The Cowboy and the Princess (3 page)

Annie made a noise of distress.

Brady jerked his head back in her direction.

She stood clutching his cowboy hat in her hands, her head raised expectantly. “May I sit here?”

“Um . . . sure.”

She set his straw Stetson on the table and sank down beside him, her gaze coddling his. She did not look out the window. Did not glance around the room. Her eyes were on him and him alone.

Unnerved, he scooted as far across the seat as he could, his shoulder bumping up against the cool glass window.

At that moment, the Blues Brothers came into the seat-yourself dining area, scanning the room as if searching for someone.

Annie leaned in closer.

There was nowhere else for Brady to go. This development took him completely by surprise. He didn’t know if he liked it or not.

“You are very handsome,” she said.

“Um . . . okay.”

“I want to kiss you.”

Stunned, he blinked. “Huh?”

“Kiss me.”

“What?” Had he heard her correctly?

“Kiss me.”

The Blues Brothers were talking to Heather, the waitress.

Do not kiss her. Something is not right. Warning! Whatever you do, do not kiss her!

“Kiss me now!” she demanded, and puckered those honeysuckle lips.

He held up a palm like a stop sign. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like being bossed around.”

“Please,” she wheedled.

“Well, when you put it like that,” he drawled. “No.”

“You do not find me desirable.” She reached out to stroke his chin with an index finger. He caught a whiff of her talcum powder scent.

“Quite the contrary.”

“So why not?”

Brady peered into those big gray-blue eyes and he was a goner. Ah shit. What the hell? Why not? Illogically, he pulled her into his arms and proceeded to dismantle rule number two.

Always trust your gut.

Her lips were heated satin, melting Brady’s self-control like cotton candy dunked in hot soda pop. She tangled her slender arms around his neck, tugging him closer, but she did not loosen her jaw.

Mystified, he lightly rested the tip of his tongue against her bottom lip. Was she going to let him in?

“Hmm, mmm.” Annie increased the pressure of the kiss, but she did not part her teeth.

Okay, this was the first time he’d ever had a woman beg him to kiss her and then not let him fully do the job. Brady didn’t like to brag, but he knew he was a good kisser. Many a woman had told him so.

Kissing was his second favorite part of lovemaking. He loved to taste things. Explore. Savor. Push limits. And he’d been right. Annie did taste like caramel. He wanted more.

She loosened her arms around his neck, broke the lip-lock, rested her forehead on his. “Are they still there?” she whispered.

“Who?”

“The men in the suits and fedoras.”

Once more, Brady shifted his gaze to the dining room. The Blues Brothers were gone. He glanced back at Annie. Took in her glistening lips. Inhaled her innocent fragrance. Heard her soft intake of breath.

Right then and there, he trifled with his number one rule for leading an uncomplicated life. The rule that had kept him safe, satisfied, and single for twenty-nine years. The rule he was about to shatter into a million little pieces.

Never tell a lie.

“They’re still here,” he said. “You better keep kissing me.”

Chapter Two

You might be a princess if . . . your nickname is Buttercup.

P
rincess Annabella Madeleine Irene Osbourne Farrington of Monesta, the smallest country in Europe, was running away from a very complicated life.

No, that wasn’t quite true. She was running
to
a life of simple, unrestrained pleasure. At least, that is, for the next six weeks.

After that, she must return to Monesta and wed forty-two-year-old Prince Theodore George Jameson Forsythe of Dubinstein, the second smallest country in Europe. In a prearranged marriage that was protocol for royalty in her country, she’d been promised to Teddy since she was twelve years old, and while she’d managed to put off the wedding by getting her PhD in comparative literature (with a specialization in works of the American Southwest), in less than two months she would be twenty-five. The age at which her father, King Phillip, decreed she
would
marry.

Although she and Teddy weren’t officially, officially engaged (no engagement ring or party yet), the last wedding details had already been planned. The date was set. Her fate forever sealed.

But until then, she was in America, living her dream of having a wild romantic adventure before she settled into the staid role as Princess of Dubinstein and started producing heirs.

She could barely believe it. No one who knew her would believe it either—shy, obedient Princess Annabella kissing a wild, handsome Texas cowboy a mere two hours after she’d run away from former president Glover’s compound with a little help from her cohort, bride-to-be Echo Glover.

It felt thrilling, exhilarating, and exotic.

Erotic.

Add to it the fact that she’d never kissed anyone besides Teddy, and those had been nothing more than restrained, chaperoned pecks. Kissing Brady Talmadge was, well, mind expanding to say the least, and she wished it would never stop.

This was exactly what she needed.
He
was exactly what she needed—a man with more sex appeal than morals. A footloose man who preferred no strings attached. He was perfect for what she had in mind.

“Annie,” he whispered against her mouth, the sound vibrating an exuberant tickle through her.

Annie.

Her heart tripped, skipped.

She was glad she had thought of the nickname. No one in Monesta ever dared call her anything so informal. The name had a cowgirl ring to it. Like Annie Oakley. She approved of the idea of being an Annie. Annie was spunky, levelheaded, the girl next door.

