Her Secret Prince Read online

  It was Dee.

  Jed closed his fingers, fighting the sensation he’d thought lost to the hormonal storm of adolescence. He felt alive with need, simply from being in the same space as her. And he wasn’t alone—she’d made it clear her body still wanted his. But Dee was like that. Claiming to want him and then resisting was not her playing coy. It was her way of telling him she wanted him, but wanted to resist. She’d always made things that simple.

  Ten years deserved resistance. They hardly knew each other. They could be hauling all manner of baggage.

  The decent thing would be to pose no risk whatsoever. Keep a lid on his attraction. Suppress the urge to touch her luscious curves and pull her close. It’d do him good to play by those rules. The last thing he wanted was for Dee to think he’d tracked her down to get her into bed.

  Honesty was vital, as was focus. He had to remember why he was here. Not get caught up in the power of their renewed attraction.

  That definitely meant keeping his door locked.

  Searching for a distraction, Jed sat up and tugged his phone from his back pocket. He opened his inbox and doubt dropped his gut at the email near the top. He’d read it. Ten times a day he’d read it, since it had blindsided him last week.

  The first contact he’d ever had from his father.

  *

  From: Oscar M

  01-28-2015 (6 days ago)

  To: Jed Brown

  Subject: Gambit

  Jed,

  You don’t know me, but I am a keen fan of your comics. Comics are my one indulgence. Although I have followed Drifting in Melbourne for a few years, I only recently viewed your About page and was stunned by your profile photo. This will sound very odd, but you look remarkably like me.

  Let me get straight to the point. I think, perhaps, you are my son.

  I have attached a recent photograph. I have also attached a photo of me at age twenty. The resemblance is uncanny. It was at this age that I spent time with a young Australian woman who was backpacking in Europe. She passed through Leguarday, the quaint principality that I call home, and we came together for a while.

  You state that you’re twenty-six. My mind rages with possibility. If she had fallen pregnant during our time together, that child would be twenty-six now.

  I apologize for the absurdity of this email, but I must be sure. If you believe this possible, and have any inclination to meet, I invite you to visit Leguarday at your convenience.

  Sincerely,

  Oscar

  At first Jed had rolled his eyes, convinced it was a creative new scam. If he got sucked in and agreed to meet, the sender would likely reply with news of a sudden tragedy in the family, and the humble and apologetic request for a large sum of money to be transferred into his account within the next five business days.

  Then Jed had viewed the attached photos.

  It was him, with a shorter haircut and a close-lipped smile. Him, from the shape of his nose to the pull between his brows. The shock had smacked the blood from his face. Faint with disbelief, he’d staggered onto his balcony and sat with hands braced on his knees.

  A second email had followed the first. It claimed the woman’s name had been Melissa. A nurse in training, with dark hair and yin-yang tattooed on her ankle.

  If Jed had needed confirmation, that had been it.

  He slid the phone back into his pocket and looked at the ceiling again. He hadn’t replied. Wasn’t sure whether he would. He knew nothing about the man. It was hardly a cause for handshakes and hugs. Instead, the contact made him uneasy, like footsteps he hadn’t heard behind him until it was too late.

  The idea that Oscar had stumbled upon his comic didn’t speak of coincidence—it screamed of bullshit.

  As a child, he’d asked about his father. His mum had always answered with warnings. “If he finds out that you exist, he’ll take you from me,” she’d say, holding him close. “And once he gets a hold of you, you’ll never get away. He’ll strip you of your future. Freedom, choices, all of it. I won’t let that happen to you, I promise, but you have to help me. Don’t look for him. You have to promise, too.”

  Solemnly, he would swear, secretly determined to protect his mother as best he could. Clearly, the man was dangerous. For that reason, Jed had continued to pack up and move cities, countries, long after he could have dug his heels in. He’d worried that he had inherited traits that could make him a danger. With the right trigger, could he snap into a violent rage? Spew up an abusive tirade? These days he felt in the clear, but his father might not be as stable.

