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Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Gabriella's Summer Adventure 4.2 Demi AlexMalak
grinned, watching his princess blush, picturing her beneath him, and begging him to take her. Suddenly a bullet grazed
her arm and split her flesh. She was hit, confirming his suspicion they were very much visible to the miners. “Is
sex all you ever think about?” Gabriella’s lip twitched and her gaze fled from his. “No, sweetheart.
At this very moment I’m more worried about your wound.” He grabbed her other arm and pulled her behind a large
boulder. “Think carefully. The magic word is one of your beloved childhood friend’s – a doll or a stuffed
animal of some type- repeated three times and followed by your wish in the name of the Good Fairy of Uffizdome.” Chuckling,
she rolled her eyes. “Get real, Malak. This is all bull. Ana told me what is really going on.” Cupping
the back of her head, he pushed her down into his groin and double over on her. Another bullet sounded over them. “You
hit?” She tried to rise, but he held her down. Her soft, shapely body crushed beneath him in a manner he hadn’t
anticipated. “No,” he hissed. “Think of the damn name!” “Barney, Barney,
Barney transport me to a tranquil resort beach on the Mediterranean, in the name of the Good Fairy of Uffizdome.” He raised
his head and looked over the boulder. Two miners spotted him and aimed rifles directly at them. “Again, princess.” “Binky
Dee, Binky Dee, Binky Dee transport us back to our own time- in the name of the Good Fairy of Uffizdome.” Nothing. Malak
lifted her in his arms and fled from their hiding spot. He spotted a set of tracks and ran along them out in the open, shielding
her only with his body, and hoping the miners would be slow to reload. Depositing her into a cart on the rails, his legs pumped
for all he was worth and pushed her along until they started downhill. He jumped in beside her, placing her beautiful body
beneath him. “Again, princess. Think something regal, something magical, something your mother would say
when you were young.” The cavern’s ceiling was low, and he had to duck to avoid being knocked unconscious.
Once this damn buggy came to a halt, they would be surrounded by miners demanding there gems. She needed to think and get
them out of this bind. Gabriella wrapped herself around him and gazed dreamily into his face. “You
saved my life.” “Damn, woman. Not now.” They hit a straightaway and the rails curved upwards at a wall
coming closer each second. “Stop being so impatient and compulsive. What did your mother say when she’d put you
to sleep?” He stroked her hair as one would a child’s. Placing a tiny kiss at her temple, he breathed, “This
is all you, princess. Please… try.” She took a deep breath and chanted in the most lyrical voice
he’d ever heard. “Queen Diana Leigh, please here our song. Take us away from danger and bring us home. In the
name of the God Fairy of Uffizdome.” The cart thundered toward the wall, shook uncontrollably and shattered. Engulfing
her in his arms, he braced himself for an impact which never came.
10:27 am est
Gabriella's Summer Adventure 4.1 Jacquie RogersThis is Tuesday's post. There was no post on Monday. Once again, I apologize for the delay. Aleka Last episode: Malak nodded.
"There'll be plenty to go around. You, me, Francis…Scott and Aidan.
All that money. We'll be vacationing in the Caribbean soon, without a care in the world." Warren
felt his stomach flip… He didn't have any intention of splitting anything. He
wanted the money…and Gabriella…all to himself! *
* * * * “Brian Finnegan,
I want my diamonds back.” Gabriella stood in the pub doorway, the sun shining through her hair.
“Now.” Three regulars seated at the bar stared at her, not in an unfriendly way, but as someone
would study an elephant in an ice rink. The owner of Finnegan’s Pub, Ground Zero of her so-called bender, held his arms out
to her. “Why, ’tis Gabby, our little sotted lass.” He clasped her
in a bear hug, then held her at arm’s length for a good study. “Lookin’ better, I must
say—bright eyes, beautiful hair, and diamonds in your smile.” “Diamonds, you say.
That’s exactly why I’m here. You stole my diamonds and if you don’t give them
back, I’m gonna call a whole contingent of secret agents down on you.” He backed away, holding
his palms up in contrition. “No problem, lass, I’ve got ‘em right here . . .”
He pulled out a drawer from behind the bar. “What the—” “Hand them over, Mr. Finnegan.”
Sparkles floated around his head. He swiped his hand over his bald dome and the air cleared.
“Nothin’ to hand over, they’re gone!” “Aidan!” She gritted her teeth.
Aidan had acted all nice and even mushy, but as soon as he’d handed her over to the pub owner, he’d melted
into the crowd. No gentleman, that man. She’d bet her bottom dollar that he’d
stolen the diamonds. No, wait, she didn’t have a bottom dollar—not unless she went along with Auntie
Ana’s princess thing. But hey, being a princess couldn’t be all that bad—great shoes,
regular hair stylings, facials anytime she wanted them . . . what’s not to like? “You called?”
