The Prince's Cowboy Double

“I see,” she said, staring at his mouth.

He couldn’t stand it a moment longer. He stretched his arm across the space dividing them, held the back of her head in one hand and kissed her while her lips were parted in surprise. He didn’t intend to take advantage of her shock, but her mouth was as sweet as Texas in springtime, and her lips were as soft as blue-bonnet petals. His tongue touched hers, then retreated to trace the shape of her teeth—teeth he’d already noted were pearly white and straight as could be. When she moaned, he cupped her cheek with his other hand and deepened the kiss.

Behind them, a car horn honked. Shaking, she pulled away.

“I think you’re right,” he said, struggling to keep his voice light. “There doesn’t seem to be anything at all wrong with your mouth.” Or her almost innocent, tentative kiss.

“I’m certainly glad to hear that,” she said, her voice thin and shaky. “Perhaps we should just forget this ever happened, Mr. McCauley.”

“I think you should call me Hank,” he said as he pulled his hand—and her barrette—away from her hair. He used his fingers to pull the silky length over her shoulders. “There.”

“What are you doing?”

“Nobody in his right might would believe that Hank McCauley would check into a hotel with a woman who has her hair all scraped back like yours was. Now you look more…presentable.”

“There was nothing wrong with how I looked before!”

“Not for everyday stuff, but checking into a hotel with a man? Naw, you just didn’t look right for that.”

“Mr. McCauley, we are supposed to be at the service entrance so Prince Alexi can go immediately to his room via the back elevator.” Her voice rose and got a little bit higher with each word. She gazed outside, panic setting in at the crowded hotel entrance.

“But I’m Hank McCauley, rodeo star, not Prince Alexi, major pain in the—never mind. Point is, no one’s going to believe I’m the prince yet.” He put the truck into gear and edged toward valet parking. “Besides, how are we gonna explain my truck around back? Your driver probably has his hands full getting that valet guy settled inside.” He pulled out his wallet, spotting a five he could give as a tip. “I’m going to have these nice young men park the dually someplace where I can get to it.”

“Are you planning on going somewhere?” she asked, trying to finger-comb her hair.

He reached over and ruffled the glossy reddish-brown strands again. “After that kiss? I don’t think so,” he said, grinning at her flushed, confused expression.

He didn’t intend to kiss her again, but she didn’t know that. He kind of liked the idea that she was just as out of kilter as he was. He knew he was her means to an end, but that didn’t mean everything had to be all serious and secretive. After all, light, fun relationships with women were the only ones he’d allowed himself in six long years.

Lady Wendy didn’t need to know that either.

BEFORE GWENDOLYN COULD come up with any more coherent arguments for using the service entrance, Hank McCauley had placed a cowboy hat on his head, jumped down, grinned at the parking attendant and walked around the truck toward her. Good heavens! What was the man thinking? They couldn’t just march in the front door and—

“Get your pretty little self on down here, darlin’,” he ordered with a smile. As soon as she unfastened the seat belt, he grabbed her around the waist and swung her to the pavement. Before she got her balance, he’d retrieved his carryall and grasped her arm. “I just can’t wait to get checked in to our room.”

“Really!”

“Yeah, really,” he said with a wink, making the two closest luggage handlers grin widely.

“Nice to see you again, Mr. McCauley,” one of them called out.

“Good to be here, Ramon.”

She looked around, half expecting to see a dozen paparazzi ready to snap their photo. The headlines tomorrow would read “Prince Seduces PR Lady at San Antonio Hotel.” King Wilheim would have a coronary. But no one was there except bellhops and other people checking into or out of the hotel. As a matter of fact, no one paid them much attention except the parking attendants.

“They know you at this hotel?” Gwendolyn whispered as they swooshed through the revolving door. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“You didn’t ask,” the irritating man replied.

She wanted to stamp her foot, frown and fume, but they were traveling through a spacious lobby toward the check-in desk. “How am I going to explain your presence here?” she asked, hoping the multitude of large plants and columns hid their arrival from most of the people inside the hotel.

“Just go on and check in. I’m going to make a little detour to the gift shop,” he said, nodding toward the glassed-in store just off the lobby. “Come get me when you’re finished, darlin’,” he said before sauntering off in that rolling gait, his hips and long legs moving easily beneath the worn denim.

