Buch lesen: «Lone Star Prince»

Prologue

September 5th, 2:00 a.m.

Somewhere over the Atlantic

Hollywood couldn’t have staged a more dicey plot An evil prince. A beautiful princess in his clutches. A midnight rescue by an ex-marine and ex-lover, charging in to save the day.

Trouble was, this wasn’t Hollywood. It was all too real, and as Greg Hunt stared grimly across the cabin of the private jet bound for the States, he hadn’t yet decided if he was the hero or the chump in this little melodrama.

The woman gazing vacantly out the window of the starboard side of the aircraft was exhausted, but still, her bearing was regal, her posture erect.

Four years ago when Greg had first met her she’d been beautiful. There was no denying, she was beautiful still. Yet Princess Anna von Oberland, loved by the paparazzi, adored by the masses, had been robbed of the wide-eyed innocence that had struck him as both intriguing and irresistible those many years ago. A haunted, hunted edge had painted pale violet smudges beneath her summer-green eyes, drawn fine lines of tension around a smile that was forced and shallow and reserved only for the child sleeping at her side. Her silk and velvet voice, with its honeyed, husky resonance, spoke of lost summers and faded dreams and hinted of her European lineage only when she was exhausted. Like now.

Shifting uneasily, Greg took his own turn staring out the window into the blackness of night at thirty-one thousand feet. He tried to divorce himself from an unrelenting need to hold her. Seeing her like this—seeing her again—had brought back feelings he’d thought were dead and buried. And while he was relieved she had turned to him for help—was prepared to do whatever it took to protect her—he was also determined not to let her or her solemn-eyed little boy breach the wall he’d built around his emotions when she’d walked away from him four years ago.

Determined, but unfortunately, not one hundred percent successful, he admitted grudgingly. Against all resolve, his mind wandered back to the summer night they’d first met. He’d been a marine on his last tour of duty and then had to return to Texas to take his place -as heir apparent to the Hunt dynasty. On leave in the little European principality of Obersbourg, he’d been taken in completely by the guileless little peasant girl whose eyes had been only for him. He hadn’t known she’d been a princess on the run from her family, her obligations and the stark reality of her position in life—just as she hadn’t known he was anything but a lowly marine.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that their eyes had met, locked, held across a street full of dancers in the plaza. A lifetime since they’d woven their way unerringly through the crowd and into each other’s arms. Since they’d danced. Fallen in love. Made love. And when her true identity had come out, they parted.

He quickly checked the memory. There was no point hashing over that again. It had been four years. He’d put it all behind him—at least he had until he’d received her transatlantic call last week and the panicked sound of her voice had brought it all back like it was yesterday.

“Gregory. I need you. Please come. Please... come.”

So he had. With the backing of Texas billionaire Hank Langley—and Langley’s Avenger, a Hunt Industries aircraft—the able assistance of Sterling Churchill and Forrest Cunningham, all members of Langley’s Texas Cattleman’s Club, they’d smuggled the princess and her son out from under the Obersbourg royal guard not three hours ago. All ex-military men, they had created the Alpha team to tackle this mission.

He scrubbed the back of his knuckles absently against the stubble on his jaw and stared broodily into the dark. As corporate counsel for Hunt Industries and CEO of several companies under the Hunt umbrella, he’d had plenty of work to keep him busy. So he was damned if he knew why he’d been so ready to let himself get wrapped up in her life again. He only knew that this time, it wasn’t by chance. This time there was more at stake than reckless hearts and stolen moments. He didn’t have all the details sorted out, but he knew that Anna’s sister, Sara, and Sara’s lover were dead, the victims of a mysterious car crash. Sara’s infant twins were in the physical custody of Ivan Striksky, the playboy prince of Asterland, who was holding them the equivalent of political hostages as part of a plot to force Anna to marry him. And Greg, it seemed, had been cast in the role of white knight.

White knight, hell, he thought as the hushed whispers of Churchill and Cunningham—men he’d been glad to have guarding his back—drifted from the aft end of the Avenger. This little caper had international incident written all over it. It was going to take a damn sight more than his law degree to smooth some very ruffled, very royal European feathers when this thing broke wide open and the King and Queen of Obersbourg discovered their golden goose was missing.

He stretched his long legs out in front of him, figuring he’d deal with it when it happened. In the meantime, the only part he had left to play in this little scenario was to see Anna safely to the States. She was a resourceful woman; she’d figure out where to go from there. All he needed to do was get on with his life—and quit thinking about why this woman, above all women, could mess up his head in more ways than he could catalog or name.

