A Prince for Christmas (Royal House of Leone Book 2) Page 4

  “Oh. But you recovered.”

  “Did I?” He looked wistful, his fingers plunged underneath the skin of the chicken. “I suppose I did, but I’ve never felt the same way about anyone else.”

  “I’m sure you will one day.” Clearly the kiss he’d given her hadn’t distracted him from his long-lost love too much. Still, she was the one who’d asked him about his ex. “I appreciate your sharing. It makes me feel better.”

  “You’re better off without him. He wasn’t right for you.” Sandro basted the outside of the skin and tucked herb leaves into it.

  “So I guess the woman who bruised your heart wasn’t right for you.”

  “Clearly not. And there can’t be much worse than being stuck with the wrong person. I think we should break open your champagne and celebrate our freedom.”

  Her face heated at the realization that he’d found her bottle of champagne in the fridge. What kind of loser brings champagne to a weekend alone? “Why not?”

  He washed his hands, put the chicken in the oven, then uncorked the champagne and poured it into two flutes that they found in a kitchen cabinet.

  He handed one to her. “Here’s to love.”

  Serena blinked. He doesn’t mean between the two of you, dummy. “Of course, to love.” Her voice sounded a little more nervous and forced than she’d hoped. She sipped quickly to cover her embarrassment, and bubbles went up her nose and made her sneeze.

  Lucky thing her skin was dark enough to hide the flush rising up her neck. Why did he have to be so gorgeous? He probably kissed every woman he met. He’d probably forgotten all about that kiss, while the memory of it was growing and blooming in her mind, occupying her thoughts and stimulating her senses.

  This was going to be a very long holiday.

  She attempted another sip and managed not to splutter it out. Her ears pricked up. “There it is again, I swear I hear a dog.”

  “I think there’s another house in that thicket of trees next door. I saw a roof when we were out on the dunes.

  “But is the dog outside in this weather ? That seems dangerous.” The wind whistled audibly in the trees, which creaked and groaned under strong gusts. Her fears compounded when suddenly a huge crash sounded from the living room and the lights went out.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “That’s not good.” Her voice sounded thin. It was still daylight, but the sky was black with clouds and the kitchen had only one small window, so they stood in almost darkness.

  She heard Sandro put his glass down on the stone countertop. “It sounded like a window breaking.” He hurried into the living room, where, sure enough, one of the tall French doors was smashed in, bisected by a palm whose wet grayish fronds now rested on the beige rug.

  “Oh, my gosh.” She stared at the tree. “That tree wasn’t even near the house.” The upended roots were out by the road, at least fifty feet away across the lawn. Tiny square shards of glass sprinkled down onto the floor from the smashed door.

  “Safety glass.” Sandro picked up a piece. “I wish it was impact glass. That stuff won’t break even under hurricane-force winds.”

  “The opening is compromised. Wind and rain can come into the house, and under the right conditions wind could even rush in and blow the roof off.” She’d seen a documentary about that.

  “We need to board it up.”

  “They might have hurricane shutters or plywood somewhere. It’s a shame we can’t get hold of Zadir.” They both tried calling the management agent she’d rented from, but her phone couldn’t find a signal, and though Sandro managed half a bar standing at the top of the staircase, no one picked up at the other end.

  “I’ll feel bad if Zadir’s house blows down.” Sandro looked annoyingly unworried. A tornado would probably just leave his royal hair looking artfully ruffled. “But I imagine it’s insured.”

  “I’m sure it is, but I have another idea. Is there a control panel of some kind?” She began looking around the front hall and kitchen, opening closets and feeling inside the cabinets. At least she came upon a sleek electrical panel tucked discreetly inside the pantry. “I think that I saw signs of roll-down shutters on the outside of the windows.”

  “Except that now there’s no power to roll them down.” He leaned against the island as if nothing could bother him.

  “Damn, I forgot about that. But didn’t you say there’s a generator?”

