The Rebel King

came to the mysteries of the human mind, he preferred to keep his open.

The espresso machine chose that moment to erupt with a gurgling, hissing cloud of fragrant steam, and the last thing he saw before he turned to attend to it was Rhia's lush pink lips tightening and her long slender throat rippling as she bit back and swallowed whatever it was she'd been about to say.

Second sight? Yeah, that was what Mama called it. Her gift to me. Now it's the only thing I have of her, except my music and my memories. And this necklace.

Rhia fingered it briefly as she watched her assignment- and host-pour steaming black liquid into a tiny cup and place it on the table along with a spoon and a bowl filled with sugar cubes, and was thankful for the lifelong habit of self-control that made her keep those thoughts inside.

'I don't suppose you'd have any hot milk?' She kept her voice as bland as the request.

He lifted that damned eyebrow. 'Milk? Sorry.'

'That's okay. I'm adaptable.' She pushed away from the door frame. It was only two short steps to the kitchen table, but her pulse quickened as if it was a tiger's den she'd entered.

She sat in the nearest of the two chairs and shifted it so the small arched window and its rain-blurred view of the Paris lights was at her back. She stirred a sinful amount of sugar into the espresso-she hated cubed sugar because it always seemed as though someone might be keeping count. How many, dear, one lump, or two? Yeah, right. How about…ten? Then she settled back with one elbow propped on the tabletop to watch the future king of Silvershire take eggs and a variety of other things out of the fridge and scatter them across the sink and countertop with the reckless abandon of a gourmet chef.

The future king… How remote and unreal that seemed to her now, with her pulse tap-tapping away and that strange little vibration humming somewhere deep inside her chest and an intense awareness of silk slithering over her naked skin-because what, after all, could be more of a turn-on to a woman than watching a smolderingly handsome and mysterious man cook dinner for her?

She took a cautious sip of the potent coffee-though Lord knew she didn't need any more stimulation-and tried to coax her mind into placing the man presently whacking merrily away at a pile of mushrooms into his proper setting, one that included his royal peers-the Grimaldis of Monaco…the DuPonts of Gastonia…the Dutch and the British royals. But her rebellious mind kept returning, like a drunk to his bottle, to the memory of what his body had felt like, out there on the balcony, lying full-length on top of hers.

And why did that memory kindle another, one that flared bright for frustratingly brief moments, then before she could grasp it, vanished into the darkness of her mind like a lightning bug in a bayou summer night?

'I'd give a lot more than a penny to know what you're thinking right now.'

Rhia blinked the heir to Silvershire's crown into focus and found him studying her with-naturally-one eyebrow a notch higher than the other, and a similar tilt to his smile.

'It would take more than you've got to find out.' she retorted, and gave up. for the moment, trying to think of him as royalty. After all, she reminded herself, at the moment he was merely Nikolas Donovan, college professor, rabble-rouser, rebel and fugitive, and she was the special agent hired to bring him in. 'But,' she added after a moment, 'since you 're cooking me dinner, I guess I can give you one for free.' She paused. 'You have to know I feel a little odd about that- you fixing me dinner. Considering you're the future-'

'Look.' he interrupted, before she could say the K-word again. 'You're here, it's time to eat-what did you expect me to do?' A smile slashed crookedly across his austere features again. 'Ask you to do the cooking?'

'I've known men who would.' Rhia said drily.

'Ah. Well.' He watched his hands maneuver the knife across the chopping board. 'Since I grew up without benefit of a mum. I suppose I never acquired the prevailing attitude that a woman's primary purpose is to serve a man.'

'Oh, wow.' she said in an awed tone. 'You really are a revolutionary, aren't you? My mama would have loved you.'

He glanced at her. his eyes unexpectedly gentle. 'Would have. She's gone, then, your mum?'

She nodded, and found to her surprise and dismay that it was the only answer she was capable of giving him just then. Where had it come from, she wondered, this bright shaft of pain and loss, like a lightning strike out of a clear blue sky?

Nikolas watched her struggle with it, soft mouth and pointed chin gone vulnerable as a child's, those exotic golden eyes fierce as a tiger's, and her fingers once again fondling the tiny silver charm at her throat. Something shivered through him. a new awareness, a magnetic tugging he was pretty sure had nothing to do with sex.

'Sony to hear that,' he said, careful not to let too much softness into his voice, suspecting it wouldn't take much in the way of sympathy to send her scurrying for cover. 'When did she die?'

'When I was eighteen.'

'Ah-well-' he broke an egg and plopped it into a bowl '- at least you had a chance to know her.'

He heard her take a breath, sharp and deep. He knew she had herself in hand again when she said with a soft, breathy chuckle. 'What I remember most about my mama is her laugh, you know? She had this great big laugh, and when she laughed, her eyes sparkled. She laughed a lot. too. My mama did know how to have a good time.'

He broke a few more eggs into the bowl. 'You had a happy childhood, then.' He glanced up when she gave a bitter-sounding snort.

'Yeah, I did. Until my father came and took me away from it.'

Before Nikolas could reply, she rose abruptly, frowning. If she had been a cat, he thought, her tail would surely have been twitching.

'Mind if I use your…what do you Silvershirers call it? The loo?'

'Do you mean the bathroom?' He said it with the deadpan courtesy of a butler he'd once known and gestured with the whisk in his hand. 'It's that way-next to the bedroom.'

She slipped from the room like a cat through fog, and left him with a bowlful of eggs on which to beat off his bemusement and frustration.

'You're a pretty good cook, Donovan, even if you don't have any Tabasco.' Rhia remarked, studying the last bite of her omelette before popping it into her mouth. As she chewed, her expression grew thoughtful. 'Not that that surprises me- you cooking. I mean, not the Tabasco. I imagine you're good at whatever you take a mind to do.'

'Thank you.' Nikolas said, with only a hint of a smile. He was glad to see she'd recovered her aplomb, since he'd found she was a much nicer person when she felt she had the upper hand.

'Tell you what does surprise me, though.' she went on as if he hadn't spoken. 'I never would've taken you for a coward.'

It took some doing, but he kept his expression bland. 'A coward, you say. Really.'

To his further bemusement, she wiggled in her chair and said in a testy tone, 'Oh, stop it. I hate it when you do that.'

'Do what?' The woman did have a way of keeping him hopping off balance. He didn't know whether he found it amusing or demoralizing.

She waved her finger in a circling motion. 'That…that thing with your eyebrow.'

'My eyebrow?'

'Yes. It goes up. Just one. The other doesn't. It's damned annoying, if you want to know.'

'Really.' He leaned back in his chair and gazed at her, trying his best not to elevate any of his facial features. 'I had no idea. Well, I shall endeavor to keep my various body parts under better control, if it offends you. Now, what was it you were saying about me being a coward?'

She returned his gaze with a narrow stare of her own, as if she suspected him again of mocking her. Then she gave a shrug and pushed back her plate. 'Well, you did run away.'

'Ah. Yes. There is that.' He scrubbed a hand over his face, as if doing so could rub away the tiredness and confusion that were like a veil of cobwebs over his brain at times. Then he tried a sardonic smile. 'I prefer to think of it as a strategic retreat.'

'Look-Nikolas-'

He held up a hand to stop her there. 'Miss de Hayes-Rhia. Try and put yourself in my shoes. Six months ago the heir to the throne of Silvershire is found dead in his mountain retreat-murdered. So who do you suppose shot