fork and managed, “A prince?” How could he not know he might be a prince?

“It’s quite complicated. Everything has to do with twins. King Morgan is a twin, you see. But he’s taken ill and is in a coma. For now, his twin, Broderick, is running Penwyck. He’s always envied his brother, and he did something terrible that he just admitted recently. Long ago he conspired against King Morgan and Queen Marissa and switched the newborn royal twins for a set of American fraternal twins who were going to be adopted by a couple in Illinois. King Morgan and Queen Marissa raised them as their own. At least that’s what Broderick says. I’m here to speak to Marcus Cordello because he and his twin might be the true heirs to the throne!”

“You were right about the story sounding far-fetched.” Marcus tried to keep his tone even.

“Oh, it’s even more complicated than that. The queen found out about Broderick’s plans before he was able to execute them—at least that’s what she believes—and she thinks Dylan and Owen, the sons she raised, are truly the royal heirs. But she also knows that she and the king have been betrayed by enemies more than once, and her plan to foil Broderick might have gone awry. The head of the Royal Intelligence Institute is investigating all of it, but the bottom line is—Owen and Dylan, who have been raised to be the true heirs of Penwyck, might not be the true heirs. I need to speak with Mr. Cordello and convince him to tell me where his brother is. DNA tests could settle this whole matter.”

Shocked by Amira’s story—it sounded like an implausible plot from a soap opera—Marcus took a few moments to think about it while he continued eating. Was Miss Corbin truly acting as an emissary for a royal family? Or was this whole story some ploy to get to him and his money or connections? Was Lady Amira Sierra Corbin for real? And if she was…

The last thing in this world he wanted was to be a prince! He liked his life just the way it was. He didn’t want to be involved in some royal family’s intrigue. Besides, although he and his brother Shane were twins, they weren’t adopted. His parents might have had their problems, but they never would have kept something like that a secret.

He studied Amira once more. She was beautiful and entertaining, and he hadn’t been truly interested in a woman since Rhonda had died. Every time he looked at Amira, his whole body quickened. For the first time in a long while, he was interested in more than the Dow Jones Industrial Average or whether a company was ripe for a takeover. He wanted to check into this woman’s background, get to know her a little better, possibly even take her to bed. But he couldn’t do any of that if she knew he was Marcus Cordello.

“How long do you intend to stay in the United States?” he asked.

“Until I can meet with this man.” She bit her lower lip and said almost to herself, “I can’t fail the queen.” Meeting his gaze again, she went on, “Mr. Cordello’s secretary tells me he has meetings out of his office until this weekend and then he’ll be gone for a week. I might have to wait until he returns. I have to figure out if it’s worthwhile sitting outside his office door any longer, hoping I might catch him. I must think of a better way to get to him.”

After taking a sip of water, she set down her glass. “Thank you so much for sharing your dinner with me. I don’t even know your name.”

The wheels in Marcus’s head spun. When he was a boy away at school, he used his middle name, Brent, since there was another boy in his class named Marcus. “My name is Brent,” he responded now. Then choosing a last name from thin air, he added, “It’s Brent Carpenter.”

She held out her hand to him. “It’s good to meet you, Brent.”

When he enfolded her hand in his, it felt delicate and fragile. Yet he sensed a strength about Amira that intrigued him as much as everything else. The softness of her skin under his made his blood rush faster, and he told himself to slow down. He told himself this was a woman like none he’d ever met. He had the urge to bring her hand to his lips…to do much more than that.

Before he could analyze his attraction to her, the waiter came in, carrying two apple tarts topped with whipped cream. Amira pulled her gaze from his, glanced at the tart and smiled. “Oh, that looks good.”

He laughed.

The waiter left as unobtrusively as he’d come in and Marcus breathed a sigh of relief. The staff usually addressed him as “sir” and when he had a guest, they didn’t converse with him at all. But there was always a chance someone would call him by name. He found himself liking the idea of becoming Brent Carpenter more and more. He needed a vacation, not only from the city, but from who he was and what he did and everyone’s expectations of him. From now on when he was with Amira, he would think of himself as Brent.

As they both sampled their tarts, he asked her, “Have you seen anything of the city?”

“Nothing but the airport,” she said with a sigh. “During the taxi ride from the airport to the hotel, I had to hold on to the seat in fear for my life, so I haven’t dared take another one. After the warnings the queen gave me about big American cities, I didn’t think it was a good idea to go out alone at night.”

“Chicago’s a wonderful city, Amira. You should see some of it.”

“I’m not really here for a vacation.”

She’d eaten her tart as delicately as any lady, but her beautifully curved upper lip was smudged with a dot of whipped cream. He couldn’t help leaning toward her and sliding his thumb over the spot. Her deep-violet eyes became wider, and her intake of breath at his touch told him she was affected by it. He was, too.

His voice was husky as he explained, “Whipped cream,” and brought his thumb to his own lips and licked the sweet topping.

They gazed at each other, lost in the moment. The thrum of sexual awareness between them practically filled the room.

Her cheeks became flushed and her lashes fluttered down as she demurely cast her eyes at what was left of her tart.

