Maureen Child - The Royal Treatment

He caught the young soldier’s glance and waved him off. “I’ll take care of this,” he said.

“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant beat a hasty—and grateful—retreat.

Jeremy turned to face her then, and his breath actually caught in his throat. Staring into those sea-foam-colored eyes of hers he felt like he’d been hit over the head. Damn. She still packed a punch.

He had to force himself to speak after a few seconds of stiff silence. “Jade.”

“J.T.”

Jeremy Thomas. J.T. Only his family called him that. It sounded good hearing it from her again. Damn it.

She cleared her throat, and he wondered if she’d felt the slam of desire as hard as he had. Then he decided he was better off not knowing.

“What are you doing here, Jade?”

“You know why I’m here.”

Yes, he did. Stubborn woman. “If it’s about the interview, then you’re wasting your time. And more importantly, mine.”

“Blast it, J.T.,” she said, and gave the gates another shake for good measure. “You should be helping me.”

“Why would I do that?” he asked.

“For old times’ sake?”

He glanced past her to the skinny, older man standing behind her with a camera perched on his bony shoulder. Lowering his voice, Jeremy shifted his gaze back to her and said, “Old times’ sake? Are you nuts?”

She blew out a breath that ruffled the wisps of hair dusting her forehead. “Fine.” She let go of the gates and lifted her gaze to glare at him. “No old times. But the least you could do is be civil.”

“I was civil,” he reminded her, “the first three times you requested this stupid interview.”

“I thought if I came down here and we could talk, face-to-face, you’d change your mind.”

“Wrong.”

“The king is sick, J.T., and the queen—”

“The queen is attending her husband and doesn’t want to do an interview.”

“She has to say something.”

“She will. When she decides to.”

“I’m just trying to do my job,” Jade said.

“So am I.”

She tapped the toe of one high-heeled shoe against the pavement. “The people have a right to know.”

“The people have a right to know about business. They don’t have a right to invade the royal family’s private life.”

“The king is sick,” she argued.

“And being cared for.”

“By whom?”

“You know,” he said, leaning in closer still, “if you had put half this determination into our marriage…”

She flushed. Good to know she could still do that.

Her cameraman moved closer, a small red light blinking at the base of the lens, and Jeremy lifted one hand, pointing at him. “Turn that thing off.”

“Do it, Harry,” Jade ordered without even looking at the man. The cameraman complied and moved off a few paces.

When they were alone again, she pushed her hair back out of her face, looked up at him and said, “J.T., I only want five minutes of her time.”

“The queen is busy with her husband. She puts a high priority on caring for her family.”

Jade winced at the direct hit. “Low blow, J.T.”

“Maybe,” he acknowledged, and admitted silently that he’d be better off not stirring up old resentments. What good would it do, anyway? “But you’re still not getting through the gates.”

“This isn’t the end of it, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“This is important to me.”

“I can’t help you.” And that didn’t make him as happy as he’d thought it would. She could still get to him. Just being this close to her, inhaling the scent of her flowery perfume, was enough to wipe the years away and take him back to that small apartment they’d shared. Back when they’d thought they had a future.

When they were young and naive.

Back when they’d thought love would be enough.

She looked past him, toward the castle doors and across the grounds, before shifting her gaze back to his. He could see the wheels turning in her brain and knew that she was far from finished with this. He’d never met a more hardheaded woman. Strange to think now that that was one of the first things he’d liked about her.

“So this means war?” she asked, and he recognized the tone. Whenever Jade got scared or felt pushed into a corner, she went stiff and snotty.

“If that’s the way you want it,” he said. Jeremy hid a smile of appreciation as he watched her fight down a wave of anger that was clearly clawing at her throat. But he had to give her credit. After a few seconds, she’d managed it. She hadn’t always been able to put a lid on that temper. He still had the scar on his forehead from when she’d pitched a plate at him.

On their honeymoon, no less.

But along with that scar, he also had the memory of how they’d spent hours making up. It had been well worth that little scar.

Taking a deep breath, she said, “You need to put someone else on this gate. Your little soldier there is a moron.”

One dark eyebrow lifted as the desire crouched inside him eased back a bit. “Is he?”

“He refused to let me inside,” she snapped. “Refused to even answer my questions.”

“Well then,” Jeremy told her, “the lieutenant is clearly as bright as I’d thought him to be.”

She sighed, tapped her shoe a little harder, then put both hands on those deliciously curved hips.

Jeremy chuckled, folded his arms across his chest and planted his feet wide apart. Comfortable in his fighting stance, he said, “You might as well go, Jade. You’re not getting in.”

“You know,” she said, giving him a thoughtful, up and down look, “you really should work on your people skills, J.T. They never were your strong point.”

“Oh, that’s good, coming from you. Judging by the conversation you were having with Lieutenant Gimble, you’re in no position to give lectures on winning friends and influencing people yourself.”

She inhaled sharply and blew the air out in a rush. “All right, I’m sorry about that. I haven’t lost my temper in a long time.”

He fingered that old scar just above his eyebrow. “That’s a shame. Fury does great things for your eyes.”

She flicked him a warning look, but Jeremy knew those gates were strong enough to hold off a tank, so they’d probably be able to protect him from a single reporter.

Even Jade.

“Besides, my people skills are fine, babe,” he assured her. “It’s my ‘reporter’ skills you seem to be having trouble with. And frankly, if you don’t like ’em, then I must be doing something right.”

“As charming as ever, I see,” Jade retorted.

“You used to think I was pretty damn charming.”

“I used to believe in Santa Claus, too,” Jade said tightly. “Then I grew up.”

Frustration simmered just below the anger surging inside her. Out of all the men on this little island, why did it have to be her ex-husband standing between her and her goal?

She stared up—way up—into J.T.’s hard brown eyes and didn’t see a glimmer of hope there. She did, however, feel that slow, sweet surge of want rise up inside her again. From the moment she’d locked eyes with him, she’d felt it. A heady rush of pulse-pounding desire that was so thick it nearly choked her. And she sensed he’d felt it, too.

It was as if the last three years hadn’t happened. Three long years of not seeing him, not hearing his voice, not feeling his touch, and one look from him and she was going up like a skyrocket.

“Jade?” Her cameraman’s voice cut into her thoughts and she sent the tall, thin, older man a quick look. “I’m heading back to the van.”

She nodded, and thought she caught a wisp of a satisfied smirk on J.T.’s face. Irritating, frustrating, completely sexy man.