Princess Australia
Nicola Marsh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For the real princesses in my life.

Thanks for your warmth, your friendship

and the many laughs we share.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

‘I WANT a crate of soda, a monster bowl of hot chips and a triple layered choc-fudge banana-split sundae. Got that? And make it snappy!’

Natasha Telford glared at the back of Australia’s youngest pop star as he strutted towards the lift after snapping his order at her. She surreptitiously squeezed a stress ball under the concierge’s desk while wishing she could rip a few more slashes into the upstart’s trendy torn T-shirt.

How old Harvey did this job on a daily basis she’d never know.

As a kid growing up in Telford Towers, she’d thought the concierge had the most glamorous job in the world. Until this week, when she’d had to fill in while Harvey had his hip replacement. Giving polite tourists directions to Melbourne’s famous sites she could handle. It was the sulky, rude, demanding famous—especially young punks barely out of school—she could politely strangle.

Speaking of famous, the Prince of Calida was due any second, and she cast a quick, assessing look around the lobby, ensuring everything was in place. The demanding little snot of a pop star could wait for his sundae. She had a bigger guy to impress, namely Dante Andretti, soon to be crowned monarch of a tiny principality off Italy’s west coast, if the info she’d gleaned off the Net was accurate.

The lobby looked perfect, from its polished marble floor to gleaming brass-trimmed check-in desk, its plush chocolate-brown sofas and muted antique lamps with the stunning floral bouquets ordered on a daily basis arranged strategically throughout.

Natasha smiled, infused with the same pride she experienced every day she entered the Towers. She loved this place. Every last square inch of it. And she’d do anything to make sure it stayed in the family. Anything.

‘So when’s His Uptightness due?’

Natasha’s smile broadened as she whirled around and came face to face with Ella Worchester, her best friend.

‘Don’t call him that. He’s probably a really nice guy,’ she said, rearranging a pile of maps, a box of theatre tickets and a credenza of tourist flyers for the umpteenth time. Her nerves were working overtime, and if the prince didn’t arrive soon she’d go into serious meltdown.

Ella rolled her eyes and stuck her ink-stained hands in the pockets of her low-slung denim hipsters. ‘Yeah, I bet he’s a real prince.’

Natasha ignored Ella’s cynicism as she usually did. Right now, a prince was exactly what she needed—or, more accurately, what the Towers needed.

‘Do you know much about him?’

Not enough. And that was what had her worried.

Usually, she knew everything about the VIPs staying at the hotel. It was her job. In this case, even more vital than usual. Telford Towers needed the prince’s presence, like, yesterday.

Natasha shrugged. ‘Only what I’ve gleaned off the Net, which isn’t much. There was a whole heap of geographical stuff about Calida, a tiny bit about the royal family and that’s about it.’

‘Is he cute?’ Ella stuck out a slender hip in a provocative pose, and Natasha laughed.

‘Couldn’t tell much from the pic on the website. Too small.’

‘You wouldn’t be holding out on me by any chance?’ Ella’s teasing tone elicited more laughter and Natasha held up her hands in surrender.

‘Give me a break. From what I could see, the guy was trussed up like a turkey in some fancy-schmancy uniform, had his hair slicked back in army fashion and looked like he couldn’t crack a smile if his life depended on it. There, satisfied?’

Though there was one thing that had stood out in the prince’s picture.

His eyes.

Beautiful, clear blue eyes that had leapt off her computer screen and imprinted on her brain.

She’d always had a thing for guys’ eyes, believing in the whole ‘windows to the soul’thing. Pity she hadn’t read the real motivation behind Clay’s eyes. It would’ve saved her a lot of heartache, and would’ve avoided putting her family in the invidious position of losing the one thing that meant everything, courtesy of her greedy ex.

‘Well, don’t let him boss you around, okay? You’re only filling in for Harvey; doesn’t mean you have to take anything from anyone, prince or not.’

Natasha squeezed Ella’s hand. ‘The prince is important for business, and I’ll treat him like I treat the rest of the customers. With respect, care and—’

‘Yeah, yeah. Save the spiel for someone who hasn’t heard it a million times before.’ Ella held up her hand, though her fond grin underlined the lack of malice in her words. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I have a gardening column to write and a few more botanical drawings to do before lunch.’

‘Coffee at Trevi’s, usual time?’ By then, she’d definitely need a caffeine hit.

‘Sounds great. See you at five.’

Ella gave her a cheeky wave and sauntered away, a slim, tall figure in head-to-toe denim with her short, shaggy auburn bob swinging in sync with her steps.

Her best friend was stunning, enjoyed life and had energy to burn, while Natasha felt like a worn facecloth wrung dry. Stress did that to a person, the type of stress that dogged her every waking moment, and unfortunately most of her sleeping ones too. Little wonder she looked so pale next to her vibrant friend.

Glancing at her gold and silver link watch—the one her dad had given her for her twenty-first, years before money had become a problem for them—she wondered why the prince was late. Most of the VIPs she usually dealt with had their itineraries scheduled to the last second and she assumed royalty would be more pedantic than most.

Especially a prince who looked like he couldn’t crack a smile, if that tiny pic on the Net had been any indication.

At that moment, a gleaming black Harley roared to a stop outside the front door, and Natasha nibbled nervously on her bottom lip, hoping Alan the doorman would get the noisy thing valet-parked as soon as possible. First impressions counted, and she desperately needed to make this one count with the prince.

After another nervous glance at her watch, and more subtle rearranging of the tourist brochures stacked on the concierge desk, she glanced up in time to see the Harley’s rider stride through the glass doors.

And her mouth went dry.

The guy looked like a walking advertisement for Bad Boys Inc: tall, over six feet, with broad shoulders hugged in soft grey cotton, long lean legs encased in faded denim, black wavy hair mussed by a helmet and a gusty southerly Melbourne wind, and a bone structure that could’ve been chiselled by one of the Italian masters.

Natasha took a deep breath, closed her eyes and tried to refocus. What on earth was she doing? So the guy looked like every woman’s fantasy come to life—since when did she have time to ogle guys, let alone lose her concentration on the job?

Especially at a time like this!

Mentally slapping herself for letting her long-dormant hormones get the better of her in that one, glorious moment when he strode into the foyer, she exhaled and opened her eyes, ready to march out onto the street and haul the prince into her hotel the minute his limo pulled up.

Being antsy was getting the better of her and making her think all sorts of crazy things, like how much she’d like to walk up to the sexy bad boy and ask in her best, sultriest voice, ‘Can I help you?’