“Amira?” he asked.

She looked up at him once more.

“How old are you?”

“I’m twenty.”

That’s what he’d suspected. But he’d also guessed she was a very innocent twenty. Not at all like Rhonda. The familiar pain, guilt and blame rushed in with the remembrance of his fiancée. For two years he’d hardly looked at women. For two years he hadn’t wanted the responsibility of a relationship…and he wasn’t contemplating a relationship now, he told himself. Amira would be going back to her island. After next week’s vacation, he’d be returning to mergers and interest rates and building a new hotel in St. Louis. But for the next few days…

Amira sipped the coffee the waiter had brought with dessert. He’d noticed her load it down with cream and sugar.

As she returned her cup to the saucer, she couldn’t stifle a yawn. “I’m so sorry,” she said embarrassed. “I think I’m still adjusting to the time change.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. How are you feeling?”

“Wonderfully satisfied. Everything was delicious.” She took her purse from the table where she’d laid it. “You must let me pay for this.”

“Nope. It’s my treat. You saved me from another dinner alone.”

“Do you have dinner alone a lot? Never mind,” she said with a flutter of her hand. “That’s none of my business.”

Her chagrin was enchanting. She was definitely a proper lady. “For a long while now, I’ve had lots of dinners alone. By choice. I put in a long day and just want peace and quiet in the evening.”

“What do you do?”

He didn’t want to lie to her, but he didn’t know what she knew about Marcus Cordello, either. He answered vaguely, “I work in finance.” To forestall her asking any more questions about his work, he laid down his napkin and stood. “I have a meeting in half an hour, but before I leave the hotel, I want to see you safely to your room.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It’s very necessary.” He wanted to make sure her lack of food had been her only problem, and she wasn’t hiding a more serious condition as Rhonda had.

Amira gave him a smile that made him feel ten feet tall as she acquiesced. “All right. An escort will make me feel as if I’m back home.”

“You have a bodyguard?”

“Not as the queen and king do. But when I go out at night I have a chauffeur, and when I attend public functions I have an escort from the Royal Guard.”

“Do you feel as if you’re always being watched?” he asked, knowing he could never give up his freedom like that.

“I’m used to it, so it doesn’t seem out of the ordinary.”

A few minutes later Amira was following Brent from the room, feeling as if this dinner had been a milestone in her life. She’d never had dinner alone with a man before. She’d never felt the sizzling attraction she felt toward this man. When his finger had touched her lip…heat had seemed to fill her and she’d been unable to look away from his green eyes. Fantasies had crowded her head and she’d known she shouldn’t entertain them.

Yet as the dining room door closed behind them, Brent took her hand and secured it in the crook of his arm. “To keep you steady,” he said with a wink.

The fine material of his suit was smooth under her fingers, and she could feel his muscled strength underneath.

When they stepped into the elevator and the doors swooshed shut, intimacy seemed to surround them. She peeked up at Brent and saw he was gazing down at her.

“What floor?” he asked, his voice deep and low.

“Twelve,” she answered. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and her heart was beating much too fast.

When the elevator stopped on the twelfth floor, they stepped out onto plush wine carpeting. They passed marble-topped mahogany credenzas, Victorian-style velvet-covered chairs and arrangements created from fresh flowers.

Amira pointed out her room number. “Would you like to come in?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she felt flustered, not knowing why she’d asked him. Somehow it had just seemed the polite thing to do!

Brent hesitated. “Just for a few moments.” Then he took the key card from her hand and unlocked her door. Opening it, he let her precede him inside. She was close enough to him to smell his cologne, to see the scar on the right side of his brow, to know that being alone with him in her room had been a foolish decision to make.

The small foyer led into a large room with a king-size bed, dresser and chest on one side, and a sitting area with a love seat, chair and entertainment center on the other. A maid had obviously cleaned the room and made the bed, but Amira’s pink-and-green-satin nightgown lay folded on the side of the bed so she wouldn’t have to look far for it.

Brent’s gaze seemed riveted to the satin garment and the king-size bed. “You do know, Amira, it’s not a good idea to invite strange men into your room.”

“I’ve never done it before.” Her experience with men was indeed limited. At seventeen she’d thought she’d been in love with the gardener, but after an uncomfortable groping session, she’d realized he was only concerned with getting her into bed. That had been her only “intimate” experience with a man.

Now Brent was looking down at her with a flare of heat in his eyes that seemed to consume her. Everything disappeared except Brent Carpenter and the longing inside her. He lowered his head very slowly. Then his lips covered hers and his arms enfolded her in an exciting embrace.

Swept away. Now Amira knew what the phrase meant. Nothing but his kiss mattered. The taut heat of him, the trace of his cologne lingering at the end of the day and his musky male scent brought to her mind visions of both of them naked, sharing a bed. Passion she’d dreamed about, but never known seemed within her reach.

Instinctively her arms moved up to circle his neck, and he pulled her tighter against him. The amazing maleness of his body almost shocked her, but the shock gave way to pure pleasure as his tongue slid along the seam of her lips, coaxing them apart.

