To Catch a Princess (Entangled Ignite) Page 8

  Motioning between them with a perfectly manicured finger, she said, “We both have responsibilities, neither of us wants to end up in the papers, and there’s so much work to do to—”

  He laid his lips across hers, silencing her. The kiss was gentle at first, exploring.

  Her lips were so smooth beneath his. So mobile. She sighed in surrender and moved her mouth against his, accepting his invitation. Over and over they kissed until she shifted closer and her soft, lush breasts pressed against his chest, and her flat belly brushed across his growing erection.

  He urged her to stillness, afraid he couldn’t resist the temptation of her body. Opening his mouth, he groaned as she shyly slipped her tongue inside and danced it together with his until they were both shaking with need.

  Wrapping an arm around her waist, he drew her tighter, but a second later, the chirp of her cell phone again shattered the moment.

  She shook her head, clearing out the cobwebs, but kept her gaze locked on his as he released her and she answered.

  “I’m fine, Tony. There’s no need for anything else. The staff handled it perfectly, but if you don’t mind, I’d like them to keep an eye out for any tabloid types for the next few days. If there are any press people who want access to the property, they’ll have to go through you for clearance.”

  After a short murmur across the line, she ended the call and stood there hesitantly. She rubbed her arms as if chilled and must have realized she still had his jacket. She was about to shrug it off, but he said, “Keep it until you’re warm.”

  …

  Tatiana wanted to say she was plenty hot thanks to his kisses and her shiver had nothing to do with a chill, but with the need running through her body. A need she could not explore with this man. Not until she knew more about who he really was and that she could trust him with an object as precious as her heart. Not to mention that they had the whole parents thing hanging over their heads. She didn’t want the marriage bargain to be influencing her in one way or the other.

  “Thank you. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll head to bed.” Alone, she thought, and although unspoken, he clearly understood.

  “Good night. I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, and made no other move toward her, although some naughty part of her wanted him to.

  She nodded. “In the morning, then. Good night.”

  She rushed from the common area and into her room. Shut the door and leaned back on it, stunned by her careless behavior…and the too delicious actions which had followed.

  Why did he have to be so honorable and handsome, and such a damn good kisser? It was only making it that much harder to resist going along with the marriage bargain.

  Forcing those thoughts from her brain, she let the lingering warmth of his body heat from the suit jacket soothe her as she removed her jewelry and toed off her shoes. Reluctantly she shrugged off the jacket to undress and slipped into her baby doll pajamas, imagining how his powerful hands might slide along the silk. Touch her.

  She sucked in a shaky breath as her nipples tightened; she grabbed his jacket and brought it to her face, inhaling his scent. Clean and fresh and, oh, so masculine.

  Between her legs, an insistent pulse ignited, warning her either to let go of her musings or find him and get satisfaction.

  Making love with me will leave you breathless.

  Considering how breathless just a few kisses had left her, she no longer had any doubt about that earlier statement. But she was so not ready for any kind of relationship. Especially with Peter. He brought way too many complications with him.

  Forcing herself from the bed, she walked to a chair next to a small secretary at one side of the massive bedroom and hung his jacket on it. She smoothed the shoulders, empty now of his broad width.

  Again her body awoke with need, but she tamped it down.

  It was time for bed. Tomorrow was going to be another hectic day. They had to finish the preparations for the arrival of the jewelry and the upcoming fashion show. She hoped that by the time Peter and Tony had reviewed all the plans, they’d be satisfied with the safety of the jewels and everyone involved with the show.

  She knew both Peter and Alexander were worried that if there was a heist it would turn ugly and people could get hurt. She was worried about that also, but based on what she’d heard so far, that was unlikely.

  It was much more likely that the Thief of Hearts could walk off with a fortune in jewels, something her family could ill afford. The theft could damage their reputations and their standing in the community. That could seriously impact their bottom line, and as shaky as their financial position was right now thanks to the economy, that was something they might not be able to weather.

  The Ivanov casinos would not fail on her watch. Not if she could help it.

  …

  Sleep was the furthest thing from Peter’s mind.

  His body was too wired from that one kiss with Tatiana. It left him aching to find out how much more pleasurable it would be to make love with her. He hardened at that thought and struggled to contain his need.

  Tatiana wasn’t the kind of woman you just slept with, then walked away from. She was the forever kind, but forever was complicated in so many ways. He walked to his bedroom to change into something more comfortable. Yanking open his tie, he pulled it free with one hand while he undid the buttons on his shirt with another. He tossed both onto a chair and finished undressing, thinking about how she had reacted when he told her who he really was. Things were bound to get even more complicated now that the photos the reporter had snapped tonight were likely to show up in the tabloids.

  He had no doubt his father’s manservant and the Ivanov staff would catch the news and bring it to the attention of their parents. His one hope was that the reporter had not made the connection between Detective Peter Roman and Grand Prince Pyotr Romanovich, and do some additional digging into his background. The last thing he wanted was his family’s painful past paraded around for the world to see.

