Royal Lockdown. Rebecca York

decorum. She had never stepped over the line—not even with Jean Claude.

      ONE OF THE WAITERS STOPPED for a minute and stared at the couples circling on the dance floor.

      He saw Shane Peters and the little blond princess from Beau Pays. Automatically, he noted their location, then told himself not to bother. By the time he needed to find them again, they’d be long gone from that part of the floor.

      But he’d find them. There was no doubt in his mind.

      He stepped from the reception room into the kitchen area, put down the empty tray he’d been carrying and looked at his watch.

      Almost time to go into action.

      Around him, a dozen staffers were busy doing their jobs. Most of them worked for the catering company. But others had been added to the roster because the party was large.

      Everyone here tonight had undergone a rigorous security check, given the high-level guest list. Still, his fake credentials had held up perfectly. As had those of the three other men working with him.

      One of them gave him a quick look and put down his own tray.

      Unfortunately, the waitstaff manager noticed that two of his workers were slacking off.

      Striding across the room, he demanded, “Where do you think you’re going?”

      “On break.”

      “You’re not scheduled for a break.”

      “Sorry.” The imposter strove to keep his voice even. “Come over here. I want to show you something.”

      “What?”

      “I can’t describe it. You have to see it for yourself. It’s right over here.”

      Walking purposefully, he led the manager into an alcove off the service area where the staff bathrooms were located, then grabbed the man by the hair, tipped back his head and slashed a knife across his throat.

      The assault was over in seconds. Before the imposter could drag the manager into a closet, an unfortunate kitchen worker chose that moment to step out of the bathroom.

      When he saw the tuxedo-clad man lying in a pool of blood on the tile floor, he gasped and tried to jump back into the safety of the men’s room. But another one of the conspirators was already on him, taking him out like the first victim.

      The first victim. It felt good to think those words.

      The night’s real mission had begun. And before the sun rose, there would be a lot of important names added to the victims list.

      Two more bogus waiters joined the men who had stepped into the alcove. They dragged the dead men into the bathroom and dumped them by the urinals.

      They also retrieved the bags with their automatic weapons, night-vision goggles and gas masks from the bottom of the waste bins.

      Then, by mutual agreement, they turned to the mirror and began to remove the disguises they’d been wearing. One pulled off his glasses and mustache. The other tossed into the trash bin his false nose, cheek pads and the appliance that changed the shape of his mouth.

      As soon as they were back in the hallway, the other two men disappeared into the bathroom and performed similar operations—quietly and efficiently, the way they had practiced.

      Soon all four of them were standing in the hallway—Uzis in hand—waiting for the signal.

      The youngest of the conspirators shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “How much longer before we make our move?”

      “Any minute now.” The speaker made an effort to sound calm, but he could hear the tension in his own voice, could feel adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream. They had planned carefully for this night. They had taken every contingency into consideration. Now they were ready—as soon as they got the order to move out. The man who had dispatched the catering manager gave him an indulgent look.

      If any other unfortunate employee had to go to the bathroom before the mission went down, then he’d end up like the two men already lying dead on the floor.

      SHANE WAS USED TO GETTING what he wanted. He had wanted to dance with Ariana LeBron and now she was in his arms. But he found he wanted far more than one or two dances. He knew he was letting a fantasy carry him away. The heir to the Beau Pays throne wasn’t going to get involved with a guy who’d been raised in a series of foster homes.

      Even in the U.S., where you were supposed to be able to improve your station in life by talent and hard work, he still felt like an outsider in a group like this. Even if he didn’t look like an outsider.

      In Europe, he knew things were different. If you were born on the wrong side of the tracks, you didn’t end up getting cozy with royalty.

      But tonight he wasn’t going to bow to convention. He’d pulled off a damn slick coup a few minutes ago, and he was going to celebrate his success by enjoying the woman in his arms.

      She was so delicate, so beautiful, and she had a sharp mind. He always liked that in a bed partner.

       Bed partner!

      In your dreams, Peters.

      “Have you seen the Danube?” she asked.

      The question threw him, and he struggled to bring it into context. Then the music registered on him. “The Blue Danube” waltz.

      “Yes. I saw the river when I was in Vienna. And Bratislava.”

      “Not many Westerners have visited Bratislava.”

      “I was on an assignment.” He didn’t elaborate, since he’d been working for Eclipse, shutting down a weapons-smuggling operation that had ferried former Soviet armaments from Prague to Austria where they’d found their way to various terrorist groups in Western Europe.

      He couldn’t talk about that, or any of his Eclipse missions, so he circled back to her original question. “I was disappointed to see that the river was more gray than blue. Of course, that might be different in summer.”

      Just then, Shane felt a buzzing sensation and thought for a moment that it came from his reaction to Ariana. Then he realized he was feeling the vibration of his cell phone. A text message was coming in, and he should take a look at it.

      But he wasn’t here on business. At least not anybody’s business besides his own. So he ignored the phone and let himself drift on the buzzing sensations in his brain, sensations created by the woman in his arms.

      He’d inched her closer to him, so that his cheek was pressed to hers. Her delicate skin felt wonderful against his face, and if the dance floor had been less crowded, he would have closed his eyes, the better to concentrate on the feel of her body, her scent, the small hand that rested on his shoulder.

      Over the years, he had enjoyed the company of many women. But he had never let a relationship knock him off his pins. Tonight, though, he was having trouble breathing and thinking straight as he held Ariana Le-Bron in his arms.

      Some part of his mind shouted that this was the wrong woman for him. The wrong time. The wrong place. He was crazy to be thinking of starting anything with her.

      Yet his mind kept zinging back to that electric moment when they’d first touched. From her shocked expression, he knew he hadn’t been the only one who’d felt that thrill of discovery.

      She could have backed away from him then, but she’d joined him on the dance floor. He knew that she could have easily put some distance between them. Instead she allowed him to press her body against his as they moved in time to the music. It flitted through his thoughts that she might be having the same problems as he was.

      His mind ventured further into forbidden territory. Could you go to jail for kissing a princess?

      Probably. But that wouldn’t happen unless she made a fuss later. And if he kissed her, he’d make sure she had nothing to