He appeared beside her at the bar, more glimmering around him. Something was really crazy here. “I have the
diamonds, Princess,” he patted his coat pocket. “But you can’t have them until Finnie
teaches you how to use them.” “Use? You put them in a nice setting and wear them.” “Not these.
They’re the Coronation Jewels of Uffizdome.” “Right, so hand them over.” She was tempted
to grab the diamonds right out of his pocket, but the regulars were watching intently. Gabriella wondered
if they believed Aidan and Mr. Finnegan. She concluded that her strategy skills were sorely lacking; otherwise,
she’d never have believed they’d actually give the jewels back to her. Again, going along with
the show seemed to be her only recourse. “I will,” Aidan said. “They’re
rightfully yours, I just don’t want you to be harmed. The people of Uffizdome have waited a long
time to get their beautiful little princess back.” She shrugged. Obviously the only non-violent ploy
left to her was to go along with the two men’s notion. “So show me how to use them.” Mr. Finnegan flicked
his fingers and their surrounding changed from a pub to a cavern with hundreds of candles burning all along the rock walls.
Heavy throw rugs surrounded an altar decorated with red roses, a cross, and a plain tiara without a diamond in sight.
Gabriella stood before the altar, with Aidan on her right and Mr. Finnegan on her left. She gently touched a rose petal.
It felt soft and velvety, just like a rose petal should. With a step back, she wondered if she’d
tripped out again. The scary part was that no, she couldn’t be tripping out because she hadn’t
imbibed any substance whatsoever. Truth be told, this candlelit cavern, its golden ornaments, plush furs,
and rough-hewn altar had to be real. Aidan’s coat pocket glowed. He extracted the jewels and handed
them to the pub owner, then knelt in prayer. Mr. Finnegan held the diamonds in his palm as if offering them to the
heavens, even though they were in a cavern. “Faery Queen of Uffizdome, hear our song,” he intoned. “Behold, the
Faery Queen,” Aidan responded. Whew baby, these guys were off their noodles. “I think you’ve
had one too many barley-pops.” “Sshh!” The pub owner acted as if he were listening for
a slight sound. Good grief! Gabriella hated to be shushed. Too bad she wasn’t Calamity
Jane—she’d take those jewels and head back home. To heck with the princess business, to heck
with all the men chasing her . . . okay, not really. There were a couple of totally hot dude in the pack,
and Warren was a wonderful, tender, and satisfying lover. Too bad he wasn’t Malak, who lit her blood
afire. On impulse, she grabbed half the diamonds and ran for the cave entrance. When she ran outside,
stone houses were replaced with log cabins, there wasn’t a car in sight, and she definitely smelled a strong aroma of
horse manure. Bullets were flying and one zinged right past her ear. She hit the dirt
and scrambled behind a boulder. Only another man had claimed that boulder, a dark-haired man with broad
shoulders and tight buns. He looked damned good in a Stetson and a tight pair of Levis. And
oh, did he ever smell good . . . Malak! “Hey there, little lady,” he drawled. “You stick by
me and I’ll keep you safe.” “What are you doing here?” Gabriella spat. “I told you before—I’m
to be the father of your child. It’s my duty, but mostly, it’ll be my pleasure.
I think we should have several children just for practice.” “Stuff it, Malak.” “Gladly. Meantime,
you didn’t listen to the instruction on how to properly use the Coronation Jewels, so now you’ve sent us back
in time to 1880 Colorado. And see those guys who are shooting at us?” “Yeah, they don’t look
happy.” She flinched when a bullet ricocheted off the boulder about six inches above her head.
Rock splinters flew everywhere. “That’s because you’re in their mine, and they think you’ve found
diamonds on their claim. Since you’re here, and you have diamonds in your hand, that would be difficult
to dispute.” “So what should we do?” He pulled her body to his. “Make mad, passionate, thank-God-we’re-alive
sex.” Ah, he smelled good, and the beating of his heart melded with hers, arousing intense feelings
in places she’d rather ignore right then. A bullet grazed her forearm.
10:24 am est
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Gabriella's Summer Adventure 3.5 Catherine ChernowWhile
Gabriella was enjoying a chocolate martini with her Aunt Ana in a Thomas Kinkaid-cottage-like pub in the lush green countryside
of Ireland… Warren punched the ‘UP’
button on the wall near the elevators in the lobby of the hotel. He glanced at the box that lay tucked
under his arm. Warren had gone through great pains to pick out the perfect dress for Gabriella.