“Can I help you?” someone on the other side of the desk asked. Gwendolyn blushed, ashamed she’d been caught staring at that exasperating cowboy’s…departure.

“Yes,” she said crisply, pushing her hair behind her ears and squaring her shoulders. “I’m Lady Gwendolyn Reed, checking in Prince Alexi’s party.”

A few minutes later, she found Hank McCauley paying for a large bag of merchandise at the gift shop register. She wondered if he’d charged it to the room or paid cash or used his own personal credit card. Apparently he wasn’t as broke as she’d assumed earlier if he could afford to stay at this hotel on a regular basis.

She waited for him beside the door, unwilling to endure more “darlin”’ taunts. As if someone would really believe they were a couple!

He gave her a heart-stopping grin. “Ready to go upstairs?”

“Ready to get started with your training?”

He chuckled. “You’re tough, you know that?”

“One of us has to be focused on our goal, and since that is my job, I’m the one who must insist on staying with our plan.” And staying away from any heart-stopping kisses, pats on her “cute little butt,” or any further manhandling by this blatantly sexist cowboy.

He was nothing like any Englishman she’d ever known…except in one regard. He obviously thought women should be decorative in and out of the bedroom, and quiet otherwise. His attitude bordered on that of a feudal lord who had his pick of willing wenches. Very soon, Mr. Hank McCauley was going to learn that Lady Gwendolyn Reed was no man’s willing wench.

“I still think you haven’t thought this through,” he said, breaking into her private thoughts. It took her a moment before she realized he meant the substitute prince plan.

“I have very little choice,” she said, stopping at the glass-and-brass lift beside an indoor waterway and focusing on her job, not her personal feelings. The water was quite pleasant, but she took little solace in the gurgling sounds. Every minute that passed left her closer to tomorrow’s public engagements. She couldn’t afford a hint of scandal to reach the ears—or the cameras—of the European paparazzi. Much less reach inside the palace in Belegovia.

Hank McCauley made a halfhearted attempt to hide a yawn. She supposed he really was tired after staying up all night with the horse. Perhaps she could give him an hour or so for a nap while she arranged her materials. They needed a place setting for a five-course dinner, a sampler of appetizers and a selection of wines. And Milos needed to start measurements in case alterations were necessary to the two suits Hank—as Prince Alexi—would wear tomorrow. Hopefully they wouldn’t need to purchase shoes. She doubted San Antonio stores carried the Italian style Alexi preferred.

“If you would like, you may take a nap while I gather what I’ll need to continue our training.”

The lift doors opened and a family of five exited. She and McCauley entered, only to be followed by an older couple who smiled and nodded. Her substitute prince tipped his hat, just like the hero in a Western movie.

“Whatever works best for you, darlin’, he drawled, “but you’re always welcome to join me for my nap.”

The older couple smiled at the cowboy as if he’d made a profound statement of worldly importance. Gwendolyn closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Would she ever become accustomed to his outrageous behavior?

Chapter Three

Hank awoke groggy and disoriented, a gentle tapping sound penetrating his foggy brain. He wasn’t in his own room back at the ranch, but this big bed was sure comfortable. He stretched, his hands coming in contact with his hat. He’d been wearing it when he’d gone upstairs to the suite. At the Hyatt Regency in San Antonio.

The big suite reserved for Prince Alexi of Belegovia.

The tapping sound stopped. He blinked, focusing on the door. Sure enough, it opened just enough for Lady Wendy to poke her aristocratic nose around the corner. One slim hand held on to the darkly stained wood as if she were dangling for her life.

“Mr. McCauley, are you decent?”

“Darlin’, I’m about as decent as I get.”

She looked into the room, her eyes reflecting a cautious curiosity. He immediately noticed that she’d pulled her hair back into the severe style she favored.

He couldn’t wait to mess it up again.

Whoa! He shouldn’t be thinking along those lines. He’d kissed her once, but that needed to be the end of it. Lady Wendy Reed was just a little too sweet, a little too elegant for his white-bread taste. She’d be gone from his life faster than he could say lickety-split.

“I hope you had a pleasant rest, Mr. McCauley, because we need to begin your instruction.” He noticed she wasn’t looking at him much. He looked down, but sure enough, the buttons on his Levi’s were all done up, so that couldn’t be it. Either he’d offended her somehow, or she didn’t trust herself to watch him. Either way, it didn’t bode well for their working relationship.