He saved her the trouble.

‘I need your help.’

Natasha quickly smoothed her cuff over her watch—she really had to stop glancing at it every five seconds—and fixed her professional welcoming smile in place. However, her smile froze when she looked up and locked gazes with the bad boy.

Clear blue eyes.

Almost aquamarine, the mesmerising colour of the Great Barrier Reef on a sunny day.

A colour imprinted in her memory banks, considering it was the only stand-out feature she could remember from the prince’s fuzzy picture.

‘Miss Telford, is it?’

The bad boy glanced at her name tag before returning his gaze to her face. A face flushed with heat at the realisation that she really must be losing the plot if she thought for one second that this scruffy, wind-tossed guy could be the Prince of Calida.

She really needed a day off to unwind. Badly.

‘Yes, that’s right. What can I do for you?’

Apart from bustle you out of here and get ready for the most important meeting of my life.

‘Plenty, hopefully.’

He rested his forearms on the desk, and she tried not to stare at the way his biceps bunched at the simple action.

Oh boy, maybe she needed to change her whole non-dating policy. It had been eighteen months since the Clayton disaster, and she hadn’t been out with a guy since, preferring to concentrate on fixing the mess Clay had lumbered her family with.

Resisting the urge to take a peek over his shoulder towards the door in case the prince snuck in without her seeing, she said, ‘Do you have a reservation, sir? If not, perhaps I can arrange it with someone at Check-in and we can discuss your needs later?’

‘No, I need this sorted now, and you’re just the woman I want.’

His low, gravelly voice sent an unexpected shiver down her spine, and her smile faltered as he fixed her with a penetrating stare.

Those eyes…that colour…no way!

It couldn’t be.

His voice dropped lower as he leaned across the desk barely inches from her face, enveloping her in a heady scent that reminded her of hot cross buns: warm and sweet and cinnamon. Yum.

‘I think you’ve been expecting me. I’m Dante Andretti.’

Natasha gripped the desk to steady her wobbly legs.

This couldn’t be happening.

No way could this guy be the prince.

‘The Prince of Calida,’ he added as an afterthought, the corners of his mouth lifting in a small, sexy smile which did strange things to Natasha’s insides, things she’d never felt before, things she had no right to experience now.

He was the prince.

This…this…rebel was the man she’d pinned all her hopes on for saving her father’s business?

Lord help her.

‘Is there a problem, Miss Telford?’

Swallowing her first response of ‘you bet your sweet butt there is’, she said, ‘Not at all, Your Highness.’

‘Ssh!’ He shook his head vigorously and put an index finger to his lips, like some second-rate spy. ‘Someone might hear you.’

‘And that might be a problem because…?’ Her voice held a slight tinge of hysteria, and she took a few steadying breaths.

This was crazy. It had to be one of those stupid Candid Camera stunts where her dad and Ella would leap out at any moment and say ‘Gotcha!’

She’d expected the prince to arrive in a stretch limo; this guy had revved in on a motorbike.

She’d expected the prince to have an entourage of bodyguards; this guy was solo.

She’d expected a stiff upper lip, hair-slicked-back pompous ass, and this guy was laid back, ruffled and very, very sexy.

Way too sexy.

‘In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not advertising my identity and I’d like to keep it that way.’

Natasha sighed, wishing for one ounce of the kind of saint-like patience that Ella demonstrated when she sat for hours in front of a plant to sketch it. ‘I’m not following this. You’re booked in under your real name but you don’t want anyone to know you’re here?’

He snapped his fingers under her nose, his smile broadening. ‘Exactly.’

No, no, no!

Natasha wanted to stamp her feet like one of her rock-star guests having a tantrum.

This wouldn’t do. She needed to broadcast the prince’s presence in her hotel to the world, and he wanted to keep it a secret? Was the guy out of his mind?

‘Is there a security problem? Something I should know about?’ Like why you’ve turned up here looking like a jeans model and spouting a whole lot of nonsense?

‘No problem. But I would like a chance to talk further. Like I said, I need your help while I’m here. Let me check in, and perhaps we can meet when you’ve finished your shift, yes?’

‘No!’

Natasha lowered her voice, deriving some satisfaction from the surprised glint in those too-blue eyes. Good. Let him see how it felt to be on the receiving end of a few surprises for once. She’d had her quota for the day.

‘No?’

Schooling her face into what she hoped was a professional mask, she said, ‘What I meant was I’m busy here for the next few hours. It will be a while before I finish up.’ ‘No matter.’ He waved his hand as if her answer meant little, and she suddenly realised that though this guy didn’t look like a prince he had the commanding mannerisms down pat. ‘I will wait. I’m booked in as Dan Anders.’

Her mouth twitched, the first time she’d felt like smiling since this crazy, prince-impersonating-a-bad-boy had strode into her hotel.

‘Nice pseudonym.’

He shrugged, and she stared at those muscles again, the way they bunched and shifted beneath the cotton T-shirt, and she wondered if they felt as firm as they looked.

‘Dante Andretti, Dan Anders. I chose something similar not to confuse myself.’

His self-deprecating grin displayed a row of even white teeth, made more startling by his sensational tan.

She knew pictures often didn’t do their subjects justice. In the prince’s case, he should have the royal photographer shot.

The guy was gorgeous, impressively so. And for a girl who had sworn off guys after Clay that was saying something.

So she wasn’t blind. She could look, couldn’t she? Like window shopping; you didn’t have to touch—oops, she meant buy—the merchandise!

‘Why don’t we meet in the Lobby Bar for a coffee around four-thirty? I have plans at five.’

There was no way she’d be popping into this guy’s room for a rendezvous, prince or not. She had a reputation to uphold in this place, not to mention the fact he unnerved her with that steady, blue-eyed stare.

He shrugged. ‘Fine. I’m not surprised a beautiful woman like you would have plans.’

Okay, so she could add charm to his list of impressive attributes.

‘Right,’ she said, suddenly flustered when he didn’t look away, her hands fiddling with the stress ball behind the desk. ‘We’ll talk about this more then, but let me tell you, I’m not happy about this situation. I don’t like lies, I don’t like subterfuge, and having you stay at our hotel is important for business.’

On and on she babbled, hating the way his mouth curved deliciously at the corners, the way his eyes glinted with amusement, and the way she kept noticing inconsequential details like that.

