Capturing the Crown Bundle

Wiping at her eyes, she managed a watery smile and gave the doorway a pointed look. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. The rain’s letting up. How about we go outside and forage for some breakfast?”

“What?” he stared at her as if he thought she’d lost her mind. “It’s barely dawn.”

“I’m pregnant,” she said crossly, then smiled to soften the sting of her tone. “Not only am I changing the subject, but I really am hungry.”

Crossing his arms, he swallowed. “You know, I keep forgetting you’re pregnant.”

One deep breath, then another. Soon, maybe her erratic heartbeat would slow down to normal. “It’s too soon for me to show.” Patting her still-flat abdomen, she grimaced. “Give it a few months. I’ve had so little time to actually enjoy my pregnancy. Every little girl dreams of the day when she’ll be pregnant and become a mommy.”

“Even a princess?”

She could see him relaxing in stages. “Yes, even a princess. I wanted to be able to luxuriate in it, wallow in it, you know? Instead, I’m trapped on an island with little food and no—”

“Luxuries.” He sounded so hard and so certain, she blinked.

“That’s not what I was going to say. I was thinking more of people. Friends that care.”

The look he gave her was skeptical. “Don’t tell me you don’t miss the life you had in Naessa. You made the papers often, you know. Your lifestyle was no secret. I saw your townhouse on the coast on that TV show. You lived like royalty.”

If only he knew. She’d filled her home with beautiful things, trying to fill the emptiness inside her. She’d been lonely more often than not, especially when she wasn’t traveling with the symphony.

But he didn’t know that. No one did. “I confess to missing some of it, yes.”

“What?” His voice was fierce, and his hazel eyes darkened. “Which do you miss most? The Egyptian cotton sheets? The fine restaurants? Or the chance to have Frost and French design your maternity clothes?”

“You know about them?”

“I’m in public relations. I have to keep up with the trends. Answer my question. Which do you miss the most?” He took a step closer, his face intent.

Heart caught in her throat, she stared at him.

He leaned close, and for one heart-stopping moment she thought he was going to kiss her. Worse, she knew if he did, this time she wouldn’t pull away.

Chapter 5

Luckily for both of them, he caught himself in time.

Clearing her throat, she searched desperately for something to say to pretend she hadn’t noticed. Outside, the rain had slowed to a light patter on their metal roof.

“I really do miss my friends,” she said, inanely. “What about you?”

He shrugged.

“Since your business takes you out and about, I imagine you must have a large circle of friends.”

“Not really.” He rolled his shoulders before snagging his own shirt and slipping it on. Apparently he was as eager as she to act as if nothing had happened. “My job consumes most of my day. I have little time to maintain friendships outside of my work. However, my coworkers and I get along well, and of course, there’s always my family. Your turn.”

For a second she didn’t understand, eyeing him blankly.

“Are you close to your family?” He stepped into his shorts.

Her mouth went dry. Averting her eyes, she attempted to swallow while listening to the rasp of the denim. “My family?”

“Yes.”

“No.” She shook her head, trying to focus on the question. The only family she had was her mother, which equaled no family at all. “I’m not. I assume you are?”

“Oh, yeah. My parents live near the west coast of Silvershire, in their dream retirement home. My brothers and sisters are all married and have children. We all get together several times a year.”

Finally, she regained her senses, though the entire conversation still seemed surreal. “I always wished for a big family.”

“I read you’re an only child.”

“Yes.” Since her mother had felt having Sydney had ruined her life, the woman had taken steps to ensure she didn’t have any more children. “But I made a lot of friends in the symphony.”

At her mention of her job, Chase grimaced. “I bet you’re glad now that you left your cello in the hotel. That thing wouldn’t have survived the crash. At least this way, you have a chance of getting it back.”

“True. If it’s still there.”

“That was a five-star hotel. I’m sure they have your instrument in their lost and found department.”

“As long as no one realizes it’s a Strad, it’s probably okay. Otherwise, they’d sell it on the black market.” She gave him a tentative smile, finally feeling normal. “Right about now I should be back in Naessa, getting ready for Silvershire’s Founder’s Day celebration. We rehearse every night for a month. This will be my third performance for your king.”