Annie was a lot like Princess Ann from
Roman Holiday
, her favorite movie in the entire world. In fact, that movie was what had given her the courage to spread her wings and fly the coop. She had also learned from Princess Ann’s mistakes, and she even made a list of pitfalls to avoid when going AWOL from a royal life.

She was Annie Coste now.

She’d taken her old nursemaid’s last name, and that felt right too. Annabella had been closer to Rosalind Coste than she had ever been to her own mother.

Immediately, that thought made her feel disloyal. It was unfair to gauge her mother against Rosalind. Queen Evangeline had died at age fifty-two of a heart attack at
her
mother’s funeral. In the course of one short week, eight-year-old Annabella had lost both her mother and her only surviving grandparent. If she was being truthful, she scarcely missed them. Rosalind was the one who had really raised her.

But Brady’s mouth was doing crazy things to her, making her stomach pitch and her knees wobble, and she forgot about all that ancient history.

His tongue strummed lightly over her lips, his breath came in hot, electric waves against her skin. The intimate taste of him flooded her with intense, unexpected desire. She melted against his chest, shaken to the core, aroused and hoarding every sensation lighting up her body, tucking it into her memory for those long, tedious years ahead with Teddy.

She forgot they were in the dining room of a truck stop. She forgot that she had asked him to kiss her in the first place because her bodyguards, Chandler and Strawn, had somehow traced her here in spite of the disguise she donned and she was desperate to hide her face. She forgot about everything except Brady Talmadge and the fact she had a very narrow window of time in which to live out her dreams.

Knowing this experience was short made it that much sweeter. At any moment, Chandler could clamp his hand on one shoulder, Strawn on the other, and they would drag her back to the limo, back to the president’s compound to collect her things, and then back to the private plane that would whisk her back to Monesta. Adventure over before it ever really began.

She was making the most out of every second. She had her eyes wide open. She knew precisely what she was doing.

Annie curled her fingers through Brady’s unruly cocoa-colored hair. His masculine scent—leather, spice, and cotton—filled her nostrils. He was sheer rugged poetry. His dark eyes drew her in, the romance of the West. She’d been fascinated with cowboys since childhood when Rosalind had read her bedtime stories from the novels of Louis L’Amour and Zane Grey.

It felt like the wickedest kind of freedom, stolen and sweet. What she was doing was wrong. She knew it, and yet, for the first time in her life, she felt as if she’d found her true self. She was so tired of rules and protocol and performing her duties. She always worked hard to be a good girl, a good daughter, and a good princess. She accepted her fate of marrying wealthy Prince Theodore without complaint because it was good politics for her country. She’d been born into privilege and luxury. She knew how lucky she was. She felt guilty for wanting more, for longing to be ordinary.

But Audrey Hepburn in
Roman Holiday
had wanted the same thing. Just one sweet taste of an ordinary life. One brief period of time when the heavy yoke of noble responsibility was off her shoulders. Audrey gave her hope for a short-term reprieve.

While other young girls dreamed of being royalty, Annie had dreamed of going to school like a normal child instead of having tutors come to her. She longed for friends she picked herself rather than having confidantes selected for her. She ached to go out alone without an entourage of bodyguards and yes-people tagging along.

In childhood, she used to lie in bed at night and imagine that Gypsies had kidnapped her from her cradle in the middle of the night. Stolen her from her real family. Jack and Jane Jones, who lived in a cottage by the sea and ate bacon and scrambled egg sandwiches for supper.

She pretended she had lots of brothers and sisters and she had to wear hand-me-downs and walk to school because her family had only one car. Of course, she couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation for how she had ended up in the household of King Phillip and Queen Evangeline, or why the Gypsies would steal such an ordinary girl.

But it was a fantasy she could not conquer. Annabella had always felt like a fish out of water. She once thought that other children of royalty might feel this way as well, so on one of the courtship dates, she asked Teddy if this was what it had been like for him growing up, if he too felt as if he didn’t belong on the throne. Did his heart long for an ordinary life among ordinary people?

He had looked at her as if she had completely lost her mind. “Annabella,” he said, placing his palm on her forehead, “do you have a fever?”

No, she did not have a fever, just a heartfelt longing for normalcy. But considering Teddy’s reaction, she was way off base about how other royals felt about their lot in life. But of course he would not question his path; how silly of her to have considered it. This was a man who would be king. A man who loved playing polo, his silver Bugatti, skiing the Swiss Alps, flying his Gulfstream on weekend jaunts to Monte Carlo. A man who had christened his yacht
The Teddy Too
. A man with an irrational fear of mice, mentholated medications, tetherballs, and therapeutic massage. Why would he long for a regular Joe life?

Brought up to be a perfect princess by never rocking the boat, Annie had smiled at Teddy, forced a laugh. “I was simply making a joke.”

“Well,” he said, “don’t bring that up with anyone else. People would not understand.”

