Sally Carleen - The Prince's Heir

“Mandy,” her grandmother said, “your mother’s right. When Mr. Reynard has a chance to see how happy Joshua is with us and how much we love him, he’ll realize he can’t take him away.”

“It’s the polite thing to do and the smart thing,” her father said firmly. “You’re outvoted, baby doll.”

There was a down side to living with an extended family, Mandy thought grimly. Like being outvoted.

“Fine. I’ll invite him because it’s the polite thing to do and because you all insist, but I don’t think he’ll come.”

Maybe he’d be so embarrassed when he refused that he’d stay away from her family.

It wasn’t much, was pretty lame, actually, but it was the only hope she had at the moment.

Heaven help her and her renegade hormones if he accepted.

Stephan had a restless night. Jet lag. Traveling to a time zone six hours behind his. That’s all it was. His troubled dreams about the Crawford family, Mandy Crawford in particular, were caused by the jet lag.

He rose early, awakening as usual just before dawn as if the energy of the sun was so strong it made sleep impossible and urged him to be up and busy doing things. He showered, dressed and ordered room service, then stared out his window at the Dallas skyline.

Dallas was a big, fast-paced, modern city, the complete opposite of everything in Castile. Lawrence had brought back glowing reports from America and ideas for bringing Castile into the twenty-first century. Though he’d been fascinated with both New York City and Dallas, he’d expressed a decided preference for Dallas. After learning about Alena and the child, Stephan had wondered if Lawrence’s perceptions had been tainted.

Stephan’s own education and travels had focused on the capitals of Europe, and, in spite of Lawrence’s reports, he’d halfway expected to find Dallas uncivilized and overrun with cattle and cowboys. But he had to admit he’d been favorably impressed. The vitality and energy of the city were almost palpable, yet the people, like the Crawfords, were polite and friendly.

He certainly hadn’t expected to like the Crawfords. The Taggarts had described their socio-economic status as “low class,” “dead broke,” “the whole family living in a run-down old house.” He hadn’t liked or trusted the Taggarts when they’d traveled to Castile for an interview with the king after their claim had proven accurate. He hadn’t been sure how much to believe of their analysis of the situation concerning the Crawfords. Nevertheless, he had fully expected to find Lawrence’s son living in squalor.

He’d been prepared to march in boldly, demand a DNA test from people who would, the Taggarts assured him, be only too happy to relinquish the infant prince into his custody in exchange for a sizable deposit in their bank account. He had certainly not been prepared for the immaculate old house or for the cultured, well-mannered Crawford family who obviously adored Lawrence’s son.

And nothing could have prepared him for Mandy Crawford.

This matter, which should have been simple and easily resolved, had become quite complicated.

He turned away from the window, folded his arms and took in a deep breath. If he was completely honest with himself, he’d have to admit that it wasn’t the jet lag at all that had kept him awake most of the night. It was the situation he’d unexpectedly come into. Specifically, it was one tall, slender woman with wild red hair, flashing green eyes and a burning passion that seemed to extend to everything around her, a woman he’d touched briefly when he’d thought she was going to faint, then been inches away from when she’d gotten in his face to warn him to leave her son alone, a woman who stayed in his mind far more vividly than any of the women he had touched much more intimately through the years.

The phone rang and he knew it was Mandy, as if his thoughts of her could have compelled her to call...or as if her thoughts of calling him, of picking up the phone, of thinking about what she might say to him, were so strong, so passionate, that they reached across the miles.

He snatched up the phone on the first ring, then, irritated at his own eagerness, answered with a crisp “Hello.”

“Stephan Reynard?” Mandy spoke crisply also, but still her soft voice reminded him of the way the wind had breathed through the leaves of the big trees at her house yesterday.

“Speaking,” he replied, ignoring his fanciful thoughts.

“This is Mandy Crawford.”

“I know.”

“We need to talk.”

“Yes, we do.”

“When would be convenient for you?”

“I’m at your disposal.”

“Good. That means we can work around my schedule.” Her tone was confrontational, but Stephan found himself smiling. Texas women were definitely different from any he’d known before. Or maybe it was just that Mandy Crawford was different from anyone he’d known before.

“I’ll be delighted to work around your schedule. What time is convenient for you?”

“How about two o’clock in the lobby of your hotel?”

It was a good choice for him, his turf rather than hers, and it was air-conditioned. After experiencing the Texas heat yesterday, that was most definitely a positive aspect. Yet he felt a vague disappointment that he wouldn’t be returning to the hot, stuffy old house overrun with the Crawford family.

“Two o’clock is fine. The restaurant here is quite good. Will you join me for a late lunch?”

“My family and I eat lunch together after we get home from church.”

Stephan flinched. That comment put him in his place, let him know that he had no part in her family, including any part in the child’s life. He could almost see her as she spoke, her chin tilted upward, eyes glowing with righteous fervor. He supposed he should find her defiance upsetting or, at best, amusing, but somehow he didn’t. Somehow he found it admirable and endearing.

