The Prince's Cowboy Double Page 3

  “Then you come with me and start working. I’m driving my own truck to San Antonio or I’m staying right here.”

  Stubborn man! She would have gladly strangled him if she didn’t need his neck to be free of bruises for the next few days. “Very well,” she said as civilly as possible under the circumstances. “Let me get my briefcase and I will begin instructions at once.”

  “And bring me one of those Dr. Peppers, darlin’,” he called out as she turned away.

  She gritted her teeth and shooed the other man back to the Land Rover. “Make a list of whatever you feel is most urgent for Mr. McCauley’s education. We’ll meet with him in the suite after checking in to the hotel. I trust we’ve already made arrangements to enter through the service elevators?”

  “Of course,” Milos answered. “No one except for a few maids will see the prince enter the hotel.”

  “Very good. Call me on my mobile if you think of any problems.”

  After retrieving a cold can of the soda, her sun-glasses—a recent addition to her wardrobe caused by the unrelenting glare of the sun on the shining bonnet of the Land Rover—and her briefcase, she made her way with as much dignity as possible to the porch, where Mr. McCauley awaited. At least he was fully dressed. She should have thought to give him a selection from Prince Alexi’s wardrobe, but she’d been so shaken when she left his ranch to go into town that she hadn’t planned that far ahead. She sincerely hoped this was not an omen of things to come.

  “Let’s be off,” she repeated, handing him the can.

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Really, Mr. McCauley,” she said as he took her arm and steered her around the side of the house, “your sarcasm is unnecessary and inappropriate. I am the daughter of an earl, not a member of the royal family.” She took a deep breath as she rushed to keep up with his longer stride. “Prince Alexi would certainly never say such a thing to an employee.”

  “I’m beginning to think this prince is a real bore.”

  “Absolutely not! He’s a wonderful man.”

  “He sounds like a sleazy toad who just ran off with my former girlfriend.”

  “You claimed that you and Ms. Jacks were not that close.”

  “That’s beside the point. I’m not real fond of this prince right now.”

  Gwendolyn wasn’t real happy with him, either, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Mr. McCauley.

  They stopped beside a huge, flashy pickup truck with a ram’s head emblem on the side. It was spotlessly clean, and the dark blue finish featured tiny, glistening metallic flecks that reflected the unrelenting Texas sunshine. The monstrous vehicle was so tall that it needed a step for passengers to climb inside.

  Hank McCauley reached up, opened the door and gazed at the interior. “You just throw that gimmee cap in the back and boost yourself up into the dually. I’ll get us to San Antonio pronto.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “What?”

  “Did it ever occur to you that the rest of the world speaks English, while you are communicating in some language that is incomprehensible to the average person?”

  Hank McCauley threw back his head and laughed. Of all the gall! Gwendolyn was sorely tempted to kick him in the shin, just as she’d done to Prince Alexi when they were school chums in England and he’d teased her about a particularly lovely little straw hat she’d worn…just once.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Mr. McCauley said as he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her to the steps of the monster truck. “You teach me proper English, and I’ll teach you Texan.”

  She let out a gasp as she tottered on the step, bringing her eye to eye with the irritating cowboy.

  “Easy does it, Lady Wendy.” His warm hands steadied her. “First lesson. This truck is a dually because it has dual wheels on the back. That’s for hauling horse trailers and other heavy equipment. Second lesson,” he said, his warm blue eyes crinkling in humor, “a gimmee cap is a cap with a logo that you get free from somebody who wants to sell you something. Like John Deere or Purina. Got it?” He didn’t wait for her reply. “Now you get your cute little butt inside the truck and don’t touch anything. You can start lecturing me as soon as I get on the road.”

  With that, he turned her around—quite effortlessly, she noticed—and actually patted her on the bottom!

  “Well!” she exclaimed, but she was already pulling herself onto the seat. His chuckles faded as he walked around the back of the “dually.” He probably told every woman he met that she had a “cute little butt.” As if that were true praise. If he’d really been paying attention, he might have made a tasteful remark like complimenting her suit or her general appearance, not commenting on the size of her bum.

