Page 29 of Summer on the Ranch (Royally Wed #1)

This would be, he realized, her husband’s lot in life.

Once, she’d talked about the special characteristics necessary for a man to function as partner to a princess.

The situation would be worse if Alex became queen of her country.

Mitch stepped back and walked over to the bar, ordered himself a drink, then leaned against one of the room’s pillars.

Dozens of tables had been set up for an elaborate dinner.

There was a huge dance floor, a full orchestra and a podium.

Mitch had already listened to Alex practice her speech that afternoon.

They’d edited it a couple of times, then gone over it until she was comfortable with the material.

She was a natural at public speaking. His gaze settled on her deft handling of the mass of people around her. She was good at a lot of things.

He was going to have a hell of a time letting her go, he thought grimly.

She’d become the best part of his world.

His feelings had gone way beyond liking, but he wasn’t going to waste any time exploring what else they might be.

He knew his place, and it was in Arizona, not Wynborough. Not that she was making him any offers.

But he found he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her face as she spoke with the various people being introduced to her.

Nor could he help smiling and winking when she glanced up, searched the room, then visibly relaxed when her gaze met his.

She gave a tiny shrug as if to say this couldn’t be helped.

He nodded in return. He knew she had to do her thing, and when she was finished, he would go to her.

After all, she’d promised him the first dance.

* * *

‘‘You’re kidding,’’ he said two hours later as the orchestra started playing.

Alex shook her head. ‘‘I’m sorry, Mitch. I thought you understood.’’

He glanced around at the several hundred people in the huge ballroom. When he’d jokingly asked her for the first dance, he hadn’t realized that as the guest of honor, she and her escort would be dancing together… alone…on display.

‘‘Guess I should have paid more attention at those dance lessons,’’ he said.

She brightened. ‘‘You took lessons?’’

‘‘No. That was a joke. But I’ll muddle through.’’

Just like he’d muddled through the rest of the evening.

After about thirty minutes of mingling, one of the State Department folks had led him to Alex’s side where he’d had the privilege of escorting her to dinner.

There, he’d made polite conversation with a senator and his wife, and the lieutenant governor of California.

Not bad for a rancher and former rodeo rider.

‘‘You’re hating this,’’ Alex murmured as he pulled back her chair, then led her onto the dance floor.

‘‘Not at all.’’

She sighed, then stepped into his arms. ‘‘You are. I can tell. You have this scrunchy expression around your eyes.’’

Mitch laughed. ‘‘Scrunchy? Is that a royal word?’’

‘‘No, but I understand these things can be a royal pain. You’ve been very understanding, and I appreciate that. I’m sorry we were separated earlier, but that happens. I have so many people I have to talk with.’’

‘‘I understand,’’ he told her. ‘‘You ran me through the drill before we got here, so there weren’t any surprises. I’m not mad. Quit worrying.’’

She was standing so close that it was easy to move with her. The music had a steady beat, and after a couple of circles around the dance floor, other couples joined them.

Her gaze was steady. ‘‘I really appreciate you doing this for me.’’

‘‘I know. It’s fine.’’

‘‘I mean it.’’

‘‘Alex.’’ He growled her name. ‘‘Let it go. I want to be here, because I want to be with you.’’

She leaned close and pressed her mouth to his ear. ‘‘I want to be with you, too, but I think it would cause something of a scandal if we did it right here on the dance floor. So let’s wait until we get back to the room.’’

Her words aroused him. He tried to think neutral thoughts so that his body wouldn’t respond in an obvious and predictable manner. The last thing he needed was to get a lecture from Miles on the impropriety of getting a hard-on while dancing with a foreign dignitary.

‘‘We’ve been doing ‘it’ as you call making love several times a day. Aren’t you tired of it yet?’’ he asked.

She laughed. ‘‘No. I’ll never be tired of you touching me or being inside of me.’’

His teasing had backfired, and her words had created images that were damn hard to ignore.

‘‘You’re killing me, darlin’,’’ he said.

‘‘But in a good way.’’

‘‘The best.’’

They smiled at each other. He wanted to kiss her, but he knew he couldn’t. Later, he promised himself. Later he would kiss her all over, loving her until they were both—

A flash of light exploded in his face. ‘‘Mr. Colton, how did you meet the princess?’’

Mitch glanced up and saw a reporter standing next to him. The young man motioned for his photographer to get another shot.

‘‘This is a private function,’’ Mitch said, staying calm even though all he wanted to do was shove the punk out of the way. Instead he turned his back on him.

‘‘You’re her escort for the evening,’’ the man persisted. ‘‘Are you more than friends? Is this a romantic relationship?’’

From the corner of his eye he saw several groups of security heading their way. But they weren’t going to get there quickly enough. More flashes popped in his face. Alex ducked her head.

‘‘What do you want to do?’’ Mitch asked softly. ‘‘Should I lead you away?’’

‘‘No. I refuse to run. Just ignore him.’’

‘‘Mr. Colton, don’t you want to clarify your relationship with Princess Alexandra?’’

Mitch turned to the man, who was all of five-seven or five-eight. He could have squashed the guy like a bug. ‘‘You don’t want to know what I want to do, kid, because it would involve a lot of pain for you.’’

The reporter opened his mouth, but before he could ask another question, security arrived and grabbed him and his photographer, then dragged them from the room.

Alex was grinning at him. ‘‘You were so macho,’’ she said. ‘‘You threatened him.’’

‘‘It wasn’t a threat. It was a statement of fact.’’

She laughed. ‘‘Oh, Mitch. There aren’t many men like you, and I think that’s sad.’’

He pulled her close. ‘‘You’re just jealous because I’m the better dancer.’’

‘‘That’s true.’’ She rested her head on his shoulder. ‘‘You do realize that there are going to be more reporters when we leave. Chances are by this time next week, you’re going to see pictures of yourself plastered over the front of tabloids.’’

He hadn’t realized. He hadn’t given the press a moment’s thought. ‘‘Well, hell,’’ he muttered. ‘‘At least my mother will be thrilled. She’s been complaining for years that she doesn’t have a current picture of me.’’