  “If there was it should have come on by now. Maybe it’s out of gas.”

  “Or maybe it needs to be switched on manually. Come on, let’s find it.”

  In less than five minutes they’d found a power panel for the generator, and all systems were up and running. But they couldn’t lower the shutters on the broken French window as the tree still penetrated the opening.

  They had to brave the rain and thunder and lightning and haul with all their might before they finally got the treetop out of the window. Rain streamed into Serena’s eyes as she surveyed the scene. “The roots are sticking out into the street. It’s a traffic hazard.”

  “There isn’t any traffic.”

  “Someone might drive by.”

  “We’ll have to turn it.” Sandro hauled the heavy root end while she attempted to lever the frond end around until the tree lay across the increasingly sodden lawn.

  “Do you hear the dog now?” Arms aching, Serena strained to hear through the pelting rain. Thunder rumbled overhead, and lightning illuminated the house as it struck nearby.

  “I think it’s just wind in the chimney. We’d better get back inside.”

  By the time they staggered back in, they were drenched with both rain and perspiration. Serena lowered the electric shutters with a sigh of relief. “We’re lucky to have light. I wonder how long before the gas in the generator runs out.”

  “There’d better be enough in there to cook my chicken.” Rain dripped from Sandro’s chiseled features. “I take my Christmas dinner very seriously.”

  “I’m glad they didn’t have a turkey at the store. At least a chicken doesn’t take that long.”

  “With any luck there’s a huge fuel tank buried underground somewhere.”

  “I don’t usually like to count on luck, but in this case we don’t have much choice.” Serena felt self-conscious in her wet T-shirt. “I’m going to go change.”

  “Wait.” Sandro said the word quickly, his eyes focused on hers. Then they drifted lower, to her mouth. Her lips twitched under his bold stare. Should she really just stand here because he’d commanded her to? How did women usually respond to a royal command?

  Her thoughts scattered as he tugged her close and pressed his lips to hers.

  A shudder roamed through her body, and goose bumps spread down her arms. She’d like to blame the combination of rain and cool air-conditioning for the shiver of excitement coursing through her, but she knew it came from deep inside.

  From Sandro.

  Chemistry flashed between them like the lightning outside. Her fingers, acting of their own accord, pushed into his damp hair, and a moan escaped her mouth as he deepened the kiss.

  When he finally pulled back enough for their lips to part, she was panting slightly, her heart pounding.

  Eyelashes half lowered over desire-darkened eyes, he rested his gaze on her face again. “I think we should go upstairs.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Uh, yes.” She croaked, barely able to make a sound. “I need to change.” Was he suggesting that they climb into bed together?

  Her body responded very enthusiastically to that idea—her fingers itched to peel his wet clothes off his strong body—but her mind screamed at her to be sensible.

  “Me too.” His response came after her thoughts had already run away from her, and she struggled to think what he’d agreed with.

  “Oh.” So he did just want to change. Fine. “Let’s go.” She peeled herself further away from him, straightened her T-shirt—he’d fisted his hands into it—and headed for the stairs.

  Her i
nsides pulsed with arousal, calling to her.

  She tried to settle herself. It wasn’t as if she’d gone years without sex. Or even months.

  Her body didn’t care. Her nipples tingled against her wet bra, and her pants chafed wetly against her trembling legs.

  Sandro must be used to women melting under his gaze and turning into quivering Jell-O of need at his touch. Gorgeous and royal? It was a deadly combination.

  Not that she was usually susceptible to such superficial qualities in a man.

  She was emotional, though, with this whole Christmas-in-hiding thing. Her recent breakup had crushed her confidence and left her worried—would she now be alone forever? Would all her followers decide she was a fraud and desert her?—so maybe she was more vulnerable than usual to the attentions of a practiced player.

  “Good lord.” The gruff voice behind her made her turn as she walked up the stairs. Sandro’s eyes rested on her behind. She blinked. That was crude. She didn’t like that. It wasn’t gentlemanly.

