Waking up in Vegas

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.

“Don’t move,” he instructed.

“Where are you going?” She struggled up on her elbows, her body already crying out for more of him.

“I need to find protection. We used the last of mine last night.”

She laid a hand on his arm to stop him. “We don’t need it.”

From the sudden hopeful light in his eyes, she realised he read a whole lot more into her words than she meant. He saw this as taking the next step towards commitment. She’d only meant that since she was on the pill they didn’t have to worry about contraception.

But now wasn’t the moment to set him right. She didn’t want a serious talk. Her body needed him with a desperation bordering on madness. Again.

Max cradled Phoenix’s head against his chest, as his heartbeat recovered and returned to its regular steady pattern. If it weren’t for her insistence on going to work, they could spend all day like this. Sunday was his one day off and there was nothing he would rather do than spend it with her.

But she remained adamant. Something about not wanting special favours or to leave Rebekah in the lurch. Much though he admired the sentiments, he had to struggle against the urge to shake her. What normal woman chose working as a waitress over being a princess?

Phoenix was anything but normal, and that was why he loved her.

He stroked her hair. “You can’t go to work wearing the same clothes as yesterday.” He leaned across her to pick up the phone and dial the internal number, spoke in rapid local dialect to the housekeeper, then set the phone back in its cradle. “Your new clothes will be here by the time we finish breakfast.”

“Have you bought the entire shop again?” she asked.

“No need. This time I know your size.”

“You’re a quick learner. You’ll be an awesome Arch Duke if you keep that up.”

“I’ll be an awesome Arch Duke as long as I have you at my side.”

She shrugged out of his grasp and rose from the bed, the sheet slipping away to reveal long tanned limbs. She didn’t reach for her clothes but instead for the shirt he’d worn yesterday. She only turned back to him when she’d done up the buttons, by which time his body was already tight and erect. The shirt barely reached her thighs, leaving a great deal of smooth skin exposed. He didn’t need to touch her to know how silken smooth those thighs felt beneath his hands.

She raised an eyebrow, fully aware of her effect on him. “You promised me breakfast,” she chided gently.

With any luck he’d manage to draw breakfast out long enough to put an end to her talk of going to work at the café today.

He pulled on his sweatpants, not bothering with a shirt this time. Judging by the hungry flare of her eyes as her gaze stroked his chest, it was a wise move. He took her hand and led her down the spiral staircase to the ground floor.

“Isn’t the dining room that way?” she asked, pausing on the first landing.

He shook his head and grinned. “I asked the staff to set up breakfast in the garden.”

“I’m not exactly dressed for public scrutiny.” She licked her lips.”And neither are you.”

He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her hard against him. “That almost sounds like you want to keep me to yourself.”

“I’m just concerned for your reputation.” But her gaze dipped, giving her away.

“Liar.” He laughed softly and kissed her, only breaking the kiss when breathing made it imperative. “This garden is secluded enough to keep both our reputations intact.” He slid his hand from the hollow of her back and down over the curve of her ass, pulling her against him. “No matter what we do there.”

The door at the very bottom of the stairwell stood open, the summer breeze wafting in the rich fragrance before the garden itself became visible.

Phoenix gasped and let go his hand.

It was not a large garden, just a patch of neat lawn edged by colourful beds of fragrant herbs and bright flowers and encircled entirely by high walls of grey stone. The only entrance to this piece of paradise was the single door from the private apartments.

The servants had set up breakfast in the colonnaded cloister that ran along one side of the garden. No matter how hungry Phoenix professed to be, she took the time first to wander through the garden, pausing to rub a sprig of rosemary between her fingers, and to smell the yellow roses that grew up a stone colonnade, while Max watched, the pleasure in her joy of discovery unfurling inside him.

She belonged here.

“It’s not just pretty,” Phoenix said on a sigh, turning to him. “This garden smells like heaven.”

“My grandmother lost her sight as she grew older, so my grandfather had this planted as a garden for the other senses. Listen.”

Phoenix closed her eyes and listened. As attuned as he was to this place, he didn’t need to close his eyes to hear the rustle of the long grasses that edged the cloistered walk, or the whisper of the breeze through the leaves of the ancient oak that shaded half the garden.

Instead, he watched Phoenix’s face, noting the moment when she breathed out and the tension in her shoulders eased. Like a deer sniffing the air and not scenting danger, she lost a little of the wariness she wore around her like a cloak. When she turned back to him the usual hard edge in her dark eyes was also absent.

