The Inconveniently Engaged Prince

“It’s called giving the customer what they want without letting them step over the line,” she said.

“Like holding me at bay for over a month?”

She grinned. “Something like that.”

The waitress stopped by their table. Jace hadn’t even looked at the menu. He wasn’t really hungry, but apple caramel pie was almost as much of a temptation as Vickie was.

“Did you guys want to order something?” the waitress asked. She was young and looked like she’d rather be anywhere else but here.

Jace grinned at her, and noted that she perked up a bit. “Absolutely. I’ll have the specialty pie and a cappuccino with extra cream. Vic?”

“Cheesecake, I think. And a decaf, white chocolate latte.”

The waitress scribbled the orders and left. “Decaf?” he asked. “I thought you were going to study.”

“I will. But I don’t intend to be up all night doing it. What’s your excuse?”

“Caffeine doesn’t keep me awake.”

“Lucky you.”

“Sometimes. So, Victoria Meadland, tell me all about yourself.” The withdrawal was subtle, but he noticed it, noticed the slight flush of her skin, as though he’d put her on the spot. He decided to change directions. “Wait. We were supposed to be studying psychology, weren’t we?”

She smiled, relaxed a bit. “I don’t think discussing our life stories is going to help me on the exam.”

“I can use big words if it’ll help.”

She laughed and he sat, transfixed. She had a wonderful laugh that lit her face and eased the little worry lines between her brows.

“No?” he said when she just shook her head. He liked that she was easing into his company. “So, what are you majoring in?”

“Human development and English. I want to be a teacher. I have one more semester before I’ll get my B.A. degree. Then another year to get my teaching credential.”

“You can teach without the credentials, though, can’t you?”

“For a while, yes. And I will, but I’ll also keep up my education and go for my master’s degree. That way I could go into counseling.”

“You’d be good at it.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I’ve watched you at Diamond Jim’s. You’ve got a special way of giving the person you’re talking to your complete attention. That’s a good quality for a potential counselor.”

“Thanks.”

“So how come you didn’t just major in education?”

“California doesn’t offer it.”

The waitress brought their coffee and dessert. Vickie picked up her fork and took a bite of cheesecake.

Jace’s mouth watered as he watched her eyes close, watched the pure, unadulterated pleasure wash across her face. “Good?”

Her eyes opened, locked onto his. “Delicious.”

He was sweating. Desire streaked through him and howled for action or release. For the longest time, their eyes held. Then she glanced down as though she had just realized the sizzle and was embarrassed by it.

“Um…” She stopped, cleared her throat. “How about you? Where did you go to school.”

He tasted his own pie, but even though it was excellent, it didn’t compare to the look that had come over Victoria’s face only moments ago. He imagined she’d wear that same expression in the throes of passion. “Virginia Tech.”

“Virginia? Is that where you’re from?”

“Nope. Born and raised right here in San Diego. But I knew I wanted to capitalize on the cellular telephone industry and at the time, Virginia Tech offered the best courses on wireless technology.”

She laid down her fork, gave him her full attention. “How long was it before you started your company?”

“Right out of college. I built Carracell Inc. from the ground up and surrounded myself with a great group of co-workers. That was almost ten years ago, when the cellular business was really starting to boom. Seems I was at the right place at the right time.”

“I imagine you put plenty of hard work into it.”

“Sure. But working at something I love is like taking a vacation every day.”

She sighed. “That’s so neat. Especially that you figured out what you wanted to do and were able to accomplish it while you were young.”

He frowned, realizing she was comparing herself to him. “You’re not exactly old. What are you, twenty-five?”

She laughed. “That’s the nicest compliment I’ve had in a while. I’m thirty-one. And attending college when you’re over thirty can be a humbling, aging experience.”

“Or keep you young at heart.”

“That, too.”

“Can I ask what made you wait to go to college? You seem pretty determined in knowing what you want.”

She shifted against the vinyl seat, scooted her coffee mug back and forth across the crimson tabletop. Then she looked him square in the eye, her chin lifted as though she expected someone to take a jab.