  Irritating man, she thought as she “accidentally” placed her hand on top of the gimmee cap and squashed it flat.

  BY THE TIME HANK DROVE into San Antonio, his head was spinning with details of Belegovian history, social protocol, current European nobility and a hundred other subjects he’d never heard of before. Lady Wendy had taken the opportunity to brief him on these subjects so she could start their “hands-on” instruction once they reached the hotel.

  Hands-on, he remembered with a chuckle.

  “Something you’d like to share, Mr. McCauley?” she asked from her side of the truck.

  “Just thinking about all the stuff you have stored.”

  “Don’t you dare say ‘in that pretty little head of yours,”’ she said in that upper-class British voice of hers that should have left him chilled. Instead, he felt real warm. Getting hotter by the minute.

  “Why, I’m shocked that you’d think such a thing!” he said in mock indignation. “You make me sound like some sexist macho pig.”

  Lady Wendy sniffed and straightened her spine. “I’m surprised you’re even familiar with the feminist slur.”

  “I do get around,” he informed her as they slowed for traffic where I-35 branched off. “By the way, which hotel are we goin’ to?”

  “The Hyatt Regency,” she informed him. “I believe it is on what is called the Riverwalk.”

  “That’s right. Best of all, it’s just a block from the Alamo.”

  “Ah, the Texas landmark.”

  “Darn right! I take it you’ve never been.”

  “This is my first trip to Texas,” she said in a tone that implied it would also be her last. She just didn’t appreciate the state’s wide variety of attractions. Hank felt a moral obligation to change her mind.

  “Now, all this learnin’ and drivin’ has tired me out,” he informed her as he took I-37 toward down-town San Antonio. “After we get checked in, I’m gonna need a little nap.”

  “Absolutely not! We have to begin immediately on fitting the wardrobe, learning the speech, mannerisms and posture of Prince Alexi, and heaven knows what else to get you ready for tomorrow!”

  “Princess, if I don’t get a few hours of shut-eye, I’m not going to do you a bit of good tomorrow or anytime.”

  “Perhaps you should have thought of that when you stayed up all night, Mr. McCauley.”

  He narrowed his eyes and gripped the steering wheel tighter, but he doubted Miss High and Mighty noticed his anger. “Well, I wasn’t thinkin’ about much but saving Sandstorm’s life last night, Lady Wendy,” he answered with as little sarcasm as possible. Darn woman probably thought he’d been out drinking and chasing women. “Have you ever seen how much misery a horse can be in when they colic? You would have been walkin’ her all night and half the morning, too, if it would have saved her.”

  “Colic? Like with babies?”

  “Yeah, except it’s more serious with horses. They get down on the ground, first throw their head toward their bellies, then begin to roll ’cause they’re in such pain. They can get their guts all twisted and they’ll die. It’s not a pretty sight, I’ll tell you that.”

  He exited the freeway and pulled the truck to a stop at the light, which gave him a chance to take a nice, long look
at his passenger.

  “No, I don’t imagine it would be,” she said with a little shudder. “I take it your horse is better this morning?”

  “She’s fine. I dosed her until she was all cleaned out, then—”

  Lady Wendy held up a hand. “That’s enough detail for me, Mr. McCauley.”

  Hank chuckled, his anger gone as quickly as it began. The light turned green and he turned right. “The hotel’s just a few blocks from here. Do you want me to pull into valet parking?”

  “No, we’ve made arrangements for Prince Alexi to enter through the service entrance.”

  “But I’m not Prince Alexi yet.”

  “Yes, but you look enough like him that people may recognize you.”

  “They might also recognize me from my bronc-riding days.”

  “Really? Are you somewhat of a celebrity, then?”

  Hank chuckled again. “Just if you follow rodeo, Princess.”

  “Please, stop calling me those ridiculous names. As I explained, I’m not royalty.”

  “Yeah, but you sure are cute when you’re riled,” he said with a grin.

  “I assure you, Mr. McCauley, I’ve never been called ‘cute’ in my entire life.”

