Waking Up in Vegas: HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance Page 12

  “No fun and games. We’re trying to be serious now. Attracting young people, and all that, remember?”

  “So as a young person, what do you advise we do to attract young people?”

  She hardly needed to give it thought. “Adventure sports, nightclubs and pop concerts.”

  Max rolled his eyes.

  “I’m being serious. Fairy tales and wine are all good but one is for the pre-teens, and the other is for the … mature. You need something in between.”

  “We are never going to be Ibiza. Apart from a couple of months in the summer, Westerwald doesn’t have the weather for it.”

  “The occasional rave or visiting pop star doesn’t require perfect weather.”

  “Oh great, next the press will remember how they used to call me the Rave Prince.” Max sat up suddenly. “But that’s a great idea!”

  “Of course it is. What idea?”

  “A concert. On the eve of the coronation. We’ll have a free concert in the castle grounds. All I need to do is find a major headliner act available and willing to come to Waldburg at the drop of the hat.”

  Phoenix leaned up on her elbow. “I might be able to help you with that.” She sucked in a deep breath. Max wasn’t going to like this. “An ex of mine is a tour promoter.”

  He didn’t like it. His expression turned thunderous. “Is this the same boyfriend who taught you to ride a bike?”

  “Of course not. There was at least six years between the two.” And at least six other boyfriends.

  Clearly the subject of exes was the only one that hadn’t come up that first day they’d known each other. It was good to know she still had some secrets.

  Well, that and her arrest and conviction. She had no idea what Max, honourable as he was, would do if he ever found out about that. The fact she’d got away with little more than a record and a slap on the wrist wouldn’t matter. Nor would it matter to the press or Max’s government.

  But as long as they didn’t get serious, Max need never know.

  His voice was dangerously even. “Exactly how many ex-boyfriends do you have?”

  Not counting the lovers who’d never made it to ‘boyfriend’ status on her Facebook account? She screwed up her eyes. “I have no idea. I didn’t keep count.”

  She ignored his fit of pique and pretended an interest in the food he’d removed from the hamper. It was a tempting spread: canapés, caviar on wafer-thin Melba toast, fresh fruit kebabs. She picked a long thin slice of pineapple off the plate and took a bite.

  “There’s no need to go all Neanderthal on me. I haven’t had as many boyfriends as you’ve had girlfriends.” As he opened his mouth, she held up a finger. “Don’t even think of denying it. I Googled you.”

  It had taken her nearly an hour after she’d shut down the Google page before she’d stopped feeling as if she wanted to scratch out the eyes of every woman he’d ever been with. From not wanting to be married to him to contemplating raw violence had been quite a terrifying leap. But she was over it now. Or she would be. Real soon.

  “Don’t believe everything they write about me in the press. I was never serious about any of those women.”

  Which was no doubt why the press had shifted from calling him the Rave Prince to the Heartbreak Prince.

  “I wasn’t serious about any of my exes either. They were all nothing more than a bit of fun.” And the moment they’d stopped being fun and wanted to get serious, her Facebook status defaulted to ‘single’.

  “Is that what I am to you: another bit of fun in a long parade of men?”

  Her throat pulled tight. Max was different from any of the other men she’d known. He meant more to her. But for exactly that reason, she couldn’t let him any closer to her heart than he’d already managed to get. She forced a laugh. “Of course. But if you’re going to keep glowering at me like that, I might have to reconsider how much fun you really are.”

  Her attempt at levity didn’t lighten his mood much, but at least he stopped looking as if he wanted to commit murder.

  “You’re more than a bit of fun for me. You’re my wife.”

  She pulled a face and sat up, moving beyond his reach. Why did he have to do that – go and spoil everything with his talk of marriage and commitment?

  “Well I’m not a one man girl, so you need to get over yourself.” She rose and brushed the grass off her jeans. “We both have to work tomorrow, so we should start heading back.”

