Stolen Kiss From a Prince

Katrina jolted from a light doze to find Tessa standing over her. She blinked and saw through the open bedroom door off to the right that the crib had been set up.

Good. The last thing she needed was another encounter with the headstrong Prince.

CHAPTER TWO

JULIAN ABSENTLY SHREDDED a piece of bread, unable to focus on the fine meal provided by the palace’s talented chef.

He kept reliving the moment when his nephew shrank away from him with a cry of distress. It tore at his heart both as the child’s probable guardian and as a man. He and his father were the child’s closest relatives. Samson should be reaching for him not seeking comfort in the arms of a stranger.

Even if those arms were soft and scented of apple blossoms. Or if the stranger protected him fiercely with flashing violet eyes and a fiery mane of bouncing curls. The woman barely reached Julian’s shoulder, and she’d been ready to personally take his head for disturbing Samson’s sleep.

Probably a guilty conscience.

Fury fried already-frayed nerves at the thought of the meddlesome chit causing Samson undue trauma by telling him his parents wouldn’t be returning. Even if it proved true, that should have been his job and handled once the boy was back among family. And after Julian had a chance to discuss the matter with a professional so he knew the best way to approach the issue without doing the kind of damage Samson was currently experiencing.

“My friend, you should eat,” Jean Claude, Prince of Pasadonia, urged him. “The next few days will be trying. You will need to be at full strength.”

“The meal is delicious.” Julian speared a succulent shrimp from the savory dish. “I apologize for my lack of appetite.” He usually valued a gourmet meal, but preoccupation prevented him from fully enjoying the multicourse fare. Nonetheless he appreciated the royal couple’s efforts. Plus they’d provided a safe haven for Samson during the travesty of the past two days.

Physically anyway. They obviously needed better trained nursemaids.

A soft touch settled over his fingers, and he looked into Bernadette’s sympathetic gaze. “I know you have much on your mind. I cannot imagine how you are holding together.”

“It is difficult,” he agreed, wondering if he should pull his hand away from hers or just leave it until she retreated. He respected the offer of solace, but her touch made him uncomfortable. These awkward moments were why he preferred to avoid social situations.

“I hope you know we support you whatever the outcome of the search.” Jean Claude spoke bluntly. “Of course we hope the rescue will be successful, Donal and Helene are in our prayers, but I know you are already preparing for the worst. If there is anything I can do to help, you have only to ask.”

“You know me too well, my friend.”

He’d met the older man when he was fourteen and Julian’s family visited Pasadonia to witness the crowning of the new ruler, Prince Jean Claude Antoine Carrere. He’d been kind to an awkward kid on an occasion when he could be forgiven for being overwhelmed by his own agenda. Their relationship had grown through the years, and Julian looked on Jean Claude as one of his closest friends and advisors. The fact he was a well-respected world leader only added to the value of his offer.

“My mind boggles at all that must be done. But in truth I cannot focus on anything beyond finding Donal.”

“Understandable.” Jean Claude nodded. “I have my experts watching the weather and will provide you with any updates as soon as I receive them.”

“I appreciate it.” Julian chafed again at the delay keeping him from returning to France. “I’m anxious to get back to the rescue operations.”

“Yes. It is unfortunate that Sammy’s condition has delayed you. It is admirable of you to put his needs first. He has had a difficult time missing his parents.”

Julian clenched his jaw in irritation. “It was upsetting to learn he’d been told of the crash.”

“It was not intentional,” Bernadette rushed to assure him. “Tessa—”

“Excuse me, Your Highness.” Jean Claude’s assistant appeared at his side and handed him a folder. “The current weather report. And the call you were waiting for is holding.”

“I shall be right there.” The Prince glanced at the report and then handed it to Julian. “Not much change. I have to take this call. We will talk before you leave in the morning. Bernadette.”

The Princess gracefully stood and rounded the table. She stopped and kissed Julian’s cheek. “Stay. Finish your meal. A porter will show you to your room.”

He cleared his throat. “Don’t worry about me.”

She sighed. “But I do. Good night, mon ami. If you wish to get some air, use the courtyard. The press are everywhere.”

