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“Six too many.”
“Divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived.” Chaney repeated the rhyme she’d memorized back in school. “I’m sure at least half of them would agree with you.”
“All of them should.”
The disdain in his voice surprised her. She remembered what he’d said earlier today in the great hall. “So you’re not interested in settling down or in marriage?”
“Beheadings, divorces and deaths sound about right when it comes to matrimony.”
“Don’t forget one of Henry’s wife survived those fates.”
“Sheer luck.” He glanced back at Chaney. “I prefer better odds.”
His take on marriage brought a twinge of disappointment, but she didn’t know why. “Don’t you want a family?”
He shrugged. “I have no time for a family.”
“Someday then?”
He continued up the stairs, all armor and wide shoulders. “Perhaps, but I don’t see it happening.”
“You never know what might happen.” The torches flickered like candles, casting shadows through the stairwell. She touched the wall, the stone cool and rough beneath her palm. “It almost feels as if we’ve gone back in time.”
“Except this castle has electricity, heating, indoor plumbing and Wi-Fi.”
“My kind of castle.”
“Mine, too,” he admitted. “Though there is something to be said for a time when men were men. That isn’t always the case today.”
Armor aside, Drake was as manly as men came. “Many of those men didn’t live to see middle age, let alone old age.”
“True, but at least there were rules and codes to battles as well as relationships. That had to make things easier.”
“Easier doesn’t sound very romantic.”
“Let me guess.” His lighthearted tone teased. “You’re one of those romantic women who enjoy hearts, flowers and violins.”
“Well, I’m not all that into hearts and violins, but I do like flowers. If that makes me one of those romantic women, so be it.” She climbed the stairs behind him. “I do believe true love exists.”
“Love may exist,” he admitted. “But I don’t think it lasts long in the real world or really offers much.”
“My parents are still together after thirty-two years of marriage,” Chaney countered. “I doubt they made it that far by simply liking each other.”
“Like can go a long way. As can habit.” Drake reached the top of the stairs. “But I hope for your parents’ sake and for Gemma and Oliver’s, that their love lasts.”
Maybe Drake wasn’t all that bad. He obviously cared about Gemma’s happiness and future, but his words still bothered Chaney. “So you’re not a full-blown cynic about love.”
He stood in front of a massive wood door, looking every inch the lord of the manor or, in this case, king of the castle. “I prefer to think of myself as a realist.”
“We should agree to disagree, then, because I feel totally removed from reality right now.”
Smiling, he pushed down on the door handle. “Then enjoy the fantasy.”
The words Drake and fantasy did not belong in the same sentence. Okay, the guy might be a total hottie and physically appealing, but Chaney disagreed with everything he said about the subjects of love and marriage. Even though she didn’t want to settle down now, that didn’t mean not ever. One day she hoped to experience the kind of love that lasted, the forever kind. And she would never want to date a man who had such different views on relationships from her. Not that Drake wanted to date her.
He opened the door.
“You don’t lock your room?” she asked.
“Can’t. No place to put the key.”
“You could have asked one of us to hold it.”
“The castle is secure. The production crew top rate. Even the locals we’ve hired seem like excellent workers.” He held the door for her. “Besides I don’t have anything that can’t be replaced.”
Chaney tried to understand his way of thinking. Tried and failed. “One of the perks of being wealthy, I’d imagine.”
“For me, yes.” He didn’t sound boastful, simply honest. “Others might disagree.”
“Several others, I’d imagine.”
“Yourself.”
It wasn’t a question. “I don’t have expensive jewelry or electronics with me, but what I have I’d like to keep.”
“If I were yours, I’d want to be kept.”
Her cheeks warmed. Chaney crossed the threshold to his room so he wouldn’t see her blush. She couldn’t imagine Drake allowing any woman to keep him. Especially her. “Wow. Now I know what the production coordinator meant when she called this room opulent.”
No expense had been spared in decorating the suite, a series of rooms, each of which was larger than Chaney’s one-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles. She stood in the sitting area, where a fire burned in the hand-carved fireplace. The golden flames added warmth and a romantic atmosphere.
Not romantic, she corrected. Nothing about her being her could be construed as romantic. She was here to do a job, nothing else.
Still she caught a glimpse of the bedroom off to her right. Gold and Wedgwood-blue silk curtains hung from a large canopy bed, a bed fit for royalty, heads of state or a corporate raider. Coordinating pillows made a pair of overstuffed chairs placed beneath an arched window look even more luxurious.
“This suite is so lavish,” Chaney said.
“It is rather regal looking.” He removed his gauntlets and placed them on a round table. “If you like it so much, we can trade rooms.”
“Thanks, but I’m happy where I am.” Coming back to England had been a good move, even with seeing Drake again. She’d been handed a golden excuse to miss the housewarming party at her sister’s new house this weekend. No having to tell friends and family she still didn’t have a boyfriend and that she wasn’t jealous her sister was living in a beautiful house in Malibu with a view and a guesthouse. Nope, this was much better than that anyday. “You belong here. This is the king’s bedchamber.”