“I ran away from a group home when I was sixteen, which meant dropping out of high school. Since I was on my own, I had to work to support myself. Then I had to get my GED and build up a cushion of funds. I was young and didn’t realize I could work and go to college.”

“It’s a heavy load.”

“But it’ll be worth it.”

He shouldn’t ask about the group home. It was none of his business. But he seemed to have an insatiable need to find out everything about her. And coming from a close, happy family, the idea of not living within that circle of safety was unthinkable.

“This…uh, group home. Was it like a foster family?”

“No.” She twisted the two rings on her middle finger. “I lived in a few of those. Some of them were nice, some of them just okay. The group home was more along the lines of what you’d call an orphanage for kids not yet old enough for emancipation. It was called Helen’s Home. We called it Hell’s Home.”

From the set of her shoulders and the dare in her eyes, it was clear she wouldn’t tolerate pity. And he didn’t intend to give it.

But questions could easily be misconstrued. If he had his way—which he generally did—there would be plenty of time to delve into all the facets of Victoria Meadland.

He also made a mental note to himself to check into this Helen’s Home. If kids were being mistreated there, he had the connections to do something about it. And he would.

“Well, from living in Hell, you’ve definitely evolved into an angel.”

She gave a short laugh. “You’re nuts.”

“About you.”

“Would you stop saying stuff like that?”

“Can’t seem to help it. I take one look at you and the words just tumble out.”

“Did that fancy college also offer a class in smooth lines to use on your dates?”

He reached over and touched her hand, made sure he had her attention. “I don’t give lines, Victoria. You’ll find that my word is my bond. And I don’t use my words, or my promises, lightly.”

Her thumb tentatively touched his finger, then retreated. “What is it you want, Jace?” she asked, her voice so quiet it was a mere puff of breath.

“You.”

She started to shake her head.

“Give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking.”

“I don’t have time for a relationship.”

“You’d be surprised how much time’s available when you schedule it.”

“Between working and school, my schedule’s pretty full.”

“I know. And I don’t intend to stand in your way or keep you from your goals. All I want is some of your time.”

“Jace—”

“You feel it, too, don’t you?”

She took a deep breath, let it out and nodded. There was no coy game-playing. She knew exactly what he was asking.

“Yes. I like you a lot, Jace Carradigne. But you might find out that I’m not what you’re looking for. And in that case, the risk for me is just too great.”

Chapter Two

Vickie had studied until 2:00 a.m., so when her telephone rang at eight-thirty Saturday morning, she wasn’t feeling very civilized.

She reached for the receiver, knocked over the alarm clock she deliberately hadn’t set. “’lo?”

“Did I wake you?”

Adrenaline shot through her, bringing her straight up in the bed. She snatched at the clock, looked at the time, tried like mad to get her brain in gear.

“It’s eight-thirty on Saturday morning, and I’m not exactly what you’d call a lark. What do you think?”

Jace chuckled. “Sorry. I waited as long as I could.”

She settled against the pillows, wondered if she’d remembered to set the automatic brew on the coffee-maker. Sissy, who’d been curled up at the end of the bed, gave a disgusted look at having been disturbed. Vickie leaned forward and scooped the cat into her arms to soothe her.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those disgustingly chipper morning people.”

“Guilty.”

He sounded so happily contrite, she smiled, stroking Sissy’s silky fur. She’d rescued the cat when it had been a mere kitten, incensed that someone could just dump something so beautiful and sweet. Then again, she knew a bit about abandonment. Since she’d always yearned for a sister, she’d named the kitten Sissy. They’d been each other’s stability for three years now.

“What are you wearing right now?”

That caught her off guard, brought her fully awake faster than a pure shot of caffeine straight through an open vein. “None of your business.”

“Let me guess. A little T-shirt and a pair of those comfy shorts.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, then glanced down at her men’s-cut flannel pajamas adorned with little sheep and half moons. “Um, not exactly.”

“Am I close?”

A smart woman would not play this game. Lack of coffee, she told herself, could account for fewer brain cells. “Warm. I’m…comfy.” Her voice softened intimately. “No T-shirt or shorts, though.”

There was a beat of silence. “Oh, man. Don’t tell me you sleep in the buff.”