The Prince and Princess left the room hand in hand, an obvious unit set to deal with whatever business awaited them.

For a moment Julian envied his friend. Usually an insular man, it might be nice to have someone to talk to right now. Due to his father’s frail health, Julian couldn’t burden him with his worries, and it would be inappropriate to discuss family affairs with outsiders.

No longer hungry, he followed the porter to his room. When the elevator opened on his floor, Samson’s cries pinpointed Julian’s destination.

He rushed forward then waited impatiently for the porter to open the door. Inside he found Tessa walking Samson, both were in tears. Julian briskly made his way toward the two only to come to a dead stop next to them. What to do?

“What’s the problem?” he demanded.

“The doctor advised me to wake him and check his pupils. Only he wouldn’t go back to sleep. He started crying, and nothing I’ve done has helped.”

“K-k’tina.” Samson’s breath hitched on the wail, but his message was clear.

“He keeps asking for her,” Tessa revealed, the plea in her eyes as heart wrenching as Samson’s tears.

Julian set his back teeth. The woman had caused this problem; it went against everything in him to reach out to her for help.

Feeling helpless, watching both woman and child struggle, he racked his mind for something to do to right the situation. But for all his considerable knowledge and his massive IQ, he lacked experience dealing with women and children, let alone both in a state of distress.

Considering distraction to be an option, he tried to take the boy.

“No!” Samson screamed and hit out at him. “K’tina!”

Bloody hell, he rebelled against drawing that woman back into his nephew’s life. She was the reason he suffered so. But this wasn’t just a tantrum; this was a miserable child seeking solace from the one person he’d connected with during this crisis. How did Julian deny him?

Simple, he didn’t.

He called for a porter seeking information about Katrina and found that she had rooms at the palace. Lucky for him or he’d be out scouring the streets of Pasadonia. He soon stood outside Katrina’s room. He wished for a more formal form of address, but in all the confusion they hadn’t been properly introduced.

A maid answered his knock. She bowed. “Your Highness.”

“I need to see Katrina.” He stepped past the maid into the room.

“She’s sleeping,” the young woman said softly. “I’ve followed the doctor’s orders. I woke her just half an hour ago and she was fine.”

“I’m not here about her injury.”

Through the open door of the bedroom he saw the redhead. Light from the lounge fell across the bed and the lovely woman within it. Long lashes dusted creamy pale cheeks. Dark bruises under her eyes were a violation against the porcelain perfection of her features. Whatever she’d done, he couldn’t deny she’d pushed herself beyond the expected to help Samson.

Suddenly it seemed wrong to ask more of her. But for Samson he must.

“I’m sorry to disturb her, but I need Katrina to come with me. My nephew needs her help.”

“Oh.” The woman looked uncertain and then nodded. “I will wake her.” She slipped inside the room and closed the door.

He paced the small lounge, wishing he were anywhere but here.

People called him cold. And maybe he was. If preferring order and calm were attributes of being cold. He needed both to do the work he did. Overseeing his country’s treasury, including both finances and security, required a clear head and a focus of purpose.

He could work under pressure but he rarely had to. He had the ability to see the big picture, to track patterns and trends. So he prepared and diversified and created contingency plans. Which allowed him to move before the market did.

Some said it was magic or worse called him psychic. Bah. It was just the way his mind worked. He enjoyed learning things, and his brain absorbed knowledge like a sponge. He surprised himself with the facts he knew sometimes.

People, on the other hand, were a mystery to him. As was their penchant for displaying high emotions.

A bachelor at thirty, he’d been content in his role as the spare heir. Though his father occasionally addressed his desire for Julian to find a suitable woman and start a family, the pressure had lessened after Donal wed Helene and Samson was born.

Still, Julian was a man like any other, with the same needs. His position, however, called for discretion. He managed that by having a number of lady friends he escorted to the many functions his title forced him to attend. By spreading his attention around, no one—women or press—built up undue expectations.

He supposed his reputation for being cold kept him from being dubbed a playboy.