She was making a fool of herself, sounding like an uptight schoolmarm scolding a recalcitrant kid. She always did that when she was nervous, getting all defensive and huffy. Ella teased her about it. Sadly, she spent too much time these days on the defensive.

‘We’ll talk about this business later, then, Miss Telford.’

‘Call me Natasha,’ she said, a blush heating her cheeks for some inexplicable reason. Gee, it wasn’t like she was telling him to call her for a date or anything!

‘Dante.’

His polite nod reaffirmed what she’d thought earlier: you could take the bad boy out of the prince but you couldn’t take the prince out of the bad boy.

‘See you at four-thirty.’

She managed a tight smile, the type of smile that made her teeth ache with the effort. This cloak and dagger business with Dante reeked of trouble.

Big trouble.

And she’d had enough of that lately to last a lifetime.

CHAPTER TWO

DANTE cast subtle glances Natasha’s way while an efficient young woman checked him in.

She intrigued him.

He was used to subservience, deference and awe when people learned his identity, but the stunning brunette hadn’t batted an eyelid. In fact, she’d grown more prickly, tension radiating off her in palpable waves.

She didn’t like him.

That much was obvious, and he wanted to know why. Maybe she had a hang-up about wealth? Or maybe his title?

No matter. The minute he’d set foot in the hotel, he’d known he would need the concierge onside if he was to perpetrate his plan. The fact the concierge was a gorgeous woman with caramel eyes, long legs and a fabulous body behind that frumpy dark green uniform just made his task all the easier.

Not that he could rely on charming the woman to his way of thinking. If anything, she’d give him a hard time, he just knew it. Her little holier-than-thou speech had been a dead giveaway that Miss Natasha Telford wouldn’t stand for any hanky-panky. Not that he had any in mind. Not really…

‘Here’s your welcome pack, Mr Anders. The card for your room is inside. Enjoy your stay at Telford Towers.’

He smiled his thanks at the young woman behind the check-in desk, grabbed his key and headed for the lifts.

Of course, it wasn’t his fault he had to pass directly in front of the concierge’s desk again, and it definitely wasn’t his fault that the sexy concierge chose that exact moment to look up.

He gave her his best smile, the one his mother said could rule Calida alone, and a half salute, enjoying the faint blush staining her cheeks.

So, she wasn’t immune to a little charm after all?

He’d have to remember that.

His plan to remain anonymous on the first leg of his trip might depend on it.

Natasha rifled through her wardrobe, flicking past formal dresses, sundresses, skirts and casual trousers before coming to rest on her favourite pair of jeans. At times like this, being super-organised—or obsessively tidy, as Ella liked to tease—was a definite plus. She’d dithered long enough.

Sliding the worn denim off the hanger, she wriggled into them, noting with irony the only good thing Clay had left her with was a slimmer figure. Stressing out over what he’d cost her and her family had shed pounds by the bucketful, and she’d never been so thin.

After slipping a fitted pink singlet top over her head, pulling her hair back in a low ponytail, fixing silver hoops in her ears and sliding her feet into black wedges, she stood back and stared in the floor-length mirror behind the door.

Her favourite outfit, the type of outfit that made her feel good, that gave her confidence.

Then why did she want to rip it off and pull a serious black dress over her head?

You’re a fraud, that’s why.

She poked her tongue out at her reflection, hating when her subconscious was right. No matter how casual she tried to dress, or how confident her clothes were supposed to make her feel, she was a mess.

Dealing with Dante Andretti would’ve been hard enough without the runaway prince playing some weird rebel game where he wanted to hide his identity. The same identity she needed to shout from the rooftops to boost the hotel’s profile and, ultimately, save it.

‘Damn it,’ she muttered, dashing a slick of gloss across her lips and waving a mascara wand over her lashes, knowing it would take a heck of a lot more than a bit of make-up to give her a much needed boost.

She needed the prince’s help.

Apparently, he needed hers.

Then why the awful, sinking feeling their needs were poles apart? Or, worse, she’d be coerced into putting his first…and all because of a charming smile and a pair of blue eyes that had haunted her memory since the first time she’d seen them in grainy print on a computer screen.

Why couldn’t he be a boring, fuddy-duddy prince hell-bent on performing normal royal duties—like getting his face on every media outlet?

Why was he masquerading as some sexy bad boy? Okay, so he couldn’t help the sexy part but, honestly, wasn’t he taking the whole rebel image a tad far? How did a guy like that own a pair of worn jeans anyway? Wouldn’t he wear perfectly pleated formal trousers all the time?

And why did he specifically need her help to perpetrate whatever game he was playing?

Determined to get answers to the questions swirling in her mind, Natasha picked up her keys and purse and headed for a rendezvous with a prince.

Dante glanced around the cosy bar, surprised by the homey feel. He’d travelled the world, stayed in the best hotels and sampled the finest luxuries money could buy, yet something about this place tugged at him.

The rich, mahogany coffee-tables and bar covering an entire back wall, the deep comfy armchairs in burgundy, the muted light from brass lamps and the scattering of antiques were nothing out of the ordinary. Yet together they created an ambience which beckoned like the privacy of his own room at the palace at the end of a long day.

Suddenly it hit him—the privacy aspect of the room, the same comforting feeling he’d expect from a private lounge, not some hotel lobby bar. That was it. This room beckoned like his sitting room back home.

Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to create this effect, to offer travellers a home away from home. Someone with taste, good business sense and a keen sense of what it felt like to belong.

At that moment, Natasha walked into the room, and his desire to admire the decor went up in smoke.

He smiled and waved her over, mesmerised by the sway of her slim hips in poured-on denim, the way the lamplight highlighted the toffee tints in her hair, and how her overall outfit combined sassy casual with an innate elegance. Though he guessed that had more to do with the woman inside the clothes than the garments themselves.

Natasha Telford, quite simply, took his breath away.

Now he only hoped she had an open mind to go along with his plan.

‘Glad you could make it,’ he said, rising to his feet and pulling out a chair.

‘No problems.’ She inclined her head in thanks and sat down, gesturing to a waiter behind the bar. ‘What would you like?’

‘Espresso, please.’ And a healthy dollop of your co-operation.

‘Make that two,’ she said, smiling at the waiter in a way that made Dante’s pulse roar.

Why couldn’t she give him one of those smiles? Was the young guy a flame?

He studied her carefully, watching for a flushing of cheeks, a coy expression, a change in body language, but he came up blank. In fact, while he’d been making a few irrational leaps of thought it looked like she’d been studying him just as intently. By the slight frown marring her smooth forehead, he’d come up lacking.