She sure as hell wasn’t calling him “Hank,” as he’d asked. She was keeping it real professional with “Mr. McCauley.”

He might have overdone the good old boy routine just a bit. Maybe she didn’t want to get too familiar with a slightly broken-down bronc rider who had a smart mouth and a low threshold for boredom. With a sigh, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Sure. Let me just splash some water on my face and I’ll be right out.”

“Very good,” she said crisply, pulling the door closed behind her.

She couldn’t wait to give him a princely makeover, as if he were inadequate as he was. He didn’t like the thought; he didn’t appreciate the feeling deep in his gut that to someone like Lady Wendy, he was inadequate. If he didn’t watch out, he’d work himself into a really lousy mood. That just wouldn’t do, since he was in San Antone on someone else’s dime. Sure he wanted to learn some fancy manners and figure out what to wear to which event, but he also wanted to have some fun.

Life was too short to spend it all tied up in knots.

He stretched his unreliable back, pleased that his nap hadn’t frozen up his often-abused muscles. His old injuries came back to haunt him occasionally, usually at the most inconvenient times. Like when he was trying to impress a woman.

With a big yawn, he made his way into the marble-and-brass bathroom. Time was up; he was about to become Prince Alexi.

SIX HOURS, FIVE COURSES of food, one haircut and manicure, and three alterations of clothing later, Hank was even more tired of this Prince Alexi guy than he’d been this morning. Not only had the prince run off with Kerry Lynn, but he had about the most god-awful boring job in the universe. Smiling, shaking hands, eating, sitting and wearing expensive clothes was about all the prince was good for.

Of course, Hank now understood why Alexi ran off. Only six hours in the prince’s shoes—quite literally—and Hank was ready to run screaming from the fancy suite.

“Mr. McCauley, are you listening? The family tree of the royals in Belegovia is very important information.”

“I’m sure it is, Lady Wendy, but since I’m going to have laryngitis tomorrow, I can’t imagine I’d have to talk to anyone about these relatives of the prince.”

“Still, someone may mention one of the dukes or counts, or even their wives. It’s important that you are not caught making a mistake regarding your relatives.”

“His relatives,” Hank clarified, scowling at Milos Anatole, who knelt beside him with a mouthful of pins and some chalk. “You know, these pants looked just fine to me.”

“Prince Alexi is approximately one half inch taller than you, Mr. McCauley,” the uppity, nervous valet announced around the mouthful of pins.

“Yeah, but a half inch? I’m only going to be wearing his things for a few hours.”

“It’s entirely possible someone could notice that your clothes didn’t fit perfectly,” Lady Wendy explained.

Hank shook his head. This prince really was a bore. Like the most important thing in the world was whether his pants “broke” at just the proper place above his expensive Italian shoes.

“Who’s gonna be lookin’ that hard at my pants?” Hank asked, putting both hands on his hips.

Milos frowned up at him. Wendy blinked at him as if he’d said something ridiculous.

“What?”

“Mr. McCauley, the prince is under constant observation by a variety of press. Both legitimate publications and the more irritating paparazzi track his every move. They will be at all the events.”

Hank narrowed his eyes. “You never said anything about folks following me around, taking dozens of pictures.”

“More like hundreds,” Wendy told him in a matter-of-fact voice that for some reason irritated the hell out of him.

Hank squared his shoulders, trying his best to be intimidating. “You owe me.”

“You have yet to name your price,” she informed him. “Of course, I’ve already explained that the Belegovian treasury is not an endless well of funds.”

“You want me to name my price?”

“Yes, I would appreciate the courtesy. After all, you may decide not to accept a check from the official account. Belegovia is somewhat farther than Oklahoma, as I believe you mentioned—”

“Sarcasm just doesn’t suit a sweet lady like you,” Hank complained, thoroughly tired of this hotel room and all the facts he’d been forced to memorize. Not to mention a fussy haircut and all those tiny alterations.

“I thought I was being terribly clever.”

“Well, you’re not,” he informed her peevishly. “And as for my fee, I’ve decided on part of it.”