No, she supposed they wouldn’t. Most people would give their eyeteeth to be members of a royal family. What they didn’t understand was that royalty carried such a tremendous burden. She didn’t feel up for the job. But no one wanted to hear the rich and privileged whine about their problems. So Annabella shut up and tucked her secret away, but she never stopped longing for the experience of just once in her life being like everyone else.

And now here she was, kissing a cowboy in a truck stop restaurant. A dream come true.

Maybe she could make this last just a wee bit longer. She knew it had to end, even if Chandler and Strawn had left for now. They’d be back. And if they couldn’t find her, once they accepted defeat, they’d gird their loins and grit their teeth and call her father and admit they’d lost her. Then the media hoopla would begin. Would her thin disguise be enough to save her at that point?

Briefly, she felt sorry for her bodyguards. They didn’t deserve to lose their jobs because she’d given them the slip. When this was over, she’d talk to her father and make sure they kept their positions. It wasn’t their fault. She and Echo had been plotting this caper for months. Echo was the only one who even semi-understood Annie’s motives.

In the meantime, Annie was fully enjoying this kiss. She might never get another kiss from anyone except Teddy, and that depressed her more than she could say.

It was not that Teddy was such a bad guy. He was okay enough for a balding, short man with a banty rooster strut. It wasn’t as if there were many options. For the most part, royalty still married royalty. Yes, Prince William had married Kate Middleton, but Monesta wasn’t as forward thinking as England. Potential suitors for her hand arose from a very small pool of candidates. Teddy had been the best of the limited lot.

Then Brady slipped his hot tongue between her lips and all other thoughts flew from her head. Unbelievable, this sensation. Sheer heaven.

At last she let go of her fears, loosened her jaw, let him in, and succumbed fully and completely.

He cradled her in his arms, at once bold, yet gentle, exploring her with his lips. She closed her eyes, savoring everything—the taste of his warm mouth, the feel of his arms tightening around her waist, the sound of patrons chuckling. They were on display, but she didn’t care. That in itself was something. She’d been groomed, schooled, educated on the proper etiquette in every social situation. She’d been taught never to show her true emotions. Never do anything in public that would embarrass her or the House of Farrington.

For over twenty-four years, she had kowtowed. Obeyed the rules. Done as she’d been told.

Now, she was flaunting her freedom.

It would not last. Could not last. She knew that. She had a responsibility to the people of Monesta, even though her father had remarried a much younger woman and her stepmother Birgit had given birth to Annabella’s half brother Prince Henry, which meant she would never sit on the throne. She had been indoctrinated into service of her country from birth. It was as much a part of her as the color of her hair. Which for now was dyed jet black. She had chopped it off short with a pair of scissors in Echo Glover’s bathroom and colored it with hair dye Echo had smuggled in for her.

For the first time it occurred to her that she could be big trouble for anyone who came to her assistance. People like Echo, who’d helped her elude her bodyguards, and Brady, who’d been so kind to pick her up on the roadside and buy her a meal.

Guilt hobbled her and she put a hand to his chest, pushed him away, broke the kiss.

The dining room erupted in applause.

Annie’s cheeks heated. She ducked her head. This was bad. Calling attention to herself. If she wanted her six-week-long adventure, she definitely had to maintain a low profile, especially if Chandler and Strawn were still in the vicinity. She darted a glance out the window and saw to her relief that the limo had departed. They were gone.

She drew in a shaky breath. Reached up to finger her lips still tingling from Brady’s kiss.

He possessed a strong chin stubbled with dark beard. The rough scruff had scratched her skin during the kiss, but in a wholly attractive way. Teddy never had beard stubble, his cheeks baby-butt smooth. Then again, he never kissed like that. Full of raw, hungry passion that made her toes curl inside her cowboy boots.

Brady’s eyes were the color of strong coffee—black and hot. His nose was straight and just a bit too big for his face, but it lent him a noble air, a king by nature, if not by birth. But while his face declared power, his manner suggested easygoing fun. He walked with a slow, loose-limbed gait as if nothing alarmed or excited him. He had a bad-boy glimmer in his eyes, and Annie suspected women stood in line to capture his attention.

“Well,” he said, “well.”

That’s when she knew their kiss had left him as speechless as it had her. What did you say after a kiss like that?
My world has been upended, never to be righted again?
Of course she couldn’t say that, but she felt it. Her stomach rose, fell, lurched. Jubilance buoyed her. It was crazy, getting swept away by the first man she met on her adventure.

But that’s the way it had happened for Princess Ann. Joe Bradley all the way. Honestly, if she squinted, Brady did have a bit of Gregory Peck in him. The height. The lankiness. The steady, easy speech.

Brady fished out his wallet. Laid money on the table, picked up his cowboy hat, and settled it on his head. “As pleasurable as that was, Buttercup, I’ve got to hit the road.”

Buttercup.

He’d called her Buttercup. Another movie princess. Princess Buttercup from
The
Princess Bride.

Had he somehow guessed who she was? Her pulse somersaulted. Was her game over?

But no, he was smiling without suspicion in his eyes. Guileless.