‘So what did you want to discuss?’

She sat ramrod-straight, her hands clasped firmly in her lap, a determined look on her face, and Dante had a sneaking suspicion his plan was about to hit a major snag in the form of one beautiful wet blanket.

‘I need your help.’

‘So you said earlier.’

Her caustic tone didn’t inspire much confidence and he ploughed on, choosing his words carefully.

‘My visit to your country is multi-faceted. Official duties, fostering foreign relations and a family visit. Everyone knows the prince will be staying at your hotel and for how long. What they don’t know is that I’ve arrived on schedule, assumed a different identity and will have my secretary ring to say I’ve been delayed by a week. So during that week I wish to remain anonymous.’

‘Why didn’t you let me know your need for anonymity when you booked?’

Good question; he just couldn’t give her an honest answer. How could he explain to a woman he barely knew that the spur of the moment decision had as much to do with a desperate need to escape as his desire to spend time with a nephew he’d hardly seen?

‘My extra week here is impromptu and I need some time out from my duties.’

She raised an eyebrow, a delicate gesture that made him smile. Somehow, he knew there was nothing delicate about Natasha Telford. She came across as a vision of feminine loveliness…with a backbone of steel beneath.

‘I see.’

By the tiny frown creasing her brow, he seriously doubted that.

‘For family reasons?’

‘Uh-huh.’

Natasha sat back in the armchair and fixed the prince with a suspicious glare, wondering if he thought she were completely stupid.

Guys like him didn’t flit around countries trying to hide their identity for ‘family reasons’. They did the whole cloak and dagger thing for floozies, mistresses or whatever the name was for their hidden love interests.

The prince must have a secret lover, someone he didn’t want the press to get wind of, and that had to be the real reason behind this elaborate farce.

So what? It wasn’t any of her business. As long as he came out of the closet—so to speak—at the end of the week, she’d still get the much-needed publicity boost for the Towers. And, after playing along with His Sneaky Highness, she had every intention of milking his royal presence for every cent he was worth.

‘You don’t look too impressed.’

Silently cursing her expressive face, Natasha said, ‘What you do in the next week is no concern of mine.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong.’

The arrival of their espressos put paid to the questions raging through her brain, and she waited till they were alone again to continue.

‘I don’t follow.’

‘You are the only person who knows my real identity and I want it to stay that way. It is imperative. Do I make myself clear?’

She stared at him in open-mouthed shock. Who did he think he was, talking down to her like that?

Then again, he was a prince, and obviously used to ordering people around. Not to mention the guy who would get her family’s business out of crisis.

She’d bite her tongue. For now.

‘Perfectly clear,’ she said, taking a sip of her coffee, enjoying the caffeine rush and trying not to notice the way his long, tanned fingers wrapped around the tall glass mug with ease, as if they were made to hold things…caress things…

‘Good.’

He stared at her over the rim of his mug, those blue eyes capturing her attention and making it impossible to look away no matter how much she wanted to.

‘How long have you been a concierge?’

His question came out of left field though she should have been grateful. With his probing stare, she’d half expected something more personal.

‘Less than a week.’

He lowered his mug, surprise etched across his handsome face. ‘By your surname, I assumed you were part of the Telford family and in the job for a long time. Maybe I’ve entrusted my secret to the wrong person?’

‘Relax,’ she said, enjoying her first genuine smile of their meeting.

No matter how laid back His Highness seemed, this whole secrecy thing was getting to him. She could see it in his suddenly tense shoulders, his rigid neck, his clenched fingers. His floozy must be some woman for him to go to these lengths to protect her identity.

‘My father runs Telford Towers and I’ve worked here since I could walk. Our concierge is away for the next twelve weeks on sick leave, so I’m filling in for seven days till his temporary replacement starts next week. Does that allay your fears?’

He nodded and visibly relaxed, placing his mug on the table between them and leaning back in his chair. ‘So, what do you usually do here?’

‘Everything.’

From ensuring things ran smoothly, to mediating staff disputes, to pampering VIPs, she did it all. It was what she loved about this place, had always loved about it. Being a part of Telford Towers came as naturally to her as breathing and she couldn’t let it slip away.

Especially when this entire mess with Clay was her fault.

‘Such as?’

She should’ve been flattered by Dante’s interest, but she wasn’t a fool. Now that he had her here, he wanted to know every last thing about the only person who knew his little secret. He probably still didn’t trust her.

‘I’m my father’s right-hand woman. After I graduated with an MBA, I joined him in the everyday running of the Towers. Whatever needs to be done, I do it.’

His eyes widened, the admiration in the steady blue gaze warming her from the inside out. ‘Is it only the two of you?’

‘Uh-huh.’

And the painful fact ripped through her, reopening old wounds. Would her mum have survived the heart attack without the added stress Clay had brought upon them? Would Natasha have to spend the rest of her life harbouring the unspeakable guilt that she had contributed to her mum’s death as well as potentially ruining the family?

‘You should be proud. Your father and you have done a marvellous job. This hotel is wonderful. This is wonderful.’

He threw his arms wide in a dramatic gesture characteristic of his Italian heritage, and she managed a tiny smile when in fact she felt like bolting to the sanctity of her room and bawling her eyes out. Memories of her mum always made her feel like crying.

‘Did you hire a designer to create this room?’

Natasha shook her head, a burst of pride making her sit up straighter, and she quelled the urge to sniffle. ‘I did it.’

‘Really?’

If his eyebrows shot any higher, they would’ve reached the elaborate cornices lining the patterned ceiling.

‘That’s right. I wanted to create a home away from home for weary travellers. It’s the type of room I’d like to spend time in if I was stuck in a hotel miles away from everything familiar.’

Her voice rose as she spoke, filled with excitement, and she marvelled at the sudden change. It had been a long time since she’d felt anything bar intense, draining responsibility. She’d made a major mess of things and she had to clean it up.

Where every day used to bring joy and a thrill as she flitted from task to task, the last year had brought nothing but guilt, recrimination and a weary determination to do a job she used to love wholeheartedly.

But that was all about to change. Starting with the prince-playing-hooky sitting in front of her, if he agreed to help.

‘You’ve captured the exact feeling I had when I first sat down,’ he said, glancing around the room with a sparkle in his eyes before his gaze came to rest on her. ‘You’re a very talented woman.’