William stirred in his sleep. Making a protective shield of her body, Anna folded him closer to her side. Her reaction was instinctive though, at the moment, unnecessary. There was no threat here. Not in this jet with Gregory. At least there was no physical threat. Uncertainty, however, was still an ugly reality. For her it was too real and too chilling even though, for the time being, they were safe from Ivan. And they were free from her parents, who had been willing to sacrifice her and, ultimately, William to Ivan in exchange for a financial bailout to save Obersbourg’s sovereignty.

William cried out, startling her out of her thoughts. His small voice was a panicked, frightened mew in the humming silence of the pressurized cabin.

“Shh, baby. Momma’s here.” Small for his age, William was often mistaken for a year younger than the precious age of four he would turn on his next birthday. She scooped him onto her lap, cradled his face to her breast, murmured in soothing tones. “It’s okay. Momma’s here.”

She pressed her lips to the top of his head, then laid her cheek there as he drifted back to sleep.

“Is he okay?” Gregory’s deep voice was a soft rumble of concern.

She nodded, wanting to assure him as much as herself. Enfolding William in security and warmth, she gained her own small measure of comfort from the solid pressure of his little compact body snuggled against her. “He’s fine. This has all just been a little frightening for him.”

Although he held his silence, Anna could feel Gregory’s dark gaze on her, then on William. She could sense the questions she knew he would ask. And she prayed for the answers that would satisfy him, asked forgiveness for the lies her lack of courage would force her to tell.

“Where’s his father, Anna? Why was it me you called and not him?”

His question was sharp and direct, fitting since this was the moment that had been looming in the shadows of all else that had happened. She’d been bracing for it, had carefully concocted the lie, woven it ruthlessly around the truth.

“He’s never been a part of William’s life,” she said, then slowed her words, shook off the accent only her nerves and fatigue had allowed to slip into her speech. “What his father and I shared...” Purposefully, she let the thought trail off, gave a small shrug, an invitation for him to draw his own conclusions. “I... I had hoped for more.”

“He abandoned you?” A swift, dangerous anger underscored each word.

“No,” she said quickly. “Oh, no. Not abandoned. Let’s...let’s just leave it at it wasn’t meant to be.”

In the darkness, she sensed Gregory’s gaze drift over William, studying his dark brown hair, his slight little frame, picturing, perhaps, his Mediterranean-blue eyes.

“I’m so sorry to have involved you in this, Gregory,” she said abruptly, speared by a piercing need to steer the attention away from William. “I...I didn’t know where else to turn.”

“I told you...” His voice was soft, even if his eyes were hard. “I told you that if you ever needed me I’d be there for you.”

Yes. Yes, he had told her, and even four years later, she’d known she could count on him. After all, it was his strength that had drawn her to him in the beginning—his strength and his earthy, middle class charm. At least she’d thought then that he was just a working man. It wasn’t until last year that she’d seen an article on Hunt Industries and realized that Gregory was the equivalent of American royalty. The irony was so very hard to accept.

She’d been feeling the burden of her position, of centuries of tradition, of familial obligations that fateful summer. In one of her rare acts of rebellion, she’d disguised herself as a village girl and escaped it all for a few hours to get lost in the fantasy atmosphere of the summer street festival—and ended up spending four glorious days and nights with Gregory. She’d given in completely to her instant and overpowering love for the exciting, fun-loving American who not only showed her a glimpse of a freedom she’d never known but also introduced her to true passion and the one great love of her life.

He’d been so...so American. Strong. Vital. So guilelessly arrogant in his self-confidence, utterly charming for his lack of pretense. And so beautiful. In his close-cropped military haircut, his crisply creased olive drabs that hugged his rugged body and showcased the breadth and the depth of the man within, he’d made her fall fast and hard. Though he could never know it, she’d also fallen forever.

A vivid memory of the day they parted hit her with a startling sense of presence. She remembered every pulse beat of that day, recalled with a sharp twist to her heart the moment she’d told him the truth about who she was, and why they couldn’t be together. Angry, he’d scribbled his phone number across an American dollar bill and pressed it into her hand. His blue eyes had been stormy, his jaw set in anger and pride. “If you ever need anything, call this number.”

In the diluted cabin light, she searched his eyes for any sign of the passion that had flared between them then. She saw only a sense of duty, a cold stare of indifference. Yet he had kept his promise. He had come for her. Tears stung her eyes, tightened her throat. If only someone could have been there to save Sara.

Sara was dead and now the twins were lost to Anna, too.

“Sara’s babies,” she murmured, suddenly overwhelmed by feelings of helplessness and cowardice, her fear for them equaled only by her sense of failure. “I shouldn’t have left without them.”

“Anna...there was no way we could get them out this trip. We cut it too close as it was. I promise you, the Alpha team made plans for my brother, Blake, to rescue them.”

She blinked back the moisture matting her lashes, knowing she was weak for wanting to believe him. Just as he was strong—as she’d known only he could be strong.

