Princely Submission by K.C. Wells

Chapter Four

As soon as the door closed, Jordan flung his book to the floor. His pulse quickened, heat flushing through him.

Father can’t do this to me.

One short conversation with Stuart had been enough to assure Jordan his soon-to-be bodyguard was no pushover. In fact, his remarks and his manner put all of Jordan’s plans in jeopardy. This was no Leopold, the head of the palace security team, who could be outwitted and evaded with ease. Stuart was from a different mold.

This is not good.

What burned him the most was that his father had sat there listening to Stuart all but announce his intention to give Jordan a spanking, and he hadn’t batted an eyelid. In fact, he seemed to find the prospect amusing.

Why didn’t he say something? That man threatened to lay his hands on me, and he didn’t admonish Stuart, or berate him, or even look mildly shocked.

Then it hit him. He’d told his father he needed to grow up. So what if it had been a lie? He’d done what he had to do to get the king to change his mind.

It appeared his father was calling his bluff.

The trip took on a whole new aspect. This was no security guard who could be wound around Jordan’s little finger. Stuart freaking Whitmore was not going to budge an inch. And while the king reprimanded Jordan sternly on occasions, they were only words, and Jordan knew that would be as far as it went.

Stuart was an entirely different matter. Jordan had a feeling that whatever Stuart promised, he would deliver. Even if that meant a spanking.

What made it worse? Stuart was all Jordan’s fantasies rolled into one. He’d thought Dr Sajak was attractive—Stuart left him in the dust. It was as if his father had looked into Jordan’s mind—and his browsing history—and taken every feature Jordan found attractive, then searched for one magnificent specimen who encompassed all of them.

And Stuart was magnificent. Jordan could not deny that. His broad shoulders and muscular body screamed power. His hair was warm brown on top, but silver at the temples. There was more silver in his beard, and a little in his mustache where it mingled with that same warm shade of brown.

But his eyes…

The moment those blue eyes had locked on his, Jordan had grown hot, aware of a fluttery sensation in his chest. He’d suppressed the shiver that threatened to navigate through him, but warmth had spread from his groin.

Stuart Whitmore was the epitome of hot.

Jordan had never known such internal conflict. On the one hand he resented having Stuart forced upon him, to watch his every move and thwart his plans, but on the other, Jordan could not deny his physical attraction to him. He shivered as he recalled Stuart’s words.

He wouldn’t really spank me—would he?

Hot and cold vied for dominance in his body. To have Stuart carry out his threat would indeed bring utter humiliation, but there was a tiny part of him that wanted to know how it would feel. No man had ever laid a hand on Jordan his whole life, but for the first time he was contemplating the possibility.

Jordan breathed deeply. Even if it took every ounce of skill and cunning he possessed, he would escape Stuart’s clutches—and he would not give Stuart the satisfaction of catching him and carrying out his threat.

The prospect of lunch with his parents and Stuart took on a whole new meaning. He wanted to discover more about the man who was going to be his shadow, but he would need to be careful under the watchful eyes of his father.

He would need to behave.

“Jordan, are you unwell?”

He jerked his head up at his mother’s voice. “I’m fine, Mother. I… I wasn’t all that hungry.” Not that he’d been able to eat much. His throat had felt tight throughout the meal, and his stomach was still churning. Jordan had been hyper-aware of Stuart’s gaze. Although he’d met Stuart’s glances, despite his desire to glean information he’d said very little.

Stuart wiped his lips with his napkin. “That was delicious. Thank you, Your Majesties. I think airline food is prepared especially to have no taste.”

His father laughed. “I refer you to my earlier comment about travel. You’ll get to sample the food on the jet when we fly to Los Angeles.”

And that was one more thing that irritated Jordan—the ease with which Stuart conversed with his parents, as though he’d been around royalty his whole life. Jordan had sat through enough banquets and meals to have seen firsthand how nervous most guests were when seated at the same table as the king and queen.

Is it because he is accustomed to royalty, or is he simply blessed with supreme confidence? Either way, watching Stuart gave him a tension headache and a pain in his jaw from grinding his teeth.

“Your Highness. Your Highness.”

He blinked. Cool blue eyes appraised him. Jordan cleared his throat. “Yes?”

“I asked if you’d given any thought to what you’d like to do during the visit to New York. His Majesty says one of my duties will be to show you the sights. If I have an idea of what interests you, I can make up an itinerary.”

I doubt the places I want to visit would be on your itinerary. And you’re the last person I’d want to accompany me there. Except… he could imagine strolling into a gay bar with Stuart at his side. I’d be the envy of all.

Jordan pushed such fantasies from his mind. Stuart oozed machismo. He probably wouldn’t be caught dead in a gay bar.

“Your Highness?”

Damn, the man was a distraction.

“I’ve done a little research.” That at least was the truth. “The Empire State building, of course. The Statue of Liberty. I’d like to see Times Square.” His heartbeat quickened. “I have no desire to visit countless museums, but…”

His father arched his eyebrows. “There is clearly something you do desire. What is it?”