‘Thank you.’

She blushed, an annoying surge of heat that probably made her look like a sideshow clown. Somehow, his simple compliment meant more to her than all the accolades she’d received in the hotel business.

She really was in a soppy mood. Time to escape before she did something silly like beg him to head up the Towers’ next ad campaign or, better yet, grovel in the hope he would book out the Presidential Suite for the next decade. Both would be financial boons and either option would get them out of trouble.

Making an obvious show of glancing at her watch, she said, ‘If our meeting here is over, I really must go.’

The cheeky glint in his eyes faded. ‘Ah, yes, your secret assignation.’

That’s your game, bucko, not mine.

Thankfully, she bit back that retort. ‘Nothing too secret about meeting my best friend for our daily catch-up at our favourite trattoria.’

She could’ve sworn she saw relief in his eyes before his super-sexy smile drew her attention. ‘You meet your friend every day?’

She nodded, knowing she would never have survived the last few years without brash, exuberant Ella, the sweetest, most loyal friend a girl could ever wish for. The two of them had met through Telford Towers when Ella had moved into one of the apartments five years ago.

The dastardly duo, her mum had called them.

Natasha preferred ‘dynamic duo’ because that’s how great Ella made her feel. Her best friend was reliable and loads of fun. And it seemed like so long since she’d had any.

‘Yeah, keeps us sane. Nothing better than unwinding over a latte at the end of a hard day.’

‘You are lucky.’

He shrugged, a simple, eloquent gesture that spoke volumes when combined with the wistful tone in his voice.

At that precise moment, Natasha could’ve sworn the prince sounded lonely. Very lonely.

‘I know. Now, I’m sorry, but I really must dash.’

She stood quickly, eager to put distance between them before she leaned over and gave him a comforting hug. He looked like he needed one.

Though maybe that had more to do with her crazy hormones coming to life after a few glimpses of his muscled chest beneath cotton?

Either way, she wasn’t sticking around.

‘Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. And for agreeing to assist with that other matter.’ He stood and gave a strange, little formal bow which made her want to giggle, considering his bad-boy outfit.

Guys with day-old stubble, unruly hair and faded denim didn’t bow. They rode motorbikes and broke hearts maybe, but bowing? Uh-uh.

‘If you need anything, don’t hesitate to contact me,’ she said out of habit as she grabbed her purse and stood.

Not that His Sneaky Highness would need anything more of her. She bet he had his whole week planned out, starting with a rendezvous with the royal floozy.

‘How do you propose I do that?’

She halted, surprised by the hint of urgency in his voice. ‘Uh…through Reception.’

He sent her a sceptical look as if knowing she was giving him the brush-off.

Okay, so it wouldn’t be too smart to get her walking, talking promo-dream offside this early. She needed to appear a tad friendlier, more approachable.

Unsure if what she was about to do was the right thing or a huge mistake, she rifled through her purse and handed him a business card. ‘Or, here’s my mobile. You can contact me on that number if you need anything.’

As long as it wasn’t a triple choc-fudge sundae in the middle of the night!

‘Thank you. I appreciate it.’

Natasha returned his smile, knowing he was only being polite but unable to shake the deep-seated niggle that there was more to this prince’s charade than met the eye—and she’d just handed him an easy way to involve her in it!

CHAPTER THREE

‘YOU’RE late.’

Ella tapped her watch and sent a mock glower Natasha’s way as her friend rushed into Trevi’s and fell into her usual seat.

‘Sorry,’ Natasha said, unable to stop a smile spreading across her face.

She’d never been any good at keeping gossip involving guys from her best friend and, considering the afternoon she’d had, starting with meeting Dante and ending in agreeing to assist his clandestine plans, she knew this would be another one of those times where she couldn’t help but share. Every last juicy detail…

‘No, you’re not.’ Ella grinned and gestured for Luigi, their favourite waiter, to bring them the usual. ‘You’ve got that look that says you’ve been up to no good. And enjoying it way too much.’

Natasha laughed and threw her hands up in surrender. ‘Give me a chance to catch my breath! And remind me to never try and hide anything from you. What are you anyway—the secret police?’

Ella pounced as soon as the words left her mouth. ‘Ah! So you do have a secret! Come on, tell all.’

‘Can’t I at least wait till my mocha-cappuccino arrives?’

‘No!’ Ella shouted, and Luigi’s head snapped up from the coffee machine, an indulgent smile on his face as he winked at his two favourite customers. Though Natasha suspected he said that to all the girls.

Natasha usually enjoyed toying with Ella, feeding her tiny titbits of gossip gleaned from her varied and unusual jobs in the hotel. However, by the avaricious gleam in Ella’s eyes, she knew now wasn’t one of those times to tease. Besides, she had the strangest urge to blurt the whole truth out and get her friend’s point of view.

‘Okay. Though what I’m about to say must adhere strictly to our lips-zipped policy, right?’

‘Absolutely,’ Ella said, miming a quick-lock zip over her lips and throwing away the key. ‘It’s nothing serious, is it?’

‘No, everything’s fine.’

She’d make sure of it.

There was no way she’d ever burden her friend with her financial troubles or the fact she could lose her home if the Towers went under.

Ella snapped her fingers. ‘I know! It has something to do with the prince. How did it go? Has he swept you off your feet? Does he want to take you back to his castle and make you his love slave? Should I buy you some of those funky princess slippers?’

Natasha laughed, more than a little disturbed that Ella’s preposterous questions elicited a thrill of excitement. What would it be like to be swept off her feet by a prince and spirited away to his castle to live happily ever after like the fairytales promised?

Something you’ll never know about, her voice of reason screeched, and even the small romantic part of her that had survived Clay’s treachery, the part that still harboured dreams of finding the elusive ‘one’ despite what she’d been through, had to agree.

‘You can hold off on the slippers,’ Natasha said, watching Ella lean forward with an avid look on her face. ‘I don’t think I’m the prince’s type.’

‘But you’re gorgeous! You could have any man you want.’ Ella’s indignant quick-fire response brought an unexpected lump to Natasha’s throat.

Ella had stuck by her through dating disasters, the Clay fiasco and her mum’s death. She was loyal, fierce and beautiful inside and out.

‘Thanks, but I think the prince has other fish to fry, so to speak. He’s going incognito for a week and has asked me to keep his identity a secret. He’s checked in under a false name, is parading around like an unshaven lout, and is determined to keep his true identity under wraps.’

