The Royal Affair (The Palmera Royals) (12 page)

Cocktails and hors d’oeuvres followed while guests surrounded her, Marina doing her best to give each a piece of herself. This was a charity auction, and it was her job to “play” the guests, so that when it came time for them to open their wallets, they opened them wide.

“Your Highness.” Phoebe sidled up to her. “I wonder if I can have a moment of your time?” Surprised at the woman’s worried tone, the anxious twist of her hands as she clutched her evening purse, Marina quickly completed her conversation with a husband and wife who apparently owned the country’s largest fashion outlet and followed Phoebe to a private corner just outside the ballroom entrance. “What’s the matter? You sound worried.”

“I am. The supermodel who promised to attend tonight offering after-dinner drinks with her post the auction has, ah…how shall I say it, fallen over dead drunk.”

Marina slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. “Oh dear.”

“Yes.” Phoebe rolled her eyes. “Now, you can see my quandary. It’ll change our scheduling, of course. The woman is world famous, men drool over her, but…” Phoebe shook her head, frowning. “Well, it means we’re down one of our biggest ‘items’ for the auction.”

“Drinks after the auction?”

“That’s right. We felt it easier, less sleazy, shall we say, than arranging a dinner date for the model and whoever wins the auction.”

“Perhaps I could take her place.”

Phoebe instantly brightened and clutched at Marina’s hand. “Oh, would you? Could you? That would be wonderful.”

Wonderful! Again.

Tears glistened in the woman’s hazel eyes and she dashed them away. “Oh, Your Highness. Just wonderful.”

“Please, call me Marina.”

“Oh, oh, Marina.” Phoebe’s grip on Marina’s fingers tightened, and Marina wondered for a moment if the blood flow would resume any time soon. She said nothing. This was part of princess training, after all. Don’t upset the crowd. Do what is expected of her. For some reason, strangers gained a soupcon of relief, pleasure, comfort, or whatever, when they came in touch with her, with royalty. To Marina, it was bizarre. She was normal in her world. A human being. She slept. She loved.

Marina cut that thought short.

She offered Phoebe a genuine smile. “It’s not a problem. I’d be delighted.” Delighted. She always seemed to be saying that. Maybe it was “her” word to make everything all right, just as Phoebe pronounced everything
wonderful.

She glanced at her watch. A few more hours, that was all. Then at last she could get on a plane and take her heart with her.

The dinner was superb, the food all locally produced, and the accompanying wines from the country’s world-renowned vineyards. The prime minister and his wife, along with a noted medical professional, a leading television presenter and several other guests, shared the table Marina sat at with Phoebe. Conversation flowed. It occurred to her that San Torrevna in many ways was very similar to New Zealand, because, just as she did at home, she felt very comfortable with these people. Just not one of them.

As the hotel staff filed between the tables offering coffee and tea, Phoebe stood, wiping her hands down her black velvet gown. “Here goes.”

Marina offered her a supportive smile. “It’ll be fine. You can do it.”

And indeed, Phoebe was the perfect woman to host the event. She proved to be rather witty but also offered heartfelt stories of children who had gained so much from their association with the organization, and thus tugged at the heartstrings of the punters about to bid.

The auction got underway, with, thankfully for Phoebe’s peace of mind, a roaring start, guests bidding vociferously for the goods and services on offer, often coaxing each other to up the ante. It was rather enjoyable, and Marina found herself laughing surprisingly easily and getting into the spirit of it all.

Then suddenly something changed; a chill shimmied up her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck spiked, and her nipples pebbled beneath her gown.

As inconspicuously as possible, she drew her gold-threaded pashmina across her shoulders, embarrassed by such a public display.

But what was more disconcerting was why? Why now?

Shifting in her seat, she scanned the room, expecting to see… What?

Him?

But there was nothing. No tall dark man with brooding eyes that looked directly into her soul.

No exquisitely handsome man who aroused her without even touching her.

No Jonas, who had stolen her heart and didn’t even know it, or want it.

Tugging her pashmina ever closer, she turned back to face the guests and tried to refocus. It proved impossible. Her concentration was shot.

Jonas. Oh, Jonas.