  He grabbed at her, pulling her back down onto the blanket. “Not so fast. Think you can blow me off that easily?”

  She glanced south, at the bulge in his jeans, and cocked an eyebrow at him.

  He scowled but the amusement was back in his eyes. “Much though I love what you’re thinking, this isn’t the place. It might be private property, but one never knows when a group of over-eager campers or night hikers might stumble past.”

  “Whose private property?” she asked, diverted.

  “Ours. This is the last remaining part of the medieval royal hunting grounds.”

  Ours. For a moment she thought of him and his family, then as he wove his fingers through hers, realisation struck. They’d married without a pre-nup. Half of everything Max owned was now hers. No wonder he didn’t want a divorce. When all he’d had in the world was a job at his grandfather’s vineyard, that half portion hadn’t been a big issue. But now she was entitled to half of all Westerwald’s royal properties and the stakes hadn’t just gone up, they’d sky-rocketed.

  It wasn’t in her nature to be mercenary, but maybe on a champagne and sedative high she’d seen an opportunity and jumped. Maybe she’d known what she was doing when she agreed to marry him after all.

  “We’re all alone in a forest, long after dark. Do you honestly think anyone is going to find us here?” she raised an eyebrow as she slid her palm over the front of his jeans. “Where’s that risk taker I met in Vegas?”

  Max groaned. “This is not a good idea.”

  “What are you afraid of?” she teased. And it was more than her words that did the teasing. Max sucked in a breath as she slid open the zipper on his jeans. “You’re not playing fair.”

  “I know I’m not.” She freed him from his jeans and bent down to take him in her mouth.

  He groaned again, a lower, more primal sound. “Just to set the record straight,” he gasped. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  And right there she knew he was lying. There was one thing Max was afraid of: losing her. The knowledge hung over her, a cloud dampening the mood.

  Not today. She wouldn’t think of it today. She’d promised to stay until after the coronation. That was already practically a lifelong commitment in her world.

  She shut out the thoughts and devoted herself to giving Max pleasure, to making sure they’d both have memories worth remembering when their time together was over.

  When the picnic was done and the wine bottle empty, they packed up the hamper and blew out the flames in the lanterns. No point risking a forest fire and burning down half her marriage portion. She stifled a giggle.

  “I have to go to work in the morning. We need to get back.”

  He grinned. “Your wish is my command, Princess.”

  She resisted the urge to wince at the title. Princesses were over-indulged women who spent their days lying around in palaces eating raspberries or shopping for designer clothes. It wasn’t her.

  As she mounted her bike again, the phone in her back pocket, forgotten all evening, buzzed loudly. Who on earth would call her now? Hardly anyone had this number. She glanced at the incoming text.

  It was from Rebekah. Don’t go home. The press are camped outside the apartment.

  She swore.

  “What is it?” Max hurried to her side. His concern shifted to glee as he read the text. “So now you come home with me.”

  “I smell a set-up.” But she smiled.

  He shrugged. “I’d love to take credit for planning that far ahead, but I tend to be more a ‘take your c
hances where they come’ guy. As long as I get you into a bed before I combust that bed could be in Timbuktu for all I care.”

  She laughed. “Okay. Since I don’t seem to have any choice, lead on.”

  They fired up their engines, the roar of the bikes splitting the night-time stillness of the ancient forest. Her last thought, before she headed the bike towards Waldburg and concentrated on the road ahead, was that she seemed to have lost a lot of her freedom to choose lately. This being part of a couple thing was seriously limiting.

  Chapter Nine

  “Wow.” Words failed her. Phoenix looked about the immaculate castle garage and let out a low whistle. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Max glanced where she pointed and grinned. “A 1927 Rolls Royce Phantom. That was custom built for my great grandfather.”

  The Phantom rubbed shoulders with a 60s E-type jag and “Oh heaven … a Triumph Bonneville?” The classic motorcycle looked as good as new, its paintwork gleaming in the low light. Her father had wanted one when she was young. It was one of the many dreams he’d lost interest in along the way.

