The Duchess Diaries: The Diplomat's Pregnant Bride / Her Unforgettable Royal Lover / The Texan's Royal M.D.

The remains disappeared in two bites. Semi-satisfied, Gina leaned against the bench and stretched out her legs. His arm formed a comfortable backrest as she replied to his earlier query.

“I couldn’t even hazard a guess how many times I’ve been to Bryant Park. Maria used to bring Sarah and me to ride the merry-go-round or ice-skate on Citi Pond. Grandmama would come, too, after shopping on Fifth Avenue or to wait while we girls hit the library.”

“Your grandmother’s a remarkable woman.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Are she and Sarah the only family you have left?”

“There are some distant cousins in Slovenia. Or maybe it’s Hungary. Or Austria. To tell the truth, I’m not real sure which countries got which parts of Karlenburgh after the duchy was broken up.”

“Has Charlotte ever gone back?”

“No, never. She doesn’t say so, but I know it would be too painful for her.”

“What about you?” He toyed with the ends of her hair, still straight, still purple. “Have you ever visited your ancestral lands?”

“Not yet. I’d like to, though. One of these days...”

She could sit here for hours, she thought lazily. Listening to the crack of the Ping-Pong paddles, watching the tourists nose through the kiosks, nestling her head on the solid heat of Jack’s arm. She didn’t realize her eyelids had fluttered shut until his amused voice drifted down to her.

“You going to sleep on me again?”

“Maybe.”

“Before you zone out completely, let’s set a date for you to make a visit to D.C. My folks are anxious to meet you.”

That woke her up. The little she knew about Jack’s family suggested they probably wouldn’t welcome her with open arms. Not his father, anyway. But she’d promised. Digging into her purse, she checked the calendar on her iPhone.

“I can’t do next weekend. Does the second weekend in June work for you?”

“I’ll make it work. Go back to sleep now.”

Seven

Gina ended up making the jaunt down to Washington a week earlier than expected. Her change of plans kicked off the following Thursday morning with a summons to Samuel’s office, where her boss relayed a request from the head office.

“Nicole just called. She needs you to fly down to D.C. You’ve got a reservation on the two-twenty shuttle.”

“Today?”

“Yes, today. TTG’s coordinating a black-tie reception and private, prerelease movie showing for two hundred tomorrow evening.”

“And Elaine needs help?”

Elaine Patterson managed the TTG’s Washington venue. Gina had met the trim, elegant brunette once when she’d flown to New York for a meeting with Samuel.

“Elaine’s father had a heart attack. She’s in Oregon and her assistant just checked into the ICU with a bad case of pancreatitis, whatever the hell that is. The rest of the staff is too junior to handle a function this large. Nicole wants you to take charge.”

Samuel shoved a folder across his desk. “Here are faxed copies of the timetable, menu, floor plans, proposed setup, list of suppliers and contact phone numbers. I had them also email copies so you’ll be able pull ’em on your iPad in case you need to make changes on the fly. You can stay in the venue’s bridal suite. It’s fully equipped and stocked.”

“But...”

“I’ll cover the consult you have scheduled for this afternoon.”

“What about the Hanrahan retirement party on Saturday? I’m lead on that.”

“I scanned the file. From the looks of the checklist, you’ve got everything in good shape. I’ll take care of the last few prep tasks and get Kallie to pull floor duty with me.”

Gina thought fast. She’d have to call Maria to see whether she could come in Sunday and check on Grandmama. If she could, Gina might extend her stay in D.C. for another day, possibly two.

The prospect of spending those days with Jack made her heart do its own version of a happy dance. She could feel it skittering and skipping as she let drop a casual comment.

“My calendar’s pretty light on Monday. I don’t have anything scheduled that can’t be moved. I may take some comp time and stay over in Washington.”

“Fine by me.” He flapped a hand. “Just get your butt in gear.”

* * *

She got her butt in gear!

A call made while the cab whisked her uptown confirmed Maria would be happy to check on la duquesa Sunday afternoon. When Gina dashed in and explained the arrangement, Grandmama issued an indignant protest.

“I’m neither crippled nor incapacitated, Eugenia. There’s no need for Maria to come all the way in to check on me.”

