At His Majesty's Convenience (3 page)

Jake went back into his suite and locked the door. Andi was sitting on the sofa and her mood seemed to have brightened. Her tears were gone, and a smile hovered in her eyes as she looked up at him. “Will I live?”

“Without a doubt. It's late. How about some sleep?”

“I'm not at all sleepy.” She draped herself over the sofa, eyes heavy-lidded with desire. “I'd rather play.”

Jake's eyes widened. Could this really be the same Andi he'd worked with all these years? It was shocking to imagine that this flirtatious person had been lurking inside her the whole time. Unless it was just a mood swing caused by her condition.

She rose from the sofa and swept toward him, then threw her arms around his waist. “I do love you.”

Gulp.
Jake patted her cautiously on the back. This could last for days. Or weeks. Or longer.

His skin tingled as her lips pressed against his cheek. “I'm so glad we're together.” Her soft breath heated his skin as she breathed the words in his ear.

And this was the woman who'd announced, only a few hours before, that she was leaving for good, that night.

At least that was off the agenda for now.

His phone rang and he tensed. What now? “Excuse me.” He extricated himself from her embrace and pulled it from his pocket.

A glance at the number revealed the caller was Maxi. She'd formed a new habit of calling him at bizarre times like the crack of dawn or during his morning workout. This call in the wee hours was a new and even more unappealing attempt to monopolize his time.

Still, maybe there was some kind of emergency.

“Hi, Maxi.”

“Jake, are you still awake?” Her breathy voice grated on his nerves.

“I am now.” He glanced at Andi, who was twirling around the room doing the dance of the seven veils, or something. “What do you want?”

“So impatient. I just wanted to chat. About you and me.”

He shoved a hand through his hair. Maxi was definitely not The One. In fact she could be voted Least Likely to be Queen of Ruthenia, since she was firmly in his “keep your enemies closer” circle. He'd been drawing her in and inviting her confidence on purpose. Not because he loved her, or was even attracted to her. He'd found evidence that her family was involved in weapons dealing and possibly worse, but he didn't have enough proof to do anything about it yet.

None of the other girls dealt in arms or drugs, as far as he knew, but they were all empty-headed and silly. Right now he was more attracted to his own assistant than to any of Ruthenia's pampered beauties.

An idea crept into his brain.

Since Andi seemed to assume they were a couple, why not make it a reality? He had to marry someone. He could announce to the press tomorrow that his chosen bride was his own assistant.

A chill of sangfroid crept over him. Could he really arrange his own marriage so easily? Andi was agreeable, intelligent and practical, perfectly suited to life in the spotlight. She'd worked just outside it for years and knew the whole routine of palace life perfectly. Apart from her presumably humble origins—he really didn't know anything about her origins, but since he'd never met her parents at a ball, he was guessing—she'd be the ideal royal wife.

They'd known each other for years and he could simply
announce that they'd been involved for a long time but kept their relationship secret.

The announcement would send the long-fingernailed wolves away from his door for good. He and Andi could marry, produce an heir and a spare or two, and live a long, productive life in the service of the citizens of Ruthenia—wasn't that what was really important?

Andi had wandered into the bedroom and a quick glance revealed that she now lay sprawled on his bed.

Heat surged through him like a shot of brandy.

Her dress draped over her, displaying her inviting curves like an ice-cream sundae with whipped cream on top. Her gaze beckoned him, along with her finger. His muscles itched to join her on the bed and enjoy discovering more of Andi's wickedly intriguing sensual side.

“Maxi, I have to go. Have a good night.”

“I can think of a way to have a much better night.”

Jake's flesh crawled. “Sleep knits up the raveled sleeve of care.”

“Is that Moby?”

“Shakespeare. Goodnight, Maxi.”

“When are you going to choose your wife?” Jake flinched at the blunt question, and the shrill voice that asked it. “Daddy wants to know. He's not sure whether to contribute funds for the new hydroelectric project.”

Jake stiffened. This is what it all boiled down to. Money and power. Well, he didn't want to build Ruthenia with ill-gotten gains from the black market, and he'd rather share his life with a hardworking woman than one who thought she could buy her way into a monarchy. “I've already chosen my wife.”

“What do you mean?” she gasped.