At the mention of the celebration, Chase frowned. “Given the bad blood between your father and King Weston, I’m surprised Naessa’s symphony was invited this year.”

Lifting her chin, she forced her mouth to curve in what she hoped resembled a smile. “I’ve always heard the fish bite better at dawn. Is there any truth to that?”

“Changing the subject?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice mild. “I’m still hungry.”

He gave a half bow. “Which would you prefer? Fish or rabbit?”

“Do the fish bite better at dawn?”

“Maybe. I guess I’ll go out there and find out. I take it you’d like fish for breakfast?”

Her lower back ached. Absently, she rubbed it while she pondered his question. “We had rabbit last night.” She had to smile at her words.

“What?” Chase caught the smile.

“Listen to us, talking about eating wild game as though discussing the menu at Chez Niablo.” She sighed. “I need protein, lots of it, for the baby. I feel the need for fish.”

“Then fish it is. Catch.” He tossed her the lighter. “Why don’t you see about making a fire while I get our breakfast?” Then, without a backward glance, he left.

Surprised she’d caught the lighter since she’d lifted her hand in reflex, Sydney closed her fist over it. The silver metal felt both foreign and reassuringly normal. She turned to the small pile of wood he’d brought inside the shelter and gathered an armful before stepping cautiously outside.

Though still overcast, the sky looked considerably brighter. With the light mist and soft breeze, the still-dripping forest smelled earthy and fresh. The storm had gone. Shrouded in clouds, the small hill they’d dubbed Haystack Mountain could be seen clearly.

Three tries and Sydney finally had a respectable fire going. She fed the flames dry wood, and glanced toward the beach, trying to catch a glimpse of Chase in the waves.

While she watched the fire and waited, she thought of how drastically her life had changed in a few days. Now, with her existence pared down to survival, simple pleasures like the warmth of a fire or the feel of a man’s rough stubble against her cheek seemed more precious than diamonds.

Finally, Chase returned, carrying not only two large fish, but what looked like a battered backpack.

“I went poking through more of the wreckage.” He placed the backpack on the ground. “I found this. It must have belonged to one of the pilots.”

She noticed he avoided saying their names and realized that must be his way of dealing with his grief. So instead of commenting, she focused on the fish.

“How long will that take to cook?”

He smiled. “I thought you said you knew how.”

Unembarrassed, she shrugged. “I learned how to cook gourmet meals using an oven. If cooking over an open fire is similar, then I’m good to go.”

“Let me show you.” Using the same rig he’d made to cook the rabbits, he spread the fish over the fire.

They watched in companionable silence while their breakfast cooked. Every so often, he turned the spit.

Finally, he gave her a satisfied look. “I think it’s done.”

Removing the fish from the fire, he split each in half, using a triangular rock as a cutting implement. Then he transferred her portion to a piece of bark and handed it to her.

“You’re pretty handy with nature,” she commented.

“I trained at a pretty elite bodyguard school in Carringtonshire.” Taking a bite of his fish, he pointed to hers. “Now eat.”

Aching again, Sydney complied. “It’s good.”

“You sound surprised.” He’d wolfed down his portion before she’d even finished chewing.

“I guess I am.” Chewing slowly, she savored the flavor. “Even without the benefit of seasonings or spices, this is wonderful. It’s flaky and moist.” Though she’d eaten at gourmet restaurants in both their countries, she thought she’d never tasted anything so delicious.

“It’s fresh.”

It took her a moment to realize he was teasing her. She eyed him, his rugged face relaxed, and replied in kind. “It’d be even better if I didn’t have to pick out the bones.”

Chase grinned. “Tough,” he told her. “There are some things you have to do on your own.”

Finishing her portion, she licked her fingers to get every bit of meat. When she looked up again, Chase’s lighthearted expression had vanished. His look burned her all the way to her core.

“Chase—”

“No.” He jumped to his feet and took her bark from her, dumping the fish bones in the fire. Then, without a backward look, he strode off into the forest.

After a moment of hesitation, she ran after him. “Where are you going?”

