t starts out well enough. The way that every good fairytale should. The Prince awaits me at a candlelit dinner table, and I’m escorted to him by servants across a romantically lit room. Only I’m not a princess, and the servant isn’t really a servant. Not in the traditional sense, at least. He’s a host for Klyndale’s, the fanciest restaurant along the Hudson River, and I’m just a regular girl playing pretend in her swanky little black dress and red lipstick.
Sometimes pretend is not enough.
“Your table, miss,” the host says and he pulls out my chair. I smile at him, but really, I only have eyes for the man across the table. My prince.
Jagger stands.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
His elegant suit is tailored to accentuate the imposing form of his body. He wears it with pride, like he was born in it, and I can’t stop looking. With his customary air of command he takes the host’s place to push in my chair. As he comes near the candlelight plays on the sharp, masculine angles of his face, and some of the anger I feel melts away.
He’s gorgeous in the kind of way that isn’t fair, all broad shoulders and tone, thick muscles, and even though I see his eyes are tired, they burn with an intensity that’s made for me and me alone. The way he looks at me, I feel it through my clothes. And his voice.
“It’s good to see you again, Alexa.”
At least he’s got this whole fairytale thing right.
Handsome, rich, and powerful, Captain Jagger Long is the kind of man who’s got the world at his fingertips, literally. He’s freshly returned from his latest tour around Asia and Australia and he’s invited me out tonight.
And I’m pissed.
“It’s good to see you, too,” I admit. I don’t want to be on the offensive, on our first dinner date in almost a month, no matter how pissed I feel. Damnit. I don’t want to be pissed.
Jagger waits until I’m comfortable before he sits. A waiter appears with an enticing selection of artisan breads and dips that he lays between us. The bread is warm and the dips are almost too pretty to want to use. Artfully swirled oils are offset by carefully laid sun-dried tomatoes. Before I can thank the waiter for the appetizer, he’s already gone.
Jagger’s eyes don’t leave my face. He’s eating me up like I’m all he needs, and I would have to admit that it feels good.
“We should do a lot more of this seeing each other thing.” Jagger selects a thin slice of bread and disturbs one of the tiny dishes of dip with it. “I’ll be stateside for the next week, at least. Come out with me tomorrow. There’s an art exhibit going on I want you to see.”
My temper flares. He’s hit me right on the sore spot. “Maybe we could do a lot more of that seeing each other thing if you were around more often.” I tried not to do it. I meant not to do it. But I did it.
“Ouch.” Jagger winces dramatically. “You got me straight through the heart with that one.”
“Jagger, I’m being serious.” It’s so seldom that we’re ever serious so he knows that I mean business. I wish more than anything I could lighten up now and either find a softer way to express what I’m feeling or maybe just relax and enjoy the evening. But it’s been bottled up these last couple of weeks, and I try but I can’t hold back. “I’m sick of always waiting around, putting my whole life on hold waiting for your call, or even worse, waiting for you to come home.”
“It’s not all that bad,” he defends.
I arch an eyebrow. “Not all that bad? How many times have you canceled our dinner dates in the last few months because you unexpectedly got called on to do another tour? How many last minute clients have you ferried from one end of the world to the other?”
Jagger sucks in a breath and sinks back in his chair. As he does, he keeps his posture remains firm and unyielding. He doesn’t let me see a single chink in his armor. I so wish he would. I want to let him know that it’s because I want to be with him. That I miss him.
Our relationship is still in its fledgling stages, and I wonder if I’m in over my head. Being apart from Jagger for weeks at a time bothers me. I want to know that he misses me as much as I miss him, but his alpha male personality doesn’t reveal much and it makes it hard for me to read him.
When he’s away I feel like I’m putting my life on hold for him. If I’m not attached to my phone hoping he’ll call, I’m waiting anxiously for the jarring ring of his phone to steal him away from me. That’s no way to live.
“Okay, okay, you’ve got me there.” He lifts both hands with his palms are toward me. Like he’s telling me to wait. “But I’ll have you know I am trying to land more domestic jobs. The issue isn’t me, it’s the clients. The men and women who pay top dollar all want long-haul to exotic places. China, Japan, Saudi Arabia, Morocco…”
He lists off locales like they’re New York neighborhoods. The world means nothing to him anymore. “I’ve been eying some jobs with service to the west coast, but right now eying is all it is.”