She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, and he seemed to sense that because he murmured, “Open your mouth to me.”

She didn’t even think of denying his husky command. She wanted to know more about desire, more about becoming a woman, more about Brent. Something inside whispered that this man could teach her everything.

The tantalizing invasion of his tongue sent her senses reeling. Licks of fire seemed to reach deep into the center of her, and she became frightened by it, frightened by her reaction to him. She’d never met a man this sensual or this compelling.

Suddenly her hands were on his chest and she was pushing away. “I can’t,” she said as she looked up and saw the deep desire intensifying the green of his eyes.

What would he do? Would he be angry? He was in her room. What would her mother think about her daughter having a meal with a stranger and sharing a kiss before she really even knew the man? What would the queen think? Had she put herself in harm’s way? Would her life be irrevocably changed?

She stood frozen with the fear of everything that could happen.

Brent must have seen it. “It’s okay, Amira. It’s okay,” he soothed again. “We both just got carried away.”

For the first time in her life she’d followed her instincts without propriety guiding her, and her instincts had been right. Brent wasn’t the type of man to force his attentions on a woman. “I…I shouldn’t have asked you in. It’s not…proper.”

A wry smile curved his lips. “Being proper is important to you, isn’t it?”

She just nodded and managed to say, “It’s the way I was raised.”

Although he released her, as if he couldn’t help himself, he touched the back of his hand gently to her cheek. “I never met a true lady before.” He dropped his hand to his side. “I’d better leave.” Then he crossed to the door quickly and opened it.

She stayed where she was, knowing she couldn’t chase after him, knowing she couldn’t ask him to stay. “Thank you again for dinner.”

“My pleasure,” he said without smiling, and then he was gone.

After the heavy door closed with a click, Amira ran to it and secured the safety lock, sure that Brent Carpenter considered her the most naive woman he’d ever met…sure that she’d never see him again.




Chapter Two


T hree loud raps on Amira’s hotel room door awakened her. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, she noted it was 8:00 a.m. She’d slept through the night again in a strange place! Maybe she’d left her nightmares in Penwyck. Maybe the news her mother had given her before she’d left—that her father’s assassin was dead—had freed her.

There was another rap at the door.

Thinking the maid wanted to clean her room, she slid from the bed, pushed her hair from her eyes and grabbed her robe on the bedside chair. Slipping on the pink-and-green, flowered-satin garment, she quickly belted it.

When she looked out the peephole of the door, she blinked twice. It was Brent! With a room service table.

Opening the door, she couldn’t keep from smiling or hide the breathlessness in her voice. “This is a surprise.”

His grin was crooked and boyish. “It’s a strategic move on my part to make sure you eat more than two crackers and tea. I don’t want you fainting into another man’s arms.”

She knew he was teasing, but there was a serious glint in his green eyes, too. She was about to invite him in when she realized she was wearing her nightgown and robe. “Oh, I can’t. I mean—”

Ignoring her reticence, he pushed the table inside. “You don’t even have to tip me,” he went on as if she hadn’t interrupted.

Thoroughly flustered, unable to take her gaze from his broad shoulders, collarless blue shirt and his long jeans-clad legs, she stammered, “I…I have to dress.”

Rolling the table to the sitting area, he set the covered platters on the coffee table. “You look fetching as you are. You don’t have time to dress. The eggs and bacon will get cold, and don’t tell me you don’t eat bacon and eggs, because your figure doesn’t need watching.”

His appraising gaze raked over her, and she blushed to her toes.

With a chuckle he caught her hand and tugged her to the love seat. “Come on. I know you’re a proper lady. I won’t do anything improper. I promise.”

His smile was so beguiling, his manner so offhandedly friendly, she couldn’t resist. Missing her family and friends, she felt alone in a foreign land and she enjoyed Brent’s company. More than enjoyed it.

Uncovering both their platters, he set the lids aside and settled his gaze on her. For a few moments he simply studied her with such intensity that she couldn’t look away.

Finally he admitted, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

His honest admission mandated she be just as honest. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, either.”

He reached up to touch her then, to brush her tousled waves away from her face…

The phone rang.

The sound was a startling intrusion to the beginning of an intimate moment, and Amira really didn’t know if she was relieved or perturbed.

“Excuse me,” she murmured, and went over to the desk under the window to pick up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Good morning, Amira.”

“Good morning, Your Majesty.” Amira knew the queen’s voice as well as she knew her own mother’s.

“I hope I’m not calling too early. I forget about the time difference.”

Glancing over at Brent, Amira noticed his surprised expression. Maybe he hadn’t really believed she had connections to a royal family. “No, it’s not too early. In fact, other mornings I was sitting in Marcus Cordello’s reception area by now.”

“How’s that coming, my dear? Did you manage to meet with him?”

There was no point in beating around the bush. “I would have called you immediately if I had. I’m having a bit of a problem getting to see him. He’s very…elusive and protected. I’ve been camping on his doorstep, but have only seen his staff going in and out. His secretary has informed me he’ll be out of the office in meetings the rest of the week and away next week. So I’m afraid this might take longer than we planned.”