‘Wow.’ Ella’s eyes widened, digesting the interesting news before her razor-sharp mind predictably focussed elsewhere. ‘Unshaven lout? I thought you said he looked pretty uptight.’

‘I was wrong.’

Very wrong.

An instant image of dazzling blue eyes, day-old stubble, tousled dark curls and a sexy smile flashed across her mind.

‘Uptight’ didn’t begin to describe what she thought of Dante.

Unfortunately, some of what she was thinking must’ve shown on her face for Ella leaned closer and patted her forearm. ‘Okay, spill it. You’ve given me the official lips-zipped version. Now, tell me more about this prince. Is he hot?’

Natasha smiled at Ella, who was an expert at picking up on nuances especially when they had anything to do with the male species.

She could’ve avoided the question, danced around it or made up a whole heap of boring platitudes. Instead, Natasha sat back and fanned her face with a red-and-white checked serviette.

‘He’s hot.’

Ella’s eyebrows shot up in a familiar sassy look that demanded the whole truth and nothing but the truth. ‘How hot?’

Natasha stopped fanning her face, threw the serviette on the table and tapped her lips as if deep in thought when, in reality, she didn’t need time to ascertain how hot Dante was.

She’d known the minute he’d strutted into the lobby, all six-feet-plus of testosterone-filled male with the body of a Greek god and the face of a model.

‘Tash, you’re killing me here,’ Ella said, her tone implicit with warning that, if Natasha didn’t spill soon, she’d drag it out of her.

‘Hang onto your latte, I’m trying to get my adjectives right. After all, how many ways can you say bad-boy babe with a smile that can make your knees wobble at twenty paces, and eyes that could melt a maiden aunt?’

‘He’s that good?’

Natasha nodded, heat seeping into her cheeks at the memory of Dante’s eyes staring at her over their espressos, an unfathomable expression in the true-blue depths. ‘Better.’

Ella squealed and clapped her hands. ‘This is fabulous.’

‘What’s fabulous?’

‘This is the first time I’ve heard you notice a guy in months, let alone sing his praises,’ Ella said, a genuinely pleased smile on her face. ‘You usually pretend guys don’t exist, or criticise my dates to hell and back, which is usually totally accurate by the way. Men can be scum. But this is fabulous. You’re into this guy. Who cares if he’s a prince? Time for you to have a little fun.’

Natasha frowned, dread creeping through her. If she was negative about guys, she had reason to be. Clay had used her, hurt her and left a lasting legacy which still threatened those she loved the most. She couldn’t help the protective barriers she’d erected around her heart, but was she as bad as Ella made her sound?

Usually she would’ve laughed it off, but maybe her friend had a point. Perhaps she’d sounded like a shrew the last few years? As for Ella’s other observation, that she was ‘into’ Dante, nothing could be further from the truth.

‘I’m not planning on having fun with the prince,’ Natasha said, ignoring her dormant devilish side which insisted it would be a blast to try. ‘He has asked me for a favour, that’s it. Once this week is over, I’m going to ask him for one and milk his presence in the hotel for all it’s worth.’

Ella grinned. ‘You don’t think you’re protesting just a tad too hard?’

‘No!’

Okay, so that had come out a bit too defensive. Natasha forced a smile and said, ‘Give it a break, will you? I’ve given you your gossip fix for the day, so lay off. Can’t a girl enjoy her mocha-cappa in peace?’

As if on cue, Luigi bore down on their table bearing a tray filled with steaming mugs.

‘Ciao, bambinas. How are my favourite girls today?’

He grinned broadly and placed the usual skinny latte in front of Ella and Natasha’s mocha-cappuccino directly into her outstretched hands. She needed the creamy blend of chocolate and coffee desperately. The earlier espresso with Dante had barely touched the sides; besides, she’d been too engrossed in listening to His Royal Sneakiness.

Ella batted her eyelashes in the usual semi-flirtation she carried on with most men. ‘We’re fine, Luigi. And you?’

The Italian, old enough to be her father, kissed his fingertips and threw his hand into the air. ‘All the better for seeing you, bella. Now, would you girls like anything else? Maybe some of my best tiramisu? Or better yet, you stay for dinner?’

‘We’re right for now, thanks,’ Ella said, her bold smile sending the old guy into another fit of finger-kissing, hand-throwing and wistful grinning.

After Luigi had left, Natasha shook her head. ‘I swear you must’ve come out flirting with the doctors when you were born.’

Ella shrugged, a self-satisfied smirk playing about her glossed mouth. ‘Hey, if you’ve got it, flaunt it. Besides, the old guy loves it. And what better way to ensure we keep getting the best coffees this side of Carlton, huh?’

Natasha chuckled and took another mouth-watering sip of her mocha-coffee blend. ‘You’re a menace.’

‘And you are changing the subject. Is there anything else about this prince I should know?’ Ella took a healthy slurp of her latte and sighed with pleasure.

‘No.’

Though, try as hard as she could, Natasha couldn’t dispel the memory of Dante’s intense gaze as she’d handed over her card and he’d locked stares with her, his holding more than a hint of challenge. ‘The prince will go about his business, I’ll go about mine.’

‘We talking about funny business, here?’ Ella winked, and Natasha rolled her eyes before burying her twitching smile behind her giant mug.

‘No, I’m not interested, and besides he’s a prince,’ Natasha said, amused by Ella’s shenanigans despite herself.

‘And?’

‘And nothing.’

Natasha’s response had a hollow ring to it and she knew it. However she wanted to explain it away, however she wanted to dress it up, the bizarre exchange with Dante hadn’t been ‘nothing’.

Dante was something.

Way too much something for her peace of mind.

‘I’ll let you finish your mocha,’ Ella said, smiling at Natasha like a co-conspirator before spoiling the effect with, ‘I’m sure you’ll keep me posted about your stud-muffin prince.’

‘He’s not my prince!’

However, as the words left Natasha’s mouth, she wondered what the stab of disappointment was about.

Natasha had just stepped out of the shower and slipped into a fluffy purple bathrobe when her mobile rang. She considered ignoring it, as she had a date with a thriller DVD and a super-size bowl of her favourite choc-fudge ice-cream.

However, it could be her dad calling from Perth.

Or it could be the prince.

She wavered for a few seconds, hoping for the former, knowing a quick glance at call display would put her out of her misery. The phone continued to shrill its funky tune, and she finally gave up, crossing the room and grabbing it out of her bag.

She didn’t know the number.