There could be no harm in saying it, could there? Even if the idea was certain to be dismissed. “I would like to see a show. There is nothing like that in Elloria. Would that be possible?”

Stuart said nothing, but looked to the king for a response, and Jordan crossed his fingers.

His father stroked his chin. “I don’t see why not. If you have an idea of which show you’d like to see, let Piotr know, and he will book two tickets.” He gave Stuart a sympathetic glance. “My apologies in advance, Mr. Whitmore, if my son’s taste is not to your liking.”

“I doubt it will be that distasteful, Your Majesty.” Stuart’s eyes glittered. “I happen to like shows.”

Dear God, the man was human after all.

His mother leaned forward, her lips slightly parted. “Mr. Whitmore, what kind of assignments do you usually undertake?”

Stuart grinned. “How long is a piece of string, Your Majesty? There are run-of-the-mill assignments when I do little apart from stand there looking menacing. Others are more hands-on.”

“Such as? Can you tell us about one of them?”

Stuart pursed his lips, and Jordan had to fight hard not to stare. “I was hired to protect a man who was about to become the ruler of a nation. Only thing was, the opposition wanted to prevent that from happening, and there were at least three assassination attempts. I was somewhat hampered by his advisers, to be honest. They kept coming up with all these fool ideas, and he was listening to them, not me.”

His father frowned. “But they hired you for your expertise. Why do that, if they were not prepared to follow your advice?”

“I think he insisted, so they went along with it, but then he started believing them that the threat wasn’t all that serious. And some of the attempts were pretty dumb. We’re talking poisoned fountain pens, exploding cigars…”

His mother widened her eyes. “Truly?”

Stuart laughed. “I think the would-be assassins had been watching too many James Bond movies. But when it came time for the ceremony to officially proclaim him ruler, I put my foot down and got my way. Thank God.”

“What happened?” Jordan demanded. Stuart’s voice, although quiet, brought a rash of goosebumps to his arms.

“I organized the motorcade to take him to the palace, and his car got hit by a rain of bullets en route. Except he wasn’t in it. I’d put him in civilian clothes, and we’d traveled at the rear. They took out his decoy though. But it also brought the assassins out into the open, and the armed guards rounded them up. Turned out his chief adviser was in on it.”

His father coughed. “I was about to ask if you’d ever been in any dangerous situations. I think that question is now redundant.”

“Did you serve in your military?” his mother asked.

“I did, your Majesty. I served for twelve years in the Air Force. I enlisted on my eighteenth birthday.”

“Did you see action?”

Stuart’s eyes were grave. “Yes, Your Majesty.” When nothing further was forthcoming, Jordan had the impression this was not a topic Stuart wanted to discuss.

He glanced at Stuart’s left hand, noting the absence of a wedding band. “Do you have a family, Mr. Whitmore?”

“No, Your Highness.”

“Are your parents still living?” his father inquired.

“They’re both dead. I’m an only child.” Stuart’s gaze met Jordan’s. “Like you, Your Highness.”

You are nothing like me.

Jordan leaned back in his chair. “You look as if you can take care of yourself.”

Stuart shrugged. “I keep in shape.”

Jordan was beginning to think Stuart was a master of understatement. His suit did little to hide his bulging biceps or his broad chest, and for a moment Jordan yearned to see exactly what shape that body was in. Preferably without the suit.

He frowned. “Will you be armed?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Stuart’s eyes twinkled. “And no, you do not get to hold my gun.”

Jordan was glad he wasn’t drinking at that moment. What—either of them? He stamped hard on the brief flare of lust. The last thing he wanted was to appear flushed.

“Perhaps after lunch, Jordan, you would give our guest a tour of the palace?”

Jordan bristled at his father’s request. What am I, a tour guide? Then he relented. Such an activity would afford him an opportunity to be alone with his babysitter.

Who knows what I will learn?

“Of course, Father.” He looked Stuart in the eye. “It will be my pleasure.”

They strolled through the cool hallway en route to the Portrait gallery. Stuart had said little during the tour, but Jordan had felt scrutinized the whole time. He’s watching me, sizing me up. Jordan wanted him at his ease. Let him think he has the measure of me.

“How old is the palace?” Stuart asked.

“Construction began in the eleventh century. Of course, it was added onto. When my great-grandfather was King, baths were still taken in rooms, and when finished, the water was released down a grate in the floor. Pipes channeled it to the outer walls of the palace where it spilled out.”

“The plumbing has obviously improved since then. My bathroom is state-of-the-art.”

“That was my grandfather’s doing when he became King.” Jordan smiled. “At my grandmother’s insistence.” He stopped at the heavy oak doors. “This is it.” He stood aside to let Stuart enter first, then followed him inside.

The portrait gallery was a long, dark room, its windows shaded to prevent the sunlight from bleaching the paintings adorning all four walls.

Stuart walked around the perimeter, stopping to examine each portrait. “Are all these people your ancestors?”

“Yes. Not all of them were monarchs. Some were people connected to the family.” He pointed to the wall on the right. “Those paintings are the kings and queens of Elloria.”