  “I rebuilt that one myself during a summer vacation as a teenager.”

  So he was good at fixing more than taps and closet door handles. The man had more talents than an X-Factor contestant.

  “Most of the vehicles were my late grandfather’s. He was something of a collector.”

  They parked their bikes beside the Bonneville then passed through another set of infrared detectors and a plate glass security booth into the castle’s outer bailey. It was like passing from one world into another; as if she’d stepped out of the 21st century straight back into the middle ages.

  They walked hand in hand along a colonnaded walk that edged a vast, brightly-lit yard surrounded by high stone walls that were topped with walkways where uniformed sentries patrolled, then passed through an arch with a portcullis and yet more sentries into the castle’s inner bailey.

  This inner sanctum seemed to have more towers and courtyards than Disneyland.

  “You grew up here?” Phoenix stared up at the impressive keep, built of grey stone and intimidating in both colour and size.

  “The keep’s purely ornamental these days. When we’re not in residence, the armoury and art gallery inside are open to the public.”

  She had to swallow. This late night tour of the castle was going from unbelievable to surreal far too quickly.

  Max pointed to the more modest building behind the keep. “That’s where I grew up. The royal apartments were remodelled and modernised in the early 1800s and we’ve lived there ever since. Though these days this castle is more of a holiday home for us. Our official residence is the palace in Neustadt.”

  She shook her head, unable to understand how it must feel to have roots that went so deep; how Max said ‘we’ and ‘us’ for events that had happened centuries before he’d even been born.

  The Great Hall was a double volume space with wood-panelled walls covered in faded tapestries. Someone had left the muted lights on and lit a fire in the grate. Though it was midsummer, Phoenix could appreciate why. She shivered.

  “The walls are several feet thick and made of local stone. Great at keeping archer fire and cannon balls out but not so good at keeping the draughts out,” Max explained.

  The flickering firelight glinted off a display of armour, turning them into scarily life-like figures. “Another family member’s collection?”

  “Oh no, those are hand-me-downs. You can still see the dent in this one where Arch Duke Anton was struck on the head by a sword during a tournament. He was a champion jouster in his time. That helm saved his life.”

  After that, she stopped asking questions. It only made her feel like an ignorant tourist being guided through a museum. Which was exactly what she was.

  Max led her up the grand staircase to his private rooms. The royal apartments came as something of a relief. They were nowhere near as grand as they sounded. The rooms were small, appearing even smaller due to the dark oak panelling and low ceilings ornately decorated with friezes depicting hunting scenes.

  These rooms were decorated in what the magazines would probably label shabby chic. Phoenix just called it worn and for the first time since she and Max had ridden past the sentries into the outer yard, she felt at home.

  The living rooms were arranged around a larger central area, which Max called the Solar. Radiating off it were the dining room, a TV lounge with the first intrusion of the 21st century, an enormous flat screen TV with surround sound speakers, Max’s private study, and two circular stairwells leading to the suites above.

  “There’s no kitchen,” she observed.

  “Down in the basement. If you need anything, there’s an internal number to dial. There’s always someone on duty, though I prefer not to disturb them this late.”

  No kidding. 24 hour room service.

  “It must have been a magical place to grow up.” She sank down onto the sofa that was probably once a vivid scarlet, now more a dusky pink.

  “I want my own children to grow up here too,” Max said.

  He wasn’t looking at her, which was just as well. She couldn’t suppress her shudder of horror. Babies terrified her. Probably because she’d never really been around any and everyone she’d ever met who’d had babies had been forced to sacrifice so much for them. When your husband was a musician and on tour half the year while you stayed home to look after children, the chances of your marriage surviving were nil. And that didn’t even cover the more obvious sacrifices like sleep, looks and sanity.