He felt heat wash over his body as he thought about her attempts to wriggle out of the last dress…
The bell rang, the elevator doors opened with a whoosh. Warren stepped inside. As
the doors shut behind him, his eyes grew wide… “It’s
about time you got back.” Malak!
Warren shook his head as the elevator whisked him up to his floor. He couldn’t wait to see
Gabriella again…couldn’t wait to kiss her again…to hold her…to make love to her…
…and to find out where she hid the damned diamonds.
“Nice play-acting. Sure you’re not hurt?” Warren glanced at
Malak’s head. “That’s some nice bump you’ve got there.”
“I hit my damned head when I went down.”
“Francis and Scott are some actors, I must say. Firing those blanks at you from that ridiculous
toy gun…” Malak drew his dark
brows together in a fierce scowl. “That was your idea. Not mine.”
He glanced at the box Warren had. “What’s that?”
Warren’s cheeks heated. “It’s uh…well, a new dress for Gabriella.”
Malak shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Now you’re her maid?”
The elevator bell made a loud ‘ping.’ Warren pushed past Malak on his way out of the
elevator and strode down the hallway. “What I buy for Gabriella is none of your concern,” he
shot back over his shoulder. Was that him who just sounded so waspish, he wondered? Since
when? Since he met Gabriella. The thought of her making
love to Malak in the jacuzzi made his blood boil. He hated sharing Gabriella, but he had no choice.
Warren gripped the box under his arm tighter, crushing the corners.
And tighter still when they stopped in front of Gabriella’s hotel room door…
Only to find it wide open. *** Warren
removed the pistol from his shoulder holster and aimed it at the space between the hotel room door and the jamb.
“Gabriella!” he called out. No answer.
He crept towards the door, his steps slow and measured. Damn her stubborn, adventurous hide! Fear
coursed through him. His palm grew damp as he gripped the pistol in his hand.
“Wait,” Malak laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t go in there. Someone…”
“…might have killed her.” Warren finished, dread filling him with each step he
took. “Gabriella!” he shouted again.
Still no answer. Malak removed a gun
from his shoulder holster. He swept past Warren and entered Gabriella’s room, both hands gripping
the pistol as he waved it in all directions in front of him.
Warren was right behind. They checked everywhere – the closets, the bathroom…the Jacuzzi…
But there was no sign of Gabriella. “Look,”
Malak held up the torn dress. “She must have struggled, maybe there was more than one of them who
attacked her. Maybe…” Warren
shook his head and sighed. He holstered the gun and eased his tall frame into a nearby chair, tossing the
box containing Gabriella’s new dress onto the bed.
“That was uh…me,” he replied sounding…sheepish.
“Huh?” Malak angled his head. “What in hell are you talking
about?” Warren felt himself blush from
his feet up to his hairline. “She couldn’t get out of her damned dress. I
had to rip it to get it off of her.” Malak
raised one dark brow. “Really?” He threw the dress at Warren and grinned.
“That must have been some foreplay.”
Warren peeled the dress from his face. He glanced around the room. “Where
in hell did she go?” The room seemed okay – nothing out of place. But wasn’t
it just like Gabriella to forget to lock the door and leave the room wide open! Warren ran a hand over
his face and flopped back in the chair. “I swear, Malak. I’ve been in some
of the worst situations possible. I’ve been in the Gulf War, I’ve done covert operations…done
some pretty dangerous stuff, but I’ve never been as scared as I was right now, thinking that something happened to that
little blonde wtich!” He gritted his teeth as he dug his fist into his thigh.
Warren dragged over another chair and placed it near Warren’s. He sat down and stretched his
long legs out. Cupping his hands behind his head, he began to whistle something that sounded like an old
rock song, “Love Stinks.” “Knock
it off!” Warren glared at Malak. Warren rose from his chair and paced back and
forth, his stride wide, his movements agitated. Malak
chuckled, the sound of his laughter low and deep. “So…how long have you been in love with
her?” Warren stopped dead in his tracks.
He turned to face Malak. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.” Malak dropped his hands from behind his head and sat forward.
“How long have you been in love with Gabriella?”
Warren shoved his hands in his pockets. “I-I’m not in love with her.”
A slight tremor shot through him.
Malak raised both brows. “Then how come you’re shaking like a leaf?”
“Shit.” Warren walked back over to the chair and flopped down into it.
Malak shook his head. “You’re sunk. And sinking deeper, my friend.”
“I think I loved her the very first time I met her…on that ridiculous speed date. The
one where all I could do was talk about the goddamned weather.”
