Her Secret Prince (6 page)

“Not alone.”

He waited a beat. “With men?”

“With a man, singular,” she corrected, keeping up a fast pace.

“The same man, singular?”

“With many men who have
considered themselves single while with me.” Dee felt Jed glance at her. She curled her fingers into fists and stared ahead. “I need a coffee.”

His attention shifted, searching the street around him.

“There’s a café around the corner. It’s open late Fridays. You don’t mind.” She should have phrased that as a question, but she was confused. Directives emerged when she wasn’t thinking straight.
“I’ll drink fast.”

“Is coffee a good idea for someone who wants to tear the walls down?”

She cast him a sidelong glance. “I don’t understand the question.”

The café was her local haunt. A corner shop with a painted green brick exterior, and large potted plants jammed up along the outside walls. Several tables were hidden between the pots, cool, secluded hangouts, but Dee cut inside and made
a beeline for her favorite hip-height bench. She jumped up onto the stool and locked eyes with the waiter.

Tim appeared quickly. “Usual?”

“Yes, thanks.”

He spun towards Jed. “And for you?”

“Ah, black coffee.” Tim departed and Jed lowered himself onto a stool beside her, murmuring, “That felt urgent.”

“He gets me.”

The bench faced the front window, and she swung her legs, looking out at the
night. Golden cubes of light were scattered across the opposite apartment block. “This is where I come to write most days.” She gestured vaguely around them. The tiles were black and white, the food was decent, and the service was friendly. They also let her occupy a stool for seven hours at a time. “Welcome to my life.”

“Hello, Dee’s life.”

That almost made her smile. Instead she toyed with
the salt shaker and asked, “Do you think it’s sad that my whole life can fit into one café?”

“Not even slightly.”

“Where’s your life?”

He gazed out the window. “I’m not sure.”

A traveler at heart, living both everywhere and nowhere. She wondered if a man like him could ever truly settle. “Is that how you like it?”

That earned her a grave glance. “No.”

“Where have you lived?” she asked, expecting
a list of places.

“Melbourne. I studied art there after high school. I’ve lived there since.”

She paused, surprised. “But you don’t have a life there?”

“A life, yes. But I feel like I’m waiting for the real thing. Like it hasn’t started yet and I’m just biding my time.”

“For eight years?”

His sideways glance came with a wry smile. “You’re not the sad one, Dee.”

Eight years. He’d actually
stayed in one place for that long. Only possible because he’d said he was no longer on the run. Curious, she asked, “What made you stop running?”

“I got sick of it. Decided that if my father wanted to find me, he could damn well find me.”

“Oh.” Resentment rose in her again. He’d abandoned her and not contacted her once he’d decided to stay put.

But she couldn’t hold it against him now. It wasn’t
fair on either of them. With difficulty, she shrugged off that bitterness. It fell away, a sharp-fingered grip that would only ever hurt her. Then she asked, “What do you do?”

He smiled. “I write and illustrate graphic novels and online comics. I’ve been commissioned to illustrate for several horror authors’ graphic novels, too. Pretty popular, I can do it for a living now. My current project
is an online comic.”

“Seriously? That’s really cool.” So he’d done something with his remarkable talent. She twisted to face him, elbow on the benchtop. “What’s the comic called?”

“Drifting in Melbourne.”

She nodded and said, “I was in Australia last year.”

“Were you?” He gave a curious smile. “Where?”

“Byron Bay.” The glittering waves and hot sand had only been a couple of hours from Melbourne
by plane. She wouldn’t have hesitated to make the flight, had she known. But would Jed have done the same? Her heart slouched as Tim arrived with the caffeine hit. She honestly didn’t know. After ordering two servings of soup and toast, she gathered her latte close and said, “It’s weird not knowing anything about you anymore.”

“Ask me anything and I’ll tell you.”

She didn’t have to think. “When
are you leaving?”

His gaze fixed out the window. “Ask me anything else.”

“Did you dad ever find you?”

That didn’t ease the strain in his neck. “Yes.”

She drank. “Was he dangerous?”

“I don’t know yet.”

She paused, surprised. “That
yet
sounded imminent.”

“I’ll explain later,” he said, catching her eye.

“I’ll hold you to it. How did you find me?”

“I searched your name online. There weren’t
any pictures, but there was a wiki about a Dee Johnson who wrote indie screenplays. I figured it was worth a shot. A semi-recent online article stated the very same Dee Johnson did a lot of writing at the Scrabble Square Café, Los Angeles.”

She smiled wryly. That would be right here.

“I chose to assume that meant you lived nearby. I was knocking on every D. Johnson’s door in the area when your
friend answered. There are a lot, by the way.”

“That knowledge previously made me feel safe.”

“If there had been a less creepy way to get in touch, I’d have done it. But you don’t have any obvious social media accounts or a website.”

“I prefer anonymity. I’m online as Dijon Son.” Spoken it sounded like her name, so she spelled it out.

He smiled. “I like that.”

She kicked her heels against
the stool stand, mind turning to another woman who hadn’t wanted to be found. “How is your mom?”

When he answered, his tone was detached. “Okay. I haven’t spoken to her in a while. She didn’t like that I stayed in Melbourne. I didn’t like that she refused to tell me anything about my father that could help me stand my ground. Turns out we’re as stubborn as each other. What are your parents up
to?”

“Achieving selflessness. Once I graduated high school, they left for Haiti as doctors without borders.” She didn’t resent them, but there had been days where she wished she could. “I’d been thinking about moving to LA to do film studies anyway.”

He didn’t comment. When she glanced at him, lines had gathered on his forehead.

“What?”

Quietly, he said, “You really have been left by everyone.”

“That one I saw coming,” she said, ignoring the pinch of his words. “So it was okay.”