The woman, Katrina, threatened his hard-won detachment. His attraction to her stunning beauty just made him angrier over the whole situation. As did the intelligence he’d spied in her violet eyes. She struck him as being too smart to make the blunder she had. So what had she been thinking?

Shock, he imagined. But it was no excuse, not in her position.

He may not be able to do anything to help his brother, but he could make sure Samson was cared for. And if that meant disturbing the injured woman’s sleep, he’d do it without remorse. She deserved no more rest than the child she’d traumatized.

The door opened and Katrina walked barefoot into the lounge. She wore a lush white bathrobe that brushed her bare pink-tipped toes. Under it was a white garment trimmed in lace cut nearly as low as the V of the robe.

His gaze jerked to hers from the soft swell of her breasts visible in that V. She was so pale there was very little difference between her skin and the white of her nightclothes. Except for the shadows he’d noted earlier.

“Is Sammy okay?” she asked in a voice husky from sleep, her brow furrowed in concern. “Have you called the doctor?”

“His injury is not the problem,” he assured her, his brusqueness more for his benefit than hers. “Tessa woke him as instructed, but he will not go back to sleep.”

She gave a resigned nod, the action making her head appear too heavy for her slender neck. There’d been no sign of softness or frailness when she attacked him in the nursery. Just fierce protection of Samson.

Now he saw how tiny she was, clearly no more than five-four at the most. At six-two he towered over her. The oversize robe didn’t help. Nor did her fiery mane of hair, which she’d tamed into a braid that hung halfway down her back. But without makeup, her skin appeared starkly white against the vibrant color of her hair.

“Shall we go?” She moved forward, swaying slightly.

He ground his teeth, half tempted to send her back to bed. More than tempted to join her there. He dismissed the inappropriate thought, disgusted with his libido for rising up when his full attention should be on his brother’s family.

Samson’s needs came first.

“Where are your shoes?” he demanded, focusing on the practical.

She stopped and frowned, as if it took an effort to think. He was reminded she, too, had taken a knock to the head.

“I’ll fetch them.” The maid disappeared into the bedroom and returned a moment later with a pair of fuzzy slippers. Katrina slipped them on; her pink-tipped toes peeked through the end.

She rubbed her forehead. “Would you prefer I take the time to dress?”

Yes. There was something entirely too intimate about her in nightgown and robe.

“No.” Again he thought of Samson, saw tear trails on pale cheeks. “Let’s go.”

He followed her from the room and was surprised when the maid also stepped into the hall.

“It is all right, Anna.” Katrina bid the maid. “Thanks for watching over me. You can go now.”

“Oh, but I have doctor’s orders,” the young woman protested.

Annoyed by the delay, Julian bit back his impatience to address the woman. “What are your instructions? I’ll see she’s cared for the rest of the night.”

Clearly upset with the change in circumstances but unable to countermand his authority, Anna outlined the doctor’s instructions. “You must wake her every few hours and ask her questions to make sure she is coherent. If she’s not, or you notice anything strange about her pupils, or she gets sick, you need to call the doctor immediately.”

As she spoke, he automatically looked into Katrina’s eyes to check her pupils and found himself lost in the solemn depths. Blinking, he turned to the maid, acknowledged her instructions and sent her on her way. While he took care of that, Katrina started ahead of him.

Her actions caused him to scowl. Protocol demanded she follow him. Sighing, he decided to cut her some slack; she had a concussion after all. However, it didn’t escape his notice she appeared to know the way.

Though it may only mean she’d asked after where Samson would be, Julian believed it was more than that. She’d probably been the one to put him to bed. He wasn’t okay with that. He’d charged Tessa with taking the boy to his rooms, made it clear he’d wanted her to resume care of the boy.

Already his authority was being undermined.

Something he would not tolerate.

“Mademoiselle—” Damn. What was her name? He quickly closed the distance between them. “I wish to make myself clear. Your assistance with Samson is appreciated. That does not mean I will abide interference with my decisions regarding his care.”

“Of course,” she responded as she pressed the button to call the elevator.

“Are you mocking me?” he challenged, crowding her.

She blinked those big violet eyes at him as she shrank back, making him feel as if he’d chastised an innocent.