This time, Malak burst out laughing. “You’re really suave, aren’t you?”
“What in hell was I supposed to talk about? My job? We can’t talk
about our jobs to anyone…ever. You know that. Besides, I was…”
“What?” Malak cocked his head.
Warren sighed. “Lonely. That speed date sounded like a good idea.
All I had to do was talk to someone for ten minutes at a time. Easy, right? Until
I met Gabriella.” He shot up from the chair and started pacing again. “All
I could do was stare at her. That long blonde hair, I swear, Malak, I never knew blonde hair could have
so many different shades of blonde in it and her eyes, why her eyes are…”
Malak waved a hand through the air. “When a guy focuses on a woman’s hair and eyes,
he’s in love, my friend.” Warren’s
jaw tightened. He stopped pacing and gave Malak a hard stare. “When I get my hands
on her, I’m going to…to…” “What?”
Malak grinned. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
“That’s because I’ve never felt like this. She’s got me tied up in knots,
running around Ireland, around Europe. She has no sense of danger no…”
“Idea that she’s carrying a fortune in diamonds.” Malak finished.
Warren’s heart raced as he glanced around the room again. Where had she gone this time?
He didn’t know if he would kiss her or paddle her gorgeous round backside when he saw her again…
IF he saw her again… Malak
got up and walked over to the bureau on the other side of the room. A newspaper lay there.
He scanned the front page then his dark eyes grew wide.
“Warren! Look at this.”
Warren was by his side in a flash. He read aloud from the headlines, “Princess Uffizi visits
Ireland. Royal Party staying at undisclosed location while they sojourn through the Emerald Isle for two
weeks…” He grabbed the newspaper and gazed at the picture of Princess Uffizi. “Malak,
does she seem familiar to you?” Malak
leaned over his shoulder and gazed at the picture, pointing at the woman in the photo with long, blonde hair.
“Holy shit. That looks like Gabriella!”
Warren dropped the newspaper on the bureau. His hands shook, again. Lately, they
shook an awful lot… Ever since he met Gabriella
again on that plane. “The resemblance is uncanny,” he told Malak.
Malak picked up the paper and scanned the picture. “I’ll say.”
“Come on. We’ve got to find her. I have a bad feeling about all this.”
Warren strode across the carpet, his steps wide and purposeful. Malak was hot on his heels.
When they got to the lobby, Warren asked the door man. “Did you see a woman leave here this
morning? She had long blonde hair and…”
“Sure did. Got in a limo.”
Malak gripped the door man’s arm. “Any idea where that limo was headed?”
The door man shrugged. “Dunno.” He glanced at his watch.
“I heard her say something about a pub, though.”
Warren took out some euro dollars and shoved them in the doorman’s hand. “Think hard,
man. Think very hard.” Suddenly,
the door man’s face brightened. “I heard her say something to the driver about a pub called,
‘The Shamrock.’” Warren’s
heart felt lighter. The very though scared him. His heart hadn’t felt anything
in years. “Let’s go,” Malak
pulled him along. “We’ve got something more precious than diamonds to bargain with now.”
They exited through the revolving door. Once outside, Warren asked Malak. “Oh
yeah, like what?” Malak smiled, revealing
a mouth full of even white teeth. “Gabriella.”
“I don’t understand…” Warren shook his head and hailed a taxi.
“If she’s the princess Uffizi, then we can kidnap her and ransom her. I’ll bet
her royal family would pay big bucks to get her back.”
“You’re crazy.” Warren shook his head as a taxi pulled up to the curb. He put
his hand on the door and opened it. He slid across the back seat and Malak did the same.
“Where to?” the cabbie asked. “The
Shamrock Pub.” “Right-oh.”
As the cabbie eased the taxi into the stream of traffic, Warren’s heart raced…he felt a bead of sweat
trickle down his back. “What’s
wrong?” Malak beetled his dark brows.
“Nothing.” Warren glanced at the passing scenery. The lush, green
grass of the countryside sped by in a blur… Kidnapping.
It was perfect! Now,
he just had to get hold of Scott, Francis and Aidan…
“Princess Uffizi is probably worth millions.”
Warren gave Malak a sharp glance. “Think so?”
Malak nodded. “There’ll be plenty to go around. You, me, Francis…Scott
and Aidan. All that money. We’ll be vacationing in the Caribbean soon, without
a care in the world.” Warren felt his stomach
flip… He didn’t have any intention
of splitting anything. He wanted the money…and
Gabriella…all to himself!
7:46 am est
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Thursday's Gabriella Post 3.4 by Aleka Nakis "I don't make those sorts of mistakes.