He moved across the room, away from the bedroom where Andi now sprawled enticingly on the bed. She was
humming again, and wouldn't hear him. “I intend to marry Andi Blake, my longtime assistant.”

“You're joking.”

“Not in the slightest. She and I have had a close relationship for six years. We intend to enjoy each other's company for many more.”

Already his pronouncement had an official ring to it. Marriage to Andi was a perfectly natural and practical course of action. He was confident Andi would agree, especially since she seemed to have romantic feelings toward him.

“People are going to be very, very…” She paused, apparently struggling for words.

“Happy for us. Yes. Of course you'll be invited to the wedding.” He couldn't help a tiny smile sneaking across his mouth. Maxi had clearly intended to be the featured host of the event.

“Invited to the wedding?” Her growl made him pull the phone away from his ear. “You're impossible!”

The dial tone made a satisfying noise. And now he wouldn't have to even make an announcement. Maxi would do all the legwork for him.

All he had to do was tell Andi.

M
orning sunlight streamed through the gap between heavy brocade curtains. Hot and uncomfortable, Andi looked down to find herself wearing a long evening dress under the covers. Weirdest thing, she had no idea why.

She sat bolt upright. Where was she?

His room. She remembered the soft touch of his lips on her cheek. Her skin heated at the memory. “Good night, Andi,” he'd said. So she was Andi.

Andi.

Who was Andi? She racked her brain, but the racks were empty. She couldn't even remember the name of the handsome man who'd put her to bed, though she knew they were close.

How could her whole reality just slip away? Her heart pounded and she climbed out of bed. Her chiffon-y dress was horribly wrinkled and had made an uncomfortable nightgown, leaving lines printed on her skin.

She moved to the window and pulled one of the heavy drapes aside. The view that greeted her was familiar—rolling green hills dotted with grazing sheep, rising to fir-covered mountains. The village in the middle distance, with its steep clay-tiled roofs and high church steeple.

Looking down she saw the long rectangular fishpond in the walled courtyard. She didn't recall seeing it from this angle before.

But then she didn't recall much.

Andi what? She pressed a hand to her forehead. Blake, he'd said. How could even her own last name sound alien and unfamiliar?

She walked to the door and cautiously pulled it open. She caught her breath at the sight of him, standing in front of the mirror, buttoning his collar. Thick black-brown hair swept back from the most handsome face she'd ever seen. Warm, dark eyes reflected in the glass. Mouth set in a serious but good-humored line. Heat flooded her body and she stood rooted to the spot.

He turned. “Morning, Andi. How are you feeling?”

His expression looked rather guarded.

“Okay. I think. I…I can't seem to remember much.” Had she slept with him last night? Her fully dressed state seemed to suggest not. Her body was sending all kinds of strange signals, though—pulsing and throbbing and tingling in mysterious places—so she couldn't tell.

“What can you remember?” He didn't look surprised at her announcement. Did he know what was going on?

“Why can't I remember?”

He took a few steps toward her and put his hand on her arm. Arousal flashed through her at his touch. “You bumped your head. The doctor says you're not concussed.”

“How long have I been like this?” Fear twisted in her stomach.

“Just since last night. The doc said your memory will come back soon. A few weeks at most.”

“Oh.” Andi frowned, feeling ridiculously vulnerable, standing there in her wrinkled dress with no idea of who or where she was. Except that she was very—very—attracted to this man. “What should I do in the meantime?”

“Don't worry about a thing. I'll take care of you.” He stroked her cheek. The reassuring touch of his fingers made her breath catch and sent tingles of arousal cascading through her.

She frowned. How should she put a question like this? “Are we…intimate?”

His gaze flickered slightly, making her stomach tighten. Had she said the wrong thing? She felt sure there must be something between them. She remembered kissing him last night, and the memory of the kiss made her head grow light.

“Yes, Andi. We're going to be married.” He looked down at her hands, gathering them in his.

“Oh.” She managed a smile. “What a relief that I have you to take care of me until my memory comes back.” If it did come back. “It's embarrassing to ask, but how long have we been together?”

“Oh, years.” He met her gaze again.

“It seems impossible, but I don't remember your name.”

“Jake.” He looked slightly flustered, and why wouldn't he? “Jake Mondragon.”

