staring down at her in concern, he saw the depths of confusion and misery in her eyes and he swore.
‘I shouldn’t have done that.’
‘I…’
‘You’ve learned of your sister’s death today,’ he said grimly, though his hands still held her. Maybe if they hadn’t she would have toppled right over. ‘You’ve learned of your nephew’s existence and you’ve learned that you need to leave this country. I’ll take care of you, Tammy. I promise.’
The tenderness in his voice was so unexpected it took her breath away. She stared up at him and to her horror felt a tear sliding down her cheek. He saw it and raised a finger to trace its path.
‘Damn, you’re exhausted. I shouldn’t have hectored you like this tonight.’
‘No, I…’
‘It’s because I don’t have time to take this slowly,’ he said ruefully. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Take what slowly? The kiss?
Arrangements. He meant arrangements to leave the country. The kiss had nothing to do with it.
Did it?
The touch of his fingers on her face unnerved her even more. Tenderness was an unknown quality to Tammy Dexter, and for good reason. She didn’t let people close to her. Ever. She blinked back her tears, pushed herself away from this strange, enigmatic man and gave her face an angry swipe.
‘There’s no need to be sorry. It’s not your fault.’
‘No, but…’
‘I need to go to bed.’ She was so confused she was past thinking. She might not want to go to bed, but she needed to be alone. Desperately. Otherwise she might sink into Marc’s arms and stay, never to move again. The temptation was almost irresistible.
And the temptation was crazy. Her sister had fallen for one of these men-these princes-and where had that got her? Dead, that was where.
The thought of that was enough to steady her, to make her take another step backward and to fix her features into a semblance of resolution.
‘Leave,’ she said.
‘You’ll be okay?’
‘Yes. Just leave. And Marc…Your Highness…whatever I call you…’
‘Marc,’ he said, and he smiled-which sent her resolution into a tailspin, heading for oblivion.
‘Marc, then. Just…don’t kiss me again.’
His smile deepened. ‘Why not?’
‘Because I don’t want you to.’
‘Are you sure?’
She glared at him. Arrogant creep. Where was the tenderness now? He was a prince, for heaven’s sake. Royalty. And she was a tree surgeon with bare feet and faded jeans and the worries of the world pressing on her shoulders. So finally she tilted her chin and did what had to be done. ‘Yes,’ she snapped, then stalked to the door and threw it open. ‘Yes, I am. Now, will you leave or am I going to have to call my friends the security guards?’
His smile was still in place. ‘I’m leaving.’
‘Good.’
‘Goodnight.’ He walked past her. She was still holding the door wide, and as he passed he paused and tilted her chin. Then very lightly, before she could begin to prevent it, he touched her face again, tracking the path of one of those errant tears.
‘I’m sorry I had to be the one to break this to you,’ he said softly. ‘So sorry.’ He smiled, a tender magnetic smile of such sympathy that she felt her heart falter within her breast. ‘Sleep well, Tammy Dexter,’ he whispered. ‘Tomorrow our future begins.’
His finger reached her lips and pressed lightly down-a kiss, but not a kiss.
And then he left her.
What had he said?
Her future.
Until today Tammy’s future had been so carefully planned, but now… She was leaving Australia to travel to a future filled with castles and princes and…she didn’t know what.
Like it or not, Prince Marc of Broitenburg had given her a future she had no control over. She closed the door behind him and stood leaning against it for a long time, as if by doing so she could lock out his presence. The memory of him. The taste of his kiss.
‘Be careful,’ she whispered into the night. ‘Oh, Tammy, be careful.’
Maybe she shouldn’t go.
Maybe she didn’t have a choice. And maybe she was glad of it.
The memory of his kiss had changed more than her future. It had changed her confidence in her own control.
Help?
The next two days were crazy.
Luckily she had her passport, and a visa was no problem. ‘I do have a man at the embassy,’ Marc told her. ‘Charles has to be useful for something, besides spending my country’s money.’
Tammy’s boss was notified, and the sound of Doug’s dismay overwhelmed her. ‘You’ve got a job with me whenever you want it,’ he told her. ‘I’ll even hold the baby myself if it means I can get you back working for me again.’
It warmed her. Tammy had worked for Doug for three years, and his workforce wasn’t a standard forestry team. Doug actively encouraged women to work with him, figuring rightly that in this very male world the only women who reached Tammy’s stage had to be good. Mia and Lucy and Tammy were an odd sisterhood, but along with the men they were the only real family Tammy had ever known. Tammy had held herself aloof, but the thought that Doug and the team would actually miss her-
No one else would miss her. They wouldn’t even realise she’d gone.
There was one really unpleasant call to her mother.
‘Well, of course I didn’t bother telling you of darling Lara’s death,’ Isobelle told her, and Tammy could hear the sneer in her voice. ‘Why would I? It’s not as if you cared for your sister.’
How little you know, Tammy thought, but she managed to hold her tongue.
‘I’m taking Henry back to Broitenburg,’ she said, and there was silence at the other end of the line. She could hear Isobelle’s mind shifting from defence to speculation.
‘You mean…with that prince who’s ruling the place now? What’s his name?’
‘Marc.’
‘Well, well.’ The sneer in Isobelle’s voice grew even more marked, and Tammy wondered for what must have been the millionth time in her life just why was it that her mother hated her so much. ‘You’ll never get him.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘He might be a catch, but you don’t seriously think you can succeed?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ But she did. Of course she did. Her mother had a one-track mind. Men were a means to an end.
‘You’re not pretty enough.’
‘I don’t…’
‘And he has women. I’ve heard all about your precious Prince Marc. He’s a womaniser. He’ll eat you up and spit you out.’
Tammy thought about the metaphor and found it wanting. ‘He can’t do both.’
But Isobelle wasn’t listening to her pathetic attempts at humour. ‘The man’s rich as Croesus,’ she snapped. ‘You seriously think someone like that would look at the likes of you?’
Okay. She’d had enough, Tammy thought bleakly. She’d let her mother know where her grandson was and that was the only thing she needed to do. She thought of all the things she’d intended to say, and replaced the receiver
