The Jaguar Prince

Chapter 11

This was her house, wasn’t it? Callie slowed, but didn’t pull in the driveway. It didn’t look like her house. The ones on either side looked the same, but this didn’t look like her house. Not even close.

Flowers bordered both sides of the driveway and the sidewalk. There was even a small three-tiered fountain with water splashing over the sides. A bench sat beside it.

It looked nice. She had a feeling DeeDee had something to do with all this.

Callie finally pulled into the driveway, parking next to Rogar’s black Jag, and shifted into Park. Before she turned the key, she lightly caressed the steering wheel. The car was sweet. But she couldn’t keep it.

Why not?

She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, willing the voice of reason to return, but it really, really didn’t help when the new car smell filled her senses.

Rogar would probably tell her that her guide was talking to her, but that was so not true. It was the voice of greed asking why she couldn’t keep the car.

What if the IRS came snooping around? Not to mention gift taxes, higher car insurance. No, she couldn’t afford to keep the Jaguar. At least, not more than a week or so.

She got out of the car, then slowly walked to the front door, inhaling the strong fragrance of the colorful flowers. It was so pretty, she almost felt like skipping, well, except her feet were killing her. But everything was so nice, it sort of eased the ache.

The fountain played a peaceful melody as water over-flowed from one tier to the next. More flowers surrounded the ancient oak, framed by stacked rocks. She could learn to enjoy coming home to this.

But it wouldn’t last. Nothing ever did. Weeds would creep into the flowerbeds, algae into the fountain. Rogar would leave.

Her heart skipped a beat. No, she didn’t want to think about that. No bad thoughts on her birthday. She wouldn’t allow it.

She turned the doorknob. It was unlocked. She probably should tell him about locking doors when living in the city.

Once she stepped inside, her nostrils filled with the smell of cooking—really bad cooking. Her nose wrinkled. What was he doing? She was almost afraid to go into the kitchen, but she forced her feet to move forward.

Rogar had his back to her, and he was mumbling. She couldn’t make out the words, but she recognized the tone. He didn’t sound happy as he stood in front of the microwave.

Her gaze took in the rest of the room. It was a shambles. There was flour everywhere, empty boxes, plastic bags that held more food, some spilling onto the counter. Her stomach sank at the thought of cleaning the mess. She sniffed. It was her birthday, and she shouldn’t have to clean.

But the table looked nice. It had been set with new dishes and stemware. In the center of a new red tablecloth was a pair of candlesticks with white tapered candles.

He was making her a birthday dinner. She sucked in her bottom lip as tears filled her eyes. The only person who had ever done anything special for her was DeeDee. This was so nice, so sweet…

Rogar stepped out from in front of the microwave. Sparks flew around on the inside like the Fourth of July. She rushed forward and flung the door open. “What are you trying to do?”

Something popped and hissed, then sizzled. She reached over and jerked the cord out of the wall. There was a grinding noise, then nothing. She had a feeling the sound had been the microwave’s death rattle.

“It said place in microwave and cook five to six minutes,” Rogar said. “Your machine malfunctioned.”

Her machine? More likely he hadn’t completely read the directions. It was a foil container. She turned on him, but before she could open her mouth to tell Rogar that she’d really liked her microwave, she got a good look at him.

He was streaked with flour, and something must have exploded because the flour was mixed with a blue liquid of some sort, and his hair stuck up at odd angles, as if he’d ran his fingers through it more than once in frustration.

Somehow, the microwave lost significance, and she began to laugh. His frown deepened, which only made her laugh harder.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because you cared enough to attempt cooking.” She walked close to him, started to hug him, then changed her mind, and simply smiled.

“You aren’t angry because I destroyed your room?”

She shook her head. “It can be cleaned, but I’ll have this memory forever, and it’s a good one.”

He smiled, then he lowered his head and kissed her. Warmth rushed through her. And at that moment, when his lips touched hers, she knew it was going to be hard to say good-bye to his touch, and everything he made her feel. Not when she wanted him so badly, not when…

Her nose wrinkled as the acrid smell of smoke began to fill her nostrils.

Smoke?

She pushed away. “What’s burning?”

“Me. You set my blood on fire.”

He reached for her, but she stepped around him. Oh, good Lord, what did he have in the oven? She opened the door. Black smoke barreled out.

“What are you cooking? A tire?” She quickly turned off the oven, and hurried to open windows.

“I did exactly what the directions on the box said. Bake for one hour. Apparently, this machine malfunctioned as well.” He helped her open the windows.

“Let me get this straight, you can learn to drive a car, but you can’t figure out how to cook?” She grunted as she attempted to raise a stuck window.

Rogar came up behind her and raised it with little effort. “I can pilot a space craft, one of your antiquated cars is not that difficult. Besides, we have similar vehicles where I come from.”

She moved out of his reach. It would be better to keep a bit of distance between them. “You have vehicles, but you don’t have a stove or microwave?” She didn’t really buy that.

He straightened. “We have cooking devices which I’m sure are similar to yours but not as…”

“Antiquated?” She cocked an eyebrow. His supercilious attitude could be a little irksome at times.

“Yes, exactly.”

“I take it you’ve never cooked.”

“Correct again.”

She shook her head. “Then how do you eat? Chase your food down, kill it, then eat it raw?”

His brow furrowed. “I have servants. You forget, I’m a prince of noble lineage. There are more important things for me to do than cook.”

“You don’t say.”

His frown deepened. Damn, he was sexy when he frowned.

“I do say. I did say, that is.”

“How are you in the cleaning department?”

“Cleaning?”

