Page 31 of Some Like It Royal

The kindness and the sense of the purpose in the words were too much. They should be back in Beverly Hills. Victor should be drilling her on how to walk, to talk and to eat in public. Daniel should be barricaded in his study, debugging code. The fantasy they worked on constructing was far safer than this—far safer than sitting here, gripping his hand. This was real.

Too real.

She should let him go, but no matter how much she knew it was a mistake, she couldn’t quite bring her fingers to unlock from his.

“Okay.” She swallowed, because the whisper was all she could manage.

“Okay.” He squeezed her hand and his grin tightened another band around her heart. “Do you want to eat first or drive straight to the address?”

The man seemed determined to fatten her up. Her lips curved. It was altogether too damn sweet. Affection softened her resolve. “Are you hungry?”

“Starved,” he admitted, unabashed. He ignored the laptop in front of him, his blue-eyed gaze fixed on her. She made the mistake of staring into those eyes. This would be a lot easier on her equilibrium if he were ugly.

“Then let’s get food first.” She couldn’t stomach the thought of food. The coffee she drank earlier sat like a rock in her belly and the orange juice churned around it, burning like acid.

“Fantastic, I know this great little diner. It’s about halfway between the airport and your address. They make waffles, like, this big…” He tugged his hand free to mime a huge circle with both his hands. She fought the disappointment at the loss of contact. Just when she thought her rough emotions were under control, his warm fingers closed on hers again. “Strawberry waffles with whipped cream.”

Her stomach growled, a low sound, but unmistakable even with the engine noise. His lips curved teasingly. “I heard that.”

“Shh.” Her face warmed. “It’s not polite.”

He laughed and the sound draped around her like a shawl. “Okay, but you’re hungry and trust me—the waffles will be worth it.”

Not quite trusting the wild tingles racing through her, she nodded slowly. “I believe you.”

The answer satisfied him and he leaned back in his seat and flipped his screen to a news site’s business feed. He read through the top stories, still cradling her hand in his.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine this was real.

Damn her if she didn’t want to do just that.

* * *

He rented a Lexus.A very nice, very comfortable,sink into the seats and let it cradle the body,Lexus. The man spent money like some people collected coupons. He didn’t look at the receipt when he signed the rental slip. Conversation lagged until he negotiated his way through traffic and put them on the road toward Woodland.

“Nervous?” He tossed a glance her way, but she shook her head.

“No.” She intended to leave it at that, but surprised herself. “A little uncertain. We’re assuming that the house is still there and that the people in it will have some idea of who lived there before.”

Was that why her stomach refused to settle? Why it kept flip-flopping like a fish caught on a line?

“We’re not assuming the new owners know anything. I didn’t think to have the P.I. investigate the property. He traced the sale of it, but that happened after your parents passed.”

Her stomach sank at the reminder, not that she needed one. The last time she’d tried to get answers, she ended up spending a small fortune in calling cards and getting nowhere. She’d finally given up. If the social workers had anything for her, maybe it had all gone to her care with the state.

“But—” he patted her thigh in the most casual and familiar of gestures, “—the area of Woodland you grew up in is known for longevity of its residents. I’m hoping your neighbors remember and can point us in the right direction.”

Neighbors.How easily he described them. Neighbors were not something she’d given a thought to or considered a potential source. Her life had revolved around fitting into a new home or a new school, not maintaining ties to a past that grew more distant, almost invisible in the rearview mirror of time.

“We’re assuming that my parents were social.” It was a lame rebuttal and the patient look he wore tweaked her.

“You don’t have to be social to notice your neighbors. When I was seven, we lived in this great little trailer park.” He grinned at the grimace she couldn’t hide fast enough. “Don’t knock trailer parks. They don’t always have the best reputation, but I loved living there. I couldn’t have told you the names of my neighbors, but I knew them all on sight and they knew me. They’d get after me if I was getting too rambunctious and they were always keeping an eye on the kids in the neighborhood. I went back about four years ago, just out of curiosity, and a lot of them remembered me.”

“Yeah?” A nugget of hope edged past the doubt coiling in her belly.

“Hmm-hmm. They remembered the windows I’d broken with my baseballs and the fact that I preferred reading and playing on that ‘damn’ computer to more manly pursuits. Mrs. Filmore, who taught my third-grade class, still lived in her trailer house across from our old lot and she was impressed that I grew into my brain.”

Alyx couldn’t help but join in with his laughter. There was something carefree about it. “You grew into your brain?”

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