The Surprise Princess (24 page)

Katie hadn’t had any idea that kind of pain existed in Hunter’s past. She’d seen only the happiness in his present.

“Hunter had stayed away from them, sure he’d remind them only of their loss. Stayed away until April got hold of him, that is. Ah,” she added as Hunter approached the group. He extended a hand to the older man, who met it, then used that grip to pull him into a hug. Hugs from the rest of the group followed. Katie could almost think she saw tears in Hunter Pierce’s eyes.

“So, you don’t know anyone? Then you get to know them.” Leslie stepped back, surveying Katie. “What you need is to throw yourself into having fun. You are entirely too serious. I know just the thing.”

Katie got a first-hand taste of Leslie’s organizing ability as the woman talked to the band, snared a dozen people, and began a conga line – all while holding Katie’s wrist. Then Leslie swung their part of the line around and tugged Brad in to place behind Katie without losing a step.

Katie wasn’t as lucky. She stumbled, and felt Brad’s hands at her waist, steadying her. She had to move forward or break the line. She moved forward.

She saw Maurice and Etienne wincing, but April grinned as she grabbed Hunter and took the lead of the line.

But she was mostly aware of Brad’s large hands connecting them ... remembering how they had touched her other times.

The song ended, the line breaking apart with laughter and hugs. Brad pulled her back against his chest. She was aware of him bending his head. His lips brushed her shoulder where the sleeve had flipped up. This was better – far, far better – than the nose or forehead or top of the head. She shivered with the heat of the contact, relaxing against him.

With the line disintegrating around them, he released her. When she turned, he was halfway across the room.

“Champagne, miss?” one of waiters asked her.

“Yes. Thank you.”

He stayed away from her after that.

Had to for his own sake.

Not to mention he was being glared at by a head of state. A king for God’s sake … because Katie was his granddaughter.

Katie was a princess. It was over.

She deserved a prince … at the very least.

“I think this is in order.” April handed Katie another full glass of champagne.

“To toast your happiness.” Katie lifted the glass and took a good swallow.

April echoed her motions and gave her a significant look. “That’s not all we’re toasting.”

“You know? How? Hunter—?”

“We can’t talk about this right now or right here. But, actually, I’ve known a while. We all have. This was only a formality.”

“You couldn’t have.”

“First, there was King Jozef’s certainty. But the clincher was when Madame had to stop herself from curtseying to you Tuesday night. She sure never treated me that way.”

Katie remembered the looks zipping around the room when Madame Sabdoka and she met at the Roberts’ home Tuesday night.

“But how could she…”

“Never question the mysterious ways of Madame. Now drink up your champagne and let me introduce you to one of Grady’s nicest employees who will dance with you, since Brad is staying on the opposite side of the room. Not that I blame him, with King Jozef glaring at him.” She clicked her tongue. “Soon as I get you dancing, I’m off to de-scowl a king.”

H
ow had she let herself get married to a man she loved?

Katie almost giggled, then covered her mouth. The champagne was bubbling in her head, thoughts popping into nothing more than a pleasant impression. She had to be serious. This was very serious. She was married. To Brad. She’d adored him for years. He had never shown the least bit of interest in her.

Well, that wasn’t completely accurate. But he hadn’t shown the kind of interest in her she’d wanted him to show.

Except … he had kissed her. The wedding didn’t count, since that was on command. But on her couch and at the inn, those counted.

She took another glass of champagne and downed half.

That’s when she saw Brad heading for the elevators. Leaving.

Oh, no, he didn’t. He wasn’t going to go off to his room and get a good night’s sleep while she wrestled with getting herself married to a man she loved and being a princess and … what
had
she done with her room key?

She was almost to the elevators, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Oh. Right. He’d gotten in one of the elevators.

So, she did, too. And pressed the button of her floor …
their
floor.

She knocked on his door with determination.