Punching the answer button, she put on her best phone voice, the one Ella said could scare an army into battle.

‘Natasha Telford speaking.’

‘Natasha, Dante here. I need your help. Urgently.’

She swallowed, surprised by the quick thrill of pleasure at the sound of his deep voice, annoyed that the movie and ice-cream would have to wait.

‘What’s up?’

‘I’m being followed. Can you meet me out the front of the hotel in two minutes?’

Okay, so this was slightly crazy. What did he expect her to do—pull some bad-cop routine on his stalker, who was probably some lovesick girl anyway?

Shaking her head, she said, ‘I’ll be there.’

‘Thanks, hurry,’ he said, hanging up and leaving her staring at the phone.

‘Drama prince!’ she muttered, pulling on underwear, sweatpants and a hoodie in record time, slipping her feet into flip-flops and keys into her pocket.

She pulled her hair into a dripping ponytail as she rode the lift down to Ground, making it out the front of the hotel with thirty seconds to spare, and in time to see Dante strolling around the corner as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

‘So where’s the fire?’ she said, before he strode straight up to her, enfolded her into his arms and planted his lips on hers.

Nuts.

Insane.

Crazy.

However, as his warm, firm lips plied her with a skill she’d expect from a guy like him, her initial reaction that he’d lost his mind was quickly replaced by heat.

Burning, scorching, intense heat which raced through her body and promised to consume her from the inside out, the kind of heat that could make a girl lose her mind and do something completely out of character, like kiss him back.

Before she could react, he broke the kiss and murmured, ‘Sorry, go with me for now.’

He didn’t leave her much choice as he resumed kissing her, his arms sliding around her waist and feeling way too good, his chest pressed up against hers as one of his hands strummed her back like a virtuoso.

Natasha prided herself on her logic. She was a thinker, weighing up options carefully, always doing the right thing.

Then what on earth was she doing responding to the prince’s passion, the heat crackling between them turning to bone-melting sizzle, enjoying this kiss more than she could’ve dreamed possible?

Someone moaned—to her endless embarrassment, she had a sneaking suspicion it was her—and she clung to him, belatedly realising that his rock-hard chest felt as good beneath her splayed palms as it looked.

Her senses reeled as he deepened the kiss to the point where she could’ve forgotten who she was, where she was and all the reasons she shouldn’t be doing this, if it wasn’t for one small intrusion.

‘Natasha?’

Her head snapped back and her shocked gaze swung between Dante, the prince who’d just lost his mind and kissed her senseless, and Clay, the man she’d once loved and now despised.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘WHAT are you doing here?’

Natasha glared at Clay, hating the perfection of his smooth blond hair gelled within an inch of its life, the supercilious sneer, the cocky squared shoulders ready for battle.

She loathed him.

She despised him.

Yet she’d once loved him with all her heart.

Thank goodness she’d had a wake-up call before she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. Being engaged to the pompous ass had ruined her family as it was. She shuddered to think what would’ve happened if she’d gone all the way.

But then, she already knew.

The scumbag had told her in great detail when she’d broken off their engagement after learning the truth about why a suave entrepreneur was really interested in marrying a hotel jill of all trades.

‘Guess there’s no need to ask you,’ Clay said, sending her a look that could kill. ‘It’s pretty obvious you’ve taken up sport since we parted. Tonsil hockey.’

‘Leave the lady alone,’ Dante said, his voice low with menace, a protective arm still wrapped around her waist, and Natasha instinctively snuggled deeper before realising what she was doing. By then, she didn’t want to move. Having his arm holding her, supporting her, felt way too good in the face of Clay’s derision.

Clay’s withering gaze turned on Dante. ‘And I must’ve been mistaken about you. I thought you were the Prince of Calida back there, but guess I was wrong.’

‘You got that right,’ Dante said, his hand tightening on her waist.

Natasha stiffened, knowing how much Dante’s privacy meant, and what a louse like Clay would do with the information if he found out. Guys like Clay did everything for a reason, which usually involved getting ahead in the world and looking out for number one.

‘Instead, you’re Natasha’s new boyfriend. How sweet.’

There was nothing remotely sweet about the false saccharine dripping from Clay’s every word or the nasty leer he turned on her. ‘I should’ve known. There’s no way a prince would be remotely interested in someone like you.’

Natasha flinched despite the shield she’d built around her ego after ending the relationship with Clay.

Damn him, for still having the power to hurt her.

Damn him, for being here and potentially ruining her plan to use the prince to salvage something from the mess he’d lumbered her family with.

‘Apologise to the lady. Now.’

Dante’s arm slipped from her waist as he took a step forward and, crazily, she missed its solid warmth.

Clay’s sneer turned sinister, the same expression she’d seen eighteen months ago when she’d told him what he could do with his two-carat baguette diamond.

‘And who are you to give me orders?’ Clay matched Dante’s step forward till the two were almost toe to toe.

Natasha laid a steadying hand on Dante’s arm, shocked that she noticed how hot his bare skin felt under her palm and how much she liked it.

‘He’s someone you’ll never be,’ she said, wishing she’d had the guts to inject this much scorn into her voice the last time they’d spoken, when he’d threatened her family yet again. ‘Now get lost.’

Clay’s eyes narrowed to slits, reminding her of a snake she’d once seen at Australia’s biggest reptile park: dangerous, slimy, lethal.

‘You’ll be sorry,’ he said, so softly she could’ve imagined it.

However, Dante’s bunched forearm muscles under her hand told her she hadn’t. He was wound tighter than a spring, and looked ready to defend her honour whether she needed it or not.

As much as she liked his chivalry, she didn’t need an international incident on her hotel’s doorstep. Besides, Clay wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t worth anything as far as she was concerned.

Not any more.

‘First you don’t apologise, now you’re threatening the lady? Who the hell do you think you are?’

Dante had shrugged off her restraining hand and now stood in Clay’s face, while Natasha struggled between leaping on Dante’s back to distract him and slugging Clay herself.

‘I was the fool who was going to marry her,’ Clay said, casting one last malevolent glare her way before turning on his heel and walking off.

Clay’s cowardice shouldn’t have surprised her. Nothing about him surprised her, considering what he’d put her through, what he’d put her whole family through.

Dante turned to face her, incredulity lending his handsome face a comical look. ‘You were engaged to that slime?’

‘Don’t remind me.’

She held up her hand as if trying to ward off any further talk of Clay. Needless to say, a smart guy like Dante didn’t buy it for a second.