“Now, it gives me great pleasure to introduce you to Her Royal Highness, Princess Marina Palmera of San Torrevna. This wonderful woman is a true role model to our young women. She is smart, an entrepreneur in the world of horse racing, and focused.”

Really? Not right now, she wasn’t.

“Princess Marina may have been born royal, but she has had the gumption to go out in life, step out of her royal mold and create a world of her own, and become the champion of deserving charities around the globe, including, I’m so thrilled to say, New Zealand’s Riding for the Disabled.”

Once ushered on stage, Marina gave a brief overview of her first experience at the RDA earlier that day and what impressed and inspired her, and what she intended to take back to San Torrevna and build on in her own country.

All eyes were on her as she spoke, yet she found herself scanning the crowd, looking for one face only.

He wasn’t there.

Disappointment flourished, and yet, what was she really hoping for? That Jonas would jump on the stage and carry her off on his white charger?

She may have been a princess and lived in a castle when she was growing up, but that was as far as the fairy story went.

Phoebe retook the podium. “As you
gentlemen
were all aware, we were to have the lovely Anya with us. Unfortunately, she has, ah…taken ill. However, I’m delighted to say Princess Marina has so kindly stepped into the fray and offered to meet up with one lucky bidder for after-dinner drinks tonight. So, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to dip into those overflowing wallets of yours. What am I bid for a cocktail hour with Princess Marina?”

All eyes switched toward her, and a wave of uncertainty washed over Marina.

Play princess, she reminded herself. Smile. Nod. Smile some more. She did it all, listening with awe as the bids quickly escalated into the thousands. It seemed shocking that someone would pay so much to have drinks with her.

The bids went higher. Skyrocketed. Then one voice overshadowed them all.

“Twenty thousand dollars.”

Jonas Wilder was in the room.

A roar erupted, and the combined gaze of the crowd swiveled from her to focus on the source of that voice, his beautifully resonant, sexy voice that always sent shivers scooting up and down her spine, just as it did right now.

Marina switched her gaze to his, locking on his intent stare, so dark and smoldering. He didn’t move, nor did he smile.

A counter bid came in, and without even hesitating, Jonas upped his bid.

And again and again.

Murmurs circled.
“Who is he?” “He must be rich. Or mad.”

Beside her, Phoebe struggled to keep up. Every time a bidder upped the price, Jonas countered, bidders falling by the wayside. Finally, it was down to two.

“One hundred thousand dollars.”

The room fell deadly silent while Marina’s heart thundered a thousand beats a second.

Phoebe’s mouth opened and closed. “Oh my.”

“Give up,” someone from the other side of the room shouted to the second bidder, followed by a burst of laughter from the other guests.

Still, Jonas didn’t move. Nor smile.

“Well, sir.” Phoebe addressed the man across the other side of the room.

One heartbeat.

Two.

The gentleman shook his head.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I think we have a winner.”

Call him sick, stupid or just a bloody fool, but he couldn’t keep away.

Emerald had texted him about tonight’s shindig, having heard it announced on some radio show, and here he was, dressed as a bloody penguin. He hadn’t realized Marina would be part of the auction, but when he heard it announced, he sure as bloody hell wasn’t about to let any other man have a cozy little tête-à-tête with her. No, sir. He knew men like that.

Jeez, listen to him. He was acting just like them, but he wasn’t exactly quite sure why, nor did he understand what had gotten into him, except that he wasn’t about to lose.

Not tonight.

Desperate?

Definitely.

As he watched her come on stage and talk about her experiences with the RDA, he saw the light in her eyes, her expression, and, bloody hell, his heart rate ramped up, his groin tightened, memories sabotaging the fierce resistance he’d used as a defense blockade against temptation.

Trouble was, the more he watched her, the more his blockade came tumbling down, crumbling into little bits he couldn’t resurrect. Then the bidding started, and his gob opened, ridiculous dollar amounts erupting from his mouth. So what? He could afford it. And it was worth every penny. Worth watching her surprise. Worth the excitement generating deep down in his gut. And especially worth the anticipation.

Then she was right in front of him, and every part of his body zinged as if electric currents were wired to his nerve endings.

