The Prince's Ultimate Deception
Emilie Rose
American Madeline Spencer arrived in glitzy Monaco with dreams of a vacation fling.Dangerously attractive and maddeningly mysterious Damon Rossi filled the bill. Their nights of soaring passion left Madeline breathless–and craving more. Then she discovered her seductive paramour was actually a prince.Being considered a royal mistress had not been part of her plan. But she could almost get used to a lifetime of pampering. Until she found out her disguised prince was set to marry another woman.
The Prince’s Ultimate Deception
Emilie Rose
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Christine Hyatt for sharing your wisdom
and showing me the path.
You helped me make my dreams come true.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
One
“Please. You have to help me.”
A woman’s desperate plea caught Prince Dominic Andreas Rossi de Montagnarde’s attention as he and his bodyguard Ian waited for the elevator inside Monaco’s luxurious Hôtel Reynard. He observed the reflected exchange between a long-haired brunette and the concierge through the gilt-framed mirror hanging on the wall beside the polished brass elevator doors.
“Mr. Gustavo, if I don’t get away from all this prewedding euphoria I am going to lose my mind. Don’t get me wrong. I am happy for my friend, but I just can’t stomach this much romance without getting nauseous.”
Her statement piqued Dominic’s curiosity. What had soured her on the fairy-tale fantasy so many others harbored? He had never met a woman who didn’t wallow in wedding preparations. Each of his three sisters had dragged out the planning of their weddings for more than a year, as had his beloved Giselle.
“I need a tour guide who can work around my bridesmaid’s duties for the next month,” she continued. “One who knows the best places for day trips and impromptu getaways because I don’t know when I’ll need to escape from all this—” she shuddered dramatically “—happiness.”
American, he judged by her accent, and possibly from one of the Southern states given her slight drawl.
The concierge gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, Mademoiselle Spencer, but it is nearly midnight. At this hour I cannot contact our guides to make those arrangements. If you will return in the morning I am sure we can find someone suitable.”
She shoved her fingers into the mass of her thick, shiny curls, tugged as if she were at her wit’s end and then shifted to reveal an exquisite face with a classical profile. Her bare arms were slender, but toned, and she had a body to match beneath the floor-length green gown subtly draping her curves. Nice curves deserving of a second glance which Dominic willingly took. Too bad he couldn’t see if her legs were as superb as the rest of her.
His gaze slowly backtracked to the reflection of her lovely face and slammed into mocking and amused emerald eyes the same shade as her dress. She’d caught his appraisal and repaid him in kind with a leisurely inspection of her own. Her gaze descended from his shoulders to his butt and legs. One arched eyebrow clearly stated she intended putting him in his place. He fought a smile over her boldness, but he couldn’t prevent a quickening of his pulse. When her eyes found his once more he saw appreciation but no sign of recognition.
Interesting.
She returned her attention to the concierge. “In the morning I have to ruin two years’ worth of dieting and exercise by stuffing myself with wedding cake samples. Please, I’m begging you, Mr. Gustavo, give me a guide’s name tonight so I’ll at least have the promise of escape tomorrow.”
Escape. The word echoed in Dominic’s head as he pondered the elevator’s unusual slowness. He needed time to come to terms with his future, to marrying and having children with a woman he didn’t love and might not even like, without the paparazzi shoving cameras in his face. In a word, he needed to escape—hence the lack of his usual entourage, dying his blond hair brown and shaving the mustache and beard he’d worn since he’d first sprouted whiskers.
This would in all likelihood be his last month of peace before all hell broke loose. Once the paparazzi caught wind of the proceedings at the palace they would descend on him like a plague of locusts, and his life would no longer be his own. He could see the headlines now. Widowed Prince Seeks Bride.
Apparently the American needed to escape, as well. Why not do so together? Looking at her would in no way be a hardship, and discovering how she’d willingly divorced herself from romance would be an added bonus.
He glanced at Ian. The bodyguard had been with him since Dominic’s college days and sometimes Dominic swore the older man could read his mind. Sure enough, warning flashed in Ian’s brown eyes and his burly body stiffened.
The elevator chimed and opened, but instead of stepping inside the cubicle Dominic pivoted toward the concierge stand. Ian hovered in the background, silently swearing, Dominic was sure. “Perhaps I could be of assistance, Gustavo.”
Gustavo’s eyebrows shot up, not surprising since the man often arranged Dominic’s entertainment.
“Pardon me for eavesdropping, mademoiselle. I could not help but overhear your request. I would be happy to act as your guide if that meets with your approval?” Dominic waited for recognition to dawn in her eyes. Instead a frown pleated the area above her slim nose. From her smooth porcelain skin he guessed her to be in her late twenties or early thirties—far too young to have forsaken love. As was he. But what choice did he have when duty called?
Her gaze traveled over his white silk shirt and black trousers and then returned to his face. “You work here?”
Surprise shot through him. Was his simple disguise so effective? He had hoped to throw off the paparazzi from a distance, but he hadn’t expected to fool anyone up close, and yet she apparently didn’t know who he was. Admittedly, he’d lived as low profile a life as any royal could in the past few years, and he avoided the press more often than not, but still…Was this possible?
Dominic made a split-second decision not to enlighten her. He’d had a lifetime of cloying, obsequious women due to his lineage. Why not enjoy being a normal man for as long as it lasted? “I don’t work for the hotel, but I am here as often as I can be. Hôtel Reynard is my favorite establishment.”
She looked at Gustavo. “Can I trust him?”
Gustavo seemed taken aback by the question. As he should be. Dominic, as next in line to the throne of Montagnarde, a small three-island country four hundred miles east of New Zealand, wasn’t accustomed to having his integrity questioned.
“Certainement, mademoiselle.”
Her thickly lashed emerald gaze narrowed on Dominic’s. “Are you familiar with Southern France and Northern Italy?”
His favorite playgrounds, and in recent years, prime examples of the types of tourist meccas he intended to develop in his homeland. “I am.”
“Do you speak any languages other than English, because I barely scraped by in my college Latin class, and I only know health-care Spanish.”
“I am fluent in English, French, Italian and Spanish. I can get by in Greek and German.”
Her perfectly arched eyebrows rose. Amusement twinkled in her eyes and curved her lips, rousing something which had lain dormant inside him for many years. “Now you’re just bragging, but it sounds like you’re just the man I need, Mr….?”
He hesitated. To continue the masquerade he’d have to lie openly not just by omission and he detested liars. But he wanted to spend time with this lovely woman as a man instead of a monarch before fulfilling his duty and marrying whichever woman the royal council deemed a suitable broodmare to his stud service. What could it hurt? He and the American were but ships passing in the night. Or in this case, one small corner of Europe.