  Dragging a hand through his hair and finding the shorter strands almost foreign, he forced himself to consider telling her the rest of his story. Forced himself to hope she wouldn’t pity him when she found out about his mother and her illness. The illness which had in large part influenced his decision to hide his real identity and stay out of the limelight.

  But then his logical side told him to wait. That there would be time enough once the charity event was over. Then they could really explore what they were feeling. See if it was even worth pursuing.

  The logical side won out, along with the need to go over the blueprints in anticipation of tomorrow’s meetings.

  He shrugged into loose, comfortable sweats and a T-shirt, and went back out to the common suite area where he unfurled the blueprint plans on one end of the dining room table. The curl of the drawings battled him, so he went to the bar, grabbed two decanters and a snifter. Might as well enjoy the brandy in addition to it being a useful paper weight.

  As he cupped the snifter and swirled the liquid, he examined the blueprints, reviewing all the possible weaknesses to the event venues, including their vulnerability to access from either above or below. Walking back to the desk, he grabbed different colored markers and returned to the blueprints, where he identified areas for additional review, sipping his brandy as he did so. He worked tirelessly until his back ached and a dull throbbing in his brain screamed, “Enough!”

  He shot a glance at his watch. Nearly three in the morning, which meant that with the time difference, he had been up almost twenty-four hours straight. Not that he hadn’t done it before while on assignment, but to be at his best, he needed to get at least a few hours of sleep.

  Tossing down the markers, he finished off the last of the brandy, set the glass in the middle of the papers, and strode to his bedroom. But not before glancing across the hall to Tatiana’s room. Not before taking a step in that direction…until he reined himself in and marched in the opposite direction.

 
He’d see her soon enough and have to deal with all that had happened tonight. Especially if his earlier fears about the repercussions of the tabloids were fulfilled.

  Chapter 9

  Shea scoped out the grounds of the Ivanov complex with the high-powered binoculars. The Jewel of Russia hotel and casino were done in the same garish and opulent Belle Époque style as the huge Monte Carlo casino across the plaza. Lovely gardens and lush lawns surrounded the areas around the buildings and provided cover in case he had to go unnoticed during either an approach or escape. Tall palms lined the circular drive leading to the main entrance where various guards and staff manned the doors, vigilant for trouble and attentive to the needs of the patrons arriving at the hotel. He was staying just a short distance away at a quaint little place he had visited on more than one occasion. He had found that establishing some kind of pattern and relationship, especially a well-paying one, lessened the kinds of questions some people might want to ask.

  The right explanation for his eccentricities also did the trick. He always posed as a college professor who was also an aspiring mystery writer. It explained his many notes and the assorted gadgets, like the binoculars, that he brought with him.

  Not that he normally stayed this close to the location of a heist. This was a first, but of course, it was also a last, he thought with a smile.

  Between the monies he had been saving, the bankroll from Prince Sergei, and the sale of the bracelet from his last heist, he had enough money to retire in style.

  Exchanging the binoculars for a camera with a telephoto lens, he snapped off picture after picture of the areas surrounding the Ivanov property, all the time comparing the physical layout to the escape routes he had planned out. He wanted to make sure they were flexible enough to allow for detours. Monaco was a small country, but easily accessible. They had to travel only a little more than a mile to the heliport. He could have a helicopter waiting there in addition to the vehicles Mouse would bring in and place at various locations close by.

  Once he had finalized the plans, of course.

  He turned the camera toward the Ivanovs’ Jewel of Russia building once again, and caught sight of a woman exiting from the French doors of the penthouse suite. She wore a deep sapphire-colored dressing gown over light blue pajamas as she walked to the edge of the balcony and raised her face to the morning rays. Her cheeks had the flush of sleep-warmed skin. A tumble of thick, wavy, ebony hair fell to her shoulders.

  She opened her eyes, and thanks to the telephoto lens, he could see that her exotic almond-shaped eyes were a color as pure as the ocean.

  Stunning. He had seen photos of Princess Tatiana while doing his research, but none had done her justice.

  He snapped off a photo or two before she whirled and hurried back into the building, possibly afraid of lingering for too long. Or sensing his intrusion.

  Maybe a good thing. If the paparazzi were aware of her presence, they’d certainly be doing much the same thing as him, only their photos would be splashed across the front pages of one tabloid or another, and all over the Internet.

  Satisfied for the moment, he headed inside his small boutique hotel. This innkeeper always provided a rather nice breakfast and it was time to fuel up and reconnoiter the various locations. They did not have much time left until the fashion show and the short period of time when the jewels were most vulnerable.

  To pull off this job, there could be no error in his timing, so he must have a full understanding of the lay of the land and be familiar with those involved in the security detail for the event.

  He didn’t want his last job to turn into a major fuck-up.

  It needed to go smooth as ice.

  …

  Tatiana closed the door to the suite, combed her hair away from her face, and walked to the end of the dining room table that held the blueprints. She set aside the brandy snifter and examined the many color-coded notes Peter had made on them. Very thorough and thoughtful, but then again, she expected no less. It had been her initial impression of him, and he hadn’t failed her. With that much, at any rate.