“Oh, Mr. Wilder, I didn’t recognize you from the stage. It’s wonderful you’re here.”

Jonas heard Phoebe Langtry talking, but really, nothing registered. Nothing except that Marina was standing in front of him. In the flesh.

“Let me introduce you.”

“No need.” Jonas stepped even closer. Her fragrance, that exquisitely French scent she wore, assailed his senses, and every part of him spiraled into chaotic want and need with major urgency. “The princess and I are already acquainted.”

“You are? Oh, wonderful.”

“Yes, isn’t it?” He gave the charity hostess a quick glance, then looked right back at Marina. It was as if he couldn’t look away for more than a split second, the loss too great. “Yes, old
friends,
in fact.”

“Friends? Wonderful,” Phoebe squeaked. Suddenly, her cheeks colored as she obviously sensed the undercurrent flowing between him and Marina. She stepped back, hands clasped in front of her. “Wonderful. Wonderful. Now, if you’ll simply send your check to the charity committee, Mr. Wilder.”

He kept his eyes on Marina. “No problem.”

The second Phoebe walked away, Marina speared him with a delicately pink-glossed fingernail in the center of his chest, fury flashing like glittering jewels in her eyes. “Are you nuts, Jonas? That’s way too much money. And Suzie, what about her? Is she okay? Is she…”

Jonas rested a hand on her lips, silencing her while his other still held hers.

“Take it easy, Princess. Suzie’s fine. She’s responded well to treatment and they’re releasing her soon.”

Relief flooded Marina’s expression. “Thank God, I thought…”

“And you don’t need to worry about my money. Don’t you want the charity to be successful?”

“Of course I do, and don’t you be obtuse. You know exactly what I mean.” She tried to yank her hand from his, but he kept his grip firm. “Let me go, Jonas.”

“No.”

A tired sigh slipped over her lips, and when he heard it, guilt slammed home. He almost gave in. Almost, but not quite. He glanced sideways. “I can’t, because right now all eyes are on the two of us, and if I do, the world might think we’re arguing.”

She too slipped a quick glance at the other guests. Camera lenses pointed in their direction. “Oh God. What do I do?”

“Play nice.”

Anger sparked again. “Play! Is this a joke to you?”

“No joke. As I said before, it’s
serious
business.” He linked his fingers with hers and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “How about we go for that drink I’ve paid for.”

“You actually
want
to go for a drink?”

“Of course, all this has made me a thirsty man.”
Thirsty for more than a drink.
“Come on.” He tugged her away from prying eyes, across the ballroom foyer, and it wasn’t until they exited into the hotel proper that she dug her heels in.

“Stop. Wait.”

“Want me to die of thirst?”

“I can’t leave. I haven’t said good-bye to everyone.”

“So send them an email.”

“Jonas, don’t.”

He pulled her from the doorway into a small alcove secluded by several potted palms and gently edged her up against the wall. He reached up and brushed the tip of a green leaf from the side of her face, his thumb caressing the curve of her jaw. Her lips parted, and his devilment increased. “Okay. I guess we could do it in public.”

A lump formed in her throat.

“Kinky, I guess, but, hey, I’m up for anything.” He offered a wink, and her entire body trembled.

His name formed on her lips, slow to release. “Jonas, please.”

The devilment intensified, and that same thumb came to rest at the tip of her chin, tipping her head back so that she had to look at him. “Say it again, Princess. Say my name. Whisper it again.”

Her lips parted, and she leaned forward, her breasts grazing painfully against his tuxedo jacket.

“We can’t. I can’t.”

“You’re a princess, and princesses can do anything.”

The reminder of who and what she was brought her up hard, and she snapped her lips together. “Enough!” She yanked herself from his hold.

“So I guess that’s a no to the public display, then?”

“Jonas Wilder, you’ve got some nerve.”

“Nerve gets you places. Got me you.”

“Me! You haven’t got me.”
You sent me away.

“Sure I do. A hundred thousand dollars gives me at least an hour of your time, I reckon.”

Refusing to let her hand go, he led her across the foyer. But it wasn’t to the bar at the other side, nor to the restaurant as she’d presumed; instead, he changed direction and headed to the elevators that led to the hotel rooms.