“No,” she said, and entered the elevator. She moved into the corner, her toes curling into her slippers. She pulled the edges of her robe together and tightened the sash. “I know you want what is best for him.” A wan smile lifted the corner of her mouth. “Otherwise I would not be here right now.”

He searched her features for any hint of guile but saw only the ashen evidence of her exhaustion. She looked so fragile he thought of sending her back to her bed. Only the thought of Samson’s suffering kept him resolute.

“Excellent.” The elevator doors opened and he waved her forward. “As long as you understand.”

They traveled the remainder of the distance in silence. Which made the sound of Samson’s cries all the more grating as they approached the door to Julian’s rooms.

Inside the suite, tears stained the cheeks of both Tessa and Samson. The nanny had been walking the boy, trying to soothe him, but upon his and Katrina’s arrival, she began sobbing.

“I can’t take anymore.” She thrust Samson into Katrina’s arms and fled.

Katrina didn’t hesitate. She wrapped Samson close and started talking to him. “Hey, baby, it is fine. I am here. Does your head hurt?” She kissed his light curls. “Mine, too.”

Though he continued to cry, there was no denying Samson preferred the redhead to the blonde. Instead of fighting the embrace by curling up and putting his arms and legs between his body and Tessa’s, he clung to Katrina’s lusher figure.

Finding the scene painful to watch, knowing this might just be the beginning of Samson’s trials, Julian moved to the fireplace to start a fire. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

Katrina continued to coo to Sammy until his sobs lessened and eventually he sat up in her arms. She used the collar of the fluffy robe to wipe his pale cheeks. Poor baby, he had such a hard road ahead of him. Ever the optimist, even she had to acknowledge the chances of his parents surviving both the crash and the icy weather were long odds.

Still, she prayed and she hoped. Miracles happened every day.

“Mama? Papa?” Samson asked around a shaky breath.

Biting the inside of her lip, she shook her head. “We do not know yet.”

Tears leaked from his eyes. “I want Mama.”

“I know, baby. She wants to be with you, too. And look...” She walked to the fireplace where Prince Julian stood. “Uncle Julian has come to get you.” She met brooding brown eyes. His discontent with her conversation showed in the stiff set of his shoulders. He’d soon learn Sammy did better with information than platitudes. “He is going to take you to where they are looking for Mama and Papa, and then he will take you home.”

“Unca Julie.” Boy studied man for a minute then surprised her by holding out his arms indicating he wanted to go to his uncle.

Julian’s eyes went wide when she plunked the toddler in his arms.

“Uh, hum.” He cleared his throat, clearly at a loss what to do with the boy.

“It is a good thing.” She mouthed the words, not wanting to disturb the moment. Though she stayed close enough to be enveloped in the dual scents of manly musk and baby shampoo.

This was the first time Sammy had voluntarily gone from her to someone else. It showed a level of trust that boded well for the future.

“Mama? Papa?” He put the question to his uncle.

Julian paled. She understood his pain. It broke her heart every time she had to tell Sammy his parents weren’t coming home yet.

Julian’s gaze shot to her.

She shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest. “Talk to him. He is a sharp biscuit. He does not talk much, but he understands more than you might think.”

Skepticism flashed over his aristocratic features before he turned his attention to Sammy. He hoisted the child up in his arms so they were eye to eye.

“Samson,” he began, and for a moment she worried he’d lecture the young Prince on duty and decorum. But Sammy’s intent attention must have swayed him. “The best searchers in the world are looking for them.” And then he added. “I want to see them, too.”

More tears leaked down Sammy’s cheeks. He reached out, grabbed Julian’s ears and leaned his forehead against his uncle’s. The two shared a moment of loss and hope.

The poignant picture had Katrina swiping at her own cheeks.

Emotion must have gotten to Julian, because he squeezed too hard causing Sammy to squirm. He turned and held his arms out to her.

She looked to Julian, hating to end the closeness between the two, but he seemed happy to hand Sammy off to her. Hoping the exchange was enough to allow the boy to settle into sleep, she carried him into the room where the crib had been set up.

He frantically shook his head and began to cry. “No. No tired.”