He cast a dark look over his shoulder. “In lieu of a cold shower, I’m going to take a bath in the pond.”

She practically had to jog to keep up with him. “I’d kill for some soap.”

Hefting the backpack, he kept going. “I found some.”

“Soap?” She felt like Eve, being lured with a different kind of apple. “Is there enough for both of us?”

“I’d prefer to bathe alone, thank you.” He gave her another hard look. “I’ll bring back the soap so you can have a turn.”

She stopped, letting him continue on alone. He was right. Thoughts of him emerging naked from the pond with rivulets of water caressing his muscular body was way more temptation than she was up to resisting.

And resist she must. Because, unless their rescuers made an appearance, they’d spend another night sleeping side by side in the small shelter. She had to stop thinking of him that way before they both did something they’d later regret.

On the way back to the camp, she took a detour and found a patch of early strawberries. Going back for the tin cups Chase had found earlier, she returned to fill them with strawberries.

Bare-chested, hair damp from his swim, Chase returned and handed her the soap. “I’ll see you later.”

Resolutely, she kept her gaze on his face. “Where are you going?”

He seemed just as determined to avoid looking below her chin. “I thought I’d climb Haystack Mountain and see if I could get a better visual on this island.”

Though it was on the tip of her tongue to ask to go, she didn’t. Instead, she nodded and took off for the pond and her own bath. She didn’t turn around to see if he watched her leave.

That night, he brought them a small wild pig. She’d gathered more wood, spreading it in the sun to dry before hauling a short stack inside the shelter in case of more rain. While he dressed the meat, she built up the fire. Though she hadn’t seen him all day, she kept her distance while he cooked their dinner on another stick-made spit.

The scent of roasting pork made her mouth water and finally, she went closer. “That smells wonderful.”

He nodded. “I re-explored the wreckage hoping to find a working cell phone or radio or something. Instead, I found the remains of the galley.” He held up two forks. “I brought back these and those plastic food trays to use as plates.”

Feeling absurdly tongue-tied, she looked away.

“I also found an underground route to some caves.” He brushed back his hair from his face.

“Caves?”

“This is an interesting island. Below the pond is a lot of volcanic rock. There were a couple of large caves, accessible only by water. When I get more time, I’ll explore them.” He fed another stick to the fire. “What’d you do while I was gone?”

“I picked a bunch of berries and gathered firewood.” She sighed. “I also took a nap. I’ve been really tired today.”

“Isn’t that normal?” Turning the spit while he watched her, his expression was unreadable.

“For pregnant women, yes.”

“I climbed Haystack and got a better view of this place.” He gestured toward the beach. “It’s not a huge island, and I didn’t see any signs of habitation. I did find a sandy beach on the other side, rather than this rocky one we’re near. The wildlife is abundant—even with me crashing around in broad daylight I saw a lot.” His teeth flashed white. “Not a bad place to build a vacation home. I haven’t figured out why the owner hasn’t yet.”

Sydney nodded. Just looking at him made her ache. His blond hair was sun-streaked, though she wondered how much time he spent in the sun, back in Silvershire. With his darkened tan and his stubble, he looked even more dangerous than he had before.

And more sexy.

Her stomach growled, bringing her thoughts back to food. “How much longer?”

“I think it’s about done.” Moving the cooked pig to a rock, he made good use of a steak knife to cut up their meat. Handing her a plate, he filled his and retreated to the other side of the fire to eat.

Sydney felt as though he was drawing a battle line.

Instead of worrying about that, she concentrated on her food. They ate in silence.

When they’d finished, eating almost all of the small pig, Chase dug a hole and buried the remains.

Once he’d finished, he returned to his side of the fire.

Night fell suddenly. Stars flickered above in the velvet-black sky. Across from her, separated by the dancing flames, Chase used the steak knife to carve another stick to use as a spit.

Sydney tried to enjoy the quiet, listening to the night sounds of the forest as the myriad creatures emerged to hunt and play. All her life, she’d been so excruciatingly lonely that silence had been intolerable to her. Until she’d learned to play the cello. After that, she’d always managed to fill the quiet with her music.