“Rossi. Damon Rossi.” He ignored Gustavo’s shocked expression and Ian’s rigid disapproving presence behind him and extended his hand. Dominic hoped neither man would correct the hastily concocted variation of his name or his failure to mention his title.
“Madeline Spencer.” The brunette’s fingers curled around his. Her handshake was firm and strong and her gaze direct instead of deferential. When had a woman last looked him in the eye and treated him as an equal? Not since Giselle. Unexpected desire hit him hard and fast and with stunning potency.
A similar awareness flickered on Madeline’s face, expanding her pupils, flushing her cheeks and parting her lips. “I guess that only leaves one question. Can I afford you?”
Caught off guard by her breathless query and by his body’s impassioned response, Dominic glanced at Gustavo who rushed to respond for him. “I am sure Monsieur Reynard will cover your expenses, mademoiselle, since you are an honored guest of the family and a dear friend to his fiancée. Hi—Monsieur Rossi should not accept any money from you.”
Dominic didn’t miss the warning in Gustavo’s statement.
Madeline’s smile widened, trapping the air in Dominic’s chest. “When can we get together to set up a schedule?”
If he weren’t expecting a conference call from the palace with an update on the bridal selection process momentarily he would definitely prolong this encounter. “Perhaps tomorrow morning after your cake sampling?”
He realized he hadn’t released her hand, and he was reluctant to do so. Arousal pumped pleasantly through his veins—a nice distraction from the disagreeable dilemma which had driven him into temporary exile.
Madeline was apparently in no rush, either, as she didn’t pull away or break his gaze. “That’d be great, Damon. Where shall I meet you?”
Dominic searched his mental map for a meeting place not haunted by the paparazzi. The only option his testosterone-flooded brain presented was his suite, but the tour guide he’d implied himself to be could hardly afford penthouse accommodations. Already his lie complicated the situation.
Gustavo cleared his throat, jerking Dominic back to the present. “Perhaps le café located in the lower terrace gardens, Your—Monsieur Rossi?”
Dominic nodded his thanks—for the recommendation and for the conspiracy. He was used to being a leader and making decisions, but even a future king knew when to accept wise council. “A very good suggestion, Gustavo. What time will you finish, mademoiselle?”
Straight, white teeth bit into her plump bottom lip and Dominic struggled with a sudden urge to sample her soft pink flesh. “Elevenish?”
“I shall count the hours.” He bent over her hand and kissed her knuckles. Her fragrance, a light floral mingled with the tart tang of lemon, filled his lungs, and his libido roared to life like the mythical dragon island folklore decreed lived beneath Montagnarde’s hot springs.
Dominic had not come to Monaco with the intention of having a last dalliance before beginning what would in all likelihood be a passionless marriage. But he was tempted. Extremely tempted. However the lie, combined with his duty to his country meant he had nothing to offer this beautiful woman except his services as a guide. He would have to keep his newly awakened libido on a short leash.
It wouldn’t be easy.
Madeline Spencer’s fingers squeezed his one more time and then she released him with a slow drag of her fingertips across his palm. A sassy smile slanted her lips. “Until tomorrow then, Damon.”
With a flutter of her ringless fingers she entered the penthouse elevator—the one he’d just abandoned. The doors slid closed.
Dominic inhaled deeply. For the first time in months the sword of doom hanging over his head lifted. He had a short reprieve, but a reprieve nonetheless.
“Oh. My. God.” Madeline sagged against the inside of the penthouse suite door and pressed a hand over her racing heart. “I think I’m in lust.”
Candace and Amelia, two of Madeline’s three suite mates, straightened from their reclining positions on the sofas of the sitting room. They’d already changed from the evening gowns they’d worn to the casino earlier into sleepwear.
“With whom?” Amelia, wearing a ruffled nightgown, asked.
“I have just hired the most gorgeous man on the planet to be my tour guide.”
“Tell all,” Candace ordered. The bride-to-be was the reason Madeline, Amelia and Stacy, her bridesmaids, were sharing a luxurious suite in the five-star Hôtel Reynard. The quartet had been granted an all-expenses-paid month in Monaco compliments of Candace’s fiancé, Vincent Reynard, to plan the couple’s wedding, which would take place here in Monaco in four weeks.
“His name’s Damon and he has the most amazing blue eyes, thick tobacco-brown hair and a body that won’t quit. He’s tall—six-three, I’d guess. It was nice to have to look up at a guy even when I was wearing my heels.”
“Are you sure it’s not love at first sight?” Amelia asked with a dreamy look on her face.
Madeline sighed over her coworker’s die-hard romantic notions. “You know better. Love is not a fall I intend to take ever again.”
Thanks to her lying, cheating ex-fiancé.
“Not all men are like Mike,” Candace said as she stacked the tourist pamphlets she’d been perusing neatly on the table.
For Candace’s sake Madeline hoped not. Vincent seemed like a nice guy and he truly doted on Candace. But Mike had done the same for Madeline in the early days, and therefore Madeline no longer trusted anyone carrying the Y chromosome.
“No, thank goodness, but my jerk detector is apparently broken, and there are enough guys out there like Mike that I’ve decided to focus on my career and avoid anything except brief, shallow relationships from now on. Men do it. Why can’t I?”
Not that she’d had time for any kind of relationship lately, meaningless or otherwise, given the extra shifts she’d volunteered for at the hospital and the rigorous exercise program she’d adopted during the two years since Mike split.
“Sounds like you’re hoping for more than guided tours from this guy,” Candace guessed.
Was she? She couldn’t deny the electricity crackling between her and Damon when they’d shaken hands, and when he’d kissed her knuckles her knees had nearly buckled. The man might be a tour guide, but he had class and charisma out the wazoo. She’d bet he could turn a shallow affair into a momentous occasion.
“Maybe I am. Maybe I want to have a wildly passionate vacation fling with a sexy foreigner. If he’s not married, that is. He wasn’t wearing a ring, but—” Their pitying expressions raised her defenses. “What?”
Amelia frowned. “This is about Mike showing up at the hospital last month with his child and pregnant wife in tow, isn’t it?”
“It’s not.” Liar. But hey, a girl had her pride and Madeline planned to cling tightly to the ragged remnants of hers.
Mike had made a fool of her. He’d led her on with a six-year engagement, and then he’d dumped her on her thirtieth birthday when she’d jokingly suggested they set a wedding date or call it quits. As soon as he’d moved out of her town house and left his job as a radiologist at the hospital where they both worked, coworkers she’d barely known had rushed to inform her that while she’d been planning her dream wedding he’d been sharing his excellent bedside manner with other women. And judging by the family he’d brought by the E.R. last month, he’d married someone else and started pumping out babies as soon as he’d dumped her.
The lying, conniving rat.