  She felt guilty at all the work he was doing on her behalf, but reminded herself that Alexander had offered to pay him and he’d refused. Perhaps he felt obligated as her supposed fiancé, and might want to do whatever he could to help her, as well.

  Regardless of his rationale for assisting, she wanted to make his time here as pleasant as possible.

  She had ordered breakfast as soon as she came out of her bedroom, and it now sat on a nearby serving cart, waiting to be served. She didn’t want to disturb Peter’s sleep since he had clearly stayed up late. But she also didn’t want to eat alone.

  Her dilemma was resolved by the snick of the bedroom door when Peter opened it.

  He stood there, sexily rumpled in loose, low-slung sweatpants that barely rode his hips and displayed too much of his rock-hard abs and those incredibly tempting V-lines at the edges of his hips.

  She slowly drew in a breath to steady herself, and managed to eke out, “Good morning.”

  He grinned and smoothed his sleep-tousled hair with his hand.

  She ignored the way the muscles in his arms and chest flexed, and hurried to the serving cart, busying herself with removing the assorted covers. “I ordered a bunch of different things. I wasn’t quite sure what you’d like.”

  He came and stood behind her, peering over her shoulder from his much greater height. The warmth of his body was obvious through the thin silk of her robe and pajamas. She should have changed out of her sleepwear, but then again, maybe she should ask him to put on some clothes. Only that made it far too apparent that he was affecting her.

  “Relax, Tatiana,” he said, and laid his hands on her shoulders. “I won’t bite,” he added, and the heat of his breath spilled against the side of her face.

  She slipped away from him and motioned to the cart. “There are eggs, bacon, waffles, strawberries—”

  “Why don’t you sit and I’ll serve, since you were nice enough to order?”

  Not that ordering was such a big deal, but anything that provided some physical distance from him was a good thing.

  She sat down, but as she did so, his phone chirped from the other end of the table. He hurried over, looked at it, and grimaced. “Can you excuse me for a moment?”

  …

  Peter returned to his bedroom, closing the door behind him for privacy.

  “Good morning, Father. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” He had little doubt about the reason, however.

  “It’s not normally a pleasure to see my son’s face plastered on the Internet on one of those horrible gossip sites, but I must say I was pleased to see you photographed with Princess Tatiana. Am I to assume things are good between the two of you?”

  “It’s complicated, Father,” he confessed, his heart still torn about what was happening with her.

  “May I assume that we can start making plans—”

  “No, you may not assume. It’s way too soon, and there are still lots of things we have to settle between us.”

  “Such as who you are? You’re still not living that charade—”

  “It’s not a charade, it’s my life. And no, I’ve told her who I am. But we both know there is still much more about our family that she should know,” Peter replied curtly, anger boiling up in him.

  His father’s annoyed laugh drifted over the line. “I’m tired and old, Pyotr. I will not wait for this wedding much longer. If I have to tell her—”

  “You will not tell her, Father. That is something for me to do when the time is right.”

  That bark of annoyance sounded again. “Do not wait too long, moyo syn,” he said, but with resignation in his voice.

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  His father ended the call and Peter stood there for a moment, considering that promise.

  Even though it would make his life difficult and risk the privacy he had worked so hard to protect, he could not deny he wanted
Tatiana to care for him. But he wanted her to love the man he had become and not Pyotr the Prince. He thought they were moving in that direction if his read of her responses to him was accurate. Of course, physical attraction was a far cry from real emotion, but he thought there was progress happening on that front also.

  But just to be on the safe side, he grabbed the T-shirt he had discarded before getting into bed and pulled it on.

  He exited the bedroom to find her on the phone, a furrow of worry across her forehead. Again there was little doubt who was on the other end, and what the call was about.

  “Yes, Mother, I understand. Don’t worry, there was nothing going on you need to worry about.”

  Not really the truth, but her parents didn’t need to know.

  “Yes, he’s a good man. I like him.”

  Score one for me, he thought, although guilt instantly sank its claws into him, as did fear. Her parents would recognize him in the photo for sure. They had met him more than once when they had visited Alexander at boarding school. They were therefore well aware of who he was, but he wasn’t sure just how much of their family history his father had shared with them. He braced for the revelation just in case.

  “Don’t worry,” she said again in response and finally noticed his return. The smile she gave him was unrestrained and full of patience for her parents.

  “There is nothing to be concerned about, Mom,” she replied with the tones typically reserved for mother-daughter frustration. She ended the call and faced him. “They saw the pictures on the Internet and were a little worried about our relationship being turned into a public spectacle.”

  But they hadn’t said anything about his mother’s illness, judging from the conversation, giving him hope that maybe his father hadn’t shared that difficult history.

  Having dodged that bullet, he said, “How about breakfast before it gets too cold?”

  “I’d like that,” she said, but before he could start to serve as he had offered, she was at the cart, spooning a good portion of each item onto his plate.