Now, without her cello, once again she sat alone. On the outside looking in. Only when she played with the symphony did she feel part of something larger, no longer solitary in her insulated little world.

Sitting across the fire from this hard man, she felt even more alone than when Reginald’s gaze had slid dismissively over her in a crowded restaurant. Reginald, once so blatant in his adoration, had pretended not to know her.

Chase made no such pretense. He simply preferred not to talk.

She recognized this. Years and years of living on the outside of the “inside” people, had trained her for it. How not to interfere or intrude. How to make certain her existence didn’t impede or alter their lives in any unpleasant way.

Her mother had taught her well.

But this wasn’t Naessa and she wasn’t a child. So—she took a deep breath—she wouldn’t put up with it again. Not here. Not now. Not ever again. She spoke.

“Do you think someone will find us?”

Barely pausing in his carving, he turned those amazing hazel eyes of his to hers. “Yes.”

“Why do you sound unhappy about that?”

He stabbed the knife into the ground. “Do I? I’m not, not at all. I’m hoping the right people find us first.”

“The right people?”

“The ones who are on our side.”

She hadn’t thought of that until now. Cradling her stomach and the growing life within, she tried to picture these people and shook her head. She still wasn’t sure if they were a figment of Chase’s imagination, or real, nameless, faceless enemies. There had been the shooting, certainly, but nothing had ever happened to her until Chase had shown up. They could be his enemies more than hers.

Except her car had been blown up. Hers, not his.

If there was someone out there gunning for them, it would seem it was really her they were after.

But why? Did they hate her merely because she carried Reginald’s child? Or was it because of her ties to Prince Kerwin of Naessa? Perhaps they were unaware her sire had never acknowledged her, though how they could be when it’d been trumpeted from every tabloid, she had no idea.

Even a few months ago, when the largest one had done a feature on her and Reginald, her bastard status had been mentioned, along with the speculation about whether, if she and Reginald were to wed, her father might consent to legitimize her.

The same paper had been the first to report on Reginald’s intentions to honor his long-term betrothal to Princess Amelia Victoria DuPont of Gastonia. It seemed they’d been betrothed as toddlers in a secret agreement between King Weston of Silvershire and King Roman of Gastonia, a betrothal Reginald had conveniently forgotten to mention to Sydney. He planned to marry the princess during his coronation ceremony, which he’d ordered to be the most lavish the people of Silvershire had ever seen.

The same morning the story broke, Sydney had learned she was pregnant with Reginald’s child.

“Surely it won’t come to that. We’ve been missing, what, three days? Your duke must be looking for us.”

“I’m sure he is. But then, so are they.”

She glanced back at their small shelter. “We don’t have any weapons.”

“Not a one.”

“Maybe we’d better find another place to hide.”

“That’s why I went up the mountain. If the wrong people show up, we’ll need somewhere to ambush them.”

His words only served to remind her how precious life could be and how abruptly it could be cut short.

Unable to bear the isolation any longer, Sydney rose. Hugging herself, she moved around the fire and dropped to the ground next to Chase.

His mouth tightened, but he made no comment. The look he gave her was sharp and, for nameless reasons, touched a place deep inside her. But then, the way he affected her had nothing to do with reason.

Averting his face, he continued to work at whittling the stick. She studied him, memorizing his features, knowing that even once she returned to her normal life, she’d never forget a single detail of his face.

Reginald’s good looks had been more patrician, elegant. More remote. She’d thought she’d loved him, but she realized now what she’d mistaken for love had been gratitude for attention. She’d been so hungry for affection that she’d turned a blind eye to all Reginald’s failings. Knowing his reputation, she’d believed her love had changed him.

Loving Reginald had been her biggest mistake. Until now. Looking at Chase, at the stubborn set of his chin and his deliberate unawareness of her, she knew she was about to make another.

The fire crackled and popped. Around them, she could hear the night sounds of the forest, and the soft scratch Chase’s knife made on the wood.

Soon, they’d let the fire burn down and retire for the evening. Soon, they’d lie side by side in their small shelter and try to pretend to be unaware of each other.