She grinned, bit her lip. “I wouldn’t dream of telling you such a thing.”

He groaned. “Doesn’t matter. Unfortunately for me, I have a vivid imagination. Now I’ll have to go take a cold shower.”

“You started it. And speaking of which, did you call me at this ungodly hour just to find out what I am, or am not wearing?” She couldn’t believe she was talking to him this way. At one time in her life, this would have been the norm. Flirting had made her feel powerful, especially when a man responded in typical fashion. But she’d changed her ways, put that behind her.

She’d come to realize that the insecure part of her had been starved for affection, and the least bit of positive attention she’d received from the opposite sex had sent her straight into infatuation. An infatuation she’d immaturely mistaken for something deeper.

Thankfully…hopefully she’d wised up. Though her behavior this morning tried to tell a different story.

Still, something about the anonymity of the telephone seemed to bring out the devil-may-care side of her.

“Actually, I called to invite you to breakfast.”

“Is that all you think about? Eating?”

His tone softened, deepened. “No. Not all the time. Lately, I’ve been spending a fair amount of time thinking about that little tattoo on your back.”

She blinked, tried to recall when he might have seen it. It was a tiny bouquet of happy flowers at the small of her back, the one thing left over from her misspent youth that she absolutely loved. Cold weather clothes, though, usually kept it hidden. And she certainly hadn’t peeled up her top for Jace Carradigne.

Clearing her throat, she started to speak, but he cut her off.

“Before you turn me down, breakfast comes with an offer to study. Bring your books and we’ll review together. See? No excuses.”

She glanced through the miniblinds of her apartment window. Outside the day was sunny with only a few high puffy clouds in sight. In the eucalyptus tree, a clever blue jay foraged in the bark for breakfast, bobbing his tail in apparent satisfaction before taking flight.

“I think I’m pretty well prepared for the psych test.”

“Great. Then we’ll eat and go sight-seeing like tourists.”

She couldn’t believe how tempting that sounded. For so long now, her life had consisted of work and school, with little time left for socializing or having fun. Oh, she could have made more time for socializing, but she’d been so focused, so single-minded, as though doing penance.

It suddenly struck her that she was getting tired of atoning. She was on her way toward her goals. Why couldn’t she enjoy the company of an exciting man?

It didn’t have to turn into a sexual thing.

Friendships between opposite sexes were normal and acceptable.

“Actually, I was planning to go bird-watching today,” she said, absently covering Sissy’s ears. Sissy would rather eat a bird than watch it.

“Come again?”

“You heard me.”

“You mean like sit out in the yard and just look?”

“The yard’s good. But I like the park better. Someplace with lots of trees. I was thinking about driving over to Torrey Pines and taking a short hike.”

“To watch the birds,” he repeated.

“It counts for science credits.”

“I see.” He sounded a little deflated, disappointed.

She twisted the phone cord around her finger. Her heart leapt into her throat and pounded. She probably shouldn’t ask, but… “Would, um…do you want to go with me?”

“Sure. I could get into bird-watching.”

He hadn’t even hesitated. She let out a breath, lectured herself not to panic. It wasn’t polite to uninvite. Besides, how much trouble could she get into bird-watching?

“Okay. You can either meet me somewhere or I can stop by and pick you up on my way.”

“I can come for you.”

“Nope. It’s my suggestion. I’ll do the driving.”

“I’ve got to tell you, I’m partial to a woman who likes to take charge.”

“Don’t push your luck, pal.”

He laughed. “Okay. My condo’s over the bridge on Coronado. Got a piece of paper?”

Accidentally dumping Sissy off the bed, she rummaged in the nightstand drawer and came up with a pen and a dog-eared crossword puzzle book. It seemed almost sacrilegious to write down the ritzy address in the margins of a rumpled game magazine, but it was the handiest at the moment.

He gave her several telephone numbers and a gate code, as well as detailed directions that were hardly necessary. She’d taken the ferry across to the lovely seaside suburb of Coronado several times just to soak up the ambiance—to see how the wealthier half of the world lived. So she was familiar with the area.

“See you in about an hour and a half?” she asked.