Rather than force it she backed up. Right into a hard male body.

“Oh!” She swung around even as his hands went to her waist, and suddenly she found herself in the Prince’s arms. She looked up, and up, past his stubborn chin to eyes of molten gold. Oh yeah, definitely the better-looking brother. And way too close.

“Sorry.” She winced internally at the squeak in her voice as she stepped back. Or tried to. His fingers tightened on her waist, holding her still as his hot gaze strolled from the gapping neckline of the robe to the racing pulse in her neck, to the bite she had on her lip, to her eyes. She played it cool even as a shiver traced down her spine and her pulse raced.

Wrong time.

Wrong place.

Wrong man.

Wrong woman.

He obviously agreed, because his hands dropped and he stepped aside.

Breathing a sigh of relief she moved past him to pace the room. Julian moved to the fireplace to stoke the fire. Way wrong man. She’d spent enough time in the palace from childhood on to know the demands placed on royalty. And the price was too high. If she ever worked out her trust issues, she wanted a kind man and a simple life.

Two strikes against Prince Julian.

Okay, that wasn’t totally fair. These weren’t the best circumstances. Obviously he was under a lot of pressure.

Her arms were beginning to burn from fatigue so she took a seat on the antique sofa and tucked Sammy comfortably against her. He denied it, but he was tired. Part of his objection was probably to the crib. He hated to be called a baby. But what he really craved was human contact.

Calling to mind one of his favorite stories, she began a tale about a train named Thomas while slowly running her fingers through his baby-fine blond hair. After all he’d been through, she hoped it wouldn’t be long before he fell asleep.

Thanks to Julian. He might be brusque and rude, but she gave him points for putting Sammy’s needs before his own. She knew he would have preferred to leave Pasadonia without ever seeing her again. Or more on point, without Sammy seeing her. Yet he’d come for her rather than let Sammy cry himself into exhausted slumber.

She smothered a yawn, forced her eyes open and skipped ahead in the story.

So maybe there was a little kindness buried somewhere inside the cold Prince.

CHAPTER THREE

JULIAN TAPPED HIS lip as he contemplated the two asleep on the sofa. Snuggled up in Katrina’s arms, Samson appeared more at peace than Julian had seen him since arriving at the palace.

Thank God. He’d taken about all of the boy’s distress that he could handle.

Blast Tessa for deserting them. He was counting on her to help him with the boy on the trip home. She’d best have herself pulled together by morning. If he needed proof he was ill prepared to handle his nephew, he received it tonight. Samson couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

Julian wanted to strangle Katrina when she started talking about Donal and Helene to the boy. Yet when faced with a direct question from Samson, Julian couldn’t lie. Giving the child false hope served no purpose beyond delayed pain. Best he prepare for the worst and be surprised by a miracle.

Which didn’t change the fact he’d be better off if left in the dark about the crash in the first place.

Julian switched his gaze to the woman responsible for some of Samson’s suffering. Her lap provided a comfortable resting place for the child, but Katrina sat in the middle slumped to the right with her head listing at an angle sure to cause a crick by morning.

Dare he risk moving them? For certain they’d be more comfortable in a bed. But as he considered the logistics, he doubted the success of getting them both to the desired destination still asleep, an imperative in his mind.

He admired the Victorian design of the sofa they occupied, but nobody could argue the merits of its long-term comfort. The bench had cushioning, but the tufted back curved higher on one end than the other. Her position in the middle offered her little support on either side.

He supposed he had the answer to his earlier observation. If he were the cold bastard everyone thought him, he’d simply leave the woman and child to their own devices. When she became uncomfortable enough, she’d wake and move to the bed taking Samson with her or putting him in his crib. Problem solved.

But Julian wasn’t that cold. With a sigh he rose and approached the sofa. Settling into the corner he turned toward the sleeping pair and pulled woman and child into his arms.

“Hmm.” She surprised him by opening drowsy violet eyes and staring up at him. “I am going to go to bed,” she assured him in a sleep husky voice.

He waited, but instead of moving away, she snuggled into him with a contented mew, shifting her hold on Samson to keep him secure.