  Oscar didn’t look threatening, nor did he sound it. But he had the resources to track Jed down and the cunning to lie about it. The entire situation had thrown him.

  Pulling out his phone again, he made a call. His friend picked up on the third ring.

  “Jed.” Felix’s voice was slow, groggy. “Perfect timing.”

  “I thought you didn’t sleep.”

  “And you’re keeping me honest.” There was the sound of rustling. Footsteps on a hard floor. “How’s the search?”

  “Found her.”

  “That was quick.” An expectant silence followed, interrupted by running water and the clink of glass on a solid surface.

  “I haven’t asked her yet.”

  “Due to foreseen complications?”

  Felix had warned him that Dee had every right to spit on him and slam the door on his junk. Jed grimaced. “Yeah.”

  His friend paused. “You wake me up to give me yeah?”

  “She was upset. Angry. Now I’m in her bedroom.”

  A low whistle carried down the line.

  “Did I forget to say spare bedroom?”

  Felix snorted.

  “She seems the same, just…older.” She’d always been sixteen in his head, unable to grow with him. Now she was a woman. Adult, from the rounded edges of her figure to the steadiness of her once bouncing blue gaze. “We’ll see.”

  “Right. Let me know about Oscar. That shit’s weird, man.” Felix yawned. “Now let me get back to not sleeping.”

  Jed hung up as the door opened. Dee stuck her head in, looking agitated.

  “I’m about to tear the walls down,” she announced. “Want to watch?”

  “Do the walls require tearing down?”

  “No. I require vigorous activity of a destructive nature.” And her gaze busied itself with his body, jolting him into awareness of the mattress beneath him. Four steps forward and she’d be upon him. He could drag her down, tugging clothes apart and moving together, sensual and slick to release her tension. Instantly hot, he wanted her.

  But not in an act of destruction.

  He shifted. “Why do you need to break something?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Because I don’t know how to feel about you turning up.” Honest, as always. “Too many emotions are volunteering and getting in each other’s way and now they’re starting to brawl. So I want to tear down the walls to get them out.” Once again, her attention moved to his body and he suspected his walls wouldn’t put up much of a fight.

  “The apartment might resent you later,” he said quietly, sitting up.

  “Got any empty glass bottles that need smashing? I’ll also accept plates.”

  “You can snap my pencil in half,” he offered, withdrawing it from his hair.

  She tilted her head, considering. “That would feel petty.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Maybe a walk then, come with me,” she said, and closed the door.

  *

  Jed’s casual stride matched Dee’s march. She needed air and she needed to move. The streetlights glowed above them, casting the sidewalk in diluted, milky light. The night was cold, but dry. So far, LA had struck out with rain this winter. There’d been nothing to cleanse the air and wash the grime away. Sometimes, Dee swore the pollution darkened her clothes, but she supposed every city had its charms.

  “Do you often walk
at night?” Jed asked, breaking the silence.

  “Not alone.”

  He waited a beat. “With men?”

  “With a man, singular,” she corrected, keeping up a fast pace.

  “The same man, singular?”

  “With many men who have considered themselves single while with me.” Dee felt Jed glance at her. She curled her fingers into fists and stared ahead. “I need a coffee.”

  His attention shifted, searching the street around him.

  “There’s a café around the corner. It’s open late Fridays. You don’t mind.” She should have phrased that as a question, but she was confused. Directives emerged when she wasn’t thinking straight. “I’ll drink fast.”

  “Is coffee a good idea for someone who wants to tear the walls down?”

  She cast him a sidelong glance. “I don’t understand the question.”

  The café was her local haunt. A corner shop with a painted green brick exterior, and large potted plants jammed up along the outside walls. Several tables were hidden between the pots, cool, secluded hangouts, but Dee cut inside and made a beeline for her favorite hip-height bench. She jumped up onto the stool and locked eyes with the waiter.

