Chapter 10
Staring at the mirror of the palace bathroom she’d ducked into, Erica plucked at the collar of her pale green silk blouse.
Was the V-neck too low? Was it too sheer under the burnout pattern of swirling leaves and vines?
Maybe she should take off the longer of the two slender gold necklaces so it didn’t draw the eye to the hint of cleavage.
Was her slim linen skirt too short? Her taupe heels too businesslike?
Should she have just worn jeans again, as Raul had suggested?
She needed to splash cold water on her face to calm herself down, but that would ruin the makeup she had applied to look like she wasn’t wearing makeup.
Instead, she braced her hands on the marble sink and took a deep breath. She had safely landed a plane after one engine failed. She had flown through fog thicker than pea soup without radar.
Having dinner with a prince in his private apartment should be a cakewalk.
If only he weren’t so damned sexy. No, worse than that. If only he weren’t so damned honorable and guilt-ridden and willing to share his secrets with her.
“Snap out of it!” she ordered herself as she shoved away from the sink, straightening her shoulders as though she were wearing her uniform and facing her commanding officer. She was still reserve military, so in a way, Raul was her commanding officer. Just many levels up the hierarchy.
If only she could think of him as nothing more.
She hitched her purse on her shoulder and marched out of the bathroom and down the corridor to Raul’s door.
When the guard swung it open, she sucked in a breath.
Raul stood only a few feet from her, leaning on gun-metal-gray crutches.
The iron chandelier over his head threaded warm, golden light through his hair and highlighted the strong angles of his face.
He wore a close-fitting blue dress shirt that matched his striking eyes and tailored gray trousers.
The only dissonance was his dangling bare foot wrapped in a black elastic bandage.
“ Buenas noches! You look beautiful,” he said, smiling as his gaze traveled down and back up her body so that every inch of her felt it like a touch.
“So do you.” Break the tension with humor. “The crutches are a cutting-edge fashion accessory.”
He made a face. “I’m allowed to use them to walk as far as the dining room and back. I’m afraid I won’t be able to pull out your chair.”
“I’ll manage somehow.” She fidgeted with the strap of her purse, waiting for his cue.
“Shall we?” He pivoted on his good leg and waited for her to come up beside him.
He must have showered recently, because the scent of cedarwood with a hint of vanilla wafted past her nostrils, and she indulged herself by inhaling deeply.
He started toward an open set of double doors, his crutches silent on the thick Oriental rug. With each step, he swung the crutches forward and brought his good foot level with them in a smooth, effortless motion.
“You use those crutches like a pro,” she said as she walked with him.
“It’s not the first time I’ve sprained my ankle.” He gave her a smiling grimace. “I played a lot of futbol at school.”
He was being modest. The media had proudly reported that, as the captain and striker, he had led his high school team to the championship three years in a row.
They stepped through the double doors, and she stopped.
The dining room was lit entirely by candles—in sconces on the walls, in candlesticks on the table, and candelabras on the sideboard.
Their entrance caused a slight breeze that set the light flickering over crystal and silver-and-gray silk wallcoverings.
Shadows danced over the wood ceiling, where gilt paint caught the moving flames.
“What a lovely room!” Erica exclaimed.
And intensely romantic. Or maybe she was imagining things because an insane part of her wanted that to be true.
“Grace supervised the setup.” Raul scanned the room. “I think we need more light.”
He tapped a switch on the wall beside him, and the brass chandelier over the table glowed to life.
That changed the mood of the room and calmed her sudden case of nerves somewhat.
“Where do you usually sit?” Erica surveyed the square table, which had two chairs set across from each other.
He nodded to the closer chair. “Not that it matters.”
“Need help with the crutches?” she asked.
“I’m good.” His tone was snappish as he crutched over to the chair.
She smirked a little at his touchiness while she watched him pull out his chair and maneuver himself in front of it with deft movements. He remained standing, his gaze on her.
“Oh, am I supposed to sit first?” She trotted to her chair. “I thought I had to wait for you, Su Alteza Real .”
He muttered a curse before she grinned at him and settled into her chair. His scowl vanished, and he lowered himself onto his seat, laying the crutches on the floor beside it. “You are jerking my chain.”