Love? Uh-uh. Not for her. Never again. And she hoped reality didn’t slap Candace in the face. But if that happened Madeline would be there to help her friend pick up the pieces—the way Candace and Amelia had been there for her.
Candace rose and crossed the room to wrap Madeline in a hug. “Just be careful.”
Madeline snorted. “Please, I am a medical professional. You don’t have to lecture me about safe sex. Besides, I’m on the Pill.”
“I wasn’t referring only to pregnancy or communicable diseases. Don’t let that dickhead Mike make you do anything reckless you’ll regret.”
Candace and Amelia had never liked Mike. Maybe Madeline should have listened to her friends. But not this time. This time she wouldn’t be blinded by love. This time she was looking out for number one. “That’s the beauty of it. Assuming Damon is interested in a temporary relationship, he can’t lead me on, dump me or break my heart because I’ll be leaving right after the wedding. I mean, what can happen in four weeks?”
Amelia winced. “Don’t tempt fate like that.”
Candace sighed. “I know each of us has different things we want to see and do in Monaco, but don’t spend all of your time with him. We want to see some of you, too.”
Madeline bit her lip and studied her friend. How could she explain that being immersed in all the wedding hoopla brought back too many painful memories—memories of planning her own aborted wedding and wallowing in every intricate detail to make the day perfect? All for naught. She couldn’t, without hurting Candace’s feelings.
“I promise I won’t abandon my friends or my bridesmaid’s duties—no matter how good Damon is at guiding or anything else.”
She looped an arm around each woman’s waist. “Friends are forever and lovers—” she shrugged “—are not.”
Good grief, she was as nervous as a virgin on prom night, and at thirty-two Madeline hadn’t seen either virginity or prom night in a long time.
Her heart beat at double time and it had nothing to do with the sugar rush from sampling too many wedding cakes this morning.
Was her hair right? Her dress? And wasn’t that just plain ridiculous? Nonetheless vanity had caused her to pull on a dress with a deep V neckline in the front and back and to don the outrageously sexy shoes she’d bought at the designer outlet down the street. She’d even French braided her unruly hair and added her favorite silver clip.
She scanned the partially open-air café for Damon. He rose from a table in the shadowy back corner, looking absolutely delicious in dark glasses, a casual, short-sleeved white cotton shirt and jeans. Wide shoulders. Thick biceps. Flat abs and narrow hips. Yum.
The glasses were a tad affected given he wasn’t seated in the sunny section of the café, but so many people in Monaco sported the same look that he didn’t seem out of place. Still—she tipped back her head and looked up at his handsome face—she’d rather stare into his pale blue eyes than at her own reflection.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Spencer.” He pulled out her chair.
She tried to place his accent and couldn’t, which was pretty odd since her job exposed her to an assortment of nationalities on a daily basis. And then there was the intriguing way he occasionally slipped into more formal speech….
“Good morning, Damon, and please call me Madeline.” His knuckles brushed the bare skin between her shoulder blades as he seated her. Awareness skipped down her spine, startling a flock of butterflies in her stomach. Ooh yeah. Definitely a prime candidate for her first string-free fling.
She tugged a pen and pad of paper from her straw purse. “I thought we’d discuss possible outings today. Perhaps you could give me a list of suggestions, and I’ll tell you which ones interest me.”
“You will not trust my judgment to choose for you?”
As she’d done with Mike?
“No. I’d prefer to be consulted. I’m not sure how much you overheard last night, but I’m here with a friend to help plan her wedding. I’ll have to be available for her morning meetings Monday through Friday and whenever else she or the other bridesmaids need me. So you and I will have to snatch hours here and there and not every day. Are you okay with that?”
“I am.” He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers beneath his square jaw. He really had wonderful bone structure. His blade-straight nose had probably never been broken, and his high zygomatic arches allowed for nice hollows in his lean, smooth-shaven cheeks. Straight, thick, dark hair flopped over his forehead, making him look boyish, but the fine lines beside his eyes and mouth said he had to be in his thirties.
“Last night you said romance made you nauseous. I have yet to meet a woman who did not revel in romance. What happen—”
“Now you have,” she interrupted.
His lips firmed and his eyebrows lowered as if her interruption annoyed him, but her sorry love life was not up for discussion.
The last thing she wanted to tell a prospective lover was that she’d been an idiot. She’d been so enthralled with the idea of love and being part of a couple that she’d given in to whatever Mike wanted, and in the process she’d surrendered part of her identity. What ticked her off the most was that even though she’d been trained to assess symptoms and make diagnoses, she’d missed the obvious signs that her relationship was in trouble. Not even the twenty pounds she’d gained over six years while “eating her stress” had clued her in to her subconscious’s warnings.
“What happened to make you so wary?” he asked in a firm voice that made it clear he wasn’t going to drop it.
She stared hard at him for several moments, trying to make him back down, but he held her gaze without wavering. “Let’s just say I learned from experience that planning a perfect wedding doesn’t always result in happily ever after.”
“You are divorced?”
“Never made it to the altar. Now, about our excursions…Despite what Mr. Gustavo said about Vincent Reynard picking up your tab, I don’t want to go overboard with expenses.”
“I will keep that in mind. Are you more of an outdoor person or the museum type?”
She said a silent thank-you that he accepted her change of subject. “I prefer to be outside since I spend most of my waking hours inside.”
“Doing…?”
Who was interviewing whom here? He didn’t act like any potential employee she’d ever questioned. He was a little too arrogant, a little too confident, a little too in charge. But that only made him more attractive. “I’m a physician’s assistant in a metropolitan hospital. What kinds of outings do you suggest?”
“There are numerous outdoor activities within a short distance that would cost little or nothing. Sunbathing, snorkeling, sailing, windsurfing, hiking, biking, fishing and rock climbing.”
He ticked off the items on long ringless fingers bearing neatly trimmed, clean nails. She had a thing about hands, and his were great, the kind she’d love to have gliding over her skin.
“If you have more than a few hours we can go river rafting or spelunking in the Alpes-Maritimes or drive across the border into Italy or France to explore some of the more interesting villages.”
“I’m not a sun lizard. Isn’t that what they call the people who lay on the rocks of the jetty? I prefer action to lazing about, and cold, dark places give me the creeps, so let’s skip the sunbathing and the spelunking and go with everything else. You’ll arrange the tours and any equipment rental and provide me with the details?”
“It will be my pleasure.”
She’d bet he knew a thing or two about pleasure, and if she was lucky, he’d share that knowledge. She slid a piece of paper across the table. “Here’s my tentative schedule for the next month. I’ve blacked out the times when I’m unavailable. That’s my suite number in the top corner. You’ll have to call me there or leave a message for me at the front desk since my cell phone doesn’t work in Europe.”