Stuart took a closer look. “There’s definitely a family resemblance.”

“Do you think so?” Jordan hadn’t spent much time in the gallery.

He nodded. “Something about the eyes, and the line of the neck.” He came to the newest portrait, and read its label aloud. “King Ludomir, on the occasion of his ascent to the throne.” Stuart stilled. “He looks so young.”

“He wasn’t much older than I am now,” Jordan remarked. “My grandfather died as the result of a hunting accident, and my father was proclaimed king.”

“So you never knew your grandfather?”

Jordan shook his head. “By all accounts he was a hard man.” He became conscious of that careful scrutiny again. “Do you have a question?”

“Your English is impeccable, Your Highness.”

Jordan flushed. “My tutors took great pains to ensure it, and since I was a child, my parents insisted I spoke only English.”

“Can I make an observation?”

He arched his eyebrows. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who asks first. I would have thought you simply spoke your mind.”

Stuart smiled. “I’m being polite. As are you, even though I get the impression you’re biting your tongue.”

Stuart Whitmore saw too much.

“Make your observation.”

“It’s about the way you talk. If I heard you, I would never have said you were twenty. You sound much older.”

“Maybe that is due to being raised alone in the palace, taught by tutors who were already old, with little reference to how normal men my age speak.” He glanced at the shuttered windows, and his chest ached.

“You haven’t seen much of the outside world, have you?”

Jordan gave him a polite smile. “But that is about to change.”

Stuart gazed thoughtfully at him. “We got off on the wrong foot, I think. Perhaps we could try and start over, Your Highness?”

Jordan’s pulse quickened. He thinks I’ve mellowed toward him. That was fine by him. “If we’re going to be spending a lot of time together, I think we can dispense with the‘Your Highness’ bit, don’t you? At least while you’re here or when we’re in the hotel or the car.” Jordan cocked his head to one side. “Or do you want me to keep calling you Mr. Whitmore?”

Stuart was quiet for a moment. “If you think it will be okay with your father, it’s okay with me—Jordan.”

There was a drumming in Jordan’s chest and a grin he could no longer contain. “That’s settled then. What would you like to see next—Stuart?”

Jordan wanted him to feel confident, comfortable, to let his guard down.

And then when we get to New York, I will show him what a fool he’s been.

Jordan couldn’t wait for that first taste of freedom—and triumph.

Stuart waited outside the king’s private chamber. The king was in a meeting with Piotr, but had asked to see Stuart before he left for the airstrip.

Well, it’s been an interesting couple of days.

The door opened, and Piotr walked out. “His Majesty will see you now, Mr. Whitmore. The car is in the courtyard when you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” Stuart said earnestly. “Will I be seeing you in New York?”

“You will. I’ll be the frazzled one, shepherding all the executives into their respective meetings, and keeping an eye on the proceedings.” He held out his hand, and Stuart shook it. “Until then. Have a safe trip.”

“Thanks.” Then Stuart entered the chamber to find King Ludomir peering at his monitor.

He glanced up with a smile. “Mr. Whitmore. Ready to go?” He stood and came out from behind the desk.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you for the hospitality.”

King Ludomir’s eyes gleamed. “Has it been a useful visit?”

“Invaluable.” The king gave him a quizzical glance, and Stuart grinned. “Your son has taken great pains to put me at my ease. He’s said all the right things.”

He laughed. “And he didn’t fool you for an instant, did he?”

“Hell no.” He stilled. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

The king waved a hand. “Nonsense.” His eyes sparkled. “I’ve been known to do a little cursing myself. And to be honest, it makes for a pleasant change.”

Stuart really liked King Ludomir. “Back to Jordan. I’ve let him think he’s got my number. Two can play at that game.” And it promised to be a very entertaining game indeed.

“I heard the two of you talking at breakfast this morning. And before you say anything, I have no issue with the lack of formality, not in private at any rate. You will be in each other’s pockets for a month. You must interact as you see fit.” He cocked his head. “Was I right to hire you?”

Stuart nodded. “He’s a slippery one, all right. And I’m going to be keeping a very close eye on him.”

“That comforts me enormously. I can feel confident that he will be in good hands.” They shook. “I will see you in New York, Mr. Whitmore.”

“I look forward to welcoming you to the US, Your Majesty.” Stuart bowed his head for a second, then left the office, striding through the audience chamber, his boot heels clicking on the tiled floor. He had a long way to travel, but he was in no hurry to get to his destination. Despite his desire to remain single, for the first time in a long while he yearned for the sight of a friendly face on arrival.

No one’s gonna meet me.

He had no one but himself to blame for that.

There was no sign of Jordan as he handed his bag to the driver. Not that Stuart had expected to see him.

He thinks it’s gonna be plain sailing. Stuart smiled to himself. He’s not as smart as he thinks he is.

The pity of it was, when Jordan wasn’t trying so hard to either rub Stuart the wrong way, or give the impression of being an adult, he was a likeable young man.

Hard to dislike someone as feisty as that.

Stuart preferred feisty to dull any day.