“Seeing it coming doesn’t make it okay.”

She raised a shoulder, feigning indifference, and changed the subject. “Do you have friends in Melbourne?”

“Yeah.” Jed tugged the pencil from his bun and twirled it between his fingers. She put her chin in her hand and watched his hair unwind around his ears, slowly
falling in waves, sexy and untamed. She’d bet on her life that he didn’t have bad hair days. Wild days, yes. Alternative male model days, absolutely, and with that bun, definitely artistic hipster days. But there could be nothing bad about those coal black curls. “And a best mate. Felix.”

The moment came and Dee braced herself. “Significant other?”

The pen stilled. “Not for some time.”

“Lover?”

He eyed her. “As I said, not for some time.”

Realization dug into her chest and she stared hard out the window. He viewed his lovers as significant. Pity that consideration had never been extended to her over the years.

On the subject of consideration: “Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

“Yes. Tomorrow. I don’t want today to be about that.”

“Why not?”

The soup and toast arrived, and
Jed paused to nod his thanks. Then he picked up a spoon and said, “I didn’t think I’d actually find you. I want to get my head around this”—his eyes ran down her body—“first.”

Just his luck that she knew the feeling.

“Can I take you out for breakfast?” he asked. “Talk about it then.”

“I enjoy pancakes with maple syrup and hash browns. Anything else and my answer’s no.”

He smiled slightly.
“Let me guess. They serve that here?”

She gave in and finally smiled back. “This place is my life, I told you.”

“It’s a nice life.”

Dee picked up a slice of toast and slopped it through the thick tomato soup. She had one last question to determine the type of man he had become. It could make or break him. “Most valued trait in other people?”

“Kindness,” he said without hesitation, focused
on his meal. “It excuses a multitude of annoyances and its absence negates all other positive qualities. Kindness would fix the world.”

Her pulse faltered. She stared.

Yes, Jed had changed. He’d grown into a successful artist, a considerate partner, and a man who thought of bettering the world. He was exactly who she’d dreamed he would become, from head to heart. Helpless, her attention strayed
to the shadow darkening his jaw. The muscle strong in his forearms. The way one ankle rested over his other knee, tugging his jeans snugly over the rugged region of his crotch.

Desire clawed in her, a beast that would tear apart its cage given the chance.

So she didn’t give it the chance. She inched her stool away from his as they ate. She leaned back as he asked about her latest film, because
since finding her wiki, he’d watched them all. And an hour later, back in her apartment, she headed straight for her bedroom, not giving herself a chance to let the mood take her.

Jed’s voice reached after her from the couch. “You don’t want pie?”

Oh. She’d forgotten he’d ordered dessert to go. But a few strides later her fingers closed around the handle. “I had a muffin earlier.”

“I’d preferred
thinking you hadn’t actually eaten that.”

She’d prefer to straddle him where he stood, but not everyone should get what they wanted. Pushing the door open, she spoke over her shoulder. “Breakfast at eight?”

“Sure.”

“Night, then.”

“Dee.” His voice stopped her.

“Mm?”

“You didn’t ask how I felt about leaving you.”

She turned back, keeping hold of the door handle. It was an anchor. No drifting
towards the couch. Her stomach locked at the remorse on his face, and knowing his answer wasn’t going to help her restraint, she asked, “How did you feel about leaving me?”

“Distraught.”

She imagined a teenaged Jed, begging his mother to turn the car around, making empty threats and louder demands, angry tears welling when she refused.

“Powerless,” he said.

The younger image deflated, staring
at his lap, silence his only weapon.

“And furious.”

Dee frowned. She wasn’t sure how to imagine that.

“I haven’t stopped being furious. My father has a lot to answer for.” Then he gave her a tired smile and said, “I need you to know that I didn’t want to leave you.”

Oh, this wasn’t fair. She gripped the handle tighter and gave a tight nod. “Okay, got it.”

Swiftly, she closed the door and
marched herself into the bathroom.

Jed hadn’t wanted to leave her. He hadn’t wanted to put her at risk by contacting her afterwards. He hadn’t become any less of a man in the years since she’d last seen him. All in all, he was shaping up to be pretty damn perfect.

Minus one tiny detail. He’d given no indication that he still had feelings for her. No hint that he was attracted to her. Being polite
and making amends was not the same as showing interest in picking up their relationship where they left off.

Dee washed her face, struggling after the day’s upheaval. She’d made it obvious that her body was drawn to his. Put it out there because she’d never seen any point in pretending. He knew, without a doubt, and hadn’t reciprocated.

She didn’t know why he was here, but it clearly wasn’t
for her alone.

Good thing she’d prepared for the worst.

‡

D
ee woke with
her head under the pillow and something hard pressed against her thigh. Shoving the pillow onto the floor, she glared over her shoulder. Her laptop snuggled in close, replete after a night of reworking the ending to her script.

The latest version concluded with the
characters finding each other and their lives entwining once more. Emma was delighted to have an ex-lover as a friend. Adam knew everything about her already and there was no risk of unresolved sexual tension.

Except that Adam’s heart still beat for Emma and always would.

Another Unsatisfying Ending, by Dee Johnson.

With a groan, she fumbled for her glasses and dragged herself into the bathroom.

A vision greeted her from the sink. Dark tousled hair, a bare chest, and sweatpants. It was like interrupting a divine being getting ready for work. The angel of sex appeal, casually drying his face,
then
the wings would go on.

She needed to hold on to something.

Jed looked up as she gripped the doorframe. “Morning,” he said, eyes darting down to her two piece nightclothes. She hid a wince.
No bra beneath the red satin and the shorts covered little more than her briefs. A line formed on his brow as his gaze locked on the soap. “How did you sleep?”