“She’s not doing it for you, she’s doing it for me.”

“Really,” the duchess huffed. “It’s not necessary.”

“I know. Just humor me, okay? The thing is, I may stay over in D.C. a day or two. Jack wants me to meet his parents. If they’re available, I’ll try to cram in a visit.”

“Indeed?”

That bit of news stifled any further objections from her grandmother. Her faded blue eyes lingered thoughtfully on Gina’s face for a moment before she commented dryly, “How fortunate the purple washed out of your hair.”

Extremely fortunate, Gina thought as she rushed into the bedroom. She hurried out again after stuffing toiletries, a sequined tuxedo jacket she appropriated from Sarah’s closet, black satin palazzo pants and some casual clothes into a weekender.

“I’ll call you,” she promised, dropping a kiss on her grandmother’s cheek.

She hit the lobby and had Jerome flag her a cab to LaGuardia. Collapsing in the backseat, she fished out her phone and called Jack. His cell phone went to voice mail, so she left a quick message. For added insurance, she called his office and got shuffled to his chief of staff. Her nose wrinkling, she asked Vickers to advise his boss that she was flying down to Washington.

“Certainly, Ms. St. Sebastian.”

He sounded a little more polite but about a mile and half from friendly. Gina wanted to ask him what his problem was but she suspected she already knew the answer.

She made her flight with all of five minutes to spare. When the adrenaline rush subsided and the plane lifted off, she rested her head against the seat back. The next thing she knew, the flight attendant was announcing their imminent arrival at Ronald Reagan National Airport. Gina blinked the sleep out of her eyes and enjoyed her view through the window of the capital’s marble monuments.

The short nap left her energized and eager to plunge into the task ahead. She wheeled her weekender through the airport with a spring in her step and exited into a beautiful June day only slightly tainted by the exhaust pluming out of the cars and taxis and shuttles lined up outside the terminal.

Gina didn’t have to dig deep to know why she was so jazzed. The idea that Nicole trusted her enough to step in at the last minute and take charge of a major event had given her self-confidence a shot in the arm.

Then there was the chance she might cram in some time with Jack. That possibility prodded her to whip out her cell phone and take it off airplane mode. The flashing icon indicating a text from Jack put a smile on her lips.

Just heard you’re en route to D.C. Call when you arrive.

She crossed the street to the parking garage and aimed for the rental car area while she tried his private number. He answered on the second ring.

“You’re here?”

The sound of his voice moved the smile from her lips to her heart. “I’m here. Just got in.”

“This is a surprise. What brought you to D.C.?”

For once she managed to catch herself before blurting out the truth. He didn’t need to know the possibility of spending some time with him was one of the reasons—the main reason—she’d jumped at this job.

“I’m a last-minute stand-in to coordinate an event tomorrow night.”

“Which event?”

“A fancy-schmancy cocktail party and prerelease showing of the new action flick starring Dirk West.”

Gina wasn’t a real fan of the shoot-’em-up, blow-’em-up type movies West had been making for several decades but she knew every new release pulled in millions.

“The event’s being hosted by Global Protective Services,” she told Jack. “According to their company propaganda, they’re—”

“One of the largest private security contractors in the world,” he interrupted. “They have more boots on the ground in Afghanistan right now than the U.S. military. Rumor is they put up most of the money for the movie. Probably because the script makes a very unsubtle case for decreasing the size of our standing armies and increasing the use of private mercenaries.”

Holding the phone to her ear, Gina skimmed the Hertz reservation board to find the parking slot for the car Kallie said would be waiting for her.

“Sounds like this shindig would be right up your alley,” she commented as she started down the long row of parked vehicles, “but I didn’t see your name on the attendee list.”

“That’s because I declined the invitation. I might have to rethink that, though, if you’re going to be working the event.”

“Oh, sure,” she said with a laugh. “Screw up the head count, why don’t you?”

“I won’t eat much,” he promised solemnly.

“Well...” She found her car and tossed her briefcase onto the passenger seat. “I guess I can add you to the list.”

“That takes care of tomorrow, then. What’s on your agenda tonight?”

“I’ve got what’s left of the TTG crew standing by.” She slid into the driver’s seat but waited to key the ignition. “We’re going to go over the final task list and walk through the venue.”