“Okay, I’ll admit it. Motorbikes, secret gardens…this princess gig is very tempting.”

But was it tempting enough? They might have crossed a threshold this morning, and she may have lost a little of her wariness but he wasn’t yet sure enough of her.

He headed for the breakfast table and held out a chair. When she sat, he lifted the silver cloche from her plate. She licked her lips again, an unconscious gesture that pulled his body tight.

Once they’d eaten, omelettes flavoured with herbs from this very garden and the wild mushrooms that were a local delicacy, accompanied by fresh squeezed juice made from oranges from the greenhouses at his palace in Neustadt, Phoenix poured them thick coffee from the silver flask that had been a wedding gift to a long dead ancestor from the Tsarina of Russia. That last bit of trivia he kept to himself. He remembered all too well the glazed look in her eyes as she’d viewed the coats of armour in the Great Hall.

How they viewed time was still the biggest difference between them. No matter how far from Westerwald he lived, he felt rooted in the past; his life just a moment in a history stretching back a thousand years and stretching forward another thousand. Phoenix, on the other hand, was very definitely a here and now person. She lived in the moment and gave very little thought to either past or future.

She set down her empty coffee cup and rose to inspect the red leather box set to one side of the breakfast table, which Max had been doing his best to ignore. “What’s in the box?”

“My homework.”

“I thought you said the government was on vacation?”

“It is.” He pulled a face. “But my prime minister still sees me as that wild, impetuous boy who earned the title of Rave Prince, and he thinks if he can just break me in and train me right, I’ll be more pliable and biddable than Rik.”

Phoenix laughed softly and opened the box. “I think he’s in for a rude wake up call.”

“Call it a reality check. I’m not a kid anymore and I’m way more stubborn than he realises.” Max grinned. “Besides, I’ll outlast him. Our legislation limits the prime minister to two terms. I’ll still be here long after he’s retired.” He sipped down a last mouthful of sweet coffee. “That’s why the monarchy still has a place in this day and age: I’m in this for the long haul. My job is to look at the long term. It’s not about being re-elected, or about lining my pockets as quickly as I can, or making a name for myself.”

Phoenix lifted a few of the folders from the box and flicked through them. “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s going to be working all day.” A newspaper clipping fell out of one of the folders and Phoenix bent to pick it up. She opened the folder to replace it, glancing at the handful of typed reports, each with a bunch of magazine or newspaper clippings attached. “What are these?”

He tried to grab the folder from her. “Albert’s idea of a joke. They’re portfolios of prospective brides.”

She held the papers out of his reach. “What – you dial up Brides R Us and they send over a bunch of suitable candidates?”

“Something like that. Except the portfolios are compiled by our Intelligence Service. I really need to tell Albert I’m already married, before he gets his hopes up.”

“Oh no you don’t!” She glanced at the contents of the folder. He didn’t need to look to know what she was seeing. A minor European princess with impeccable family connections, the heiress to a prominent English hotelier, an American blue blood whose face was recognisable from the tabloids. “Any of these women would make a far more suitable bride than a waitress from nowhere.”

From the neutral tone of her voice, he had no idea what she was thinking. It wasn’t like Phoenix to fish for compliments, so he only shrugged. “But you’re the woman I chose to marry.”

She removed the last report from the pile and scrutinised it. An A-list Hollywood actress famous for her romantic comedy roles. “You should fire your Intelligence Service.”

“Oh?”

She pointed to a paragraph two thirds of the way down the page. “This supposed spiritual retreat in the Bahamas was actually a stint in rehab. And it was nowhere near the Caribbean.”

“How do you know?”

“Because an ex-boyfriend of mine was there at the same time. In fact, she’s a large part of the reason we broke up. Well, that and the drugs, of course.”

Another ex-boyfriend. His hands fisted. Of course, she’d had a past. A woman like Phoenix didn’t get to nearly thirty years old without having a few skeletons in her closet. But just the thought of her with another man made his blood boil. And the thought of another man cheating on her made him want to commit murder.

He whipped the folders from her hands and stuck them back in the box. “Enough of this. I’m already married, so it’s all moot. Now unless you’ve changed your mind about going to work today, we’re running out of time.”

“Out of time for what?”

“For this.” He pulled her down into his lap, and slid his fingers down her neck, flirting with the skin of her throat, to reach the first button of the shirt she wore. He undid the top button and his fingers moved to the next one, hovering above the cleft between her breasts. “Sod it,” he said, “it’s my shirt anyway.” And with both hands he ripped the shirt, sending buttons flying.

