Her voice on the other side of the door was loud and harsh and heavy on the country twang.
"Can you believe I walked right into a closet? This place has so many rooms. I never saw such a place in all my life."
"It's a closet in there, you say," said a distinctive female voice.
It was Dinah Adams. Carrie was shielding him from the press.
"Just a closet. Cleaning supplies and dirty towels is all. Smells kind of bad in there. Oh no. My hair doesn't smell now, does it?"
"Come on, Daniel. He's clearly not here," Dinah said, and Edward heard footsteps hurrying away on the stone floor.
"Nice meeting y'all," Carrie called.
After a moment, the closet door opened, and Carrie stuck her head in.
"All clear."
He couldn't help himself. He pulled her inside and covered her mouth with his. Her lips parted, and even though he knew they had done so from shock rather than from desire, he claimed her mouth greedily anyway. He ran his hands up her bare arms, beneath that slinky shawl. He felt the warm skin of her neck. He spread his hands and ran his fingers through her hair with one hand. He kept the other pressed against her back. He wanted her close to him, so close. Her arms wrapped around his neck. She made a sound low in her throat. Her throat-- her dress left her throat, her collar, and the tops of her breasts bare.
He remembered from their walk how her skin had glowed in the dim light. She had kept pulling that shawl around herself. She was clearly not a woman accustomed to wearing low-cut dresses. She had no idea that the more she tried to maintain her modesty., the more she tantalized him. She was tempting him even now, which she must know all too well, given that her body was pressed against his. Her tongue flitted across his bottom lip. Now it was Edward making a sound low in his throat. It was a guttural, primal sound, and he could no more have stopped it than he could have stopped his heart from pounding.
Then she made a squeaking sound. He was a bit out of practice, but he was nearly certain women didn't squeak during moments of ecstasy. Feeling the weight of his desire pulling on him like a millstone, he forced himself to pull away from her. She was pressed against the wall (when had he done that?) and the corner of an electrical box was jabbing her in the shoulder. His hands, his hands were around her waist. A bit lower than her waist, to be honest. He pulled back, freeing her.
"I'm sorry."
He was breathing hard. He rubbed the spot on her shoulder.
"You aren't hurt are you?"
"No, of course not. I'm fine. More than fine."
"Good. That's very good."
Her lips were full and red, and her cheeks were flushed. She fairly glowed. If it was from desire, then he was probably glowing too. Her phone, that accursed phone, went off inside her purse.
She glanced down at her purse, but didn't reach for the phone, then her glance flicked to the door.
"It kind of feels like the walk of shame, even though all we did was kiss."
"We could do more."
She gave him that smile of hers again.
"I don't think so."
He didn't know which he felt more, shock or disappointment. She'd certainly seemed willing a moment before.
She laid a hand on his chest.
"It isn't a question of willingness, it's a question of logistics."
"Logistics?"
"What do you know about Spanx?""
"You are the most unexpected creature I have ever encountered."
"Unexpected? Is that a good thing?"
"It's a wonderful thing."
"In that case, thank you. Hold still."
She pulled a tissue from her purse and blotted at his lips.
"Not my color?"
"If those reporters catch up to you, and they probably will, I'm sure you'd rather not be wearing a ruby red sign announcing that your lips had come in contact with more than champagne tonight. There. That's better."
He stopped her hand before she could return the tissue to her purse. He plucked it from her hand and slid it in his pocket.
"As first kisses go, that one deserves a memento. After you." He stepped back and gestured to the door.
Their first kiss. He'd said
first kiss.
That would imply that there would be more, right? God, she hoped so. She wouldn't let herself turn around to look behind her. If she looked back and saw him, she'd drag him right back into that closet, Spanx be damned. She'd cut the infernal thing off if need be. She raced ahead, putting distance between herself and Edward. He was a prince, hot and an amazing kisser. Carrie spotted Amanda standing hands on hips and tapping her foot.
"Where have you been?" Amanda huffed.
"You won't believe it."