“How long will that take?”

“I have no idea.”

She hesitated a moment before laying the possibility of an extended stay on him. Would she really be up to meeting his parents after working this event? Yes, dammit, she would.

“I told Samuel I might take a couple extra days in D.C. If it fits with your schedule and theirs, maybe we could work in a visit with your folks.”

“We’ll make it fit. I’ll give them a call and arrange a time. Where are you staying?”

“At TTG’s L’Enfant Plaza venue. We have a full bridal suite on the top floor.”

“A bridal suite, huh?” His voice dropped to a slow, warm caress. “Want some company?”

God, yes! She gripped the phone, almost groaning at the idea of rolling around with Jack on the Tremayne Group’s signature chocolate-brown sheets. Instant, erotic images of their bodies all sweaty and naked buzzed in her head like a swarm of pesky flies.

“Thanks for the offer,” she said, making a valiant attempt to bat away the flies, “but I’d better pass.”

Somewhat to her disappointment Jack didn’t press the issue.

“You sure you can’t sneak away for an hour or two and have dinner with me?” he asked instead.

Desire waged a fierce, no-holds-barred, free-for-all with duty. The old, fun-loving Gina would have yielded without a second thought. The new, still fun-loving but not quite as irresponsible Gina sighed.

“Sorry, Jack. I really need to spend this afternoon and evening prepping for the event.”

He conceded with his usual easy charm. “I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

Jack disconnected, swung his desk chair around and settled his gaze on the slice of Washington visible from his third-floor office. Since he held ambassadorial rank, he rated a full suite at the State Department’s main headquarters on C Street.

The thirties-era building was originally designed to house the War Department, but the war planners outgrew it before it was completed. When they moved into the Pentagon in 1941, State inherited this massive structure constructed of buff-colored sandstone. It and its more modern annexes were located in the area of D.C. known as Foggy Bottom, so named because this section of the city was once a dismal, gray-misted swamp. Many of the talking heads who filled today’s airwaves with their dubious wisdom liked to suggest the decisions coming out State were still pretty foggy and swampy.

The windows in Jack’s office gave a narrow view down 21st Street to the National Mall, with the Lincoln Memorial at one end and the Washington Monument at the other. On good days he could almost catch the glitter of sunlight bouncing off the reflecting pool. The view didn’t hold a particle of interest at the moment.

All his thoughts centered on Gina. The news that she was coming to Washington had proved the only bright spark in an otherwise grim morning spent reviewing casualty reports and incident analyses from twenty years of attacks on U.S. diplomatic outposts. Just the sound of her voice and merry laugh lightened his mood.

Thoughtfully, Jack tipped back his chair. Simply knowing that Gina was here, on his home turf, sparked a need that dug into him with sharp, fierce claws. Her image was etched in his mind. Those bright blue eyes. That luscious mouth. The tumble of white-blond curls.

The image shifted, and he pictured her manga’ed mane. God, what if she was still sporting that look? He could only imagine his father’s reaction. The thought produced a wry grin as he swung his chair around and dialed his parents’ number.

* * *

Jack brought his tux in to the office with him the next morning and changed before leaving work that evening. Anxious to see Gina, he arrived at L’Enfant Plaza early.

The plaza was named for Pierre Charles L’Enfant, the French-born architect recruited by General LaFayette to serve as an engineer with George Washington’s Continental army. A long rectangle, the plaza was bordered on three sides by an amalgamation of office buildings, government agencies, retail shops and hotels. One of I. M. Pei’s iconic glass pyramids dominated the center. A sister to the pyramid in front of the Louvre, it rose from a lower level with gleaming majesty.

The spot was a good choice for evening events. Foot and vehicle traffic died out when the surrounding offices emptied, leaving plenty of underground parking for guests. Or they could hop off the Metro and let the escalators whisk them up to the plaza. Jack had opted for plan B and emerged from the Metro’s subterranean levels into a balmy June evening. Tiny white lights illuminated the trees lining two sides of the plaza. Centered between those sparkling rows, the lighted pyramid formed a dramatic backdrop for lavishly filled buffet tables and strategically placed carving stations.

