Some Like It Scandalous, page 5
He ignored the snide mental voice taunting him.
“Pissing her off is not going to get you back into her bed.” Richard poured a couple of drinks and glanced over at the table. The others wrapped it up, rising and shaking Anna’s hand one at a time. “You have to tell her, you know.”
“I know.” Impatient at the advice, he blew out a breath. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her.
“All right, we’re going to get out of here. Call me if you need someone to punch you out of another bad idea.” He pressed the drinks into Armand’s hands. “Do both of you a favor, and give her this before you tell her. It might dull the shock.”
Richard strode across the room and ushered the others out. Anna didn’t spare him more than a polite nod. When the door closed, Armand walked over and held the drink out to her.
She shot him a doubtful look. “It’s barely lunchtime. A little early for that, don’t you think?”
“No. We need to talk.”
“I think we’ve said enough today, Your Highness.” She continued packing her papers back into the briefcase. “I also think I have enough to complete the grant application—so we won’t need the whole week.”
“Anna. I screwed up. I did something stupid and impulsive and now you’re coping with the backlash from that. I’m sorry.” Endangering her had never been his intention, he’d simply wanted to see her again.
She went still. He worried for a moment that she hadn’t heard him. “Thank you.” She swallowed. “And—it’s okay. It will blow over.”
Her easy acceptance startled him. “No. That’s why I am sorry—it won’t be as easy as that.”
“Your—” Her lips compressed and she blew out a breath. “Armand, it’ll be fine. Sure they’re hungry for a story now, but if we don’t give them anything more, it will go away. I’ve seen you do it any number of times over the years.”
Warmth bloomed in his chest. She’d watched him, kept up with him over the years. He wanted to hold on to that thought before regret and reality crashed in on them.
And she’d said his name.
“This is different.” He set the drinks down on the table and put his hands on the back of a chair. “You’re different.”
“Yeah, I’m not actually sleeping with you.” She straightened another set of papers, started to slide them in the case. “Do you want a copy of these notes?”
Her hands trembled, but she moved another stack of papers to the side and wiped a palm against her slacks. He made her nervous. He let go of the chair—laid a hand over hers. “Anna…I need you to listen to me.”
She didn’t jerk away.
Small step, but he would take it.
“I am listening to you. I can walk and chew gum at the same time.” She gave his hand a light smack and he let her go, the gesture so familiar it made his heart hurt. No one ever slapped his hands—not like she did.
Powering down her laptop and packing it was her last step. He waited until she was done, enjoying watching her. Tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, she looked up at him. “I’m still listening, but you’re not saying anything.”
“What would you say if I asked you to stay here in the penthouse—for a few days?” He hedged his bets. Maybe she would agree.
And maybe purple porcines will stand up and claim the world for Orwell.
“I’d ask you what year you thought it was.” The droll response was so her, he couldn’t help but smile. Unfortunately, none of this was funny.
“I know it’s only been a few hours since the story broke, but… My security intercepted a very credible threat. It’s become something of a problem in the past few months for the family.” He could broach the most difficult of topics with oil barons, kings, and presidents—why did he struggle so when talking to her?
“I’m sorry to hear that.” The kindness in her expression spoke volumes about her character. She may not even be aware of just how rare it was to feel compassion amid outrage and anger—anger he wholly deserved. “But I hardly see why that leads to that invitation.”
“It’s not an invitation.” He braced himself for the oncoming storm. She would not like his next words. “In fact, that was a polite way of telling you that you need to stay here for a few days. The tower is very secure. We have security in the lobby, in the parking garage and on three floors below us. No one comes up to this level without security in attendance—”
She held up a palm. “You’re babbling. I understand the security. I saw them and appreciated you sending your men to pick me up. But I’m not staying here.”
“Yes. You are.” He circled the table and caught her before she could pull away from him. She curled her hands into little fists, but he held them gently. “Anna, the threats against my family have increased in the last few months. This morning we received one for you.”
“I’m sorry, what?” She blinked. “What are you talking about?”
Armand sighed. He wanted to keep holding her hands, forget the ugly reality that had become his life and tug her over to the sofa and sit down. He wanted to pull her in his lap and interrogate her. Hear about the last ten years—talk like they used to. He wanted that and more—but not at the cost of a knife to her throat.
“Sit down? Talk to me awhile and I will explain everything, I promise.”
“No. No.” She pulled away from him. “Look, this is an impossible situation and I’ve tried to be professional and mature and adult. But you’re taking this too far—we’re not together. We’re not getting back together and ACE can chat it up all they like, but the difference between fantasy and reality is that happily ever after exists in novels and this is not one.”
Easing her into this wasn’t an option. “Five.”
She blinked. “Five what?”
“Five attempts. In the last six months, there have been five assassination attempts on members of the immediate family. Two car bombings, one aborted shooting and a poisoning.”
All the color in her cheeks fled. “That’s four…”
“The fifth was a little more personal. A knife attack. Sebastian is still recovering.”
Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She sat abruptly and he pulled out a chair, turning it so he could sit facing her.
“How close?” She swallowed. “You said you and your family—how many of those were you? And why hasn’t it been in the news?”
“Security keeps events like these quiet. It prevents copycat attacks for news coverage. I wouldn’t even tell you—because it shouldn’t have affected you until I was a complete idiot. And for that you have my deepest, most profound apologies. I wanted… Well, it doesn’t matter what I wanted. I didn’t intend for our meeting to become gossip fodder and it leaked anyway.” He botched this whole thing. Richard was right to call him an idiot. The press watched every single move he’d made—particularly after Alyx’s arrival on the scene.
“I’m sorry that I’ve drawn more attention to you in Los Angeles.” Was she seriously apologizing for his mistake?
Releasing one hand, he raked his fingers through his hair. “Anna, this morning’s threat was against you.”
“That’s ridiculous—I’m not a member of your family and…” She blinked slowly and leaned back in the chair, pulling free of him. “The story broke this morning. And you got a threat about me this morning. Isn’t that a little convenient, Your Highness?”
“Convenient? Not at all. Terrifying? Absolutely. I painted a target on you by demanding you meet with me and until I can get that target off, I need you to be here where we can protect you.” He reached for his drink and tossed it back.
She snorted. “This isn’t a very funny joke.”
“It’s not a joke.” He didn’t want to have to show her the threat, but if that was what it took to convince her… One selfish, stupidly impulsive moment and he put her right in the crosshairs. He should have left her alone.
“You’re being ridiculous.” She didn’t believe him. Why should she? In walking away, she’d never been subjected to his life—his real one. Rising, he picked up his phone and sent a text to Peterson. Anna said nothing as he paced away from her. One minute stretched into three… A knock at the door announced his security chief’s arrival.
“Your Highness, Miss Novak.” Entering without formality, Peterson crossed the room to set a folder down on the table. “These were sent from an email address that has since been shut down. All IP traces have proven unsuccessful so far.”
He set out the first note—a printout with a very direct message.
Anna Novak made the wrong choice. The Andraste name must die with this generation, it has lived on too long.
The signature—a coffin draped in his family’s royal coat of arms—had left him cold. The words, the boldness of the threat to include Anna, stoked the fury in his soul.
“It’s a note that’s kind of vague.” Despite the lightness of her words, Anna had gone pale as she read. “And you said it came from a spoofed email address—maybe it’s a prank.”
Peterson glanced at him, seeking his permission to continue. Armand nodded. She had to understand it wasn’t a joke, it wasn’t some foolish trick or desperate attempt to get attention.
The person or persons behind the escalating threats had delivered on every single one they had sent.
Flipping over the sheet of paper with the note, Peterson revealed three photographs. He set them out on the table one at a time.
They were all of Anna. The third one, Armand had recognized immediately—it showed her leaving the tower the day before, her expression cool and her eyes fierce.
Anna stood and looked down at the pictures. “This one was yesterday.” But the third photo didn’t hold her attention—it was the first two. The same two that twisted Armand up inside. “These are from college…”
“They know who you are, Anna.” He had no idea how they’d found those two pictures, but the timing was too tight. Too close. They had to have them from research or another source. The value in the clue also highlighted the very real threat.
“Miss Novak, we’ve received threats like these before. They don’t have to be specific to be interpreted for the danger they are. Someone, or several someones, want the family line to end. The renewed acquaintance between you and His Highness poses a threat to these individuals. We deem it a very credible threat.” Peterson had held back the final photo.
“So the gossip channel was already talking about us, whoever these people are probably got the pictures from some anonymous source at the school…” She grasped at straws.
As much as he would like to leave her peace of mind intact, he had to make her understand.
“Peterson, leave us.” He would handle the last photo without an audience. The man left without another word.
Anna frowned, the line between her eyes going tight. That she had a headache didn’t surprise him.
He gathered together the photos and the note and put them back into the first folder. Flipping open the second, he slid it across to her.
The photo had been taken from inside her house, while she was asleep in her bed.
Her knees gave out. Armand caught her and helped her into the chair. “Breathe,” he ordered, cupping the back of her neck and rubbing his thumb over the wild beat of her pulse. “Breathe.”
“They were in my house…” The words came out in a rush.
“I know.” Fury bloomed anew in his chest. They’d been in the same room with her while she’d been alone, asleep, and vulnerable.
It was unacceptable to every part of him.
“I can’t believe this.” She pressed her hands together in front of her face and laughed a sound so hollow it bordered on sadness. “I mean, I take a job working on a scholarship fund and now my name is tabloid fodder and I have a death threat and a stalker. Wow. Have I mentioned just how not good it is to see you again?”
The verbal jab went straight to his heart. “I’m sorry, Anna. Let me try to fix this. I will fix this.”
“And do what? Make an announcement? Tell everyone no, we’re not together? I wasn’t born yesterday. I know that the more you feed the press a denial—especially a denial—it will just make them hungrier.” It was her turn to rub her face and her eyes gleamed with suspicious dampness, twisting the knife further in his heart. “I can’t believe this.”