You are definitely Princess Gabriella." The woman smiled and patted the seat beside her.
"Please, Princess, get in the car. They are not far behind. They will find
you that it's their mission. That is their job. Despite the well starched chauffeur’s outfit and the
tight flaxen braid down her back, the woman looked almost matronly. Laugh lines graced her mouth and the
edges of her twinkling blue eyes. Her golden lashes batted with certain nervousness as she looked in her rearview mirror.
Two men rounded the corner and once they spotted Gabriella, in her four hundred count ecru toga and red high heeled
shoes, they increased their pace. Grabbing the door handle, Gabriella jumped into the passenger seat.
"Let's go." The matronly chauffeur needed no further encouragement. The limo lurched forward,
and the men quickly disappeared into the double and background. Within 15 minutes they were out of the
city center and cruising at a steady pace in Ireland's lush green hillside. "Care to tell me
who you are?” Gabriella turned in her toga, pulled an end over her knee, and faced the driver. “It
seems that everybody knows who I am, but I keep getting told who everybody else is ‘cause I have no clue.” The woman
chuckled and turned to rest her palm on Gabriella's cheek. "That's understandable, Princess.
We all know who you are. We've known for all these years, what you have been denied knowledge
of. But my, you have grown in such into such a beautiful woman." Whoa, hold on, Gabriella
wasn't into any of this kinky stuff- with an older woman at that! Had she just made the wrong choice
by entering the car? Or was this loony bin of a woman pulling her leg? "I am Anastasia
Fabrizi, your mother's best friend.” "My mother is dead." Anastasia reached over and patted
her thigh. "I know, darling. She passed away while you were in college. Your grandmother
Sophia and my grandmother Katia grew up together as young girls. When Queen Sofia had your mother, my mother
served as her wet nurse because of your grandmother's social obligations. Your mother and I were only
born a month apart. Maria was more like a sister to me until the day she fled from Uffizdome with you.” Great,
now she was the princess of a place called Uffizdome. Perhaps it was located between Emerald City and Neverland! "My
mother was an Italian-American- born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I knew my grandparents and they were no royalty. My granddaddy
was a New York City garbage man and my grandma was a factory worker. They barely spoke a word of English, and the only ‘social’
obligations they had were for Friday night dinners at the Sons of Italy buffets. Every Sunday, we attended-” “I
know. Our Lady of Peace, on Carroll and Fourth.” Gabriella tugged on the sheet and tried to cover herself.
Suddenly she felt very exposed. How did this Anastasia woman know about her home church? “Actually, I’ve
attended mass with you when you were only a child.” And now was she reading her mind? “Don’t look
so surprised. When we get to Uffizdome I’ll show you a picture of us and the Son’s Memorial Day picnic. It was
one of the best times we’ve shared.” Gabriella looked back to the window between the driver and
the passenger section wondering who was getting a good laugh at her expense. It magically dropped. “No one is there,
and no- you’re not on Candid Camera.” Anastasia said curtly. “Then tell me what you want
from me, Anastasia. And what all those men want from me?” “I want you to be happy, my child.” Anastasia
cast her sideways glance and squeezed her knee. “And I want you to get in the back and dress appropriately so that we
may continue our conversation over lunch.” Clothes! That got Gabriella’s attention. Now the lady
was talking. Tugging on the toga, she mustered all the politeness left in her weary body. “You have real clothes for
me?” Nodding, the older woman let out a smile. “But of course. What kind of an aunt would show up empty handed
for her Princess?” Déjà vu! An aunt with presents for her princess! “Aunty Ana?” “Yes,
sweetheart?” This couldn’t be happening. Aunty Ana had long brown hair, an olive complexion, and inch-long
fingernails. Gabriella looked at the driver’s hands. Clean, short, clear manicured nails. But those eyes, they had looked
familiar. And they were very comforting. “I haven’t seen Aunty Anna in-“ “I know, twenty-three
years. It was your seventh birthday, and you cried for two hours because the Carvel cake your mother had bought melted on
the way home. We finally got you to end the tantrum by making milk shakes out of it, adding whipped cream, and giving you
the pink princess straw to drink it with.” Oh my God! She really was Aunty Ana. “Okay,
this is getting too weird. Stop interrupting me and finishing my memories because it’s freaking me out.” Gabriella
scrambled over the seat and peaked into a case containing four pink dresses. “You know, I’m not seven any more.” “Sorry,
but pink was your favorite color back then. Pink room, pink bedspread, pink ballet slippers-“ “Okay, I get the
picture.” Gabriella pulled a pink Gucci mini dress over her head and stuck her arms through the capped
sleeves. “Well at least there’s no matching hair bow.” “No. I know you’re too
old for that. There’s a headband in the smaller case.” Anastasia chuckled and took a quick right. “Ready
for some lunch?” The limo pulled into a small dirt road and stopped besides a small local pub
that looked like a Thomas something paintings. “Real inconspicuous. No one will pick us out here,” Gabriella said,
rolling her eyes. Aunty Ana shrugged. ‘Big deal. Don’t be so uptight, my girl.” “What
about those goons chasing and drugging me?” Ana chuckled. “Those ‘goons’ are nothing
more than royal goofballs who have too much time on their hands. They won’t bother you after we talk. Guaranteed.”
She opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle. “I don’t get it,” Gabriella called, following
her into the quaint pub and to a table in the far corner. The handful of patrons scattered in
the place eyed them with interest as the server came to take their order. Once settled, Ana promised to explain after they
ate. Finishing a heavenly potato soup, Ana leaned across the dark wood table and took both of Gabriella’s
hands. “You truly are Princess Gabriella Sophia Del Uffizi. Uffizdome is a small country located on the Adriatic Sea,
nestled between Ital, Slovenia, and Croatia. By American standards it is smaller that a typical town. There are one thousand
and thirteen inhabitants living there, including the four sets of twins born this last year.” Gabriella rubbed her
temples. No one had ever told her about an Uffizdome. Let alone the fact she was a member of a royal family. “Your
parents’ marriage was arranged when they were both children. Royal weddings are often like that. Two neighboring kingdoms
joined in a simple union after hundreds of years of division by the river running down the center of our land. Everyone was
overjoyed. Everyone but your mother. She was barely sixteen and only eighteen when she had you. Your father, Prince Mikhail,
was a young spoiled man- much too immature to be a husband and father. He thought your mother would turn a blind eye to his
indiscretions and gallivanting. But she didn’t.” Ana took a sip of her pint and asked for fruit for dessert. Having
lost her mother a few years ago, and never having known her father, Gabriella wanted to accept Ana’s explanation. It
would be wonderful to meet her father and have a family. But in truth, this seemed like some story written for the Disney
channel. “The night before you third birthday, Katia told Mikhail she wanted a divorce. The ‘D’ word
doesn’t exist in our country. It is unheard of. She insisted that her daughter, you, would have a normal upbringing
and would choose what to do and who to marry before inheriting the throne. The agreement was that you return and marry a man
of your father’s choosing if you had not already been married at thirty years of age. If you were married, you’d
simply be informed of your responsibilities and position.” Gabriella stared at the pink lips telling her fate. “I’m
turning thirty in August.” She propped her elbow on the table and dropped her head into her palm. “Who has my
father chosen?” “Nobody. He insists on coming into the twenty-first century and allowing you the freedom
to select your own husband. You see, he had grown to love your mother and was crushed when she left. Their agreement was for
her to stay away for twenty years, time enough for you to be raised as she wished, and to discuss your future with him at
that point. Unfortunately, you refused to even consider a trip to Italy and the war in the former Yugoslavia made things unstable
for you to return to Uffizdome.” Gabriella was thrown back years. She remembered her mother urging her to take
a European vacation after graduation, but she wanted to tour the United States with her friends before she started working
for good. They had taken separate vacations, and Mom hadn’t returned. She had drowned in a ferry crossing, and her body
was never found. Ana stroked Gabriella’s cheek. ‘Don’t look so sad, Princess. Everything will
work out for the best.” “This is a lot to absorb in one conversation,” she said, shaking her head.
Working hard to restrain her tears, she took a deep breath and continued. “That isn’t who I am today, and why
should I care about the wishes of a man who had nothing to do with me while I needed him.” “That’s
not true. Your parents did what they believed to be best for you. They wanted you to know what it would be like to be normal.
Something neither one of them ever did.” Lines of concern spread across Ana’s forehead. Her eyes relaying her
worry. “They love you more than anything in the world.” “So now it’s time for me to marry some stuffed
suit and done a tiara?” Gabriella snorted a laugh in a very unprincess-like manner trying unsuccessfully
to elicit a reaction from Ana. “Two months ago, your father accepted petitions from a number of royal
suitors so that they may court you. If anyone of them gained your love without revealing their title, he would have your hand
in marriage.” Ana paused and finished off her pint. She looked tired and drained. “It’s okay,”
Gabriella offered, waving her hand. “I’m not interested in marriage right now, and I don’t care what he
says. Just drop me at the airport and I’ll be out of your hair in no time.” Dark blue eyes stared
at her. Anna shook her head and took on a strict schoolmarm stance. “Now listen to me, young lady. You’ve been
allowed freedom no other member of the royal family has ever had. You not only have the title of Princess, you have the responsibility
and power to rule. The Uffizi family still governs Uffizdome. None of your suitors can say that. They simply have royal blood
and titles-well none except for Malak. He is a ruling prince.” “Malak?” Nodding, Ana sighed as she
continued. “Yes, but I don’t prefer him because you’d have to stay far from us- in the Middle East. It is
time for you to return home.” “Warren?” Another nod. “Only the title.” “Henri,
Alex, Francis, Charlie and Scott?” “Henri and Alex are legitimate. Francis was a childhood playmate of yours.