‘You can do so much better than him.’

Dante spoke softly, his blue eyes warm, a tentative smile flirting around his mouth as he reached out and captured both her hands.

Natasha had expected him to interrogate her, to question her lousy judgement, to do any number of things apart from what he was doing now—holding her hands with a gentle tenderness that brought a lump to her throat.

She stared at their linked hands, enjoying the solid warmth they provided, a comfort which she’d never got from the few times Clay would deign to be touched in public.

Reality check—the guy is a prince. A prince you need to save your business. A prince who needs his identity protected, yet here you are getting all mushy with him out the front of your hotel.

Disengaging her hands from his, she folded her arms over her chest. ‘So what was the urgent business?’ And what on earth was all that amazing kissing about?

Though she wisely kept that question to herself for now. She needed to reassemble her wits before she tackled him over his lip-lock, considering her resistance was at an all-time low following his whole knight-in-shining-armour impersonation.

‘That idiot was following me. He called out “prince” several times but I ignored him. I wanted you to meet me out the front so you could pretend to be my girlfriend and throw him off the track.’

He had the grace to look sheepish. ‘I didn’t know he was your ex. I’m sorry about that.’

Okay, so that explained his over-zealous welcome when he’d first seen her outside the hotel. But darn it, his kisses had seemed so real…

Giving herself a mental shake, Natasha tilted her chin up and glared at Dante. ‘Pretty stupid plan.’

He shrugged, looking more adorable than guilty or apologetic with that sexy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘It was all I could think of on the spur of the moment. I can’t let anyone know who I am. You know that, it’s too important to me.’

Natasha stifled a snort. Too important to his floozy, more like.

‘When I gave you my number for emergencies, I didn’t expect…’ She trailed off, not wanting to bring up the sizzling kisses, knowing it couldn’t be ignored. ‘This,’ she finished lamely, waving a hand between the two of them.

‘You mean the way I kissed you?’

With a glint in his eyes, his gaze dropped to her lips, which tingled at the memory of his wonderful technique, how he’d made her forget every worry she had.

‘Yes, that.’

Heat seeped into her cheeks, scorching with embarrassment. It wasn’t so much the fact he’d kissed her but how she’d responded, like a woman who enjoyed it. Way too much. And she had an awful suspicion he knew that.

‘Like I said, a spur of the moment thing, an impulse,’ he said, a hint of laughter in his voice. ‘I apologise if it wasn’t right.’

‘Oh, no, it was fine,’ she blurted, before clamping her lips shut in horror.

He’d meant it wasn’t the right thing to do; she’d responded about his technique. Could the ground just open up and swallow her now—please?

Thankfully, he didn’t call her on her monstrous gaff. He just stood there, looking way too sexy with his smile, his tousled hair and those gorgeous blue eyes sparkling with humour.

‘Thank you for rescuing me,’ he said, giving her another of those quaint little bows that must have been standard for royalty in Calida. ‘Shall we retire?’

Natasha nodded and managed a sedate ‘Uh-huh,’ before she made a total ass of herself and took his question as an invitation to go up to his room and tuck his royal pain-in-the-butt in.

As they entered the elaborate lobby, and she caught site of herself in the huge ornate mirrors lining the pillars, Natasha stifled a groan. Grey sweatpants, a pale blue hoodie and navy beaded flip-flops did little to accentuate her make-upless face and wet ponytail.

She looked like a bedraggled waif next to a tanned god, and for a split second chastised herself for wishing things were different, annoyed that she cared.

Forgetting his royal status, she wondered what would it be like to stroll into a hotel with a guy like Dante by her side? A guy who protected his woman, a guy who looked like every woman’s walking talking fantasy, a guy who could kiss like the prince in a fairy tale?

‘In your dreams!’ she muttered, grateful when the lifts came into sight.

‘Pardon?’

She forced a tight smile. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Sleep well,’ Dante murmured, planting a quick kiss on her cheek before she could move. ‘And thank you once again.’

Natasha whirled on her heel and entered the lift for the apartments, her cheek tingling, her emotions in turmoil. She waited till she heard the zing of the lift for the hotel before turning around, hitting the button for her own floor and sinking against the side wall, grateful for the support.

She needed it. With her head spinning from encountering Clay, kissing Dante and the pathetic way she’d tied herself up in knots, she was a mess.

Definitely time for that choc-fudge ice-cream. Though, after the last half hour she’d had, nothing less than the tub would do now.

CHAPTER FIVE

DANTE shrugged out of his leather jacket, tossed it on the bed and headed for the bathroom. He needed a shower, a cold punishing shower, considering what he’d just done.

You didn’t play fair, he muttered to his unshaven reflection in the huge mirror above an equally large marble basin as he braced himself against it.

Then again, who’d said anything about playing?

Adjusting the mixer, he splashed icy water on his face and dabbed it with a baby-soft towel which smelt like freshly squeezed lemons. Only the best for Telford Towers. And that extended to its stunning stand-in concierge who took her job to extremes.

He shouldn’t have kissed Natasha.

He knew that.

She knew that.

But he’d gone ahead and done it anyway, giving her some lousy excuse about using her as his girlfriend to put that crazy jerk who’d been following him off the track.

He’d had it all worked out: get her to meet him out the front of the hotel, slip a casual arm around her shoulders, give her a quick peck on the cheek and stroll to the nearest café like they’d intended on meeting all along.

Instead, the minute he’d caught sight of her, all fresh faced and righteously indignant, his plans for a quick peck had taken on a life of their own and he’d swept her into his arms before he could think twice.

At least the ruse had worked.

But at what cost?

He’d sensed a connection between Natasha and her ex, some unfinished business. Unresolved feelings, perhaps?

If he’d jeopardised something for her, he should feel bad. Instead, the thought of that supercilious creep anywhere near the petite brunette made him want to order a royal head-lopping—if they still went in for that sort of thing in the twenty-first century.

The jerk had been rude, arrogant and condescending, and he couldn’t see a feisty woman like Natasha putting up with him. Then again, what did he know about women? His sister Gina was driving him mad, and his mother would have him married off the second he stepped back on Calida.

Speaking of Gina, the way Natasha had handled the situation earlier could make her the perfect candidate for what he had in mind. After today, Dante couldn’t handle Gina and her idiosyncrasies alone, that much was clear.

He needed the help of a woman, a very astute woman.

Thankfully, he had a good feeling that Natasha could be just what he was looking for.

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