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone somewhere without a pager or cell phone, usually both, clipped to her clothing, and she couldn’t decide whether she felt free or naked without the familiar weight bumping her hip.
A breeze swept into the open-air café, catching and ruffling the paper. She flattened her hand over it to keep it from blowing away. Damon’s covered hers a split second later as he did the same. The heat of his palm warmed her skin. Electricity arced up her arm. Judging by the quick flare of his nostrils, she wasn’t the only one feeling the sparks, but she couldn’t see his eyes to be sure and that frustrated her.
She tilted her head, but didn’t withdraw her hand. He didn’t smile as he slowly eased his away, dragging his fingers the length of hers and igniting embers inside her.
“You know, Damon, if you’re going to flirt with me it would be much more effective without the glasses. Hot glances don’t penetrate polarized lenses.”
He stilled and then deliberately reached up to remove his sunglasses with his free hand. “Are you interested in a flirtation, Madeline?”
The one-two punch of his accented voice huskily murmuring her name combined with the desire heating his eyes quickened her pulse and shortened her breath. “That depends. Are you married?”
“No.”
“Engaged?”
“I am not committed to anyone at this time.”
“Gay?”
He choked a laugh. “Definitely not.”
“Healthy?”
His pupils dilated. He knew what she meant. “I have recently received a clean bill of health.”
Excitement danced within her. “Then, Damon, we’ll see if you have what it takes to tempt me.”
Two
“This is a mistake, if I may say so, Dominic.” Only in the privacy of their suite did Ian dare use Dominic’s given name. Seventeen years together had built not only familiarity, but friendship.
“Damon. Damon Rossi,” Dominic corrected as he packed for his first outing with Madeline Spencer.
“How am I to remember that?”
“D.A. Rossi is the name I sign on official documents, including the hotel registration. Damon is but a combination of my initials and an abbreviation of our country.”
“Clever. But if the paparazzi catch you with a woman on the eve of your engagement…”
“As of this morning there is no engagement. A woman has not been selected, and if the council continues to argue as they have done for the past four months over birthing hips, pedigrees and whatever other absurd qualities they deem necessary for a princess, they will never come to an agreement, and I will not be forced to propose to a woman I know or care nothing about.”
The council members had dehumanized the entire process. Not once had they asked Dominic’s preferences. They might as well be choosing animals to breed from a bloodline chart.
Dominic had been nineteen when the council had chosen Giselle as his future bride, and he had not objected for he’d known her since they were children. His parents and hers had been friends for decades. He had convinced their families to postpone the marriage until after he obtained his university degree, and in those intervening years he and Giselle had become friends and then lovers before becoming husband and wife.
In the nine years since her death he had not met one single woman who made an effort to see the man behind the title and fortune.
And now once again the council would decide his fate as the traditions of his country decreed, a circumstance which did not please him, but one he was duty-bound to accept. But this time the idea of the group of predominantly old men choosing a stranger to be his wife did not sit well.
Dominic threw a change of clothing on top of the towels, masks and fins already in his dive bag. “Mademoiselle Spencer wishes to see Monaco. I wish to explore the tourist venues as a vacationer instead of as a visiting prince. Perhaps I will see a different side to the enterprises than I have seen before. The knowledge will benefit Montagnarde’s tourist development plan which, as you know, I will present to the economic board again in two months. This time I will not accept defeat. They will back my development plan.”
He had spent the years since he’d left university studying successful tourist destinations and laying the groundwork to replicate similar enterprises in his homeland. He wanted to model Montagnarde’s travel industry after Monaco’s, but the older members of the board refused to accept that the country had to grow its economic base or continue to lose its youth to jobs overseas. His father had sworn to lend his support in return for Dominic agreeing to marry before the end of his thirty-fifth year. With sovereign backing Dominic’s plan would be passed.
“You know nothing about this woman,” Ian insisted.
“A circumstance I am sure you have already begun to rectify.” Any acquaintance with whom Dominic spent more than a passing amount of time was thoroughly investigated.
“I have initiated an inquiry, yes. Nevertheless, an affair would not be wise.”
“Not an affair, Ian. A harmless flirtation. I cannot have sex with a woman to whom I am lying.”
We’ll see if you have what it takes to tempt me.
His heart rate quickened at the memory of Madeline’s enticing banter and vibrant eyes. He would very much like to be her lover, but for the first time in years he found himself savoring the idea of being merely a man whom a beautiful woman found attractive. He didn’t want to ruin that unique experience by revealing his identity, but he couldn’t sleep with Madeline until he did. “I am aware of the risks.”
“How will you explain my presence?”
Dominic zipped the bag and faced Ian, knowing his decision would not be a popular one. “The Larvotto underwater reserve is well patrolled by the Monaco police. No other boats or watercraft are allowed in the area. You can rest easy knowing the only dangers I face while snorkeling are that of the fish and the artificial reef. You will wait on the shore and keep your distance.”
“I am charged with your well-being. If something should happen—”
“Ian, I have not given you reason to worry about my safety in years, and I won’t now. I am a skilled diver. I have tracking devices in my watch and my swim trunks, and no one knows our plan. I will be fine.” He hefted the bag. “Now come. I wish to see if Mademoiselle Spencer looks as good in a swimsuit as I anticipate.”
Getting practically naked with a guy on your first date certainly moved things right along, Madeline decided as she removed the lemon-yellow sundress she’d worn as a cover-up over her swimsuit and placed it on the lounge chair beside her sandals and sunglasses.
Her black bikini wasn’t nearly as skimpy as the thong suits so popular on the public beach around them. She scanned the sunbathers, shook her head and smothered a smile. The women here thought nothing of dropping their tops on the beach, but they didn’t dare lie in the sun without their jewels. Bet that makes for some interesting tan lines.
To give him credit, Damon had stalked right past the bare breasts on display without pause. When his attention turned to her, raking her from braid to garnet-red toenail polish, she said a silent thank-you for the discounted gym membership the hospital offered its employees and the sweat and weight she’d shed over the past two years. Her body was tight and toned. It hadn’t always been. But she wished Damon would lose the sunglasses. The thinning of his lips and the flare of his nostrils could signify anything from disgust to desire. She needed to see his eyes.
In the meantime, she did a little inspecting of her own as he untied the drawstring waist of the white linen pants he’d worn over his swimsuit due to Monaco’s strict rules about no beachwear, bare chests or bare feet on the streets.
Damon’s white T-shirt hugged well-developed pectorals and a flat abdomen. And then he dropped his pants. Nice. His long legs were deeply tanned, muscular and dusted with burnished blond hair beneath his brief trunks. “You must spend a lot of time outdoors.”
He paused and gave her a puzzled look.
“The sun has bleached your body hair and the tips of your lashes,” she explained.