She was tired of resisting, tired of existing half-alive and so achingly alone. She wanted him. And he wanted her. After they were rescued, she’d go home to Naessa and never see him again. Until then, for however long they were stranded here, they only had each other.

Heart hammering in her chest, she took a deep breath for courage. She touched his arm, bringing the heat of his shadowed gaze to her face. “Chase, I need to ask you something.” Swallowing, she wished her voice wouldn’t tremble so, or sound quite as breathy.

The knife stilled. Waiting for her to continue, he raised one golden brow.

Now or never. She felt as though she was diving, head-first, into a bottomless pool.

“Last night, when you held me, I felt better than I have in months. Less afraid, more secure. I liked feeling that way. A lot.”

Ignoring his harsh intake of breath, she continued. “I want to sleep in your arms again tonight. Will you hold me through the night?”

Chapter 6

Did she know what she was asking of him? Chase couldn’t believe what he was hearing. As Sydney stared at him, her slender fingers pale on his tanned arm, desire slammed into him like a punch to the gut. Gritting his teeth, he used every ounce of willpower to keep from yanking her hard against him, and covering her mouth with his.

Sydney had become an obsession.

Earlier, the way she’d watched him had been bad enough. He’d felt the touch of her luminous gaze like a silky caress, teasing his nerves to an aching awareness.

“Chase?” She scooted closer, filling his nostrils with the scent of warm, fragrant woman. He clenched his jaw. God help him if she were to move her hand from his arm and splay her fingers across his chest. She’d feel his heart thudding like a wild thing as he fought to keep himself under control.

She had no idea how much he wanted her. Wanted to tangle his fingers in her hair and tilt her face to him. Wanted to feel her lush curves, full against him, without even small scraps of clothing acting as a barrier between them. Wanted to bury himself deep inside her and bring her to a ragged, shuddering completion as they moved together in a rhythm as old as time.

Ever since she’d turned that midnight-blue stare of hers on him, Chase had been battling himself. Now, with her so close, her lush mouth slightly parted, her long-lashed blue eyes dark with a desire that matched his own, he found her all but impossible to resist. His body quickened and he fought to keep from losing control.

Then her words penetrated his fogged brain.

She wanted to be held.

She’d asked in the way of one human asking another for comfort, not someone craving hot, wild sex.

Chase knew if he touched her, he’d do a lot more than hold her. He suspected Sydney realized this, as well.

Think of Kayla, he told himself savagely. Kayla had used his lust to blind him to her lies. And she hadn’t had one-tenth the effect on him as Sydney.

Sydney. How he wanted her. Being around her made him feel as if a potent aphrodisiac had spread with lightning speed through his blood.

His control slipping, Chase tried to remember how Sydney had planned to use Reginald. Though Chase hadn’t liked the man and even thought he’d deserved to pay the consequences for his actions, Sydney had to have known what she was getting into. No one was that naive. Or that successful.

Chase, like Reginald, knew a lion’s share of gorgeous, sexy women. None could hold a candle to her.

Sydney Conner was sex on wheels.

But the question remained, what did she want from him?

Though she acted as though it was simple, human comfort, he knew better. She was beautiful, like Kayla. He had to believe beautiful women always had an agenda.

“Chase?” Even her voice, husky and sensual, seduced him. The mere act of hearing her say his name made him take an unthinking step toward her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He had to stop this. Get a grip on his famous iron control. He could do this. He was a pro at handling sexy, beautiful women. With all his experiences, he hadn’t lived the life of a monk after all. Resisting even the most sensual woman, while difficult, was doable.

Then he made the mistake of looking at her.

Sydney continued to stare up at him, her heart-shaped face breathtakingly vulnerable, her eyes so dark, pupil and iris appeared to have blended. He searched her expression for the particular confidence sexy women had, that innate knowledge that they could wrap a man, any man, around their little fingers. But either Sydney was different, or she was a damn fine actress. He saw nothing in her delicate features but a hint of sorrow, of pain, and a stark, lonely hunger that matched his own urgent need.

She wanted, he reminded himself savagely, to be held. So damn it, he’d hold her.