  Her parents had managed simply by schlepping her along wherever they went, but she didn’t need a shrink to know her upbringing had been somewhat unconventional.

  Max turned and grinned, dimples flashing. “Don’t get too comfortable on that sofa. We’re headed upstairs.”

  By the sensual lift of the corner of his mouth she could guess what was upstairs. She hoped the mattresses were soft. Otherwise she’d have no hope of feeling the pea and then someone was sure to send her home for being an imposter.

  The narrow stairwell curved up to a small landing with two doors. Max led her through one of the doors into yet another sitting room, with French doors standing open onto a small wrought iron balcony. “You should fire your security guys for leaving the door open. Anyone could climb in here.”

  “You think so?” Max laughed softly as he led her out onto the balcony.

  Phoenix gasped. She wasn’t afraid of heights. There was only one thing she was afraid of and she still wore the ring around her neck as a talisman of that. But the drop below the balcony was breath-catching. Where the castle’s stone walls ended, a sheer rock face took over. The castle quite literally perched on the edge of a cliff.

  She leaned out over the railing, arms extended, and closed her eyes. The night breeze whipped about her, a warm caress over the bare skin of her arms. “It feels like flying.”

  She opened her eyes with a start as Max wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her backwards. She could feel his escalated heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt, pounding against her back.

  “I was perfectly safe,” she objected, annoyed and flattered by his concern in equal measure.

  “That railing is at least two hundred years old. You might be willing to risk your life, but I’m not.”

  “That might possibly be the most romantic thing you’ve said to me all day.”

  “Then I’d better correct that.” He turned her in his arms and raised her chin. His eyes glittered in the moonlight as his mouth came down to crush hers, sweeping her away on a tidal wave of erotic sensation.

  The wave carried them all the way to the bed, where she was far too distracted to give any thought to the softness of the mattress.

  Phoenix woke slowly, drifting up through layers of sleep to an awareness of warm light caressing her bare skin and Max’s presence reassuringly close at her back. The room smelled of flowers. She opened her eyes.

  A
vase of yellow roses stood on the nightstand beside the bed.

  “Did you click your fingers again?” She rolled over to look at Max who sat propped up on a mountain of pillows, a book open in his lap. He’d changed into sweat pants and a t-shirt, and she missed the glorious view of his naked torso. Those defined abs made the mornings after something to look forward to.

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “Good morning.”

  She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “What time is it? I need to get to work.”

  Max shook his head. “Not a good idea. Claus called to say there are reporters staked out all around the café.”

  She glared at him. “I am not a baby and I don’t need to be cossetted. Besides, if the café is full of press people, Rebekah will need all the help she can get.”

  Max chuckled. “Okay. But do me a favour and at least stay for breakfast.”

  “Deal. And if I’m going to have to face cameras later, I’ll need a shower too.”

  The building might be more ancient than she could comprehend but the shower was every bit as good as the one in the Mandarin Oriental. She closed her eyes and luxuriated in the pulsating spray, so absorbed in the myriad sensations cascading over her skin that she started when Max opened the door and joined her in the shower.

  “The advantages of staying married to me keep adding up: no more laundry or buses, and you get to shower like this every day. Are you convinced yet?”

  “It is rather nice having a shower big enough for two,” she conceded.

  He rubbed a soapy sponge over her shoulders, down her back, and over her stomach. The soap ran in rivulets down her skin. She leaned her head back against his shoulder and purred with delight as the sponge slipped between her thighs. She widened her legs and sagged against him as he continued to tease her with his hands. She was powerless to move, needing the support of his body to keep her standing.

  When she came, it was in an avalanche of ecstasy, a ripple turning into another and another until her whole body spasmed with pleasure.

  He caught her against him and held her until the last of the aftershocks died away. Then he lifted her in his arms and carried her back to the bed, oblivious of the puddles he left in their wake. He laid her down on the bed and climbed on top of her, nuzzling her neck.