“I’ll be waiting.”

Hanging up the phone, she glanced down at Sissy, who was staring out of faintly annoyed iridescent blue eyes.

“What? It’s only bird…I mean science studying. There’s no rule that says I can’t invite company.”

Sissy merely licked her silky fur, as though she could see right into Vickie’s soul, feel the giddy butterflies winging in her stomach.

“Just wait until you see him before you take that attitude. Then try to tell me that you could resist.”

WITH THE TOP DOWN on her ten-year-old Chrysler convertible, Vickie drove over the spectacular two-mile bridge that connected Coronado Island to the mainland. Her hair swirled in the breeze and the brisk fall air sneaked beneath her lightweight turtleneck sweater, but she loved the freedom of driving with the top down on a beautiful sunny day.

Against the blue waters of the bay, the Hotel Del Coronado stood like a grand lady with its quirky timber facade of conical towers, cupolas, turrets, balconies and dormer windows. A distant memory flashed—herself as a young girl, watching a classic Marilyn Monroe movie that had been filmed at the hotel.

Caught up in fantasy, as girls on the bud of teenage could, she’d imagined herself right there, strolling through the acres of polished wood and old-fashioned ambiance. She’d have worn diamonds and silk, and been the love of a handsome leading man’s life.

At the time, she’d been living in a foster home in Washington, and California had seemed another world away. Yet, oddly enough, it was this hotel she’d focused on when she and Chet had run away together. They’d ended up only making it as far as Los Angeles. The pull of the hotel, though, the fantasy, had finally gotten her to San Diego…alone and much, much wiser.

She shook away those thoughts, unwilling to dwell on what couldn’t be changed. Definitely unwilling to spoil such a beautiful day.

Navigating the tidily maintained streets, she located Jace’s condo and punched in the gate code. The place was quite impressive, as she’d known it would be. Two stories, built in a Spanish architectural style, it sat right on the beach with a third level observation deck that would no doubt have a clear view to downtown San Diego, Mission Bay and the endless Pacific Ocean beyond.

Bicyclists whizzed down the streets dodging neighbors out for a morning jog and mothers pushing children in strollers. Parked in driveways or open garages were luxury cars and sports cars that cost the earth and made Vickie feel a little self-conscious about parking her dated Chrysler on the same block as them.

Oh, well. The classics were supposed to be an in thing. She got out of the car, breathing in the scent of the sea and fall blooms. Pots of geraniums, mums and fluffy ferns gave the oak and leaded glass entry doors a welcoming aura.

Before she could connect her knuckles with the wood, Jace was opening the door.

“Hi,” he said.

Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth for about three seconds. He wore a white chef’s apron over a pair of jeans and a torso-hugging blue sweater. His dark blond hair was streaked light in places by the sun and sexily mussed—the result of an expensive salon cut rather than lack of a comb.

And his smile…Lord have mercy, it could render a woman speechless. Especially those dimples.

His brows rose. “Do I have spinach in my teeth?”

She snapped out of her trance. “Uh, no. Sorry.”

He laughed. “Come on in.”

“Why are you wearing an apron?” Like a kid gazing at a castle for the very first time, she stared in awe at the high ceilings and chandelier dripping with hundreds of sparkling crystals. A gleaming piano with a mirror-clear ebony surface drew the eye toward the cavernous living room, the wall of glass, the balcony and the sea beyond.

“I invited you to breakfast, remember?”

She finally found her manners and stopped gawking at the house, looking instead at him. “But I thought we changed the plans and decided on the park.”

“Did you already eat?”

“Well, no. But—”

“Then come on in and let me impress you with my skills.”

Now, there was an invitation that ought to make a woman wary.

She followed him across sandstone tiles and up several plush carpeted stairs to a kitchen that also boasted a wall of glass and a clear view of both the city and the sea. At night it would be even more breathtaking.

Acres of granite counters flowed over and around top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances—two of almost everything, she noted. She could probably fit her entire apartment in this one room alone.

“Um, are you trying to impress me?” Good grief, Vickie, stop stammering!

“Actually, yes.”

“Well, at least you’re honest. Can’t say as much for the modesty.”