“Have you considered flying for someone else?” I ask. “Like a scheduled airline? Something commercial?”
Jagger snorts. He gives me a flat look like I’m the crazy one. “If it wasn’t boring as all hell, it still wouldn’t be worth the drop in money. I might as well work retail if I let that happen.”
A waiter in a white jacket pours wine for us into tall, fine goblets. I don’t remember Jagger ordering anything, and I realize he must have given instructions to the staff before I arrived. Telling them like he owns the place. I can imagine him doing it. Satisfaction twists in my stomach, and I squirm a little in my seat as I let it take hold. He really does make me feel like I’m a princess sometimes, even though I’m living out of a studio apartment in Jersey instead of a high rise in New York.
“Besides.” Jagger raises his wineglass toward me in toast. “The working relationship I have with Executive Privilege is too good to pass up. They take good care of me so I can take good care of you. I wouldn’t want to give that up.”
Damn him and his smooth words. I scowl and lift my wineglass as he smirks at me. The rims clink, and we drink together. The wine is exquisite. I don’t know the first thing about vintages or body, but I can tell that this wine is expensive just by tasting it. It’s smooth and soft. Not too bitter and not too dry, and it’s got a rich, sweet aftertaste that makes me want to see if it clings to Jagger’s tongue as much as it does my own.
“I’m still upset,” I say.
“Understandably.” His strong voice has a tender undertone. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t be.”
“You know how you can make it up to me?” I look at him from where I sit, daring him to ask.
“How?”
I sit up a little straighter, doing my best to look every bit the princess he makes me feel like. “You can tell me one of your famous stories.”
Jagger laughs through his nose and shakes his head slowly. “At this rate, you really are going to make a writer out of me.”
“At least you’d be home then.” A grin creeps onto my face as he groans. “So?”
He takes a deep breath to prepare himself. The candlelight between us flickers in his eyes, almost magical. “Well,” Jagger begins. “Once upon a time…”
“There once was a wise and kindly king who was adored by his people throughout the land, and he loved nothing more than his three beautiful daughters. What he cared for most of all in the world was their happiness.”
Jagger’s voice is soothing in a way it shouldn’t be. I listen to him without interruption.
“One day, a prince from a far off land came visiting. He brought along his three strong, handsome sons.”
“Are princes ever anything other than strong or handsome?” I asked, thinning my lips so I don’t grin at the tick of annoyance on his face.
“Of course they are, but these princes just happen to be strong. And handsome, too,” Jagger says. “Stereotypical princes. Call me a sucker for tradition.”
I stick out my tongue, feeling a little better already. “Go on.”
“The king was overjoyed when his three beautiful daughters all fell in love with the three handsome sons. And, of course, the sons fell in love with the king’s daughters in return. Each of the sons came to the king in turn, as is tradition, to ask for the hand of the princess in marriage. The king wanted nothing more than to consent and to arrange the most lavish and wonderful ceremony and celebration for his princesses, for all of the people in the land and for the young princes.”
I frown. “So that’s it? That must be the shortest love story ever.”
“That’s nowhere close to it. What do you think I am, some hack? After all the experience I’ve gained telling you stories over the last few months, I think I’m a little better rounded than that.” Jagger lifts a brow. “Am I allowed to continue, or are you deadset on making it the shortest love story in the world?”
“No, no, go on.”
“Good.” Jagger gives me a warning look and I zip my lips. “So when the first prince approaches the king to ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage, the king comes to a decision. He decides that if he’s going to arrange for this opulent, incredible ceremony, that he needs to make sure the prince is worth the love of his precious daughter. Both the price of the party and the price of his daughter’s love.
“So the king asks the prince, ‘Do you truly love my daughter? For I will give her hand and the portion of my fortune only to a man whose heart’s true desire is nothing more than my daughter’s happiness.’
“And of course, the prince gleefully tells the king that he loves the princess truly and deeply.”
I’m pretty sure I know where this story is going, and I’m starting to think it’s not going to be much of a romance after all. “This is still going to end in a happily ever after, right, flyboy?” I ask. “You don’t have the best track record with romances.”
“Every one of my stories so far has been a love story.” Jagger crosses his arms over his chest. “Sit comfortably, enjoy the wine, and let the story take you.”