“I’ll see you at two,” he agreed.

He hung up the phone, somehow reluctant to break the connection even as he was a little aghast at how much he was looking forward to seeing her again. This was purely business, of course. He would not—could not—become personally involved to any degree. That sort of thing only caused problems. He’d always known that, been taught that from the cradle, and Lawrence’s fiasco certainly proved it.

He couldn’t avoid seeing Mandy Crawford again, but he could stop himself from looking forward to it. He knew how to control his emotions.

Mandy stood in the elegant lobby of the hotel, tapping her foot on the marble floor. Two o’clock and no prince. She’d give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe his watch was slow. Maybe they didn’t value punctuality in Castile. But five more minutes and she was out of there.

If he couldn’t even be on time, that surely showed he wasn’t all that interested in Josh. Or maybe it just showed his complete disrespect for her and her family. After all, they weren’t royalty, not even by the American standards of wealth and success. But they were a family, and that counted for more. If he mesasured them differently, then he was using the wrong standards.

“Ms. Crawford. How nice to see you again.”

She whirled at the deep, mellow sound of his voice, the rounded, elegant intonation of his words with that underlying hint of uncivilized ancestry.

And somehow all her righteous anger melted in the depths of his eyes and the width of his smile.

“You’re late,” she snapped, irritated at herself, and taking it out on him. Why not? He was the cause of her problems, wasn’t he?

He glanced at his gold watch then arched a dark eyebrow. “One minute.”

“Oh. Well.” She shifted her shoulder bag.

“Would you join me in a cup of tea? As I mentioned, the restaurant is quite nice.”

“Yes, thank you. That would be...nice.”

He extended one hand in the direction she should go, then placed the other in the vicinity of her waist, almost but not quite touching. She sucked in a quick breath. He might as well be touching her. She could feel the pulsating, vibrant heat from his hand through her cotton dress, and it was all she could do to refrain from letting that heat pull her to him, to lean slightly backward and feel his hand on her body.

She was being ridiculous again, letting her hormones control her brain, take over her imagination.

She walked faster, marching past the huge columns and into the restaurant that would have made Julius Caesar and his cronies feel right at home. A glass wall on one side looked onto a pool surrounded by lush vegetation. Quite nice was a gross understatement

Mandy experienced a single, quick stab of anxiety that she was completely out of her element, in over her head. Without any overt effort, this man compelled her. He was a prince, born to rule. He had money and power. He was right at home in luxurious surroundings like this hotel. He was dangerous.

She sank into the chair the waiter held for her and gave herself a mental slap. She couldn’t afford to lose her perspective. This man had money and power, but she had family and love. He was in over his head.

She started to order a glass of iced tea, then changed it to a cup of hot, the same as Stephan requested.

“Hot sounds good,” she said after the waiter left. “It’s chilly in here.” She rubbed the goose bumps that covered her bare arms. The sleeveless summer dress she’d worn to church was not adequate for the frigid air of the hotel. Stephan, of course, wore a dark suit, white, long-sleeved shirt and a tie, just as he had the day before and probably the day before that. Maybe he even slept in them.

No....

Sitting across from him, surrounded by pompous elegance, she was again struck by the intense savagery that seemed to lie just beneath his cultured veneer. With a clarity she didn’t want, she knew this man slept in the nude.

She folded her hands on the white tablecloth, shoved aside that image and prepared to launch into battle. “Well, Mr. Reynard, or should I call you Your Highness or maybe just Prince?” She bit back a nervous giggle at that thought. Yo, Prince! Sit, Prince! Stay, Prince! Good boy!

He smiled. “Prince? The name you reserve for your dog? I’m flattered. But I insist you call me Stephan. Your country isn’t as formal as mine.”

“Oh, are we playing by my country’s rules?”

“I think that’s appropriate considering we’re in your country.”

“Good. My country doesn’t recognize royalty. Josh was born in this country, to an American citizen. That means he’s an American, and by our rules, he can’t be a prince. That should settle our differences.”

He smiled again and inclined his head in a slight bow. “Touché. Legally speaking, I’m sure you’re correct. Nevertheless, Lawrence’s son is the heir to the throne of my country.”

“So? You never did answer my question. What do you want? Do you think I’m going to just turn him over to you, let you take my son...and he is my son under the laws of my country...let you take him thousands of miles away, raise him in a style his biological father hated? Ruin his life?”

“When I first scheduled this trip over here,” he said, his voice quiet and noncommittal, “I had planned to return with Lawrence’s son—”

“Stop calling him that,” she interrupted. “He’s not just your brother’s son. He’s a person. He has a name. Joshua.”

“Of course,” he acceded. “I had planned to return with Joshua so that he could be raised in the palace and trained for the duties he will one day undertake.”

“Your mom and dad anxious to meet their grandson, are they?” she asked sarcastically.