“I enjoy water sports.” He handed her a snorkel, mask and fins that looked new. “You have snorkeled before?”
“Yes, off the coast back home.”
“And where is home?”
“North Carolina. On the eastern coast of the U.S. I live hours from the beach, but I used to vacation there every summer.” She missed those boisterous vacations with Mike’s family more than she missed Mike. The devious, dishonest rat. How could such a great family spawn a complete schmuck?
She dug her toes into the fine grains beneath her feet. “Is it true that all this white sand is brought in by barge?”
“Yes. That is the case for many of the Riviera beaches. Of the nations bordering the Mediterranean Sea, Monaco has the cleanest and safest beaches because the government is the most eco-conscious. Thanks to the Grimaldi family, the country is almost pollution free. In recent years the government has expanded its territory by reclaiming land from the sea. The underwater reserve we are about to explore was built in the seventies to repair the damage of overfishing and excessive coral gathering. The reefs are home to many fish species and red coral.” He indicated the water with a nod. “Shall we?”
He’d certainly studied his guidebook. “Don’t you want to take off your T-shirt?”
He tossed his shades on the chair beside hers. “No.”
“Do you burn easily? I could put sunscreen on your back.” Her palms tingled in anticipation of touching him.
“I prefer to wear a shirt, thank you.”
Did he have scars or something? “Damon, I see shirtless men at work every day. If you’re worried that I can’t control myself…”
His chest expanded, and this time she received the full effect of those hot blue eyes. Arousal made her suck in her breath and her stomach. “It is not your control I question, Madeline. Come, the reef waits.”
She’d never get used to the way he said her name with a hint of that unidentifiable accent. It gave her goose bumps every time. And speaking of control, where was hers? She wanted to jump him. Here. Now. “Where did you say you were from?”
“I did not say.” He flashed a tight white smile and strode toward the water, where he dunked his fins and mask before donning both.
She mimicked his actions and then stared at him through the wet glass of her mask. “You like being a man of mystery, eh?”
He straightened and held her gaze. “I like being a man. The mystery is all in here.” He gently tapped her temple. “Stay close to me. Watch for jellyfish and sea urchins. Avoid both.”
Admiring the view of his taut buttocks and well-muscled legs, she followed him deeper into the water. For the next hour she swam and enjoyed the sea life. Each time Damon touched her to draw her attention to another sight she nearly sucked the briny water down her snorkel. Miraculously, she managed not to drown herself. By the time he led her back to shore her nerves were as tightly wound as the rubber band ball the emergency room staff tossed around on slow nights.
“That was great. Thanks.” And then she got a good look at the shirt adhered like shrink-wrap to his amazing chest, the tiny buttons of his nipples and his six-pack abs. An even better sight and definitely one she’d like to explore.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He dropped his mask and fins on the chair, donned his sunglasses and ruffled his hair to shake off the excess water and then finger-combed the dark strands over his forehead.
“What made you decide to become a tour guide?” She dried off as he bagged their diving gear.
“When a country has few natural resources and limited territory, its people and the tourism industry become its greatest assets.”
Surprised by his answer, she blinked. She’d expected a simple response such as he enjoyed meeting new people or the flexible hours, not something so deep. “Studied that, have you?”
“Yes.”
She dragged her knit sundress over her head. “Where? I mean, are there tourism schools or what?”
Holding her gaze—or at least she thought he was, beneath those dark lenses—he hesitated so long she didn’t think he’d answer. “I have a Travel Industry Management degree from the University of Hawaii at M
noa.”
He seemed tense, as if he expected her to question his statement, and she should. If he had a college degree and spoke four languages fluently then why was he acting as a tour guide? It didn’t make sense. She reminded herself that not everyone was as career driven as she was, but Damon didn’t seem the type to kick back and let the fates determine his future. She’d seen enough type A guys to recognize the signs and he waved them all like flags. But that was his business. A string-free affair—if they had one—didn’t give her the right to interfere.
“The States? No kidding. What brings you to Monaco?”
“I am studying their tourism industry.”
“And then what?”
“I’ll apply what I’ve learned to my future endeavors.” He zipped the dive bag and grabbed the handles. Eager to go, was he? Before she could ask what kinds of endeavors, he said, “If we leave now we’ll have time to stop at the hotel café for a snack before I leave you. You have missed lunch.”
“I’m in no rush. I had hoped we could spend the rest of the afternoon together. Maybe play some beach volleyball or jump on the trampoline at the far end of the beach? And this place is surrounded by restaurants. We could grab a bite here.”
“I have another appointment.”
She tried to hide her disappointment. While she had enjoyed the day, it hadn’t gone quite as she’d hoped. Admittedly, she wasn’t a practiced seductress, but if she wanted a vacation romance it looked as though she’d have to work harder for it.
Time to initiate Plan B. First she freed and finger-combed her hair while trying to build up her courage, and then she reached beneath her dress, untied her damp bikini top and pulled it through the scooped neckline.
A muscle at the corner of Damon’s mouth ticked and his throat worked as he swallowed.
“You may change in one of the dressing rooms, as I will,” he said hoarsely. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
“No need. Besides, I didn’t bring a change of clothing.” Her nipples tightened when he didn’t look away. Well, hallelujah. He’d been so professional and distant she’d begun to think she’d imagined the sparks between them.
And then in an act more brazen than anything she’d ever dared, she reached beneath her dress and shucked her bikini bottom. She twirled the wet black fabric once around her finger before tucking it along with her top in her tote. Take that, big guy. If Damon insisted on hustling her back to the hotel and dumping her, then he’d have to do so knowing she was naked except for a thin knit sheath.
Never let it be said that Madeline Spencer wouldn’t fight for what she wanted, and in her opinion, Damon Rossi was the perfect prescription to mend her bruised ego and heart. A few weeks with him and she’d return home whole and healed.
“I wonder what all the commotion’s about?”
Madeline’s question pulled Dominic from his complicated calculations of hotel occupancy rates as the taxi approached Hôtel Reynard. He’d been attempting to distract himself from the knowledge that she was completely nude beneath her dress and failing miserably.
A camera-carrying group of a dozen or so paparazzi stood sentry across the street from the hotel with their zoom lenses trained on the limo parked by the entrance. Dominic silently swore. His escape route had been sealed. He leaned forward to speak to the driver. “Rue Langlé, s’il vous plaît.”
Madeline’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Where are we going?”
“I do not wish to fight the crowd. We’ll dine in a quiet café instead of the hotel.” Ian would not like the unplanned detour, and Makos, the second bodyguard who kept in such deep cover that Dominic rarely spotted him, would like it even less.
“I thought you were in a hurry to get to another appointment.”