Two dozen or so other early arrivals grazed the tables or clumped together in small groups with drinks in hand. Jack took advantage of the sparse crowd and lack of lines to hit one of the S-shaped bars set up close to the pyramid. He kept an eye out for Gina as he crossed the plaza but didn’t spot either her blond curls or a waterfall of purple. Nor did he find a bartender behind the ebony-and-glass counter. He angled around to check the other bars and saw an attendant at only one. Flipping and tipping bottles, the harried attendant splashed booze and mixers into an array of glasses and shoved them at the tuxedoed waitstaff standing in line at his station.

The fact that three of the four bars weren’t ready for action surprised Jack until he spotted Gina, a male in a white shirt and black vest and a plump female with a radio clipped to her waist hurrying out onto the plaza. The man peeled off in the direction of one unattended bar, the woman aimed for another. Gina herself edged behind the ebony S where Jack stood.

“Shorthanded?” he asked as she whipped bottles of champagne out of a refrigerated case and lined them up on the bar.

She rolled her eyes. “Just a tad.”

When she started to attack the foil caps, he moved behind the bar to help. She flashed him a grateful look and set him to popping corks while she extracted champagne flutes from a rack beneath the counter.

“I should be in the media center making a last check of the seating,” she told him, “but I’ve been on the phone with the bar subcontractor for twenty friggin’ minutes. He’s supposed to be sending replacements for their no-shows. You can bet this is the last time the jerk will do business with TTG.”

The fire in her eyes told Jack that was a safe bet.

“Keep your fingers crossed the replacements get here before the real hordes descend,” she muttered as she began pouring champagne into the tall crystal flutes.

He nodded toward the crowd emerging from the bank of elevators. “I think they’re descending.”

“Crap.” She slapped the filled flutes onto a tray and hooked a finger at one of the waitstaff. “You’re over twenty-one, right?”

“Right.”

“Take this and start circulating.”

“I’m a food server,” he protested.

“Not for the next half hour, you’re not. Take it! I’ve cleared it with your boss.”

Champagne sloshing, she thrust the tray at him and reached under the counter for more flutes.

“Good thing the subcontractors aren’t union,” she said fervently. “My ass would be grass if I got TTG crosswise of the culinary workers and bartenders local.”

Jack eyed the racks of glasses, bottles and nozzles behind the counter. Everything appeared to be clearly labeled.

“I’ve fixed a few martinis and Manhattans in my time. I’ll pull bar duty until your replacements arrive. You go do your thing in the media center.”

“No way! I can’t let you sling booze. You’re a guest.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t. Go. I’ve got this.”

Jack had no trouble interpreting the emotions that flashed across her expressive face. He could tell the instant the idea of John Harris Mason III dishing up drinks at Global Protective Service’s big bash struck her as too irresistible to pass up.

“All right,” she conceded, laughter sparkling in her eyes. “But let’s hope Nicole doesn’t hear about this. My ass won’t just be grass. It’ll be mowed and mulched.”

“And it’s such a nice ass.” He couldn’t help it. He had to reach behind her and caress the body part under discussion. “Trust me, sweetheart, I won’t let anyone mow or mulch it.”

She backed away and tried to look stern, but the light still danced in her eyes. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

Jack couldn’t believe it, either. He’d do it again, though, in a heartbeat. Or better yet, drag her upstairs to that bridal suite she’d mentioned and caress a whole lot more than her ass. Sanity intruded in the form of the gray-haired senior senator from Virginia.

Thomas Dillon broke away from the group he was with and strolled over to the bar. “Jack?”

The senator looked from him to Gina and back again. Clearly he didn’t understand what an ambassador-at-large was doing behind the drinks counter, but he contained his confusion behind a broad smile.

“I thought I recognized you, son. How’s your father?”

“He’s still kicking butt and taking names, Senator. What can I get you to drink?”

“Pardon me?”

“I’m pulling special duty tonight. What would you like?”

* * *

Despite the near-disastrous start, the remainder of the event went off without a hitch. Most of the invitees were jaded Washingtonians who had attended too many black-tie functions to do more than guzzle down the free booze and food, but Jack heard more than one guest comment on the quality of both.