“You could have just lifted it over my head,” she pointed out, voice husky.

“That wouldn’t have been nearly as satisfying.” He dropped his mouth to her throat, and his tongue began to trail the same path his fingers had taken moments before.

Max hadn’t lied about the press presence at the café, but a handful of reporters sticking cameras in her face and asking obvious questions were easy to ignore. Phoenix was far more concerned about the reception she’d get from her boss and colleagues. She held her head high as she made her way between the crowded tables, aware of the whispers and the heads turning her way. Rebekah was nowhere in sight and someone else served at the ice cream counter today, the teenager who helped Rebekah on weekends. Phoenix’s stomach knotted as she pushed open the swing door into the kitchen.

“When were you going to tell me?” Rebekah set her hands on her hips and glared.

So this was how it felt. Phoenix squirmed beneath the glare, as the chef and his assistant ducked into the pantry and out of the crossfire.

Rebekah bit her lip, her face softening. “I blame myself. I should have known, shouldn’t I? Half American, recently returned from the States… I could have put it together, if it wasn’t so…”

“Improbable? Unlikely? Unnatural?” Phoenix supplied.

Rebekah frowned. “Don’t be silly. As soon as I thought about it, of course it made sense. Max has always been a bit wild. He’d never be interested in some dull, stay-at-home type of woman like any of the Westerwald women who’ve chosen to stay. He needs a woman who’ll challenge him.”

Oh yay. So she was the challenge he’d mistaken for the love of his life. Phoenix sighed. “Max might need a woman who challenges him, but Westerwald needs an Arch Duchess.” A brood mare to raise the next generation of Arch Dukes.

Rebekah’s eyes lit up. “A royal wedding is just what we all need.”

Phoenix rolled her eyes. Was everyone in Westerwald this focussed on fairy tale endings? “No wedding. You’ll just have to be satisfied with a coronation.”

Her friend’s face fell. It would have been comical but Phoenix felt no desire to laugh. “I’m really sorry to disappoint you, but this isn’t anything serious. It’s just a little fun, another item on my Bucket List. Last month it was the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, this month it’s Be Seduced by Royalty and next month it’ll be the Oktoberfest in Munich.”

“That’s still two months away.”

“You know what I mean.”

Rebekah crossed the kitchen and wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a loose hug. “Who says you can’t have it all? This is a prosperous nation and money is no object for Max. As his wife, you could travel wherever you wanted.”

But not whenever she wanted, and not with the same freedom she had now. “What if I wanted to sunbathe topless or get drunk or camp out on a beach somewhere? I’d have the paparazzi all over me, and the government ministers all over Max.”

“Okay, I don’t have an answer for that one. You’re right. But couldn’t you find it in your heart to love Max enough to forego topless tanning?”

Phoenix pretended to debate the issue, then shook her head. “Sorry, no.” She ignored Rebekah’s appalled expression and knocked on her chest. “Can’t you hear? I’m the Tin Man. I have no heart.”

Rebekah burst out laughing. Phoenix was glad someone thought it was a joke. But the truth was she couldn’t afford to have a heart. She couldn’t afford to let the moonlight and roses get to her. Because if she did…no, not going there.

The vision she saw every time she thought of loving someone was too horrid to contemplate. It was her father, prostrate across the coffin of the woman he’d loved so much that after her death he was never the same again. He’d tried so hard to be there for Phoenix, to love her, but he’d been only a shell of a man, drowning himself in whisky and loud music and a constant need to keep moving in order to keep the pain at bay. And Phoenix was very much her father’s daughter, in many ways.

Rebekah let go of Phoenix’s shoulder. “You and I are so different, I don’t think I’ll ever understand you. That all sounds like fun, but it’s so empty and meaningless without someone special to share it with. I’d rather spend my whole life here in Waldburg with Claus than travel the world alone.”

Phoenix shrugged. “And the thought of staying in one place too long gives me chills. I still have so many things I want to accomplish in this lifetime. I told you when I arrived, that I’d only be here a few weeks. Nothing’s changed.” She reached for the apron hanging beside the door. “Now which tables do you want me to cover today?”

“I think perhaps you’d better stay behind the till today.”

Out of sight, right where she belonged. Phoenix nodded and headed into the café to take her place. It was a beautiful day, far too beautiful to waste on what ifs and why nots. She’d take every day as it came, the way she always did, and leave tomorrow to take care of itself.