“It can wait.” There was no other appointment. He merely needed time away from the tempting woman beside him before he grabbed her and kissed that teasing smile from her lips. Even in the cool water, touching the wet silkiness of her skin had heated his blood. He’d wanted to flatten his palms over her waist, tangle his legs with her sleek limbs and pull her flush against him. A maneuver that probably would have drowned them both, he acknowledged wryly.
Dominic faced a conundrum. With each passing moment his desire for Madeline increased, and yet his lie stood between them. He ached for her, but he was reluctant to lose the unique relationship they had established. She looked at him, flirted with him, desired him. Not Prince Dominic. He was selfish enough to want to enjoy her attentions a while longer.
She twisted in her seat to stare out the taxi’s back window at the paparazzi as the driver took the roundabout away from the hotel. The shift slid her hem to the top of her thighs. A few more inches and he’d see what her bikini bottom should be covering. He gritted his teeth and fisted his hands against the urge to smooth his palm up her sleek thighs and over her bare buttocks.
“It’s probably just another celebrity,” she said. “Amelia says the hotel is crawling with them.”
“Who is Amelia?”
“My friend and one of the other bridesmaids. She’s a huge fan of entertainment magazines and shows. She claims the security inside the hotel makes it a celebrity hot spot. Supposedly paparazzi aren’t even allowed on the grounds, which would explain why they’re staked out across the street.”
He’d have to avoid her friend. “You are not interested in star gazing?”
She settled back in the seat and faced him. “No. I don’t have time to watch much TV or read gossip rags. I work four or five twelve-hour shifts each week, depending on how much overtime the hospital will allow me, and I usually go to the gym for another hour after work.”
That could explain why not even a flicker of recognition entered her eyes when she looked at him—not that he was a household name, but he was known unfortunately, thanks to a couple of wild years after Giselle’s death when he’d tried to smother his grief with women and parties. “Your diligence at the gym shows.”
She tilted her head, revealing the long line of her throat and the pulse fluttering rapidly at the base. “Is that a compliment, Damon?”
“I am sure you are aware of your incredible figure, Madeline. You do not need my accolades.” The words came out stiffly.
Her eyebrows dipped. “Are you okay?”
“Shouldn’t I be?”
“You seem a little…tense.”
His gaze dropped pointedly to her hiked hem.
She glanced down and her eyes widened. A peachy glow darkened her cheeks, making him question whether the siren role was a new one for her. And then the hint of a smile curved her lips as she wiggled the fabric down to a more respectable level. The woman was driving him insane and relishing every moment of his discomfort.
“Monaco is small enough that we could have walked to the café, you know,” she said.
“You have had enough sun.” And he was less likely to be recognized in an anonymous taxi. The driver pulled over in the street and stopped. Dominic paid him and opened the door. He noted Ian climbing from a taxi a half a block away. Dominic subtly angled his head toward the Italian café as a signal.
Madeline curled her fingers around Dominic’s and allowed him to assist her from the car. She joined him on the sidewalk, but didn’t release his hand. The small gesture tightened something inside him. When had he last held hands with a woman? Such a simple pleasure. One he hadn’t realized he’d missed.
She tipped back her head. “Monaco has strict protocol. Are you sure we’re dressed appropriately?”
One of us is. He had pulled on trousers and a polo shirt before leaving the beach. His attire was acceptable, as was Madeline’s if one was unaware she wore nothing beneath the thin yellow sundress. The driver retrieved the dive bag from the trunk. Dominic took it from him. “The café is casual. I recommend the prosciutto and melon or the bruschetta.”
He’d prefer to feast on her, on her rosy lips, on her soft, supple skin, on the tight nipples pushing against her dress.
Wondering when his intelligence had deserted him, Dominic led her inside and requested a table in the back. Madeline didn’t release his hand until he seated her. He chose a chair facing away from the door. The fewer people who saw his face the better and Ian would cover his back.
The entire afternoon had been an exercise in restraint and a reminder that he was not an accomplished liar. He had been so distracted by his unexpected attraction to Madeline that he had almost blown his cover. Had she not commented on his blond body hair he would have removed his shirt and his secret would be out.
Your secret is keeping her out of your bed.
Without a doubt, he desired Madeline Spencer, but getting women to share his bed had never been difficult. Getting one to see him as a mere man, however, was nearly impossible. He would have to reveal his identity soon for he did not think his control would last much longer, and then if he could be certain Madeline could be happy with a short-term affair, he would explore every inch of her. Repeatedly.
But before he revealed his secret he needed to discover hers. Why had she renounced love?
After placing their orders Dominic asked, “Did you love him?”
Her smile wobbled and then faded. Her fingers found and tugged one dark coil of hair. He wanted to wind the spirals around his fingers, around his—
“Who?”
Her pretended ignorance didn’t fool him. The shadows darkening her eyes gave her discomfort away. He removed his sunglasses and looked into her eyes. “The man who disappointed you.”
She fussed with her cutlery. “Pfft. What makes you so sure there is one?” When he held her gaze without replying she bristled. “Is this twenty questions? Because if it is, you’ll have to give an answer for every one you get.”
Risky, but doable if he chose his words carefully. He nodded acceptance of her terms. “Did you love him?” he repeated.
“I thought I did.”
“You don’t know?”
She shifted in her seat, reminding him of her nakedness beneath the T-shirt thin layer of cotton. “Why don’t you tell me what you have planned for our next outing?”
“Because you are a far more interesting topic.” His voice came out in a lower pitch than normal as if he were dredging it up from the bottom of the sea. “Why do you question your feelings?”
She sighed. Resignation settled over her features. “My mother was forty-six when I was born and my father fifty. They were too old to keep up with a rambunctious child. I wanted to do things differently when I had children, so I made a plan to get married and start my family before I turned thirty. I met Mike right after college. He seemed like the perfect candidate and we got engaged. But it didn’t work out.”
“One failed relationship soured you?”
Another squirm of her naked bottom made him wish he could take the place of her chair. “My parents divorced. It wasn’t pretty. Have you ever been in a long-term relationship?”
“Yes.”
Her arched brows rose. “And?”
“My turn. Why did your relationship end?”
She frowned. “Lots of reasons. First, I spent too much time trying to be the woman I thought he and society expected me to be instead of the one I wanted to be. Second, he found someone else.”
“He is a fool.”
A smile twitched her lips. “Don’t expect me to argue with that brilliantly insightful conclusion.”
The waitress placed their meals on the table and departed.
“Have you ever been married?” Madeline asked before biting into her bruschetta.
“Yes.”
Her body stilled and her emerald gaze locked with his. She chewed quickly and then swallowed. “What happened?”
“She died.” The words came out without inflection. He’d learned long ago to keep the pain locked away behind a wall of numbness.
Sympathy darkened her eyes. “I’m sorry. How?”
“Ectopic pregnancy.”