Then she had the horrible thought that maybe this wasn’t his door. It was this side of the hall, but maybe it had been the next one down. She turned to judge the distance, trying to remember how far down the hall King Jozef had been when she’d seen him –

Oh, God, King Jozef. DNA. He’d proclaimed her as Princess Josephine-Augusta. What was she going to —?

“Katie?”

Brad had opened the door without her hearing.

“I want to talk to you,” she said stridently.

“Okay.”

She strode in. And came
smack
up against the memories of King Jozef delivering the news earlier today that she was—

“What is it, Katie?” The door closed and Brad approached.

“You’ve never said a word about my haircut,” she champagne-blurted.

“It looks great.”

The champagne wasn’t done. “Did you notice my dress?”

What a stupid thing to say. She sounded like an actor in a badly dubbed movie, words grinding and jerking nonsensically.

“Yes.”

Something in the way he said that calmed the panic and set very different flutters going in her stomach.

“It’s the same one—” she started.

“You wore to our – at the courthouse.”

“Yes. April’s dress was so gorgeous and…”

“Exactly what people think of as a wedding dress.”

Their eyes met for an instant. She looked down. “You didn’t like—don’t like—”

“I like it. What do you call those?” He stretched two fingers toward her, but stopped short of touching.

She looked down. “Cap sleeves.”

He nodded slowly. “Cap sleeves look good on you.”

She swallowed hard. She wasn’t going to fall apart from one compliment. “Thank you.”

“And what about—” His fingers sketched a scalloped line in the vicinity of her chin. “—that?”

“The necklace?”

“No.” He sounded grim.

“You don’t like my necklace? Carolyn and C.J. gave it to me.”

“It’s growing on me. But I meant the dress. That style.”

Then he should have pointed significantly lower, she thought, mildly indignant. “It’s lower now than at the courthouse—”

“I noticed.”

“—because Maurice said the proportions were better. It’s—”

“Maurice is a dangerous man.”

“—called a sweetheart neckline.”

“Sweetheart.”

Her heart flipped.

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. He was simply repeating the word. Probably trying to commit it to memory to get a dress for one of his girlfriends.

Oh, wait. How could he have girlfriends when they were married? Not that that stopped some men. But Brad wouldn’t… Of course, they weren’t really married, so there wasn’t any reason he couldn’t.
Oh, God, please don’t let him be dating while we’re married.

And then she giggled.

He looked startled. “What?”

“Nothing. A—” She gasped for breath. “—funny thought.”

He looked all concerned. About her.

Sudden tears came into her eyes. “Oh, Brad.” She put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

And he kissed her.

Not like a puppy.

She slid her fingers into his hair, encouraging his head toward her, while she parted her lips.

He held her, really held her.

But not for long enough.

Then they were apart, and she didn’t know – would never know – if they’d both backed up or only one of them. And it didn’t matter. The result was the same. He had his hands on her shoulders, but it was like he wanted to keep a lock on her so she couldn’t move in to kiss him again.

Her head dropped. “I’m sorry, Brad. I shouldn’t have done that.”

With more willpower than he knew he possessed, Brad kept his arms stiff, holding her away.

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

“I said I was sorry,” she said with a bit more snap, which was a hell of a lot better than hanging her head, looking miserable.

“Men get ideas. Especially in their hotel rooms.”

She clicked her tongue. “I know that. I’m not a complete idiot.” Now she rounded on him, all snap, no head-hanging. “You said you were sorry a week ago that you’d kissed me. On my couch. Like you’d broken a taboo. And other times on my forehead and top of my head and nose – my
nose
— but we’re
not
related. And I am
not
a kid.”

“No, we’re not related and you’re not a kid. Not anymore.”

“Yet, you treat me like I’m a cross between a halfwit and a permanent innocent. I—”

“I do not. I—”

“I’m not either one – halfwitted or innocent.” She lifted her chin. “I’m not a virgin. I’ve had boyfriends.”

“You think I don’t know you’ve had boyfriends? You think I haven’t been completely aware of your boyfriends?”