He waved a spatula at her. “Told you, I’m a take-me-as-I-am kind of guy.”

Yes, and she would love to take him. Because her heart was pumping like mad, she glanced away.

The dining table was set with china and crystal. Orange juice filled goblets and champagne iced in a bucket beside two of the chairs.

Something smelled absolutely wonderful. Arming himself with oven mitts, he bent and removed an egg casserole from the oven. Vickie decided that a man in close-fitting jeans wearing an apron was a dangerous combination for a woman’s heart.

“How in the world did you manage to have this all catered in a little over an hour?”

He took the serving dish to the table, lowered his brows. “If I’d had it catered, do you think I’d be parading around in an apron?”

“Probably. You said you were out to impress me.”

“With my winning skills, woman. I’m a great cook. Mimosa?” he asked, holding the champagne bottle over the goblet of orange juice.

She shook her head. “Not for me. I’m driving.”

“You don’t have to, you know.”

“That was the deal. Besides, I need a clear mind and clear vision to see the birds.”

“Good point.” He put the bottle back on ice and pulled out her chair in a gentlemanly gesture that charmed her. “Breakfast is served.”

She sat and waited while he retrieved a basket of croissants out of a warming oven, and took an icy bowl of fruit out of the fridge.

“Mom and dad, though they were home a lot, had demanding careers,” he said as he put the rest of the meal on the table, shrugged out of his apron, and sat down. “So, I learned to cook. My sister, Kelly, was too wrapped up in her latest invention to be bothered with cooking chores. Besides, I was afraid she’d try some experiment and blow up the kitchen.”

“She sounds fascinating.”

“She’d be stunned to hear herself described as fascinating—although she is. Very much so.” He lifted his juice glass. “Here’s to our second date.”

Vickie had automatically picked up her glass, but hesitated over the toast. “It’s not a date.”

He leaned forward and clinked the edges of the crystal. “Let a guy have his fantasies, will you?”

She chuckled and took a sip of juice. “This really does look fabulous. You didn’t have to cook for me, though.”

“I like to cook. It’s creative and relaxing.”

“That’s a commonality we don’t share.”

“You don’t cook?”

“Sure. I’m an ace with the microwave. If it comes out of the freezer and has instructions on the package, I’m right up there in a class with the Naked Chef.”

“Hmm. I’ve seen that guy’s cooking show on cable and I don’t recall him ever instructing on frozen meals.”

“Maybe I should write in and put it in the suggestion box.”

“Maybe you should just marry me and let me cook for you.”

She choked on a bite of egg and spinach soufflé. Her eyes watering, she gave him a dark look and waited for him to say, “just kidding.” When he didn’t, just sat there and smiled with his lips canted to the left and his dimples winking, she looked away and took a sip of water.

“Has anybody ever accused you of sounding like a broken record?”

“Mmm.” He speared a cube of melon and popped it in his mouth. “Once a competitor got a little nasty at a meeting and said our cell phones sounded like a static-ridden LP album with a scratch etched in the grooves. Does that count?”

She stared at him for a full two seconds. Then she laughed. “Your mother probably spoiled you rotten as a kid, didn’t she?”

“Sure. Doesn’t everyone’s?” The minute he said the words, she could see he wanted to take them back. “Ah, man, Vickie. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault you had parents who kept you.”

“I feel like a jerk.”

“Don’t. I love it when you laugh and clown around. And I’m not sensitive about that area of my life.” Others, perhaps, but she’d come to terms with the abandonment.

“Does it bother you to talk about it?”

She shrugged. “Not much to talk about, really. I never knew who my father was. When I was about five, my mother decided she couldn’t afford me anymore, so she turned me over to the state.”

“When you were five?”

He was so stunned and appalled on her behalf, she wanted to reach across the table and hug him. “Yes. Old enough to remember. That was the unforgivable thing during my growing-up years. She was a drug addict. Had more boyfriends than there were days in the week. Drugs won out over maternal instincts, I guess.”

“Did you ever try to look her up when you were older?”

“Yes. It’s strange how we cling to hope, even when bad things happen to us. I found out that she died two years after she gave me away.”