"No, you won't believe it! The Prince of Wales is here! He's friends with Phillip. Can you believe it? The Prince of Wales!"
"Shh. I'm betting he wouldn't want his presence announced to everyone in attendance."
"He's here. At my engagement party! Isn't that amazing?"
Carrie shushed her sister again.
"I think it might also be a secret."
"A secret? Nothing is ever secret with royals. Don't you read the tabloids?"
"Actually, I don't. You do realize that most of what the tabloids print is lies, don't you?"
Amanda waved away her question as inconsequential.
"Anyway. Phillip knows this bar just outside of Edinburgh. We're going there, and the prince is going to join us!" Amanda said, her voice rising to a squeak.
Carrie wondered what Edward would say about Jamie -- she supposed she should think of him as His Royal Highness -- heading off to a bar outside Edinburgh. If Jamie was going to be there, then probably Edward would be, too. She hurried to her room to change, suddenly keen on the idea of the bar.
She changed out of her uncomfortable cocktail dress and into jeans and a ribbed sweater. Amanda, by contrast, dressed to ensure she would attract maximum attention. She put on a clingy, red microfiber halter dress. Her only concession to modesty was the sheer black bolero she threw on over the dress. Even that feeble attempt at propriety was overbalanced by the black thigh-high boots with four-inch heels. She was stunning. In a high-class hooker kind of way. There was no denying that Amanda knew her stuff if the way Phillip's eyes glazed over at the sight of her was any indication.
Phillip, like Carrie, had dressed for comfort. He wore jeans and a black button-up. His collar was open and his sleeves were rolled up to expose muscular forearms that shouldn't belong to a man who worked at a desk all day. Phillip was all common sense and practicality while Amanda was all flash and frenzy. Carrie hadn't been surprised that some wealthy British tycoon had fallen for Amanda, but she had been surprised that the man in question was so sensible.
Amanda had fallen in love with London when their father, a professor of English literature, had taken them there on a family vacation during high school. In college, Amanda had done a semester abroad in London. After graduation, she landed a job at a museum of Georgian-era fashions. When a similar museum in Bath was closing, Amanda applied to the Rhys-Cooper Foundation for a grant to purchase the Bath museum's collection. Phillip was used to getting grant applications from hospitals, medical research facilities, green initiative nonprofits, and other charities. He said he had to meet the woman who had the audacity to ask for money to buy some old gowns and hats bedecked with peacock feathers. If there was one thing Amanda had never lacked, it was audacity, and her brash charm had clearly won him over. He'd been instantly smitten. Still was, if the way he looked at her as she scooted close to him in his Mini Cooper was any indication.
Carrie hoped Amanda appreciated just what she was getting in Phillip, and she hoped Phillip knew what he was in for by marrying Amanda. It's not my problem, she reminded herself for the hundredth time as she scrunched herself up against the car door, giving Amanda more room to put her legs on display. Oh well, at least Carrie was the smart one. As consolation prizes went, it would have to do. Edward hadn't seemed to mind.
Inside the bar, Carrie squinted against the assault of blackness and flashing lights that reigned in every bar she'd ever been in. Really, she'd hoped for something more original from her first experience in a European bar. Even the people looked the same. Men sporting varying styles of facial hair, and women wearing more eyeliner than clothing. It wasn't an establishment that was likely to be frequented by the upper crust of Britain's high society. Edward, with his air of British propriety, seemed above a common pub. Jamie--she could imagine him in a bar -- for all that he would someday be the king of England--but not Edward. Edward seemed like he would be more at home at a polo match. She was about to regret her decision to come when she felt someone close behind her, someone whose breath tickled the back of her neck as he spoke.
"The Spanx, I suspect, are a problem no longer?"
Her pulse went wild at the sound of that voice. She turned, hoping her longing for him didn't show on her face. One glimpse of him, and she knew she'd lost that battle. He looked amazing. He wore the same suit he'd had on earlier, sans the jacket. His tie was loosened, and the top button of his shirt was open.