His replacement arrived before he’d had to mix up more than a dozen drinks. He surrendered his post with some reluctance and mingled with the other guests. Jaded they might be, but the arrival of the movie’s star started a low buzz. Gina had returned to the plaza and stood next to Jack while Dirk West graciously made the rounds.

“Wow,” she murmured, eyeing his shaved head and six-feet-plus of tuxedo-covered muscle. “He looks tougher in real life than he does on the screen.”

Tough, and extremely savvy. West worked the crowd like a pro and seemed to sense instinctively the real power brokers and potential backers. He might have been aided in that by the CEO of Global Protective Services, who stuck to the star’s side like a barnacle and made a point of steering him over to Jack.

“This is Ambassador John Harris Mason,” he said by way of introduction. “He’s the man who faced down a cell of armed insurgents in Mali a few years ago.”

“I read about that.” West crunched Jack’s hand in his. “Sounded like a pretty hairy situation. I might have to send a script writer to ferret out the details that didn’t get into print.”

Jack could have told him not to bother since most of the details were still classified but West had already turned his attention to Gina.

“And who’s this?”

The bronze-edged name tag pinned to her lapel should have given him a clue. He ignored it, concentrating all his star power on her face.

“Gina St. Sebastian.” She held out her hand and had it enfolded. “I’m with the Tremayne Group. We’re coordinating this event.”

West’s appreciative gaze made a quick trip south, edged back up. “You ever considered taking a shot at acting, Ms. St. Sebastian?”

“I’ve toyed with the idea once or twice.”

“If you decide to do more than toy, you give me a call.”

Global’s CEO was more interested in Jack’s connections at the State Department than the acting aspirations of the hired hands.

“I hear you’ve got a meeting with the Senate Intelligence Committee next week regarding embassy security, Ambassador. I’ve got some ideas in that regard.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“I’d like to discuss them with you. I’ll have my people call and set up an appointment.”

His mission accomplished, he steered West to the next group. Jack waited until they were out of earshot to fill Gina in on his conversation with his parents.

“I got ahold of my folks. They’re anxious to meet you, but mother’s chairing a charity auction tomorrow evening so I told them we’d drive down for Sunday brunch.”

“Sunday brunch works for me.”

“Good. That leaves tomorrow for just you and me.”

She started to comment, but spotted the plump brunette with the radio clipped to her waist signaling from across the plaza.

“Gotta go. It’s almost showtime.”

She turned, spun back and flashed one of her megawatt smiles.

“Thanks for helping out earlier. Remind me to pay you for services rendered.”

“I will,” he murmured to her retreating back. “I most certainly will.”

* * *

Jack carried fantasies of the various forms that payment might take with him into the plush media hall. They teased his thoughts all through Dirk West’s explosive attempts to single-handedly save the world from evil. But not even his wildest imaginings could compete with reality when a tired but triumphant Gina invited him up to the bridal suite several hours later.

Eight

Gina had tried to convince Jack he didn’t need to hang around while she signed off on the final tally sheets and supervised the breakdown. She’d honestly tried. Yet she couldn’t suppress a little thrill of pleasure when he insisted on waiting for her to finish up.

So she’d extended the invitation to join her upstairs. When they entered the lushly appointed suite, though, all she wanted to do was plop down on the sofa, kick off her shoes and plunk her feet on the coffee table. Which was exactly what she did. And all she would have done if Jack hadn’t plopped down beside her!

“That’s some view,” he commented lazily, his eyes on the dramatic vista of the floodlit capital dome framed by the suite’s windows.

“Mmm.”

She only half heard him. Her mind was still decompressing after the pressure-packed night. He responded by tugging loose his bow tie and popping the top button of his dress shirt before patting his lap.

“Here.”

She blinked, suddenly very much in the present. She didn’t trust either his simple gesture or her body’s instant response to it. He read the sudden wariness in her face and patted his thighs again.

“I’ve been told I give a pretty good foot massage. Swing your feet up and see if you agree.”

Oooooh, yeah! Gina most definitely agreed. Ten seconds after he went to work on her toes and arch, she was approaching nirvana. Groaning with pleasure, she wedged deeper into the corner of the sofa.