  Still, her body responded with a flush of heat.

  How did he do this to her?

  She could tell he was attracted to her. Very attracted. She could see it in his hot, steady gaze and feel it in his touch.

  But he probably felt the same way about half the women he met.

  Did she want to be another notch in his bedpost?

  Yes, some traitorous part of her body answered swiftly.

  No! She tried to reason. Besides, she’d gone off her contraception so she couldn’t, even if she wanted to.

  Which she didn’t. How would she feel in the morning if she slept with a man she’d just met?

  She headed into her bedroom. Sandro followed. “Uh, what are you doing in here?”

  “I’m here to help you undress.” Mischief danced in his eyes.

  “I can handle that all by myself, thanks.”

  “Wet clothes can be quite difficult to remove.” His dark gaze drifted to her breasts, where her damp T-shirt clung to the outline of her bra. “I’m sure I’ll need some help myself.”

  Her heart beat faster. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “We’re both single, we’re stuck here, there’s an attraction between us strong enough to light something on fire.” A smile tugged at one side of his mouth.

  “But…” This isn’t going anywhere. It would just be a fling. She prided herself on not jumping into pointless dalliances. On saving herself for Mr. Right.

  Except that he’d turned out to be Mr. Wrong.

  The sound of her own voice surprised her. “You do make some good points.”

  He took her in his arms. “I’m smarter than people give me credit for.”

  She giggled as her chest crushed against his. “I might be less smart than people give me credit for. If my readers knew what I was doing right now…” The thought made her stiffen. “I can count on you to be discreet?”

  “Of course.”

  Should she? Temptation clawed at her. Then she heard it again. “The dog. Listen.”

  This time it was unmistakable. A bark, followed by a long howl of desperation.

  “Poor thing. It might be chained outside.”

  Serena pulled from their embrace and hurried to the window. “I can see the house from here.” From the look of its rusting metal roof, it was an older house, wood and rather ramshackle, with a front porch half hidden by a clump of trees. “There it is. It’s chained to a porch column. Oh, my. It’s soaked.” Even from up on the second floor, she could see black and white fur plastered to its skin. “Let’s bring it inside.”

  “Sure.” If Sandro was annoyed by the interruption to their almost tryst, he didn’t betray it. He was out the door and down the stairs before she could gather her thoughts.

  “What if the owner is home?” she wondered aloud as they reached the foyer. “I hope we don’t get shot.”

  Sandro chuckled. “We’ll call out first.”

  They headed out into the blasts of wind and rain. “Ugh, this is nasty.” Rain slapped her in the face, and the gusts were distinctly colder than before. “Oh, no, look at the road.”

  Its bumpy unpaved surface was slick with water—moving water.

  “My God, it’s a river.”

  The water was already creeping up onto the lawn. “Quick, let’s get the dog.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Serena hesitated for a moment. Sensible people didn’t step into floods. This was the kind of thing you saw people doing on the news, then getting swept away in water far deeper than they’d expected.

  Still, the dog couldn’t be more than a hundred feet away. Now that she knew the house was there, she could glimpse it past a thin clump of trees. Sandro was already splashing across the puddle-strewn lawn.

  “There’s a fence.” Sandro climbed over a crumbling picket fence, then helped her over. The property next door was lower, and already water crept over their shoes.

  They hurried to the porch. Up close the house was small, old and poorly maintained. Not a safe place to ride out a storm. “If there’s someone in here, they should come into our house. A flood could wash this one away.” She cleared her throat and called, “Hello!”

  The dog barked like crazy, straining at its leash, which was a steel cable like a bike lock.

  “Is anyone home?” shouted Sandro. He strode up to the door and banged on it with his fist. “Come next door with us. The street’s flooding.”