She reached across the table and covered his hand. Her touch warmed him and surprisingly, soothed him. “That must have been hard, losing your wife and child at the same time. Did you even know she was pregnant?”
How could this virtual stranger understand what those closest to him had not?
“Yes, it was hard, and no, we didn’t know about the baby.” It had infuriated him at the time that many had been more concerned with the loss of a potential heir to the throne than the loss of his wife, his friend, his gentle Giselle. Only recently had his anger subsided enough for him to agree to another marriage. If his sisters had produced sons instead of daughters, he probably never would have.
They finished the meal in silence. He waited until Madeline pushed her plate aside before asking, “You do not wish for another affaire de coeur or the American dream of a house with a white picket fence and two-point-something children?”
She straightened and put her hands in her lap. “No. I’m over my urge to procreate. It’s time to focus on me. My wants. My needs. My career. I don’t need a man to complete me. And I don’t need marriage to find passion.”
Passion. Arousal pulsed through him. “You can be happy with brief liaisons? Without love?”
“Absolutely. In fact, I prefer it that way. If I want to take a promotion, a trip or stay out late with my friends, then I don’t have to worry about anyone’s ego getting bent. So, Damon…” Her fingertips touched his on the table. “What you said on the beach about your control…? Losing it with me would not be a problem.”
He inhaled sharply. Her meaning couldn’t be clearer. She wanted a lover. And he would be more than happy to oblige. The question was should he reveal his identity beforehand, or since she wanted nothing more than a brief affair, did he have to reveal anything at all? Did he have to ruin this camaraderie? For he knew with absolute certainty that the knowledge would change their relationship.
He stood and dropped a handful of bills on the table.
Her hand caught his and the need to yank her into his arms surged through him. “You paid for the taxi. Shouldn’t I get this?”
“No.” He pulled back her chair. She rose and turned, but Dominic didn’t back away. Her breasts brushed his chest. His palm curved over her waist. “I know of a back entrance to the hotel.”
Her quick gasp filled his ears and temptation expanded her pupils. “What about your other appointment?”
His gaze dropped from her emerald eyes to her mouth. “Nothing is more important at the moment than tasting you.”
Her tongue swiped quickly over her bottom lip and he barely contained a groan. “We could go to your place.”
Again the lie complicated matters. He shook his head. “I share with another man.”
She grimaced. “And I’m sharing a suite with the bride-to-be and two other bridesmaids. I have my own bedroom, but I wouldn’t feel right taking a man to my room.”
And he had to avoid her celebrity-watching friend. He clenched his teeth to dam a frustrated growl and laced his fingers through hers. He led her outside the restaurant, passing by Ian on a nearby bench. Dominic scanned the area, for there was one thing that couldn’t wait. A narrow flower-lined alleyway beckoned. Dominic ducked in, pulled Madeline behind a potted olive tree and into his arms.
“Wha—”
His mouth stole the word from her soft lips. Desire, instantaneous and incendiary, raced through his bloodstream at the first taste of her mouth. He sought her tongue, stroked, entwined and suckled. Madeline’s arms encircled his waist, pressing her lithe body flush against his.
Her flowers and lemon scent filled his nostrils and her warmth seeped deep inside him. He tangled the fingers of one hand in her silky curls, caressed the curve of her hips with the other and pressed the driving need in his groin against her stomach.
A horn sounded in the street, reminding him of where they were and the omnipresent possibility of paparazzi. Except for a few insane months, he’d spent a lifetime carefully avoiding the press, and yet Madeline made him forget. Reluctantly, he lifted his head.
Madeline opened dazed eyes and blinked her long, dark lashes. Her lips gleamed damp and inviting as she gazed up at him. “That was worth waiting for.”
For the first time in ages Dominic felt like a man instead of a dynasty on legs or an animal expected to breed on command. “I will arrange privacy for our next outing.”
Three
Pain burned Madeline’s throat Thursday morning, but she’d be damned if she’d let Candace know it. She gritted her teeth into a bright smile.
Watching the couturière fuss and flutter around her petite blond friend reminded Madeline of the wedding dress her mother and aunts had sewn for her. The trio had dedicated a year to creating a gorgeous gown and veil with intricate seed pearl beading and hand-tatted lace. Neither would ever be worn.
It should have been a clue that Madeline’s engagement was doomed when her dream dress included a full cathedral train, and yet Mike had claimed he wanted an informal backyard wedding, or better yet, a Vegas quickie—if she’d pay for the trip. Her fiancé had been loaded, and yet he’d been a total miser.
She shook off the memories and widened her smile. “You look gorgeous, Candace. That dress couldn’t be more perfect if it had been custom-made for you.”
“You think?” Her friend smoothed her hands over the silk douppioni skirt beneath a hand-beaded bodice and twisted this way and that to see her reflection in the three-way mirror. “I’m not showing?”
Another twinge of regret pinched Madeline’s heart. If she’d stuck with her plan, she probably would have had several babies by now. But since Mike couldn’t keep his pants zipped most likely they would have been divorced and playing tug-of-war with innocent children. Not a pretty picture. She ought to know. Her parents’ divorce when Madeline was ten had been rough.
Breaking up with Mike had been for the best, and luckily his paranoia over the two percent failure rate of the Pill had led him to use condoms as a backup every single time. Otherwise, there was no telling what the two-timing louse would have brought home from his extramural adventures.
Candace’s expectant expression dragged Madeline back to the present. “Candace, no one will know you’re pregnant unless you tell them. The empire waist covers everything—not that there’s anything to hide yet. You’re only eight weeks along.”
Candace had confided her pregnancy to Madeline and sworn her to secrecy before they’d left North Carolina. She’d wanted Madeline’s medical assurance in addition to her obstetrician’s that traveling in her first trimester wouldn’t endanger the baby.
“Okay, this is the dress. Je voudrais acheter cette robe,” Candace told the seamstress.
The seamstress rattled off a quick stream of French while she unfastened the long line of silk-covered buttons down Candace’s spine, and Candace replied in the same language. Madeline didn’t have a clue what either of them said. She should have borrowed those French lesson CDs her suitemate Stacy had used.
The heavy fabric swished over her friend’s head. With the dress draped over her arms, the seamstress departed. Candace quickly pulled on her street clothes, crossed the dressing room to Madeline’s side and took her hands. “You had a lucky escape. You know that, right?”
Madeline winced. She should have known her friend would see through her fake merriment. They’d been through a lot together in the past twelve years: college, their engagements to Mike and Vincent and the deaths of Madeline’s father and Candace’s brother. “I know, and trust me, I am not missing that two-timing dud.”
“But the wedding preparations are hard for you.” It was a statement, not a question. “I’m sorry. But I couldn’t do this without you, Madeline.”
“I love seeing you this happy.”