“I know.” If only regret could change the past—well, if it could do that, neither of them would be sitting here right now.
Her gaze returned to the last image, again and again, until Armand flipped the folder closed. But she hadn’t pulled away from him, and he continued to massage her neck. The taut bunch of her muscles loosened with each caress.
How desperately he wanted to make it all go away. If he could take back that meeting— God, I would. I wanted to see her again, but not like this. He glanced at the glass he’d poured for her. “Do you want that drink now?”
She followed his look, then stood before he could and picked it up. She tossed it back with the same fervor he had. He smiled a little. She licked her lips and his brain locked on the action. “I can’t stay here, that’s the same as admitting to the press that their information on your indiscretion has some basis in fact.”
“I don’t really give a damn what the press has to say on the subject.” The truth of their predicament seemed to be eluding her. “They can speculate I sleep with sheep. It’s the threat against you that’s the problem.”
“But if the press lets it go…” She was reaching and he wanted to let her hold on to that naïve idea.
He really did.
“Fanatics don’t care about press reports unless it reinforces their beliefs. You’re a target because I care and I can lie myself blue in the face to the press, but the simple fact is, if anything happened to you, I wouldn’t forgive myself. So you can hate me and you can be angry with me… Until we sort this out, you are staying here, Anna, and end of discussion.”
She sank back onto the chair. “So speaks the prince royal—”
Dammit. He’d had more than enough of that attitude. Letting go of his patience, he grabbed her chair and jerked it toward him, launching her forward into his arms. His mouth slanted across hers and their lips fused. She came to rest against his chest, half on his lap, with his legs bracketing hers. She froze, but when he massaged her lips, her mouth opened. Her fingers curled against the fabric. Then she kissed him back, her tongue tangling with his, and he was home.
The last light of reason went out in his head.
Chapter 5
Anna
Her breath hitched in her throat. He grabbed her chair and jerked her forward. She all but fell against his chest, the last thing she saw was the anger flaming in his eyes. Her protest died unspoken when he dipped his head and claimed her mouth. She planted her hands on his chest, intending to shove him away, but her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, her anger dissolving beneath the passion in his kiss.
This is Charlie…
The thought floated, disconnected, above the surge of emotion. Her blood went hot, blazing through the wild fever of her temper. Irritation—with herself, with him, with the whole damn situation—melted under the assault of his lips. But no matter the quiet fury in his eyes, his kiss was gentle, possessive, and utterly disarming. His lips glided over hers—tentative, remembering—and when her mouth opened, his tongue slid into stroke against hers.
Oh God. No one tasted as good as Charlie did. Nothing battered right through the years of hurt, regret, and loneliness like the soft, wet kiss of his lips and the warm glide of his hands slipping down her body. She wasn’t in the chair anymore. He dragged her across until she sat on his lap, lost in the sweet surrender of being close to him.
He sucked on her tongue and heat unfurled like a great sail snapping open to catch the wild wind. Her heart beat so fast it had to be trying to escape. When he released her lips to kiss down the side of her neck, she moaned.
The essence of them—the quick passion, the fury of it taking them—it was all there. It didn’t matter who reached for whom, or where they were. The world disintegrated, falling away to leave only them. His teeth grazed the pulse point in her throat and she slid her hands up into that dark tumble of hair. Soft and silky—just like she remembered it. Memory and reality crashed together, dragging her beneath the riptide.
Her nipples strained against the bra, the fabric rasping against their sensitive tips. Dear God, she wanted him. She needed him. She’d told herself for ten years she didn’t—she lied to herself and let the lie keep her warm at night, but the icy chill of their long separation exploded. She dug her nails in, impatient with their clothes.
He pulled away and nudged her back to her own chair.
It was so fast, her head spun, and she couldn’t catch her breath. She opened her eyes and tried to hold on to him, but he left her, shoving his chair back and rising before she could catch his hands. His eyes were black—the pupil having swallowed the iris—and they were intense with desire.
“Charlie…”
He shook his head and circled away from the table, raking his fingers through disheveled hair. “My apologies—I didn’t mean to maul you that way.”
Why wouldn’t he look at her?
“Please, stay here. Security has orders to keep you in the building if necessary.” His husky voice betrayed no quiver. “I’ll—excuse me. I’ll be with you in a few moments.”
And then he was gone.
Touching two fingers to her lips, she stifled the scream of frustration welling up. What the hell had she been thinking? She’d spent the whole morning fuming mad at him—then one kiss and she was ready to get naked?
I am in so much trouble…
“If you’re not together, why are you staying in his penthouse?” Penny demanded over the phone. Anna should never have told her little sister that she would be staying with Armand. For that matter, she shouldn’t have agreed at all. Particularly since his few minutes turned into hours—he simply didn’t return. She sat at the table like an idiot for over forty-five minutes. When she went in search of him, she’d discovered he’d left the apartment through another entrance.