“Jake Mondragon.” She smiled dreamily, allowing herself to relax in his sturdy presence. And his face was kind, despite the proud, sculpted features. Totally gorgeous, too. She was very lucky. “So I'm going to be Andi Mondragon.”

Jake's eyes widened. “Uh, yes. Yes, you are.”

Why did he seem surprised by the idea? It was hardly an odd one if they'd been together for years. “Or was I going to keep my original surname?” Curiosity pricked her.

He smiled. “I don't think we'd discussed whether you would change it or not.”

“Oh.” Funny they hadn't talked about that. After all, what would the children be called? “How long have we been engaged?”

He lifted his chin slightly. “Just since yesterday. We haven't even told anyone yet.”

Yesterday? Her eyes widened. “How odd that I would lose my memory on the same day. I can't even remember the proposal.”

She watched his Adam's apple move as he swallowed. He must be upset that she couldn't even remember such a momentous and important moment. “I'm sure it will come back eventually.”

An odd sensation started forming in the pit of her stomach. Something felt…off. How could she have forgotten her own fiancé? It was disorienting to know less about her own life than someone else did. “I think I should lay low for a few days. I don't really want to see anyone until I know who I am.”

Jake grimaced. “I'm afraid that's going to be hard. The media will probably want an interview.”

“About my memory?”

“About our engagement.”

“Why would we tell the media?”

Jake hesitated for a moment. “Since I'm the king of this country, everything I do is news.”

Andi's mouth fell open. “You're the king?” She was pretty sure she wasn't some kind of royal princess or aristocrat. She certainly didn't feel like one. But maybe
that explained the long evening gown. She glanced down at its crumpled folds. “How did we meet?”

Jake's lids lowered slightly. “You're my longtime assistant. We just decided to marry.”

She blinked. That explained all the sizzling and tingling in her body—she'd been intimate with this man for a long time. How bizarre that she had to hear about her own life from someone else. From the man she'd apparently dated for years and planned to marry.

Then again, if she'd been seeing this man for years, why did his mere presence send shivers of arousal tingling over her skin and zapping through her insides?

A deep breath didn't help clear the odd mix of confusion and emptiness in her brain. She hoped her memory would return before she did anything to embarrass him. “I guess I should get changed. I feel silly asking this, but where are my clothes?”

Jake froze for a moment, brow furrowed. “You wait here. I'll bring some for you.”

“It's okay, I don't want to put you to any trouble. If you'll just tell me where they are.” She hated feeling so helpless.

“It's no trouble at all. Just relax on the sofa for a bit. I'll be right back.”

She shrugged. “I suppose you probably know what I like to wear better than I do. Still, I could come with you. I need to figure out where everything is.”

“Better that you get dressed first. I'll be right back.”

He left the room abruptly, leaving Andi uneasy. Why was he so anxious for her to stay here? Like he didn't want anyone to see her. Maybe he didn't want people to know about her loss of memory.

She glanced around the room, already feeling alone and worried without him. Did he have to leave? As the
king, you'd think he'd just call for a servant to bring her clothes.

Or did things not work that way anymore? When your memory had taken flight it was hard to distinguish between fairy tales and ordinary life.

She lay back on the sofa and tried to relax. She was engaged to a handsome and caring man that she was fiercely attracted to. Maybe her real life was a fairy tale?

 

Jake strode along the corridor, hoping he wouldn't run into anyone—which was an unfamiliar feeling for him. Usually he prided himself on being up-front and open, but right now he didn't want anyone to know Andi had been about to leave. That felt…personal.

He was confident she'd keep it to herself until she'd squared things with him. She'd proved over the years that she was the soul of discretion and confided in no one.

Her job was her life. At least it had been until she decided she'd had enough of it. Hurt flared inside him that she could even consider abandoning him and Ruthenia, especially now he'd realized she was the ideal wife for him. This odd memory loss would give him a chance to turn things around and keep her here for good.

He reached her door and slipped into the room with a sense of relief. Her packed suitcases still sat on the floor next to the bed. He closed the door and began to unpack, hanging the clothes back in the closet and placing some items in the large dresser. He intended to make it look as if she'd never thought of leaving.

Some things startled him. A lacy pink nightgown. A pair of black stockings and garters. When had she had occasion to wear these? He didn't think she had been on a single date since they'd moved to Ruthenia.

