“Did they succeed?” Tanner asked, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
Shey shook her head. “Not a one.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” This time the smile wasn’t a hint, it was full-blown and quite a sight to behold.
If Shey was prone to let looks influence her, her knees would be decidedly weak at the sight of that smile. But she wasn’t prone in that sense, so she stood quite solidly on the ground despite the fact this prince was easily the sexiest man she’d seen in a very long time.
A very, very long time.
He turned back to his henchmen. “I’ll meet you at the hotel in a short while.”
“Your Highness,” Tonio objected, obviously ready to start another argument.
“Tonio, not another word.”
And without another word to Curly, Mo and Larry, the prince turned to Shey and said, “I’m ready to see my fiancée.”
“You’re in for a treat.”
She led him out of the small airport without another word. She smiled as they reached her baby.
“This is it,” she announced, running a hand over the red tank.
She knew there was pride in her voice. She couldn’t help it. Her father had died when she was five and she didn’t have many memories of him. But she did have a distinct one—it was like a snapshot in her head—of her father, sitting on a flaming red Harley and smiling. A young man with a family who loved him, his whole life in front of him.
“This is our vehicle?” the prince asked, sounding less than enthused.
“No. A Harley is not a vehicle. It’s a bike, a hog, a way of life, but not a vehicle. That’s too plain, too mundane a word to describe a Harley.”
“You love this bike.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yeah, I do.”
She wasn’t embarrassed by the fact. She’d worked hard to buy the bike. It was more than a memory, more than transportation. The Harley represented how far she’d come from the little girl wearing hand-me-down clothes at school.
“But it’s simply a way of getting from one place to another.” He looked confused.
“A Harley is more than simply a method of going from one place to another.”
He shook his head.
“Have you ever ridden one of these?” Shey asked, though she was pretty sure she knew the answer.
“No.”
“Then let me teach you a thing or two.”
Shey got her spare helmet off the back and handed it to His Royal Cluelessness. “Here, put this on.”
She expected him to fuss that it would mess his perfect hair, that it wasn’t cool to wear a helmet, but the prince simply put it on.
Even though Pennsylvania had recently rescinded its helmet requirements, Shey was still a stickler for them. She slipped on her own helmet, slid her leg over the seat and started the bike.
It roared to life.
“Okay, climb on behind me,” she practically shouted in order to be heard over the rumble of the engine.
The prince did as instructed. His body pressed tightly against hers. His arms wrapped around her waist.
A small shiver of something crept up Shey’s spine.
It had been months since any man had touched her. Her reaction to the prince was simply a hormonal thing. Nothing more.
She kicked the bike into gear and started toward 12th Street.
“Hang on,” she called and she slipped into second, then quickly into third gear.
The feel of wind rushing against her face, the speed…riding the bike never failed to soothe her. But there was something different tonight—the man whose arms were wrapped lightly around her waist. The effect wasn’t quite as soothing as normal. As a matter of fact, there was a strange sensation that twisted her stomach and left her feeling short of breath.
Shey ignored it and simply concentrated on taking the prince to Monarch’s.
She’d let Parker deal with him.
Parker would send the prince packing and things would get back to normal.
Parker, Cara and Shey, three college friends, worked together at the coffeehouse, Monarch’s, and Titles Bookstore. No guys to muddle things up.
Shey remembered the night they’d come up with the names for their two attached stores. Parker had supplied the financial backing for the venture and they’d wanted to do something to acknowledge their royal friend. They’d all three laughed as they passed the bottle of wine and talked about the future—theirs and the stores’.
Shey had never had women friends before Parker and Cara, but if she’d been asked who’d she’d pick as friends, she would never have said a princess and someone like Cara, a quiet, soft-hearted woman.
Truth be told, when it came down to it, she hadn’t picked Parker and Cara at all…they’d simply meshed. Three people who’d connected and become friends. Friends who were closer than most families.
The prince’s arms tightened ever so slightly, reminding Shey of her unwanted passenger, jolting her from her thoughts.
* * *
Tanner Ericson knew that coming to Erie and collecting his fiancée was going to be a challenge. Marie Anna’s father had told him she might be a bit reluctant.
He’d prepared himself for all kinds of scenarios. But never in his wildest imagination had he thought he’d be whizzing down the city streets on the back of a motorbike driven by a most intriguing woman.
Short, spiky red hair and an attitude that screamed back off. This Shey Carlson was a tough, beautiful woman.
He inched a bit closer and tightened his arms around her waist, not so much because he was worried about falling off her motorbike, but because he liked the way she felt against him.
Eventually she turned off the four-lane street they’d been riding on, and much too soon they were pulling up to the curb.
She cut the motor and Tanner climbed off the bike. He took off his helmet and handed it to her.
“This is it,” she said.
He could hear in her voice that this place, with its small brick storefront, was special to her. The building had two doors. Over the right-hand one was a sign that read, Monarch’s Coffeehouse. It had a small crown tilted over the M.
The other sign read, Titles Bookstore. The same crown was over it, as well.
“Marie Anna’s here?”
“Parker owns the stores, along with Cara and myself. We’re all partners.” Shey started toward Monarch’s. “Come, on, Your Highness.”
He was accustomed to being called Your Highness but he preferred going by Tanner. Of course, he understood the necessity of his title or a more formal means of address when in Amar. But he was in America now. There was no need to stand on formalities here. Not with this woman.
“Tanner,” he said. “Call me Tanner.”
She didn’t say anything, just kept right on walking.
There was nothing for Tanner to do but follow.
He entered Monarch’s and found a blond woman talking to a dark-haired man.
It had to be her—Marie Anna.
He studied the woman he’d pledged to marry.