There was a slight pause. “I see. Well, I know you’re doing your best. Cole Everson is working on getting a few more details for you, including a picture of the man. That might help you spot him.”

Cole Everson was head of the Royal Intelligence, and Amira knew Queen Marissa counted on him.

“What will you be doing today, Amira? Meeting with Marcus Cordello is important, but you need some time for yourself, too. Have you seen any of the city?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“It must be very lonely for you in Chicago. Do you want me to find a guide for you?”

Again Amira looked over at Brent. The queen was being so nice, and Amira suddenly felt as if she was doing something very wrong. There was a man in her room whom she hardly knew. She was in her robe. They’d been about to…

Suddenly she wished she weren’t on a mission for the queen, and that she hadn’t been raised quite so properly.

Marcus had begun thinking of himself as Brent Carpenter as soon as he’d rapped on Amira’s door. He hadn’t slept much last night, between thinking about her and dreaming about her, though fantasizing was probably the better term. The thing was—he felt more than a physical attraction to her. There was something about her that simply fascinated him. Along with rearranging his schedule and canceling today’s appointments, he’d called a friend who was an expert at gathering information and asked him to check Amira’s background. Now, listening to her phone conversation, he decided she must really be a lady in contact with the queen. This performance couldn’t have been put on for his benefit, because she hadn’t known he was coming.

He didn’t need a dossier to know she was who she said she was and she was looking for him. He should leave right now…forget about breakfast, forget about spending the day with her. It would be safer never to see her again…to never let her meet Marcus Cordello. He didn’t want his life disrupted again.

It had been disrupted when he and Shane were children and his parents divorced. The divorce had been bitter, and his mother had taken Shane to California while Marcus had stayed in Illinois with his father. They had just settled into that routine, seeing his brother one month every summer, when Marcus’s life was turned upside down again because his father remarried. In a way, that was even more disruptive than the divorce because his stepmother insisted Marcus be sent to boarding school. She didn’t want to be bothered with him. He’d weathered all of that and weathered it well, turning his interest to the financial markets, researching corporations and how they ran, beginning to invest any money he earned.

Then two years ago, when he’d thought his life was on track, when he’d already become wealthier than he ever dreamed, he lost his fiancée to diabetes. Rhonda had kept her condition from him, and he’d had no idea she was dealing with it. Since she’d died, he’d done nothing but work nineteen or twenty hours a day. He’d cut off all social contact and let his staff deal with the outside world.

But last night Amira had crashed through all the protective layers he’d built around himself, and he wanted to spend more time with her.

He saw her glance at him and also saw the guilty flush that colored her cheeks. He might have to do some fast talking to get her to spend the day with him.

When she hung up, she looked pensive.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“The queen’s always so understanding. She’s like a second mother to me. She asked me if I want a guide while I’m in Chicago.”

“What did you say?” If Amira ended up with someone the queen hired, the guide would surely be a bodyguard, too.

“That I don’t.”

“You don’t want the queen’s guide, or you don’t want any guide? Because I’d be glad to show you a few sights today.”

Amira looked uncertain. “Don’t you have to work?”

“I haven’t taken a day off in far too long. I can’t think of a better way to spend it than showing you what I like best about Chicago. What do you say?”

A slow smile crept across her pretty lips. “The queen did say I should see some of the sights.”

“A royal command if I ever heard one.”

At that, Amira laughed and her hesitation seemed to vanish. “I have to shower and get dressed. Should I meet you somewhere?”

He didn’t want to crowd her or make her feel uncomfortable. If he did, she’d run in the opposite direction. “I do have a few arrangements to make. Would you like to go to the theater tonight, or dancing at a club?”

“Dancing.” She looked like a child who’d been given a Christmas present.

“Okay, dancing it is. Let’s eat, and I’ll meet you in the lobby in a half hour. Is that enough time?”

Their gazes caught and held.

“Yes, that’s enough time,” she murmured.

As they finished breakfast, Marcus knew he had to get out of this hotel room, away from Amira and that bed quickly before he kissed her and led her to it. She wasn’t that kind of woman, and today he wasn’t going to be that kind of man.

Still, she was so alluring, with her blond waves mussed and her flowered satin robe clinging so wonderfully to all her curves. He couldn’t keep away from her. Covering the few steps between them, he lifted her chin and pressed a kiss to her lips. It was supposed to be a chaste kiss, a light kiss, but when he lifted his head, he was aroused. It was a good thing they’d be sight-seeing today. If they were on the move, he could restrain the desire to pull her into his arms.

He stepped away. “In a half hour,” he reminded her huskily.

Then he left Lady Amira Sierra Corbin feeling more alive than he had in two long years.



The October day couldn’t have been more perfect. The sky was blue, the air held a tinge of autumn, the sun gleamed off skyscraper windows. It was a day of play and fun and teasing. Brent found he could very easily rattle Amira with a seductive look, a little bit more than a friendly touch. When she’d appeared in the lobby in a forest-green pantsuit, he’d arched a brow and asked if that was her idea of casual. Very seriously she’d said that it was.