“Part of it? Really, Mr. McCauley, I must insist you decide on a reasonable amount—”

“Tonight. I want to go out with you to the River-walk and have some fun.”

She let out a long-suffering sigh. “We are a little busy tonight.”

“We’re just about finished, that’s what we are,” he said, his fingers going to the fastening on Prince Alexi’s slacks. “We need to get out of here for a few hours. Have a little fun. I’ll bet you don’t relax enough. A couple of tequila sunrises and a stroll along the river is just what you need.”

“I need to succeed in this mission.”

“Damn, Lady Wendy, you sound like some secret agent. This isn’t life or death, you know. You said we were visiting a children’s hospital and a zoo. That means some baby kissin’ and smilin’ at cuddly little animals.”

“No, Mr. McCauley, that is not what this is all about! This is about my career, Prince Alexi’s reputation, and quite possibly the future of the monarchy in Belegovia!” Her voice had risen to such a level that Hank was surprised somebody didn’t start pounding on the wall, yelling for them to shut up. Of course, that kind of thing didn’t happen in these fancy suites like it did in the cheap motels he’d stayed at while he was on the circuit. Since he’d retired, he’d gotten used to some of the finer things in life, like nice hotels with thick terry cloth towels and twenty-four-hour room service.

“That does it,” he announced, batting Milos’s hands away from the crease in the slacks. “We’re getting out of here.”

“Haven’t you been listening? We must succeed. You must be accepted as Prince Alexi!”

“I can’t do my best work if I’m all stressed out,” he said, shaking his head. “You need to get out of those stuffy clothes and into something more comfortable. I’ve got a hankerin’ for a cold beer and some hot salsa.”

“Mr. McCauley, we are not going out on the town!”

“Sure we are. It’s part of my fee. Look in that bag over there on the couch. I bought you a T-shirt that’s just what you need for strollin’ along the river on a real pretty night like this.”

Lady Wendy ran her hands through her hair, loosening several strands. Hank smiled to himself. She was too easy to rile, too predictable for her own good. All he had to do was push her buttons and she got all huffy. If there was ever a woman who needed to relax and have some fun, she was Lady Wendy.

Besides, no one should visit San Antonio and miss the Riverwalk.

“You’d better run and change,” he told her, his hands resting on the waistband of Prince Alexi’s slacks. “In about ten seconds I’m gonna be pretty near naked. Now, I don’t mind if you don’t,” he said, easing the zipper lower, “but I figure a lady with your sensibilities wouldn’t want to see my beat up ol’ body.”

“Mr. McCauley, please! We don’t have time for fun.”

He let pass her unintentional implication that seeing his “beat up old body” would be fun. He walked a fine line—too much teasing and she’d get real mad. “Well, we need to make some, then. I just can’t tolerate the thought of you missin’ the Riverwalk, much less the Alamo. Why, it’s a national shrine!”

“If I promise to come back and visit Texas another time, will you continue working?”

Hank shook his head as he finished unzipping the slacks. “I’d like to believe you, Lady Wendy, but I just can’t. I know how busy you career women are. You can’t guarantee that you’ll make it back to Texas. It’s my duty to make sure you see as much of it as possible.”

“It’s my job to make sure you can pass as Prince Alexi.”

“Unless you’re ready to compare more than accents and clothes between Prince Alexi and me, you’d better get on out of this room and change into that T-shirt.” He lowered the slacks a couple of inches, revealing white briefs.

“Is there no way to talk you out of this insanity?” she asked, blushing a nice pink and staring at the framed artwork over the couch.

“Nope.”

She closed her eyes and sighed. Hank hid his smile. He was enjoying this way too much. He couldn’t wait to see what Lady Wendy was like after a couple of tequila sunrises and a little two-stepping.

Grabbing the bag containing the pretty Texas T-shirt he’d picked out earlier, she stalked across the room like some British general going to battle. “We’ll go to this Riverwalk for one hour,” she said, obviously trying to compromise. “I suppose you do deserve a little time off for being such a good sport.”

“With an attitude like that, we’re bound to have a good time,” he said with a chuckle.