“My lips are sealed.”
Jagger lets a moment of silence pass between us before he continues. I could drown in his eyes. When he tells these stories over the phone, I picture his eyes. His eyes and his fingers. Oh, and…
“Hearing the prince’s declaration, the king smiles and nods. He tells the prince that he will arrange a test, and that when the prince passes it, the king will arrange for their spectacular wedding. But, he warns, if the prince is proved to be untrue, that he will be put to death.”
“Oh my god!” I squeak.
“Hey, it’s not my kingdom. I’m not making the rules.” Jagger shrugs.
“You so are! This is your story!”
The sparkle of mischief in his eyes almost makes me forget that I’m upset with him.
Almost.
“Shh. So the prince accepts the conditions. He begs the king to give him a test, any test at all. He’s confident he will overcome it. So, with the counsel of the king’s Grand Vizier, the king devises a test.
“He approaches the prince and asks again, ‘Are you sure, do truly love my daughter? Any man who deceives her, I shall have him put to death. You can back out now, but not after you agree. Think carefully.’
I play with the stem of my wineglass before taking another sip. As much as I want to, I don’t interrupt Jagger.
“Of course,” Jagger continues. “The prince is adamant that his feelings are true. He says that without her, his life would be nothing. He’ll do anything to earn her, to win her, and to make her happy. And the king, believing in the certainty of the handsome young prince, accepts this as the truth. He shows the prince to a candlelit chamber, richly carpeted and strewn with cushions. The air is scented with exotic fragrances and soft, sensual music plays. Olives and figs and pomegranates are laid out on low tables.”
I look across our own table. The candles drip with wax, and somewhere along the way, the selection of bread and oil has been supplemented by a plate of thinly sliced meats. I can see where Jagger is drawing his inspiration from.
“The prince takes ease and settles in, feeling pleased with himself and his life. He’s going to marry a beautiful princess, lead a charmed life, and live happily ever after. And it’s then that the door to the room opens, and a beautiful girl slips in.
“She leans to close the door behind her. Fixing him with a determined look, she begins to sway, dancing to the soft, sensual music. Her hair is like a flowing waterfall, and her hips roll like the sands of the desert. Her coal black eyes are on him and they flash with fire. She dances slowly and very close to the prince. When she gets close enough, she bends low in front of him, and he breathes the scent from between her heaving breasts. Then she speaks, soft and low.”
I suck in a breath. “What does she say?”
“As she sways before him she asks him, ‘Can I do more for you, my prince?’” Jagger trails off, but for the first time since he started telling me love stories, it looks like he’s going to continue past the cliffhanger.
Only he never has the chance.
A man darts noisily into the restaurant and winds erratically between the tables. Candles on the tables flicker and the host follows him from the front of the restaurant, trying not to make a scene, but all the eyes in the restaurant are fixed on the two of them. I gape in horror as the man comes to a rapid stop by our table.
I know him.
“Alexa!” My whole body tenses.
My stepfather’s breath is an unwelcome addition to the atmosphere. He leans close. “I need to talk to you!”
I don’t think I’ve ever run out of a restaurant more embarrassed in my life. My cheeks burn red as I step through the front doors. Jagger is taking care of the bill, but he’s obviously upset, too.
I’m livid. Enraged. Angry.
What the hell does my stepfather think he’s doing, crashing my dinner date like that?
“Alexa,” he begs as he follows me through the door. “Please! Listen.”
Listening is about the last thing I want to do. “How did you find me?” I demand instead. “How did you know where I was?”
He shakes his head. “It’s not important.”
“Um, I think it’s very important!” My stepfather hasn’t had much to do with me since I moved out to live on my own. Even when I was living in his house, he didn’t have very much to do with me. Helen, my stepsister, was always the golden child. She’s his flesh and blood, of course. My only tie to my stepfather is through my late mother, and he’s made that known to me before. “How did you find me?”
My stepfather sighs. “I installed a ‘find my phone’ tracker on your phone last year at Christmas. I knew that you weren’t living in the best neighborhood, so it was for your own security.”
My own security my ass. I’m not dumb. My stepfather has been spying on me this whole time and I never even knew about it. My temper boils at about a thousand degrees and I clench my fists. I’m trembling with rage. “That is not okay!”