“Yup, it’s definitely rattling,” she said, unfolding her napkin. In fact, she was reminding herself of who he was and why she should resist her desire to rip off his shirt.
Raul pulled a bottle of wine from the silver cooler set on a small table beside his chair. “A little Albarino to go with our seafood ceviche?”
“Sí, gracias,” she said, holding out what she thought was a white wineglass from the array in front of her.
He filled his own glass after hers and raised it. “To rescuing the mama dragon and her eggs!”
“Salud!” She raised her glass and took a sip. The wine held a delicious hint of citrus and the sea. “I did a little work on that project this afternoon. I know someone in security at the Centro del Dragón. We served in the same squad in the militia.”
Raul put his wine down. “A useful connection.”
“She checked the schedule for our possible suspects. Three of them will be working at the Centro tomorrow, so I can approach them then. I don’t even need to talk my way inside since the Centro is open to visitors on weekends.”
“Mikel has got nothing on you,” Raul said. “ Buen trabajo! Good work!”
How did he make her want to throw herself into battle against an entire army of poachers to be worthy of his praise? Most likely, he had learned it from his father. A king needed to be able to inspire his citizens.
“I’ll do my best.” She picked up her fork. “Maybe we could work out a scenario for how to approach them. You’re probably better at being, um, oblique than I am.”
“ Oblique? A euphemism for lying?” He looked amused, not offended. “I can help you with that.”
He had brilliant ideas, of course. She tucked them away in her memory as she tried to enjoy the ceviche that tasted like it had been pulled from the sea right before it had been arranged on their plates.
Mostly, though, she drank in the intense steel-blue of his eyes, the way the candlelight highlighted his cheekbones, the flash of white teeth when he smiled, and the breadth of his powerful shoulders. She was mesmerized by his charisma.
Like many, many other women.
She took a gulp of wine, the cool liquid doing nothing to quench the attraction she felt.
“My apologies, but I must ask you to act as our server,” he said, snapping her out of her trance. “If you’ll put our appetizer plates on the sideboard and open the door underneath, you’ll find our main course in the warmer there.”
Something to do, thank God! She jumped to her feet and grabbed her empty plate and fork.
Going around the table, she reached for his plate as he lifted it, and their fingers collided.
The spark that raced through her made her stifle a gasp.
He also made an odd sound, and she glanced at him to find his gaze locked on her face, the blue of his eyes as hot as the candle flames.
Mierda!
She jerked the plate away so fast that the fork flew off and nearly fell to the rug. The prince caught it and returned it to the plate without shifting his attention away from her.
“ Perdón! I’m sorry. Good catch,” she babbled as she backed away and bolted for the sideboard. “I’d be a lousy waitress.”
“I think you would be excellent at anything you set your mind to.” The pitch of his voice was low and deep, vibrating in the private places of her body.
“Hmm,” she said and set the dishes down with a clatter before yanking open the door of the warming compartment. Two silver domes covered the plates. Lifting them, she found filet mignon and a lobster tail on each, along with roasted potatoes and tiny, perfect carrots. “This looks delicious.”
“I don’t know if you prefer surf or turf, so I chose both,” Raul said.
“I’ll eat almost anything as long as it’s dead before it goes in my mouth.” She placed a plate in front of him, taking care not to brush against his arm.
He laughed as she set down her plate and sat.
“I once ate a live termite in Africa,” he said. “And a couple of squirming ants in China. Not my favorite dishes, but I couldn’t politely turn them down.”
“Do you think your hosts did it on purpose, knowing you couldn’t refuse? ‘Let’s see what we can force the prince to do in the name of protocol?’”
“It’s possible.” He grimaced. “No, it’s probable, but I’ve endured worse.” He picked up his fork and caught her in his gaze again. “Tell me about you. Why did you decide to become a pilot?”
He went straight to the tough questions, didn’t he? She had a pat answer, but she wanted to give him more than that.
“My father was the unquestioned master of the sea, which meant that I rebelled against him and chose the air. But I truly love the speed and the height of it. Looking down from thirty thousand feet to see how all the places you’ve traveled between on the ground relate to each other.
How small everything man-made is when compared to the massive curve of Earth.
To our planet, we’re less than ants on the back of an elephant. It shifts your perspective.”