The Royal Pain

"Thank you." Then, because she couldn't help herself: "You know, that's terrible for the lenses."



"Never mind. Anyway—here's your ball. His dad was never around for Christmas, birthdays, Thanksgiving… I mean never. And Shel hated it. And his mom hated it. And all his sibs hated it. Everybody but Dr. Rivers, I guess."



"So instead of blaming his father for an overly developed work-ethic—"



"Ha! You'd know about that, huh, Jenn?"



"—he chose instead to blame the wealthy?"



"Something like that. You know, something that makes him sound like less of a dick. That's why I was so surprised when they seemed to, you know, hit it off. It'd be your classic poor-boy-falls-for-rich-girl story, except for how he hates rich people. And royalty. And brunettes. You know, because of the prom. But that's a whole other thing."



"Indeed." She rolled her ball with a grunt, and watched, surprised, as three pins were knocked over.



"There ya go!"



"At this rate, I can roll three hundred in… oh, dear, I just gave myself a headache."



"Don't be so hard on yourself. It's a date, hon, the word is fun."



"Is that the word?"



"Yeah, and we're not going to spend all night talking about your boss and my best friend, are we?"



"I had planned on it," she admitted, making sure her brown turtleneck was tucked in all the way around. Some of her bowls took a bit out of her.



"Hon, you've gotta take a vacation."



"Hon, that's what everyone keeps telling me."



Chapter 26



The cuffs were rattling in her ears as she clung to the wooden bars of the headboard, facedown on the mattress. Shel pushed into her from behind with a sound that was halfway between a grunt and a moan. She tried to get up on her knees a bit to meet his thrusts, but with a hand in the middle of her back he pushed her back down and thrust deeply, sweetly.



She felt him filling her up, felt his hot breath on the back of her neck, heard his groans. He shifted, and then one hand was in her hair and the other was clenched in a fist on the pillow beside her as he worked her from behind, treated himself at the same time, rubbed, touched, fucked. And oh, Christ, she loved it, it wasridiculous how much she loved it, how good it felt, his hands, his dick, his lips pressed tightly against her left shoulder.



She could feel her orgasm approach like a roaring freight train, and gripped the bars so hard her knuckles whitened. Then she was coming, coming so hard she could actually feel her uterus contracting, and he was gasping and shifting behind her, pushing, stroking, and just when the train slowed down it sped up again, taking her with it, and she let go of the bars as he stiffened behind her and groaned her name into her hair.



"Ah, God," she gasped after a long moment.



"Killing me," he mumbled. "You're killing me. Don't think I don't know. It's a plot. You're trying to take over my country—"



"One marine biologist at a time. Now that you've figured it out, I'llhave to kill you."



"You are," he said, smiling, as he got up and unlocked her.



One thing they had agreed on: the cuffs were for sex. Nothing else. No pre-copulation taunting, no post-coital chatting with her arms over her head. The keys were kept right beside them and, for safety's sake, he had a spare set in the pocket of his backpack. No wacky "jeepers, I can't find the key I guess we'd better call a locksmith" hijinks for her, thank you very much.



It was funny… she loved being restricted while they were fucking, and absolutely could not tolerate it when they weren't.



She must have spoken aloud, because she heard him say, "Fucking? Oh, that's a nice word. Is that what we're doing?"



"Forget it," she told him, rubbing her wrists. They weren't sore, but it was good to have freedom of movement again. "I hate the word 'lovemaking.' I always picture someone knitting."



"Knitting love?"



"Seriously, Shel. I hate that word."



"Mmm." He grabbed her wrist and examined it, then grabbed the other one, satisfied himself there were no marks, and let go. "Sex, then? Because I'm not too fond of 'fucking' unless somebody's swearing."



"Why?"



"It sounds cold," he said shortly. "Like what we're doing in here doesn't mean anything. Like it could be anybody in here."



"Sex it is," she agreed, ignoring the stab of anxiety his words brought. "You know, Dr. Rivers, when we met, I never dreamed you were the type to get so easily attached."



She had tried to make a joke out of it, but he didn't crack a smile. "I'm not," he said shortly. "But—"



Then, thank God, the phone rang. Alex reached for it. Lunged for it, truth be told.