  Tim appeared quickly. “Usual?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  He spun towards Jed. “And for you?”

  “Ah, black coffee.” Tim departed and Jed lowered himself onto a stool beside her, murmuring, “That felt urgent.”

  “He gets me.”

  The bench faced the front window, and she swung her legs, looking out at the night. Golden cubes of light were scattered across the opposite apartment block. “This is where I come to write most days.” She gestured vaguely around them. The tiles were black and white, the food was decent, and the service was friendly. They also let her occupy a stool for seven hours at a time. “Welcome to my life.”

  “Hello, Dee’s life.”

  That almost made her smile. Instead she toyed with the salt shaker and asked, “Do you think it’s sad that my whole life can fit into one café?”

  “Not even slightly.”

  “Where’s your life?”

  He gazed out the window. “I’m not sure.”

  A traveler at heart, living both everywhere and nowhere. She wondered if a man like him could ever truly settle. “Is that how you like it?”

  That earned her a grave glance. “No.”

  “Where have you lived?” she asked, expecting a list of places.

  “Melbourne. I studied art there after high school. I’ve lived there since.”

  She paused, surprised. “But you don’t have a life there?”

  “A life, yes. But I feel like I’m waiting for the real thing. Like it hasn’t started yet and I’m just biding my time.”

  “For eight years?”

  His sideways glance came with a wry smile. “You’re not the sad one, Dee.”

  Eight years. He’d actually stayed in one place for that long. Only possible because he’d said he was no longer on the run. Curious, she asked, “What made you stop running?”

  “I got sick of it. Decided that if my father wanted to find me, he could damn well find me.”

  “Oh.” Resentment rose in her again. He’d abandoned her and not contacted her once he’d decided to stay put.

  But she couldn’t hold it against him now. It wasn’t fair on either of them. With difficulty, she shrugged off that bitterness. It fell away, a sharp-fingered grip that would only ever hurt her. Then she asked, “What do you do?”

  He smiled. “I write and illustrate graphic novels and online comics. I’ve been commissioned to illustrate for several horror authors’ graphic novels, too. Pretty popular, I can do it for a living now. My current project is an online comic.”

  “Seriously? That’s really cool.” So he’d done something with his remarkable talent. She twisted to face him, elbow on the benchtop. “What’s the comic called?”

  “Drifting in Melbourne.”

  She nodded and said, “I was in Australia last year.”

  “Were you?” He gave a curious smile. “Where?”

  “Byron Bay.” The glittering waves and hot sand had only been a couple of hours from Melbourne by plane. She wouldn’t have hesitated to make the flight, had she known. But would Jed have done the same? Her heart slouched as Tim arrived with the caffeine hit. She honestly didn’t know. After ordering two servings of soup and toast, she gathered her latte close and said, “It’s weird not knowing anything about you anymore.”

  “Ask me anything and I’ll tell you.”

  She didn’t have to think. “When are you leaving?”

  His gaze fixed out the window. “Ask me anything else.”

  “Did you dad ever find you?”

  That didn’t ease the strain in his neck. “Yes.”

  She drank. “Was he dangerous?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  She paused, surprised. “That yet sounded imminent.”

  “I’ll explain later,” he said, catching her eye.

  “I’ll hold you to it. How did you find me?”

  “I searched your name online. There weren’t any pictures, but there was a wiki about a Dee Johnson who wrote indie screenplays. I figured it was worth a shot. A semi-recent online article stated the very same Dee Johnson did a lot of writing at the Scrabble Square Café, Los Angeles.”

  She smiled wryly. That would be right here.

  “I chose to assume that meant you lived nearby. I was knocking on every D. Johnson’s door in the area when your friend answered. There are a lot, by the way.”

  “That knowledge previously made me feel safe.”

  “If there had been a less creepy way to get in touch, I’d have done it. But you don’t have any obvious social media accounts or a website.”

  “I prefer anonymity. I’m online as Dijon Son.” Spoken it sounded like her name, so she spelled it out.