  As he stopped at the light to go around the block, he looked again at Wendy. She had a real aristocratic face, kind of narrow with what might be called sharp features. Her biggest assets, in his practiced opinion, were her eyes. He imagined they could get real warm and pretty, with the topaz color and golden highlights. But she didn’t use them to flirt. As a matter of fact, she didn’t play up any of her features, even that pale, pretty English complexion.

  “I think you might be real cute if you’d smile more often.”

  “I smile.”

  “Naw, I’m not talkin’ about one of those stingy little polite smiles. I’m talkin’ about a big old, happy-to-be-alive kind of smile.”

  He suspected she was blushing, because she looked down at her hands and fiddled with the buttons on her too-heavy suit jacket. “I don’t think we should be discussing my smile.”

  “Why?” He snapped his fingers, getting her attention. “Oh, I get it. You’ve got that British problem I heard about. I’m sure sorry, Lady Wendy.”

  “What British problem?” she asked, obviously irritated at his teasing.

  “I’m sure sorry I didn’t notice it earlier,” he whispered, then paused dramatically. “Bad teeth.”

  He heard her cry of indignation as he pulled to a stop in front of the hotel. “I most assuredly do not have bad teeth!”

  “Really? Let me see.” He leaned toward her.

  “Mr. McCauley! Please, I’m not one of your horses!”

  “Come on, now, Lady Wendy. Just open up a little and let me see.”

  “You are incorrigible.”

  She sounded offended, but he detected a hint of amusement under her starchy facade. “I know I am. It’s part of my charm.”

  She tried harder not to smile.

  Hank grinned. “You know you want to show me your pearly whites.”

  “I’ll have you know my mum and dad spent a fair amount on my teeth.”

  “Yeah? Mine, too. I was always busting out a tooth or chipping one when I got thrown.”

  “I’ve never had a chipped tooth.”

  “Really? They can be pretty sexy.”

  She sucked in a breath, her topaz eyes suddenly warm. As a matter of fact, the whole inside of the truck seemed to have warmed up considerably. “How?”

  He leaned a bit closer. “’Cause you can run your tongue over that little ol’ chip.”

  “Why would that be sexy?” she whispered.

  “Maybe I wasn’t makin’ myself clear. I meant if you were kissing me, you could run your tongue over that chip. Of course, you’d have to search really long and hard, ’cause it’s been fixed for years.”

  “I see,” she said, staring at his mouth.

  He couldn’t stand it a moment longer. He stretched his arm across the space dividing them, held the back of her head in one hand and kissed her while her lips were parted in surprise. He didn’t intend to take advantage of her shock, but her mouth was as sweet as Texas in springtime, and her lips were as soft as blue-bonnet petals. His tongue touched hers, then retreated to trace the shape of her teeth—teeth he’d already noted were pearly white and straight as could be. When she moaned, he cupped her cheek with his other hand and deepened the kiss.

  Behind them, a car horn honked. Shaking, she pulled away.

  “I think you’re right,” he said, struggling to keep his voice light. “There doesn’t seem to be anything at all wrong with your mouth.” Or her almost innocent, tentative kiss.

  “I’m certainly glad to hear that,” she said, her voice thin and shaky. “Perhaps we should just forget this ever happened, Mr. McCauley.”

  “I think you should call me Hank,” he said as he pulled his hand—and her barrette—away from her hair. He used his fingers to pull the silky length over her shoulders. “There.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nobody in his right might would believe that Hank McCauley would check into a hotel with a woman who has her hair all scraped back like yours was. Now you look more…presentable.”

  “There was nothing wrong with how I looked before!”

  “Not for everyday stuff, but checking into a hotel with a man? Naw, you just didn’t look right for that.”

  “Mr. McCauley, we are supposed to be at the service entrance so Prince Alexi can go immediately to his room via the back elevator.” Her voice rose and got a little bit higher with each word. She gazed outside, panic setting in at the crowded hotel entrance.