  Serena approached the dog, which had started growling and snarling. “It’s okay, sweetheart, we’re here to help.” She spoke softly, trying not to sound too nervous. Dogs could pick up on that. The steel cord attached to a rusted metal ring screwed into the porch column. “I’ll have to detach it at the collar.” There was a carabiner clip there. “But I need a leash so it doesn’t run off.”

  “I’ll grab it.” Sandro rushed over.

  “It might bite.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  Oddly, the dog quieted, turning submissive as they both loomed over it, and Sandro took it in his firm hands. She unclipped the leash, and he clutched the stunned dog to his chest.

  “No one’s home. No lights, no answer,” he said through the rain. “Let’s get out of here.”

  The rain and wind together were blinding, and water now lapped at their ankles as they struggled back over the ramshackle picket fence and up across the soggy lawn of the newer house.

  Serena battled the wind, trying to get the door closed behind them. When she finally slammed it shut she turned the dead bolt. “The water is rising.” Her voice shook. “What if it gets really deep?”

  “This house is sturdy. It’ll hold.” He stroked the dog, which now shivered in the cool air that lingered even though they’d turned the air-conditioning off.

  “Let me get a towel.” She grabbed the hand towel from the powder room and quickly ruffled it through the dog’s soggy fur. Now longer growling or even barking, the dog stared at them with wide blue eyes. “I think it’s saying thank you.”

  “It should. It could have drowned out there.”

  “We should get upstairs.”

  “You go on up.” He handed her the dog, which settled into her arms. She expected it to be heavy, but it barely weighed anything. “Let me check on the chicken and potatoes.”

  She laughed. She’d forgotten all about them. “Okay. I guess we’ll be having a picnic up there.”

  She held the little dog close. He was black and white with longish hair, probably fluffy when dry, and he had big, mournful blue eyes. She’d always wanted a dog when she was little. Her parents were far too sensible to get one. Just like she was too sensible to get one now. A dog was a big responsibility.

  She couldn’t believe someone would leave this one out on the porch in a big storm. It had a bowl of water, which the rain had refilled, but she hadn’t seen any food.

  The dog sniffed the air. “You can smell that chicken, huh? Well, I bet there will be enough for you, too.” It had a pointed bl
ack nose, which it turned up at her, and as she bent down it reached up and licked her face.

  She recoiled from its wet tongue but couldn’t help smiling. “Doggy kisses?” Then she whispered, “I think those are safer than the other kind that you rescued me from.”

  She looked around. It would make sense to bring all the plates and cups they might need upstairs. “What should we call him? Or is it a her?” She peeked. “He’s a him.”

  “I suppose Lucky is too clichéd?” He pulled the chicken out of the oven.

  The dog was riveted and drooled on her arm at the smell. “I think it’s perfect. You are Lucky. If you didn’t bark so loud.…” She shuddered at the thought of Lucky’s fate and kissed his head. She managed to gather some plates and cutlery with her free hand and a bowl for Lucky.

  “Let me sauté the vegetables, and we’ll be ready to eat.”

  “I think Lucky’s ready right now. I’ll put him down upstairs, then I’ll come back for more stuff.”

  Upstairs she put the plates on a dresser and set Lucky down on the soft bedding in one of the bedrooms. No sooner had she turned her back than Lucky was following her back out of the room.

  “Stay!”

  Lucky cocked a black-and-white ear.

  “You do know what I’m saying. Stay!” She turned and left the room, but when she reached the bottom of the stairs, whining made her turn to see him up at the top. “You didn’t stay. I don’t think you know how to climb down stairs, though, do you?”

  The poor little dog looked desperate enough to hurl himself down. “I’m coming back for you. Hold on.” She climbed the stairs and picked him up again. “You’ll just have to help me get the glasses and napkins.”

  Sandro had stuffed the chicken and put it on a big serving platter. He now spooned roast potatoes and sautéed greens around it.

  “That looks so good.”

  “Sure you don’t want your turkey roll?” He lifted a brow.