Tara stared down at his hand in shock. Picking up his hand, she placed it on the seat next to his own leg, horrified that the man would take such liberties after such a short acquaintance. “I appreciate the offer but I’m really tired and I have an early morning.”
Jeffrey didn’t take rejection well. His face crinkled up as if he were sneering at her and his soft eyes turned beady and a little mean. “Oh, come on,” he whined. “The night is still young. It’s been too wonderful already. I can’t believe how fascinating that was,” and he started the engine while rhapsodizing on the amazing performance she had just slept through.
He wasn’t heading back to the palace where her car was still parked so Tara assumed he was ignoring her rejection of the bar idea. “Jeffrey, could you drop me off at my house? I’m really beat,” she asked since they were now closer to her home than her car. Tara decided it would be easier take a cab to work the following morning instead of trying to convince the man to take her back to the palace. She just wanted the night to end.
“Just a quick drink?” he asked, the whining more pronounced now that he heard the serious tone of her voice.
A headache that had been niggling for the past two hours suddenly struck full blown. “No, thank you,” she said firmly, rubbing her forehead in frustration and pain. “If you turn left up here, I’m just around the corner.”
He didn’t respond for a moment and Tara was worried that he would ignore her request to take her home. But in the end, he acquiesced. “Fine,” he snapped and turned left.
After five more minutes, he pulled up to her house and shut off the engine. He was about to get out when she stopped him. “It’s okay. You don’t need to walk me to my door,” she said hurriedly and pulled the door open so she could quickly jump out. She bent back down to say goodbye to him in an effort to reinforce her stance that she didn’t need to be walked, and offered a brief smile. “Thank you for taking me to the opera, Jeffrey,” she said before slamming the door closed on whatever he was about to say.
She wasn’t to escape then though. “What about a kiss?” he called out over the roof of the vehicle as he stood on the opposite side of his car.
Besides waking up the neighbors with his loud voice, Tara couldn’t believe the man’s gall. “I’m sorry. I’m old fashioned. I never kiss on the first date,” she called back, not bothering to even look at him as she rejected his request. She figured it was enough that she didn’t shiver in revulsion at the idea of kissing the man.
She quickly unlocked the door to her small cottage style house and let herself inside. Once she was safely in the house, she locked the door and leaned against the wood, relieved to be alone and away from that self-centered, obnoxious man.
Tara peeked out the family room window and watched to make sure he was driving away. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw his tail lights disappear down the street.
Chapter 3
“What a night,” she said and moved off to her bedroom. It wasn’t far. Her entire house consisted of just three main rooms; the family room, kitchen and bedroom plus a small bathroom. But it was hers and she loved it. It was summer now and she had a beautiful backyard filled with flowers and a brick pathway as well as a patio surrounded by plants that she spent many hours on the weekends weeding and perfecting. She also spent a great deal of time fantasizing out there, wondering what it would be like to melt in the arms of Max, to be kissed by a man as amazingly dynamic, strong and masculine as he was. She knew that the fantasy could never live up to the reality. She’d built so many scenarios around the man it was ridiculous.
She was twenty six years old and had been working for the man for two years. She knew she had it bad for him and that’s one reason why she had agreed to this blind date. Tara used to date a lot before starting her job with the palace. But after meeting Max, no other man seemed to measure up. He was too…everything. Too masculine, too charming, too sexy…just too everything she wanted in a man. But couldn’t have.
Tara understood the pecking order in the world. Max was a prince. He was royalty. More importantly, he was the Crown Prince of Cordova and would eventually inherit the throne and rule the kingdom. Tara was a commoner. Royalty married royalty or at least someone from the aristocracy. Max would need to marry someone born to help him rule the country and knew all the ins and outs of politics and organizing large functions to make the country work more efficiently.
She was not aristocratic by any stretch of the imagination. Commoners married commoners. There were no two ways around that fact of life no matter how much she wished it were different.
Besides, Max dated women who spent their days pampering themselves, getting manicures and massages, plastic surgery and fittings for their designer wardrobe. Tara spent her days buried under piles of reports and spreadsheets. Because of her salary, she could afford very nice clothes, but not designer or custom made clothes that were designed specifically for her and made to flatter and enhance her beauty. They were all nice, neat, professional clothes. She started out her day with a neatly made up face but by the end of the morning, her lipstick was gone and she knew she usually looked worn out when she fell into her car in the evenings. She couldn’t really compete with women whose sole purpose was to look pretty and stylish.
Tara wondered what Queen Natasha or King Stephan would think if they found out about her feelings for their son. She’d probably be fired, Tara thought, pulling on a tee-shirt and slipping between the sheets. There was no use wondering about that, she told herself. It was a secret she was determined to hide from everyone. Tara preferred being around Max, even if it meant watching him date other women, and possibly marry someone else. Any connection to the man made her feel alive and alert so she was willing to take what she could get, even if it meant being only an employee.
It was past midnight and Tara was exhausted. She set her alarm for six the following morning, not sure if she’d be able to wake up in time for her usual five o’clock run through the neighborhoods. She usually came home from work around eight or nine o’clock at night and was in bed by ten or earlier so waking up at five o’clock wasn’t too painful. Since it was so late she felt, and probably, looked like a zombie.
Within moments of her head hitting the pillow, she was asleep. Unfortunately, when her alarm went off the next morning, her hand went out to turn it off but her mind never turned on. It was almost eight o’clock when she rolled over and covered her face with her arm, trying to block out the sunshine streaming in through her bedroom window. The sun on her face actually woke her up since it rarely happened.