"I never thought to see you here," she said, leaving out how much she had hoped for that very thing.
He nodded to where Jamie was at the bar talking with Phillip and Amanda.
"Right. You're chaperoning your brother."
"That isn’t the only reason I came."
There could be lots of reasons he'd come. He was friends with Phillip, after all. He'd probably come to celebrate the upcoming nuptials of his old mate from school. Or maybe he routinely shrugged off the mantle of royalty in favor of a wild night on the town, just as Jamie did. But the way he was looking at her made his motivation clear. He leaned forward and brushed a kiss, feather light, over the corner of her mouth.
"Where do you think the janitorial closet might be in this place?"
She whimpered. It wasn't pretty, but yeah, she whimpered. Kind of a desperate, take-me-now noise that started low in her chest. Or maybe even lower.
He cocked an eyebrow at her. What a deliciously seductive look.
"You smell really good," She said.
It was true; he did, that was why she said so. And because the synapses, they weren't firing up at her brain where they were supposed to be.
A slow grin tugged up the corner of his mouth. He put a hand on the small of her back.
"Come on. Let's get you a drink."
"Trying to get me liquored up, are you?"
"Do I need to get you liquored up?"
"No, not really."
He gave her a thousand-watt smile and led her to the bar. His hand resting at the small of her back did more than her glass of red to send a tingly warmth shooting through her.
Phillip, Amanda, and Jamie were seated at the bar. Amanda sat in the middle, of course, the better to soak up all the male attention. Jamie, for his part, kept his head low and posture slumped--not at all a princely pose, which Carrie supposed was by design. A group of middle-aged men clad in flannel approached hesitantly and began talking to Phillip. Phillip seemed thrilled to see them and introduced them to the group, omitting the royal titles, of course.
"These are some lads I worked with," Phillip said of the newcomers.
"They just don't get any better than Phillip," Edward said, low enough so that only she could hear, "Those men work for the factory Phillip's father owns in this area. Phillip made a tour of the facility a year or so back. Let's just say that things improved greatly for the workers after that. Notice how Phillip said that those lads worked
with
him instead of
for
him? Phillip is as fine a human being as you'll encounter anywhere."
Edward's gaze slid to where Amanda was flirting shamelessly with Jamie as Phillip stood a few paces off in conversation with his friends.
"I do hope she appreciates what a rare man he is."
"I hope so too," Carrie said.
"No thanks, love," Jamie said when a server asked if he wanted another drink.
"Go on," Amanda urged.
She swatted Jamie on the arm.
"I'm having another. This is a celebration. And it isn't as though you're driving. I mean, I'm sure you have a limo around back."
"A limo," Jamie said in a voice much softer than Amanda's, "Hardly."
"A Rolls Royce then,"--she took a healthy slug of her drink--"What's another fancy British car?"
"I know very little about cars. I don't even know how to drive one."
"Seriously!" Amanda shrieked, "You don't know how to drive?"
"Shhh," Carrie shushed.
She met the bartender's eye, looked pointedly at Amanda's nearly empty glass, and shook her head. The bartender only shrugged noncommittally.
"I am an awesome driver," Amanda boasted, "I could teach you to drive."
She leaned forward, putting her impressive cleavage on full display. Carrie jumped from the stool, which pained her because it meant that even the minimal contact she had with Edward was gone. She shoved in between Jamie and Amanda.
"I have pictures of our dad's new car. It's a Mini Cooper. Phillip found it for Dad. Our father loves all things British. Want to see?"
"Oh Carrie, he isn't interested in those pictures."
"Sure I am," Jamie disagreed. "I think I might have seen that pic earlier, but I was flipping through so fast I didn't get a chance to notice much."
"Earlier?" Amanda looked dubious.
"Oh yes, your sister and I had an interesting interlude in a closet earlier. Had my brother not been there as well, it might have proven even more interesting."