"Come on," he protested. "You're on your own time. It's almost midnight, for crying out loud."



"I know. But Terry wouldn't bug me this late unless it was important."And frankly, I've had about as much of this awkward conversation as I'm going to take . "Hello?"



"Your Highness, this is Reynolds."



"Yes, Terry, what can I do for you?"



"I'm really sorry to bother you so late, but I've got Princess Christina on the other line. She says Princess Dara is sick."



Oh Jesus. "Put her through. And then call my pilot and tell him to be ready to go back home."



"At once, Your Highness." There was the temporary black hole of being on hold and she saw Shel pull his shirt on out of the corner of her eye.



"What's wrong?" he whispered, stepping into his boxers.



"My niece is sick. Hello?"



"Alex?"



"Chris, what—"



"Listen. It was a shitty thing to do and I apologize, and it's important that you get this: Dara's fine. Okay? She's totally fine. Pooped twice today, in fact. We're still reeling from it."



"Wh—why—"



"Look, I'm really sorry, I just didn't see any way around it. You've been dodging my calls—"



"Christina."



"And don't get all snotty and royal on me, either! Believe me, you'll thank me for this. He's on his way."



"What?" She was so relieved the baby was safe, she was having trouble following. "Who? What?"



"Aren't you supposed to be the smart one? Your dad! King Al! He saw the paper—you can kick Edmund's ass for that one, by the way—and totally nipped out. Signed a bunch of crap and came out on his plane as soon as he could. I didn't even know he'd left until I practically beat it out of Edmund, that rat fink."



"He's on his way here?"



"No, I'm mean he's there rightnow ."



"Alex? Hello?"



"Oh, God."



"Exactly. So, honey, if you've, you know, got a friend up there, now would be a real good time to give him the boot, get me?"



Alex swayed as the full, awful dreadfulness of the moment swept over her. She was frozen in place like any heroine in a bad horror movie. Her mind shouted a hundred directions, but she just stood there, dimly hearing Christina squawk through the receiver.



"What's wrong?" Sheldon asked again, just as the door shook. As if someone with coconut-size hands was knocking on it, and in a hurry.



Chapter 27



"Hi, Dad!" she said, giving the king her brightest smile as she swung the door open. She tightened the belt on her robe, then nearly went sprawling as her father marched past her.



"Got some good staff downstairs," he commented. "You wouldn't believe the shit they were shoveling in order to stop me from coming up."



"What shit?" she asked innocently, raking a hand through her hair.



"Apparently, you're drunk, with a migraine, and going into withdrawal from the heroin treatment, and can't have visitors. To my own face they're telling me this! I could have them imprisoned for fifty years!"



"I am getting a bit of a headache," she admitted.



"My ass you are." He was looking around the suite, then spotted Shel. His blue eyes went narrow and squinty and he lunged forward.



So did Alex, wrapping her arms around his (slightly thickened) middle. The tops of her feet dragged across the lush carpet as he dragged her a meter and a half, then gave up.



"For Christ's sake, Alex. Leggo."



She did, thudding to the carpet, then leaping to her feet before her father or Shel could help her up. "Dad, I'm warning you."



His eyes went wide, and the corner of his mouth turned up in an expression she knew well: He was pissed, but trying not to laugh. "You're warning me? Sweetheart, you might want to check the history books. I've got rank."



"Dad, I'm serious. Don't you touch him. Not one finger, not one knuckle. I'm twenty-five years old, for God's sake!"



"Yeah, and I've been telling you for about that long to watch out for fortune hunters," he snapped back. "This kid doesn't have a penny to his—"



"Fortune hunters?" Shel repeated, sounding like he'd found a snake in the toilet. Alex groaned and made frantic throat-slashing motions, to no avail. "Not fucking likely! What, you think that's the only reason someone would be interested in your daughter?"



"Who's talking to you, boy?"



"Because it's not, mister! King! Whatever! She's smart and sexy and funny and chilly and tough and—"



"Quiet, you. Alex, what the hell? I gotta read this in the papers?"



"It's not like that, Dad."



"What's it like, then?"



"Private. That's what it's like."



"You didn't tell himanything about us?" Now Sheldon sounded as if the snake in the toilet had hatched babies in his shoes.



"I did! Remember, Dad, on the phone the other—"