She walked back into the kitchen and surveyed the mess. It was worse than she’d first thought. He followed her inside. She was totally exhausted. The last thing she wanted to do was clean, especially on her birthday.

“We’ll have to clean the kitchen. If it dries, it’s going to be like cement, and I don’t know how to run a jackhammer.” She looked at him, hoping he understood the we part. She wasn’t about to do it all by herself, and she didn’t care if he was a prince or not.

“DeeDee said you were to celebrate your birthday. I don’t think that includes cleaning.”

“We do what we have to do.”

He shook his head. “Go take a bath. It’s ready for you. I’ll clean the mess.”

“But…”

“No. I’ve ruined your special day, but I’ll make it better.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently nudged her toward the other room.

She took one more look at the kitchen, and decided she would leave it all to him. She was too tired to argue. But as soon as she stepped inside the bathroom, she felt guilty.

There were at least a dozen candles glowing. The bathtub was half filled with water, and covered in rose petals. The scents filling the air were a lot better than the ones in the kitchen. She turned the hot water on and quickly stripped out of her clothes, and stepped in.

As soon as she slid her shoulders beneath the water, she knew this was the best birthday present ever. She didn’t care about the mess in the kitchen, or young Kelvin and his soda spilling down the front of her shirt. All she cared about was the water lapping against her tired muscles.

The kitchen would probably be in an even bigger mess when she finished her bath, but she didn’t care. Not right now, not at this moment in time.

She must’ve dozed because the next thing she knew, the water had cooled. She climbed out, and after drying off, blew out the candles, and wrapped in her terry cloth robe.

The house was quiet. She made her way into the kitchen. Rogar was humming a strange tune as he cleaned the counter. The kitchen was back to normal. He’d lit candles and the scent of apples and cinnamon filled the room.

He turned, then smiled. “Better?”

And he’d apparently washed up a little himself, because he was no longer streaked with flour. She smiled. “Much better.” Her stomach rumbled. She hoped he wouldn’t be serving whatever had been burning earlier.

“I used your phone to have food delivered.”

“Is that how you created the pretty flowers lining the drive?”

“I have my database, and DeeDee showed me the Yellow Pages.”

She nodded. “A marvelous wonder, the Yellow Pages.” She’d never heard of a database, but it sounded techy, and she wasn’t much into that kind of stuff.

“Do you like the car?”

“Very much, but I can’t keep it.”

He stopped midway to the sink with the dishcloth. “Why not?”

She opened her mouth to try to explain, but she had a feeling he wouldn’t understand about taxes and insurance. “It’s complicated. Besides, you’re really going to have to stop duplicating money.”

The doorbell chimed. “Food.” He went to the door and opened it.

Callie covered her mouth to keep from laughing. A young boy stood at the door with two boxes in his hands. Rogar had ordered pizza.

“Two supremes and a bottle of soda comes to twenty-seven fifty.”

Rogar took the boxes and soda, setting them on the coffee table, then reached in his pocket for money. The kid wore a dumbfounded look on his face when Rogar handed him a bill.

“I can’t change a hundred, sir.”

“I don’t need it changed. Here’s another for your trouble. Will that suffice?”

“Yes,” he squeaked. He cleared his throat. “Thank you, thank you so much! Bitchin’ cars, too.” He took off running. Callie wondered if the kid thought Rogar would change his mind.

Rogar scooped up the boxes and carried them to the table. “I hope you like pizza. The yellow pages said they were voted number one.”

“I love pizza.”

He opened the box and inhaled. “I think I will, too.” He put a slice on each of their plates, juggling it because it was hot. He motioned for her to sit, then twisted the cap off the soda, sticking it toward her.

Now he’d confused her. “What?”

“Do you want to smell it?”

“Why would I do that?”

“That’s what they did at the restaurant.”

She took the lid and waved it under her nose. “Two thousand nine, a good year.” Then she tried really hard to keep a straight face. He may have adapted to a lot of Earth’s ways, but there were things he just didn’t get.

He poured some of the cold soda in each of their glasses before he sat across from her. She raised hers to her lips and took a drink. “Very good.”

He smiled. When he reached for his fork, she shook her head.

“There’s only one right way to eat pizza.” She picked up the wedge and took a bite, swirling the cheese around her finger and poking it in her mouth. “Good.” She nodded her head as she chewed.

He picked up his slice and took a bite. She laughed when his cheese stretched out and he couldn’t get to the end of it.

“Just pinch it with your fingers,” she told him. “Don’t you have pizza on New Symtaria?”

He shook his head. “We have other delicacies that you would like, although your pizza is very good.”

She took a drink of soda, then set her glass back on the table. “Tell me about your planet. Are there trees? Oceans?”

“Our planet is the polar opposite of Earth so they are very similar. We have oceans and mountains, green grasses and trees.”

“What happened to the other Symtaria?”

“Pollution. We killed our planet.”

That sounded all too familiar. “What’s to keep the same from happening to New Symtaria?”

“Everyone learns from their mistakes—eventually. Now we’re careful to protect our new home.”

“In the meantime, you dumped most of the people onto other planets.”

He cringed. “Not dumped. When our planet was dying, my grandfather was one of the rulers. He made the decision to relocate most of the people, while the rest searched for a new home. It took many years.”

“And now you’re trying to bring everyone back.”

“Yes.”

“Why? I’m sure most have new lives. They’ve created their own roots in new lands.”

“It doesn’t matter. We need them to come back.”

“Need? What does that mean?”

He reached for his glass and she wondered if he was going to answer her question. Why did they need everyone to return?