He’d taken her hand, slipped it into the crook of his arm and said teasingly, “One of these days we’ll have to get you into a pair of jeans.”

His driver drove them to Wrigley Field. The ivy-covered stadium, one of the oldest in America, seemed to fascinate Amira. From there, Marcus directed his driver to the Shedd Aquarium, the Chicago Historical Society and the Lincoln Park Zoo where Amira was enchanted by the chimpanzees drawing on poster board with crayons.

Somehow throughout the morning, Marcus managed to keep himself from kissing Amira again, though it seemed to be constantly on his mind. He’d never felt this way—not even with Rhonda. Although they’d become engaged, he’d always been eager to get back to work, to hear about an exciting new investment opportunity. Today all he wanted was to be close to Amira, see her eyes come alive with the sights and her mouth break into that beautiful smile. Maybe he was so engrossed with her because he knew their time was limited.

They decided to have ice cream for lunch because they’d had a big breakfast. He discovered Amira’s favorite was mint chocolate chip, and as she licked it from the cone, she nearly drove him crazy.

Late in the afternoon he had his driver drop them off along the Magnificent Mile, the stretch of Michigan Avenue created for shoppers. They ended up at Tribune Tower, home of the Chicago Tribune. Hungry after that, for food as well as Amira, Marcus took her to a small French café where nobody would know him. Flickering candlelight made her eyes shine with her enjoyment of the day. The intimacy between them caused him to reach across the table and touch her hand more than once.

It was almost 10:00 p.m. when his driver dropped them off at a casual club he’d frequented a few times. It was so crowded they couldn’t find a table, and when he led her directly to the dance floor, they seemed to get bumped from every side. Besides that, the music was so loud, they couldn’t hear each other.

As the band finally took a break, he held her close and whispered in her ear, “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind. I want to talk to you, not shout at you. Would you like to see my penthouse?” He added quickly, “The housekeeper’s there so we’ll have a chaperone.”

Amira seemed to debate with herself, but then she smiled up at him. “I’d love to see it.”

At Marcus’s building, the doorman opened the door for them. The man started to say, “Good evening, Mr.—”

Marcus cut him off. “Good evening, Charlie. How’s your new grandson?”

“Three weeks old today and not a boy handsomer on this earth.”

Marcus laughed and guided Amira to the private elevator that led to the penthouse. As soon as they stepped inside, she noted, “I think you live like royalty.”

Her words surprised him. “Do you want to run that by me again?”

She listed the reasons why she thought so on her fingers one by one. “You eat in a private dining room. You have a driver. And you have a private elevator. Definitely earmarks of royalty.”

He saw that she was teasing him, and he laughed. “I guess some people would look at it that way. But I don’t have a dastardly twin ready to step into my shoes.” Amira had told him again the whole story about Broderick’s hostility toward King Morgan, and he still couldn’t get over the idea of someone switching babies with the royal twins. He supposed anything was possible, yet he knew in his gut he and Shane weren’t the twins the queen was searching for. They couldn’t be.

“Do you have any brothers and sisters?” Amira asked.

“I have a brother.” He wasn’t about to tell her Shane was a twin. “And he couldn’t be more unlike me. He’s in construction—a contractor.”

The elevator stopped at the top floor. Marcus was glad they’d arrived so he could put an end to the conversation. Family history wasn’t a safe subject. She might know more about Marcus Cordello than she’d revealed.

After Marcus unlocked the door to the penthouse, he let Amira precede him inside and tried to see his condo through her eyes. There was chrome and glass and black leather, two original contemporary paintings on the walls as well as a contemporary wall hanging.

Her gaze swept the large sunken living room, the open dining area with its glass-topped table and wrought-iron chandelier. “You’re not here much?” she asked perceptively.

“No, I’m not. It’s a stopover where I catch a few hours sleep. My office down the hall has a more lived-in quality.” He motioned past the living room. “In fact, you’d probably even find candy-bar wrappers on the desk.”

He crooked his finger at her. “Come here. This is what I wanted to show you.”

On his way to the French doors, he pushed a button on the wall and soft music flowed from unseen speakers. After he opened the doors onto the balcony, he held his hand out to her.

When she joined him outside, the city lay before them—twinkling lights, tall buildings, neon signs. “Now I know why you live here.”

There were cushy outdoor chairs on the balcony, and she laid her purse on the table between them and went to stand at the railing. The air was much cooler than it had been during the day, but it felt great after being in the stuffy club.

“I guess we should have gone to the theater instead of the club.” He was trying to think about something other than her slightly fuller lower lip, her long eyelashes, her satinlike skin.

Facing him, she murmured, “Then I might not have come here.”

The way she said it, he knew she wanted to be here with him.

A slow dreamy melody poured from the speakers, and all he could think about was holding her in his arms. “Would you like to dance?”

Instead of answering, she just stepped closer to him. He took her into his embrace. He’d been waiting all day to do this, waiting all day to lean his cheek against hers, breathe in her wonderful perfume, and feel her body close to his. They danced together as if they’d been doing it for years. Maybe that was because they fitted together so perfectly. Maybe that was because they didn’t really care about the music, but rather each other. As minutes ticked by, as the lights of the city below twinkled, they were hardly aware of one song passing into the next. Marcus only knew his heart beat in rhythm with hers, and the heat between them could have warded off the chill if it had been ten below.

