The Inconveniently Engaged Prince. Mindy Neff
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and never come here.”
“You’re probably into roller-blading or running along the boardwalks or parks by the beach, I bet.”
He grinned. “How’d you guess?”
“It shows.” She gave his body a quick scan to prove her point.
“You’re good for my ego.”
“As if it needs any help,” she said dryly.
“Surely you’re not accusing me of being conceited.”
She thought about that for a moment. Actually, he wasn’t stuck on himself. Just self-assured. “I was teasing—oh, look.” She held out an arm, stopping him. Four quail chicks had ventured out for a drink in the birdbath just ahead of them.
“Little suckers, aren’t they?” Jace said.
“Shh.” Too late. The sound of his voice sent the mama quail out of the bushes where she’d been keeping watch. In seconds she had her babies rounded up and filed back into the cover of the bushes.
Vickie sighed. “There are rules to bird-watching. The first one is to be quiet.”
He looked sheepish. “I knew that.”
For the next few minutes, he walked beside her in silence, but she could feel the intangible vibration coming from him. He was dying to talk.
Unable to stand it any longer, she paused at the North Overlook and brushed her fingers against the prickly needles of a pine. “What?” she demanded.
His blond brows raised.
“You look like you’re about to burst.”
“I’m trying to be quiet.” He reached down and scooped up a handful of pine needles. “I’m usually pretty good at following rules. This one’s difficult.”
“Why? Don’t you enjoy the solitude of nature?”
“Sure. When I’m not with a beautiful woman.”
The compliment shot straight to her head, chipped at her resolve to keep things light.
“We can talk. Most of the birds are in the trees and they’ll pretty much ignore us.” Like the scrub jay busily gathering seeds out of a pine cone a few yards away.
He let out a relieved sigh. “So, don’t you need to be taking notes?”
“I’ve got a good memory. I’m more of a visual person, anyway. Most of the species, I’ve already looked up. I just like to come and see them in person rather than looking at a glossy picture. Besides, I love these old trees, the smell of them, what they represent.”
“Trees are trees.”
She smiled. “You’ve been living in the city jungle for too long. Your appreciation of the finer things in life appears to be lacking.”
“I appreciate fine things. Except, maybe opera. I’m sorry to say, I just can’t get into that. Or the ballet.”
She started them walking along the trail again. “I’ve never personally experienced either one, but I’ve read about them and seen some on television. I think I’d enjoy the ballet more than the opera.”
“Really?” He sounded appalled, yet resigned, as though he’d offer to take her if that’s truly what she wanted.
She tugged his sleeve when he slowed down, and he slid his hand down to link with hers. For a second, she started to resist. They shouldn’t be walking hand in hand like lovers. But the warmth of his big palm felt comforting. Solid. Like the pines that surrounded them.
The trees in this section of the reserve weren’t the rarest or the tallest of the species, but the moment she’d stumbled upon them several years ago, she’d identified with them. Along the sea cliffs, their roots grew in poor soil, they suffered from drought, were blasted by storms and cooked in the sun, yet they survived.
Vickie, too, had endured her share of hard times, but she hadn’t given up. She’d survived.
When she left her hand in his, he gave a squeeze as if to say thanks. Her heart throbbed in her chest and she suddenly couldn’t think of a thing to say. Life didn’t get much better than this.
Here she was walking through one of her favorite places. And here was this man with gilded hair and laughter in his eyes. A strong, capable man who excelled in the business world, yet remained so humanly, genuinely down to earth.
And he was with her.
“You’ve gone quiet,” he commented. “Are you taking mental notes?”
“Yes.” Just not on the birds. “It’s easy to get caught up in the serenity.”
“The beach is pretty serene.”
“Yes, but that’s the trail that most of the tourists take.” They were at the South Overlook now and she nudged him over toward a pretty clearing by the cliffs.
“Man, look at that,” he said. “You can see clear to Catalina Island.”
“That impresses you? You’ve got an excellent view right off your own deck at your condo.”
“Yeah, but the weather’s not always cooperative, and the island stays hidden.” He lifted their joined hands, pointed toward the south. “That’s La Jolla. See that hill over there?”
She leaned in close, smelled the fresh air scent on his clothes, the subtle hint of spice on his skin. She nearly lost her concentration, then followed the direction of their joined hands. “The one with the mansions scattered on top?”
“Well, yeah. But I never considered them mansions. My parents live on that hill.” He dropped their hands back to his side but didn’t let go.
“You grew up there?”
“Mostly. They bought the house about twenty years ago.”
“Must have seemed like paradise to you. Not that your condo isn’t like a slice of Eden.”
Jace glanced down at her, surprised by the whisper of envy, yet genuine appreciation. He’d taken his homes for granted, rarely saw them through anyone’s eyes but his own familiar ones. He kept forgetting that Vickie had grown up in what she’d termed Hell’s Home.
She was so beautiful. Not like a model or movie star all made-up for the public. She was fresh and wholesome. Her skin was smooth and sun-kissed with a sprinkle of pale freckles. Full lips, lake-blue eyes, a no-fuss hairstyle that left it silky and straight, long enough to brush her shoulders. The kind of hair that made a man want to run his hands through it, feel it tickling against his chest, his…
“Uh, why don’t we sit for a minute.”
“Sure.”
He’d meant to take advantage of the bench, but Vickie moved close to the edge of the overlook, bent down to test the dampness of the ground and sat among the packed dirt and pine needles, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. He joined her on the ground, took a moment to listen to the sound of the sea and chatter of birds, missing the feel of her hand in his.
A gull winged overhead, squealing as he soared and kept an eye out for food treasures in the sea or tidbits left on the beach by careless walkers.
“Do seagulls count as bird-watching subjects?”
“Yes,” she said with an indulgent smile.
“Well, then, we’ve got a front row seat to do some serious watching.” He propped an arm on his bent knee and sifted his fingers through the pine needles strewn on the ground.
“I bet you’ve loved living on the ocean all your life.” Her voice was soft and wistful as she gazed out at the sea.
“It’s the best.”
“Do you sail?” she asked.
“Mmm.