He gave Edward what could only be described as a cheeky grin. Edward did not look amused. Jealous perhaps? Of course not, but she'd have sweet dreams tonight with such thoughts under her pillow. She began swiping through her photo album. Jamie leaned over her shoulder and made comments. Most of the photos were of Carrie's Labradoodle, Toodles, and of Jeannie's two-year-old son, Cooper, and Jamie oohed and awed appropriately.
"Here it is!" Carrie proudly displayed a photo of Amanda during one of her visits back home, wearing ratty sweats and an old T-shirt, washing the new car.
"That is a nice car," Jamie said.
"Yes, it's a great car," Amanda said.
She plucked the phone from Carrie's hand and rested her elbow atop it.
"So when might you take me up on my offer?"
Jamie's eyes got wide.
"My offer to give you a driving lesson," Amanda clarified though she did so with a pout and a thrust of her chest that left no doubt as to what she was really offering. Carrie groaned inwardly. Saving Amanda from herself, this was not new territory. All righty then. She rolled up her metaphorical sleeves and got down to business.
She laid her hand atop Jamie's.
"Now Amanda, you know how busy you are just now with your
wedding
," she said emphatically, "so if Jamie needs driving lessons, then I'd be more than happy to oblige."
Jamie's eyes twinkled. He knew exactly what Carrie was about. He draped an arm over her shoulder.
"That is the most appealing offer I've had in some time. Driving, eh? I really ought to add it to my list of skills."
Amanda slapped her empty glass down on the bar.
"Another drink," she barked.
Jamie slid the phone from beneath Amanda's elbow. "I know how much this means to you."
With a look over his shoulder at Edward, he leaned in closer to Carrie under the guise of looking through more photos. Edward plucked the phone from Jamie's hand and passed it to Carrie.
"That phone has caused quite enough difficulty this evening."
Carrie wasn't used to flirting, and she wasn't used to competing for men. She overplayed her hand with Amanda. The only thing her sister enjoyed more than male attention was winning that male attention by subduing female opponents. Amanda slammed back her drink and faced Carrie.
"Have you got any pictures of Kevin in there?"
"Kevin? Who's Kevin?" Jamie shot a look at Edward.
"He's Carrie's fiancé."
"
Ex
-fiancé," Carrie corrected.
"Everyone expects you two to get back together."
Amanda flipped a perfect curl over her shoulder. She was being bitchy, but what she said was true. Everybody probably did expect them to get back together. Carrie kept her voice low as she leaned down to her sister.
"But I'm not engaged. And you are."
At least, Amanda had the good manners to blush, but her shame was short-lived.
"Don't be such an old woman, Carrie. You think Phillip won't be living it up at his stag night? Of course, he will. I'm surprised that you of all people would be touting that tired double standard."
How did she do that? How did Amanda always know right where to aim the arrow? This time, her strike on Carrie's feminist heart hit true. Before Carrie could think of a suitable rebuttal, she saw Phillip inching back toward their group. She grabbed Edward's elbow.
"Please,” she mouthed, "help!"
Having done all she could, she intercepted Phillip.
"I claim a dance from my future brother-in-law."
"From me?"
That was all Carrie gave him time to say before tugging him onto the dance floor. Carrie could dance. Ten years of ballet plus yoga twice a week meant that she was comfortable moving her body.
"I'm a lucky brother-in-law."
"Careful, you. Amanda will get jealous."
"I meant that I’m a lucky man to have a sister so concerned for my feelings."
Carrie bit her lip. It was too much to hope that Phillip might not have noticed how Amanda was flirting with Jamie.
"I know Amanda. She's coquettish. It's harmless. It's a rare woman who could resist Jamie's charm. She'd never go beyond mere flirtation."
Carrie wasn't so sure.
”I know Jamie. Women have been flinging themselves at him for years. He's practically immune to it. He has an automatic charm about him. Prince Charming, I suppose."
"According to what I managed to Google, Edward is the playboy of the family."
"That's what he’d like everyone to think."
Hmm. How to dig for information without seeming to be too interested?