  He smiled. “I like that.”

  She kicked her heels against the stool stand, mind turning to another woman who hadn’t wanted to be found. “How is your mom?”

  When he answered, his tone was detached. “Okay. I haven’t spoken to her in a while. She didn’t like that I stayed in Melbourne. I didn’t like that she refused to tell me anything about my father that could help me stand my ground. Turns out we’re as stubborn as each other. What are your parents up to?”

  “Achieving selflessness. Once I graduated high school, they left for Haiti as doctors without borders.” She didn’t resent them, but there had been days where she wished she could. “I’d been thinking about moving to LA to do film studies anyway.”

  He didn’t comment. When she glanced at him, lines had gathered on his forehead.

  “What?”

  Quietly, he said, “You really have been left by everyone.”

  “That one I saw coming,” she said, ignoring the pinch of his words. “So it was okay.”

  “Seeing it coming doesn’t make it okay.”

  She raised a shoulder, feigning indifference, and changed the subject. “Do you have friends in Melbourne?”

  “Yeah.” Jed tugged the pencil from his bun and twirled it between his fingers. She put her chin in her hand and watched his hair unwind around his ears, slowly falling in waves, sexy and untamed. She’d bet on her life that he didn’t have bad hair days. Wild days, yes. Alternative male model days, absolutely, and with that bun, definitely artistic hipster days. But there could be nothing bad about those coal black curls. “And a best mate. Felix.”

  The moment came and Dee braced herself. “Significant other?”

  The pen stilled. “Not for some time.”

  “Lover?”

  He eyed her. “As I said, not for some time.”

  Realization dug into her chest and she stared hard out the window. He viewed his lovers as significant. Pity that consideration had never been extended to her over the years.

  On the subject of consideration: “Are you going to tell me why you’re
here?”

  “Yes. Tomorrow. I don’t want today to be about that.”

  “Why not?”

  The soup and toast arrived, and Jed paused to nod his thanks. Then he picked up a spoon and said, “I didn’t think I’d actually find you. I want to get my head around this”—his eyes ran down her body—“first.”

  Just his luck that she knew the feeling.

  “Can I take you out for breakfast?” he asked. “Talk about it then.”

  “I enjoy pancakes with maple syrup and hash browns. Anything else and my answer’s no.”

  He smiled slightly. “Let me guess. They serve that here?”

  She gave in and finally smiled back. “This place is my life, I told you.”

  “It’s a nice life.”

  Dee picked up a slice of toast and slopped it through the thick tomato soup. She had one last question to determine the type of man he had become. It could make or break him. “Most valued trait in other people?”

  “Kindness,” he said without hesitation, focused on his meal. “It excuses a multitude of annoyances and its absence negates all other positive qualities. Kindness would fix the world.”

  Her pulse faltered. She stared.

  Yes, Jed had changed. He’d grown into a successful artist, a considerate partner, and a man who thought of bettering the world. He was exactly who she’d dreamed he would become, from head to heart. Helpless, her attention strayed to the shadow darkening his jaw. The muscle strong in his forearms. The way one ankle rested over his other knee, tugging his jeans snugly over the rugged region of his crotch.

  Desire clawed in her, a beast that would tear apart its cage given the chance.

  So she didn’t give it the chance. She inched her stool away from his as they ate. She leaned back as he asked about her latest film, because since finding her wiki, he’d watched them all. And an hour later, back in her apartment, she headed straight for her bedroom, not giving herself a chance to let the mood take her.

  Jed’s voice reached after her from the couch. “You don’t want pie?”

  Oh. She’d forgotten he’d ordered dessert to go. But a few strides later her fingers closed around the handle. “I had a muffin earlier.”

  “I’d preferred thinking you hadn’t actually eaten that.”

  She’d prefer to straddle him where he stood, but not everyone should get what they wanted. Pushing the door open, she spoke over her shoulder. “Breakfast at eight?”