Drake bowed. “I am but a mere knight, my lady.”
“A king in knight’s clothing.” And with a kingly bed. Chaney noticed the bedding had been turned down. The sheets must be at least 400-count Egyptian cotton. “You shouldn’t sleep anywhere but here.”
“It is a comfortable room.”
“Comfortable? It’s so spectacular I’m afraid to touch anything. I bet that table-and-chair set is worth more than I am.” She pointed the clipboard toward a four-foot-high vase on her left. “That vase probably costs more than my annual salary.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We were required to take out a large insurance rider in order to use the castle and grounds for the show. You’re safe.”
She didn’t feel so safe. Her gaze strayed to his inviting bed. Her bed would look just as good, she reminded herself.
“It’s late.” Chaney’s heavy eyelids kept wanting to close. The sooner she got to her own room, the better. She set her clipboard on the table. “Let me help you out of your costume so we can get to bed.”
“My bed or yours?”
Heat flamed her cheeks. “You know what I meant.”
“I always like to make sure and remove any doubt. It saves me from misunderstandings down the road as well as missed opportunities.”
“You’re not missing anything with me.” The words tumbled from her mouth. “I mean…”
Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “What do you mean, Chaney?”
He sounded so cool and collected, as if having a member of the opposite sex in his room after midnight was no big deal.
Okay, it probably wasn’t to him.
Still, the way he stood there looking sexier than anyone had a right to look dressed like a character from a summer blockbuster movie irritated Chaney.
No, he irritated her.
And that’s when she realized…
She was still angry with him for what happened five years ago, for shattering her illusion of him. She’d wanted to find her Prince Charming back then. She’d wanted him to be Drake. Instead she’d returned home and met Tyler, a man totally opposite from Drake. A man she’d thought had loved her. At least, he’d claimed to love her until he met Simone.
Chaney tucked her hair behind her ears. “How do you remove the costume?”
Drake lifted his left arm and pointed with his right hand. “Buckles are hidden underneath. They attach the armor pieces. You have to undo them.”
Okay, that didn’t sound difficult.
As she walked toward him, heat hit her. Not from the fireplace, but from Drake. She knew he was hot, but not literally. Heat emanated from him. His scent, sweaty, musky and male, filled her nostrils.
“I’m looking forward to getting out of this costume and into a shower,” he said.
She did not want to think about him naked with warm water shooting down on him. She glanced at the bed again. Thinking about him there probably wasn’t a good idea, either.
Chaney pulled apart the armor plates to find the buckles. “All I want to do is sleep.”
“That bed does look…inviting. They even left chocolate on the pillows.” He stared down at her. “Two chocolates.”
Uh-oh. She undid a buckle. “The staff may have assumed you’d have company.”
“I do. Are you interested?”
Her fingers fumbled. “What?”
His eyes danced with laughter. “In a chocolate.”
“I’m not company. I work for your company.” Unfastening another buckle, her fingertips brushed the chain mail underneath. “How many layers are you wearing?”
“A few, but once the chain mail is off, I can handle the rest. Unless you’d rather help with that, too.”
Her fingers trembled. No way would she respond to him. Anything she said would come out wrong and might even sound as if she were interested in helping with…more. She pressed her lips together.
Chaney focused on the armor, not the man underneath it. She caught glimpses of chain mail, a quilted shirt, dark hair. Intriguing images. Tempting impressions. Ones she ignored. She unbuckled the pieces around his chest and shoulders and placed each in a special container sitting on the floor of his room.
She knelt at his feet to remove the lower half of the armor. Reaching around his thigh, she found her hands between his legs and her head much too close to his, um, codpiece.
“I appreciate this, Chaney,” he said as if she were tying his shoes, not practically fondling him as she tried to reach a buckle. “I know you’re tired.”
She kept her eyes focused on the buckle, not allowing herself to look anywhere else. Or touch any part of him. “Almost done.”
Please, oh, please let me be almost done.
She hurriedly undid the buckle. Unfortunately, three more needed her attention and kept her in the uncomfortable, embarrassing position.
“All done,” she said finally, laying the last piece of leg armor into its spot in the container.
“Thank you.”
Chaney turned. The words “you’re welcome” died on her parted lips.
Drake stood wearing chain mail that molded his muscular shoulders, arms and chest. The metal shirt fell to his hips. Talk about hot.
She swallowed.
He was every woman’s fantasy and her worst nightmare. But that didn’t stop her knees from going weak and her blood from boiling.
“The chain mail attaches in the back,” he said.
Chaney forced herself into action. She fumbled with the first hook. Her fingers wouldn’t do what she wanted them to do.
She blew out a frustrated breath.
Darn the man.
His soft-looking hair tempted her to touch it, to see if the strands would curl around her finger.
“Having trouble?” Drake asked.
He had no idea. “I’m getting there.”
Or would. As soon as she reminded her traitorous body and out-of-control hormones she wasn’t interested in Drake Llewelyn. He couldn’t give her what she wanted: a forever kind of love. Not to mention she was taking a break from dating, from men.
An almost two-year break, a voice—maybe her heart—mocked.