Slowly Amira lifted her head and gazed into his eyes. “You gave me a wonderful day today. I’ll remember it always.”

She was talking as if she’d never see him again. That was what he’d planned. In fact, in the back of his mind, he’d decided he would take her to bed tonight if she was willing and say goodbye in the morning. But now he knew she was too innocent for a one-night stand, and he couldn’t do that to her. He also knew that one day of being with her wasn’t enough. She’d brought light and sunshine into his life again, and he wasn’t ready to give that up.

“You told me you like to jog in the mornings, but you’ve been afraid to do it here. We could jog in Lincoln Park tomorrow morning if you’d like.”

“Don’t you have to get back to work?”

“Another day won’t hurt. I’m going on a vacation on Sunday, anyway. I’ll just start it sooner than I planned. Is eight o’clock too early?”

She shook her head. “Eight will be fine.”

And then he couldn’t be with her and not kiss her any longer. His hand slid to her neck into her luxurious hair. She’d worn it down today, and it was silky and soft. The style made her look a lot less proper.

As he held her, she tipped her chin up, and he knew she wanted the kiss as much as he did. Where they’d fallen into the first kiss with a ferocity that had stunned them both, he took this one slowly, easing them into it. When his tongue laved her lower lip, she opened her mouth to him. With the lights of the city below and music enfolding them, he felt bowled over by her. He’d never felt that way before. He’d always been the one in control, the one who called the shots. Danger signals went off in his head, but he quieted them with the idea that this could never be serious, that they’d never have the time to get truly involved. Even if they did go to bed together tomorrow or the next day, they both knew that would be the end of it. Their lives were an ocean apart. This was just one of those flings that happened on a weekend or over a holiday.

As he took the kiss deeper, the warning bells kept sounding.

Before his control snapped altogether, he pulled away. “I think I’d better introduce you to my housekeeper.” Flora was just what they needed—a chaperone. Besides, he wanted to prove to Amira that he hadn’t been lying to her and he did have a housekeeper.

You’re lying to her about who you are.

No, I’m not, he thought quickly. I just haven’t told her my real name.

Amira looked as dazed by the kiss as he felt. “That would be a good idea. Then I’d better go.”

He saw she felt it, too—the need to be more than friends, the need to do more than kiss. But he wouldn’t take advantage of her—not her shyness or her innocence or her proper upbringing.

Taking her hand, he led her inside to a snack of tea and cookies rather than their first night of passion.



Amira was as fascinated by the city as she was everything else about the United States—even more fascinated by Brent running beside her. He was wearing shiny black running shorts. His legs were hair-roughened, his thighs powerfully muscular. His soft black T-shirt was loose. As he ran, it molded to his well-defined muscles, and she could see the power in his body. She was sure he was slowing his pace so she could keep up.

Brent glanced over at her often, and she didn’t know if that was because of her hot-pink running suit in the latest fabric for sportswear or because he just wanted to look at her. She knew she’d be a sight at the end of their run. She always was. She’d banded her hair into a ponytail, but strands escaped and floated around her face.

A few joggers passed them as they ran along a wide path. Amira tried to keep her attention on her breathing rather than on Brent and everything she remembered so vividly whenever she looked at him. He’d given her a perfect day yesterday—absolutely perfect. And that kiss last night…

His first kiss had thrilled her and scared her. Last night’s kiss had opened a doorway and given her a glimpse of the kind of passion they could share. That was almost worse than being scared. It was a temptation from which she knew she had to turn away. Everything she’d been taught, all of her mother’s counsel, warned her she was headed for disaster. Yet on this October day, with the sun shining so brightly on her head and in her heart, she couldn’t heed the warning.

“Do you hear that?” Brent asked, suddenly stopping.

Caught up in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard anything unusual. Now she listened and heard a low whine coming from a copse of bushes. “It sounded like an animal.”

“My bet is it’s a dog. Come on, let’s go look.”

Slowly…cautiously…Amira followed.

Pushing away the bushes, Brent hunkered down and looked beneath them. “Hello there, fellow. Are you hurt?”

“What is it?” Amira asked, crouching down herself.

Brent held his hand out to the animal that Amira still couldn’t see.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Brent said as if he expected the animal to understand. “Can I bring you out here?”

Since the animal stood perfectly still and didn’t snarl or bark, Brent gently pulled the dog out into the sunlight.

Amira got her first good look. “Isn’t she adorable? What do you think she is?”

The dog was small, brown—the color of hot chocolate—and bedraggled looking, as if she’d been on her own through days of wet and dry weather. Her fur was muddy and there were leaves clinging to it, but she seemed to like the idea of Brent scratching her between the ears. She barked a few times.

Brent ran his hands carefully over the dog’s body. “Probably a mutt—looks like part beagle. She’s too thin, but other than that, she seems okay. Nothing a good bath wouldn’t fix.” He examined her neck. “No collar or tags.”