You would pretend to be dogs and take turns walking each other on leashes. We used to laugh watching you two play for hours
every evening. Even though he isn’t royalty, he comes from a very long aristocratic line on ancestors that served as
advisors to our royal family. Charlie and Scott work for your father. They’ve been looking after you for a few years
and requested that they be allowed to try and woo you. They’ve earned the right.” “I see,”
Gabriella whispered, twirling her hair in her fingers. And here she was thinking all these handsome men were simply attracted
by her wit and beauty. She huffed out a breath and laughed. “What about the drugs?” “An unfortunate
reaction to the medication the emergency room doctor prescribed when you went in for that wicked cold two weeks ago. Henri,
tried to counter the effects with something else, but the hallucinations only increased. Thankfully the Royal Buffoon Squad
has been with you most of the time. Everything should be out of your system since you disappeared the other night. When Warren
reported he’d found you, I was so relieved. I knew I had to tell you everything and end this charade before things got
more twisted.” Ana gave her a real smile and her facial features relaxed. “I disappeared?” “Uh,
huh.” “Aidan? What part does he play?” “Who?” Ana scrunched her nose and leaned forward. Collecting
her belongings, Gabriella stood, dropped some money on the table and indicated for Ana to follow her. Aidan.
He’d been real. No hallucination, no royal chase, just Aidan. “Suddenly I’m parched for a chocolate martini.
Let’s go aunty Ana.” She walked to the exit and turned bumping into Ana who was on her heels.
“And, oh,” she breathed, leaning over to kiss the woman’s cheek. “Thank you for being straight with
me.”
11:36 am est
Wednesday's Gabriella Post 3.3 by Karen Kendall Gabriella stared at Warren. “CIA?
A covert agent?” He nodded. His expression was open and utterly trustworthy. He was empathy itself as she absorbed the information;
wondered what to do with it and how to react. Because the honest-looking Warren was lying through his teeth. Covert
agents for the CIA never, ever told anyone what they did for a living. They stayed buried in deep cover—and they didn’t
even know the real names of the classmates they trained with or the instructors who taught them. They didn’t know their
bosses’ or co-workers’ real names, either. Warren might be employed by the CIA, but he certainly wasn’t
part of its covert operations. No way. It was Warren’s bad luck that she knew that. And it was also his bad luck that she was
a blonde who could play dumb with the best of them. She went for the most clichéd line of all time. “So now that
you’ve told me, do you have to kill me?” Predictably, he laughed. “Not this time. But I do have
to ask you never to reveal that information. It could put my life in jeopardy.” Oh, please. But
she had to admit that Warren was great-looking, even if he was a liar. Gabriella widened her eyes and assumed an appropriately
horrified expression. “I won’t tell a soul, I swear.” “Thank you.” “So . .
. you’re recruiting me to work for the CIA?” He nodded. “Oh my God! Really? I’ve always
wanted to be a spy. I have a thing for trench-coats and sunglasses.” He grinned. “Great. Because I’m
partial to women in trench-coats with nothing underneath.” “I also have a thing for international men
of mystery, Warren,” Gabriella purred. She ran her hands provocatively down his chest, checking for
an Austin Powers mat of fake hair. Nope. Darn. Warren covered her hands with his own. “Do you?”
“Mmmmm.” She tweaked his nipples. “Yes.” Gabriella wound her arms around his neck
and pulled his head down for a long, steamy kiss to get his engine running. Knowing that Warren was lying told her two
things: one, that she needed to get away from him as soon as possible without revealing that he hadn’t snowed her. And
two, that she could use him for sex without any remorse or fear of complication. She was on vacation, after
all. She was unbelievably horny after being around all of these gorgeous guys and constantly thinking that her life was in
danger. She was a stress case and wasn’t about to pop a pill to relax, since she seemed to get drugged every time she
turned around. So wasn’t it time that she, um, got some? A rip-roaring orgasm would do a lot to calm her down,
and Warren was looking an awful lot like well-hung Xanax in trousers. “So, Mr. Secret Agent,” she
murmured, dredging up another shop-worn cliché, “is that a gun you’re holding to my belly, or are you just
happy to see me?” “That, lady, is no gun.” He cupped her bottom in his big hands and tugged
her against him, demonstrating the truth of this particular statement. It seemed that Warren didn’t lie about everything.