“We can talk about it later, sweetie,” he says, trying to talk me down. Pet names aren’t going to work, though. Not right now. Not when I’m already upset about the situation with Jagger. My stepfather has just made a bad night worse, and he ruined the fun I was having. “Right now I need you to listen. I need your help. I need to borrow some money.”
I try to take a breath to calm down but halfway I say through me teeth, “Let me get this straight,” We’re causing a scene on the sidewalk, but I’m too upset to care. “You interrupted my dinner date, rushed into the restaurant and embarrassed me, because you want to borrow money?”
He nods like it’s the simplest thing in the world. I’m pretty sure if he says anything else, I’m going to start seeing red.
“No. No, I won’t let you borrow money. You always ask.”
“Alexa, be reasonable.”
“Why don’t you ever ask Helen?” I demand. “She’s…” I want to say ‘your daughter’, but I don’t. I hold it back and stop myself just in time. That would open a can of worms I don’t want to try to get back under control. I settle instead for, “She’s got the money.”
“All of her money is invested,” my stepfather says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s all tied up. And this is the chance of a lifetime. All I need is a little more. You still have that line of credit, don’t you?”
“The one I just paid off?” There’s a feeling in my stomach like a stone dropping into empty space down a dark well. It goes on forever into the eerie unknown and leaves me feeling addled.
“It’s not much. Just a few thousand dollars. I have the rest.”
I wish I lived in a world where a few thousand dollars wasn’t much. I’m shaking my head, but the more he talks, the more he’s wearing me down. He’s family, damnit, even if we aren’t related by blood. I know I need to help him. I’m a good girl.
“I would need you to repay me in full,” I say, trying to stay stern.
“Of course! Would I do anything less?”
He would. I know that I shouldn’t lend money that I can’t afford to lose, but as mad as I am, I know that this is for family. I sigh and give in. “And soon.” I star at him. His watery eyes plead back at me. “I’ll send it to you when I get home, okay?”
“Thank you, Alexa!” He smiles big and sweeps me into a tight hug. He only ever shows affection when he’s gotten what he wants, and it makes me feel hollow. “I’ll be in touch. For now, I’ve got to go. I’ll text you the details.”
I’m sure he will.
I watch as he hurries away, beaming like he’s won the lottery. I feel gross. I know that he’s taken advantage of me, but I can’t say no. It’s a horrible place to be in.
Then Jagger’s hand is on my shoulder, and for a moment the world melts away. He turns me around so we’re chest to chest, and his eyes are possessive and angry for me. Before I know it, he curls a finger beneath my chin and lifts my head.
After that exchange the sight of him releases a rush of relief. My lips part and the magnetism is electric. We share a scorching kiss right there on the sidewalk. His lips taste like sweet wine, and when he backs me up so I gently hit the wall of the restaurant, I get to feel his tongue, too. It’s slipped into my mouth, claiming me, owning me, promising that he’s there to make things all okay.
We’re wound together and I feel the strength of his body, strong beat of his heart. I feel the heat of his rising desire. My own heat rises.
Our hips are close enough that I feel him swell. We haven’t talked about going back to his place, and I want to. I want to more than anything. I want him to take me to bed and prove to me that no matter what, I’m going to be okay.
His lips are firm and demanding, and they guide me through our rough, smoldering kiss expertly. My body melts against his. In that instant, I really am all his.
But a thought of my stepfather, what he just did, drops through my mind like a bucket of ice and my passion shrinks and dies. Perfect.
Jagger tenses and pulls away. A frustrated look on his face glints a little too heavily in his eyes, like an animal in a cage, promised freedom only to learn that the promise was a lie.
His lips are tight as he shakes his head and takes my hand, and before I know it, he’s loading me into the first of the cabs at the curb. There’s a crisp hundred dollar bill in his hand, and he puts it in mine and taps on the door. “I think it’s time to get you home,” he says. “I’ll call you later.”
I don’t know what I did and so I don’t know what to say. I look up at him, befuddled, as he closes the door and steps back onto the sidewalk. And in an instant, I’m gone. The cab speeds toward the tunnel to take me to my tiny studio apartment in Jersey. Jagger disappears behind me.
I guess tonight isn’t such a fairytale after all. My prince may be handsome, but right now he’s receding far away and that’s a long way from the Prince Charming that I need.