Her defiance evaporated. She blinked. “Why would you be?”

“Why?
Why
? You’re asking me why I was aware of your boyfriends?
This
is why.”

He took her face between his palms and kissed her. Almost before their lips met, he was sliding his tongue inside her mouth.

Not subtle. But they were way past subtle.

She made a little sound – surprise? How could she be surprised? She couldn’t be. Could. Not. Possibly. Be.

His tongue met hers. She hesitated, but she didn’t shy away. More like asking
are you sure
? than pulling back.

Was
he
sure? Was she kidding?

What the hell had those people – the pair who raised her — done to her that she didn’t have the confidence to know he’d wanted her all this time?

But what about her? Was she sure?

He wrenched his mouth away. “Katie—?”

Now she took his face between her hands. “Yes.” And she slid her tongue into his mouth.

Combustion. Instant and total.

He brought one leg forward, between hers, unsettling her balance. She put his arms around his neck to steady herself. Even then one hand fluttered a bit, almost apologetically.

She made that sound. Deeper now.

Speaking of not subtle and of wanting her… He slid one hand down her back, using his forearm to draw her in tighter. Then, slower, in to the small of her back, spreading his hand across the outward curve below. Pressing, tight and firm, bringing her against him. So she couldn’t possibly not know.

Oh, yeah, I’m sure.

She shifted, not pulling away exactly, so what was she—? Then she shifted back, her legs apart and he fit even tighter against her. He bent his knees, then straightened, rubbing higher and harder against her, even through their clothing. Their tongues were rubbing against each other in imitation of what their bodies wanted to do.

And if the imitation was this good, the real might kill him.

One of her arms left his neck and reached behind her. He knew that because he was totally tuned in to her body and where it moved.

But apparently he’d disconnected from everything else, because they were suddenly tumbling to the bed, him on top of her, and he hadn’t known they were anywhere near it. She must have known. That’s why she’d reached back — to cushion the fall. He rolled, bringing her on top so he didn’t crush her.

The hem of her dress had come up. She straddled him, so he pressed close and hard against where he most wanted to be.

“Katie? The champagne—?”

“No.” Her eyes were wide, but clear and focused directly on him.

“Are you sure about…?”

She slid her knees wider, deepening the contact.

“Yes.”

Movies and TV showed lovemaking in lyrical, sweeping strokes. Perfect vignettes of tenderness and passion. Impediments melting away in dissolves that cut out all the moments of awkward fumbling, of clothes crammed into the wrong place, of unfastenings that went awry.

They missed all the fun.

Not that she’d thought it had been fun with those boyfriends she’d told him about. Both of them. The actual sex had been quite nice. Certainly nice enough for her to want more of it in her life … though, she had realized with reluctance at the time, not with them. But the getting ready for it had been uncomfortable physically and emotionally.

Not with Brad.

He approached this the way he approached basketball. With exuberance, joy, regard for the proceedings, and respect for his opponent.

In this case, their clothes.

She sighed against his shoulder as he slid her panties off.

Victory.

But now he was putting on one last item.

Done.

His wonderful hands came back to her. She
mmm
’d with the sensation.

And heard an echo of it from him.

She shifted, hooking a leg over his hip, the rolled to her back, trying to draw him with her.

He stalemated her with them on their sides. “I’m too heavy—”

He bowed over her, putting his mouth over the tip of her breast and drawing.

“Brad.” She skimmed her hand lightly over his back. “Brad.”

His resistance crumbled. He rolled with her, settling into where she most wanted him.

He slid inside her.

And then he went still.

No, no, no. No stillness.

“Do you feel that?” he asked.

“Oh, yes.”

He expelled a breath, part snort, part chuckle, part pained pleasure. “That … vibration.”

She tightened her muscles. “This?”

“Ah. That’s... That’s …”

She spread her hands on his butt cheeks, curving her fingers into him, urging him, at the same time she bent her knees, then crossed her ankles over him.