“What are we going to do about her?”

“We can’t leave her here. She could eventually run into traffic, or someone might hurt her. She needs food and care.”

“But if she belongs to someone…”

“In case she has one of those identifying computer chips under her skin, we’ll take her to a vet and get her checked out. Is that okay with you? I know it’s going to cut short our jog.”

“The jog doesn’t matter. We have to take care of her.”

The smile Brent gave her almost made her melt. “It looks as though we’re both animal lovers.”

“Yes, it does.” She was finding so many things about Brent that she liked…too many things. Their gazes locked, and the intensity in his eyes should have scared her, but it didn’t today.

Suddenly the dog barked again, and Brent laughed. “It seems she wants our attention.” He scooped her up into his arms. “Come on, let’s see if she has a home.”

An hour later a vet had checked the dog over thoroughly and agreed that except for needing a bath, she seemed healthy. There was no computer chip in evidence, and he asked Brent what he was going to do.

“I’ll take her home.”

“You’re going to keep her?” Amira asked, a bit surprised by that, since Brent worked so many hours.

“Just for now. I know of a place she’ll be happy. In the meantime, I’ll get her cleaned up and fed well.”

Back at Brent’s penthouse—a half hour later—doggy shampoo in hand, Brent led Amira into his bathroom. It was huge with black and white tiles, a shiny black enamel sink and a huge black whirlpool tub. He filled it while she cooed to the pup and fed her a biscuit they’d gotten from the veterinarian along with other supplies.

“Did you ever have a dog when you were a boy?” she asked Brent now, as he checked the water to make sure it was the right temperature.

He didn’t answer right away, just concentrated on the water flowing into the tub. Finally he said, “No, I didn’t,” and didn’t elaborate. Something in his tone alerted her to pain behind the simple statement.

“You don’t talk about yourself easily do you?” Even though they’d spent all day yesterday together, she hadn’t learned much about him.

“Usually no one wants to listen,” he said jokingly.

Again she caught some truth behind his words. What makes a man bring home a lost dog? Maybe a loneliness in himself? Maybe knowing what it’s like to feel abandoned? “I’ll listen to whatever you want to tell me,” she said softly.

Time ticked by in heartbeats. “I think right now we ought to name the dog,” he finally said. “Any ideas?”

She’d learned already that Brent was good at turning attention away from himself, and she let him do it this time. “I think she’s the color of hot chocolate.”

“How about Cocoa, then?”

“That’s perfect!”

Unmindful she’d been given a name, Cocoa put her paws on the edge of the bathtub and peered into the water. Amira glanced at Brent. He wasn’t watching Cocoa; he was watching her.

His gaze held her hypnotized as his voice lowered and awareness grew between them. “Thanks for being such a good sport about this. It’s probably not what you envisioned for today.”

With the huskiness in Brent’s voice, the sparks of desire in his eyes, she felt breathless, hot and altogether excited. “I’m having fun, and I can’t think of anything better to do than rescue a dog.”

The crackle of electricity between them was so strong Amira tingled all over from it. Then Cocoa barked and Brent picked up the small dog, depositing her in the water. The pup looked startled for a moment and barked a few more times. Brent casually sprinkled water over her as Amira poured the shampoo into her hand.

A few minutes later, after a sudsing and rinse, Cocoa shook to whip the water from her fur. Amira and Brent laughed and again became caught up in enjoying each other’s company. Amira had never before felt a bond like this with a man.

After they dried Cocoa, Brent said, “Let’s go see what Flora’s cooked up for lunch.”

Cocoa wiggled away from Amira’s hand and took off down the hall.

“Do you want to let her loose?” she asked, concerned for his obviously expensive furniture.

“Sure. She’s clean. There’s nothing she can hurt.”

“You said you had a home for her. Where?”

As Brent stood and gathered up the wet towels, he was silent for a few moments. “It’s a place called Reunion House.”

Longing to know more, Amira patiently waited.

“When my brother and I were kids,” Brent explained, “our parents divorced. I stayed with my father. My brother went with my mother to another part of the country. Each of us not only lost one of our parents, we lost each other.”

“Brent, I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “We did manage to see each other a month every summer in the house where we were once all together. It’s on a lake about an hour and a half from here. Anyway, two years ago I bought the property adjacent to it, renovated the old house and called it Reunion House. It’s for foster kids who are separated from their siblings. All they have to do is apply and they can come anytime and spend from a few days up to two weeks together.”

“The project means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” she asked, seeing that it did, hoping he’d tell her more.

“Yes, it does. So does seeing the smiles on those kids’ faces when they’re together. That’s where I’m going for vacation next week.”

His words reminded her they wouldn’t be spending any more time together. Brent would be going his way and she’d be…waiting until Marcus Cordello returned from wherever his jet-setting life took him.

Heading out of the bathroom, Brent asked over his shoulder, “Do you want to take Cocoa for a walk after lunch?”

She should end this adventure right now. Her feelings for Brent were growing, and the more time they spent together, the harder it would be to say goodbye. “I should probably be getting back.”

