Searching For Her Prince. Karen Smith Rose

off along the Magnificent Mile, the stretch of Michigan Avenue created for shoppers. They ended up at Tribune Tower, home of the Chicago Tribune. Hungry after that, for food as well as Amira, Marcus took her to a small French café where nobody would know him. Flickering candlelight made her eyes shine with her enjoyment of the day. The intimacy between them caused him to reach across the table and touch her hand more than once.

      It was almost 10:00 p.m. when his driver dropped them off at a casual club he’d frequented a few times. It was so crowded they couldn’t find a table, and when he led her directly to the dance floor, they seemed to get bumped from every side. Besides that, the music was so loud, they couldn’t hear each other.

      As the band finally took a break, he held her close and whispered in her ear, “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind. I want to talk to you, not shout at you. Would you like to see my penthouse?” He added quickly, “The housekeeper’s there so we’ll have a chaperone.”

      Amira seemed to debate with herself, but then she smiled up at him. “I’d love to see it.”

      At Marcus’s building, the doorman opened the door for them. The man started to say, “Good evening, Mr.—”

      Marcus cut him off. “Good evening, Charlie. How’s your new grandson?”

      “Three weeks old today and not a boy handsomer on this earth.”

      Marcus laughed and guided Amira to the private elevator that led to the penthouse. As soon as they stepped inside, she noted, “I think you live like royalty.”

      Her words surprised him. “Do you want to run that by me again?”

      She listed the reasons why she thought so on her fingers one by one. “You eat in a private dining room. You have a driver. And you have a private elevator. Definitely earmarks of royalty.”

      He saw that she was teasing him, and he laughed. “I guess some people would look at it that way. But I don’t have a dastardly twin ready to step into my shoes.” Amira had told him again the whole story about Broderick’s hostility toward King Morgan, and he still couldn’t get over the idea of someone switching babies with the royal twins. He supposed anything was possible, yet he knew in his gut he and Shane weren’t the twins the queen was searching for. They couldn’t be.

      “Do you have any brothers and sisters?” Amira asked.

      “I have a brother.” He wasn’t about to tell her Shane was a twin. “And he couldn’t be more unlike me. He’s in construction—a contractor.”

      The elevator stopped at the top floor. Marcus was glad they’d arrived so he could put an end to the conversation. Family history wasn’t a safe subject. She might know more about Marcus Cordello than she’d revealed.

      After Marcus unlocked the door to the penthouse, he let Amira precede him inside and tried to see his condo through her eyes. There was chrome and glass and black leather, two original contemporary paintings on the walls as well as a contemporary wall hanging.

      Her gaze swept the large sunken living room, the open dining area with its glass-topped table and wrought-iron chandelier. “You’re not here much?” she asked perceptively.

      “No, I’m not. It’s a stopover where I catch a few hours sleep. My office down the hall has a more lived-in quality.” He motioned past the living room. “In fact, you’d probably even find candy-bar wrappers on the desk.”

      He crooked his finger at her. “Come here. This is what I wanted to show you.”

      On his way to the French doors, he pushed a button on the wall and soft music flowed from unseen speakers. After he opened the doors onto the balcony, he held his hand out to her.

      When she joined him outside, the city lay before them—twinkling lights, tall buildings, neon signs. “Now I know why you live here.”

      There were cushy outdoor chairs on the balcony, and she laid her purse on the table between them and went to stand at the railing. The air was much cooler than it had been during the day, but it felt great after being in the stuffy club.

      “I guess we should have gone to the theater instead of the club.” He was trying to think about something other than her slightly fuller lower lip, her long eyelashes, her satinlike skin.

      Facing him, she murmured, “Then I might not have come here.”

      The way she said it, he knew she wanted to be here with him.

      A slow dreamy melody poured from the speakers, and all he could think about was holding her in his arms. “Would you like to dance?”

      Instead of answering, she just stepped closer to him. He took her into his embrace. He’d been waiting all day to do this, waiting all day to lean his cheek against hers, breathe in her wonderful perfume, and feel her body close to his. They danced together as if they’d been doing it for years. Maybe that was because they fitted together so perfectly. Maybe that was because they didn’t really care about the music, but rather each other. As minutes ticked by, as the lights of the city below twinkled, they were hardly aware of one song passing into the next. Marcus only knew his heart beat in rhythm with hers, and the heat between them could have warded off the chill if it had been ten below.

      Slowly Amira lifted her head and gazed into his eyes. “You gave me a wonderful day today. I’ll remember it always.”

      She was talking as if she’d never see him again. That was what he’d planned. In fact, in the back of his mind, he’d decided he would take her to bed tonight if she was willing and say goodbye in the morning. But now he knew she was too innocent for a one-night stand, and he couldn’t do that to her. He also knew that one day of being with her wasn’t enough. She’d brought light and sunshine into his life again, and he wasn’t ready to give that up.

      “You told me you like to jog in the mornings, but you’ve been afraid to do it here. We could jog in Lincoln Park tomorrow morning if you’d like.”

      “Don’t you have to get back to work?”

      “Another day won’t hurt. I’m going on a vacation on Sunday, anyway. I’ll just start it sooner than I planned. Is eight o’clock too early?”

      She shook her head. “Eight will be fine.”

      And then he couldn’t be with her and not kiss her any longer. His hand slid to her neck into her luxurious hair. She’d worn it down today, and it was silky and soft. The style made her look a lot less proper.

      As he held her, she tipped her chin up, and he knew she wanted the kiss as much as he did. Where they’d fallen into the first kiss with a ferocity that had stunned them both, he took this one slowly, easing them into it. When his tongue laved her lower lip, she opened her mouth to him. With the lights of the city below and music enfolding them, he felt bowled over by her. He’d never felt that way before. He’d always been the one in control, the one who called the shots. Danger signals went off in his head, but he quieted them with the idea that this could never be serious, that they’d never have the time to get truly involved. Even if they did go to bed together tomorrow or the next day, they both knew that would be the end of it. Their lives were an ocean apart. This was just one of those flings that happened on a weekend or over a holiday.

      As he took the kiss deeper, the warning bells kept sounding.

      Before his control snapped altogether, he pulled away. “I think I’d better introduce you to my housekeeper.” Flora was just what they needed—a chaperone. Besides, he wanted to prove to Amira that he hadn’t been lying to her and he did have a housekeeper.

      You’re lying to her about who you are.

      No, I’m not, he thought quickly. I just haven’t told her my real name.

      Amira looked as dazed by the kiss as he felt. “That would be a good idea. Then I’d better go.”

      He saw she felt it, too—the need to be more than friends, the need to do more than kiss. But he wouldn’t take advantage of her—not