  “But I’m Hank McCauley, rodeo star, not Prince Alexi, major pain in the—never mind. Point is, no one’s going to believe I’m the prince yet.” He put the truck into gear and edged toward valet parking. “Besides, how are we gonna explain my truck around back? Your driver probably has his hands full getting that valet guy settled inside.” He pulled out his wallet, spotting a five he could give as a tip. “I’m going to have these nice young men park the dually someplace where I can get to it.”

  “Are you planning on going somewhere?” she asked, trying to finger-comb her hair.

  He reached over and ruffled the glossy reddish-brown strands again. “After that kiss? I don’t think so,” he said, grinning at her flushed, confused expression.

  He didn’t intend to kiss her again, but she didn’t know that. He kind of liked the idea that she was just as out of kilter as he was. He knew he was her means to an end, but that didn’t mean everything had to be all serious and secretive. After all, light, fun relationships with women were the only ones he’d allowed himself in six long years.

  Lady Wendy didn’t need to know that either.

  BEFORE GWENDOLYN COULD come up with any more coherent arguments for using the service entrance, Hank McCauley had placed a cowboy hat on his head, jumped down, grinned at the parking attendant and walked around the truck toward her. Good heavens! What was the man thinking? They couldn’t just march in the front door and—

  “Get your pretty little self on down here, darlin’,” he ordered with a smile. As soon as she unfastened the seat belt, he grabbed her around the waist and swung her to the pavement. Before she got her balance, he’d retrieved his carryall and grasped her arm. “I just can’t wait to get checked in to our room.”

  “Really!”

  “Yeah, really,” he said with a wink, making the two closest luggage handlers grin widely.

  “Nice to see you again, Mr. McCauley,” one of them called out.

  “Good to be here, Ramon.”

  She looked around, half expecting to see a dozen paparazzi ready to snap their photo. The headlines tomorrow would read “Prince Seduces PR Lady at San Antonio Hotel.” King Wilheim would have a coronary. But no one was there except bellhops and other people checking into or out of the hotel. As a matter of fact, no one paid them much attention except the parking attend
ants.

  “They know you at this hotel?” Gwendolyn whispered as they swooshed through the revolving door. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “You didn’t ask,” the irritating man replied.

  She wanted to stamp her foot, frown and fume, but they were traveling through a spacious lobby toward the check-in desk. “How am I going to explain your presence here?” she asked, hoping the multitude of large plants and columns hid their arrival from most of the people inside the hotel.

  “Just go on and check in. I’m going to make a little detour to the gift shop,” he said, nodding toward the glassed-in store just off the lobby. “Come get me when you’re finished, darlin’,” he said before sauntering off in that rolling gait, his hips and long legs moving easily beneath the worn denim.

  “Can I help you?” someone on the other side of the desk asked. Gwendolyn blushed, ashamed she’d been caught staring at that exasperating cowboy’s…departure.

  “Yes,” she said crisply, pushing her hair behind her ears and squaring her shoulders. “I’m Lady Gwendolyn Reed, checking in Prince Alexi’s party.”

  A few minutes later, she found Hank McCauley paying for a large bag of merchandise at the gift shop register. She wondered if he’d charged it to the room or paid cash or used his own personal credit card. Apparently he wasn’t as broke as she’d assumed earlier if he could afford to stay at this hotel on a regular basis.

  She waited for him beside the door, unwilling to endure more “darlin”’ taunts. As if someone would really believe they were a couple!

  He gave her a heart-stopping grin. “Ready to go upstairs?”

  “Ready to get started with your training?”

  He chuckled. “You’re tough, you know that?”

  “One of us has to be focused on our goal, and since that is my job, I’m the one who must insist on staying with our plan.” And staying away from any heart-stopping kisses, pats on her “cute little butt,” or any further manhandling by this blatantly sexist cowboy.

  He was nothing like any Englishman she’d ever known…except in one regard. He obviously thought women should be decorative in and out of the bedroom, and quiet otherwise. His attitude bordered on that of a feudal lord who had his pick of willing wenches. Very soon, Mr. Hank McCauley was going to learn that Lady Gwendolyn Reed was no man’s willing wench.