Guilt speared him at the thought. She was so busy working she had no life at all outside of her job. Why had he assumed that would be enough for her?

He placed her toiletries back in the bathroom. Handling her shampoo bottle and deodorant felt oddly intimate, like he was peeking into her private life. She had a lot of different lipsticks and he tried to arrange them upright on the bathroom shelf, though really he had no idea how she kept them.

She looked a lot prettier without all that lipstick on. Maybe he should just ditch them and she'd be none the wiser?

No. These were her possessions and that would be wrong.

He arranged her eyeliner pencils and powders and bottles of makeup on the shelf, too. Did all women have so much of this stuff? She had a ridiculous assortment of hair products, too—gels and sprays and mousses—which was funny since her hair was almost always tied back in a bun.

It took a full twenty minutes to get her bags unpacked and rearranged in some sort of convincing order. He shoved the bags under the bed and stood back to admire his handiwork.

Too perfect. He pulled a pair of panty hose from a drawer and draped them over the bed. Better.

He was about to leave when he remembered he was supposed to bring her back something to wear. Hmm. Mischief tickled his insides. What would he like to see her in? Not one of those stiff, bright suits she always wore.

He pulled a pair of jeans from one of the drawers. He'd never seen her in those, so why not? A blue long-sleeved T-shirt seemed to match, and he pulled some rather fetching black lace underwear—tags still attached—from the drawer.

He removed the tags. Why not let her think she wore stuff like this every day?

He rolled the items in a soft blue-and-gray sweater and set off down the corridor again, glancing left and right, glad that the palace was still quiet at this hour.

Andi's uncharacteristically anxious face greeted him as he returned to his rooms. She seemed quite different from last night, when she was spouting garbled poetry and dancing around the room. Now she sat curled up on the sofa, clutching her knees.

“How are you feeling?” Her rigid posture made him want to soothe and relax her.

“Nervous. It's odd not knowing anything about myself or my life. More than odd. Scary.”

Jake tried to ignore the trickle of guilt that slid down his spine. He had no intention of telling her the truth about her plans to leave. And come to think of it, he hadn't seen any tickets or itineraries in her room. Maybe her plans weren't all that firm, anyway. “Don't worry. It'll all come back eventually. In the meantime, we'll just carry on as usual. Does that sound okay?” She nodded.

“I brought some clothes.” He set them down on the sofa beside him.

She unrolled the sweater and her eyes widened briefly at the sight of the lacy bra and panties. “Thanks.”

She glanced up at him, and then at the pile of clothes again.

He resisted a powerful urge to see her slip into that sexy underwear. “You can change in the bedroom if you want some privacy. There are fresh towels in the bathroom if you'd like to take a shower.”

 

Andi closed the bedroom door behind her. If Jake was her fiancé, why did the thought of changing in front of him make her want to blush crimson? She'd probably done it
numerous times in the past. This whole situation was so weird. Her own fiancé felt—not like a stranger, but not like an intimate companion, either.

Must be pretty uncomfortable for Jake, too, though he didn't seem too flustered. Maybe he was just the sort to take things in stride. He had a reassuring air of composure, which was probably a good thing in a king.

Andi slipped out of her crumpled evening gown and climbed into a luxurious marble shower that could accommodate about six people. Unlike the scenery outside the window, and even the dressing room/sitting area, which felt at least somewhat familiar, everything in the bathroom suite seemed totally strange, like she'd literally never been there before. Maybe the memory was selective like that in its recall.

The warm water soothed and caressed her and she dried off feeling fresher.

She managed to arrange her hair into some semblance of order using a black comb, and applied some rather masculine-scented deodorant. They obviously didn't share this bathroom as there were no girly items in here at all. Unease pricked her skin again. No real reason for it though. Probably plenty of engaged couples slept in separate rooms. And one would expect extra attention to propriety in a royal household.

The black underwear he'd brought made her want to blush again. Why? It was her own, so why did it feel too racy for her? The bra fit perfectly, and the panties, while very low-cut, were comfortable, too. She was glad to quickly cover them with the practical jeans and blue T-shirt. No socks or shoes? Well, she could go retrieve those herself. She tied the soft sweater around her shoulders and stepped outside.