“Your turn will come.” Candace squeezed her fingers and released her.
Not as long as I have a functioning brain cell. God forbid I ever go through that again. “This month is all about you.”
“When will the rest of us get to meet your gorgeous guide?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll have to ask. I won’t see him again until Saturday.” Two days. It seemed like an aeon.
After kissing her into a stupor yesterday Damon had put her in a cab with the promise of passion to come. If that kiss was a sample of what she could expect, then it would be passion unlike any she’d ever experienced. She couldn’t remember Mike’s embrace ever making her forget where she was.
Last night after dinner with Candace at the world-renowned Hôtel Hermitage she’d returned to the suite and found a message from Damon telling her he had arranged a sailboat for the weekend. He’d found a place for them to be alone. Her mouth dried, her palms moistened and her pulse bounded like a jackrabbit. She felt wild, reckless and free. A first for her.
“Maybe Damon will sweep you off your feet, and we’ll have a double wedding in three weeks,” Candace interrupted Madeline’s illicit thoughts.
Madeline groaned. “Don’t start your matchmaking here. It’s bad enough that I suffer through your blind date matchups at home. Besides, I’d never be stupid enough to marry a guy I’d known such a short time.”
She hitched her purse over her shoulder and opened the door, hoping Candace would leave the topic behind in the dressing room of the chic boutique.
Candace followed her out. “That’s just it. When you love someone you don’t want to wait. The only reason I waited to marry Vincent was because he insisted on being able to put the wedding ring on my finger himself. The day he reached that point in his physical therapy we set the date.”
Which reminded Madeline of the crazy year her friend had had. Vincent had been severely burned along the right side of his body just over a year ago in a freak pit accident at the local race track. Madeline had treated him in the E.R. when he’d first arrived at the hospital and then Candace had been his nurse throughout his months-long stay in the burn unit. Before he’d been released the two had fallen head over heels in love.
Madeline had to give Vincent credit. He’d tried to convince Candace she deserved a man who wouldn’t be scarred for life, but Candace didn’t care about his scars. Love truly was blind.
A fact you know all too well.
Candace handed her credit card to the clerk and then turned back to Madeline. “The fact that you dated Mike for almost a year before you became engaged and you didn’t push him to set a date for six years tells me you weren’t in a rush to tie yourself to him till death do you part.”
Good point. She hated it when others saw something that should have been obvious to her. “When did you become a shrink? I thought you were a nurse.”
Candace shrugged. “Nurse. Shrink. Most days they’re one and the same in the burn unit. But I don’t need to be a psychiatrist to know that Mike didn’t treat you well. You deserve a guy who will, Madeline.”
“I’m strictly a love ’em and leave ’em gal from now on.”
“That’s a knee-jerk reaction to the dickhead’s lies. You’ll get over it, Ms. Monogamy. You’re the one whose only lover was a man you thought you were going to marry.”
Madeline’s cheeks flashed hot. She glanced at the couturière. If the woman understood English—and most people in Monaco did apparently—she gave no sign of being interested in their exchange.
Having older parents meant Madeline’s values were from a bygone era, and she’d waited to fall in love before falling into bed. But that was because her father had been a tough, no-nonsense vice squad detective with a habit of scaring off his teenage daughter’s potential suitors and later she’d been too busy with school and a part-time job to have the energy to date.
But she had every intention of sowing the wild oats she’d been hoarding—starting with Damon Rossi. “My inexperience is a circumstance I intend to remedy as soon as possible.”
“I still think there’s more to your instant attraction to Damon than lust. I’ve never known you to get gaga so fast.”
Madeline didn’t reply until the shop door closed behind them. She faced her friend on the sunny sidewalk lined with designer shops and wrought iron lampposts. “Candace, I’m not gaga. I’m horny. And that’s all it is. I have a two-year itch to scratch. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
“Right. It took you ten months to sleep with Mike. You wanted to jump Damon after ten minutes. Listen to your subconscious, Madeline. It’s trying to tell you something.”
“You’re wrong. Completely. Totally. Unequivocally wrong. And I’ll prove it. Just watch.”
She’d live it up in Monaco and then leave in three weeks’ time with her sexual urges satisfied and her heart intact.
This had to be a mistake.
Madeline stopped on a long stretch of sunbaked dock in the Port de Monaco. Over a hundred boats bobbed and swayed around her in neat rows, and because it was Saturday, a number of other boaters were out and about, chatting in a musical chorus of foreign languages. The boats in this line were big. None resembled the small craft she’d expected Damon to rent. She double-checked the slip number on the note the hotel desk attendant had given her. Whoever had taken the message must have misunderstood.
No problem. She slung the strap of her beach bag over her shoulder and started walking. She’d check out slip one-eighteen just in case there was a smaller sailboat tucked behind the big ones. If there wasn’t, she’d return to the hotel and wait for Damon to call with the correct instructions. Surely he’d guess something had gone awry when she didn’t arrive on time?
Sun warmed her skin. Boat parts clanged and creaked beside her and birds cried overhead. A breeze teased tendrils from her braid and molded her skirt and cropped sleeveless top to her body. She’d only made it past a half-dozen yachts when a familiar dark-haired figure in white pants, a loose white shirt and sunglasses stepped onto the planks from a boat about five car lengths long. Her heart and steps faltered. The hotel hadn’t made a mistake. Damon had rented a boat with a cabin. Make that a yacht with a cabin.
And because Candace didn’t have a morning meeting tomorrow, Madeline was free to spend the night if she chose. She moved forward, one step at a time. Her lungs labored as if she’d sprinted from the hotel instead of ridden in the cushy hired car Damon had arranged for her. She’d never had a wildly passionate no-strings-attached affair, but if she boarded the boat, there would be no turning back.
This is what you wanted.
Maybe so, but that didn’t keep her from being nervous. The distance between them seemed to stretch endlessly.
Damon didn’t smile, didn’t move toward her. Hands by his side and legs braced slightly apart, he waited, looking as if he belonged at a yacht club. But then she supposed a good tour guide should fit into his surroundings. He’d said he enjoyed water sports so he probably had the sea legs to handle a gently undulating dock and a boat that probably cost more than her condo.
She reached his side, shoved her sunglasses up onto her head and waited, poised on a knife edge between tension and anticipation. Her reflection in his dark lenses looked back at her, and his cedar and sage scent teased her nose.
She bit her lip and eyed the yacht. “I’m going to hate billing Vincent for this rental. I’ll cover it. If I can afford it.”
“The boat is borrowed. There is no charge.” Damon took her bag. Their fingers touched and sparks swirled up her arm and settled in a smoldering pile in her stomach. His palm spread across the base of her spine, upping her body temperature by what felt like a dozen degrees. “Come aboard, Madeline.”
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