GWENDOLYN COULDN’T remember ever being this frustrated and confused. Hank McCauley was the most exasperating, most difficult man she’d had the misfortune to meet. First, he’d insisted on driving his own vehicle—a monstrously large truck, no less. Then he’d driven right up to the front portico of the hotel, despite her instructions to go to the service entrance. He’d kissed her quite deliberately so she’d appear more like one of the women he preferred—except she knew she didn’t look a thing like the busty, flirtatious young tarts who flocked to such testosterone-rich cowboys. He’d needed a nap once they were checked in. Now, after only several hours of fittings, a haircut and lessons, he needed a little holiday on this Riverwalk!

“Damn you, Prince Alexi,” she muttered under her breath. “I hope you’re having a perfectly miserable time, wherever you are.”

If he were having a terrible time with his truck-stop waitress, he would end his trip promptly. Everything would return to normal and her job would not be in jeopardy. She would not retreat to England in disgrace to face her overly critical father, who believed she should find a titled, moneyed peer and settle down to a life of charitable works and social engagements, and produce her husband’s heir and a spare.

The key word there was settle. She had no intention of giving up her career to fit the image of what her stuffy, antiquated father thought was proper for an English lady.

She lifted the soft T-shirt from the bag. A pristine white background held a line of blue flowers—she supposed they were the famed Texas bluebonnets she’d seen on various publications—and a prettily lettered “Texas” in green below. The shirt was certainly a far cry better than some she’d seen—and even imagined Mr. McCauley preferring—which featured ugly animals called armadillos and crude sayings regarding beer, sex and other suggestive activities.

Perhaps Hank McCauley wasn’t quite as bad as she’d assumed when she’d first heard the term retired rodeo cowboy used to describe him. Or when she’d been told he lived on a ranch outside a small town called Ranger Springs. Or when he’d come to the door dressed only in a pair of nearly indecent jeans.

Heat suffused her cheeks as she remembered how he’d looked when she’d first met him, just out of his shower. Lean and sculpted with impressive muscles and smooth, tanned skin, he could have appeared on an ad for Texas, cowboys or anything else he’d wanted to endorse.

In the suite, he’d made a remark about his “beat-up body,” but Gwendolyn hadn’t noticed any scars or deformities—at least from the waist up. What was he hiding below the waist of his trousers?

More heat. She had to stop thinking about Hank McCauley’s assets. She had to forget the line of white briefs that had appeared when he threatened to lower his slacks.

At least she knew the answer to the question, boxers or briefs?

In her many years of acquaintance with Prince Alexi, she’d never speculated on his underwear. She had no idea what he preferred, nor would he ever show her his preference by lowering his trousers in her presence. He was too much a gentleman.

Her father was a gentleman, and look at what a stuffy bore he was.

Gwendolyn felt like clamping a hand over her mouth for even thinking such a thought. Prince Alexi was not like her father. Hank McCauley was not more exciting than either of the men. He was just…different. More difficult. More…male.

They were going out for one hour, she decided as she unbuttoned her silk blouse. She’d wear the T-shirt to make Hank McCauley happy, she’d even take a sip of one of those tequila sunrises he’d mentioned earlier. But she was absolutely not going dancing.

She sincerely doubted he knew how to waltz or fox-trot—or any of the other ballroom dances she’d learned as the daughter of an earl—and she refused to make a fool of herself attempting one of those fast and complicated western steps she’d seen in movies and on the telly. No matter what he said or how persuasive he was, she would not be humiliated on the dance floor.

“HANG ON, LADY WENDY. It’s time to twirl again.”

“No more twirling!” she managed to gasp as her arms circled his neck. “I believe I’m quite dizzy.”

“But you’re doin’ such a good job of polishing my belt buckle.”

“What?”

“Dancin’ real close, darlin’,” he replied, his breath a whisper against her ear. The sensation made her even more dizzy and she sagged in his arms.

“You should have told me you couldn’t handle your liquor,” Hank said.

Somewhere between a deliciously decadent appetizer called nachos supreme and a wonderfully tasty drink called a tequila sunrise, her pretend prince had become Hank rather than Mr. McCauley. She heard the humor in his voice but couldn’t muster the outrage she should be feeling. He’d been teasing her unmercifully for the past half hour, but instead of becoming angry, she was beginning to find his remarks witty.

She’d definitely had too many sips of the sweet yet tangy drink. Hank McCauley was bossy, opinionated and manipulative. He was also the sexiest man she’d ever met…and he made her feel like dancing.