“You trusted me to come for you.” His tone forced her to focus on him, on now. When she did, his eyes restated his words as a question that demanded an answer.

She nodded. Yes. She had trusted him.

“Then trust me one more time. Blake will find them. He’ll bring them to you.”

Clinging to the strength of his conviction, she let her head drop back against the headrest, made herself draw a calming breath. Distancing herself from her fear for the babies, she smoothed a tuft of downy fine hair from William’s brow. “You never bargained for this. And I never dreamed I’d have to call on you someday. How can I ever thank you?”

“Level with me,” he said, point-blank, and her heart skipped several beats. “Tell me everything...everything so I can help get you out of this mess.”

Everything. She turned her head away. He deserved to know everything. She couldn’t give him what he deserved. Not now. She enfolded William closer to her side. Maybe not ever. But he was right. If she was going to survive this, if she was to escape Ivan’s far-reaching power and undermine his plans, she had to tell him something. Enough, at least, to keep William safe and keep her from becoming Ivan’s wife and political pawn for the rest of her life.

Aware suddenly that Gregory was speaking to her again, she turned to him, tried to clear her head.

“Why don’t you rest, Anna.” He offered the suggestion with a gentleness that was almost her undoing, as if he sensed she simply couldn’t handle anymore tonight. “You’re exhausted. Try to get some sleep. We’ll sort this all out after we land and get the two of you settled.”

She was too relieved with the reprieve to do anything but thank him again. And to ask the inevitable question.

“Where are we going?”

For the first time since he’d stolen her and William from their quarters in the west wing of Obersbourg Palace, he smiled. “Why, we’re going home, sugar.” A very slow, very deliberate western drawl had slipped into his voice like warm honey. “My home. West Texas.”

Texas. Arid plains, wide open spaces. Cowboys. She remembered his words from that summer when he’d talked about his home with such pride. Miles and miles of nothing but sky. And oil wells. Lots of oil wells.

It sounded like a good place to hide. It sounded like a good place to heal. Carefully, she offered her own smile. “I’ve always wanted to see a cowboy.”

His eyes softened a fraction. “Well that works out just fine then, because I reckon there’re a few cowboys who will be pleased as punch to see you, too.”

While his words were meant to lighten the mood and ease her tension, they had the opposite effect.

“Don’t worry, Anna.”

She met his eyes. Saw again that he had sensed her concern.

“No one in town will know who you are, much less recognize you. We’ve seen to that.”

He seemed both satisfied and sure—and, unaccountably, amused by a prospect he chose not to share with her.

That was fair, she decided. She had her secret. She’d let him have his. For now it was enough to know she was free of Ivan. At least for the moment. And the moment was what she needed most.

It wasn’t over. It might never be over. But she had breathing room now. And she had time. Time to regroup, to assess, to think of a way to save her country without sacrificing her son and herself in the process. Until she accomplished that, she had to believe in Gregory to keep her safe and bring her Sara’s babies.

Exhausted, she finally let the fatigue overtake her. With William safe for the moment and snug by her side, she let her eyes drift close, let months of tension ease from her body and finally gave in to the haven of sleep.

Greg sensed the moment the nervous energy that had fueled Anna hit empty. In the darkness he watched her drift into an embracing sleep. He still didn’t know what had prompted her to turn to him. Couldn’t entertain even a guess—or didn’t want to—because all the explanations started with that long ago summer and ended with the wanting to pick up where they’d left off. The one thing he was sure of in all of this mess was that he couldn’t let that happen. He was wiser now and he’d be damned if he’d let her break through his defenses again.

Yet he couldn’t stop himself from taking stock of her classic beauty as she slept—the porcelain complexion, long blond hair, gently winged brows, wide-set eyes, regally sculpted cheekbones—and feel a hard knot of yearning tighten in his gut. He checked it as abruptly as it started. Obviously, she hadn’t lost sleep over their parting. The child at her side was the proof of that. More to the point, it drove home one indisputable fact: she hadn’t wasted any time moving from his bed to another.

A part of him would like to hate her for that. He didn’t have it in him. Just like he didn’t have it in him to love her. Not again. Not even in the face of the danger she was in. Not even in the face of the temptation.

He looked away. For the last time, there was no reason to go there. She was as out of bounds now as she’d been then. Only now, he was wise enough to know up front where the boundaries began. More importantly, he knew where they ended. And he no longer needed her to spell it out for him. She, after all, was a princess. And as she’d so convincingly implied four years ago, he was no prince.

What he was, he acknowledged with a grim set to his mouth, was a sucker for a damsel in distress. What he would be, he assured himself as he looked away from the tumble of blond hair framing her face, was damn glad when this blew over and Her Royal Highness jetsetted out of his life again and got back to the one she’d been born and bred to live.