He stopped in the doorway. “Should you?” His green eyes were intensely dark, intensely questing. Taking her hand, he tugged her toward him and brought it to his lips, kissing her index finger, touching it sensually with his tongue.

Amira almost gasped from the pleasure, and she knew she was going to spend every minute she could with Brent and the consequences be damned.

“Let’s have lunch, then take Cocoa for a walk,” she whispered.




Chapter Three


A s Marcus and Amira walked Cocoa, Marcus couldn’t imagine having a more enjoyable afternoon. Cocoa did well on a leash, though she often tried to pull ahead. They took turns leading her, their hands brushing as they passed each other the handle. Marcus’s state of aroused awareness made the afternoon exciting, but frustrating as well. He wanted to take Amira to bed, yet so many things stopped him, especially the innocence he saw in her beautiful eyes.

Cocoa saw a piece of wind-tossed foil on the sidewalk, jumped, barked and took off after it. Amira ran with her, and Marcus took longer strides to keep up with her. They laughed as Cocoa put her nose in the foil and pushed it.

After they walked at a leisurely pace again, Marcus’s elbow rubbed Amira’s, and he didn’t move away from the contact. “I’m afraid she belongs to someone.”

“She does seem leash trained. And she obeys ‘sit’ commands.”

“Someone could really miss her. I think I’ll take a picture of her and make up flyers. Fritz could distribute them and put them up on bulletin boards in the area. The pound is already on the alert if someone calls there. I can also notify other veterinarians.”

Amira looked up at him with admiration in her eyes. “You’re a nice man, Brent Carpenter.”

He’d talked with both Flora and Fritz about calling him Brent Carpenter. They were used to doing whatever he wanted and hadn’t lifted an eyebrow. He assured himself he had a good reason for keeping up the charade. He wasn’t being completely honest with Amira because she was never going to meet Marcus Cordello. He’d make sure of that, because he wanted nothing to do with her whole fantastic story.

As Cocoa led them toward a tree, Marcus asked Amira, “What do you do as a member of royalty? I mean, do you just wander around the palace? Do you plan state events?”

“You must think I have a very useless existence.”

He could tell she was half teasing and half serious. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I just don’t quite understand what it means to be a lady.”

“In my case, it doesn’t mean much at all. Yes, I live at the palace, but I lead a fairly normal life. I do assist the queen whenever I can, but thanks to her, I’m enrolled in a private academy and earning a degree in landscape design. I need meaningful work to do, too, Brent, just like everyone else. As far as the royal life goes, soon I’m going to move out of the palace and get my own place.”

“How will the queen feel about that?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t discussed it with her. But I need my own life. I’d like to be an ordinary person—no guards, no escorts, no palace. I want to come and go as I please and not have to answer to anyone.”

Those might be some of the reasons she wanted her own place, but a sixth sense told him there was more to it. “You don’t want to be queen someday?”

She laughed. “Goodness, no. I don’t even want to be a princess. Being a royal is not as easy as you might think. There are secrets and state responsibilities and a loyalty to Penwyck that comes before all else. When I marry, I want my marriage to be the most important thing in my life, not second to what the country needs.”

That was the real reason she wanted to distance herself from the royal life, he decided. But her mention of marriage and how important it was to her disconcerted him. He’d never seen a marriage that worked. He’d never witnessed two people actually becoming one. He understood everything she’d said, though, and he admired her for knowing what she did and didn’t want. Ever since he’d been a teenager, his studies, his investments and work had come first. That’s how he envisioned his life. Yet Rhonda’s death had taught him that work could blind a man to things he should see. Yesterday and again today with Amira, he found himself completely blocking work from his mind…something he’d never done before.

Cocoa stopped walking, came over to Marcus, looked up at him, then hopped up on two legs putting her paws on his knees. “Does that mean you want me to carry you?” he asked with a wry note.

She barked at him twice.

“That’s a definite yes,” Amira translated with a smile twitching the corners of her lips.

Scooping the dog up into his arms, Marcus laughed as Cocoa licked his face. Yes, if she had an owner he was going to do his best to locate them. He knew what it felt like to be displaced. He remembered the move from the home on the lake to the city with his father. He remembered the room at boarding school where he’d first found the financial world to keep himself from thinking about the stepmother who didn’t want him and the father who didn’t want to rock his new marriage. Most of all he remembered the tearing separation from Shane. Yep, he certainly wanted to return Cocoa to a home if she had one.

Home meant different things to different people. His home was still Shady Glenn. Because of the memories there? He couldn’t imagine having a palace for a home. Thinking about what Amira had said concerning the life of a princess, Marcus was even more sure he was doing the best thing by keeping his identity a secret.

With Cocoa asking to be carried, Marcus and Amira ended their walk. When they reached his building, Charlie tipped the bill of his hat to Amira and winked at Marcus. He’d also asked the doorman to use his “new” name. Charlie had simply replied, “Whatever you say, sir.”

Sometimes Marcus wished his employees would question him, talk back to him, stand up to him. But he’d learned at a young age that having money gave him power.





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