“Good. I’d much rather that my virtue be in danger than my life.” Warren picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. “Wow,” he said. “What’s
gotten into you?” “Nothing, yet. So take off your pants already.” He frowned and set her down. “What’s wrong?”
“This
isn’t like you.” “This is completely like me,” Gabriella said, and pulled her dress over her head, so that she’d
be standing in front of him in nothing but her high heels, panties and bra. . . uh, oh. She was stuck. “Help!”
“Now this presents an interesting picture,” Warren mused.
Gabriella struggled to get the damned dress up and over her shoulders, to no avail. “Help!” she said again.
“There’s a little gizmo
back there known as a zipper. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
“Warren, would you quit being cute and get me out of this?” Gabriella wriggled, lost
her balance and tottered dangerously on her high heels.
“Hold still,” he said, “or I can’t get you out of the dress.” She felt his body heat,
and then his hands slid around her bare stomach. Big. Warm. Moving upwards to cup her breasts through the lace of her bra.
Moving down and sliding under her panties. Oh, God . . . After
this brief detour, he did try to pull the dress over her head, but she was well and truly stuck. So he tried to pull it down,
which didn’t work so well either. “Gabriella, I hate to tell you this, but--”
“Just get me out!” she wailed.
Warren sighed. “Okay.” Then he ripped the dress from hemline to neck.
She stood there blinking at him in shock. “You destroyed it!”
“You asked me to get you out of it, so I did.”
“But I didn’t mean . . . Warren, I can’t walk around Dublin naked!”
“I’ll buy you another one,” he promised. “Now, where were we?”
It was hard to strategize with his mouth there, and then there, and then—oh, my! There,
in that x-rated, covert, hot spot. But
strategize she must, because as soon as she sent Warren out to buy her another dress, she had to be outta here. Which meant—aaaaahhhhh!
Oh, yes! Which meant that she was going to have to pull a Scarlet O’Hara and make an outfit from the curtains
or bed-sheets. Too bad she was fresh out of sewing machines, patterns and time. A toga was the only way to go. Gabriella hadn’t
worn a toga since her sophomore year of college. She hoped that Dublin would appreciate the fashion statement.
Warren proved within moments that sex was better than Xanax any day. Finally, something had gone
right on this vacation!
#
While Warren took a shower, Gabriella
pretended to sleep while she tried to figure out who Warren really worked for. She remembered an explanation about a shadow
group that was far more secret than the CIA. But had she dreamed this explanation? Because of the drugs, it was so hard to
keep track of what she’d dreamed and what she’d really experienced. Who had mentioned this secret group? Had it
been Henri, the doctor who’d examined her? She thought so. And she could have sworn that Warren had been right there
. . . but if he had been, why would he have told her now that he was a covert agent with the CIA? Was he testing her somehow?
Warren emerged from the bathroom in
a cloud of warm steam, a towel tucked low and sexy around his hips. Hubba hubba. “You should have joined me, Princess.
I’m very talented with a bar of soap, you know.” He grinned.
Princess. There it was again. That annoying nickname.
Gabriella faux-yawned and stretched. “I’m too comfortable and sleepy to shower yet. Besides,” she
said pointedly, “I have nothing to change into, thanks to you.”
“My chivalry is rewarded with ingratitude,” he complained.
“Is that what ripping off a woman’s dress is called these days? Chivalry?”
“Cave-man chivalry,” he amended. “And anyway, the cave man is going out right now to get you a new
one. Any preferences?” “A simple cotton
tank dress or an A-line is fine.” “Tank
dress? A-line?” He looked puzzled. “What,
they don’t teach you secret agents the finer nuances of fashion?”
Warren sheepishly shook his head. “A tank dress sounds pretty big. Is it for an armored tank?”
Gabriella sighed. “Think tank top. Sleeveless. Straight skirt. Nothing goofy or poufy. Nothing sickly
pink or hospital green or covered with giant cabbage roses. Got it?”
“What’s a cabbage rose?” “Never
mind. Just no flowers.” “Got
it. No flowers.” “And no polyester.”
“No polyester. Back in a flash.” And Warren, who’d thrown on his
clothes in the meantime, made his exit. &nbs |